Gospel Story Finder

When Patrick was 19, he lost his father and brother-in-law in a tragic car accident in Saudi Arabia. “My world turned upside down with their loss,” he says. His father’s guiding hand, loving encouragement, and joyful view of the world were gone. Lost in grief and emptiness for a time, Patrick went home to England with his mother but eventually returned to work in Saudi Arabia.
“I had all sorts of valuable opportunities to learn and grow and see how businesses worked,” he says. He was especially grateful for “a wonderful boss who coached and guided me and became a dear friend. He was one of several father-type figures I’ve been blessed with since my father’s death.”

When I was 16, a patriarch who had never seen me before and knew nothing of my background gave me my patriarchal blessing. In it the Lord answered specific questions I held in my heart related to some personal challenges. My thoughts about them seemed too intimate to share. One challenge concerned whether I would find a loving woman courageous enough to marry me in spite of my prominent birth defect—one our children might inherit. The answer was yes. I did marry Marie, and we had five beloved children.

The Lord’s answers in that blessing respected my concerns and my privacy. They were phrased so that only I would fully understand their meaning. From that day, I have had a firm personal witness that my Heavenly Father knows me intimately.

When you receive a check, it’s always nice to write a second note after you’ve spent it. You might say something like
Dear Gram,
It was lots of fun deciding what to do with the money you sent for Christmas. Sandy (my best friend) and I had a great day at the mall looking at sweaters. I finally picked out a fuzzy red one to go with my new plaid skirt. Thank you again for the check and the nice day spending it. You gave me two gifts in one.
Love,Judy

Johannes Malzl was late for school again. The train had been too crowded and slow coming back from seminary, and he had raced to school. But he was still late. Every time he had been late, his teacher would ask what had happened. “At first I tried not to say that I was in seminary. I just said I overslept. Then one day, she asked, ‘Please tell me where you have been.’ I was in front of the whole class. Since we were working on our English, she said I had to tell her in English. All my classmates know that I’m a member of the Church, but they didn’t know about seminary. I explained that I had to get up at 5:00 in the morning and take the train to our Church house, then catch the train to school. They said, ‘Whoa, are you crazy?’”
Johannes explains, “For me, being in seminary gives me power. When I go to school and all my friends talk about all kinds of stuff, it’s good to have some spiritual strength in the mornings.”

Moira hummed softly as she and Mamá walked out of the chapel. Church had just ended.
”Hi, Moira,” said President Scott. Richard G. Scott was the mission president in Argentina, where Moira lived. “Would you be willing to give a talk in district conference next month?”
Moira swallowed. She was just 12 years old, and she had never given a talk before! “I could try,” she said.
President Scott smiled. “Thank you! You will do great.”
On the way home from church, Moira’s heart was beating fast. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said.
“Heavenly Father will help you,” said Mamá. “He has helped you do hard things before, hasn’t He?”
Moira would have to be brave to speak at district conference. But she knew she could do it with Heavenly Father’s help. For the next few weeks, Moira worked hard on her talk. She wrote down what she would say. Then she practiced saying it out loud.
Finally the day came for her talk. Moira sat in the front and looked out at all the people in the chapel. There were so many!
Then Moira spotted someone waving at her. It was Carmen! Moira waved back. Seeing her friend in the crowd made her feel a little better.
When it was her turn, Moira stepped up to the microphone. She took a deep breath. Then she gave her talk. Her voice was shaky at first. But she could feel the Holy Ghost helping her. At the end, she shared her testimony. “I know that Jesus lives and loves us. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After the meeting, everyone went outside for a picnic lunch. Carmen found Moira and gave her a hug. “You did great!” she said.
“Thanks! I was scared, but Heavenly Father really helped me.” Moira smiled. She had done something she had never done before, and that made her a pioneer.

In 1991, when my work contract in Germany expired, I returned home to Mozambique. My country was at war, and the Church was not yet established there. Still, I was happy in the hope that one day the Church would come to my homeland and I could be baptized. Whenever anyone would invite me to attend a church, I would tell them I already had one.
“Which one?” they would ask.
“It doesn’t exist here,” I would answer. “But it will come.” Of that I was certain.
It was eight years before I found the Church again, but during all those years, I had a guide. When I left Germany, the branch president there subscribed to A Liahona (Portuguese) for me. Each month for eight years, A Liahona came to me. And each month for eight years, it encouraged me and gave me hope. Whenever I read it, I felt as if I were with other Latter-day Saints. The magazine oriented me, filled me with great emotion, brought humble words to me, and fed my spirit. Often in the Questions and Answers section, I found answers to my own questions. For eight years, A Liahona guided me.

