Gospel Story Finder

“If choosing the right is supposed to bring you blessings,” I thought to myself, “then why am I sitting alone in the hall of my new junior high?”
I didn’t know many people in my new school. My music class was where I felt most comfortable because I like to sing. After weeks of being the new kid, it was nice to feel like I fit in. Today, however, was different. Mrs. Wyler (name has been changed) had brought a recording of a popular Broadway musical, one my stake president had cautioned us to avoid. Mrs. Wyler turned to the class: “Any comments before we start?” she asked.
I squirmed in my chair. Everyone was looking eagerly toward Mrs. Wyler, the disc in her hand. I thought perhaps I could sing Church songs in my head to drown out the lyrics she would play, but I knew that would be hard for me in this situation. I looked at Mrs. Wyler as my hand slowly went up in the air.
“Yes, Jill?” she said as she inserted the disc into the player. I couldn’t think of what to say. I couldn’t say that my stake president told me not to listen to this musical, because she wouldn’t know what a stake president was. I had no idea how to explain, especially in front of the entire class.
“I have religious objections to this musical,” I said, knowing it sounded lame. The class was now watching me in silence.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Wyler, glancing at the clock, “Why don’t you just take your chair and sit in the hall this period.” As the door swung shut I could hear the wave of laughter as the music began. Sitting in the hall was miserable. “So much for making friends in this school,” I thought.
A couple of weeks later in English class, my teacher passed out copies of some new poems. One student raised her hand. “I have religious objections to these poems,” she said. I glanced over at her quickly, thinking she was making fun of me, but she looked back at me and smiled a real smile.
Instead of having people think I was stupid for having standards, it became the popular thing to do. Sometimes you have to show where you stand by where you are willing to sit.

Even if you’re nearing graduation and feel sure about the answers to those questions, it may be wise to think again. I say that from personal experience. As a senior in high school, I knew exactly the path I would take through college. My goal was to attend the Harvard Business School, just like my father. In answer to my questions about what that would require, he had informed me that the Harvard Business School admissions officers appreciate students with degrees in fields other than business, particularly science and engineering majors. That sounded good to me, because I love geology. For that I am indebted to Ricks College professors who taught me to appreciate the mountains and unique geologic features around Rexburg.

With this clear graduate school goal in mind, I declared geology as my major when I filled out my college application. Everything went according to plan. I enjoyed the geology classes and made rapid progress toward graduation. I also got a summer internship with a large oil company exploring the possibilities of geothermal energy. But I never went on any field trip that wasn’t required for a class, nor did I attempt to get to know my professors outside of the classroom. My grades were good, and I felt confident that the admissions officers at Harvard would be sufficiently impressed with me, notwithstanding my lack of practical experience or enthusiastically supportive faculty mentors.

In fact, I felt so confident that I didn’t apply to any other graduate school. I was thus completely unprepared to receive a “thin letter” from Harvard. For your future reference, acceptance letters often include not only the good news of application success, but also information and enticements designed to win your quick acceptance of the admission offer. These “thick letters” are fat and heavy. By contrast, a statement of rejection is relatively brief, making for a very thin letter. My Harvard thin letter, which weighed less than one ounce, crushed me, as it brought an end to a lifetime of dreaming.

In fairness, my thin letter encouraged me to reapply after gaining at least two years of full-time work experience, as nearly all successful Harvard Business School applicants do. But my devastation wasn’t just a matter of wanting to be admitted quickly. I seriously doubted my ability to get meaningful work experience. The price of oil had fallen by half during my time in college, on its way to falling by half again in the next two years. [2]

In other circumstances, I might have had the patience and optimism to take the Harvard counsel to get work experience and reapply. But experienced, graduate degree-holding professional geologists were being laid off in droves. The woeful joke at the time was that the best natural resource department in Denver, a leading energy hub, was also the shoe department at Sears, the Walmart of that time. Jobs in geology, especially for bachelor’s degree holders, were all but impossible to find.

