Gospel Story Finder

When her husband passed away after 25 years of marriage, my friend Susan thought she was too old ever to consider getting married again. “I was content to be a widow for the rest of my life,” she said.
But—surprisingly—two years later, she remarried. Her husband, George, was also a widower. Today they live a happy life together, sharing common interests such as historical research and service in the Church and community.
That may sound like a happily-ever-after story. But Susan and George are quick to agree that remarrying at any age can create both joys and challenges. This may be particularly true for those who were sealed in the temple for their first marriage. My own life is a case in point.
I loved my wife Raelene and treasure our temple marriage. When she passed away unexpectedly after 42 years of marriage, I was distraught. I wallowed in self-pity for almost a year. Eventually I found a new job in a new city. I felt ready to start over. I wondered about dating. But would that mean I was being disloyal?
I counseled with a friend who had remarried. “It’s a personal decision,” he said. “You know your deceased wife. What would she think? You know your family and how they may react. It’s like any other decision—it should be approached with humility and prayer.”
Another friend who had remarried said, “It’s not about moving on. It’s about moving forward with faith regardless of marrying again or remaining single.”
So I searched the scriptures, often reading the story of Ruth, a widow, and her mother-in-law, Naomi, who felt “the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me” (Ruth 1:20) because of the death of her husband and two sons. Boaz eventually married Ruth after being moved by “all that thou hast done unto thy mother in law since the death of thine husband” (Ruth 2:11). This scriptural “love story” between Ruth and Boaz reminded me that God is always near, even in our darkest moments, and can guide us in our life decisions.
I did start dating again, and I eventually met my wife Stephanie. When we married, we decided that expecting everything to be the same as our first marriages or making comparisons to former spouses or circumstances was a recipe for disaster. We needed to create our own “bonus family” by including all of our children in important decisions and all of our grandchildren in new traditions.
The scriptures have many examples of righteous persons who remained single following the passing of a spouse. The widow of Zarephath is celebrated for her faithfulness and generosity (see 1 Kings 17:8–16). The widow who cast two mites into the treasury was commended by the Savior for casting in “all that she had, even all her living” (Mark 12:44). The psalmist notes that the Lord “relieveth the fatherless and widow” (Psalm 146:9). These examples remind us that the Lord is very much aware of those who have lost a spouse. Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “Our standing before the Lord and in His Church is not a matter of our marital status but of our becoming faithful and valiant disciples of Jesus Christ.”
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, was only seven years old when his father passed away from tuberculosis. His mother remained single the rest of her life while accomplishing much in Church and community service, including serving as mayor of the city of Provo.
“I was blessed with an extraordinary mother,” President Oaks recalled. “She surely was one of the many noble women who have lived in the latter days.”
While serving as a member of the Seventy, Elder Randy D. Funk noted “some causes of unhappiness: … sadness and loneliness from the death of a loved one, and fear from the uncertainty of what happens when we die.” As an antidote, he suggested that “the inward peace of being securely within the fold of God” can bridge such loneliness and uncertainty.
Elder Gong noted that faith and covenant-keeping and rich blessings are very much available for those who choose not to remarry after the loss of a spouse. He tells about one of his family’s progenitors who “was left with five young children when her husband and oldest son both died suddenly just days apart. A widow for 47 years, Gram raised her family with sustaining love from local leaders and members. During those many years, Gram promised the Lord if He would help her, she would never complain. The Lord helped her. She never complained.”
The blending of families is a consideration in many marriages, and it can be particularly challenging when children are involved, no matter their age. One of the greatest challenges, in fact, may be helping children to accept new relationships.
Children are often the forgotten mourners when a parent passes away. They may feel lost in the shuffle—or at least feel a desire to counsel together about decisions that affect the family. They may have memories they no longer feel they can share. “Remember the time when we …” could feel incomplete and perhaps even unwanted. They may find it challenging to adjust to their living parent’s new relationship, including finding it difficult to give their love and loyalty to a stepparent.
In the best of circumstances, a new spouse may feel like an outsider. “Even when family members go out of their way to welcome you, you can still feel like you’re on the outside a lot of the time,” says a woman who remarried. Her advice? “Remember you’re not replacing anyone; you’re just adding to the family. Give it lots of time and love.”
Sometimes it’s not so much the planned or deliberate activities but rather the simple and spontaneous experiences that promote this new relationship. These three things seem to help:
Showing up for sports, music, and other personal interests that matter to each child.
Practicing deep listening without giving too much advice.
Sharing personal experiences and vulnerabilities.
Instead of retreating from extended family interaction and sticking to the sidelines, “bonus” parents and grandparents can search for common interests with individual family members and discover new ideas and approaches together. In our bonus family, we share text messages on topics ranging from parenting to politics, business ventures to exercise tips, cooking to historical fiction. We began meeting separately online with each of the two extended families during the pandemic to study Come, Follow Me together and have continued it ever since then.
Balancing leisure time preferences, household chores, and especially family finances in a new marriage later in life can be challenging and complex. It requires empathy, tenderness, and “the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit” (1 Peter 3:4) to navigate new and sometimes conflicting demands.
Each couple will find their own answers in navigating chores, leisure time, and finances. If preferences are openly discussed together, most differences can be resolved over time. As a helpful guideline for such discussions, consider this advice about goal setting given by President M. Russell Ballard (1928–2023), Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Set short-term goals that you can reach. Set goals that are well balanced—not too many nor too few, and not too high nor too low. Write down your attainable goals and work on them according to their importance. Pray for divine guidance in your goal setting.”
A second marriage, just like a first marriage, can be satisfying and fulfilling or stressful and difficult. Much depends on the ability of the couple to address common issues together. Many who marry again in later life find that life can be richer with someone to talk to, laugh with, and even share tears with when needed. Like any act of faith, remarriage requires exercising such Christlike attributes as patience, forbearance, forgiveness, kindness, and love.

