Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Don Seegmiller
I still remember the first time I saw the two men standing on our doorstep in Peru. They were wearing white shirts and ties, and they were so tall! I thought they had warm smiles.
“They must be nice,” I thought. My parents must have thought so too because soon the missionaries were coming to our home often.
I loved listening to the missionaries and always felt they were telling the truth.
“Don’t you want to be baptized, Mamá?” I asked my mother one day.
She smiled. “I do. But I want to be baptized with your father.”
I nodded. I was nine years old—old enough to be baptized. But I wanted to be baptized with my father as well, and he wasn’t sure if he believed what the missionaries taught.
“Keep praying, and the time will come,” Mamá said, as if she could read my thoughts.
I knew that the missionaries had challenged my father to follow the invitation at the end of the Book of Mormon to ask God with a sincere heart if the gospel is true. So one evening I decided to help my father with that challenge. I asked if we could pray together the way the missionaries had asked. We went into my room and knelt down. He asked me who was going to say the prayer.
“You say it, please,” I said.
My father started praying to Heavenly Father. When he asked if we should be baptized, a feeling of love and peace wrapped itself around us. It was so strong that my father stopped speaking for a minute. We knew we needed to be baptized.
I’ll never forget the look in my father’s eyes after he ended that prayer.
“We have our answer,” he whispered, giving me a hug.
I smiled as I buried my head in his shoulder. The Holy Ghost had made it possible for us to know the truth (see Moroni 10:5).

“Love your enemies,” challenged my Sunday School teacher one morning. “Do good to those that hate you. Then just watch what happens.”
At the time I received this challenge, my testimony was not yet firm, and I was skeptical about the practicality of this biblical teaching. It couldn’t possibly apply to my life. But I halfheartedly thought I might try it—that is, if I could think of an enemy.
After some thought, I concluded that I had no real enemies, so that took care of that. Then, suddenly, I remembered an incident. When we had moved into the end apartment of a row of four company-owned apartments, our outdoor water faucet wasn’t working. I asked the woman in the next apartment if I could hook my hose to her faucet to water my lawn. (There was no charge for the water.) She informed me that I certainly could not use her faucet and that, if mine was broken, I had better get it fixed and not bother her again!
Well! I would have no more to do with her! I was relieved some time later when she moved to the far end of our row of apartments. It would be just as well not to be next door to her anymore.
Now here was the challenge to love my enemies. She was the nearest person I could think of who would fit that description. Everyone else I knew was a friend. “I could try!” I thought.
Each day I hung out my laundry on the clotheslines at the end of the building, next to this woman’s apartment. She was always sitting on the porch alone. I had usually ignored her, but now I decided to prove whether or not loving my enemies would indeed work.
The next morning when I went to hang out the laundry, the woman was sitting on her porch as usual, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette. I gave her a smile and said with a gay lilt, “Hi, there!” She glared at me and deliberately turned her head.
“That couldn’t hurt me,” I thought. “I’m just proving a point.” When I finished hanging out my clothes she had gone inside.
Each day after that, I merrily called out, “Hi!” as I passed her and never once got a smile or an answer. One morning, after about two weeks, much to my surprise, she walked over to where I was hanging wet clothes and exchanged a few remarks about the weather.
After that, each day when I came to hang out clothes, she came over and we said a few words—never anything personal. Sometimes we talked about the company both of our husbands worked for, sometimes the weather or a sale at a local store. I certainly never felt that we were friends in any sense of the word. She always seemed cold and reserved in her attitude.
Then one day my husband and I received word that we were to be transferred to a different locality. When I went out the next morning to hang my washing, the woman came to the clothesline as usual to talk. I told her that we were moving away. We passed a few comments about it, and I went back to my apartment.
About an hour after I had gone home, the woman appeared at my door. I was very surprised to see her. Neither of us had ever been in the other’s apartment. She had an odd, strained expression on her face. I invited her to sit down and we tried to talk a little. But there really seemed to be nothing to talk about.
Then, to my astonishment, she burst into tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. She said she couldn’t stand to have me move away. “You are the only friend I have in the whole world,” she said.
Me! Why, I didn’t even know her first name!
I couldn’t think of anything to say to my friend. I only knew that we weren’t enemies any more.
“Oh, Father,” I thought. “Forgive me for doubting your word. I didn’t really do anything for her. I only said hello and visited with her a little. What a flood of proof you’ve given me!”
I have found for myself—not only then, but many times since—that living the principles of the gospel in even the smallest way always proves them to be true.