Now, you may be wondering two things. One is how I could have been so foolish and unlucky in my educational plans. The other is why I am telling you this frightening story. The answer to the first question, about my foolishness and apparent bad luck, is that I can now look back and see that heaven was blessing me in spite of my vain ambitions and overconfidence. We’ll talk more about that later.

For now, let’s focus on the things you can learn from my scary story of bad college and career planning. In my defense, I did one important thing partly well. That thing was choosing a long-range goal to guide my choice of a college major. Rather than just picking a subject that I really liked, geology, I also picked it based on a post-graduation goal: getting into the Harvard Business School.

But I should have been looking past graduate school and on to the life’s work for which my degree would prepare me. I should have been making my best guess about what the life’s work would be. Was it to be a professor and academic administrator, like my father; a research scientist, like his father; or perhaps a real estate developer, like my maternal grandfather? Unfortunately, I wasn’t asking any of those questions.

“Recently, I spoke with a Laurel from the United States. I quote from her email:
“‘This past year some of my friends on Facebook began posting their position on marriage. Many favored same-sex marriage, and several LDS youth indicated they “liked” the postings. I made no comment.
“‘I decided to declare my belief in traditional marriage in a thoughtful way.
“‘With my profile picture, I added the caption “I believe in marriage between a man and a woman.” Almost instantly I started receiving messages. “You are selfish.” “You are judgmental.” One compared me to a slave owner. And I received this post from a great friend who is a strong member of the Church: “You need to catch up with the times. Things are changing and so should you.”
“‘I did not fight back,’ she said, ‘but I did not take my statement down.’
“She concludes: ‘Sometimes, as President Monson said, “You have to stand alone.” Hopefully as youth, we will stand together in being true to God and to the teachings of His living prophets.’”

A few years later, when I was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, our family moved to a different area. I was called to be what we now know as a home teacher to Brother Haymond, my hero from Primary days. I asked if he could tell me all about the story of his racing experience. It was very exciting to be able to hear from him, in person, about the event which had been such an inspiration to me earlier.

The young boy learned that through the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, it is possible to find peace even in a world filled with turmoil and wickedness. By 1912 the colonists found themselves in the middle of a revolution. Young Marion was worried about the troops pursuing each other through the countryside, taking supplies from the colonists—and he was terrified when shooting began just sixteen kilometers from his home.
But his terror was lessened as he listened to his mother sing hymns of faith and testimony as lullabies to her children. “The words of the songs she sang comforted me. Some of them have been ringing in my mind through all the years of the intervening two-thirds of a century.” (Ensign, July 1981, pp. 3–4.)

My mother passed away last November. For the last six years of her life she needed full time caregivers due to her cognitive decline. In her earlier years she was a middle school earth science teacher. It was hard to watch her struggle with memory loss and the inability sometimes to express herself or to even make simple daily living decisions. It was very hard for me, her daughter, to switch roles with her. It was hard for her too. I knew she was not going to get better. Sometimes our mortal bodies have done their work and they experience what they are meant to experience in mortality.

At my father's graveside service, six years before my mother's death, a friend brought about 20 homing pigeons whose wings had been dyed beautiful colors of the rainbow. They were released at the end of the service and we marveled at the beautiful ribbon of color they made as they flew in a beautiful pattern on their way home.

My mother remarked to me, "At my funeral, forget the flowers, I want those birds." So when it came time for my mother's graveside service we made arrangements for the birds. After the dedication of the grave, the birds were released. We watched them fly together against the dark green backdrop of the beautiful Koolau Mountains and then were shocked to see the birds form the shape of a heart. The funeral director was standing next to me and she said in a hushed voice, "Did you see that! The birds made a heart!" I wasn't quite sure I had seen it myself, but when she said that I knew that I had seen it. For me this was a message of renewal from my mother and my Heavenly Father. My mother was renewed. She was free.

My grandmother Isabel Blanco was born in Potosí, Nicaragua. In my memories, she is a loving, hardworking, and faithful woman. As I was growing up, she planted in my young heart the seed of faith as I saw her pray to God with fervor and as she took me to mass every Sunday to worship Jesus. However, she did not have an easy life. Among many other things that she did, when she was young, she worked as a maid for an affluent family. As was sadly common, her employer got her pregnant and when she could no longer hide her pregnancy, she was dismissed.

