Gospel Story Finder

Seven years ago, our son Daniel died by suicide.
The day of his death, we didn’t know where he was. We called all his friends, hospitals, and the police, but nobody had seen him. Daniel had been struggling with depression and suicide ideation for five years, so my wife and I had a feeling about what might have happened. Finally, my wife, Celi, got hold of his roommates, who found him in his room.
I think that losing a child might be the worst thing to happen to a parent. And nothing can take away that pain, but the people around you can do much to help you through your grief. During that horrible time, we did not lack for family, friends, or help. From the very first night we found out he was gone, people reached out. Our neighbors, Daniel’s friends, and our Church leaders came over. Relief Society sisters brought meals, and anonymous donors contributed enough for our needs.
Our bishop later told us that many people had wanted to help but didn’t know how. And so they asked him, “What can we do for the Hunts?”
It hasn’t happened often, but sometimes when people hear about Daniel, they don’t know what to say or how to treat us. I think it’s like when we don’t know how to approach someone who speaks a different language. We don’t know what to say or worry about saying the wrong thing, so instead we just don’t talk to them. But please reach out. Loss is lonely and can be isolating. The fact that we were surrounded by so many who did reach out made all the difference.
One thing we appreciated was how many stories we heard about our son. We do not worry for Daniel. We know what kind of kid he was. We know he was sick, and we know that “the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). And Daniel had a big heart. We know that. But to hear people tell their own stories about Daniel was wonderful.
Nate Olsen was one of Daniel’s friends. They had been buddies since first grade. When Nate had to come home early from his mission for medical reasons, Daniel immediately invited him to lunch. Nate told us how Daniel had been there to listen, love, and encourage—in a time when Nate felt lost and alone. As Nate said, Dan was the kind of person who truly cared about people.
It’s important to be the person you are and to admit you’re human. Sometimes we need to ask for help, to reach out—even when we’re the ones hurting. We can let others in and let them see who we are.
Seven years later, it’s still hard. Sometimes Celi will suddenly start crying, saying, “I miss my baby. I miss my baby.” But she has expressed that she has had comfort through those times—spiritual comfort. Spiritual comfort is perfect communication. Seeking spiritual comfort is the best way to feel perfectly included. And this spiritual comfort includes the human angels who feel inspired to come and help.
Sheri L. Dew, former Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, once shared a story about a General Authority who asked how to tell if someone is a true follower of Jesus Christ. The answer confused me at first, but now I fully agree: “The way you can tell if someone is truly converted to Jesus Christ is by how that person treats others.”1 The Christlike way to treat others is with respect, love, and compassion—no matter who we are or what we’re going through.

Of course, love conquers fear not just in missionary work but in all aspects of life. When young Gordon B. Hinckley and Marjorie Pay were engaged to be married, Gordon began to worry about the economic realities of marriage during the depression-ridden 1930s. He called his fiancée and said they needed to talk. They agreed to meet over lunch.

“I think you should know,” he told her, “that I only have $150 to my name.” He added that he only made $185 a month.

Marjorie put his fears to rest with her unexpected, optimistic response: “Oh, that will work out just fine; if you’ve got $150, we’re set!”

Reflecting on her thoughts that day, Marjorie said, “I had hoped for a husband and now I was getting $150 too!” Sister Hinckley’s love and faith empowered her to “fear not” as they started their lives together—a marriage that would become nearly seven decades of love and faith and service.

There is someone else at school counting on Michelle to do what’s right. Her younger sister, Melissa, 15, also attends Manzanilla High, and she has seen what her big sister’s example can do.
“It helps me to have a sister who stands up for what she believes,” Melissa says. “It makes it easier for me to do what’s right.” They see each other during the day and talk about how they’re getting along, and that helps both of them to stay strong.
“For example,” Michelle recalls, “one day some other girls were making fun of Melissa, saying unkind things about our nationality.” At lunch they talked it over, and Michelle was able to reassure Melissa, reminding her that she is a daughter of God with divine nature and of infinite worth. “That helped me feel better,” Melissa says. “It helped me remember who I am.”