John Oii introduced his small ancestral village of Kuriva to the gospel in September 1986 when he returned from Port Moresby to bury his son, who had died from a snakebite. During a traditional two-month mourning period, Brother Oii shared stories of Joseph Smith and the angel Moroni. So many villagers were interested that Brother Oii requested missionaries to teach the eager listeners while he acted as interpreter.

By March 1987, 40 Kurivans had been baptized, and a small branch had been organized. That same month, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve dedicated a one-room, thatched-roof chapel that members had built out of local materials. Membership in the branch has more than quadrupled since 1987. With help from the seminary program, 15 young men have prepared for missions. Most of them have served in Papua New Guinea.

Elder Gordon B. Hinckley
At the outset, I should like to say that I am convinced that we have never had a more dedicated or more capable generation of young men in the history of the Church. Some of you older brethren may dispute that, which brings to mind the story of the boy who came down to breakfast one morning and said, “Dad, I dreamed about you last night.”
“About me? What did you dream?”
“I dreamed I was climbing a ladder to heaven and on the way up I had to write one of my sins on each step of the ladder.”
“And where did I come into your dream?” the father asked.
Said the boy, “When I was going up, I met you coming down for more chalk.”

Once upon a time, a father was about to leave for an evening bishopric meeting. His four-year-old daughter stepped in front of him, wearing pajamas and holding a copy of Book of Mormon Stories.
“Why do you have to go to a meeting?” she asked.
“Because I am a counselor in the bishopric,” he answered.
“But you are my dad!” her daughter protested.
He knelt in front of her. “Sweetheart,” he said, “I know you want me to read to you and help you go to sleep, but tonight I need to help the bishop.”
His daughter replied, “Doesn’t the bishop have a dad to help him go to sleep?”
We are eternally grateful for the countless members who serve diligently in the Church of Jesus Christ every day. Your sacrifice is truly sacred.
But as this girl seemed to understand, there’s something equally sacred—something irreplaceable—about a parent nurturing a child. It reflects the pattern of heaven. Our Father in Heaven, our Divine Parent, surely rejoices when His children are taught and nurtured by their parents on earth.
Parents, thank you for everything you’re doing to raise your children. And children, thank you for everything you’re doing to raise your parents, because as every parent knows, we often learn as much from our children about faith, hope, and charity as they learn from us!

Right before I graduated from college, my wife and I were pondering two questions: when we should begin having children and where to go after graduation. We spent many hours talking about these intimidating issues but hadn’t come to any conclusions.
One particular Sunday, our conversation slowly turned into a debate, which then escalated into an argument. At that moment, the doorbell rang. We were surprised to find our home teachers standing in the doorway.
We invited them in and listened to their message. One of our home teachers began talking about Moses and the children of Israel making their escape from Egypt. When the children of Israel got to the shores of the Red Sea, they could go no further, and the Egyptians were quickly approaching. The scriptures say that the children of Israel “were sore afraid” (Exodus 14:10). When Moses prayed for guidance, the Lord responded, “Wherefore criest thou unto me? speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward” (Exodus 14:15).
As soon as our home teacher read that scripture, the feelings of frustration and fear melted away. My wife and I realized that we had been sitting on the banks of the Red Sea wondering what to do but that in order to “see the salvation of the Lord” (Exodus 14:13), we would have to go forward.
In our case, going forward meant making an informed decision, working diligently, and trusting in the Lord. We had to stop debating and start acting in faith. As we followed the Lord’s guidance, the sea of choices before us parted, and we were able to walk through unscathed. We are grateful for the blessings we received from moving forward in faith and for home teachers who inspired us to take the first steps.

