Gospel Story Finder

As a young girl, Elaine Schwartz Dalton found great joy in dancing. But as a young mother with six children, she found that dancing seemed impractical, so she started running as a way to enjoy movement each day. At first she would run 10 steps and then walk 10 steps until she could run a mile. Since that modest start, she has run 18 marathons.
“Running gives me a time to be still in my mind and contemplate life,” says Sister Dalton. It’s one hour when she can think about the scriptures she has just read.

I would like to read a little statement here that I published in the book I wrote. It is taken from a pamphlet entitled The Strength of the ‘Mormon’ Position (Orson F. Whitney, Independence, Mo.: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1917). The late Elder Orson F. Whitney of the Council of the Twelve Apostles related the following incident under the heading, “A Catholic Utterance”:
“Many years ago a learned man, a member of the Roman Catholic Church, came to Utah and spoke from the stand of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I became well acquainted with him, and we conversed freely and frankly. A great scholar, with perhaps a dozen languages at his tongue’s end, he seemed to know all about theology, law, literature, science and philosophy. One day he said to me: ‘You Mormons are all ignoramuses. You don’t even know the strength of your own position. It is so strong that there is only one other tenable in the whole Christian world, and that is the position of the Catholic Church. The issue is between Catholicism and Mormonism. If we are right, you are wrong; if you are right, we are wrong; and that’s all there is to it. The Protestants haven’t a leg to stand on. For if we are wrong, they are wrong with us, since they were a part of us and went out from us; while if we are right, they are apostates whom we cut off long ago. If we have the apostolic succession from St. Peter, as we claim, there is no need of Joseph Smith and Mormonism; but if we have not that succession, then such a man as Joseph Smith was necessary, and Mormonism’s attitude is the only consistent one. It is either the perpetuation of the gospel from ancient times, or the restoration of the gospel in latter days.’” (A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, LeGrand Richards, Deseret Book Co., 1958, pp. 3–4.)

What I didn’t mention during this address was that I knew this promise was true because I was in the midst of completing this very same assignment myself for the first time.
On December 1, 2016, I obtained a new set of scriptures and proceeded to begin the same assignment that I would later extend to young adults in January. When I finished the assignment six weeks later, I had looked up and marked more than 2,200 citations from the four books of scripture.1
For me, to be able to accomplish this assignment was just thrilling!
Something I found to be most insightful was that the Savior was telling us about Himself through these various periods of time—Old Testament, New Testament, the Restoration period, and our day. In all books of scripture, the story is the same and the Storyteller is the same.
I have devoted much of my 93 years to learning about the Savior, but rare are the occasions when I have been able to learn as much as I did over this six-week study period. In fact, I learned so much about Him from this study that I am planning to share much of it in other upcoming addresses that I am currently preparing.2
Upon beginning this assignment, I didn’t expect that this study would help me to receive a new testimony of the divinity of the work of Joseph Smith—but it did! The revelations recorded by Joseph Smith and the insights found in the Bible are amazingly consistent. It was so enlightening for me to see this in my study.
Joseph Smith wouldn’t have possibly had time to correlate and cross-reference with the Bible at the rapid rate at which he was translating the Book of Mormon—but it’s all here!
So not only do I now have a greater testimony of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but I also have a reaffirmation of my absolute conviction that the system Joseph Smith had for translating the Book of Mormon was a gift from God.
I know how you feel. I thought the same thing of myself—that there’s no way I can have time to do all of this. I needed to remind myself that a comment like this is not a faith-promoted comment. A faith-promoted comment would be “I know I don’t have time for this, but I’m going to make time for it. And I’ll fulfill it with what time I have.”
Each of us who takes this challenge will finish in our own time frames. For me, much of the joy of this came from getting it all done in just six weeks. This intense study over a relatively short period of time allowed me to appreciate the complementary nature of the learnings to be found in the Old Testament, the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and the Doctrine and Covenants.
To those of you who feel you don’t have time, if you will make a sacrifice, you will be well rewarded and very, very grateful for the change of perspective, increased knowledge, and improved depth of your conversion. I know this is true because I have seen the same rewards in my own life.