I know this is true. When I attended college, like you, I was having one of those "bad hair" weeks. It was a Lemony Snicket, Series of Unfortunate Events moment in my life. The events weren't major problems or setbacks like Joseph's, but they seemed major at the time. While attending BYU in Provo, I worked with the BYU Student Association (BYUSA) and applied to be one of the vice presidents, but the selection committee chose someone else. I walked home from campus discouraged but thought, "That's okay; I applied to be an EFY counselor." As I walked in the door to my apartment, I saw on the kitchen table a letter from EFY. I tore it open with eagerness. My heart pounded with excitement. However, the excitement quickly turned to sadness as I read the part that said my request was declined.

Now, this was the same time period that I called a girl named Myra Mains to set up a blind date. I got her phone number from the girl I home taught. The girl I home taught asked me what I perceived as the perfect girl to marry. After I described this "perfect" girl, she replied, "No way; I totally have the girl for you." She then described this friend of hers. The description almost matched perfectly the description I gave. This was truly a match made in heaven. "Wow!" I thought. This was my dream girl. What I didn't know was that I was about to be duped.

She gave me the girl's phone number, and I called the next day. I was surprised, however, when on the other end of the line I heard, "Berg Mortuary."
Confused, I said, "Uh, I'm looking for someone who apparently works there. Is Myra Mains there?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Excuse me, is Myra Mains there?"
"Sir, is this some kind of a joke?"
"No, this is the number I was given. I was careful to dial it correctly. So Myra Mains isn't there?"
She was silent again, then chuckled, "Sir, you don't get it, do you?" And you know what, I didn't. I know what you're thinking: "He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer." (Believe me, no one is more aware of that then I.)

"Sir," she said, "think about it!" Then she said slowly, "This is a mortuary, sir. 'Is my remains there?' Do you get it now?"

Humbled and embarrassed, I said, "Yeah, I get it."

Well, this is the kind of week I was having when I came home and opened that EFY letter. After I set the letter down, I saw a hand mirror sitting on the table. I could tell by the opened package next to it, it was something my roommate Miglosh ordered through the mail. He would order lots of things. It seemed odd he would order a hand mirror. Intrigued, I picked up the mirror. (Remember, I feel like I'm at the bottom of the food chain.) No sooner than I caught my reflection in the mirror, it started laughing at me. Seriously! It was one of those gag mirrors with a built-in speaker that projected an obnoxious cackle right about the time you picked it up and saw your reflection.

My misfortunes, my defeats pale in comparison to Joseph's. But that is part of the point in sharing them with you. They are the everyday, garden-variety type of week you've no doubt experienced too. Your roommates probably didn't throw you into an empty cistern like Joseph (maybe they threw you in the snow), but you do experience misfortunes and mishaps. I suspect none of you has fallen for the "Myra Mains" gag, but I suspect many of you have fallen in love only to have it end. You've had health issues, family problems, financial difficulties, dropped majors, changed majors, and major problems of every kind. You've been turned down, turned out, and turned away. You didn't get what you wanted. I promise, though, with God you will get what you need. And it may just be that what God knew you needed was something in the end you wanted. I wasn't happy that God gave me what I apparently needed. In the end, though, I discovered that what I needed was actually something I wanted.

When those doors I mentioned closed in my life, other doors opened. One door that opened led me to become a seminary teacher for the Church Education System. It was an occupation that was ideal for my personality and family, and eventually it would bring me here to BYU-Idaho to teach in the religion department--a move I consider the greatest blessing of my career. And what if Myra Mains were a real girl? What if I had married her? She wouldn't have been Heather Sampson, the woman I did marry, the woman I love. And I wouldn't have my children: Curt; Carli; the twins, Brigham and Brynn; and Cutler.

In 1992 Nathan Siriga was a provincial planner for the government. He had heard unflattering rumors about the Church that were circulating in his town of Popondetta, located on the north coast. “I had the responsibility to investigate and make a report,” he recalls. “If those rumors were true, I, as a government agent, wanted to stop the Church.”