Darren* didn’t fit in. He was loud and obnoxious, a constant bragger, and a liar. He never had a nice thing to say about anyone. He constantly put people down.
I was his seminary teacher, and that 14-year-old boy nearly drove me crazy. He was always interrupting class. He had answers for every question, but they usually had nothing to do with the lesson. He took every opportunity to make up some outlandish story where he was the hero and everybody else was just plain stupid.
I must admit, I had to struggle to like Darren. He had to be the center of attention. In his attempts to be funny and to be heard, he was ruining my class. I tried to talk to Darren about it. I tried to help him to see just how disruptive he was, and how he was driving any friends he might have away, but I had no effect on him.
Everyone avoided Darren, everyone except for Jeff. Jeff was one of the sharpest, most popular boys in the school. It was an unlikely friendship, but sometime during Jeff’s sophomore year of high school, he decided to be Darren’s friend.
I couldn’t understand why Jeff, who had lots of friends, would want to hang around with Darren. But he did. He came to class with Darren and left with him. They walked around school together. Jeff even ate lunch with him.
For Jeff to do this was no small sacrifice. One time Jeff was invited to a party but was told Darren couldn’t come because he would ruin things. Jeff told the others that if Darren couldn’t come, he wouldn’t come either. He would do something with Darren instead. That was the way things went for most of the year.
On more than one occasion, Jeff was left out of things because he insisted on bringing Darren. But in spite of this and Darren’s bizarre bragging and put-downs, which were sometimes directed at Jeff, Jeff remained Darren’s loyal friend.
One time in seminary Jeff gave an opening prayer that took us all by surprise. Jeff asked Heavenly Father to bless Darren and help him to know that we cared about him and that he didn’t need to brag in order to have friends. After the prayer I was watching for some kind of reaction from Darren. Would he be embarrassed? Angry? Nothing really happened. Darren was quiet for a few minutes, then went back to being his usual self.
It wasn’t until about the middle of the second year that I sensed a change in Darren. Jeff and the Lord were performing a miracle in slow motion. Jeff’s consistent and loyal friendship was changing Darren. Darren was becoming a nice guy.
Part of the miracle was that Darren knew what Jeff was doing. He knew that Jeff was a friend by choice, sacrifice, and effort, not by natural selection.
In the beginning of their senior year, the bishop had several of the seniors talk in sacrament meeting. Darren was one of the speakers. His talk was about how the Savior befriended everyone and taught that “We should all love one another, even if it’s hard.” He talked about Jeff and thanked him for his friendship. He told the ward that at one time he had decided to leave the Church and school. He hated himself and everyone else. But then Jeff came along and made a difference—by being his friend.
Six years later Jeff and I were witnesses at Darren’s wedding. Looking at Darren’s friends and family gathered together, I saw that the 14-year-old boy with one friend had become a returned missionary with dozens, thanks to the Jeff difference.

Missionary service has ever called for courage. One who responded to this call was Randall Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randall Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake that hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some eighteen thousand persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randall was confined there, a newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply: “Others think not, but I will. With the president of my church praying for me, and through the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will walk, and I will return again to Guatemala. The Lord wants me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
There followed a lengthy period of therapy, punctuated by heroic yet silent courage. Little by little, feeling began to return to the almost lifeless limbs. More therapy, more courage, more prayer.
At last, Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he had been called—back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics and a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the example of courage.
On his return to Guatemala, Randall Ellsworth supported himself with the help of two canes. His walk was slow and deliberate. Then one day, as he stood before his mission president, Elder Ellsworth heard these almost unbelievable words spoken: “You have been the recipient of a miracle,” said the mission president. “Your faith has been rewarded. If you have the necessary confidence, if you have abiding faith, if you have supreme courage, place those two canes on my desk and walk.”
After a long pause, first one cane and then the other was placed on the desk, and a missionary walked. It was halting, it was painful—but he walked, never again to need the canes.
This spring I thought once more of the courage demonstrated by Randall Ellsworth. Years had passed since his ordeal. He was now a husband and a father. An engraved announcement arrived at my office. It read: “The President and Directors of Georgetown University announce commencement exercises of Georgetown University School of Medicine.” Randall Ellsworth received his Doctor of Medicine degree. More effort, more study, more faith, more sacrifice, more courage had been required. The price was paid, the victory won.