I’ve had a profound hearing loss most of my life and can only understand about 20 percent of what is said at the pulpit during most Church meetings. Occasionally, my deafness makes me feel alone and separate, such as when the congregation laughs at a speaker’s humorous remark but I don’t because I didn’t hear it. And I was not the only one. Older ward members confided to me they also had difficulty hearing.
Sometimes, after struggling to understand a soft-spoken speaker in sacrament meeting or when a Sunday School teacher declares there’s no need to use the microphone because everyone can hear, I wonder why I even go to church when I can hear so little. Wouldn’t my time be better spent at home reading the Come, Follow Me lessons or studying the scriptures?
Still, I wanted to be obedient and continued to attend with my family to renew my baptismal covenants and remember the Savior by partaking of the sacrament. It was always a blessing to feel the Spirit, and I always felt edified by those things I could hear.
One Sunday the high councilor who spoke in sacrament meeting had one of those clear, projecting voices that made it easier to hear. He discussed the New Testament story about the woman who suffered from an issue of blood for 12 years and had faith that she could be healed if she could but reach out and touch Jesus’s robe as He walked by (see Luke 8:43–48).
The speaker then offered a poignant insight that struck me deeply, explaining that because of her condition, this woman would have been considered unclean and most likely would not have been allowed to attend church. For 12 years!
The ramifications of this took my breath away. Although sick, this woman was probably not so unwell that she couldn’t attend church, at least occasionally. But because of the social mores of the times, she was not allowed to attend. What a dreadful trial for a person of faith!
As I pondered the heartache she must have felt at being prohibited from worshipping God with fellow believers because of her physical condition—something over which she had no control—the Spirit opened my eyes to how her situation compared with my own. I was given to understand that although I could not be a full participant, at least I had the privilege of attending church and hearing what I could. This woman had no such choice. I felt ashamed for the times I had briefly considered staying home.
Instantly, God spoke to my heart, letting me know that He didn’t want me to feel guilty. He wanted me to feel grateful—grateful for the privilege of attending church and being strengthened by associating with faithful disciples of Christ. Although I couldn’t hear everything, I could understand some things—and each one blessed my life. There were also special moments when the Spirit helped me understand those things I could not hear.
I felt grateful for the freedom to worship God and enjoy the blessings of going to His house. The Spirit testified to me that it was far, far better for me to be at Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, and learn what I could than not to attend at all.
That day my attitude changed. Instead of feeling downcast at my limitations, peace filled my heart, and I resolved to focus on the blessings of church attendance. I resolved to make a sincere effort to be thankful for what I could hear instead of being discouraged over what I couldn’t.