The friendship with Quitovac didn’t end with just two visits. As this story was being prepared for publication, we learned that the youth from the Rincon Stake had been to the Alberque School again.
They brought quilts they had made, one for each child at the school. An LDS dentist came along to check the children’s teeth. And they also brought a foot-powered sewing machine, with the promise that a Relief Society sister would soon be along to teach villagers how to sew.
“When we arrived, the children lined up on the left and right of the road, clapped their hands, and saluted us,” Brother Rehm said. “We played the same games, had the same fun, left with the same feelings.”
And, he noticed, the school was cleaner. The students all had shoes and proper clothing. And even though there were still some broken windows in need of repair, it seemed like there was a brighter, happier feeling in this place in the sun.

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She was running an errand for her mother in an unfamiliar part of town, when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. She and her sister were allowed to go without further injury.
“As my sister and I walked home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”

While sitting in my police car watching for speeders one afternoon in June 1996, I heard on my radio a report of an argument between a convenience store clerk and some customers. Two junior officers were being sent to the store. I wasn’t seeing many speeders, so I decided to drive to the store to offer help. I felt impressed to drive along a seldom-used road.
Before long I heard on the radio that the first officer to arrive on the scene was Ben. I was concerned because he was a newly hired officer with little experience.
As I continued on the back road, I heard the dispatcher report that the customers at the store were drunk and becoming combative. I was somewhat relieved when I heard that the second officer, Rocky, who was a little more experienced, had arrived at the scene.
Then came a report that the customers, four of them, had just left in a blue compact car. Still driving toward the scene, I heard another police jurisdiction broadcast a description of the car and its occupants and request officers to look for it. Rocky’s voice came on the radio, giving the direction the car was last seen traveling.
Moments later, I saw the car speeding toward me. My heart sank when I heard someone advise that an officer had been assaulted. I guessed that Ben, the rookie officer who was first on the scene, had been attacked.
I quickly turned around and began to follow the car, which then pulled over and stopped as if waiting for me to pass. Believing that the people in the car had just assaulted a police officer, I followed different tactics than I might have otherwise, and all my senses were on alert. I turned on my emergency lights and stopped my car some distance behind the vehicle. After informing the dispatcher that I had the car stopped, I drew my gun and waited for backup. About a minute later Rocky arrived to assist me.
We began to call each person out of the car at gunpoint, one at a time. Rocky interviewed each person. In the meantime our sergeant arrived with an off-duty officer who, it turned out, had been assaulted only verbally by two of the men in the blue car. Ben was uninjured and was still at the store interviewing witnesses.
The four men were arrested. Inside their car was a semiautomatic assault rifle and several boxes of ammunition. Later we discovered that the rifle had been modified to function like a machine gun. We also learned that one of the men arrested was a gang member with a long history of violence, especially against the police.
After our police reports were finished, we conducted a debriefing, during which I recounted the events as I remembered them. I told the others I had heard that the people in the blue car had assaulted a police officer. The room grew quiet for a moment, and then the sergeant said that no one on any of the radio frequencies had said anything about a police officer being assaulted. I looked around the room, and all agreed that no one had said anything about an officer being assaulted. I told them I had definitely heard someone report it.
Ultimately I concluded that the Holy Ghost had spoken to me in such a way that I would listen at a critical time. Had I not heard that an officer had been assaulted, I might have been less cautious—and I might even have lost my life.
I am deeply grateful for the voice of inspiration that put me on alert that day.