“Can we come in?” Lori asked.
Emily looked over the top of the fort she had built with Lisa. Their little sister Lori and brother Greg were back, and they wanted to come in. Again.
“No,” Emily said.
“Please?” Greg asked.
“No,” Lisa repeated.
Emily and Lisa had spent an hour building their fort out of cushions and sheets and cardboard boxes. It was perfect. They had built it next to the Ping-Pong table, and to get in you had to crawl through a tunnel under the table. It was tall enough to stand up in, but there wasn’t enough room for little brothers and sisters.
“You already have your own fort,” Emily said.
“OK,” Lori sighed. “Let’s go.” Greg followed her back to their fort. It was just a blanket draped over a chair. It didn’t have a tunnel or anything.
“They’re gone!” Lisa said. “Now we can play.” She opened their box of paper dolls. Emily cut out a dress she had drawn. They set up the rest of their game—the castle, the servants’ quarters, the wicked prince.
They played for a while, but it wasn’t as fun as usual.
“I’m bored,” Lisa said, setting down her paper doll.
“And I don’t want to be the prince anymore,” Emily said. “Maybe we need more people to play. Maybe Lori and Greg could help.”
“No,” Lisa said. “They’ll just ruin the clothes, and they won’t play the games we want them to.”
“Yeah. I guess I’m done playing this game. Let’s do something else.”
“Let’s build a tree fort!” Lisa said.
Outside, Emily and Lisa dragged boards over to the giant cherry tree. They made a platform they could sit on in the middle of the tree. It was perfect. They could reach ripe cherries right where they sat!
Soon they heard the back door open. Here came Lori and Greg. Their eyes got big when they saw the fort.
“Can we come up?” Lori asked.
“Can we have some cherries?” Greg asked.
“No,” Emily said. “Get your own cherries.”
Lisa looked at Emily, then nodded. “Go play in your own fort.”
“But our fort’s no fun!” Lori wailed. “It’s no fun without you!” Lori ran back to the house, and Greg followed.
Lisa was quiet after they left. She ate another cherry. “Maybe we should have let them come up,” she said.
Emily nodded. “We weren’t very nice,” she said quietly.
“What do you think we should do?”
“I have an idea …” Emily said.
Soon Lisa and Emily sneaked back to their old fort, where Lori and Greg were playing. They left a note outside the tunnel door, knocked, then ran outside. Lori read the note out loud: “We’re sorry we were so mean. We want to play with you too. Love, Lisa and Emily.”
“They want to play with us!” Greg shouted. He pushed open the tunnel door and raced outside. Lori followed. This time Lisa and Emily let them climb up. They all crowded onto the small platform and ate cherries.
“We were thinking we should build a town,” Emily said. “I’ll run the store and be the seamstress.”
“I’ll write the newspaper,” Lisa said, “and Greg can be the postman. And the mayor.”
“What will I be?” Lori asked.
“You can run the store with me,” Emily said.
They all climbed down and ran back to the playroom. Lisa and Lori cut out cardboard coins while Emily and Greg took down the giant fort. They would need the cushions and boxes to build the post office and the grocery store and their houses. And later, maybe even a zoo.

During adversity and suffering in post-Soviet Russia, Anatoly and Svetlana Reshetnikov chose righteousness over worldliness. After joining the Church, they were persecuted. He was demoted from his position at work. Valiantly they thought, “Now we have more time to serve God!” They repeatedly received threats, yet they chose to live gospel-centered lives. Elder Anatoly Reshetnikov was called as the first Russian Area Seventy. Through their choices the Reshetnikovs continue to choose eternal life.

Awhile back, I got into very deep trouble with a guy. After reading the special issue I finally got up enough courage to go to my bishop and tell him my problem. Then I also went to the Lord for repentance. Then I felt so much better. I am almost a junior in high school. I am active in sports and love singing and dancing. I am a counselor in my Young Women class. Thank you so much for bringing out this wonderful magazine.