Nathan Siriga took his questions to a fellow government worker, Benson Ariembo, who was second counselor in the Papua New Guinea Mission presidency. Brother Siriga admits that his interest in the Church wasn’t strictly official. “For fifteen years, I had been looking for the truth,” he says. “One question led to another. After a few minutes, I found out that Latter-day Saints knew more than I did about life after death and about the second coming of Jesus Christ.”

After studying the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants for several months, Brother Siriga decided to be baptized. The evening before his baptism, he prayed about the truthfulness of the doctrines. That night, he dreamed that he was surrounded by people in white who were praying for him. “I was in the middle of them,” he recalls, “filled with joy, praying and crying at the same time. I felt like I was in the middle of the company of heaven.”

Brother Siriga, now second counselor in the Popondetta Branch, works hard to share his testimony of the gospel and to dispel rumors about the Church. “I had never experienced the feelings of the Spirit that I do with Church members or in sacrament meetings,” he says. “We have the duty and responsibility to tell our people about the Church.”

Now, with a wonderful and talented family of 11 children, Sister Groberg reflected on times Brother Groberg served as a Regional Representative of the Quorum of the Twelve to the Pacific Islands and was frequently gone great distances three weeks at a time. On one occasion a call from the prophet to Elder Groberg conveyed this message: “Tell your wife you won’t be gone over six months on this special assignment (it turned out to be only two months), but we’re not sure how long it will be.” Of these times she spoke tenderly: “When your husband is giving his all, it doesn’t separate you even while he is away. It really doesn’t separate you. You are a part of it with him,” she explained. “It was his letters,” she said. And she had already developed a deep appreciation for his sensitive writing. “He would write such inspiring letters. His letters to us as a family had a profound influence on everything we did. They always have been such a strengthening influence,” she emphasized. “He would share what he could of his experiences and then he would come home and the girls would look forward to their daddy coming back and telling them really special and inspiring things that had happened on his trip.”

