Gospel Story Finder

Five years ago, I became actively involved as a consultant with the Norwegian Public Broadcasting Television. They were producing a historical documentary about my grandfather Capt. Reinert Godfred Jonassen whose ship Gyda was destroyed around 1897 by a major cyclone that struck in the area of Tahiti. There is more to the story, but basically Capt. Jonassen never returned to Norway. Instead, he ended up on Aitutaki Island where he remarried and had three children from his wife Ti'avaru, including my father and his two sisters.

The children were all under the age of 10, when they lost their father Reinert in a tragic accident. Ever since, they cherished a desire to visit their Scandinavian homeland and meet the extended family. My involvement with the Norwegian documentary became a wonderful opportunity to heal relationships and fulfill the dream of my aging father, Michael, and his sister Josephine, who, at ages 90 and 88, respectively, still had never seen Norway, the land of their father. Unfortunately by then, their older sister Anne had passed away.

The opportunity finally arrived. Michael and his sister Josephine were invited to Norway for the public showing of the documentary on their father. I was also invited to accompany them as their bag-carrier. Aunty Josephine looked quite ill before our journey to Norway even began. Suspecting her condition, I suggested we postpone the visit to Norway. She raised her voice at me for the first time in my life saying, "Son, I have waited 88 years for this, so I am going no matter what. The Lord knows my heart."

At her request, I gave her a priesthood blessing two times a day for the whole period we were on the road, almost two weeks. Her testimony of the gospel was absolutely amazing. Keep in mind that the journey from Aitutaki took us through the Pacific, across the United States, over the Atlantic and then across the Scandinavian countries to Norway. Her doctor in Auckland, New Zealand, was surprised that she was still walking when she returned. She had, in fact, a very advanced life threatening pneumonia during the entire journey. It was her strong faith that sustained her and enabled her to engage and endure.

I thought discovering the family home in Norway and watching my father and his sister's emotional visit would be the major highlight in my life.

On our devotional discussion board, many of you shared your own experiences of being patient through hardships and then realizing great blessings. Joseph Kemper shared:

It was 12 years after my mission before I got married. It was not because I wasn’t dating or that I wanted to push off getting married, it was just how things happened. I was dating as regularly as I could, hoping to get married. As the years went on, I heard many talks directed toward young men about marriage and family (I remember one by President Hinckley in particular). As I looked at the lack of success I had in the dating world, I started to wonder what was wrong with me. From there, thanks to a prompting from the Spirit, I had a wonderful realization. I was and am a temple worthy and temple attending member of the Church who is entitled to all the blessings God is ready to give. Then came the wonderful realization that God just had a different timeline in mind for me which was just fine. I finally met my beautiful angel queen in 2011, and we have been happily married since 2012.

The best way to overcome a difficulty is to never give up. When I was in Primary, I had a great challenge because I felt like nobody liked me. I became very lonely. Then my grandmother told me that the way to have friends is to be a good friend to others. I tried to be a good friend to those around me, even though I didn’t think that they would want to be friends with me. I soon learned that people will treat you like you treat them. Jesus taught this principle as the Golden Rule: “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them” (3 Ne. 14:12). Sometimes we don’t understand how much Jesus loves us. But as much as He loves us, we need to love Him. We also need to love our brothers and sisters by being helpful and kind to them.