At age 14, I was assigned as the junior home teaching companion to Marty Klein, who was the librarian at my school. Marty was a Jewish convert from New York, who joined the church with his wife, Mary Ellen after visiting the church exhibit at the New York World’s Fair in 1964.
The Kleins moved to Arizona so Marty could get his Master's degree at Arizona State. I loved home teaching with Brother Klein because he drove a big Lincoln El Dorado, which had air conditioning. Neither my home nor our family cars had air conditioning. So Marty would let me turn all the vents towards me as he drove and I would crank the air on full blast. If you’ve ever been to Arizona in August, you will appreciate what I just told you.
One night we visited a single mother in our ward who lived in an apartment complex. I’ll call her Sister Smith. When she opened the door, it was clear she had been crying. She invited us in and asked to speak to Marty alone in the kitchen, so I played with her young children in the family room and watched TV. After an hour they both came to the living room. Sister Smith turned off the TV and Marty asked me to give a closing prayer. As we quietly walked to the car, Marty informed me that Sister Smith had requested that her name be removed from the records of the church. He asked me if I understood what that meant. I didn’t. So Marty explained. Then Marty asked me if I was familiar with the word “confidential.’ I said “no.” Marty explained that confidential meant a secret, and what he had just told me would be kept between us, Sister Smith, the bishop and the Lord. For the foreseeable future, Sister Smith’s only contact with the church would be our monthly visits. So he asked me if I would be responsible to make our monthly appointment with Sister Smith, who was willing to accept our visits. It seemed a monumental task in light of her new circumstances. Words can’t describe how Marty Klein empowered me that night in my mid-teens to keep something confidential and with a sacred assignment of making a monthly appointment with this dear sister, whose only contact with the church would be our visits. For the next two years, I called her every month, she accepted our appointments, and we saw her regularly.
I don't know what happened to Sister Smith, but here is a postscript on Marty Klein: 40 years had lapsed and I often wondered if Marty was still alive, and if so, where. I found Marty and Mary Ellen retired and living comfortably in Port St. Lucie, Florida. Sadly, I also learned the Kleins had left the church 20 years ago. I flew to Florida to see the Kleins for a weekend. We attended a spring training baseball game. I told the Kleins I’d treat them to their favorite restaurant. They took me to the Golden Corral. I flew home on a Sunday afternoon, so I asked the Kleins if they would forget whatever happened or whoever offended them for a day and accompany me to the sacrament meeting at Ft Pierce Ward. They agreed. In tears, I told Marty how grateful I am that he saved me as a kid when my dad was not active in the Church. But I was heartbroken he and Mary Ellen were estranged from the Restored Gospel. I introduced them to their bishop.
And guess what? The Kleins went back to Church and when Marty died a couple of years ago, he and Mary Ellen had ward callings and temple recommends. We saved each other when one was weak and vulnerable at different times in our lives. It reminds me of this charge from the Doctrine and Covenants: “And if any man among you be ???strong? in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is ???weak?, that he may be ???edified? in all ???meekness?, that he may become strong also.” (D&C 84:106)

When I was a bishop, a faithful brother asked me to come to his home. When I arrived there, I found him to be in utter despair. The cause of his anguish was that his car had broken down. Its engine had seized while his family was returning home from stake conference. In hindsight it probably seems petty, but at that moment it was a big deal—the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. He could not fathom why this would happen to him when he was trying so hard to do everything right. With a modest income he could not see how he could repair the vehicle or survive without it.
Despairing situations in the scriptures came to my mind. I remembered Joseph Smith’s desperate plea from Liberty Jail:
“O God, where art thou? . . .
“How long shall thy hand be stayed?”1
And the Lord’s reply:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; . . . thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“Thy friends do stand by thee . . .
“Thou art not yet as Job”.2
Job was a righteous man beset with so many afflictions that he had cause to wonder if he should have even been born.
This faithful brother and I talked about Joseph and Job and decided he had not been deserted by his friends. I asked him who his friends were. He named a few and they were all members of his priesthood quorum. I suggested that they could help and resolved to approach them. Of course, his friends were very willing and grateful to assist. They knew where to source a reconditioned engine, how to install the replacement engine, and they quietly contributed the required funds. The problem was solved. Discouragement and despair were replaced by resolve and hope.