My father, Noel, was born from that pregnancy, and although Potosí was a small town and everyone, including Noel, knew who his father was, Noel never had any direct contact or relationship with him.

Isabel never married, and she had two other children out of wedlock. After some time, she and her three children moved to the country’s capital, Managua, looking for better employment and educational opportunities.

At some point, we also performed the temple work for my grandmother, Isabel, except for the sealing to spouse ordinance because she was not married in her life. Just think about this, a woman like Isabel, who was not treated with respect by men and who dealt with many struggles in her life, can be given the opportunity on the other side of the veil to exercise her agency and make a sacred covenant with God through a vicarious ordinance in the temple. She, like all of us, is in need of increased faith, in need of repentance, in need of love, in need of sanctification—in short, in need of healing.

Illustration by Allen Garns
Several times a year, my work requires that I travel from Taiwan to San Francisco, California, USA, for training. The problem with traveling between these two places is the 15-hour time difference. Jet lag made me want to sleep during the day, and it kept me awake all night.
Colleagues from all over the world attend these trainings. They told me they coped with jet lag by drinking coffee to keep them awake and drinking red wine to help them sleep.
Some colleagues offered me these drinks, but I politely told them I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and had promised the Lord I would not drink wine or coffee. Some teased me and said those commandments made my life harder. At times, it felt like I was being mocked by the people in the great and spacious building in Lehi’s dream (see 1 Nephi 8:26–27).
Over time, however, keeping the Word of Wisdom began to feel like a tedious burden. During one sleepless night, I realized my faith was weakening. Thankfully, my wife sent me a message that day encouraging me to keep my faith, rely on God, and keep His commandments regardless of the circumstances. With her encouragement, I started to pray for help and began to look at things differently.
On one trip, I noticed a colleague had two cups of coffee. I asked him about the second cup.
“One cup is not strong enough to keep me alert anymore,” he replied.
I was surprised to notice the same was true for those who drank wine. They needed to drink more to sleep. Sometimes, they even overslept because they drank too much.
Watching my colleagues become more dependent on alcohol and coffee made me realize how important it is to keep the commandments. If I had chosen to disobey the Word of Wisdom, I could have been in the same boat.
My jet lag has not completely gone away, but the situation has improved. One morning, I woke up after a good night’s sleep and saw the sunrise. As the sunbeams shone through the window, I realized that with Heavenly Father’s help, I can handle any trial, no matter how big or small. I just need to continue to obey, keep my faith strong, and endure to the end.

I remember my last year as a student at BYU. I roomed with three fine young men. We were all returned missionaries—eager, confident, waiting to see what the test of life would bring for us. We were filled with all of those good things that young returned missionaries aspire to. Many years later it is interesting to see where those roommates are and what has happened to them. The wife of one roommate was killed in an automobile accident; he was left with nine children. Another roommate—by a strange, accidental slip of the knife in surgery in a routine operation—lingered between life and death for months, bordering on being permanently incapacitated and crippled. The third roommate, probably the most talented and the one with the greatest potential, somehow began to move away from the faith of his fathers, became disaffected with the Church, left the Church, and separated himself from his wife and his children. He lives a life of regret, I believe. So we cannot anticipate always what the race will bring us.

As someone with major depressive disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder, I faced this reality for many years. I didn’t know how the Spirit felt. When my symptoms became bad during college, I ended up in the hospital for a week.
During those dark times inside my mind, I wondered how these illnesses would help me in the long run. How would God use this troubling experience for my good? What purpose did He have for me in giving me this trial?
I asked for priesthood blessings during this time, and there was always one sentence I heard repeatedly: “God has given you the resources to overcome this trial.” Having faith that He would lead me to what I needed in order to heal, I decided to trust my doctors. Little by little, I got the help I needed. Over time, I shared my mental health journey online.
Soon afterward, I began receiving messages from my male friends, asking about my mental health and sharing their similar thoughts and feelings. They asked me for help to know how to fight their numbness. At first I was surprised.
In many cultures, men are expected to always appear strong and never reveal their emotions. That makes it hard for them to admit they need help, and they often suffer in silence.
When this happened for the third time, I realized that my trials had prepared me to help. All those dark moments, all those therapy sessions, all my prayers, and all my efforts to exercise faith as I sought heavenly help taught me to recognize when others are facing similar trials and how to point them toward help.
I have learned the truth of these words from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “If you had appendicitis, God would expect you to seek a priesthood blessing and get the best medical care available. So too with emotional disorders. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation.”1