Recent floods had caused devastation in Kerala. The Kerala flood relief camp was organized by our Bengaluru Stake to provide relief to people in the Wyanad area. I accompanied other Saints of our stake to offer humanitarian aid.
One morning as I was at the relief camp, I read a message on the ward’s WhatsApp group. I felt shocked after reading the message that Brother Michael’s health was in serious condition, and he was taken to his native place, Madurai, Tamil Nadu, for hospitalization. I offered a silent prayer for his health to improve and that I would get an opportunity to visit him. Brother Michael and Sister Rabi were diligent members in attending the regional language Sunday School in our ward.
The very next Sunday after returning from relief work, Brother Karthikeyan approached me and asked me if I would be interested to join with him to visit Brother Michael. I immediately accepted the offer to visit and was so happy. We travelled by train and reached Madurai the next day morning. We then went from the railway station straight away to the Madurai Meenakshi Mission Hospital. Before we reached hospital, we heard his second son, Allwyn, was also admitted in the same hospital in a different ward due to his health problem. The same morning we visited both of these brethren. They were lying on their beds, and Brother Michael’s condition was very critical. He was not able to recognize who we were, and the doctors were not able to let us know his condition. All they told us was that he needed to be in medical observation—which means each part of his body function needed to be observed. We as priesthood brethren administered priesthood blessings with faith to both father and son, and we comforted Sister Rabi and their older son.
We then headed to the train station where we refreshed ourselves at the railway station waiting room, and we headed to visit a nearby place in the local train. While we were halfway there, Brother Karthikeyan told me that we need to head back to the hospital. It was purely an inspiration. We reached the hospital and to our surprise, for we just could not believe our own eyes, Brother Michael had gotten up from his bed and was sitting. What a miracle! He was unable to get up from his bed before, but he was able to now. Our beloved Heavenly Father, through the Holy Spirit, had blessed him.
Now the same day in the evening he was able to recognize who we were, and he spoke to us a few words. I was able to shoot some videos with him, and when I asked him what he would like to convey to our ward members, he showed a “thumbs up” sign and asked me share the videos I recorded of him in the hospital to the regional language Sunday School class members.
Yet another miracle happened with the blessing of the priesthood, and this didn’t end with him. Afterward we visited his son Allwyn. He told us that the doctors wanted him to get discharged the next day, while his health was fine and he had recovered sufficiently to go home.
“Ministering and exercising the priesthood at the right time with faith brings blessings. I believe blessings to others will never stop . . . miracles will never cease.”

There was a time when the large pharmaceutical company he worked for kept giving him more and more responsibilities, and that meant more and more travel. It got to the point that he was home only three days a month. Then all of a sudden, we learned that he had resigned from his longtime job and promising career opportunities.
I remember that at our next family council meeting he said we would need to tighten our belts for the next few months while he looked for a new job. We asked him why he had resigned, and his response will stay with us forever: “You all are growing up to be teenagers already, and that’s a very important time in your lives. I never would like a time to come when you would tell me, ‘Where were you when we needed you?’” He put his family first.

One young woman from Haiti in the Caribbean showed her desire to be a disciple of Christ by inviting her friend who was not a member of the Church to come with her to an FSY conference. At first her friend’s father did not want to give his daughter permission to go. Church leaders explained about the positive experiences that awaited her and the wonderful young adult counselors who would be watching over her. The father gave permission for his daughter to attend, and after seeing the difference it made in her life, he also gave her permission to attend Church meetings and—six months later—be baptized.

Andrew pulled out a pen and opened his journal. Today, I am coming home from my mission, he wrote.
He smiled and looked out the train window. He had spent the last two years in Denmark, the country where he was born. It was also where his family was baptized. They moved to Utah, USA, when he was a teenager. And soon he would be with them!
Andrew turned the page and kept writing. He liked to write. He also liked learning about Church history. He had read all he could about Joseph Smith. He even memorized all the important dates in Joseph Smith’s life.
Soon Andrew was home with his family. Every day he helped them work on the farm. He plowed. He planted. But he wanted to do more. He wanted to read and write and travel.
So Andrew prayed. He thought a lot about what he should do. Then he had an idea! He started to translate some of Joseph Smith’s history into Danish.
And that was just the start. Andrew kept writing, reading, and translating. He started working for the Church as a historian. He went to different places in the United States. He gathered stories and important papers.
One day, Church leaders asked Andrew to do something even more exciting. They asked him to go to different countries. He would write stories about the Church members he met. Andrew could not wait!
Andrew said goodbye to his family. Then, with his passport in hand, Andrew was off! He traveled by ship. He traveled by train. Sometimes he traveled by carriage or even by horse or camel.
Wherever he went, Andrew talked to Church members about their lives. He talked to them about their faith. He wrote their stories down so other people could read them. To Andrew, everyone’s story was important.
When Andrew came home from his trip, he put the stories into a book. He taught others about writing things down and keeping them in a safe place.
Andrew was happy doing the work he loved. But sometimes he wondered if he was really making a difference. He decided to pray about it.
“Heavenly Father, why haven’t I been asked to do more important things?” A clear answer came to Andrew’s mind. God has inspired you to do the work you have done.
Andrew smiled. He knew he was doing what God wanted him to do. And he would not stop!
Andrew saved the stories of more than 15,000 people. We can follow his example by writing down our own family stories. Everyone’s story is important—including yours!