One day my four-year-old brother, Benjamin, wished for an elf to come and rescue us. It all happened on a spring holiday from school when Mom came rushing back from her Relief Society presidency meeting and gasped, “Boys, this place looks terrible! What happened?”
Nothing had happened. We’d just been awake and playing for a couple of hours and hadn’t bothered to clean up after ourselves. When five boys live in a house for two hours, things get kind of messy. We weren’t always sloppy at home. Sometimes we’d clean things up if Mom or Dad asked us to. And we usually grumbled and groaned a bit because keeping things tidy and clean wasn’t our favorite thing to do.
“I didn’t think you were supposed to be back for a long time,” Aaron said.
“I forgot some things,” Mom answered. “I have to go right back. Can’t you boys do something about this house? It looks like a tornado blew through it.”
“But, Mom,” Jared groaned, “it’s a holiday. Nobody wants to work on a holiday.”
She didn’t say anything more. She just found what she was looking for and rushed out the door again.
I looked around. Things did look pretty messy: There were clothes and toys scattered about. Ammaron had emptied all the books from the two bottom shelves, and no one had cleared the breakfast dishes from the table or swept the kitchen floor. Our bedrooms were even worse—clothes everywhere, beds unmade, toys piled on the dressers.
“Do you know what I wish?” Benjamin asked. “I wish we owned an elf.”
“An elf? What would we do with an elf?” I asked.
Benjamin’s grin grew wider, and his dark brown eyes sparkled. “I’d make him work. Then Mom wouldn’t have to.”
“If you find one, Benjy,” Aaron said with a grin, “Alma and I could sure use him in our room. Maybe we could even get him to rake the lawn and plant the garden.”
Benjamin frowned at Aaron’s teasing and stamped his foot. “I am going to find an elf. I don’t want Mom to be sad any more.” He stood up and left the room.
I forgot about the messy house and Benjamin’s elf until he bounced back into the family room a while later and announced loudly, “An elf came!”
The rest of us turned away from the TV and stared at Benjamin, who stood grinning and beaming.
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asked.
Benjamin stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth. “A secret elf came to Jared and my room. It’s clean. Mom will sure be happy when she sees what my elf did.”
Well, we’d never had an elf at our house. We didn’t really believe that Benjamin had found one now, but he had raised our curiosity enough that we left the TV and followed him down the hall.
The place was clean. At least there were no toys, blankets, or clothes scattered about. The bedspreads were a little lumpy, but the beds were made. The room looked a lot better than I had remembered it looking that morning.
“How do you know an elf did it?” Jared questioned Benjamin.
Benjamin shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I just know. Don’t you wish an elf had visited your room, Alma?”
I stepped to the closet and pulled open the door. Three stuffed animals and a bundle of wadded-up clothes tumbled out.
Aaron snickered, bent over, and threw back the bedspread to look under the bed. More toys, shoes, and clothes had been stuffed out of sight. “Some elf,” he laughed. “Your lazy elf stuffs things away as well as you do, Benjy.”
Benjamin’s smiled drooped into a sad frown as everyone turned and left the room, laughing and joking about his lazy elf. I stayed behind.
“It really was an elf, Alma,” he said with teary eyes. “The room was clean until you opened the closet.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “Do you know what I think, Benjamin?” He looked up at me. “I think your elf needs a little help.”
“I don’t think there’s another elf who can help him,” Benjamin said sadly, ducking his head.
I stepped over to the closet and dropped to my knees. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sometimes I’m an elf in my spare time.”
“You?” he gasped.
I grinned, nodding.
“Will you help me, Alma? I don’t want Mom to be sad when she sees my room.”
It didn’t take us long to whip that room into shape. And it was funny how good it made me feel to be doing something good in secret.
We were just straightening the sheets on the top bunk when Jared pushed open the door and stepped in. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”
Benjamin and I looked at each other. “It’s a secret,” I said.
Jared opened the closet door. Everything was in order. He peeked under the bunk bed. Nothing was stuffed there. He pulled out the drawers. All the clothes were folded and straight. “What happened?” he asked.
“It’s a secret,” Benjamin said. “There really is an elf.”
“It’s just you two,” he said, shaking his head.
“If you don’t tell, you can join us.”
“Why would I want to join you? I hate cleaning up.”
“But if you’re an elf, it’s fun!” Benjamin burst out.
Jared looked at me. I grinned and nodded my head. He thought a moment, then said, “All right, I’ll try it.”
“Aaron and my room’s next,” I whispered.
With three elves working full speed, we had the room finished in no time.
“What are you guys up to?” Aaron demanded, walking into our room. “Are you cleaning?” He peered about. Nothing was out of place. He checked under the bed, in the closet, and through the drawers. “Did you guys really do all this?” he demanded.
“Benjy’s elf came back,” Jared said.
“And he brought two buddies,” Benjamin added.
“This place is crawling with elves,” I told him. “There’s a regular elf patrol running around.”
“Mom won’t believe it!” Benjamin crowed. “She’ll think she’s in a different house. And she won’t be sad any more.”
“Join us,” Benjamin invited.
Aaron stepped into Benjamin and Jared’s room and looked around. Then he came back to our room. “Mom won’t know what to think,” he said smiling. Suddenly he frowned. “What about the kitchen? Ammaron just poured a box of cereal all over the floor.”
“It’ll take a whole bunch of elves for that,” Benjamin said.
I turned to Aaron. “Are you in the mood to be an elf?”
“It’s fun,” Benjamin chimed in.
Aaron shrugged. “I’ve been a lot of things but never an elf. Let’s do it!”
I don’t ever remember a time when all five of us worked so hard and so fast. And it took all of us to clean up the kitchen. Jared cleared and cleaned the table, Aaron dried the dishes, helping Ammaron wash them along the way, I grabbed a broom, and Benjamin got the mop.
We were worn out when we heard the car pull into the driveway, but the place was clean.
“Quick,” Aaron ordered. “Everybody get into the family room. We’ll be watching TV, pretending we don’t know anything about the house.”
We pulled a few books from the shelf, scattered some magazines about the floor, and kicked our shoes around the room so that Mom would think we were still just lying in our old mess.
Mom trudged into the house with her arms full of Relief Society things. She staggered into the kitchen and set her things on the table.
“Goodness!” we heard her exclaim. “What happened in here?”
No one answered.
She wandered throughout the house, peering into each room. “What has happened to this house!”
I stretched and yawned. “Oh, don’t worry, Mom. This movie is about over. We’ll help you pick up the house in a few minutes.”
“Have you seen this house?” Mom asked, surprised as she walked into the family room.
“Yeah, it’s a little junky,” Aaron came back, “but we can take care of that after the movie.”
“I don’t believe this is the same house!” Mom exclaimed again. Benjamin covered his face with one of the couch cushions so that Mom wouldn’t see him laughing. Jared and I were trying to hide our giggles too.
When she actually sputtered, “This place is spotless!” we all jumped up and rushed about the house, acting surprised.
“What happened?” we called out. “This place was such a dump!”
Then Mom spotted a note that Aaron had taped to the hall wall. She opened the note and read, “A special surprise from the elf patrol.” Mom looked up. “So we’ve had an elf invasion,” she said happily.
“They must have come in while we were watching TV,” Jared cried. “Imagine that—being invaded by elves!”
Now if the house ever gets really messy or if there is a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, Mom drops down in a chair and sighs, “Oh, I wonder where the elf patrol is today.”
And before too long, without Mom ever knowing, the house gets cleaned. We still haven’t told her who belongs to the elf patrol. That would spoil the magic. And when you are working as a secret elf, all the work you do is just plain fun.