Sometimes a daughter can rescue a parent in times of storm when she cares enough to help. I know a family with a dad who has had to move from job to job. In his kind of work, everyone is getting laid off. One day his turn came. He might have come home and called his wife into the other room and said, “My dear, we don’t have enough money to pay the bills, and I know how much Julie wants that expensive sweater. I told her we would try to get it for her. I don’t want to disappoint her. What am I going to do?” There might be some teenage daughters who would have said, “But all of the other kids get new things. We deserve it. Besides, Dad promised.”
But that wasn’t the way it happened. Dad came home. He didn’t have to say anything. Julie and her sister knew. Julie didn’t say, “Dad what are you going to do?” Her mom told me that she put her arm around his shoulder and said, “Oh Dad, we can help.” How do you think her dad felt? Do you have any idea how her mom must have felt?
Since that time Julie has been working two jobs, twelve hours a day, to pay for her tuition to college this fall. On the day her twelve-year-old brother would not be able to go to camp because he had no suitable pants to wear, Julie received her pay from both jobs. Her mom told me that she held out the money for her tithing, held back the portion she must save each week for her college tuition, and had enough left to take her brother shopping for the much needed pants. How do you think her brother felt? Do you have any idea how Julie must have felt?

“They told us that being in the series would strengthen our testimonies,” said Cyndi Andreason, who plays Lisa Parker, “but I didn’t understand how it would.” She was soon to find out. When they began filming, Cyndi was going through a period of questioning. “I was active in the Church and I did everything,” she relates, “But I had a lot of doubts. I wondered if it was really worth the effort.”

After working more than 300 hours on the series, Cyndi realized that it was, indeed, worth the effort. “I saw what can happen when you don’t follow the teachings of the Church, and I didn’t want that to happen to me,” she said. Cyndi is probably more like the cheerful, obedient character she plays than anyone else in the series, except maybe for Dan Wilcox, who plays the part of Benjamin Parker, Lisa’s cousin.

There is nothing my toddler loves more than trying on my clothes. I’ll often find her rifling through my drawers, stumbling about in high heels, or tripping over dresses that are much too long for her tiny legs.
Recently, she added a new accessory to her wardrobe—my bright blue scripture case. She sauntered into the living room with it dangling from her shoulder, clearly struggling a bit with its weight. As I applauded her entrance and asked her to spin around, I realised that this was the first time I had seen my scriptures in months.
I’d received my own set of scriptures on my eighth birthday, and I had treated them with utmost respect. By that, I mean I had completely dogeared them and filled the margins with notes (and a few drawings—even I’ll admit that’s too far). They were well used, wrinkled and bashed about from years of enthusiastic study. Over time, my studies transitioned over to my phone and the gospel library app. As much as I preferred flipping through the actual pages of a book, convenience won, and my beloved quad began to gather dust.
I decided to open the case and show my daughter what was inside. As well as the scriptures themselves, dozens of lesson handouts and various other bits of paper tumbled out. I found my old Personal Progress journal, a lanyard from a weeklong youth conference in 2012, and a photo of the Saviour. To my daughter these were all exciting new treasures; to me, an equally exciting time capsule. I couldn’t believe that I had neglected to look inside after so long—I probably hadn’t unzipped the case since before my daughter was born. We had a lovely time going through each item, before finally reaching the set of scriptures. Despite one mishap with a ripped page (toddlers aren’t very delicate), it was a wonderful activity.
I thought back to my own childhood, when my mum’s big set of scriptures always sat open somewhere in the living room. Those same scriptures would be passed around as we studied them together, even when I was so small that I could barely read. I wanted my daughter to experience that—to always have a set of scriptures open and close by, ready to leaf through. Now, there is nothing more precious to me than those little moments where I spy my little girl toddle over to the scriptures and flip through. I can only hope that as she becomes familiar with those pages, that she will also grow to cherish the message inside.