After college my sister Grace and I worked for a company with several other Latter-day Saints. Our employers were not members of the Church. When my sister became engaged, our employer planned a surprise bridal shower for her. I hoped she would respect our standards, but instead she ordered liquor, a male dancer, and a scandalous video.
Before the bridal shower, I felt the whispering of the Holy Ghost within me encouraging me to remind my boss of our standards. I grasped my Young Women medallion and thought of all the effort and sacrifices I had made when I was in Young Women to complete my personal progress. I prayed that I would be guided to stand a little taller at this time. I texted my employer my concerns, thinking that she might become offended. Nevertheless, my greatest desire was to please Heavenly Father.
When the party began, my boss didn’t talk to me or even smile at me. However, she did cancel the dancer and the video.
In the days following the party, my boss didn’t talk and laugh with me like she had before the party. However, I felt comfortable because I knew God was pleased with what I had done. About a week later, my relationship with my boss went back to normal. I know God softened her heart and helped her realize that I lived what I believed.
Lemy Labitag, Cagayan Valley, Philippines

During the week that one of the zone leaders was to go home, Scott and his companion received a phone call from the mission president asking them both to come to the mission home the next day. They both were to bring their luggage with them.

“I bet I know what that’s all about!” Scott’s companion said with a smile. “You’re going to be the next zone leader.”

Scott forced himself to be nonchalant but could not suppress a smile. “Now, now, we’re not supposed to aspire to positions.”

Nevertheless, Scott got his suit cleaned and carefully polished his shoes. Look the part, he told himself.

He made sure that they left in plenty of time so they’d be there promptly.

President Snowden enthusiastically welcomed them as they entered his office. They chatted for a few minutes, and then President Snowden excused Scott while he spoke to Elder Anderson.

In a few minutes, Elder Anderson left the office, and it was Scott’s turn.

“Your companion has told me about your little notebook of goals. It’s remarkable what you’ve done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scott replied, properly modest.

“You must have wondered why I asked you both here.”

“Yes, naturally, I did.”

“Well, you know, the zone leader in Centerville is going home this week. We are looking for someone to fill his position.”

“I see.” Scott felt his heart pounding with excitement.

“Of course, the order of the Church is that we are called by inspiration. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Sometimes choices made by inspiration are not the obvious ones. The Lord chooses whom he will, when he will.”

Scott wondered why the president didn’t just come out with it and call him to be zone leader.

“When I prayed and fasted about this, I was frankly surprised the way it turned out. The Lord has seen fit to call your companion, Elder Anderson, as a zone leader.”

Scott was stunned. “Oh,” he said weakly, embarrassed by his suddenly reddening face.

President Snowden walked over to where Scott was sitting and put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Remember that in the work of the Lord, it’s how we serve that counts, not where we serve.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“No, there is one other thing.” President Snowden pulled a chair close to Scott and sat down. “Did you know that we have a city in our mission that has 80,000 people living in it, and yet we have no missionaries there? We’ve had elders there once, but they never did much good. Part of the problem was that they believed it was the Siberia of the mission. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“We’re going to put a set of missionaries in that town, but we’re going to put the best we’ve got. This time we’re going to succeed.”

“I see,” Scott said.

“Elder, I want you to go there and see what you and the Lord can do.”

“Me? But what about my being district leader?” he blurted out.

“We’ll call someone to take your place. Your companion will be a new elder. He’s arriving tomorrow. We’d like you and Elder Anderson to stay overnight with us before you go to your new assignments.”

As Scott left the office, the president added, “If you have the time, why don’t you and Elder Anderson take in the museum today. It’s very good.”

Scott hurried from the office. He went to the bathroom and shut and locked the door. Turning on the cold water, he soaked a washcloth and held it to his face. He was ashamed of the tears streaming down his face and afraid that anyone should ever find out. Feelings of anger surged through his mind.

Nobody must know how I feel, he thought to himself ten minutes later as he examined his face in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

He walked into the office area and congratulated his companion.

