Gospel Story Finder

The Fowkes family had been having emergency drills during family home evenings for several years. This training helped them instinctively do the right things when the quake hit. Nathan, 13, who was studying in the library, immediately dove under a table that protected him from being hit by a tall cabinet of books. His younger brother and sister ducked under the kitchen table at home and missed being hit by falling china. just three weeks before the quake, Sister Fowkes had shown her son Kendall, 9, how to turn off the gas, electricity, and water in the house, so he could earn a Cub Scout achievement. This knowledge saved the family from a flooded basement, since the quake caused a water pipe to break.
Ten years earlier the Fowkes had made some other preparations. Following two consecutive dreams about being in an earthquake, Sister Fowkes insisted that her husband string wire in front of the shelves in their fruit room before they left on vacation. Eventually their foresight paid off. While they had over 200 bottles stacked seven shelves high, none were broken.

Cameron watched from his home as the flames grew closer. An out-of-control forest fire had been burning for six days. Cameron and his dad used hoses to wet down the sides of their house. Smoke clogged the air, its thick haze stinging their eyes.
The next morning, they listened to the news on the radio. Cameron’s parents exchanged worried looks.
“We have to evacuate,” Dad said to Cameron and Mom. “Take what you can.”
They went through the house, gathering up family pictures, scriptures, and genealogy records. Cameron looked out the window and saw a line of trucks and cars coming toward their house. “Mom, I think I see the bishop’s truck,” he said.
His mother came to stand beside him. “You’re right.”
“How did they know we needed help?” he asked.
“They’re our friends,” she said, her eyes shiny with tears. “They must have been listening to the radio too.”
The bishop and others helped Cameron’s family carry out the boxes they had packed.
Their family stayed with friends that night. In the morning when it was safe, they returned to their home and gathered up more of their belongings. With the help of their friends from the Church, Cameron’s family stored their furniture in different homes and garages all over town.
Within the next few days, the temperature dropped and the wind died down. Cameron’s home remained untouched by the fire.
“I think the worst is over,” his dad said.
With the danger of the fire past, Cameron and his parents returned to their home. It was smoky inside, and a thick layer of soot covered everything. Cameron’s mother knelt down and motioned for him and Dad to do the same. “The first thing we need to do is offer a prayer of thanks,” she said.
Mom said the prayer, and all three remained on their knees for a few minutes afterward. Cameron quietly wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t stopped the fire before it nearly ruined their house.
Mom rolled up her sleeves. “We’ve got work to do.”
Once more, their friends returned, this time with mops and buckets, soap and rags. They scrubbed walls, mopped floors, wiped down counters, and washed linens. Men carried in the furniture and arranged it in the rooms. Cameron worked alongside his dad and the other men, all the while watching and listening.
The workers took a break only once, when Cameron’s mother and some of her friends served lunch picnic-style on the floor.
“We don’t know how to thank you,” his dad said to their friends at the end of the day.
The bishop smiled. “You’ve already done it.”
“That’s right,” one of the other men added. “You would have been there if we needed you.”
For the first time in a week, Cameron and his parents sat down to dinner in their own home. After the blessing on the food, Cameron couldn’t keep his question to himself anymore. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father stop the fire before it got so close to our home and made everything so dirty?”
“Heavenly Father did stop the fire,” Mom said. “He also sent friends to help us. That’s how He works—through His servants.”
Cameron thought about how hard everyone had worked to help his family. He smiled. Though many years passed, he never forgot the example of service and friendship his Church family had shown him.

Just a few weeks ago, while in Bangkok, Thailand, our hearts were touched by a young lady now living in a state of good cheer she never realized possible. Meaningful change has brought great joy and happiness to her and her family. Let me share this message of good cheer as told in her own words.