It was the day before a missionary conference for the Castile-La Mancha Zone in the Spain Madrid Mission. The mission president, Richard H. Winkel, spent the entire day organizing the conference program with his wife and two assistants, Elder Borchert and Elder Allen. So that nothing would detract from the spirit of the conference, they carefully planned each detail, including the schedule, the speakers, the hymns, and the special musical numbers. They also saw to temporal matters, such as preparing food for the missionaries’ lunch, which they planned to serve after the conference. Twenty-six missionaries were expected to attend.
On the day of the conference, which happened to be a holiday in Spain, everything went as planned. The meetings were very inspiring, and the missionaries’ testimonies of the work increased.
However, when President and Sister Winkel began to prepare lunch, they found that in spite of all the care they had taken, they had forgotten to bring the bread for the sandwiches! President Winkel did not want the missionaries to leave the conference hungry, so he gave his assistants a 5,000 peseta note and sent them to buy 26 rolls for the sandwiches.
Once outside, Elder Borchert and Elder Allen happened to find 100 pesetas on the ground (something that had never happened before in their almost two years in Spain). The elders had no way to locate the owner or return the money, so they set out with 5,100 pesetas to buy the rolls.
The two missionaries soon realized that because it was a holiday, all the grocery stores were closed. So they decided to buy bread from one of the many pubs on the main street of the city. They entered the first pub they saw and asked for 26 rolls. The owner told them he could spare only one roll. The elders bought the roll for 60 pesetas—and with 5,040 pesetas left, they headed for the next pub.
In the second pub, as in the first, the owner could sell only one roll. His price was 50 pesetas. The elders put all their money—the 40 pesetas and the 5,000 peseta note—on the counter. The owner did not have change for a 5,000 peseta note, so he let them take the roll for 40 pesetas.
With 5,000 pesetas and two rolls, the missionaries headed for the third pub and asked for 24 rolls. They placed their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. The owner of the establishment could sell them only one roll for 50 pesetas. But because he did not have any change, he allowed the missionaries to take it for free.
The elders entered the fourth pub with three rolls and 5,000 pesetas and asked for 23 rolls, again putting their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. Again the owner could let them have only one roll for 50 pesetas. And once again, because he did not have change for 5,000 pesetas, he let the missionaries take the roll for free.
The elders entered the fifth pub with four rolls and 5,000 pesetas. They asked for 22 rolls and put their 5,000 pesetas on the counter. The owner could sell only one roll for 50 pesetas, but because he did not have change for 5,000 pesetas, he permitted the missionaries to take one roll for free.
And so it continued. Some time later the missionaries returned to the meetinghouse with 26 rolls and the 5,000 peseta note they had when they left.
The experience reminded the missionaries of the time the Savior refused to let the multitude, who had gone three days without food, leave without sustenance. Jesus told His Apostles, “I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.” On that occasion, through the Savior’s power, “they did all eat, and were filled.” (See Matt. 15:32–38.)
This modern parallel cannot be compared in magnitude or power to the miracle of the loaves and fishes. But for a group of missionaries in Spain it was enough to remind them that, today as in ancient times, the Lord is aware of His disciples’ needs and will bless them with what they lack.

Another great Elias is Moses Mahlangu, a preacher from Soweto, South Africa who found a copy of the Book of Mormon. Because the bottom of the title page was torn off he did not know what church had published it.

As he read the book, he was filled with light and understanding. He said: "I had desires to find God and to receive revelation, but I was never satisfied until I got the Book of Mormon." Fluent in nine languages, Moses taught from the Book of Mormon and had gathered many followers before he learned the name of the Church and made contact with the mission headquarters in Johannesburg. For over fourteen years he waited, preparing himself and others for baptism. During this time he frequently visited the mission president and obtained copies of the Book of Mormon and other literature, and I was therefore privileged to know him. Soon after the revelation was announced, I sought out Moses. As we embraced I asked him if he had heard about the revelation. He said, "Yes. Does this mean that I can now be baptized?" I asked, "Moses, would you like to be baptized?" His eyes welled with tears as he said softly, "I have waited for fourteen years."

I conducted a baptismal interview that I shall never forget. To every question, I received the same answer: "I have been keeping that commandment for fourteen years."

I was deeply humbled in the presence of this great pioneer. His son, who as a boy accompanied Moses in his ministry, later served as Moses' Bishop in the Soweto ward, near Johannesburg.

Earlier in the week, we had been together in Kinshasa for an amazing young adult meeting, which filled every room in the stake center and overflowed into a large outdoor seating area. The questions were excellent and the teaching so inspired. I was sitting off to one side when—during the second hour of the meeting—Elder Bednar came over and quietly whispered for me to go into one of the other rooms where young adults were watching by broadcast, and ask if anyone had a question they would like to ask Elder Bednar. I entered one of the rooms where they were reverently watching, and as I began to ask if anyone had a question, they pointed to a bishop who was walking up to me and who then handed me half a dozen pages of questions he had already collected from all the rooms. I was astonished and asked why he did that (knowing no one had told him to do so). He simply said he knew we would be coming and felt it was the right thing to do. The Lord is in charge and through His Spirit clearly orchestrated all aspects of that extraordinary experience with thousands of excited young adults so anxious to see and learn from an Apostle of the Lord.