Many years ago I was touched by the story of Borghild Dahl. She was born in Minnesota in 1890 of Norwegian parents and from her early years suffered severely impaired vision. She had a tremendous desire to participate in everyday life despite her handicap and, through sheer determination, succeeded in nearly everything she undertook. Against the advice of educators, who felt her handicap was too great, she attended college, receiving her bachelor of arts degree from the University of Minnesota. She later studied at Columbia University and the University of Oslo. She eventually became the principal of eight schools in western Minnesota and North Dakota.
She wrote the following in one of the 17 books she authored: “I had only one eye, and it was so covered with dense scars that I had to do all my seeing through one small opening in the left of the eye. I could see a book only by holding it up close to my face and by straining my one eye as hard as I could to the left.”
Miraculously, in 1943—when she was over 50 years old—a revolutionary procedure was developed which finally restored to her much of the sight she had been without for so long. A new and exciting world opened up before her. She took great pleasure in the small things most of us take for granted, such as watching a bird in flight, noticing the light reflected in the bubbles of her dishwater, or observing the phases of the moon each night. She closed one of her books with these words: “Dear … Father in heaven, I thank Thee. I thank Thee.”
Borghild Dahl, both before and after her sight was restored, was filled with gratitude for her blessings.
In 1982, two years before she died, at the age of 92 her last book was published. Its title: Happy All My Life. Her attitude of thankfulness enabled her to appreciate her blessings and to live a full and rich life despite her challenges.

My mission president also had a great influence on me. I was so enthusiastic about serving my mission that all I wanted to do was teach and baptize people. But he had the wisdom to take me on assignments where I would learn about Church procedures and administration. Later, when I was called to serve in leadership positions, such as a young bishop, I was truly grateful to him for giving me those experiences.

My father and I hadn’t always gotten along perfectly, but things were getting better. Then one day he confessed to our family that he’d been unfaithful to my mother for some time.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing—the words wouldn’t register in my mind. For the next several weeks I felt sick every time I thought about my dad. I was mad at him for doing such a horrible thing, for disrespecting my mom so completely. I often couldn’t even fall asleep at night, wondering how I could ever trust a person again after this.
Anger was all I could feel, and I realized that it was making me think of everything in my life negatively. I began to pray, asking Heavenly Father to help me deal with this situation. I knew my dad was wrong and that I deserved to be upset with him, but I also knew that I couldn’t keep obsessing about it.
An account early in the Book of Mormon came to me as I was thinking about how to handle the problems in my family. Nephi’s brothers Laman and Lemuel got angry with him and then tied him up and planned to kill him. Only a few verses later, Nephi says that he “did frankly forgive them all that they had done” (1 Nephi 7:21). Nephi was able to quickly forgive his brothers for treating him maliciously.
I also thought about the Savior, who said on the cross, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Both Nephi and Jesus didn’t hold on to anger over what had been done to them—instead they forgave.
It didn’t happen overnight, but as I wanted to forgive my dad and prayed for help doing it, I stopped thinking about his sins all the time. I felt sorry for him for making such a terrible decision, and I felt a desire to support my mom. Heavenly Father softened my heart and helped me forgive him instead of being torn up by anger and revenge.

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so bright that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very much worried, having already lost one. They were afraid they could not keep up with the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all over the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Never mind. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she [the cow] limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

It was freezing outside, and the cold air bit the cheeks and noses of the Stevenson family. After a fun day of skiing, they walked through the snow toward their car. They looked forward to getting in the car and warming up with the heater.
But when Elder Stevenson reached into his pocket, the car keys were gone! Where are the keys? he thought. Everyone anxiously waited for him to unlock the car. Without the keys, they were locked out! They couldn’t open the door or start the car. They couldn’t turn on the heater.
The first thing Elder Stevenson did was say a prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help them find the car keys. Next he thought as hard as he could about where he might have dropped them. Suddenly he thought of a ski jump he had gone off earlier in the day. Maybe the keys were there in the snow.
Some of the family went back with Elder Stevenson to the top of the ski slope and skied down the run. By the time they got to the bottom of the ski jump, the sun was starting to go down. They searched for the keys as it grew darker. To their amazement, they found the keys just before it got too dark!
Praying and finding the keys to their car reminded Elder Stevenson that Heavenly Father will not leave us without help. He gives priesthood keys and authority to leaders of the Church to help lead us all safely home to Him.