“In 1975 there was a family who lived near the main road in a small village. My parents were rather poor. My father worked at the local post office, while my mother stayed home caring for the children.
“As time passed by, my mother became bored with her life as a housewife and set out to find a more exciting way of life. She turned to drink, tobacco, and gambling. Many times she would play cards all day and all night and not return to care for her children.
“Meanwhile, my father was working hard to support his family. Things at home were not going well, and many times my father and my mother would argue violently.
“One day my father came home and told my mother that if she continued on with her gambling and didn’t care for the children, he would have to divorce her. The family faced a crisis. At that time I was helping care for my three younger brothers. My parents asked each child who he or she wanted to live with, Mom or Dad. It was a very difficult decision to have to choose between my mother and my father. It was a time of much suffering and sorrow.
“It was during this time that my oldest sister first met some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She studied about the Church and came to accept the teachings and adopt them into her life. She asked me to go to church with her. I was very sad and angry at first to think she had changed religions. I had only known the teachings of Buddha and had come to love the customs.
“But I noticed a change in my sister. She was more loving and kind and did many things to help our family. I decided to study with the missionaries. My mother listened also. Before very long, we both realized that we had done things wrong and needed to change our lives. We repented of our sins and were baptized. When my father and two older brothers saw the change in us, they decided to study also. My father had been an important officer and teacher in the Buddhist church. He spent much time studying and reading the standard works. He prayed often and sincerely to know the truth. At last his humble prayers were answered. He knew, as we did, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true.
“The true gospel changed our lives and restored happiness to a nearly devastated home and family. We are all very grateful and happy to now be a part of the Lord’s church and become familiar with and obey his commandments.”

Today this young lady is a missionary for the Church. She and her family are living witnesses that when people come to realize that “I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you,” a whole family can change their despair to good cheer.

It was a difficult six months. “When the missionaries were teaching him,” María says, “the Spirit was there. But when they left, the Spirit seemed to leave—and Carlos was left to himself. I fasted for him often.”

“A Uruguayan elder who taught me had a character just like mine,” says Carlos. “We had lots of discussions. I would ask hard questions, he would answer me, and I would try to refute him. I enjoyed discussing the gospel like that. I wanted the direct message, and he helped clarify lots of things.

“Then I decided to do my part and see what would happen,” he says. “I stopped smoking—I used to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day. I stopped drinking. I bought some Catholic books, studied them all, and talked with my uncle who was a Catholic priest. Then I got a book about LDS Church history.” He took some time off work, hoping to find a quiet place to study and meditate.

Then, as if on cue, a relative called and offered the Roigs the use of her house for two weeks—a quiet place in the country. It was just the retreat he needed. “I sat down and read and prayed,” says Carlos. “I read the history and the doctrine. By that time, I had already accepted the fact that this must be true. I just needed to make the decision.

“But there was something within me that was keeping me from it. I wondered what the problem was. One night in my bedroom, I had the Bible and Book of Mormon open. And I found a scripture that says that if we want to come to the Lord, we must ask forgiveness from those we’ve offended. (See 3 Ne. 12:23–24.) That scripture really made me think. Whom had I offended?”

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. “There was something in my life that I needed to confess and repent of. But because of my fear of losing my family and losing everything, I had kept it to myself. Now I knew that I would have to repent completely and sincerely. I believed in Christ, and at that moment I was illuminated with the truth that I hadn’t accepted before—that Joseph Smith was a prophet. And I was also illuminated with all that had to do with the gospel. At that moment, my heart broke.

“So I went to my wife and said, `You’re going to cry. And it’s going to be hard.’ I knew in my heart that I could lose everything, including my family. But I couldn’t keep quiet. It was hard, but María accepted my repentance.

“Her understanding, love, and faithfulness have changed everything in me,” he says. “I remembered Saul of Tarsus, who changed totally after the Lord came to him. That’s how it has been with me—a 180-degree change.”

Carlos was baptized soon afterwards, on 14 February 1984. A year later, he and María and their children were sealed in the São Paulo Temple. “My wife’s patriarchal blessing has been fulfilled,” he says.

I also have some great memories of taking care of the family cow with my dad. We cleaned the barn, fed the cow, and got her into her stall. Then I held her tail while Dad milked. There is great discipline in having a cow. It has to be milked every morning and every night. It has to be milked in the summer, winter, spring, and fall. I didn’t particularly like the cow sometimes, especially when caring for it interfered with something that I really wanted to do. But I developed a love for work and had some great conversations in the barn with Dad about baptism, priesthood ordinations, friends, and other important subjects when we were doing chores. I loved spending that time with my father. He is one of the men whom I most admire and respect.