I am one of 11 children. As I grew up, my parents taught us the principles of the gospel in our home. We worked hard milking cows, feeding chickens, moving sprinkler pipe, and taking care of animals. Summers were spent planting, weeding, harvesting, and preserving fruits and vegetables. We were active in church, school, and sports. There was never enough time to get everything done. But our parents always insisted on us waking up early each morning for family scripture study and prayers before we went our separate ways. Through the years, I felt that feeling of warmth and love reminding me who I was and that everything would be all right.

As a young Primary girl, I worked diligently to cross-stitch a simple saying which read, “I will bring the light of the gospel into my home.” One weekday afternoon as we girls pulled our needles up and down through the fabric, our teacher told us the story of a girl who lived on a hill on one side of a valley. Each late afternoon she noticed on the hill on the opposite side of the valley a house that had shining, golden windows. Her own home was small and somewhat shabby, and the girl dreamed of living in that beautiful house with windows of gold.
One day the girl was given permission to ride her bike across the valley. She eagerly rode until she reached the house with the golden windows that she had admired for so long. But when she dismounted from her bike, she saw that the house was abandoned and dilapidated, with tall weeds in the yard and windows that were plain and dirty. Sadly, the girl turned her face toward home. To her surprise, she saw a house with shining, golden windows on the hill across the valley and soon realized it was her very own home!

Over a hundred and eight years ago, some parents in Farmington, Utah, were worried about their children. They wondered how they could help them understand the gospel so that they would live happier lives.
Bishop John Hess was concerned about some of the children in his ward who were staying out late at night, and some who were behaving rowdy. He called a meeting of the mothers in the ward and talked about the importance of guiding the minds of young children.
Sister Aurelia Spencer Rogers was one of the mothers in the Farmington Ward. Aurelia loved children and wanted them to live the gospel. She thought about the things Bishop Hess had said.
Sister Rogers recorded in her journal: “I had reflected seriously upon the necessity of more strict discipline for our little boys. … What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … I had children of my own, and was just as anxious as a mother could be to have them brought up properly. But what was to be done? It needed the united effort of the parents.”
One day Eliza R. Snow, the General President of the Relief Society, had been to a conference in Farmington. The train back to Salt Lake was not due for some time, so Sister Snow decided to visit her friend Aurelia.
Sister Snow had no children of her own, but she had a great interest in them. She was a poet and a teacher and had written songs and stories for little children. She was pleased with Sister Rogers’s idea about an organization for little boys where they could be taught everything good, and how to behave. Sister Snow agreed to discuss the matter with the First Presidency, who later gave approval. A letter was written to Bishop Hess, asking for his permission to organize the children in his ward.
After Bishop Hess received the letter from Sister Snow, he talked with Sister Rogers and asked if she would be willing to preside over an organization of the children. Sister Rogers said: “I felt willing, but very incompetent. From that time my mind was busy thinking how it was to be managed … As singing was necessary, it needed the voices of little girls as well as boys to make it sound as well as it should.” Sister Snow agreed with Sister Rogers. “‘We must have the girls as well as the boys—they must be trained together.’” She suggested that the organization be called “Primary.”
On August 11, 1878, Bishop Hess set apart Sister Rogers and her two counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller. He suggested that they visit every home in the ward during the next two weeks, which they did. They took the names and ages of two hundred twenty-four children and invited them to the first meeting.
The first Primary meeting was held on Sunday, August 25, 1878, in the rock chapel in Farmington.
Sister Rogers said, “Imagine our feelings as we stood before an audience of children who had come there to receive instructions from us. We were very weak indeed, but felt to lean upon the Lord.”
The meeting began with prayer; then the children were given instructions and taught to sing.
The children were asked to “see how much they could do for their fathers and mothers without grumbling.”
Children were also asked to not quarrel with brothers and sisters. Little boys were instructed to not go into orchards and melon patches that weren’t their own, and little girls were told to not hang on to wagons, a practice not only wrong but dangerous.
The reason for Primary is still the same: to help every child learn how to be happy by living the gospel of Jesus Christ. As we radiate the light of the gospel, the world will see how happy we are and want to live the teachings of Jesus too.
Happy birthday, Primary! We are glad to celebrate with eight hundred seventy-five thousand boys and girls everywhere.

