Gospel Story Finder

On an afternoon in April 1989, Pablito, one of the many children who live in my apartment complex, came running to me for help. He had been robbed and mistreated by three thirteen-year-old boys, he said, and he wanted me to help him recover his watch and chain that they had taken. When I walked up to the boys, they did not run away as they normally did. I asked them to return Pablito’s watch and chain. They ignored me. I then searched them, but I didn’t find anything. They were upset because I had searched them, and as they left the complex, they insulted and threatened me. But I didn’t take their threats seriously.
Two days later, some friends of mine told me that several young men had been looking for me.
The next Monday, a group of about twenty-five young men came toward me. I could not imagine what was happening until one of them lunged forward and punched me in the nose. I tried to escape, but it was too late. It was impossible to get away from them. At first they hit me all over, but then they started to slash me with broken bottles. Suddenly I felt something cold in my left side. One of them had knifed me close to the ribs.
The attack ended, and the gang ran away as two police cars arrived. A friend helped me up, but because I had lost a great deal of blood, I was very weak and kept losing consciousness. In addition to the knife wound, I had gashes on my head and thigh, and my face was badly bruised and swollen.
I was taken in one of the police cars to a local hospital. Although the doctors there were able to stitch my wounds, they had to send me to a larger hospital for X rays to check for any internal damage.
After examining the X rays, the doctor said I needed emergency surgery so he could properly assess and treat possible damage to my internal organs.
While I was waiting to go into surgery, my father asked for a few minutes with me. The doctor told him to be brief. Then my father and another priesthood holder placed their hands on my head and gave me a blessing.
After I had been in the operating room for a while, the doctor came out and told my father, “The knife wound in your son’s side is very deep, but the blade did not touch any vital organs. I only had to clean out the wound. I don’t know what you did when you placed your hands on his head, but whatever it was, it worked.”
I was in the hospital for four days and then in recovery for three months—delaying my anticipated mission call. I quickly regained the blood I had lost, my wounds healed, and soon I could stand up and walk.
I know it was because of the power of the priesthood and faith in Jesus Christ that I am alive today. I know the Lord wanted me to serve where I am now, in the Venezuela Maracaibo Mission. I am grateful that he spared my life so I can work in his vineyard.