Illustration by Scott Greer
Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the stories of Church leaders who served in the armed forces. Many of them have been war heroes and great examples of valor and humility in their home countries. Their experiences inspired me to participate in my country’s military.
When I was 13, I entered a school known for its strict military discipline and infantry training. My schedule was demanding. I often was so exhausted by the end of the day that my scripture study and seminary participation seemed impossible.
By my second year at school, I had made plans for my life: upon finishing school at age 18, I would go directly into officer school and graduate four years later as an officer in the Guatemalan Army. All my wishes and dreams seemed to be coming true.
One day I told my mom about my plans, and she asked, “When are you planning to serve a full-time mission?” From that day forward her question lingered in my mind every time I thought about my future.
I still had a rigorous schedule, but I started to show more interest in my spiritual training. I started attending seminary, working with the full-time missionaries, and participating in Church activities. Following the advice of my older brother who was serving a full-time mission, I also began reading the Book of Mormon.
When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barrack almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.
One evening several of my friends gathered around my bed to ask me some questions about the Book of Mormon and the Word of Wisdom. It was my opportunity to be the best kind of soldier—one who defends the truth and brings freedom through a firm and convincing testimony of the Book of Mormon.
When I was 19, I enlisted again in an army—the army of God, the most powerful army of all. I had the privilege of standing shoulder to shoulder with the valiant elders and sisters of Zion in the battalion of the Mexico Puebla Mission. Girded with the armor of God, we proclaimed the gospel and fought for liberty with courage and strength.
We are fighting against the hosts of darkness, but the victory belongs to God. I want to continue to be a brave soldier, enlisted for our King. We have powerful weapons: the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost, and the fulness of the gospel. We are led to victory by living prophets. If we train and prepare ourselves for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ, He will give us crowns of honor in celestial glory.

I met a man in Florida who took 15 years to join the Church. But once he was in, he resolved to spend the rest of his life as a missionary. More than anything else, he liked to ask people questions about the gospel. He sold used cars, and one day an all-American football player asked him if he would sell him a small pickup truck. My friend said, “I’ll do that, but I want to ask you something far more important. What do you know about Moroni?”
“Moroni who?” the football player asked.
“I guess he doesn’t have a last name,” my friend said. He then persisted and taught the football player the gospel. Within a few weeks’ time the football player had joined the Church and has remained faithful ever since. My friend has brought close to one hundred people into the Church! To me he is a great hero and stands out as one of the best missionaries I have ever known.

Paul’s wife, Julie, has also helped him see temple service in a deeper way. His assignment as an Area Seventy required his presences at many stake conferences, and when he would return home, Julie often asked, “How was the conference?” He would reply, “Great.”
When she asked, “How were your talks?” he would say, “I think they went well.” Julie, ever insightful, would passionately respond, “I’m sure it all went well; however, giving a great talk from the pulpit is not really the hard work.” Stunned, Paul would listen as she continued: “The real work is done when hearts are touched, and the work of the Lord is accomplished in the homes of members and within the Lord’s house.”

My dad and I started early, loading the woodcutting equipment into the truck well before sunrise and pulling out of the driveway just as the stars began to fade. As we snacked on toast and fruit drinks, we sang Scout songs and laughed at silly things I had done as a child. But as the first rays of sunlight splashed across the pristine Arizona sky, our talk turned to my mission—just two weeks away—and to the realization that this would be our last chance to spend time together like this for two years.
The sun left the horizon as we pulled off the main road and ascended into aspens and pines. An hour later we reached our destination: a small clearing at the top of a cliff overlooking a valley camouflaged in the yellows, reds, and greens of fall.
As I climbed out of the truck and peered over the cliff, my thoughts turned to my mission. Would I see such sights there? Would anything be similar so far from home? The knot that had formed in my stomach the day I opened my call tightened.
My dad quietly stepped up behind me and dropped one of his well-worn hands onto my shoulder.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I knew he was talking about cutting wood, but I instantly thought of my mission. Was I ready? Would I be able to learn Spanish? Would I love the people? Was my testimony strong enough?
The questions gathered around my heart like a great weight, threatening to crush my spirit. And then the memory of the greatest lesson my father had ever taught me leapt into my mind.
Over the years, the memory of that hike and what my father had done for me had faded. But as I stared into the valley that last morning before leaving on my mission, it came rushing back.
In that moment, I saw that my father had shown me an incredible example of how the Savior works. He lets us live our lives and make our own decisions. He lets the weight of the world gather on our shoulders as we face choices and circumstances that test our faith and dedication. And then, when we can go no further, He reaches out with His strong arm and lifts our packs so we can continue on.
Staring into the valley now, I no longer feared the long journey ahead or the trials I would face on my mission or at any other time in my life. I knew that the Lord would always be close behind and that, when I had done all I could, He would reach out and lift my pack.