“The constable who served this second warrant upon Joseph had no sooner arrested him, than he began to abuse him,” Newel wrote. The constable refused Joseph food, even though Joseph had been in court all day with nothing to eat. Then Joseph was taken 15 miles to a tavern where men gathered to “abuse, ridicule, and insult him. They spit upon him, pointed their fingers at him, saying, ‘Prophesy! Prophesy!’” The only food Joseph received for the night at the tavern was crusts of bread and some water.
Joseph Smith was taken before the Magistrate’s Court in Colesville. Again, his friends, including the Knights and the counselors Mr. Knight had hired, were at his side.
Newel reported of the trial that many witnesses were called who swore to incredible falsehoods about Joseph Smith. Some of these witnesses contradicted themselves so plainly that the court would not allow their testimony. Others were zealous to convict Joseph but could only testify of things they had heard others say about him. Finally, Newel Knight himself was called as a witness by a prosecuting attorney, a Mr. Seymour, who had been sent for just for this occasion.
Newel faithfully recorded in his journal the interrogation given him by the lawyer Mr. Seymour:
“Mr. Seymour asked: ‘Did the prisoner, Joseph Smith, Jun., cast the devil out of you?’
“[Newel’s] Answer: ‘No, sir.’
“Question: ‘Why, have you not had the devil cast out of you?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘And had not Joseph Smith some hand in it being done?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘And did he not cast him out of you?’
“Answer: ‘No, sir, it was done by the power of God, and Joseph Smith was the instrument in the hands of God on this occasion. He commanded him to come out of me in the name of Jesus Christ.’
“Question: ‘And are you sure it was the devil?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir.’
“Question: ‘Did you see him after he was cast out of you?’
“Answer: ‘Yes, sir, I saw him.’
“Question: ‘Pray, what did he look like?’
“(Here one of the lawyers on the part of the defense told me I need not answer that question.) I replied:
“‘I believe I need not answer that question, but I will do it if I am allowed to ask you one, and you can answer it. Do you, Mr. Seymour, understand the things of the Spirit?’
“‘No,’ answered Mr. Seymour, ‘I do not pretend to such big things.’
“‘Well, then,’ I replied, ‘it will be of no use for me to tell you what the devil looked like, for it was a spiritual sight and spiritually discerned, and, of course, you would not understand it were I to tell you of it.’
“The lawyer dropped his head, while the loud laugh of the audience proclaimed his discomfiture.”
Following Newel’s testimony, the closing arguments were made. Mr. Seymour attacked the character of Joseph Smith in a violent harangue. The Colesville gentlemen Mr. Davidson and Mr. Reid followed on Joseph’s behalf, and even though they were not formally trained lawyers, they silenced all opposition and convinced the court that Joseph Smith was innocent. He was cleared in court of all charges and freed.
Even the second constable who had arrested Joseph Smith and treated him so cruelly came forward and apologized. The constable went so far as to warn the young prophet that a crowd was waiting to tar and feather him a short distance from the court, and the constable helped Joseph escape the mob.

As I have thought about the blessings that come from putting the kingdom of God first in our lives, I'm reminded of a story that President Monson told a few years ago in one of his conference talks. It's the story of a Brother Joseph Millett who recorded the following in his journal:

One of my children came in, [and] said that Brother Newton Hall's folks were out of bread. [They] had none that day. I put our flour in [a] sack to send up to Brother Hall's. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, Brother Hall, how are you for flour?'

He answered, Brother Millett, we have none.'

Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided ours and was going to send this to you. Your children told mine that you were out.'

"Brother Hall began to cry. He said that he had tried others and could not get any. [He then] went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett.

Well, Brother Hall, you needn't bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don't owe me for it.'

Brother Millet's journal continued, "You can't [imagine] how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett." (In Eugene England, New Era, July 1975, p. 28.)