Esther and her Merrie Miss classmates have a hard time liking Janet. She is a bully and often calls them embarrassing names at school. When they try to fellowship her, she accuses them of trying to bribe her to come to Primary. The teacher realizes that Janet must have a point, so she asks the girls to think about what Jesus Christ would do. Esther’s mother gives her some good advice that she later shares with the Merrie Miss class. Even though it won’t be easy, the girls agree that they need to pray for Janet and to try to make her their friend. However, when Esther invites her to play kickball, Janet walks off, sneering, “That’s a sissy game.”
I flinched and had to remind myself to be patient. I just hoped that it wouldn’t take another ten years for her to change her behavior.
Mandi called to Janet to come and sit with us in the lunchroom. Janet gave her a look of surprise but went to another table.
The rest of the week, we tried to get her to join us in some kind of activity, but she never did.
On Sunday we reported our lack of success to Sister Card. She said, “I’m glad that you are trying so hard. Don’t get discouraged. It may take Janet a while to understand that you really want to be her friends.”
The next week in school, Mrs. Shell moved Janet into the desk next to mine. Janet leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I hope those freckles aren’t catchy. One polka-dot face is enough in this classroom.”
I could feel the red creep up my neck and into my cheeks. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “help me ignore this remark and be nice to Janet.”
And the answer came. “Don’t worry,” I whispered back, “I’m not contagious anymore.”
She looked surprised, and then she actually smiled at me! I felt triumphant. That was the first friendly response she’d given me since she’d moved here.
As we began our math assignment, I noticed her drawing pictures instead of doing the problems. “Aren’t you going to do your assignment?” I whispered.
“Me? Do an assignment?” she whispered back. “I don’t do math assignments.”
I was going to ask why, but I saw Mrs. Shell looking at us. I went back to working on my own assignment.
The next day, I again noticed that Janet didn’t even make an effort to work on her math assignment. After school, I touched her arm and, speaking softly, said, “Janet, if you don’t start doing your math assignments, Mrs. Shell may not promote you to the sixth grade. She’s a pretty strict teacher.”
“Oh, I’ll take my chances—I’ve always made it before.”
I was really puzzled by her attitude. That evening I told Dad about it. He said, “Maybe she doesn’t know how to do the math. Rather than admit her lack of knowledge, she might be pretending that she doesn’t care.”
That possibility had never crossed my mind. Maybeshe really doesn’t know how, I thought. I wonder if she would let me help her. “There’s only one way to find out,” I mumbled out loud to myself.
The next day I asked Mrs. Shell if Janet and I could work on our math together. Surprised, Mrs. Shell said, “I’ll be glad to let you work with Janet, provided you work. You can use the table in the back of the room so that you don’t disturb the others.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Shell.” I started to walk away.
“Esther, does Janet know about this?”
“Not yet,” I confessed.
“I hope it works,” she said with an encouraging smile.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to get Janet to do math with me, but it was much easier than I expected. When I told her that Mrs. Shell said we could do our math at the table in the back of the room, she just grinned, got up, and went back there.
I soon discovered, however, that she had no intention of doing math. She was drawing a picture of a horse. It was really quite good, but I knew that she was supposed to be doing math, not drawing.
I didn’t know what to do. Then an idea came into my mind. “Janet,” I said, “I’ll help you get your math assignment done if you’ll show me how to draw a horse like that.”
“Do you like it?” she asked shyly.
I was surprised at her sudden change in manner. “Yes,” I answered truthfully. “It’s really good.”
Again came the shy smile. “I’ll show you how to draw a horse,” she said, “but I don’t think you can help me with math.”
“Why not? Anyone who can draw a horse like that can learn to do math.”
“You don’t understand,” Janet said. She looked embarrassed. “I can’t even do simple add-and-subtract. When I was in first grade, we moved three times. When I was in second grade, we moved five times. It was hard enough for me to learn to read. I didn’t get around to learning arithmetic.”
Dad was right, but I didn’t know what to say next. Then almost as if I could hear someone telling it to me out loud, another idea came into my head. “I’ll help you memorize the math facts,” I said. “You’re smart, I can tell, so it won’t take you long. Then you’ll be able to do the assignments.”
Suddenly the old Janet returned. “Why do you want to help me? I can just hear you telling everyone what a dummy I am.”
“Come on, Janet,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I really do want you to teach me how to draw a horse.”
“Well,” she said, struggling not to smile, “I guess we could try it and see how it goes.”
“I think we ought to tell Mrs. Shell, so she can help too.”
Janet’s face fell. “I’d rather have just you help me,” she said. “Teachers make me nervous.”
“OK. I’ll make some flash cards with addition and subtraction facts on them, and you can be memorizing them a few at a time while I do the math assignment. Then I’ll quiz you to see if you know them.”
That was the beginning. Janet was very quick. She learned all the addition and subtraction facts in two weeks. I told Mrs. Shell what I was doing, and she was excited to know that Janet was willing to learn. She gave me lots of help and ideas.
Janet still called me Redhead-Wet-the-Bed when other kids were around, but somehow it didn’t seem so bad anymore. I knew she liked me, because she actually came over to my house after school sometimes to help me learn to draw, or so I could help her with her math.
Mrs. Shell displayed some of Janet’s drawings in the front hall by the principal’s office. Janet looked proud!
One Sunday as I went to my Merrie Miss class, I heard the familiar greeting—but with a slight change: “Hey, Redhead-Stay-in-Bed!” Janet stood there grinning from ear to ear, pointing at the gold heart necklace around her neck.
I laughed as I walked over to her. “Oh, Janet, now our class really is complete!”
Christina and Mandi were right behind me. We all laughed together.