Illustration by Guy Francis
I was 15 when I learned a truth about my talents—or more precisely, my lack thereof—in one particular area: I couldn’t sing.
I’d tried out for a community play, and my a cappella solo sounded so bad that halfway through an accompanist came up and started playing along out of pity. After that, I vowed nobody would hear me sing again. It was time to move on and find another hobby because one humiliating experience was plenty.
However, my big brother Dan, who was an incredible singer, had other plans. Months after my audition, he asked why I was so terrified of singing lately.
“I’m horrible,” I told him. “I can’t sing.” Dan didn’t believe me. Despite my protests, he convinced me to sing something right there. I was nervous.
I can’t recall what I sang, but it was short, barely audible, and seemed proof that I had no discernible singing talent. What Dan said next, I’ll remember the rest of my life. “There,” he told me, “I knew you had a good voice. You just have to practice.”
In Doctrine and Covenants 38:25 we are taught to “let every man esteem his brother as himself.” If Dan had made fun of me and my singing, as many older siblings might have done, he certainly would have ensured my singing silence, perhaps for a lifetime. Instead, Dan lifted me up. He encouraged me.
In the end, I followed his advice and practiced. To my surprise, I gradually improved. Singing became a great joy in my life. I sang in many choirs throughout high school and then in college and beyond. Singing remains one of my deepest joys.
The Savior taught: “Behold, do men light a candle and put it under a bushel? Nay, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light to all that are in the house” (3 Nephi 12:15). I’ve been able to let that light shine, enjoying and sharing music for many years now, but I never could have done it without the encouragement of my brother Dan.

Usually Jennifer loved library time at school, but today she was confused about something the librarian said. Mrs. Miller said that books like biographies and science books are nonfiction, while adventure stories and fairy tales are fiction. Jennifer had never thought about the difference between fiction and nonfiction.
“But shouldn’t writing something that isn’t true be illegal?” Jennifer’s classmate Adam asked.
Mrs. Miller smiled. “No, Adam. We have lots of books that aren’t true that we all love—like all your favorite novels and storybooks.”
After school, Jennifer was still puzzled. She knew that a lot of the stories and fairy tales she loved were make-believe, but it was still fun to pretend they were real. As Jennifer thought about fiction and nonfiction books, she wondered where the Book of Mormon would be shelved. Was it really true, or was it just a nice story that was fun to believe was true?
Jennifer thought a lot about the Book of Mormon over the next several days. She spent a lot of time reading it too. If people could invent enough stories to fill up the large fiction section of the library, was it also possible that someone could have made up the Book of Mormon? Jennifer wasn’t sure how she ever would know the truth.
When Sunday came, Jennifer was still worried about whether or not the Book of Mormon was a true book. She was worried that she was even asking the question. Everyone else at church seemed to know the Book of Mormon was true. How could they feel so certain when she felt so unsure?
During the sacrament, Jennifer said a silent prayer. It felt good to pray. Jennifer felt warm inside. She felt like Heavenly Father was telling her it was OK that she wanted to know about what was true.
As Jennifer took the sacrament, she started thinking about her baptism. She thought about how happy she had felt. She thought about how taking the sacrament renewed her promise to Heavenly Father to keep His commandments. She thought about how the feelings in her heart let her know that Jesus lives, even though she had never seen Him.
Then Jennifer began thinking about the Prophet Joseph Smith, and she had that same warm, peaceful feeling. It was the same way she felt as she read the Book of Mormon. She knew that Heavenly Father was telling her through the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
Sacrament meeting went on as usual that day, but Jennifer felt different. She felt grateful that Heavenly Father was willing to answer her questions, and that she knew for herself that the Book of Mormon was true.