“Get up, Kevin.”
I looked over to the other side of the room at my brother’s bed. He lay asleep, curled up tightly in the blankets against the early dawn cold. This morning ritual had begun a year before, when Dad traded half the rabbits, complete with cages, for a milk goat. Each morning it was my job to milk her while Kevin fed her and cleaned out her pen.
“What time is it?” Kevin asked as he got up and dressed, noticing the light filtering into the room.
“It’s 6:30.” I was fully clothed and standing by my dresser, putting on my coat and knit cap. The coat smelled of alfalfa hay and dried milk.
“Hi, Mom,” we said in unison as we walked downstairs. I opened the back door, grabbing the clean steel milking pail on our way out. As we walked toward the barn, we noticed that water from the lake had vaporized into a thin fog that drifted across the nearby horse pastures. The ground, just beginning to thaw, felt like thick peanut butter on our boots.
“Kevin, what do you want for your birthday?” I asked. For the past two days I had been trying to think of what to get my almost seven-year-old brother. I didn’t have any money to buy a present, and there was no snow to shovel to earn a few dollars.
“I don’t know,” Kevin said as he scooped up some alfalfa pellets and poured them into a container by the milking stand. “Why don’t you do my chores for me tomorrow morning?” He was referring to a tradition in our family—on your birthday, other members of the family did your chores for you.
“OK.” But I wanted to get him something else, something more than what we always did.
“Tim and Kevin,” Dad called, “it’s time for breakfast.”
After leading the goat back to her pen, we carried the milk into the house, placed it on the counter, and sat down to eat. The steaming hot cereal, cooled by yesterday’s milk, tasted sweet because of the honey and raisins Mom had added to it.
“Time for school,” Mom said when we had finished eating. After grabbing our schoolbooks, we returned to the living room for family prayer; then we left for school.
Kevin’s elementary school was just under three kilometers away, while I had to walk only one kilometer to the middle school. Each day Kevin silently wished we lived half a kilometer to the south, making him eligible to ride the school bus that picked up many of his classmates. On most mornings, we saw them entering the bus at the beginning of its route. Kevin would stop, watch for a moment, then continue walking, most of the time arriving at his school long after the bus had dropped off its passengers. It was a cruel part of his day, especially on snowy or really cold winter mornings.
“See you later,” I said, watching him walk away when we reached my school.
All day I thought more about his birthday. I remembered last summer when he had weeded all of the neighbor’s vegetable garden to earn money to buy me a present. It was a small, single-bladed pocketknife he had bought secondhand at a thrift store. He had removed the rust with steel wool, then shined the blade and the handle with silver polish.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find Kevin a gift.
After a fitful sleep, I awoke before the morning light entered our bedroom. I dressed quietly in the darkness and glanced over to see Kevin wrapped in his blankets. I tiptoed downstairs and outside.
The landscape had changed from the morning before. A snowstorm had arrived, and the snow blew around me. A little blew into the house before I could close the door. I hurried to the barn, wanting to complete the morning chores quickly.
Just as I finished, I noticed something tucked into a corner of the barn. I hadn’t seen it since summer, and it gave me an idea for Kevin’s birthday.
I quickly ran back to the house to drop off the milk; then I grabbed a bucket of warm, soapy water and some old rags and carried them out to the barn. The dust of winter and the rust from the dampness made cleaning difficult, but I kept working. Finally the call for breakfast came.
The smell of bacon and pancakes, food reserved for Sundays and other special days, met me at the door. We sat and ate, Kevin happy because of his seventh birthday. I was nervous, hoping he would like my present for him.
“Time for school,” Mom said as Kevin finished the last pancake. After family prayer, we went out into the gray snowstorm.
“Kevin, I have a present for you. It’s in the barn.” He followed me around the house and into the barn.
There stood our old red wagon, washed clean and polished with wax. A small wool blanket covered the bottom, and on the side of the wagon I had carefully painted “School Bus” with some old house paint.
“Get in, Kevin. You don’t have to walk to school today. This is your bus.”
His face lit up, and he scrambled in. I put another blanket around him so he would stay warm.
I pulled the wagon out of the barn, past the house, and onto the snow-packed road. Mom and Dad stood on the porch, watching the delight on Kevin’s face.
“Everyone off!” I yelled as we pulled onto the sidewalk in front of the entrance to Kevin’s school. I tried to sound like a bus driver, and he laughed with me at my attempt. I hurried back down the road with the wagon, and once I arrived at my own school, I hid it in some bushes.
When the final bell rang, I ran outside, rescued the wagon from the bushes, and hurried back to the elementary school.
I arrived just after the school’s bell rang. Kevin quickly came out with two excited friends. “Tim, can they come with us?”
“Sure,” I said. “Everybody ’booooard,” I yelled. Kevin climbed in first; the other two squeezed in behind him.
By the time I pulled the wagon to the second boy’s home, I was really tired.
“Tim, I’ll pull you the rest of the way home,” Kevin offered.
“No, it’s your birthday. I want to do this.” That night as I got into bed, I felt too tired to pray. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been more tired. My legs and back ached, and my hands were sore and blistered from gripping the wagon handle. I lay in the darkness, thinking about the presents Kevin had received from Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and me. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard, “Tim?”
“Yeah.”
“Out of all the presents I got today, yours was the best.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I remembered my prayer from the night before. I crawled out of bed, knelt on the cold wood floor, and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my brother a birthday gift.

Missionaries also experience that same homesickness and loneliness and uncertainty. Stephen writes about being at a branch party in Taiwan at the end of a rough day. “Tons of people came. Tons of food was served. But even sitting down among all the food and being surrounded by people didn’t ease the feeling of loneliness in my heart. As a matter of fact, I think it was making it worse. I missed home. I missed speaking a language that could easily be understood. It all came to a head at this supposedly happy event. I gave up. I couldn’t fight it anymore, and I sat there just defeated and alone eating my now cold noodles. A funny thing happened next. I looked up with that blank, defeated look on my face and saw Brother Kang. He turned, looked at me, smiled, and gave me a tilt of the head. Despite my desire to give up and conviction that I wouldn’t be comforted, I smiled and nodded back. A thought came into my head, ‘Hey, maybe I’m not alone.’ I looked to my right to see members of our little branch all over the big room. I knew and loved them all. They all knew and loved me. They were my family and surrounded me in a way that I felt like I was in the middle of a big force field of love, almost like a hen after having gathered her chicks, would hold them tight in the warm embrace of her wings. The Savior had me in His wings that night, and I couldn’t even get up to get a drink without being blitzed by warm smiles and the Taiwanese sweet way of sharing their love.”