“This is it, Mark,” I say as I gaze out at the field strewn with hundreds of colorful eggs. “Next year we’ll be too old, so we have to win the prize basket today.”
“I know, Emily,” Mark answers, his grip tight on our basket, his body poised to bolt onto the field.
At the community egg hunt, we’re allowed to work in teams of two. My friend Mark and I have come close to winning before, but this year we have to win the prize basket. Besides the chocolate eggs and stuffed animals in it, there are a gift certificate to a video store, a bunch of CDs, two passes to that new amusement park—all kinds of great stuff.
And we’re going to do it, because this year, Mark and I are among the oldest, tallest, and fastest kids here. I know we can scoop up more eggs than anyone else.
Behind me I hear a woman saying, “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to let her try this, Mike.”
I glance back and catch a glimpse of a girl in a yellow skirt. She is with her parents and looks younger than me.
The flag goes down, and everyone goes tearing onto the field. Mark and I have planned out our strategy. We run past the kids stooping down to pick up the first eggs they come to. Instead, we head for the eggs beyond them. We grab eggs like crazy.
Mark and I have loaded our basket by the time the others have cleaned the front part of the field and start swarming into the area where we are. Even so, Mark and I continue to find a few eggs with the other children.
“You’re going to win,” one of the older boys groans when he sees our basket.
I smile. Yes, we’re going to win. I’m sure of it.
By now, the field has almost been picked clean of eggs. Mark and I start to recheck our chances of winning. We feel pretty confident.
Then I notice the girl in the yellow skirt walking slowly toward us. What is she doing? I wonder. She doesn’t have a partner, nor has she found a single egg. She holds her empty basket in one hand. Her other hand grips a long white stick tipped with red. She taps the stick to the ground and sweeps it in front of her as she walks as if she’s looking for something in the grass.
She can’t see! That’s why she has no eggs. Everyone ran out in front of her and grabbed every single egg, leaving none for her to find.
Why did she try this? I wonder. She couldn’t possibly beat us to eggs, let alone win.
Then I realize something. All I care about is finding the most eggs and winning the prize. But that girl doesn’t care a bit about the prize. She just wants to find eggs for the fun of it. And we’ve all taken that chance away from her.
I look over at Mark. He’s watching the girl, too. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he knows what I want to do. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s begging me not to do it. He wants to win.
But I step forward, lift an egg from our basket, and place it quietly in front of the girl. As her stick hits the egg with a satisfying clicking sound, she smiles. She bends over, gropes around for the egg, and finding it, places it in her basket.
I put down another egg. As she finds that one, Mark adds one to the grass. We both put out a couple more.
A little boy darts in front of me, heading for the eggs. I gently grab him before he can reach them. “No,” I whisper in his ear. “They’re hers.”
I know the girl will never have the most eggs—it takes her a long time to find them, and the hunt’s almost over. But at least she’ll have some. And the smile on her face shows how much fun she’s having.
The contest judge announces that the hunt is over, that we should bring all our baskets up to determine the winner. Mark and I go, but we know that we may have lost. We do lose by four eggs.
Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see the woman who stood behind me earlier. Her eyes glisten with tears, and she mouths “Thank you” at me before she goes to admire the eggs in her daughter’s basket.
And then my mom’s there. “Emily, Mark,” she says. “I know how much you wanted that prize.”
I shrug. “It’s OK that we didn’t win.”
My mom puts her arms around our shoulders and squeezes. “But you two did win.”
She’s right. Even if our basket was totally empty right now, I think I would still feel like a winner, and I can tell that Mark feels that way, too. We wanted that prize basket. Instead, we’re taking home a wonderful feeling and the memory of a young girl’s smile. That’s the best prize of all.

After I had children of my own, I realized how much the Savior loves children. I was tucking my son, Tom, into bed one night. I gave him a hug, and he said, “Dad, do you think that when Jesus comes again, I will be a little boy?”
I said, “Well, we don’t know when He’s going to come, so I don’t know if you will or not. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been thinking about the stories I’ve heard in Primary about how when Jesus was on the earth, He really liked children. He invited the children to come, and He held them. I think I would like that, so I hope I’ll still be a little boy when He comes.”
I gave Tom a hug and said, “I’m really glad that you feel that way about Jesus, Tom, because that’s how I feel about Him, too. And I hope that you don’t have to be a little child for Him to hold you, because I would like that, too.”

I’ve been praying for a miracle for months.
In September of 2019, I went in for sinus surgery, and there was an unexpected complication that made me lose function in one eye. I had emergency surgery to try to fix the damaged eye, and my surgeon felt confident that it would be completely healed within three months. I also received several priesthood blessings where, each time, I was promised a full recovery.
But those three months came and went, and nothing changed.
I’ve been promised healing. Multiple times. But I’ve had surgery dates fall through and other setbacks and disappointments, and my eye is still far from healed.
This experience has brought me months of mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical struggle. But every time I get another blessing, I’m always promised that I’ll be healed.
This got me thinking. What do we do when we’re waiting for miracles that don’t seem to be coming and when heaven seems silent? How can we move forward when we’re stuck in one of those in-between zones that life throws at us sometimes?
I’ve been chewing on this question for a while now, trying to make sense of my situation. I’ve also been thinking about all the miracles I’ve read about in the scriptures.
I studied all the times Jesus performed a miracle or healed someone during His ministry. And, to be honest, I was upset at first, because every single time someone was brought to Christ, He healed them immediately.
The woman with an issue of blood touches His robes, and instantly she’s healed. (See Mark 5.)
The man born blind asks for healing, so Christ tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. And in the moment he does, he’s healed. (See John 9.)
The leper seeks to be healed, and—in an instant—he’s completely cleansed. (See Matthew 8.)
Jairus’s daughter who has died is told to rise from the dead by the Savior, and she does. Right away! (See Mark 5.)
The man who is possessed is immediately set free when Christ calls out to him. (See Luke 4.)
This didn’t make any sense to me. All these miracles were instantaneous, so how come I was still waiting on mine? It seemed so unfair.
But after some pondering, the truth hit me: even though all these miracles were immediate, those who were healed had dealt with their hardships and sufferings for a long time beforehand.
The woman with the issue of blood suffered for 12 years and had exhausted all her emotional and financial resources before her miracle came.
The blind man knew nothing but blindness for his entire life before he was blessed with sight.
The leper suffered the terrifying onset of the leprosy and the pain of the disease, living as an outcast for who knows how long before he was healed.
Jairus’s daughter had suffered to the point of death before her miracle came.
The possessed man had been bound by the unclean spirits for some time before there was an opportunity for freedom.
This showed me that sometimes miracles don’t come right when the suffering begins. Each person had a journey with their pain and struggles before they were healed. And while some journeys were longer than others, the miracles of healing always came.
I wish I knew how long my journey with this trial will last, but maybe not knowing is the point. Challenges bring opportunities. We can choose to let our struggles shape us and mold us into the best version of ourselves. We can use this time of waiting to draw closer to the God who made us. We can connect and empathize with others in their suffering.
We always have a chance for good, growth, and development when we’re waiting on a miracle.
I hold on to hope and faith that my miracle of healing will come and that one day the promises I’ve received will be fulfilled. But in the meantime, I can be present in my journey with this pain. I can use this waiting time to become better, wiser, stronger, kinder, more patient, and more humble. I can deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Whatever miracle or promise you might be waiting for right now, no matter how long you’ve been waiting, don’t lose hope. Whatever Heavenly Father has promised you will come. But miracles come in His time and not our own. Don’t lose hope in Him. Don’t think heaven is silent. He is preparing the way for you. Focus on the present and do what you can do to move forward today in your journey. One step at a time. Keep holding on tight to hope as you wait for your miracle.
It will come.