Marie Broadhead, fair skinned with long auburn hair, has been living in the Ivory Coast for the past three years. Almost fifteen years old, she is the Mia Maid class president of the Cocody Branch. This camp at the beach will be her last big activity with these friends because her family will soon return to the United States, and will then move to Venezuela. Marie stands and expresses her feelings: “I will really miss all of you. You have become my friends.”
When Marie first arrived, she and her family held church meetings in English in their own home every Sunday. Then Elder Marvin J. Ashton of the Quorum of the Twelve came to the Ivory Coast in September 1987 and dedicated the nation for the preaching of the gospel. He stayed with the Broadheads and called Brother Terry Broadhead, Marie’s father, to be the first branch president of the Abidjan Branch. They began holding their meetings in French, the official language of the Ivory Coast. Marie received a crash course in French every Sunday. Now she speaks it beautifully.
Marie has watched that small branch of fifty people grow to a district of five branches with over four hundred members. Through her answers in class and her example of gospel living, she has helped teach the other girls her age.

Family is important to eight-year-old Shonesty Johnson. When she turned eight, her father, Alexander, was out of town, working in the oil fields. She postponed her baptism a month and a half so that he could perform the ordinance. Her fifteen-year-old brother, Alexander, Jr., (Zack), sang “When I Am Baptized” as part of the service. Shonesty says, “I liked being baptized. It made me feel good—especially because Dad baptized me and my brother sang to me.”

A young man who is a friend of mine came to an interview confessing some minor difficulties he was having with sin. He believed them to be major. He had concocted a tremendous guilt trip about what he had done. He had allowed Satan to cause him to believe he was not a good person, that he did not have the power to overcome his weaknesses. He was overwhelmed with the challenges and struggles of life, and had lost the peace that normally accompanies a true disciple of Jesus Christ.
“I know Christ’s role is to save us from our sins,” my friend said. “But what about all the other troubles in my life?”
As I tried to console him, I told him that Christ was sent not only to help us heal the wounds of transgression and iniquity, but also to bear our grief and sorrow and guilt (see Mosiah 14:4–5, 11; Alma 24:10); that in addition to “suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind” he also took upon himself the “sicknesses of his people,” “death, that he may loose the bands … which bind his people,” and “infirmities, that … he may know … how to [strengthen] his people” (see Alma 7:11–12; italics added).
As this young man and I read the scriptures together, he was thrilled to realize that somehow Christ is able to take upon himself, not only sin in a general sense, but also grief, sorrow, death, sickness, lack of peace, guilt, and pain. What a glorious thought that, in truth, Jesus Christ is capable of bearing the problems and challenges that we each face in our daily lives. He will not only help us to be saved at the Judgment Day, but he and his Father will be involved with us on a regular basis if we will find access to them.