Sweat trickled down Randy’s back as he lugged the heavy wire cage onto the grass. “Boy, it’s hot for March, Honeybun, even for Georgia,” he said to the black-and-white rabbit. “You’ll be comfortable in the shade of this apricot tree, though, and you can munch some nice fresh grass while I’m at soccer practice.” Randy brought the hose and filled Honeybun’s dish with water.
“Isn’t that Jim’s rabbit?” Dad asked as he walked by pushing the lawn mower.
“Yes. I’m pet-sitting while he’s away this weekend. Honeybun’s going to win a blue ribbon for Jim at the county 4-H contest this summer,” Randy said. He petted the rabbit gently, stroking the soft fur on her flanks and lightly tickling her ears. She was happily chewing the long grass poking through the bottom of the cage as Randy left for soccer practice.
After practice, Randy went home with a friend and stayed until late in the afternoon. When he returned home, Dad was waiting for him in the front yard. “I just moved Jim’s rabbit back into the shade, Randy,” he said. “The sun had traveled to that side of the apricot tree long ago, and I’m afraid his rabbit was in the sun too long. She doesn’t look good.”
Randy ran to the backyard and crouched by the cage. Honeybun was lying on her side, panting. She stared at Randy listlessly. Every few minutes she struggled to get up, only to fall over again.
“Come on, Honeybun! Get up, girl!” Randy urged. He got some water from the hose and sprinkled the trembling form. Honeybun shuddered and lay still, barely breathing. “Oh, no,” Randy groaned.
Dad squatted down by the cage and shook his head.
Randy went into the house and lay on his bed. What if Honeybun died? How could he ever explain to Jim what had happened? He stared at the ceiling for a long time; tears began to slide down his cheeks.
Dad came to the door of Randy’s room. “I’m afraid that the rabbit’s dead, Son,” he said quietly. He put his arm around Randy’s shoulder, and together they went outside and buried Honeybun in the freshly plowed earth of the vegetable patch.
“Dad, would you tell Jim for me?” Randy asked. “I don’t think that I can do it.”
“You took the job, Randy. You’ll have to tell him.”
“Please, Dad,” Randy begged. “I just can’t face him. What if he’s mad? Maybe he won’t be my friend anymore.”
“It’s never easy to give someone bad news, Son, especially if it was your fault. But I think you need to tell Jim yourself.”
Randy turned away and got his bike and wheeled slowly out of the yard. He wanted to get away from everything, as far away as possible. As he rode, the breeze brushed back the hair on his forehead and dried the sweat on his neck. But it couldn’t blow away the terrible lump in his throat.
Randy slowed down as he passed the ice-cream store on Main Street. He dug into his pockets, but they were empty. Next door he saw Alec’s Pet Shop. Usually she had birds or kittens in the window. Randy’s eyes almost popped when he saw the new display. Several fat, sleek, black-and-white rabbits frolicked on artificial turf! A sign read: “Dutch Rabbits—$8.00.”
Randy began thinking, What if … ? Rabbits are rabbits, aren’t they? They don’t come when you call their name, or sleep on the end of your bed. Jim probably couldn’t tell the difference, and he could still win a blue ribbon.
Randy raced home and counted the money in his savings bank. There was the five-dollar bill that Grandma had given him for his last birthday, some quarters from his allowance, and a bunch of dimes, nickels, pennies. Altogether he had $9.49. Randy stuffed the money into his pocket and practically flew downtown on his bike. He felt sure that his troubles would soon be over.
“I’d like to see that big rabbit, the one over in the corner,” he told the shopkeeper. “Is it a male or a female?”
“That’s the only female,” he answered. “She’s a beauty.”
Randy tried to cuddle the rabbit, but quickly dropped it. “Ouch!” he cried. “This rabbit scratches!” The rabbit scooted across the floor and squeezed close to the wall. Randy took some pellets from an open bin and held out his hand. “Come here, Honeybun,” he called hopefully. The rabbit scrunched even closer to the wall and pressed her ears tightly against her body.
“She’s not very tame, is she?” Randy said aloud, thinking, She’s not at all like Jim’s Honeybun, who loved to eat from his hand and sit quietly in his arms to be stroked.
Randy and the shopkeeper finally cornered the big rabbit and got her back into the pen.
“Do you want to buy her?” the shopkeeper asked.
Sadly Randy shook his head. He knew that his wonderful idea wouldn’t work. This rabbit couldn’t replace Honeybun. He knew what he’d have to do. Telling Jim would be hard, maybe the hardest thing that he’d ever done, but it was the only thing to do. And he would offer the money to his friend so that Jim could decide whether or not to replace Honeybun. Randy climbed onto his bike and started home.

7. Keep cars free of inside litter. Place heavy objects—which could become missiles in case of a quick stop—in the trunk. In California, two missionaries were slowing down for an intersection when an empty pop bottle rolled from beneath the driver’s seat and up under the brake pedal. With the brakes thus jammed, they smashed into a semitrailer and the car was totaled out. Fortunately no injury more serious than a broken arm resulted, but all for an empty pop bottle. In another case a quick stop brought some heavy books flying from the back window area, whacking the driver on the neck. He was severely cut and had to have stitches. Imagine what a typewriter or an adding machine might have done!