My family is from America, but we live in Japan and I attend a Japanese grade school. This year each student in my fifth grade class was assigned to give a book review. I decided to tell my class about the Book of Mormon. When it was my turn, I stood in front of the class and explained that the Book of Mormon was written by prophets of God long ago. I bore my testimony that reading the Book of Mormon can help us feel good and be happy. I showed them a copy of the Book of Mormon and offered to let anyone who wanted to have it to read.
Fifteen classmates requested a book to read, so my family got some more copies, and I spent the week marking special passages in the books. I carried as many as I could to school in my backpack each day until I had given one to each of the 15 students.
My teacher visited our home the next week to make sure it was OK for me to give away so many books. She asked my dad some questions about the Book of Mormon. I was able to write my testimony in a copy and give it to my teacher.

The Domnic family of the Hyderabad Second Branch knows something about doors, too. The three daughters—Kavitha, 15; Hema, 16; and Smitha, 18—say education is a door to the future: “Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection” (D&C 130:18). They talk about seminary as a part of their eternal education. It is a door that, through the scriptures, opens upon a path to the Savior. They also talk about how the Holy Ghost can open a door to the truth of all things (see Moroni 10:5).
But one of the most memorable doors for the Domnic daughters is the gospel door that opened eight years ago for their mother, Anu, and then, with patience and prayer, for their father, Julian Francis.
“When the missionaries taught me the gospel, I knew it was true,” Sister Domnic says. “I knew the Church was a place where I could bring my daughters to find safety from worldly things. I also had a strong feeling that my husband would join and that our whole family would be blessed.” But Julian Francis would have to stop some bad habits—smoking, drinking, and cheating people out of money as a rickshaw-taxi driver.
“I didn’t want my wife and daughters to learn about the gospel,” he says. “I told them that if they wanted to join a Christian church, just go to the one on our corner. Why did they want to go to the Mormon church all the way across town?” He also feared that if his wife and daughters changed religions, they would create ill will among the extended family.
But as the gospel door opened wide for his wife and daughters, he found his own questions becoming more and more sincere, and his own behavior improving. His wife and his two oldest daughters were baptized and confirmed, and he started taking missionary lessons seriously. He sold his rickshaw taxi and found other work. He quit drinking alcohol. But he struggled to stop smoking.
Then one day he found out the elders were fasting on his behalf. “I started crying. I couldn’t believe they thought it was worthwhile to fast for me. For me!” The missionaries challenged him to quit. “They gave me some gum and told me that when I felt like smoking, to chew gum instead. They said if I could be free for an hour, then I could go for another hour, then four hours, then eight. They kept coming each day, giving me gum and encouraging me. I kept wondering why they would take so much trouble just for me, but I finally quit smoking and decided I should be baptized. From there on I have lived a righteous life, and my family and I have received more and more blessings.”
“I am so grateful for the missionaries who came to our door, and to my parents for walking through the door that led us all to Christ,” says Hema. “Now our family can walk through chapel doors, through temple doors, and someday through whatever entrance takes us back to our Heavenly Father.” Hema, like the other youth in Hyderabad, knows that such blessings start by opening the door where the Savior is knocking.

We also served for three years in the Pacific Islands. It is significant that almost 25 percent of all the Polynesians in the world are members of the Church. Their faith and spirituality are legendary. Sister Cook and I were in Vava‘u in the Tongan islands on one occasion. I had just spoken about following the prophet in the general session of stake conference. At the luncheon following the conference, I sat next to a distinguished elderly patriarch. He indicated how grateful he was to hear what the prophet was teaching. He gave me the following account. Vava‘u, which is a relatively small island, usually has sufficient rain, but periodically there are severe droughts. The island has long inlets or bays, almost like sounds, which curl into the island below steep hills. When drought conditions left the village without water, there was only one way they could obtain fresh water and stay alive. Over the centuries they had found that fresh water traveled down through rock formations inside the mountains and came up in a few spots in the sea.
The Tongan men would set off in their small boats with a wise elder standing at one end of the boat looking for just the right spot. The strong young men in the boat stood ready with containers to dive deep into the seawater. When they reached the appropriate spot, the wise man would raise both arms to heaven. That was the signal. The strong young men would dive off the boat as deep as they could and fill the containers with fresh springwater. This old patriarch likened this lifesaving tradition to the living waters of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the wise man to God’s prophet here on earth. He noted that the water was pure, fresh, and, in their drought condition, lifesaving. But it was not easy to find. It was not visible to the untrained eye. This patriarch wanted to know everything the prophet was teaching.