I remember another example my father set for the community as the local stake president. He always tried to keep our home and yard clean and neat. It just had to be that way. Once an old cowpuncher who lived in Safford—when I was called to Salt Lake to be an Apostle—came in to see me and said, “Well, Spencer, you know, I always used to pass your place as we went to meetings, and if it was clean, then I knew conference was on. If it wasn’t clean, it was something else.”

As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.

The most unique answer you have to give is your testimony about an issue. When you know a thing, say, “I know,” not necessarily, “I bear you my testimony,” though that has its place. And never say, “I know,” unless you do. When you speak the truth, the Holy Ghost will confirm your words to those who are pure in heart. Then they will feel the truth as well as hear it. This is such a sweet, lifting, convincing experience. Once, on our mission, we were teaching a wonderful, young family. We were giving the lesson that explains the mission of the Savior. I always loved to give that lesson because the Spirit was usually strong in verifying our testimonies.

The young father asked at the beginning, “How can we know that what you’re telling us is true? It all sounds so good, but how can we be sure?” We explained, as best we could, how the witness of the Holy Ghost feels—a burning in the bosom, a peaceful, right feeling; an ‘aha’ experience, like “I-seem-to-have-known-that-all-along.” Then we proceeded to teach of the Savior’s mission and its application in our lives.

When it came my turn to tell them how I felt about Jesus, the Spirit was strong and unmistakable. I could see that they felt it, too. I realized then, and have known ever since, that such a witness is essential to bring complete understanding. No amount of logical argument can equal that beautiful moment of recognition that the Spirit alone can bring.

After I had been married for a few years and just before I finished my master’s degree at BYU, the Lord blessed us with a child. Everything seemed normal with the pregnancy, until I delivered. Thankfully my son was just fine, but I nearly bled to death during the birth and then again six weeks later. It turns out I have a condition called Asherman’s syndrome, which causes excessive growth of scar tissue in my womb. As a consequence, when I get pregnant, the baby’s placenta grows lobes in and around scar tissue, resembling more of an octopus than the nice round organ that it is supposed to be. It also makes delivering the placenta extremely difficult. However, we did not learn this at the time, and after an emergency ­dilation and curettage procedure, I thought all was well.

Upon becoming pregnant with our second child during my PhD program at Arizona State University, signs began to indicate that all was not well. After a frantic drive to the emergency room in the middle of the night because I had awoken in a pool of blood, we found out that our precious baby had implanted right at the opening of the cervix—a condition called placenta previa—­having nowhere else to go due to scar tissue. After six more months of hospital visits, scares of losing the baby, and being driven around in a disabilities cart to all my classes at ASU, I delivered a second healthy baby boy. And, once again, I nearly bled to death, this time quite significantly, to the point of having some serious complications and needing blood transfusions. It was then that I discovered my problem and was told that I would likely not be able to have any more children.

Now I had two beautiful boys, and I certainly felt blessed beyond measure, but I had always had it in my mind that I would have a bigger family, and this news was devastating.

At this point I had two problems to fix—two puzzles to solve—and I needed two solutions:
1. My soul had been injured. I longed for more children and my heart ached. How would I heal my soul?
2. My body was broken. How would I heal my body?