Hurrying from her car, Carole gripped her shoulders. The unexpected snowstorm had caught her wearing only a sweater for protection, and she dashed to feel the warmth of the old cottage. She shook the snow from her hair as she stood shivering on the porch, waiting for the door to open.
Carole’s great-aunt Naomi Sweet, nicknamed “Sweetie,” peered out the door into the cold.
“Why, Carole! Oh you dear thing, come now, get yourself out of the storm,” she said.
Carole quickly walked into the warm front room. Boughs of pine and blue spruce curled along the entryway, and a string of gingerbread men dangled from a red ribbon, ready to be cut down and taken home by visitors. Carole smiled and drank in the fragrant smell of cinnamon and ginger, spices that always reminded her of Sweetie’s home.
“My stars, it’s been ages since you’ve been to see me,” said Sweetie. “Oh, and I’ll bet you’re starving! Lucky thing I baked gingersnaps today—I nearly spent the day trimming the tree instead, but today was just the right day to stay in the kitchen and bake.”
Carole sat in the old rocker and snuggled deep into the afghan lying across its back. She felt warm and secure. She had needed to escape, and this was the best cure she could imagine. College had been difficult for her, and although she had originally planned to spend the holidays working to earn more money for school, she decided to come home.
Sweetie set a tall glass of milk and a plate of cookies beside Carole. “You remember we used to always make gingersnaps together?” Sweetie chuckled.
Carole remembered. She had always loved coming to Sweetie’s house, making gingersnaps, drinking lemonade on the porch, planting daffodils, and going on picnics in the meadow. She had missed Sweetie while she was away at college.
“Carole, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” said Sweetie. “I didn’t think you’d get to come home for Christmas this year. Land’s sake, I didn’t get a chance to get your gift yet!”
Carole had been so pressured at school that she decided to come home despite the expense. The very thought of staying away at Christmastime seemed so ridiculous now that she found it difficult to imagine why she had planned to do so in the first place.
Although Carole enjoyed school, there were some disturbing aspects of it. Her courses were intellectually stimulating, but she was required to deal with sacred texts in ways she never had before. Some of her professors discussed the Bible as being nothing more than Hebrew mythology—fairy stories. The professors were so intelligent and knew so much about such vast amounts of information, that Carole could never hold her own in any debate about religion versus history.
Regardless of her strong and intelligent stand in defense of the sacred texts, her professors always ended up winning the discussion, and she would leave class with feelings of confusion. If the Bible was a myth, she reasoned, maybe the Book of Mormon was too. Maybe Joseph Smith was a modern myth. Carole couldn’t be certain about what she felt. But she did know one thing for sure: she no longer felt a closeness with Heavenly Father.
“I just thought of the perfect gift for you, Carole!” said Sweetie, interrupting Carole’s thoughts. “’Course you’ll have to fetch it yourself—my legs not being what they used to be. You just get yourself up to the attic, and you’ll find it in the mahogany trunk. I know you’ll catch on to what it is when you look. Now, it’s not much, but you understand.”
Carole hadn’t come with the intention of getting a gift, but she climbed the stairs to the attic. As she went up, she reflected on her failing testimony. It was as if she felt guilty for being in Sweetie’s home because of her uncertainty about the gospel. She wondered if Sweetie knew of her doubts and questions.
The attic door whistled as she opened it. She felt for the small lamp that she knew was towards the right of the room. An old spinning wheel hung on the north wall, its spindle dull and tarnished. Beneath it stood an oak rolltop desk covered with a sprinkling of dust. Boxes were piled neatly along the south wall. Carole remembered helping Sweetie organize her attic clutter into those boxes.
Carole walked past the old furniture and crates and sat down on a stool beside the old mahogany trunk under the window. Gently, she unlatched the lock and lifted the lid, releasing a musty odor of wood and paper.
She picked up an old straw hat with a large yellow ribbon tied around it. Sweetie used to wear the hat when they picnicked in the sun. Beneath it was a bouquet of paper flowers that Carole had made in grade school on May Day. She laughed remembering how proud she had been of the sorry bunch of flowers. A packet of letters was tied with red string. Carole gently set the bundle aside.
Next she spotted a small navy velvet box. This must have been what Sweetie wanted her to have. Carole opened the box and saw the delicate amethyst and pearl ring that she had so often admired on Sweetie’s finger. Sweetie had worn it every day until it began to hurt her fingers. Carole had always wanted the ring, and she had often asked Sweetie if she could have it, but Sweetie always said she would save it for a special day. Carole closed the box and put it into her pocket.
Though she had found what she was looking for, Carole continued to look through the trunk, finding an old orange scarf. It had been Carole’s first attempt at knitting, and she had surprised Sweetie with it on her birthday. As Carole reached to examine her work more closely, something fell from within the scarf. She withdrew her hand for a moment, then grasped a well-worn Book of Mormon. On the cover was printed, “NAOMI STEWART SWEET.” Carole opened the book to the inside cover and read,
“To Sweetie,
“This is a copy of the book I was telling you about. I hope you’ll read it even though you think it’s all fairy tales and wishes. Daddy says that you should read it and then pray to Heavenly Father and ask him if it’s true.
“I’ve already read it with my family, and even though I don’t understand everything, I know I can understand more each time I read it. I think the stories have good messages, and I love the prophets that wrote them. I also love Jesus, and I want to be like him. I love you, and I want you to know Jesus like I know him.
“With love from Carole.”
Carole clutched the book and looked out the window at fluffy snowflakes falling in glistening crescents along the corners of the windowpanes. How could it be that she had known Jesus so much more when she was only eleven years old? Where had her love of the Savior gone? She again thumbed through the book and looked at its color-streaked pages. Sweetie had read it and read it countless times. It was not age that made the book look like an antique, but its use. Carole had brought Sweetie the gospel message, and now she felt she was letting her down by wavering in her own testimony.
Carole began reading the marked verses and the notes written in the margins. One verse marked in yellow caught her eye, “O … the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, … wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not” (2 Ne. 9:28).
Images of her professors and their accusations of the irrational nature of religion and of the Church flashed through her mind. Yet she felt triumphant that she had been defending what she knew deep inside was right. She continued to read, “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29).
Carole felt a flicker of hope. She was doing something good by learning at college. She just needed to keep up her study of the gospel. All at once, her guilt fled, and she realized she had a lot of work to do to get her testimony to the height it had been during her Primary days. For the first time in months, she felt happy.
Carole quickly put everything back into the trunk and came down the stairs. Sweetie was waiting with eager anticipation.
“Well, do you like it? Did you find the ring? I was sure you’d want it,” she smiled.
“Oh, Sweetie, thank you. Thank you for the best present anyone has ever given me!”
As Carole hugged Sweetie, she smelled cinnamon and ginger, and she smiled as a new feeling of hope grew inside of her.
“Come on, Sweetie,” she said. “You’ve got a tree that needs trimming.”