Many years ago I was returning home after dropping my husband off at school. The drive would take me through a canyon in the mountains of Utah.
I had our new baby, April, with me. This was long before infant car seats, so April lay wrapped in a blanket on a pillow in the front seat, her head resting on my leg.
To stay awake on this late trip I was singing the last hymn we had sung at church, “Abide with Me; ’Tis Eventide” (Hymns, no. 165). As I sang it started raining. When we reached the canyon the rain turned to snow and began sticking to the pavement.
Rounding a bend on the narrow two-lane road, I found a herd of deer directly in my path. I hit the brake, and the car slid. On my right was the mountain, and on my left the road dropped off to the river. There was nowhere to go but straight ahead. Holding the steering wheel with one hand and grabbing my baby with the other, I got ready for impact. But to my amazement, the deer just stepped aside, allowing us to pass.
After clearing the herd, I looked in the rearview mirror. The herd hadn’t frozen in the headlights or scattered—as deer normally would when frightened. They had merely backed up enough to let a little Volkswagen bug through. It felt to me like our parting of the Red Sea. I rejoiced for the 10 miles (16 km) home, thanking God for “abid[ing] with me.”
When I arrived home and got out of the car, I realized what a tragedy it could have been and wasn’t. Tears started to flow. Even if I had hit just one deer, it could have caused serious damage to the tiny car and injury to my baby and me. The near miss had occurred five miles (8 km) from the nearest farmhouse, and we hadn’t passed any vehicles on the road through the canyon or the rest of the way home. I cried with joy, holding my baby in my arms and thanking God for protecting us from harm.