Now … let’s make this practical. Tomorrow, I want to challenge you to a campus-wide experiment I’m calling “We Talk Wednesday.” Think of it as a social hike. No blisters required.

Here’s the challenge:
Your goal is simple—make campus feel a little more like Zion. Before you head out tomorrow morning, pray and ask Heavenly Father to show you who might need a smile, a word, or a friend. And when it feels awkward … just know that’s what the edge of your comfort zone feels like.

One final note, the wildest adventure I’ve ever been a part of has been marrying my beautiful wife. We’ve earned multiple degrees, chased jobs, and moved our family across the country three times. You want to feel the spirit of adventure? Try packing all your possessions in a moving truck, your wife and young family following behind in a minivan and driving across the country to chase a job or education. I’ll never forget the feeling driving across East Texas on our way to North Carolina thinking, “These wonderful souls are depending on you. You better know what you’re doing.” It’s one of the most humbling experiences I’ve ever had. I’m so thankful for my wife. Together we embarked on a debt-free journey and sent off two missionaries.

Nothing has stretched me more, made me laugh so hard, scared me so bad, been as much fun, or as rewarding as building our life together. We set goals together, we worked hard together, we learned to mountain bike together, ran an ultramarathon together, we served the Lord together. Every bit of it has been the ride of a lifetime and I wouldn’t be half the man I am today if it weren’t for her. So, thank you for being my adventure buddy.

Illustration by Trent Gudmundsen
We all experience ups and downs in life, but 2013 was a particularly difficult year for our family. We experienced many unexpected and costly home and auto repairs. My husband, Ryan, lost his job, and our youngest son was born with complications and had to spend a few weeks in the neonatal intensive care unit. I also struggled with postpartum depression. These circumstances, combined with being parents of four young children, strained us financially and emotionally.
Ryan found new employment, but he worked long hours and was out of town for weeks at a time. Our five-year-old son, Wesley, began having anxiety about his dad being gone so often. He constantly woke up during the night from nightmares.
Our extended family supported me when they could, but I still felt exhausted and alone most of the time. I knew that Heavenly Father loved and was aware of my family, but I felt like we were drowning.
One afternoon, while Ryan was out of town for work, I drove my kids home from school and desperately prayed for help. Later that night, my neighbor Kendra knocked on our door. She knew about our situation and asked how I was doing. I had no intention of complaining to her, and she was the last person I would have asked for help. Her husband, Brent, had been battling cancer for the past four years.
I told Kendra I was fine, but she sincerely asked again. Tearfully, I opened up to her about my struggles. When I told her about Wesley’s anxiety and nightmares, she asked if I would like Brent to give Wesley a blessing.
A while later, Kendra, Brent, and their oldest son, Tyson, came to our door dressed in church clothes. Brent was frail. I’m sure it took all the energy he had to come to our house. He gave Wesley a blessing, and Tyson gave me a blessing.
That day, Kendra, Brent, and Tyson were true examples of Christlike ministering. They set aside their own trials to sincerely offer us love and compassion. I felt blessed that Heavenly Father answered my prayer in this tender way. Brent died two weeks later.
That day in our home, Brent stood as a witness of God through righteously exercising the priesthood (see Mosiah 18:9). To me, it is sacred that his ministering to our family was one of his last acts on earth.

Here is an example of a priesthood holder magnifying his priesthood responsibility. I heard this from Elder Jeffrey D. Erekson, my companion in a stake conference in Idaho. As a young married elder, desperately poor and feeling unable to finish his last year of college, Jeffrey decided to drop out and accept an attractive job offer. A few days later his elders quorum president came to his home. “Do you understand the significance of the priesthood keys I hold?” the elders quorum president asked. When Jeffrey said he did, the president told him that since hearing of his intention to drop out of college, the Lord had tormented him during sleepless nights to give Jeffrey this message: “As your elders quorum president, I counsel you not to drop out of college. That is a message to you from the Lord.” Jeffrey stayed in school. Years later I met him when he was a successful businessman and heard him tell an audience of priesthood holders, “That [counsel] has made all the difference in my life.”