In the fall of 2024, not long after being called to be an area organization adviser in the Europe Central Area, Laura Echarri Hermoso traveled more than 5,000 miles (8,047 km) from her home in Pamplona, Spain, to sing as a guest member of The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square.
She had been in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, for just three days when she tested positive for COVID-19 and quarantined herself. Her opportunity to sing in the choir for the upcoming general conference seemed out of reach.
In the loneliness and isolation of her hotel room, she knelt and prayed. She hoped for healing. She longed to be able to sing. She kept her faith.
In a difficult time of loss when fertility treatments proved unsuccessful and her mother was suffering from Alzheimer’s, Sister Echarri couldn’t find her voice to sing as much as she once had. It was hard because music had always been an important part of her life. “It’s a need I’ve always had since a girl,” she said.
Sister Echarri (left) with her mother, María.
While praying, a thought came that she needed to sing with more people. A week later, she was contacted by a Church authority who interviewed her. “He spoke about a musical project the Church was starting and that they were looking for singers,” Sister Echarri said.
He didn’t say the specific purpose, but after a second interview, the authority revealed that the Church wanted guest singers for The Tabernacle Choir’s Global Participant Program to sing in general conference.
“And I started to cry because I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I felt the Lord was there and that the Lord was aware of me, and it was something I never, ever expected,” she said.
The interview was only preliminary and was followed by a second interview with others. Sister Echarri also had to record herself singing and submit several recordings. Then she had a final, virtual interview with Tabernacle Choir associate music director Ryan Murphy. “I was super nervous,” she said.
Ultimately, she was chosen with 13 others worldwide to sing in general conference, and in September 2024, she boarded a plane for the United States. After arrival, she was diagnosed with COVID-19 and that’s when her quarantine began.
Solitary isolation far from home taught a profound lesson: The Savior would provide comfort in her loneliest moments (see John 14:26–27). “I thought I was not going to make it,” she said. “I was quite discouraged, but I had faith. At the same time, I wasn’t feeling well. Now one of my main objectives is to look for those who may feel alone and try to give them relief.”
After eight days of isolation, her health and voice recovered, and she practiced with the choir. She joined her voice with hundreds on the stand in the Conference Center and sang at the October 2024 general conference.
“God lives. He’s aware of us, of each one of us,” she said. “Music is healing, has healing power, and we need to fill our lives with music. It’s very important. I feel that is something that the Lord is trying to tell me: Fill your life with music.”

I want to share and experience Sister Richards and I had in Hong Kong and then relate it, hopefully, to you great young people today. We had an assignment to go to Bangkok, Thailand, and we were to leave Hong Kong around 4:00 in the afternoon. I don’t know if any of you have ever flown in or out of the new Hong Kong airport, but it’s been rated number one in the world the last several years. It’s just a marvelous place. There are two main runways that are separated by large grass strips. We were in a large aircraft with over 300 passengers aboard, and were actually in the process of taking off, and the plane was accelerating. I always love that feeling. All of a sudden the pilot just slammed on the brakes of this huge aircraft and we came to a screeching halt. Almost instantly you could begin to smell the smoke from those mighty brakes. We were sitting on the right side of the aircraft and as I looked out the window, all of a sudden I realized there were nine fire trucks heading our way. Now that gets your attention, young people. And they weren’t going around the suggested route, they were coming down the grass between the runways, headed directly for us. In fact, one came up right under the wing and went to the front of the aircraft. And then we noticed that four security trucks were also headed our direction. The pilot came in over the intercom and said “Ladies and gentlemen, don’t be alarmed.” That got our attention, seeing all this activity. And he said, “We have experienced a minor malfunction and we’ll see if they can correct it on the runway. If not, we’ll have to return to the terminal.” So, after a few minutes of smelling the smoke and watching these fire trucks and all the security around us, he finally came back and said, “We will have to return to the terminal and change aircrafts and then we’ll proceed on our way.”

While we were waiting to taxi back the airport, one of the crew, came out and began to apologize to us. We were sitting near the front of the aircraft and had we not had our seat belts on we would have ended up ten rows in front. I mean he stopped that huge aircraft that quickly. He began to apologize saying “We recognized that in the process of taking off, one of the gauges was indicating a malfunction, and we had to make a split second decision whether to continue or to abort the take off.” And then he said that “one of the gauges was telling us that the amount of fuel going into one of the engines far exceeded what was normal, and so we made the decision to abort the take off.” We were sitting right up front, and I couldn’t help but say to him, “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’d rather be on the ground with this problem that at 30-40, 000 feet in the air.”

Young people, why do I tell you that story? Sister Richards and I were grateful at that moment that those two pilots had been so well trained. If you ever look in one of the cockpits of one of those large aircraft, there are just, to me, thousands of gauges. They were trained so well, that when they recognized the malfunction, they knew exactly what to do, and even though we were in the middle of a takeoff, they hit those brakes, and we came to a screeching halt. Later we were able to get on another aircraft and finish our journey to Thailand. Each of us and each of you must know what the gauges are in the Lord’s kingdom, and you must understand them to some degree and you must monitor them regularly so that as you need to make a course correction or slam on the brakes, or even just do a fine tune, you know how and what’s required and what the Lord expects.