Paige shrugged off her backpack, kicked off her shoes, and slumped onto a kitchen stool. “What? No hug? No kiss? No demand for an after-school snack?” Paige’s mother teased. When Paige didn’t respond with a smile, her mother became serious. “Did something happen at school today?”
Paige lifted one shoulder.
“Is it about the play?”
Paige nodded slowly.
“You didn’t get the part, did you?”
Paige shook her head. Her mother wrapped her arms around her. “Honey, I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to be Dorothy and how hard you practiced. What part did you get?”
“A munchkin.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. You’ll be a wonderful munchkin. You can ham it up and make it fun.”
“I guess,” Paige said, leaning on the counter. “Something’s bothering me more than not being Dorothy, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you know how you and Dad have always taught me that if I want something, I need to work hard and do all I can do to make it happen, right?”
“Right.”
“Then I need to pray to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ and ask Him to help me.”
“Yes,” Mom said slowly.
“If I have enough faith, Heavenly Father will bless me. Well, I worked hard. I practiced as much as I could, and I did my best at the audition. I had faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus could help me get the part. They can do anything—I know They can. At least I thought I did. I didn’t get the part, so does that mean I don’t have enough faith?”
“Oh, Paige, that’s not what it means at all.” The timer above the stove started beeping. “Just a minute, honey. I need to punch down the bread dough.” Mom lifted the towel covering the bowl of dough. “Oh, no!”
“What happened, Mom?”
“The dough didn’t rise. I can’t make bread out of it now.” Mom drummed her fingers on the countertop, then smiled. “The dough should work for scones.” Paige’s mother placed a pan on the stove, filled it with oil, and began heating it.
Paige smiled for the first time since coming home. “I’m glad the dough didn’t rise. Scones taste better than bread.”
“You know, I worked hard on that bread dough,” Mom said as she flattened small balls of dough into circles and gently placed them in the hot oil. “I followed the recipe, and I tried to make the best bread dough I could. I had faith that it would rise. But it didn’t. Does that mean that I just didn’t have enough faith?”
“I don’t think so,” Paige said. “And something better came from it.”
“Sometimes Heavenly Father has plans for us that are different from what we think we want. Even if we work hard and have faith, He doesn’t always bless us in the way we think that we want Him to.”
“But being a munchkin isn’t better than being Dorothy.”
“You need to try faith again, Paige.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to have faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know things that you don’t, that They know what will be best for you in the long run. Do you think that you can have that kind of faith?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” Mom set a piping hot scone onto a plate, dropped a glob of butter and dribbled honey onto it, and set it before Paige. “Would you like the first scone?”
“Yes!”
The next week during play rehearsal, while the children playing Dorothy and the other lead characters were practicing their lines, Paige painted scenery with the rest of the munchkins and the flying monkeys. She turned to the girl next to her. “Could you pass the green, please, Trisha?”
“Sure.” Trisha set the paint can between them, and the girls dipped their brushes into it together. Trisha sighed as she gazed toward the stage where the other children were practicing.
“Did you want to be Dorothy, too?” Paige asked.
Trisha shook her head. “I wanted to be the Wicked Witch of the West. I would have scared everyone with my cackle.” She cackled wickedly, and Paige laughed.
“That was super! I can’t believe Mrs. Mullen didn’t choose you for the witch after hearing your cackle.”
“I didn’t do it at the audition. I didn’t even try out for the witch. I overheard Sylvie talking about how much she wanted to be the witch, so I decided not to compete against her.”
“Wow, that was nice!”
Trisha shrugged. “It’s what I think Jesus would have wanted me to do. In my church we learn to ask ourselves, ‘What might Jesus want us to do?’ and try to do it.”
“We learn the same thing at our church.” Paige smiled a bit ruefully.
“Really?” Trisha’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you were a Mormon.”
“I am. Mormons believe in Jesus Christ. You see, the real name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“It is? I’m glad I know that now.” Trisha paused. “I like talking to you about church and stuff. We never would have had this chance if we had been given the parts in the play we wanted.”
Paige froze for a moment, paint dripping from her brush back into the can. “I have another scone,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry—I was just thinking about something my mom and I talked about.” Paige began painting again. “This year, at church, we’re learning how to have more faith in Jesus Christ.”
“Is it working?” Trisha asked. “Do you think you have more faith now than you did before?”
“Yes,” Paige said, smiling confidently. “I know I do.”

A few years ago a family in search of work arrived from nearby Portugal. Poor but proud, they searched and searched but could find no work. Since Santiago de Compostela lies in the region of Galicia, most people there speak Galician as well as Spanish. Galician is very close to Portuguese, so the family was able to communicate, but it became increasingly difficult to get enough to eat. Finally, utterly destitute, they found themselves one day with neither food nor shelter. Seeing his children hungry, the father of the family choked down his fierce Portuguese pride and took his family onto the street to beg.

Two Mormon missionaries walked past, and with one look they knew that these were no professional beggars. They read the anguish and integrity and pride in the eyes of these people. They told the branch members. One brother offered the family an apartment rent free for as long as they needed it. The young people gathered food for them from members of the Church. Someone went out and found a job for the father. The members provided for them the things they needed to get started in a new city and country. Before long the family was able to pay its own way as well as pay back the assistance they had received and begin to help others in need.

The members put no pressure on this family to investigate the Church, but the family had felt the compelling power of Christlike love. They investigated the Church and requested baptism. There was one more family of pilgrims in Santiago.