Brenna was crying. She sat in a barber’s chair, hair pulled back, her ponytail just moments away from being cut off. The hairdresser holding the scissors was crying. Those watching the scene were also in tears.
Snip! Brenna’s long hair, which had taken years to grow out, was gone. Her ponytail would now become a gift, a donation to an organization called Locks of Love. It would be combined with other donated hair and made into wigs for children who had lost their hair because of cancer treatment or who suffer from alopecia, a permanent hair-loss condition.
Brenna Reaney is just one of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, Torrance California Stake, who donated hair. For Brenna, the sacrifice of her long hair represented something concrete she could do to help Jessica James, one of her friends from the ward. Jessica, 17, had been diagnosed with aplastic anemia, a life threatening illness that would require chemotherapy treatment. At first, the girls were upset that Jessica would lose her beautiful long hair. But after Jessica had a brain hemorrhage and sank into a coma, they quickly realized that they had not understood the full spectrum of what was important. As Peggy Kirts, a member of the ward, said, “It’s been a very helpless couple of months, with everyone wanting to help and not really knowing what to do or how to do it.”
The girls would visit Jessica in the hospital as she struggled to awaken from the coma and learn again to communicate. While there, they saw many little bald children in the same area of the hospital undergoing treatment. They read to Jessica and sat with her, but they felt that they wanted to do more.
Sister Kirts, a professional hairdresser, met a family who had come to her salon for haircuts. They were donating their hair as their family’s Christmas project. From them she got the information about donating hair and did a little research. A minimum of 10 inches of hair was needed, bound in a ponytail. Especially needed was fine, light colored hair that would be more appropriate for children’s wigs.
With some hesitation, Sister Kirts presented the idea to the girls in her ward. It wouldn’t help Jessica directly, but the donation of their hair would help other girls and boys. At first, the thought was stunning. Ten inches! That was so much. “They were petrified at first,” said Sister Kirts. “I didn’t want to pressure them. But later that day, the phone just started ringing. And, one at a time, the girls called and said, ‘I’m in.’ I couldn’t believe that they would do it.”
The word spread through the ward. Even two little girls from Primary joined the Young Women in donating their hair. The local newspaper and a television station covered the event because so many girls were donating their hair at the same time. And at Christmastime, people could not help but compare this event to O. Henry’s story “Gift of the Magi,” about a young couple who each gives up the thing they value most to buy a gift for the other. In the story, the young wife sells her long hair to buy a chain for her husband’s heirloom watch. He, in turn, sells the watch to buy combs for his wife’s beautiful hair.
After the young women’s story aired on the news and was printed in the newspaper, the salon offered to cut the hair of anyone who wanted to donate it. Dozens of people responded. “Teenagers have so much power for good or for bad,” said Sister Kirts. “For these people who came to donate their hair, their biggest reason was that if an 18-year-old girl can do this, I can too.”
Rachael Ward, another of the Young Women in the Redondo First Ward, was a little frightened to go back to school after Christmas vacation with her new short hair. “It was awful waiting for that day. Everyone noticed my hair, even people I didn’t know before. A lot of people looked at me differently. They said it made them realize that people really do good deeds for each other. It’s not just a story on television. That made me feel good.”
Rachael’s friend Brittanie Streetmaker also donated her hair. “I was nervous, but now whenever I look in the mirror, I think of a little girl who will be so happy to have a cute styled wig. My friends ask me if I miss my hair, and I say I do, but I don’t regret it for a second.”
Editor’s note: Jessica is home from the hospital. She still suffers from partial paralysis and is continuing treatment for aplastic anemia. She loves the way the girls sacrificed to help others.