Young women in the Port Harcourt (Nigeria) Ward Two held their first Young Women in Excellence program last December. Agnes Teigbanyo, a Laurel in Port Harcourt, received the first Young Womanhood medallion ever given in Nigeria.
Agnes says that earning her award has helped her improve herself in many ways.
“For my Laurel project, I wanted to teach gospel principles to children. I wanted them to know more about the gospel and to help them establish love and charity in their homes. I learned that dealing with children is not easy,” says Agnes.
The rest of the girls in the ward also say that participating in Young Women has helped them to improve themselves in all areas of their lives.
“The Young Women program has helped me experience more fully the Savior’s love through our service project of going to the Motherless Baby Home to help. It made me appreciate others,” says another young woman, Grace Sunday.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we’d be starting with Kenny’s speech. That would give me about 15 to 20 minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. Boy, I had nerve the day I chose this topic.
Kenny was almost finished. No one had any questions about Kenny’s speech on Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. ‘He was born in …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one guy, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Billy, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Billy for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over 30 minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

I hold in sacred memory two priesthood bearers who had qualified for the Spirit of God to go with them on the errand to which the Lord called them. They had found the restored gospel themselves in America. They were the Lord’s servants who first spoke of that gospel to two of my European ancestors.

One of those ancestors was a young girl living on a small farm in Switzerland. Another was a young man, an orphan and an immigrant to the United States from Germany, living in St. Louis, Missouri.

Both of them heard a priesthood holder testify of the restored gospel—for the girl by the fireplace of her little home in Switzerland, and for the boy it was sitting in the balcony of a rented hall in America. Both of them knew by the Spirit that the message those elders brought to them was true.

The boy and the girl chose to be baptized. The two of them met for the first time on the dusty trail years later, walking hundreds of miles to the mountains of western America. They talked as they walked. What they talked about was the miraculous blessing that in all the world, the servants of God had found them and even more miraculous, that they knew their message was true.

They fell in love and were married. And because of a testimony of the Spirit, which began as they heard the words of priesthood holders under the influence of the Holy Ghost, they were sealed for eternity by priesthood power. I am among the tens of thousands of descendants of that boy and that girl who bless the names of two priesthood holders who brought the ministrations of the Spirit of God with them as they climbed the hill in Switzerland and rose to speak in that meeting in St. Louis.

The darkness seemed to come out of nowhere. I started feeling anxious and depressed about all the unresolved issues in my life. I lost confidence in myself, I began questioning my faith, and the list goes on. It seemed like even small inconveniences were blown out of proportion, and my good life was suddenly catastrophic.
I felt like I was fighting an internal battle with demons inside my head.
Darkness seemed to engulf me. And as these feelings consistently got worse, I started asking myself things like, “What if I wasn’t here anymore? Would people even care?” And the demons in my mind would answer, “You’re just dust in the universe. No one would even notice if you were gone.”
These thoughts paralyzed me with fear.
But all while I was dealing with this in my mind, I acted normal. I talked to my family like everything was fine—out of fear, I locked my feelings away from others. I felt like I couldn’t share how catastrophic my mind was.
I was also in denial that something was actually wrong. I told myself I couldn’t have depression. I didn’t want to admit it that I needed help. I was so afraid that if people knew what I was thinking and feeling, they would reject me or think I was weak or crazy. I felt so ashamed for being unable to get out of the dark.
I went on like this until one day, I found comfort from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words. He said: “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” (“Like a Broken Vessel,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2013, 41).
This touching message helped me finally accept that I was facing the reality of mental illness and that there is no shame in needing help. Most importantly, I was reminded that I am not weak and that I could be healed.
That night, I said the most sincere prayer I have ever said in my life. Sobbing, I humbled myself and poured out my heart to Heavenly Father. I asked Him for guidance to know what I should do.
After that prayer, I felt prompted to talk to my bishop. He was kind and understanding—I shouldn’t have expected anything less. And he immediately helped me feel peace and great comfort from my loving Father in Heaven. He helped me know that the Savior understood all I was going through, even if I didn’t understand everything myself. He also helped me use the tools I needed.
I learned that mental health issues can be made lighter by faith and by the healing power of Jesus Christ, of course, but that healing sometimes needs to be supplemented by other resources too. I have felt strength and hope and light come from both spiritual and temporal tools. Here are a few practices that bring light into my life each day that you can try too:
Start and end your day with a sincere prayer—ask specific questions, seek guidance, and express gratitude.
Know and accept that it’s OK to be sad and cry sometimes, just don’t let sadness consume you! Talk to a trusted friend or a loved one to help lift you up on hard days.
When you go to bed at night, be proud of yourself for making it through another day! Remind yourself that you are strong.
Read scriptures and general conference talks or even uplifting self-help books to sharpen your mind and your faith in Jesus Christ.
Open up to your trusted friends, family members, or your bishop for support. He can help you find a counselor if needed.
Know there is nothing wrong with seeking professional help! Professionals can be very helpful in learning to overcome and manage mental health struggles. Taking advantage of the free counseling program at my university was very helpful to me.
Don’t be ashamed to see a doctor or of taking antidepressant medications—these are tools Heavenly Father has provided for us to heal.
Do family history and temple work to help you remember that others beyond the veil are praying for your healing too! Elder Dale G. Renlund’s talk, “Family History and Temple Work: Sealing and Healing” gives more insight into promised blessings of doing temple work.
For so long I didn’t think it was possible to hear the voice of the Spirit or to feel God’s love in the midst of depression. I felt like I was constantly floating in an abyss of darkness. But a little glimmer of light from the Savior helped me hold on to hope. And by opening up about my struggles, I’ve learned that many of my friends also experience mental health struggles—and we have helped assure each other that we are not alone.
Who I was before I turned to Heavenly Father for help and who I am today are two very different people. I wouldn’t have the faith and testimony I do in Jesus Christ today if it wasn’t for that period of darkness I went through. I am beyond grateful for the light that He brings into my life that helps me defeat the demons and fears in my mind. I know that He suffered for all our afflictions and that He understands exactly what we are going through (see Alma 7:11–14) and with Him, we can always hold on to hope and light.