In the summer of 1980, I was nearing the end of my service in the Massachusetts Boston Mission. One evening we had an appointment to teach a promising young college student about the plan of salvation.
Several times during the course of the lesson, I was almost overwhelmed as the Holy Ghost repeatedly witnessed to me that the principles we were teaching were true. I remember praying almost out loud: “I already know this. I have taught this lesson numerous times these past two years. I am grateful to feel thy Spirit, but please witness to our investigator as well!”
A short time after this evening, I met with my mission president, and he informed me that my mother had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. Naturally, this sudden loss came as a tremendous shock to my family and our entire community. But once the emotions of the moment passed and I had occasion to reflect, I recalled with perfect clarity the powerful witness of the Spirit I’d received during that plan of salvation lesson. I knew that this was the work of a loving Heavenly Father preparing me for the loss that was to come.
A day never passes that I do not miss the teaching and companionship of my mother. But a day also never passes that I am not reminded of how a loving Heavenly Father carefully prepared me for that loss.

Sarah, the oldest of our children, is busy working on a degree at BYU-Provo. She was married one month ago in the Manti Temple, just a little over 20 years after her birth in Mainland China.

Shortly after Sister Richardson and I were married, we were given a chance, through BYU- Provo, to teach English for a year at a university in Xi'an, in central China. We had both been studying Chinese and felt that this was something we should do. At the same time, however, we wanted to welcome into our family any children the Lord might be willing to send us. We figured that if we committed for the year and went to China there was a very good possibility that we might end up having our first baby there. We studied things out, prayed, and felt to trust that things would work out if we went ahead with the trip.

After our arrival in China, it became apparent at some point that Sister Richardson was expecting. After considering our options, we made arrangements to have the baby in the Fourth Military Hospital in Xi'an. But when the time came to go to the hospital, which was about 30 minutes away through city traffic, Sister Richardson could tell that there would not be enough time to get there. We had tried to prepare ourselves, just in case, by reading and studying a lot about birth, but in the end it was good that the driver from the university knew where to find two midwives who arrived just as I was about to have to prove that I had actually learned something. Through the blessings of our Heavenly Father, Sarah was born healthily and well in our bedroom on the campus of Xi'an Foreign Languages University.

The details of the story are pretty exciting, but what I would like to emphasize here is Sister Richardson's trust in the Lord. It was a trust that allowed her to meet a new and challenging set of circumstances with both courage and grace. There is a very real sense in which a wonderful daughter and a whole host of great memories in China are Sister Richardson's reward for that trust.

On Saturday, Ari’s family went to help at the food bank.
“What’s a food bank?” Ari asked on the way there.
“It’s a big building with shelves full of food,” Mom said. “People who don’t have enough money for groceries can go there to get food.”
“Lots of people in our ward are helping,” said Ari’s big brother, Ben.
“But how can I help?” Ari asked.
“There will be a lot you can help with,” Mom said.
When they got to the food bank, a woman named Kathy showed them around.
“Today we need to paint walls,” Kathy said. “But we need to wash them first.”
Ari’s family got two buckets of warm, soapy water. Ari liked the bubbles. Mom and Dad washed up high. Ben washed in the middle. Ari washed down low.
Soon the hallway looked bright and shiny.
“What else can we do?” Ari asked.
“I need a bag holder,” Kathy said. “Follow me.”
Ari held bags while Ben filled them with uncooked macaroni. They stacked the bags in a big box. Ari counted the bags. He and Ben filled 27 macaroni bags!
When all the work was done, Kathy called everyone over to a big scale. “Just for fun, we want to see how much you all weigh,” she said.
Everyone crowded onto the scale. They weighed more than 2,000 pounds!
“We weigh more than a walrus!” Ben said. Ari laughed.
“Thank you for helping,” Kathy said as Ari left. “I can tell you care a lot about others.”
Ari smiled big. There really was work he could do! He felt awesome.

When I decided that I wanted to be baptized, my family wasn’t really excited about it. Although my mother and one of my brothers attended my baptism, other family members rejected me because we no longer shared the same religion.
In the beginning, this was quite hard, and I felt more alone than ever. But after a while, one of my cousins decided to become a devout Hindu, which was also different from what the rest of our family practiced. He respected my choice to join the Church because he had made a similar one. Because of his example of love towards me, some of my other family members stopped shunning me.