Dezbah, the old Navajo woman, watched the footrace through black, sunken eyes. The wisdom of many years told her Nabah would not win. The coughing seized her chest again, and her breath came in short gasps. The sickness of the chest she had endured as a child had now returned with fresh vengeance.
Her dark eyes cast a look of disappointment at her son as he darted past. Seeing her, he dug his toes in the dirt faster, throwing out clouds of dust, but he did not win the race.
She knew Nabah would never be the Flying Eagle of her great-grandfather’s prophecy. The holy people had not granted her desire. It must be that the tchindi, the evil ones, had found a lock of her hair.
Her eyes followed the flat table of brown earth near Shiprock, New Mexico, to a jagged mountain of rock. She remembered the days she had made Nabah climb it to make him strong. “You fill your moccasins with gravel and run and climb. Then your feet will be strong.” He had ignored the cutting sting of his feet, for he feared her strength. But his climbing was slow, and Dezbah felt pain in her heart.
Long ago when Dezbah was young and the morning’s dew was fresh upon her brow, she had sat at the feet of the great singer, her great-grandfather, and had listened to his prophecy: “From my seed shall come a mighty warrior of great strength. Like the Great Eagle he shall fly over my people. In the footrace he shall win the prize of many lambs. He shall have magic to make the fire appear. He shall teach my people to walk the rainbow to the Holy Yei.”
Listening to the prophecy, Dezbah had felt the drum within her beat faster. She must become the mother of the Flying Eagle. Inside her this strong warrior would grow. Surely the Holy Yei would take the weakness from her.
She ran each day with the rising sun, and a singer came to call the words of the Shooting Chant Prayer:
Let me drink the dewdrops again,
Let me taste the yellow pollen again,
Let me live in beauty again,
Let me walk in strength again …
Hozhoni hasthlin
Hozhoni hasthlin.
With the strength of her spirit she conquered the sickness of the chest. And she promised herself: “I will always carry the ashes out of the hogan before the rising sun so the sun will not get angry with me. I will master the art of weaving beautiful rugs to please the ancient spider woman. I will keep gall medicine against witches and other evils of the night.”
She chose a strong brave for a husband, and their paths joined. But in the next 25 years she bore Bahe only daughters. In disappointment she called for the prayers of the Blessingway Ceremony, and in the twilight of her child-bearing years she bore him a son. They named him Nabah Tsosie, for he must earn the name of Flying Eagle.
Dezbah sang to her son, placing his head toward the fire so he would grow tall as the corn. “I will make you soup from the heart of a goat so you will have a strong heart. I will tie a squirrel’s tail to your cradleboard to protect you. For you shall teach our people to walk the rainbow to the Holy Yei.”
But Nabah did not grow tall. His legs grew short and bowed. In his seventh summer she told him: “Fill your mouth with water. Run fast with only the air of your nose. Then your lungs will be strong.” With the force of her spirit she made him run with the rising sun, in the noonday heat, and in the glow of the moonlight. Nabah suffered in silence while the daughters of the old woman laughed at their mother’s foolishness.
Now as she watched Nabah’s bowed legs in the footrace, she knew he would never win the prize of many sheep. As she turned from the race, she admitted that Nabah had never cared for the way of the Dineh. He could not remember the chants. His mind was filled with dreams of a pickup truck and television. His favorite foods were potato chips and soda pop. When he had taken the sheep out to graze for the first time alone, he had been afraid. Dezbah had turned away in disgrace, away from the dark stares of her daughters.
So the old woman wove rigid designs into woolen rugs.
In Nabah’s 12th summer he first heard of his Lamanite heritage in the hogan of the family Grey Eyes. Dezbah prayed to the Great Spirit to remove the senseless white man’s words from her son’s heart.
When Nabah came to his mother to tell her what he had learned, she beat him with a stick. “Get out! You foolish boy! You will never become the Flying Eagle of your great-great-grandfather’s prophecy. You have the heart of a coyote.” She had never beaten him before, and she fell to the ground coughing. The color she coughed up was not good. She would send for the hand-trembler to recommend a cure. And the singer chanted:
Let me drink the dewdrops again. …
Let me walk in strength again. …
Hozhoni hasthlin
Hozhoni hasthlin
The coughing diminished, but the old woman never walked in strength again.
Nabah and his father chose to join the church of their fathers, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They were baptized together. Dezbah turned to silence and would not speak. And when Bahe sent Nabah to live with the white family in Phoenix, she let him go. She could no longer endure the pain of him before her eyes.
Each year in the Season of the Beating Sun when Nabah returned, he had grown huskier and more familiar with the white man’s customs. And each year Nabah found the old woman had shrunk a little from her disease and the relentless baking of the sun.
When he returned with hair beginning on his chin, his father frowned at this white man’s custom but did not speak of it. Instead he said to his son: “Go to the old woman. She wants to make peace. She has only a little wind left in her.”
Nabah plucked the fine hairs from his chin and then went to his mother. She looked small in her shriveled body, but he made slow steps to where she sat weaving in the hogan. “My mother, I am sorry. I have come … to make peace.”
Turning, she reached up a bony arm and pulled him down to her. “Yes, my son. I must leave you in peace. You are not to blame. A sick ewe cannot bring forth a prize lamb.” And her mind wandered: “The holy people are angry with me. It must have been that the tchindi found a lock of my hair. In the autumn of my life I know. It is I who lost the footrace.” And the coughing racked her frame. As she continued her weaving, Nabah sat silently watching. He felt the weight of the prophecy, like a heavy rock, upon his shoulders.
Nabah left his mother’s hogan for the last time. For in the Season of the Bearing of Lambs, the drumbeat of life in the old woman’s chest faltered, then faded, then stopped.
An emptiness filled Nabah’s heart at his mother’s parting, for although in life he had feared her, in death he longed for her strength.
Nabah stayed again with the white family, but their food no longer filled him. A hunger gnawed at him. In the summer he returned to Shiprock to herd sheep, but he found the spirit of the old woman still there. And the weight of the rock remained upon his shoulders.
Wandering alone onto the flat, baked desert, Nabah felt the emptiness inside. He sat with a vacant stare as the sun walked her path across the sky. Then slowly he filled his moccasins with gravel and sharp stones and filled his mouth with water. He ran. He ran stumbling across the hot, dry sand, past the jagged mountain of rock, faster as the stones cut deeper. He ran until the wind within him jabbed with painful stabs and his feet within his moccasins oozed with blood. He collapsed in a tortured heap on the hot, healing earth. A great cry burst from his throat: “Shima, my mother! I am not a mighty warrior. Release me! Oh, Shima! Shima!” And he fell into an exhausted sleep.
The moon had replaced the sun’s silent vigil when Nabah awoke. As he lifted his aching body from the cooling sand, within him flowed the warmth of relief. He breathed in the fresh, free air deeply. Again he felt the hunger, but now he knew how to fill it. He must have truth.
He returned to the white family and entered college where he studied history, and he learned more of his people. At first he read timidly, afraid of the answers. He read of the hunting days, the warrior days; he read of the banishment to Bosque Redondo and felt pain; he read of the enduring days, the rebuilding days, and slowly the fire was kindled. The beauty of the Navajo legend flickered in his mind. When he studied the height of the Lamanite culture, the flicker burst into flame. He felt a surge of strength, not in his legs, but in his spirit. Within him grew a desire to go to teach his people of their greatness.
As Nabah’s shoulders broadened, he was called on a mission to another part of his own Navajo nation. In wonder he boarded the airplane and flew with wings like the Flying Eagle to Arizona, where he went with the strength of truth among his people. They were the sheep, and he baptized them with water and with fire. And he helped to diminish the darkness in the land. Then with a pounding in his heart, Nabah understood. But the old woman was gone. And the drumbeats of ancient ancestors echoed down through time as Nabah taught his people how to walk the rainbow to return to their Heavenly Father.