A priesthood holder magnified his priesthood and calling, and that made “all the difference” in the life of another child of God.

Photographs by Sam Solaita
One day, Jonalin Y. received an unexpected phone call.
The groundbreaking for the Pago Pago American Samoa Temple was coming up, and area leaders asked 16-year-old Jonalin to share her testimony of the temple during the groundbreaking ceremony. There was only one problem. Jonalin had never been to a temple. She’d always wanted to go to be sealed to her family, but she didn’t know if that would happen anytime soon.
“When they announced that the temple was being built here, I wasn’t as excited or enthusiastic as everyone else,” Jonalin says. “I thought there wasn’t a point to be excited, because my dad is a nonmember and can’t come with us into the temple. A temple wouldn’t change the fact that my family isn’t sealed.”
Jonalin’s mother’s family has belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for multiple generations. Her mother taught her and her four siblings the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they were baptized when they turned eight. But her father has chosen not to become a member.
For as long as Jonalin can remember, her family has tried to help her dad become converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. She and her mother, three sisters, and brother invite him to church, and he often comes when he’s not working. They also have home evening and invite him to Church activities. Countless missionaries have walked through their door, but Jonalin’s dad hasn’t decided to move forward in the gospel.
Because of this, Jonalin was confused about being asked to speak about the temple. It seemed like all her friends were more excited about the temple than she was and couldn’t wait to go there with their entire families. “I just remember thinking, ‘I’m the girl with a nonmember dad. Why me?’” Jonalin says.
Soon Jonalin’s feelings about the temple started to change. “What changed my heart was being picked to share my testimony,” she says. “It was like God’s way of helping me know the temple is a blessing. I knew it was His way to put my doubtful heart at ease.”
“I’ve heard the temple is nice, it’s peaceful,” she says. “I’d really like to feel that for myself. Preparing to share my testimony gave me the opportunity to think about how amazing it will be to have a temple built so close to home. And it gave me hope that one day, according to God’s timing, my family will be sealed in the temple.”
Jonalin does her best to trust in God’s timing instead of her own. “God works in mysterious ways,” she says. “He knew the right time to build a temple in American Samoa, a time when everyone is in despair because of the pandemic, a time when the temple is needed by so many, and a time when he knew of my longing for my family to be sealed. His timing is the perfect time.”
One reason Jonalin wants her dad to be baptized is that the gospel has been such a blessing in her own life. “I love applying gospel teachings at school, and it actually really helps,” Jonalin says. “I’m very grateful to be a member and am excited to be part of this great and marvelous work.”
Jonalin also tries to share the joy of the gospel with her friends, most of whom are members of the Church. “Whenever I’m anxious about something, I wake up early in the morning and go watch the sky. It’s very therapeutic,” she says. “Sometimes while I do this, I feel like I should take some notes, like lessons I’ve learned from church. Then I send those notes to my friends in a group chat. I have one friend that’s not a member, and to see her respond with such a big heart—it’s really nice, and I love it so much.”
As Jonalin shares her faith with her friends, she is still hopeful that one day her dad will be converted to the gospel of Jesus Christ. “God sees my heart and knows how much I want my dad to be baptized,” she says. But she also understands that her dad has agency to choose. “There were times when I asked God why it was taking my dad so long. But Heavenly Father’s response remains the same: be patient. So, I will be patient.”
“I pray that one day my family will be sealed for eternity. I know that the gospel is true. It has blessed my family in so many ways.”
“I pray that one day my family will be sealed for eternity,” Jonalin says. “I know that the gospel is true. It has blessed my family in so many ways. I testify that God hears our prayers. I’m blessed to be part of His work and will continue to live according to His will.”