Miles practiced magic tricks at home. He did the toothpaste trick one hundred and twenty times. He did the pigeon trick one hundred and fifty times. And he practiced the newspaper trick two hundred times. He felt he was ready to perform in front of his friends.
Miles took his magic kit to school for the talent show. But when it was time for the show to start Miles was scared. He decided that he didn’t want to do his tricks in front of everyone after all, for Miles was afraid of making a mistake. He pulled his invisible magician’s hat down low over his eyes.
The first performer was a boy who played the piano.
I could never do that, Miles thought. I’d play the notes wrong with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he wondered. Miles swirled his invisible cape onto his shoulders and pretended, I, Miles the Mighty, will be a piano player. Then Miles’s fingers raced along the pretended piano keys until the whole class danced on the ceiling.
Next came a girl dressed like a roly-poly clown. “HO! HO! HO! HA! HA! HA!” she laughed.
Miles shrank into his seat. I could never do that, he thought. I’d lose my stomach stuffing with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he thought again. Then he waved his invisible magic wand and pretended, I, Miles the Mighty, will turn into a clown. Miles the clown performed a very funny show. The children rolled with laughter on the floor.
Miles took off his invisible hat and cape and set down his invisible wand. He was so worried that his hands were getting wet. And his feet were getting jumpy.
A boy and girl were on stage now. They did acrobatic stunts. Miles felt his stomach churn. I could never do that, he thought. I’d get all tangled up with everyone watching me.
But what about Miles the Mighty? he asked himself, thinking great magical words of encouragement, I, Miles the Mighty, will be an acrobat. He stretched himself into stupendous shapes.
Just then he heard the teacher say, “It’s your turn, Miles.” She smiled at him.
He got up slowly and picked up his magic kit. His legs were wobbling. On the way to the front of the room he got the creepy-crawly shivers. What if I do something wrong? he worried. What if everyone laughs at me? What if I left my balloon at home or my milk or pigeon or newspaper?
On stage Miles opened his magic kit. Everything was there, even his stuffed pigeon. But his legs were still wobbling.
He took out his magician’s cape and hat. When he put them on, Miles the Mighty, magically tall, looked around the room.
He showed them a toothpaste tube. He blew a whistle and out came the toothpaste all by itself. Everyone clapped.
Next he poured milk into a rolled-up newspaper. He started to spill it on the teacher. But she didn’t get wet because the milk disappeared. Everybody whistled.
For his very best trick Miles blew up a balloon. Then he popped it and there sat a pigeon. Everybody cheered.
Miles the Mighty Magician bowed in thanks to all the boys and girls, who had really enjoyed his magic tricks.

Elder Dale G. Renlund shared a story in general conference back in 2015 about a young man he cared for in his capacity as a cardiologist. I would like us to listen to it now.

In 1986 a young man named Chad developed heart failure and received a heart transplant. He did very well for a decade and a half. Chad did all he could to stay healthy and live as normal a life as possible. He served a mission, worked, and was a devoted son to his parents. The last few years of his life, though, were challenging, and he was in and out of the hospital frequently.

One evening, he was brought to the hospital’s emergency department in full cardiac arrest. My associates and I worked for a long time to restore his circulation. Finally, it became clear that Chad could not be revived. We stopped our futile efforts, and I declared him dead. Although sad and disappointed, I maintained a professional attitude. I thought to myself, “Chad has had good care. He has had many more years of life than he otherwise would have had.” That emotional distance soon shattered as his parents came into the emergency room bay and saw their deceased son lying on a stretcher. In that moment, I saw Chad through his mother’s and father’s eyes. I saw the great hopes and expectations they had had for him, the desire they had had that he would live just a little bit longer and a little bit better. With this realization, I began to weep. In an ironic reversal of roles and in an act of kindness I will never forget, Chad’s parents comforted me.

I now realize that in the Church, to effectively serve others we must see them through a parent’s eyes, through Heavenly Father’s eyes. Only then can we begin to comprehend the true worth of a soul. Only then can we sense the love that Heavenly Father has for all of His children. Only then can we sense the Savior’s caring concern for them. We cannot completely fulfill our covenant obligation to mourn with those who mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort unless we see them through God’s eyes. This expanded perspective will open our hearts to the disappointments, fears, and heartaches of others. But Heavenly Father will aid and comfort us, just as Chad’s parents comforted me years ago.