Knowing I was not alone when I got a tractor stuck was always comforting. There were a few other lessons I learned while getting stuck that I would like to share. As I think back to the first time I was driving a tractor and got stuck, I was overly confident in the tractor’s power, unaware of the warning signs that are apparent if you know what to look for, and I truly didn’t
understand the consequences of being stuck. Unfortunately, even though I had learned from the first experience, I still got stuck more than once in my life. Even though I had learned what to watch for, if I wasn’t steadfast in my duties, I would find myself at a point where I was stuck. Once you are stuck, I have learned a few different ways to aid in the process of getting out. The first thing that needs to be done is to unhook from what is holding you there. In the example of the tractor, I would need to unhook from the implement or machine I was dragging behind me. Once that weight had been removed and the tractor was no longer attached to that burden it would very often be able to get unstuck under its own power.

This would be even easier if I were paying attention to the warning signs and was able to turn away from or stop before going further into a situation where I would become stuck. In our mortal journey, if we are paying attention to the warnings or promptings we may receive along the way, we should be able to know when to turn away, unhook the implement, or just stop moving in that direction. If I did not stop or turn away from the problem area soon enough, there were times that the tractor was unable to get unstuck under its own power, even if the implement was no longer attached and holding it back. At these times, I would need someone or something else to help me get unstuck. In similar situations in our spiritual life, these are times we should turn to our friends, family, and especially our ecclesiastical leaders for the extra help to escape what is bogging us down and keeping us from progressing.

I had a period in my life when I felt disconnected from Heavenly Father. Even though I was going to the temple, praying, and reading scriptures, I still felt overwhelmed. I realized I had been doing important spiritual things, but I wasn’t allowing quiet time in my life to really ponder my connection with Heavenly Father. I decided to try meditation—to take a break from the world and to deepen my sensitivity to the Spirit.
After I started setting aside quiet time to meditate and tried to connect with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, I felt a huge difference in my ability to recognize Their guidance in my life. I also felt more peace and joy in my circumstances.

If there are those who doubt President Clark’s tribute to our Founding Fathers, then hear the words of President Wilford Woodruff:
Those men who laid the foundation of this American government and signed the Declaration of Independence were the best spirits the God of Heaven could find on the face of the earth. They were choice spirits . . . inspired of the Lord.
Everyone of those men that signed the Declaration of Independence, with George Washington, . . . called upon me, as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, in the Temple at St. George two consecutive nights and demanded at my hand that I should go forth and attend to the ordinances of the house of God for them. . . .
Would those spirits have called upon me, as an Elder in Israel, to perform that work if they had not been noble spirits before God? They would not. . . . Said they: “. . . We laid the foundation of the government you now enjoy, and we never apostatized from it, but we remained true to it and were faithful to God.” [Conference Reports, April 1898, pp. 89–90; Journal of Discourses, 19:229]

My eleven-year-old daughter, Kristen, expressed a concern to me a few days ago that I believe is felt by many who are seeking to find a better, more righteous way of life. She said, “Dad, I’ve been challenged to live just one day as Jesus would live, but I’ve tried for a week now and I just can’t do it. Every day I think this will be that day. Then I make a mistake, and I have to wait for another day before I can try again.”
Kristen and all of us should remember that while we are commanded to love God, he has a perfect love for us. All the world needs to be taught of the great redeeming power of the Savior’s love. He loves us so much he has promised to forgive us of those things we do that are wrong and remember them no more if we will only repent and come unto him (see D&C 58:42). He loves us so much that he was willing to pay the price for those sins. He suffered for us. He died for us. He said, Come follow me; cast your burdens on the Lord. His desire is to lift us, to help us, to guide us, to save us.