I want to share two more examples of integrity and honesty involving students at Brigham Young University–Idaho. I believe the simplicity and seemingly ordinary nature of these events make them extraordinary.
The second example comes from a letter I received from a student.
“I recently attended an outdoor dance. Just before the dance, my friends and I were sitting on the grounds eating pizza. I took my wallet out of my pocket to show my friends some pictures, and then I forgot to put my wallet back as we got up and left for the dance.
“Later that evening I realized what had happened. I proceeded toward what I thought should be the location of my wallet. I quickly realized that my wallet was no longer there. I knelt down right there in the grass and began to pray to my Father in Heaven to help me find my wallet.
“I then returned to my dorm room with a very optimistic attitude. I walked into my room fully expecting the wallet to be sitting right there, but it wasn’t. So I proceeded to check my telephone messages. And there was a message from the Lost and Found saying that someone had returned my wallet and I could pick it up any time.
“I am so grateful to be here at a university where I can trust my fellow students. I never found out who returned my wallet, but I have thanked him or her many times in my prayers. I have thanked them for helping me to have a spiritual experience, one that I will never forget.”
The unknown person at BYU–Idaho who returned this young man’s wallet is an example of integrity and honesty with God, of integrity and honesty with herself or himself, and of integrity and honesty with other people.

Several days later, I spied a woman with a “will work for food” sign. Recognizing my second chance to be charitable, I stopped to talk with her.
“I need gas money,” she told me. “My dad’s in Texas, and if only I can get to him, he can help me out.”
“Gee, I don’t have any cash,” I replied. “How long will you be here?”
“Till noon.”
“I’ll be back by 11:00. I promise.” At 10:45 I was back with a gift certificate for gas. She was nowhere in sight.
“Boy,” I thought, as I walked home, “this is not turning out like I expected.” I kicked a pebble. “Helping the needy is going to be tougher than I thought. Is this something I’m supposed to do later in life?”
I kicked the pebble again. “How can I help the needy? Couldn’t I get started now? Isn’t there someone who needs my help? Isn’t there someone who wants my help?”
I arrived home. I heard crying as I walked in. It was Steven, my brother. He’d been teased at school and didn’t want to go back. The words from my patriarchal blessing echoed in my mind: “You may help the needy with your time, effort, and means.” Here was my brother in need.
“Hey Steven, you wanna go get some ice cream? Tell me what happened.”
Steven and I talked about his peers. Maybe I didn’t say anything helpful, but I could tell that my companionship meant a lot to him.
That experience with Steven taught me a lesson: the poor are just as likely to be in your home as on the streets. There are all sorts of needy people in the world—those who need food and shelter, of course—but also those who need love, counsel, and encouragement.
I haven’t given up my dream of ending the world’s social troubles, but for now, whenever I get the itch to seek out the needy, I’m inclined to go knocking at my brother’s bedroom door first.

A few years ago, I was called to be a chorister in the Primary. When the counselor in the bishopric extended the call, I was stunned and thought there had been a mistake. I told him I had very little musical training and was not much of a singer. I wasn’t being modest, just very honest. He was quiet for a moment and then he pressed forward and said that sometimes it is good for us to be stretched. I accepted the call and got stretched! I experienced some difficult moments, but there were also wonderful moments, which grew to be more and more frequent and meaningful. I had been serving for about seven months when I really started to love serving in this calling. I was released three weeks later. It was then that I realized I had not served in the way I wished I would have. I realized I could have made the decision to love my calling from the very beginning even though it was sometimes hard and I often felt inadequate. I promised myself never to make that mistake with a calling again. Then ten months ago I got my chance to prove it. In my current calling I serve as the music director in sacrament meeting, and I have loved this calling from the moment it was extended. At first I was so nervous I would run out of breath in the middle of a phrase and would just have to mouth the words while I breathed in. Sometimes I would concentrate so hard on what my hand was doing that I would loose track of the verse we were singing. I freely admit that I am not the most accomplished music director you’ll see, but I love my calling. I wasn’t put in these callings because I had musical talent or training. Instead, I am slowly learning and developing because of the callings. I will be forever grateful for this opportunity, and I sincerely love to study the words of the hymns and the referenced scriptures.
Through this, my understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ has been deepened in a way I did not anticipate. I was not even really aware of what I was missing out on before I began to study and really sing sacred music. I sang every week in church and enjoyed hymns casually, but a whole new world has opened up to me now. The reason I have shared this experience with you is so you will understand that I have just recently discovered that one of the best ways to rejoice in Christ is through the study and singing of hymns.