Last January, seven-year-old Sailor Gutzler and her family were flying from Florida to Illinois in a private airplane. Sailor’s father was at the controls. Just after nightfall, the aircraft developed mechanical problems and crashed in the pitch-dark hills of Kentucky, upside down in very rough terrain. Everyone but Sailor died in the accident. Her wrist was broken in the crash. She suffered cuts and scrapes and had lost her shoes. The temperature was 38 degrees Fahrenheit (or 3 degrees Celsius)—it was a cold, rainy Kentucky winter’s night—and Sailor was wearing only shorts, a T-shirt, and one sock.
She cried out for her mother and father, but no one answered. Summoning every ounce of courage, she set off barefoot across the countryside in search of help, wading through creeks, crossing ditches, and braving blackberry briars. From the top of one small hill, Sailor spotted a light in the distance, about a mile away. Stumbling through the darkness and brush toward that light, she eventually arrived at the home of a kind man she had never met before who sprang to her care. Sailor was safe. She would soon be taken to a hospital and helped on her way to recovery.1
Sailor survived because she saw a light in the distance and fought her way to it—notwithstanding the wild countryside, the depth of the tragedy she faced, and the injuries she had sustained. It is hard to imagine how Sailor managed to do what she did that night. But what we do know is that she recognized in the light of that distant house a chance for rescue. There was hope. She took courage in the fact that no matter how bad things were, her rescue would be found in that light.
Few of us will ever endure an experience as harrowing as Sailor’s. But all of us will, at some time or another, have to traverse our own spiritual wilderness and undertake our own rugged emotional journeys. In those moments, however dark or seemingly hopeless they may be, if we search for it, there will always be a spiritual light that beckons to us, giving us the hope of rescue and relief. That light shines from the Savior of all mankind, who is the Light of the World.
Perceiving spiritual light is different from seeing physical light. Recognizing the Savior’s spiritual light begins with our willingness to believe. God requires that initially we at least desire to believe. “If ye will awake and arouse your faculties … and exercise a particle of faith,” the prophet Alma teaches, “yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of [the Savior’s] words.”2
Alma’s call for us to desire to believe and to “give place” in our hearts for the Savior’s words reminds us that belief and faith require our personal choice and action. We must “awake and arouse [our] faculties.” We ask before it is given unto us; we seek before we find; we knock before it is opened unto us. We are then given this promise: “For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.”3
No more impassioned plea for us to believe has come than from the Savior Himself, during His earthly ministry, when He appealed to His disbelieving listeners:
“If I do not the works of my Father, believe me not.
“But if I do, though ye believe not me, believe the works: that ye may know, and believe, that the Father is in me, and I in him.”4
Every day each of us faces a test. It is the test of our lifetimes: will we choose to believe in Him and allow the light of His gospel to grow within us, or will we refuse to believe and insist on traveling alone in the dark? The Savior provides His gospel as a light to guide those who choose to believe in and follow Him.
After the crash, Sailor had a choice. She could have chosen to stay by the airplane in the dark, alone and afraid. But there was a long night ahead, and it was just going to get colder. She chose another way. Sailor climbed up a hill, and there she saw a light on the horizon.
Gradually, as she made her way through the night toward the light, it grew brighter. Still, there must have been times when she could not see it. Perhaps it went out of view when she was in a ravine or behind trees or bushes, but she pressed on. Whenever she could see the light, Sailor had evidence that she was on the right path. She did not yet know precisely what that light was, but she kept walking toward it based on what she knew, trusting and hoping that she would see it again if she kept moving in the right direction. By so doing, she may have saved her life.
Our lives can be like that too. There may be times when we have been hurt, when we are tired, and when our lives seem dark and cold. There may be times when we cannot see any light on the horizon, and we may feel like giving up. If we are willing to believe, if we desire to believe, if we choose to believe, then the Savior’s teachings and example will show us the pathway forward.
Just as Sailor had to believe that she would find safety in that distant light, so we too must choose to open our hearts to the divine reality of the Savior—to His eternal light and His healing mercy. Prophets across the ages have encouraged us and even implored us to believe in Christ. Their exhortations reflect a fundamental fact: God does not force us to believe. Instead He invites us to believe by sending living prophets and apostles to teach us, by providing scriptures, and by beckoning to us through His Spirit. We are the ones who must choose to embrace those spiritual invitations, electing to see with inward eyes the spiritual light with which He calls us. The decision to believe is the most important choice we ever make. It shapes all our other decisions.
God does not compel us to believe any more than He compels us to keep any commandments, despite His perfect desire to bless us. Yet His call to us to believe in Him—to exercise that particle of faith and to give place for His words—remains in effect today. As the Savior said, “I bear record that the Father commandeth all men, everywhere, to repent and believe in me.”5
Belief and testimony and faith are not passive principles. They do not just happen to us. Belief is something we choose—we hope for it, we work for it, and we sacrifice for it. We will not accidentally come to believe in the Savior and His gospel any more than we will accidentally pray or pay tithing. We actively choose to believe, just like we choose to keep other commandments.
Sailor could not know at first if what she was doing as she pushed her way through the underbrush would actually work. She was lost and injured; it was dark and cold. But she left the crash site and ventured out in hope of rescue, crawling and scraping her way forward until she saw a light in the distance. Once she had seen it, she did her best to move toward it, remembering what she had seen.
We likewise must give place for the hope that we will find spiritual light by embracing belief rather than choosing to doubt. Our actions are the evidence of our belief and become the substance of our faith. We are choosing to believe when we pray and when we read the scriptures. We are choosing to believe when we fast, when we keep the Sabbath day holy, and when we worship in the temple. We are choosing to believe when we are baptized and when we partake of the sacrament. We are choosing to believe when we repent and seek divine forgiveness and healing love.
Sometimes progress in spiritual things can seem slow or intermittent. Sometimes we may feel that we have lost ground, that we have made mistakes, or that our best efforts to find the Savior are not working. If you feel this way, please do not give up—ever. Go right on believing in Him and in His gospel and His Church. Align your actions with that belief. In those moments when the light of your faith has dimmed, let your hope for the Savior’s love and grace, found in His gospel and His Church, overcome your doubt. I promise that He stands ready to receive you. Over time you will come to see that you have made the best choice you could possibly have made. Your courageous decision to believe in Him will bless you immeasurably and forever.
I have felt the merciful love of the Savior in my life. I have searched for Him in my own moments of darkness, and He has reached out to me with His healing light. One of the great joys of my life has been traveling with my wife, Kathy, to meet with members of the Church in many corners of the globe. These wonderful encounters have taught me and taught us about God’s love for His children. They have shown me the limitless potential for happiness that becomes the blessing of those who choose to follow the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. I have learned that believing in Him and in His redemptive power is the true path to “peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come.”6
I testify that Jesus Christ is the source of light and hope for all of us. I pray that we may all choose to believe in Him. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In 1904, he and a few others founded a settlement called Sauniatu (“Preparing to Go Forward”), a small sanctuary for the Saints in the mountains of Upolu. Shortly after the first chapel was built, the small cooking house behind it caught on fire and, despite the efforts of the people to carry water from the river, the fire spread rapidly, endangering the chapel itself. Then people noticed that Opapo had climbed atop the chapel and sat astride its roof-beam. Raising his right arm, he looked to heaven and said, “Father, we can spare the small house, but we cannot spare the big one. In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, I command the wind to change.”
It did; the small house collapsed, and the chapel was saved. Not only was the chapel spared, but the Sauniatu Saints’ faith was strengthened at a very difficult time.