Ron Rasband never doubted that he would serve a full-time mission. The only question the 19-year-old had while opening his mission call was where he would serve.
“My dad went on a mission to Germany. My older brother went on a mission to Germany. My future brother-in-law went on a mission to Germany,” he recalls. “I thought I was going to Germany.”
But the Lord had other plans. Ron had been called, instead, to the Eastern States Mission, headquartered in New York City, USA. Disappointed, he took his call to his bedroom, knelt by his bed, said a prayer, randomly opened his scriptures, and began reading:
“Behold, and lo, I have much people in this place, in the regions round about; and an effectual door shall be opened in the regions round about in this eastern land.
“Therefore, I, the Lord, have suffered you to come unto this place; for thus it was expedient in me for the salvation of souls” (D&C 100:3–4; emphasis added).
Immediately, the Holy Ghost confirmed to Ron that his call to the Eastern States Mission was no mistake.
“I went from being disappointed to having my first of many scriptural impressions that this is where the Lord wanted me to go,” he recalls. “That was a pivotal spiritual experience for me.”

I was never the most popular girl in my school, but I had tons of good friends, people to talk to and trust. Most of the students at school, including some of my friends and I, made fun of a girl in my class because she was different. We would tease her and call her names. We thought she looked funny, so we were just using her to entertain ourselves.
One Friday night some of my friends and I were at a friend’s house. We stayed up late talking, and we started talking about this girl. Then one of my friends said that she used to be friends with this girl and that she was made fun of last year, too. She told us that when they were friends, this girl used to call her on the phone every day after school. She said that sometimes it sounded like she was crying.
This made me think twice about how this girl must have felt. So I decided to stop making fun of her. That next week, instead of saying something mean or laughing at her, I would smile at her. After a few weeks, we began saying hi to each other in the halls. The next month we started talking more. We became very good friends.
One day we were walking to the bus, and this girl looked at me and said, “You mean the world to me, and I am so glad you’re my friend because you’re so nice to me. You respect me for who I am, and you make me so happy. You give me a reason to come back to school every day.”
After she told me this, I couldn’t speak. All I could do was say thanks and think about how much our friendship meant to her. It made me feel like someone out there loved me and respected me for how I acted toward them. It made me feel like I was worth something.

While she was still very young, Louisa began working as a seamstress and as a housemaid. Whatever money she earned Louisa gave to help support her family. At about the age of sixteen Louisa began teaching school also. The same barn where her first play had been presented now became her classroom. Her students delighted in the fairy tales Louisa made up to entertain them. Louisa’s first book, Flower Fables, was a collection of these tales.