My companion and I and four other missionaries were invited to go to Camp Pendleton, a nearby military base, for a special Christmas devotional for the military recruits. This was something very special for them because they were also away from home for Christmas. We had a devotional at which the speakers testified of Christ’s gospel, and we sang hymns.
I was the largest of the missionaries, so I got to play Santa and visit everyone. Even though they knew Santa was just a missionary, they played along and it lifted their spirits.
While the recruits were eating, we missionaries did our job. Each of us had a discussion with about 10 recruits. All six missionaries had recruits who said they would like to join the Church.
Our Christmas day was “white” when three young men joined Christ’s fold. The Lord had blessed us with the perfect Christmas!
Tyler Powell served in the California Carlsbad Mission; he is a member of the Lindon 14th Ward, Lindon Utah West Stake.

In California, USA, Lori Larson had her March Ensign with her at the beauty salon and was enthralled with it. She kept thinking of how the articles would be great to share with someone of another faith and how they would clear up misconceptions about the Church. Then her beautician asked about the magazine she was reading. By the time the appointment and the conversation were over, the beautician was asking for the missionaries to visit her.

An older brother, Chris, had previously been baptized, but the rest of the family did not follow. While serving a mission, Chris requested that the elders back home visit Bien, who was taught and soon accepted baptism. But as Bien started high school, other pursuits—including a new group of friends—made church seem less attractive.

“My brother could not force me to go,” says Bien, “and I resisted attempts to reactivate me.” But despite good grades and many friends, Bien felt empty and aimless at times. He remembered how happy people at church were, and he finally decided to return.
After graduating with honors from high school, Bien studied political science at the Christian College of the Philippines. “We were talking in class about earthquakes,” Bien remembers, “laughing about getting caught in one.” Suddenly, the whole classroom swayed. It was an earthquake.
Terrified, everyone scrambled to escape. The building was dancing madly. Just as Bien was about to dash to safety through an open door, he was pinned by an avalanche of concrete.
“A broken chair jabbed at my stomach, one of my legs was in a half-kneeling posture, and I was face-down,” he remembers. His fractured right arm bled profusely under a block of collapsed flooring. Yet, incredibly, a huge chunk of fallen concrete had barely missed his head. “Classmates were crying for help, but I couldn’t budge,” Bien recalls. One by one they died, including three lying on Bien. The quake struck in late afternoon, and by evening it was pitch dark. Everything was silent.
“I cried,” Bien admits. But as he wept, a Primary song crossed his mind. He started singing “I Am a Child of God.” As each word pierced the silence, a feeling of peace came, a feeling that he was no longer alone. “I prayed, saying, ‘Father, if I still need to live, then please let me live.’” As he prayed, Bien remembered the Savior. “He suffered a lot more than I did,” Bien realized. The cave-in became a tremendous spiritual experience.
As the sun rose the following morning, so did Bien’s hopes. Rescue workers pried him from the rubble and carried him to safety. His relieved family was notified. Bien was rushed to a hospital. Doctors immediately amputated his right arm. “I woke up, looked at my right side and cried out, ‘What’s happening here?’ I thought I was dreaming.” Shock turned to sorrow. “I felt so lonely because I might not be able to do what I used to do.”
After three bedridden months, Bien went home. Nearly all of his 50 classmates had perished. It seemed the same thing happened to Bien’s will to live. How could he, a right-handed person, manage with just his left arm?
While tutoring his nephews one day, Bien felt prompted to practice writing the alphabet. At first it was pure frustration. “My mind knew the shapes, but my hand had difficulty following.” However, practice makes perfect; less than a year after that fateful day, Bien was not only writing with ease, but was also oil painting again. And he resumed college.
After a year, he felt it was time to make use of his newfound strength and serve a mission. His family was aghast. “We’d really worry about you,” his mother protested.
“I know this is what the Lord wants,” Bien reassured her.
Months later, as a missionary, Bien received a family letter. “Don’t worry about us,” they wrote. “We’re boasting about you already.”
Bien’s personality affects just about everybody. At the Manila Missionary Training Center he was an inspiration, and his dedication has touched the Santa Maria Branch. But Bien admits there are still some challenges, like forgoing basketball and missing service projects like harvesting rice.
One of Bien’s favorite scriptures says God “will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will … also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13). It’s a scripture that helps Bien see everything as a learning experience.
Mission life, he says, “is like a school where I learn much, not only about the gospel but also about myself.” He hastens to add that it was in the rubble of another school where he learned to trust Heavenly Father.
Ask Bien to sum up his blessings, and he’ll share his motto: “I asked God for health that I might do great things, and I was given an infirmity that I might do greater things.”

Then he’ll smile and extend his friendship to you—with a warm, left-handed handshake.

I learned a lesson about honesty when I was quite young. Mother had put some money for a dozen eggs on the kitchen table. I took the money and told a friend that I had found it. We went to the store and bought candy. When Mother asked if I had taken the money, I lied. She believed me, but I had an awful feeling. I didn’t ever want that feeling again, so that experience has made it easier for me to be honest ever since.