When I was a young man in high school, one of my passions was American football. I played middle linebacker. The coach worked the team hard, teaching us the basics. We practiced until the skills became natural and automatic. During one play against our biggest rival, I had an experience that has helped me over the years. We were on defense. I knew my assigned opponent, and as the play unfolded, he moved to my right into the line of scrimmage. There was a lot of noise from players and fans. I reacted as the coach had taught us and followed my man into the line, not knowing if he had the ball. To my surprise, I felt the ball partially in my hands. I gave it a tug, but my opponent didn’t let go. As we tugged back and forth, amid all the noise I heard a voice yelling, “Packer, tackle him!” That was enough to bring me to my senses, so I dropped him on the spot.

I have wondered how I heard that voice above all the other noise. I had become acquainted with the voice of the coach during the practices, and I had learned to trust it. I knew that what he taught worked.

When I arrived at BYU–Hawaii I wasn’t a member of the Church. I had friends who were members of the “Mormon” Church. Calling each other Brother and Sister was new for me. I took required religion classes and received the missionary discussions. I was interested in joining the church, but it was difficult for my parents to have me change my religion. Then in the summer of 1980, I attended the baptism of my future father-in-law, Warren Johnson Sr., at Temple Beach I felt a special feeling, and was determined that I would get baptized as well. On July 4, 1980, my basketball teammate, Roger Rowberry from Idaho baptized me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can remember that early morning. I didn’t have a way to Laie so I ran from Kahuku to the Laie Hawaii Stake Center. The full-time missionaries had me change into my baptism clothing and one of my best friends baptized me. One of the full-time missionaries confirmed me a member of the church. BYU–Hawaii was definitely a missionary factor. I received the gospel and joined the church when I was a student at BYU–Hawaii. The next summer in August of 1981, I entered the Provo Missionary Training Center to serve in the Wisconsin Milwaukee Mission. This was not a lifetime goal for me and if not for the influence I received from my wife, good friends, and people at BYU–Hawaii and PCC, I would not have gone on a mission. It was a difficult decision to graduate from college or to delay my education and serve a mission first. My parents did not understand a mission therefore they did not support it. I would not hear from my parents for two years until I returned from the mission field. What a great opportunity I had to serve the people in Wisconsin. Wisconsin was a foreign land for me the winters were long and cold. I remembered teaching the Littel Family. This Family was contacted by earlier missionaries going door-to-door finding people to teach the gospel. The earlier missionaries baptized two members of the family, but were unable to baptize the parents and two other siblings. My companion and I were able to share the gospel and the aloha spirit. This family became our friends and they wanted to know more about the gospel and beautiful Hawaii. Later the parents were also baptized. Another son and daughter were not baptized but were friendly towards the church. My required religion classes prepared me for my mission. When I entered into the mission field in August of 1981 I had read all of the standard works because it was required at BYU–Hawaii. What a blessing to have done that. Today students from BYU–Hawaii continue to enter into the mission field and serve millions.

Getting where he is now hasn’t been easy. He’s a sprinter with a marathon schedule. Moroni is off to school early. After school there’s just enough time to wolf down a snack before heading off to training. By the time he’s home, at around 8:00 P.M., he barely has time to eat dinner and do homework. Then it’s off to bed. Keeping up with Moroni isn’t a challenge just on the track.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Moroni says. “A lot of times I want to do other things, like hang out with my friends or play the guitar. But there’s no time.”
As Moroni tries to juggle his training schedule with homework, family, church, and friends, the scripture about a man running “faster than he has strength” takes on more than one meaning for him.
Like many Latter-day Saint teens, Moroni has had to be careful not to overload himself by doing too much. From his experience as a runner, Moroni knows that you can hurt yourself when you push too hard. As King Benjamin told his people, “It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength” (Mosiah 4:27).
But to Moroni that scripture isn’t an excuse to stay in his comfort zone; it’s a challenge to increase his strength. When he began competing in the 100 meters at age 14, his top time was 11.9 seconds. Through growth and training, he has increased his strength and improved his time. Now Moroni’s best time in the 100 meters is 10.46 seconds—the Mexican record in the junior (minor) division.
“It’s the consistency in training,” he says, “every day without quitting. I know I have limits, but they can change. On the track there are times when I think I can’t make it, but stretching that much farther is part of the sacrifice to get better.”
Or in King Benjamin’s words: “And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize” (Mosiah 4:27). That lesson hasn’t been lost on Moroni off the track.
“Trials that once seemed impossible aren’t necessarily,” Moroni says. “The Lord will never give us challenges we can’t overcome. We can overcome them even if at first we think we can’t. Never giving up is how we grow and get better. In the end, the sacrifices are worth it.”