The eighteen-hundred-mile trip from Ohio to Idaho would have been OK if only my little sister Michelle hadn’t been poking me all the way. Every so often, Mom would look back at us and say, “Now, Michelle, please don’t bother your big brother. We want everyone in a good mood when we get to Grandma’s house.”
But I was so excited about going to Grandma’s that I really didn’t care much what Michelle did to me. You see, Grandma’s farm has lots of hills and, best of all, lots of snow. I could hardly wait to put on a pair of skis and try the slopes. Even the heavy snow falling on the road now only added to my excitement. I could tell, however, that my dad was more worried than excited about it. He had turned off a ball game just to listen to the weather report.
Suddenly the car skidded wildly across the road. Dad pumped the brakes, but the car was out of control. We spun around and around until the car slowly stopped. It was unreal—we ended up turned completely around. Dad let out a sigh and quickly looked back at Michelle and me. “Are you two OK? I’m glad that you had your seat belts on.”
After we had all assured him that we weren’t hurt, and Dad had turned the car around, Michelle began crying. “I’m scared. I don’t like this weather.”
To tell the truth, I kind of wanted to cry too. I had a sick, awful feeling deep inside.
Mom lifted Michelle into the front seat and buckled my frightened sister in beside her. It was silent except for Michelle’s soft crying. “I think we’d better spend the night in the next town,” Mom said quietly.
“But if we do that,” I argued, “we won’t get to Grandma’s for Christmas. We’re so close that we could be there in another couple of hours.”
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Dad said, “but the roads are really bad. I’d rather get to Grandma’s a day late than not get there at all.”
“But, Dad,” I protested. Then before I knew what I was saying, the words slipped out of my mouth: “We could pray about it.” I knew that I’d said the wrong thing, because Dad doesn’t go to church. It’s Mom who always takes Michelle and me to church. Dad stays home and watches ball games. As we had prepared for this trip, Mom had asked Dad to join us in prayer for a safe journey to Idaho, but he had shook his head and left the room to finish packing the car.
“It’s OK if you say a prayer in your heart, Jon,” my mother said. Dad only grunted a reply. Swallowing my disappointment, I closed my eyes and thanked Heavenly Father for our safety and my blessings, especially for the chance to go to Grandma’s. Then I prayed that we would be able to have a great Christmas—one of the best ever.
As we pulled into a small town several miles down the road, the wind had really picked up and was blowing the snow furiously. A highway patrolman was stopping everyone and telling them that the road was closed. Whether I liked it or not, we were not going to make it to Grandma’s that Christmas Eve.
The only motel that had a vacancy was a small, rundown place at the edge of town. Michelle didn’t seem to care. The second the car stopped in front of our unit, she was out the door. The wind pulled at her small body, thrusting her away from the motel and the car. “Dad! Help!” she cried. Dad hurried after her and helped her into the motel. And even though I’m big for my eleven years, the wind made it almost impossible for me to walk.
What a gloomy, yucky place to spend Christmas Eve, I thought as I looked around. It was a dreadful contrast to Grandma’s roomy house with its cheery fireplace blazing with a yule log. Dad sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. It didn’t work. It was going to be a long night.
We had to eat cold sandwiches and cookies for supper. The town had completely closed down. Not more than sixty miles away lay Grandma’s house, yet we couldn’t get there. This looked like it was going to be the worst Christmas ever, instead of the best. I began to wonder if maybe Dad was right. Maybe Heavenly Father really didn’t listen to prayers.
To pass the time, I told Michelle every story I could remember, played every game I could think of, and made up a few after that. At least one person in our family can be happy, I thought. As for Dad, he just sat and stared out the window, watching the wind-whipped snow. Mom stood quietly beside him, rubbing his shoulders. Even though they didn’t say anything, I knew that Dad was upset about something besides the weather.
Suddenly Dad turned to Michelle and me. I could see tears on his face. “Kids,” he said, “I think I learned something very important tonight out on that road. Remember when our car went spinning out of control?”
We nodded.
“Well,” he continued, “on one side of that road was a drop of several hundred feet. If our car had come any closer, we would have fallen down that mountain and been killed. I see now that I’ve been neglecting the most important things in my life—my wife and you two children. I didn’t realize how much you mean to me and—“ He paused for a few moments. “Well, I want you to know that I realized tonight that the Lord did answer your mother’s plea for protection on our trip.”
And with those words, he gathered the three of us in his arms, and we all cried together. Then Dad kneeled down with us on the floor of that motel room and offered a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father.
And I realized that my prayer had been answered too. This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

Here’s an experience I had in my first year as bishop. I needed to call a new Relief Society president, and I didn’t have much time to do it – I don’t remember why. My student ward had over 200 members, the vast majority sisters; thus there wasn’t enough time to interview each sister. What would you do if you were in my situation? Pray! I prayed a lot about this. I knew I could not do this by myself, but I had confidence that I would receive divine help.
Within a day or two, one of the sisters in the ward came to my school office just to say hi – that’s what she said, anyway. We chatted for a short time, and it became crystal clear to me that I was talking to my new Relief Society president. So I extended the call. She was pretty shocked, but I knew she was the one Heavenly Father had chosen to be the new Relief Society president.
What’s the lesson here? Heavenly Father was aware of Mike Weber – an inexperienced newly called bishop who needed help. And I testify that if He is aware of me, He is aware of you as well. I know that is true.