This whole family from Alberta, Canada, loves sports. “Name a game and a time,” says 15-year-old Halle, “and we’ll be there.” For example, during baseball season, you’ll find the whole family at the ball field. That’s where the oldest brother, Ty, 18, helps coach the team his 10-year-old sister, Skye, plays on.
But when the family is at the ballpark—or anywhere else for that matter—you’ll notice something that sets them apart from a typical sports-oriented family. At least one family member is always watching over the youngest sibling, seven-year-old Grady. It’s not just a matter of keeping an eye on him; he requires constant attention.
Grady was born with a condition that still defies medical diagnosis. He can’t form words but continually cries out and makes loud noises. He wears a bib because he constantly drools. And he likes to touch and feel everything, often placing dirt or other foreign objects in his mouth. So he has to be watched, closely and constantly, for his own safety.
“Whatever we do as a family, Grady comes along,” says Halle, 15. At the baseball game, for example, Halle and Kamree, 13, take turns watching Grady while Mom and Dad cheer for Ty and Skye.
“Grady loves the playground by the ball field,” Kamree says. “We stay with him while he has fun, and Mom and Dad are right there if we need help.”
“Our family is a team,” Ty says after the game. “So we take turns helping Mom and Dad with Grady. It brings us closer together to know we’re helping them and helping him.”

Emily the story detective kept searching. She heard stories about her mom, who was born in a house instead of a hospital, and about Tony the pony that Uncle Josh used to ride—when he could stay on! Tony liked to scrape Josh off by running under a tree branch. She found out about the time when Great-Grandad Ernest went to the store to get fresh brown bread. The baker wrapped the bread in paper so that Grandad could carry it home. On the way, he got so hungry that he poked a little hole in the crust and ate the soft insides. “Mother was sure surprised to have hollow bread,” Grandad said, chuckling.

I learned how to chop wood as a boy in Oregon. I started to understand the principle of the wood chop as a Ricks College student. At seventeen I came to Rexburg and began my college education.I lived in a basement apartment with three other guys at 156.5 East 2nd South. I met my wife in the 1st Ward. She later said that she chose to date the least ugly guy passing the sacrament.

I was a boy who came to Ricks College sporting a shiny 2.3 high school GPA. Academically, I had gone through the motions of gaining an education. Perhaps the best adjective to describe my academic performance in high school is 'mediocre', or maybe even better, "slack handed". I decided that I was going to do better in college. I attended all my classes. I did my reading and my homework. I had great teachers like Paul Nye and Gerald Oldham.

One day Brother Nye asked me to stay after American Heritage class for a minute. He said, "Marion, you scored in the 97th percentile on this test. This is a nationally normed test, and students at top universities take this test. You're competing with the big boys and doing very well. I just wanted you to understand how well you're doing." I left the classroom thinking, "Really?!" After that day, instead of reading the assigned chapter once, I read each chapter twice before taking the tests. What we used to refer to as "The Spirit of Ricks" is the miracle that happened to me thanks to Brother Nye.

Oripa lives in the Fiji islands. A few years ago she wanted more than anything in all the world to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Her big sister was a member of the Church, and Oripa asked her parents if she could be baptized too, but they refused.
Finally, however, when Oripa was ten years old, her prayers were answered. She was so happy when she was confirmed a member of the Church she just couldn’t stop crying tears of happiness. Oripa knew that our Heavenly Father would bless her.
Oripa worked hard and did her best at home and at school. All the children of Fiji in class 6 were given their intermediate examination. When the tests were graded, Oripa had the highest mark of any child in her grade in all of Fiji.
That night when her big sister came home, she kissed Oripa and congratulated her for doing so well on the test. When her proud parents asked Oripa about the examination, she explained that she knew this was a blessing from our Heavenly Father because she had joined His Church.

Joseph F. Smith was the first president of the Church to visit Europe. When John Ruothoff, a young boy with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in Holland, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”