I joined the Church in England in 1965, but the hostile reaction of my father and other pressures eventually led me to become less active.
Those were painful and unhappy times. On the outside it seemed easy to stay away, and I suppose I started to break the Word of Wisdom to fool myself that I didn’t care. Eventually I convinced myself Heavenly Father no longer loved or cared about me, and I felt completely rejected and alone.
Members still visited me occasionally, but it didn’t help. I both resented and envied them.
Then one evening a pair of senior sister missionaries dropped by. I was determined to give them a hard time so they wouldn’t make a return visit, but something inside me warmed to them. They had come as friends, not to preach to me or make me feel guilty.
They returned again and again to work in my garden and to strip paint from an old chest and help restore it—but above all to be friends to me. I began to be able to feel the Savior’s love through them as they filled my home with their obvious joy in living the gospel. They gained my trust, something that was so difficult for me to give.
All too soon their missions came to an end and they returned home. I later visited them in the United States. Rebellion against the Church was still within my heart, however, so I would not attend any Church meetings during the trip. In fact, I took great delight in drinking coffee in front of my two friends, trying hard to show them I was “untouchable.” I soon found out I was far from untouchable.
On the Saturday before Easter, we visited a memorial park in Glendale, California, and were deeply moved by the paintings and other art having to do with the Savior. It seemed that the Atonement was suddenly becoming real to me. A week later I was in southern Utah on the Sunday of general conference. During a moment alone, I switched on the television to a talk given by President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency. As I listened to that great man, I could not contain the tears of guilt and shame.
That afternoon I climbed to one of the observation points in the national park I was visiting. As I walked, I tried to put my life into perspective. I found that the climb, which was very difficult and strenuous in places, was comparable to the trials in my life. Because I pressed on and reached the end of the climb, I could look down at the beauty of creation and feel exhilaration.
The spirit of rebellion was not completely gone from my heart, but I was starting to feel the hostility melting away. I began to experience feelings of love—new, beautiful, and strange to me. I also began to learn that I could be loved. I knew I needed to change my life, to truly repent.
When I returned home I felt much different inside. I was beginning to feel hope and was learning to pray for guidance and forgiveness. True repentance didn’t take place overnight; it took many months before I felt I had been forgiven. I made a decision to start attending church again, the most difficult part of which was finding the courage to actually walk to the doors and go in.
I become overwhelmed as I think of the meaning of the Savior’s Atonement: “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me enough to die for me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, number 193). It is also wonderful that two sister missionaries came into my life when they did and shared with me their love and example. I was filled with joy to have one of them be my escort when I finally attended the temple to receive my endowment.
Following years of wandering, I had come home at last.

Pocatello, Idaho—She’s a senior at Idaho State University and the reigning Miss Pocatello—but she’s also a young Latter-day Saint deeply committed to the gospel, especially in helping others. During the summer Claire Rich worked nine weeks on the ISU campus helping disadvantaged youth in the U.S. Federal Upward-Bound program, and now continues that same help in the Follow-up Program:
“Since I study physical education, in the Upward-Bound program I taught all sports and modern dancing, my real love. My students were generally high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors. They were Indians, blacks, Mexicans, Greeks, and Anglos. Our job was to build confidence in them so they could believe in themselves. I never knew before that some people have lost hope even in themselves. They might come from a family that has never had a high school graduate—all brothers and sisters have dropped out—and they think there is no reason for them to continue in school.”
How do people gain confidence?
“You give them growth opportunities, leadership opportunities; as a group let them set their own rules—such as requiring them to sign out after 6:00 P.M. and to be in by 10:30 P.M.—and they discipline themselves through their own committees.”
Could you see growth and change for the better?
“Definitely. Some of the students now know how to study and that they can do the same things others do, academically.
“Some people think the government shouldn’t be helping these transient youth. Even some Latter-day Saints look down on these programs. I wish they could have seen and experienced what we did. I learned a lot about races, too. I learned that respect and trust and cooperation together can really happen.”
What about being Miss Pocatello?
“It’s fun to ride in parades, judge other contests, attend banquets, cut ribbons; but the most important part is being a good spokesman for today’s youth, to encourage youth to take pride in our city and to help make it better. That is one reason I love the Church. It really encourages us to share our true understanding with others.”