About 15 years ago my doctor told me that I had to make a lifestyle change: “Start being more active, or you won’t live very long,” he told me. I took his warning seriously. I decided to start running.
To make this lifestyle change successful, I needed to keep the long view in mind because if I only had the short view, I wasn’t going to get very far.
My long view is a recurring goal to run one marathon each year. This goal helps me get up and run every day because I know that on one certain day next year, I’m going to have to run 26.2 miles (42.2 kilometers). I stay disciplined to train and meet my short-term goals each week because I know they’re getting me ready for race day.
Sometimes there are things that try and stop me, like the weather. Maybe it’s too hot or too cold outside, or maybe it’s raining. So I have to run inside on the treadmill, even though I significantly prefer to run on the street. Injuries also try and stop me. Maybe I didn’t stretch properly before my run, so I tweak my hamstring. Or maybe it’s not necessarily my fault that I got injured. But no matter how it happens, I can’t give up because I know I’m going to be running a marathon next year. So I make alterations to my training. I recover and get back out running.
Running has taught me a lot about the gospel. We all have a long-term gospel goal to endure to the end and achieve exaltation. But we set short-term goals like taking the sacrament at church each week that help us get there. We get spiritually injured when we make mistakes. But we don’t give up. We repent, and we get back out there. The only way we can achieve our long-term goal is by making little changes all along the way to help us stay on track.
For over a decade, I worked as the senior vice president for Walmart in Brazil. My family was financially stable, I enjoyed my job, and life was good. But the job was demanding. It required me to travel a lot, which was interfering with our family and with my Church service. After 11 or 12 years, it was becoming too much.
My wife and I counseled together and proposed that I leave this job. We talked it through with our children, and together we said, “It’s time for us to make a change.”
When I quit, I plummeted from senior vice president to unemployed. It took nearly a year to find and accept another job. When I finally took a position with a small real estate company in the United States, I felt good about it. This job would let me dedicate more time to the things that really mattered.
But other people told me I was crazy. Why leave a stable job for a real estate company no one has even heard of? And move halfway across the world to the United States?
They were right that this was a huge change we were choosing to make. But they were wrong that it was a poor choice.
It took a lot of faith for us to switch jobs and move to a new country, but the Lord took care of us. And I had more time to fulfill my responsibilities as a husband, father, and ward member.
I believe change is mandatory for achieving our potential. We will never become what Heavenly Father wants us to become if we’re stationary in our lives. And we become like Him as we make deliberate changes in faith.
Another big change that happened in my family was when my youngest brother died in a car accident. We didn’t choose or want that for him or for us, and it’s still painful, even after 10 years. Forced change is never easy.
But the changes we don’t choose can also become opportunities to build our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It’s easy to stay faithful when things are going our way. But can we keep the faith and keep going when the changes don’t fall in our favor?
Divorce, infertility, unemployment, illness, and other painful experiences like these are not experiences we hope and plan for. They can make us feel like life is happening outside of our control. But that’s not entirely true—amid your unsolicited circumstances, there are still things you can control. You can set small goals, even just the goal to get through one more day. You can do it! You can bear all things with patience! (see Alma 38:4).
Joseph of Egypt is a perfect example of this. His life was full of forced change—he lost his freedom twice! (Once when his brothers sold him into slavery, and again when Potiphar put him in jail.) But Joseph didn’t break down because his circumstances were undesirable or unplanned for. He adapted and grew through his experiences. And in the end, he saved his family and an entire nation. The Lord was molding him and preparing him the entire way (see Genesis 37–46).
It’s hard to be patient when forced change upsets your plan, but remember that the long-term goal is to achieve exaltation. Heavenly Father knows what we need to get there: “Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels; wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected” (Doctrine and Covenants 67:13).
Heavenly Father loves you and wants you to succeed. He wants you to be happy. And He’s laid out a plan for you to achieve both of those things.
When I see mortality for what it’s meant to be—training—the changes in my life become more purposeful. Change helps me achieve my long-term goal, which is to become like my Savior Jesus Christ. I know Heavenly Father shares the same long-term goal for me and for all His children. Just like my doctor knew I needed to change something for the sake of my health, God clearly sees the changes we need to make to become like Him. He supports us and supplies resources like the scriptures, a local congregation, and a living prophet to help us in our quest to change for the better.
On the hardest days—those days when it’s hard to get out of bed and put on your running shoes, when you know you need to repent, or when you are struggling with some other unexpected change—we remind ourselves of God’s infinite love and of His desire for us to be even happier than we are right now.
That reminder gives us the strength to make the changes the Spirit prompts us to make. And it helps us trust that the unexpected changes we’re forced to make are part of His plan for our greatest happiness.