When facing some difficult challenges when I was a teenager, I remember praying to Heavenly Father, asking Him to just take them away from me. I knew He could. I knew He had the power to. But every morning when I woke up, the trials would still be there! I would be devastated. My heart would sink, my faith in the Lord would dwindle. I would feel completely abandoned.

Sometimes I thought my trials were given just to torment me. I couldn’t see any point to them.

One day, I came across these words from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “When those moments come and issues surface, the resolution of which is not immediately forthcoming, hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.”1

I didn’t know the reasons for my trials at that time, but I decided to focus on what I did know. And I did know deep down that if God wasn’t taking my trials away, there had to be a reason for what I was going through, even if I didn’t understand what that reason was at the time. So I continued to put my faith and trust in Him. I kept hoping some “additional knowledge” would come.

And for me in some of my trials, that knowledge finally did come. And even if it didn’t, the Lord still blessed me in other ways.

President Spencer W. Kimball taught that without trials and challenges in life, “there would be no test of strength, no development of character, no growth of powers, no free agency, only satanic controls.”2

There has to be opposition in all things (see 2 Nephi 2:11). Otherwise, how would we ever appreciate the good without the bad? How would we ever feel triumphant when we beat a challenge? We wouldn’t be able to grow if God just magically waved trials away when we asked Him to! When I realized this, my whole perspective on adversity and trials changed. I began to see the good in them.

Trials bring goodness, growth, and strength like nothing else can. But sometimes it can take a while to recognize that goodness. For example, I’ve faced a heavy trial for years, and I may have to face it for the rest of my life.

This particular trial has stretched me, pushed me, and almost defeated me a few times. But now that I look back on everything this trial has put me through, I can honestly say that I am thankful for it. I’m thankful for all my trials.

I’m a different person now because of them. I’m more compassionate, more patient, more forgiving, more resilient, and more hopeful. Through it all, I’ve grown closer to my Heavenly Father and the Savior more than I ever thought I could be. I wouldn’t be who I am today without all my trials.

Adversity is meant to shape you into the person Heavenly Father wants you to become. Trials are definitely challenging, yes, but through it all, they allow you to reach out to God for help, and to feel the comfort, peace, and joy only He can offer you.

If you are struggling to see the good in them now, be patient, keep praying, and have faith. Heavenly Father can strengthen you to endure them well as you continue to put your trust in Him.

Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “Challenges, difficulties, questions, doubts—these are part of our mortality. But we are not alone. As disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ, we have enormous spiritual reservoirs of light and truth available to us.”3

If you’re facing a difficult trial, you’re in good company. The Lord is very close to you. He will not abandon you. And He can give you more strength and more courage and more faith than you can imagine.

Though it may seem impossible, you truly can have joy in your trials! In fact, President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives. Joy comes from and because of Him. He is the source of all joy.”4

Having joy in your trials comes from focusing on gratitude, having a good attitude, serving others, and always remembering how much God loves you. He is on your side! He wants what’s best for you. He has a plan. Trust Him. He can bring you true happiness. Things might not always be easy in this life, but it is possible to have joy in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in!

Whenever you’re feeling discouraged, remember that everything will make sense one day. We will have all the answers to our “whys.”

Doctrine and Covenants 101:32–33 says: “In that day when the Lord shall come, he shall reveal all things. Things which have passed, and hidden things which no man knew, things of the earth by which it was made, and the purpose and the end thereof.”

I look forward to that day when everything will make sense. When all the dots finally connect. When everything will absolutely work out. Because it will! Though the tunnels of trials we enter may be long sometimes, the light at the end will never go out. It will always be there to guide us. Just keep going. Just keep trusting in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. They will be with you! And you will find true joy throughout this adventure we call life.

Although the Youngs were a Bible-reading family and three of Brigham’s brothers became itinerant preachers for the Methodist Reformed Church, Brigham himself was not really converted to any church until he received a copy of the Book of Mormon from his brother Phinehas and studied it. Even then “I weighed the matter studiously for nearly two years,” he said, “before I made up my mind to receive that Book.”
In the fall of 1831 five elders from an isolated branch of the Church in Pennsylvania came to the neighborhood to preach. Brigham and his friend Heber C. Kimball listened to them and believed what they taught. Within a few months they were both baptized. Father Young, all Brigham’s brothers and sisters, and his ailing wife also became members.

Members in Falls Church, Virginia, USA, felt the joy of serving together at two homeless shelters. Scrubbing a wall, Adeana Alvarez told a fellow ward member, “I’ve had a frustrating week, and it feels good to just take out the frustration on this wall! We all need service at some time in our lives, and it’s good to do it for other people.”
Another ward member, Anne Sorensen, remarked, “It’s a great way to be connected with your community. I now feel more invested in what is going on with that organization. Every time I drive by here, I’ll think about the people who attend classes here and hope that the work we did gives them a tangible way to feel like they aren’t alone in what they are doing to improve their lives.”