I know that the Lord can do all things. He could remove my trials from me and grant me a miraculous healing, without me lifting a finger. But I can tell you with fervent belief that my trials have a purpose; they have made me stronger and more empathetic. I am grateful for my trials. As the Lord explained to Joseph Smith:

If fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and . . . if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good. [D&C 122:7]

So I needed this trial, and the Lord had a plan. I could have just sat back and prayed, putting all responsibility on God, and waited for Him to bestow a miracle upon me. Instead I went and searched diligently “out of the best books” (D&C 109:7), learned all that I could learn, and sought the guidance of the medical community in helping me navigate these uncharted waters—all with a prayer continually in my heart that God would help me bring my own miracle to pass.

After finding a world-renowned surgeon who specialized in Asherman’s syndrome, my husband and I headed to California for several surgeries, long agonizing nights in hotels with me sick from pain medications, and complicated recoveries.

But a year later I brought my son Gage into the world, and after another round of surgeries, I brought my fourth son, Emmitt, into the world four years later. I have been greatly blessed. So many women with this condition never have children at all, and I feel deep sorrow and sympathy for their plight. For whatever reason, the Lord saw fit to bless me with a miracle. But that miracle came about through the angels who work in medicine and the healing of my soul through much prayer and supplication. I am grateful that I can have both at work in my life.

When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that just because I cried and admitted I needed help, it did not make me weak. She was taking care of me when I should have taken care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

The other week was my little brother Gabriel’s birthday. He would have been seven, but he had cerebral palsy and passed away two years ago. In Primary we sang “Gethsemane.” The words were clear and meaningful. It filled the room with the Spirit.
After the song, Sister Webster bore her testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It filled the room even more with the Spirit. Then she talked about how her brother had died several years ago. It made me think of Gabriel, and I almost started crying. I thought about when I held Gabe for the last time. I was sad, but I also felt peace.
Sister Webster talked about how she was so glad to know that she would see her brother again. She said she knew all of us would see our loved ones who had passed on.
After Primary I gave Sister Webster a hug. We cried together for a few minutes. The Spirit was so strong. She told me that I would see my little brother again. She said the Atonement of Jesus Christ was not only for the wicked but also for the hurt. She asked what I missed the most about Gabe, and I said that I really missed his laugh.
I told Sister Webster that I had been sad because it was Gabriel’s birthday that week and I really needed to know that I would see my brother again. She told me that the tears that we were crying were tears of joy. I could feel the Spirit, and I knew what she said was true. I am sure that I will see Gabriel again, and that makes me so happy. I love him. I know that because Jesus Christ loves me, He gave His life so that I can see Gabriel again.

In Australia, when players turn 20, they are old enough to play professionally in an adult league. Even when Will was 18, offers came in left and right. He was a prime recruit. One team offered him a contract worth 1.5 million Australian dollars—an offer not made often to players his age. But that wasn’t what Will saw in his immediate future. Will had decided to serve a mission.
When Will had to announce whether he was going to serve a mission or accept a rugby league contract, the decision was easy for him. “I set a mission in my mind and heart while I was in my youth, and I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the worldly desires take over me,” he says.
The world may ask, What about the money? the contracts? getting to play rugby professionally—his lifelong dream? How would his life have been different had he accepted a professional contract? “It would have helped out my family financially. It would have set my future as well for the next few years,” he admits.
So why didn’t he accept the offer? “A mission is something the Lord requires of me, of young males in the Church,” he says. “It’s a way to say thanks to the Lord for everything He has done for me in my 19 years here on earth. And at the end of the day, I don’t think I would have been as happy if I had stayed. I made the choice to serve a mission because footy will always be there.”

Hamilton (Montana) Ward
Last June, 46 young men and women of the Hamilton Ward made a trip to the Cardston Alberta Temple to do baptisms for the dead. It was the largest youth temple turnout in ward history. On their way to the temple, they stopped at Glacier National Park, and in Cardston they visited the Remington-Alberta Carriage Centre, home to the largest collection of horse-drawn vehicles in North America.
But the real reason for the trip was the temple. The youth performed more than 300 baptisms for the dead, with all the names prepared for temple ordinances and provided by Hamilton Ward members.
In the several months leading up to the trip, the ward held classes and activities to assist the youth in learning about family history.