The storm was getting worse. Snow lashed Tulimaq’s face, and the wind whisked the whimpering huskies faster along the trail. Tulimaq could barely stand the cold any longer. His fingers tingled with pain as he clenched the sled, and his cheeks were numb from the cold.
Every winter since he could remember, thirteen-year-old Tulimaq and his father had made this trip across the Canadian Arctic to visit relatives. They had always started at sunrise and arrived at their destination before sunset. But they had never before been caught in such a fierce storm.
“We can’t go any farther today,” Tulimaq heard his father call, his voice muted by the wind. “We must stop here and wait for the storm to pass. Tulimaq, you must help me build an igloo.”
Tulimaq breathed a sigh of relief. He brought his dog team to a halt and crunched across the freshly fallen snow toward his father. His chance to help build an igloo had finally arrived.
Tulimaq eagerly helped his father search for the right kind of snow to build a snowhouse. They looked for snow that had fallen in a single storm and that was packed tightly into a snowbank. Snow that had fallen unevenly would be layered and would easily crack when lifted.
“Here is a perfect snowbank,” said Tulimaq’s father, pulling his long wooden rod out of the snow. “My stick tells me that this snow is tightly packed and that it fell when there was no wind. This is the snow we will use for our shelter.”
Tulimaq made the outline for the igloo. He tramped his heels deep into the packed snow until he had formed a circle twelve feet in diameter.
Next, using snow knives with blades two feet long, Tulimaq and his father cut thirty-five to forty blocks from the snowbank. Each block measured about two feet wide, three to four feet long, and six to eight inches thick. They were then carefully fitted together to make the walls of the snowhouse.
Tulimaq placed the largest blocks in the circle on their ends. His father pared down the top of each block with his knife to make the blocks on the next row slant slightly inward.
“Now that the first row is completed,” Father said, “I will stay inside the circle while you pass me the blocks. We must finish it before we get so cold that we cannot warm ourselves.”
Tulimaq quickly heaved the heavy blocks onto the wall. He placed them tightly against each other, leaving his father to pare them so that they fit exactly.
Little by little the snowhouse grew. The walls, by curving inward slightly, were forming a dome, and after nearly an hour, they were almost meeting at the top.
“Now for the last block,” said Tulimaq’s father. “I will cut a smoke hole in this one so that the air will circulate, then I’ll pare it to fit snugly.”
Tulimaq patted loose snow into the small cracks between the blocks, then hurried inside to help his father. Using blocks of snow cut from the floor of the igloo, they built an entrance tunnel leading to the hole that they had cut for the door. The tunnel would help keep the shelter warm.
“We must insulate our igloo well,” said Father. “The wind is strong and cold, and we may be here for several days. Run outside and bring in the lamp and the skins from my sled.”
Tulimaq knew that skins lining the ceiling and walls of the igloo would help to keep it warm. They would also prevent the walls from melting too much when the lamp warmed the air inside the igloo.
After Tulimaq and his father had lined the ceiling and walls with the skins, they leveled off an elevated area around the inside walls to serve as a bench. Finally Tulimaq’s father lit the lamp.
Now the igloo was warm and cozy. Air circulated through the hole in the roof, but very little heat escaped through the walls. Cold air passed through the walls from the outside, but slowly enough so that it was heated by the lamp.
Tulimaq gazed into the flickering light. He unzipped his parka and tossed his mittens onto the bench. His fingers were no longer tingling, nor were his cheeks numb from the cold. He was tired. But he was happy and proud that he had helped his father build a shelter from the storm.