Oripa lives in the Fiji islands. A few years ago she wanted more than anything in all the world to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Her big sister was a member of the Church, and Oripa asked her parents if she could be baptized too, but they refused.
Finally, however, when Oripa was ten years old, her prayers were answered. She was so happy when she was confirmed a member of the Church she just couldn’t stop crying tears of happiness. Oripa knew that our Heavenly Father would bless her.
Oripa worked hard and did her best at home and at school. All the children of Fiji in class 6 were given their intermediate examination. When the tests were graded, Oripa had the highest mark of any child in her grade in all of Fiji.
That night when her big sister came home, she kissed Oripa and congratulated her for doing so well on the test. When her proud parents asked Oripa about the examination, she explained that she knew this was a blessing from our Heavenly Father because she had joined His Church.

I didn’t do much schooling, so I couldn’t read or write well. The only thing I could do was write my name. A friend I worked with gave me a phone number and said I should call. I called and it was a lady who was a teacher at the high school. She invited me to a reading class. After a while, she invited me to church and activities.
I went to church one day and met the missionaries. They said they wanted to teach me the gospel. One thing that drew my attention was the plan of salvation. There was this emptiness inside of me because I always said to myself that there has to be more to life than what I was seeing.
I had questions. “Where did all of this start?” “Where did I come from?” The missionaries said to me, “You existed before this life. You lived with your Father in Heaven. You came here as a test to do what is required for you to go back to live with Him.” This answered my questions!
The missionaries also taught me that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored. I didn’t know anything about that. The only thing I knew was that Jesus Christ died for me. After a month, I was baptized at age 25.

A few years ago I heard a story that has had a profound impact on my search for truth and understanding. I can’t even remember where I heard the story, but it has haunted me for years.
During World War II a young soldier became concerned for the safety of his wife and baby as the enemy armies pressed toward his village. He put them on a night train for a nearby neutral country to spend the remainder of the war with relatives. Traveling through the night, the young mother became very sleepy. As the conductor walked by her seat, she asked how long until the train arrived at her destination. Glancing at her ticket, he explained that hers was the next stop, but that she had plenty of time to rest. He promised to wake her before arriving. With that assurance, she fell asleep, and the train rumbled on through the night.
Sometime later, the train came to a stop. A man seated across the aisle who had overheard the conversation noticed that the conductor wasn’t in their car and that the young lady was sleeping heavily. Fearing that she would miss her stop, he kindly awakened her. She thanked the man, gathered her baby and her bag, and slipped off the train just as it pulled away.
When the conductor came back into the car and found that the young lady wasn’t there, he inquired about her. The man across the aisle spoke up. “You weren’t here, so I had her get off at the last stop.” The conductor became very upset and explained that the train merely stopped to take on water. There was no shelter available! After the train finally arrived at the next village a search party was sent. The freezing weather had taken its toll, and they found the young mother and her baby dead from exposure.

Relief Society should be organized, aligned, and mobilized to strengthen families and help our homes to be sacred sanctuaries from the world. I learned this years ago when I was newly married. My parents, who had been my neighbors, announced that they would be moving to another part of the world. I had relied on my mother’s nurturing, wise, and encouraging example. Now she was going to be gone for a long time. This was before e-mail, fax machines, cell phones, and Web cameras, and mail delivery was notoriously slow. One day before she left, I sat weeping with her and asked, “Who will be my mother?” Mother thought carefully, and with the Spirit and power of revelation which comes to women of this kind, she said to me, “If I never come back, if you never see me again, if I’m never able to teach you another thing, you tie yourself to Relief Society. Relief Society will be your mother.”

Mother knew that if I was sick, the sisters would take care of me, and when I had my babies, they would help me. But my mother’s greatest hope was that the sisters in Relief Society would be powerful, spiritual leaders for me. I began from that time to learn abundantly from women of stature and faith.

Three different women held the calling of Relief Society president in my wards during the years my parents were away. Alta Chamberlain invited me to teach time management and home organization to the other sisters, perhaps because she saw that I needed to improve those skills. Jeanne Horne encouraged me to complete my first serious personal study of the Book of Mormon. Norma Healey gave me my first assignments at the cannery and taught me much about service. These wonderful women understood the purpose of Relief Society.