When I was in college, I was blessed to audit a class in law school. As part of that class I was invited to go to a national debate conference and be a partner on a very fine debate team. While many thought I could be successful as an attorney and advised me to study the law, I found I didn’t enjoy arguing oftentimes for a position that I could not agree with myself. The law is an important and valuable profession, and many have been prepared to serve the Lord through its practice. But it wasn’t a work I enjoyed or that made the best use of my gifts. And it wasn’t a work I had been prepared to do.
All of us should carefully consider what Heavenly Father wants us to do and how He may be preparing us. We should avoid trying to obtain the praise of the world and the honors of men.
When I was a little boy, my mother used to call me by saying as she went through the house, “Ding-ding, ding-ding. Calling Dr. Hales to surgery!” Being a doctor is a noble profession, but it wasn’t right for me. I can’t stand the sight of blood. Similarly, Harvard Law School is a highly valuable educational opportunity, but it wasn’t what I was meant to do. I walked across a bridge and went to another school that I felt was better for me.

I first met Sister Susan Lindsay when she was preparing for a mission to Taiwan, and I was teaching Chinese culture classes at the Provo MTC. After Sister Lindsay returned from her mission, our first date included climbing trees. We went out every day for 30 days – simple, fun things like flying kites, playing racquetball, having a picnic. After that, I returned to graduate school in Oxford.

With Susan in Provo and me in England, I say our trans-Atlantic courtship was distance education of the best kind. It is why I can honestly say I earned a Ph.D. in international relations.

When we sought the Lord’s confirmation about marriage, we learned an important lesson. When I asked, “Dear Heavenly Father, should I marry Susan?” I had warm feelings but not confirmation. It was when I acted in faith, when I said, “Dear Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to marry her, and I promise I will be the best husband I know how” – and I meant it – that I received the clearest, sweetest confirmation.

We are to act, and not be acted upon – to study things out, ask and act in faith, and be grateful we can know in our mind and in our heart.

May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday, Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward, tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.

Paulina M., age 18, Podlasie, Poland
Likes to play the violin, play the piano, and read novels.
In middle school I struggled a lot with self-image and trying to fit in. I would try to exercise to look a certain way, but I just didn’t feel happy with the image in the mirror.
Then my older sister got her patriarchal blessing, and I started thinking about getting mine. I was 12 years old, and at first I thought I might be too young. But I prayed and talked to my bishop, and it felt right.
My patriarchal blessing reminded me that Heavenly Father is aware of me and that He knows the struggles I go through. He knows my name personally. He is there to help me if I’m just willing to ask for His help.
Sometimes you might look at yourself and think you’re not pretty enough by the world’s standards. But I learned for myself that God’s view of me is more important than anyone else’s. And if I know that God sees me as His daughter, then that’s all I need.

I heard a recent experience that reminded me of such love. When all Church meetings were suspended due to the COVID-19 pandemic, a ministering brother accepted an assignment from his elders quorum president to bless and administer the sacrament to a sister he ministers to. When he called her to offer to bring the sacrament, she accepted reluctantly, hating to take him out of his own home in such a dangerous time and also believing that things would quickly return to normal.
When he arrived at her home that Sunday morning, she had a request. Could they walk next door and also have the sacrament with her 87-year-old neighbor? With the bishop’s authorization, he agreed.
For many, many weeks, and with very careful social distancing and other safety measures, that small group of Saints gathered each Sunday for a simple sacrament service. Just a few pieces of broken bread and cups of water—but many tears shed for the goodness of a loving God.
In time, the ministering brother, his family, and the sister he ministers to were able to return to church. But the 87-year-old widow, the neighbor, out of an abundance of caution, had to remain home. The ministering brother—remember that his assignment was to her neighbor and not even to this elderly sister herself—still to this day quietly comes to her home each Sunday, scriptures and a tiny piece of bread in hand, to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.
His priesthood service, like mine that day in the care center, is given out of love. In fact, the ministering brother recently asked his bishop if there were others in the ward he could care for. His desire to magnify his priesthood service has grown as he has served in the Lord’s name and in a way known almost exclusively to Him. I don’t know if the ministering brother has prayed, as I did, for those he serves to know of the Lord’s love, but because his service has been in the Lord’s name, the result has been the same.