Not too long ago, I received an impression that followed a similar pattern. While reading the scriptures, I came across the word preserve, and it struck me in a way that I hadn’t recognized previously. A small seed was planted in my mind. Subsequently, I felt like I was encountering this word everywhere. For instance, I saw it in other things I read and heard it in casual conversations. I even found it at the grocery store. While walking down an aisle looking for jam, a certain label on a jar caught my eye. I picked it up, and there I stood deciding between buying jam or preserves!

Each encounter helped the small seed to grow, and my attention was now focused. I recognized a pattern that continued to persuade me to ponder this word. Of course I knew that people weren’t suddenly and involuntarily using the word preserve around me more often. But with my new heightened sensitivity to the word, I sought to understand what I should learn from this “frequency impression.”

I felt the Spirit invite me to contemplate three questions:
Question 1 led me, predictably, to the dictionary to look up preserve. I love the language that I found there. It helped me visualize the purpose of preservation. I learned, for example, that to preserve means:
As I pondered these definitions, it became easy to answer question 2: What am I trying to preserve, protect, keep alive, and defend? I’m sure if you were to consider that question for yourself, we might find that we share some answers in common—relationships with loved ones, family history and traditions, heirlooms, and things in the physical world such as the environment, to name a few.

The steps we take to preserve things are observable in our everyday lives—for example, the foods we eat, the exercises we perform, the medicines we take to preserve our physical and mental health, and the technology we use to preserve information so it can be accessed well into the future.
Ultimately, this exercise clearly highlighted a few things for me:
With this understanding, I was able to discern what the Spirit of the Lord was trying to tell me. He wanted me to assess, before all else, how I can preserve my faith in Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ and my relationship with Them.

This singular question called on me to apply all that I was learning about preservation to my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and the covenants that I’ve made with Them. It led me to determine whether I had placed Them in the prevailing position on my personal list of values, allowing everything else in my life to flow from that most important relationship.

I broke my foot in gym one year because of envy. It was during a basketball practice on an outdoor court. I tried to make Jenny Jaimeson’s shoe come off her heel just as she directed a beautiful shot toward the basket. She jumped away too quickly, and I slipped off balance and fell on the concrete. Something snapped as I went down.
The bell rang, and Jenny disappeared to her next class. I limped to the office to call my mom. X-rays confirmed a broken foot. I learned in a painful, very embarrassing way that we can’t succeed by trying to hold others back.
I had been trying to hold Jenny back so I could somehow reach her level. Not only did she play basketball well, but she swam on the swim team and was good at jazz dance. She glowed. She sported the kind of complexion that is tan all year long. She was always flashing a fabulous smile. Everyone liked Jenny.
The next day I arrived at school with a cast and crutches, hoping to maneuver my way down the hall without being too noticeable. Jenny saw me at my locker and hurried over. If she had any idea how the accident happened, she never let on.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay? Can I carry your books?” she asked.
It was impossible for me not to like Jenny too. That was the maddening part. She was so likable.
I didn’t overcome my envy overnight, but six weeks hobbling around on crutches and trying to coordinate my wardrobe with plaster of paris helped me reflect—on Jenny and on me. She worked hard at what she liked to do and made the most of her talents. When I began to unearth my own talents, my life began to change. I practiced the cello because I loved playing. I showed up for track (once the cast was gone, of course), wrote poetry, and volunteered with a friend at the community hospital. I invited nonmember friends to Young Women.
I haven’t seen Jenny since we graduated, but I’m sure she’s accomplished great things. Envy, I’ve learned, is a way of giving up. It definitely keeps you down! Everyone has unique talents, challenges, and opportunities. We make our own happiness and success through effort and hard work.