President Grant’s boundless faith that the Lord would prosper those who were liberal with their means in building his kingdom has had a distinct effect upon my life. Many years ago I heard him tell about attending a fast meeting at which his bishop made an appeal for donations. President Grant, though a very young man, had fifty dollars in his pocket which he intended to deposit in the bank. But he was so impressed by the bishop’s appeal that he tendered the whole fifty dollars. The bishop took five dollars and handed him back the forty-five, stating that five dollars was his full share. President Grant replied, “Bishop Woolley, by what right do you rob me of putting the Lord in my debt? Didn’t you preach here today that the Lord rewards fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.”

“My boy,” queried the bishop, “do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?”

“Certainly,” replied President Grant.

Here was a demonstration of faith which the bishop could not withstand. He took the remaining forty-five dollars.

President Grant testified that on his way from that fast meeting back to work, “an idea popped into” his head, acting upon which he made $218.50. Speaking about this incident years later, he said, “Someone will say that it would have happened anyway.

“I do not think it would have happened. I do not think I would have got the idea, …” he said.

“I am a firm believer that the Lord opens up the windows of heaven when we do our duty financially and pours out blessings upon us of a spiritual nature, which are of far greater value than temporal things. But I believe He also gives us blessings of a temporal nature.” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1939, p. 457.)

Several years ago while my wife and I were serving in Venezuela, our youngest son left the comfort of his high school to join with us. He did not complain, but it was obvious that he struggled as he went to this country where everything was new to him; but in an amazing turn of events, the experience went from one of trial to a huge blessing in his life. He accomplished this by changing his own attitude and developing a determination to succeed.

Not too long ago, in the central part of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ruth and I met with a large number of Latter-day Saints who live in impoverished circumstances. I asked the assembled congregation, “What are your challenges?”
There was no response. I asked again. Again, there was no response. I asked a third time.
Finally, an older man stood slowly and asked me in all sincerity, “Elder Renlund, how can we have any challenges? We have the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Initially I felt like grabbing him and telling him to look around. They had nothing—no electricity and no running water. But then I understood. It is not what they possess that gives them strength; it is what they know. Their commitment to what they know gives them extraordinary spiritual stability. They keep the commandments. They are determined to be lifelong learners of spiritual things. They help each other. And they have Christ as their foundation.

Photographs from Getty Images
My daughter had just turned eight and was excited for me to baptize her. Her grandparents were also coming for the special occasion, which added to her excitement and anticipation. However, as the big day drew close, it looked like I might not be at the baptism.
My job as a military aircraft pilot and squadron assistant operations officer was rarely boring, but the pace became even more intense when my operations (ops) officer left on another assignment. I was dealing with wave after wave of airlift missions. To produce the required number of flight crews, I was forced to cancel training, suspend some squadron functions, and cancel vacations that had been planned for months.
Aircrews were departing on 21-day flight orders with little chance of returning home early. And when my ops officer and another assistant ops officer returned, it became difficult to justify my staying behind for a family event. How could I hang back when I had required sacrifices of so many others?
I felt torn in half. I always tried to put my family ahead of my career, but I also had a duty to serve my country. My ops officer, while not a member of the Church, understood the importance of this event to my family and allowed me to make the decision myself. After much prayer and family discussion, I did what I felt was right and scheduled myself on the next mission out.
When my crew was alerted for a mission to begin on Monday morning, it didn’t look like there was any chance I’d be back for my daughter’s baptism on Saturday. We were to fly to a cargo pickup location, then to a staging base on the East Coast of the United States, where we would be required to enter crew rest before flying again. Later we would fly to Europe and rest, then deliver cargo to a Middle East location, and on the return flight, stop for yet another crew rest, return to Europe, stop for another crew rest, and return to the United States to collect more cargo and cycle back through. It normally took at least seven days to complete this circuit just once, but I knew my family was praying to have me back. Their faith and prayers helped me to have faith, and it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t going to be a typical mission.
First, instead of stopping on the East Coast for a day or two, our mission was assigned to air-refuel and continue non-stop to Europe. Then, after the minimum legal crew rest period, we were alerted to fly a different mission out-and-back to the distant cargo delivery location. The equipment off-load and ground-refueling at our destination went uncharacteristically well, and after another bare-minimum crew rest period, we were amazed when we were alerted to return directly to our home base. We were going home for a day or so!
Calling from the plane, I was elated to tell my family I was nearly home. My wife told me the baptismal service had just been moved from 5:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. to accommodate a youth activity. I next called our airlift stage manager and explained my situation. After a pause, he replied that he could delay our alert until 5:00 p.m. on Saturday—the time the baptismal service had originally been scheduled to begin!
As we cleared the mountain range near my home, I saw that I had one more trial of faith remaining: the city lights below were blanketed in fog. This would be the worst visibility I’d ever flown an approach in. We quickly put together a plan to divert to another airfield if necessary, completed our checklists, and flew down to take a look.
As we sped toward the runway at 200 feet (60 m) above ground level, we were completely shrouded in fog. Suddenly, passing 120 feet (37 m), there was a lighted runway in front of us, and a few seconds later we were safely on the ground. Everyone exhaled in relief.
Photograph courtesy of the Bairett family
An unprecedented string of seeming coincidences had enabled my crew to make a multi-stage trip to the other side of the world and back in record time, and I was able to be home for a brief window that coincided with my daughter’s baptism. With the Lord’s help I was able to fulfill my duty to my country, my squadron, and most of all to my family. While life would have gone on if we needed to reschedule our daughter’s baptism, Heavenly Father was letting us know that He loved us and heard our prayers. He gave my daughter the memory of those miraculous events as a witness that He loves her, and my wife and I both gained a stronger witness that “whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you” (3 Nephi 18:20).

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt, please come to the board and solve problem three.
Heavenly Father, please help me get this right.
Sorry, Matt. That’s wrong.
That night
I don’t understand, Dad. I said a prayer, but Heavenly Father didn’t help me with that math problem at all.
That’s too bad. Had you studied the chapter? Had you practiced the sample problems?
Um, well, no. But I prayed.
Isn’t asking Heavenly Father to give you the answer when you haven’t studied kind of like asking Him to do the work for you?
I never thought of it that way.
Dad, I really do need help with math. Do you think Heavenly Father would help me if I pray about it?
Of course He would, and so will I. And next time there’s a quiz, you can ask Him to help you remember what you’ve studied.

For the family history experience, the two organizers, Liz Seymer and Asti Liang, borrowed some real-life family histories from stake members. They wrote the stories, leaving out some important details but leaving in clues to help uncover these facts. From the clues given them, the girls had to figure out where they needed to go for more information. Around the cultural hall were tables and resource people. One had census records. Another represented cemetery headstones. Others represented the Church’s Family History Library and computerized records. If the girls asked the right question of the person in charge of the table, they were rewarded with the correct answer. But if they didn’t know the correct question to ask, they didn’t get an answer, just as in real life. They had to retreat and do a little more figuring.
Mounted on easels to one side were the photographs of the families the girls were researching, as if they were just waiting to be found. Hilary Ekstron of the sixth ward said, “Our group had to go to five different places just to find out one thing. But it was really interesting.” It was surprising how quickly the girls became involved in their “mystery” family as they were introduced to certain types of records and how information is recorded.

Because of the attacks on the United States on September 11, 2001, my grandma was stranded in Colorado. She was visiting my Uncle Bryan, and she could not get a flight home because they were all cancelled. She needed to get home so that she could take some medicine that would cost a lot of money to get in Colorado.
I asked my mom if I could fast for my grandma, even though it wasn’t fast Sunday. Mom thought that that was a good idea. My mom and dad and little sister all fasted and prayed with me, and my grandma was able to make it home safely and get back on her medicine that she needed to take.
I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers, and I know that He loves us and wants to help us.

I had not planned on becoming a single parent of four children in my mid-20s and found myself reeling. I had a modest home to care for, four small children, and no post-high school education. I wondered how I would ever financially support my young family. My answers did not come in days or months but over many years of obeying one prompting after another.
Fortunately I had the habit of turning to the Lord in times of trouble. One night the answer came clearly: “Go to school.” I wondered how this would be possible with the financial obligations I had, so I spoke to my parents and my bishop. They agreed that going to school was the right course, and within a few weeks I was enrolled at a local university, where I earned a degree in elementary education with a special education endorsement.
As a teacher, I was still not making enough money to meet the financial demands of my growing children. I continued to petition the Lord about the lack of funds. During a visit with my bishop, he recommended that I go back to school to obtain a master’s degree. I went home, prayed about it, and enrolled back in school the following semester.
Several years later I was prompted to go back to school again. I scheduled the needed tests, interviewed for programs in educational administration, and found myself enrolled, once again, in a master’s program at another local university. Upon its completion, new employment opportunities opened up to me that have enriched my life with new relationships, fostered personal growth, and helped me discover new talents.
In the temple one night, I was sharing my frustration with the Lord that in spite of my efforts, I was still not able to consistently make ends meet. I felt the warmth of heavenly communication reminding me that all my family’s needs had been met, either by my own work or by the generosity of others, and that as long as I remained obedient, we would be cared for. And as I am reminded by Alma 20:4, “I know, in the strength of the Lord [I] canst do all things.”
I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for the promptings to complete my education and the consequent employment opportunities. I am also grateful for all those in my life who have been so thoughtful throughout the years. I’ve learned I can do more than I thought possible with the help of my Heavenly Father. Of equal significance, I’ve learned to receive graciously and to give generously.

“One day two missionaries got into my taxi,” says Garry Guanilo of Peru. “They asked me if I knew that families could be eternal. That question really had an impact on me. And they spoke to me about the Prophet Joseph Smith. I went home and told my wife, María, about it. We invited the missionaries to our home. During the first lesson, they sang ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ ” (Hymns, no. 300).
María adds, “Since our baptism, we are progressing in many ways. It’s like a staircase—we keep climbing higher and higher, and less important things are dropping out of our lives.”
Garry continues, “I want to marry my wife for eternity in the temple and to have our daughters sealed to us. We had no idea this world existed!”—Garry and María Guanilo, Peru

One day a friend and I noticed a young mother standing by her stalled truck looking very frustrated and unhappy. She had several children with her. We were prompted to stop and offer help. She explained that the truck had run out of gasoline. We said we’d go get some for her so that she could stay with the children. She seemed grateful for the help but reluctant to be the one receiving it. When we returned with a container of gasoline, the woman was thankful but still a little uncomfortable about accepting our help.

Then I had an idea. I said to her, “You would offer the same help to us if we needed it!” She thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled. “You’re right.” she said. “I would!”

I no longer remember where my friend and I were going that day, but I do remember the sweet experience of helping. I’m convinced that most of us would like to stop and help, but we’re unsure of what to do, or we’re too busy or even frightened. Often, we are not properly prepared to help. And there is no handbook of instructions you can refer to in those critical moments when an individual needs you.

The words of the second verse especially struck me. “The truths and values we embrace / Are mocked on ev’ry hand.” Immediately I thought of my high school experience. I saw peers, coaches, and teachers snickering, giggling, and even laughing and making fun of the way I live my life, specifically the choices I made to attend early morning seminary, to behave and dress in a modest way, and not to play soccer on Sundays.
Sometimes I felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel, as if that stage of my life would continue indefinitely. But I realize Heavenly Father gave me those experiences because He loves me, and that is enough. He knows what is best for me, and though I look back on my high school years with very few fond memories, I know it was when I built my own testimony. I learned to pray about anything and everything and to trust in my Savior. I decided for myself that the Lord and His Church are worth anything I have to sacrifice in order to stand up and be counted as a disciple of Christ.