Gospel Story Finder

“He started it!” Robbie wailed.
“I did not,” Robbie’s big brother, Will, protested. “He took my stuff without asking. I was just getting it back.”
“I don’t care who started it,” Mom said. “What I care about is who stops it. And I wish it didn’t always have to be me. You are both confined to your rooms until you can work this out peacefully. And here”—she handed each of them a piece of paper—“maybe you should write down some things you can do to avoid fights in the future.”
Glumly the boys walked down the hallway to their bedrooms. Just before Will went into his room, he waved his paper at Robbie and sneered, “I’m going to write down all the reasons I can’t stand you!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, my list will be twice as long as yours.” Robbie’s response was cut off by Will’s slamming the door.
Robbie shut his own door and plopped down on his bed. What a jerk! He thought. Just because he’s bigger than I am, he thinks he can push me around. Robbie found a pencil and wrote on his paper: Reasons I can’t stand Will. Then he skipped a few lines and wrote, “1. He’s bigger than me.”
Robbie tapped his pencil on his chin and tried hard to think of another reason. He looked around his bedroom. His eyes caught sight of the model airplane that hung from his overhead light. Will had hung that model for him because Robbie wasn’t big enough to reach the light, even if he stood on a chair. Sometimes Robbie was glad that Will was bigger. It wasn’t a bad thing.
Robbie needed to write down something else. He noticed the baseball mitt hanging on the footboard of his bed. It was Will’s old mitt. Robbie hardly ever got anything new. He usually got Will’s hand-me-down stuff, including his clothes and sports equipment. Robbie wrote, “2. I always get his old stuff.”
Of course, that wasn’t always a bad thing, either. Will usually took good care of his things, and he bought a lot of them with his own money. As a result, Robbie ended up with some pretty good stuff that he didn’t have to pay for. And Will always taught him how to use the equipment, so he got free lessons, too.
Robbie knew that he was going to have to think harder to come up with a reason why he hated Will. He noticed a candy wrapper on the floor. That gave him an idea. “3. He eats a lot of food.”
That was true. Will ate at least two bowls of cereal at breakfast, and he always seemed to have a snack in his pocket. Mom said that he was an active, growing boy, and she always made sure there was a lot of good food in the house. Of course, that wasn’t a bad thing. That meant more food for Robbie to eat, too. And Will often had some little treat in his pocket to share with Robbie.
Robbie frowned. He was never going to get his list done. Will must have dozens of things written by now.
Just then there was a knock on Robbie’s door. Through the door Will quietly said, “Are you ready to see my list, short stuff?”
Robbie sighed. I might as well get this over with, he thought. Then he got up and opened his door to let Will in. Will didn’t seem angry anymore. He almost seemed happy. He’s happy his list is so long, Robbie thought. Will walked in and sat down at the desk, his list folded carefully in his hand.
“You go first,” Will said.
Robbie sat down on the bed and picked up his list. “I could only think of three reasons,” he admitted. “And they aren’t really reasons why I can’t stand you—they’re reasons why I like you.” Robbie crumpled up the paper. “Guess it’s your turn now. How many reasons did you come up with—a million?”
Will unfolded his paper and showed it to Robbie. It was blank.
“I couldn’t think of even one reason why I can’t stand you,” Will said.
Robbie’s eyes got wide.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. You’re all right, for a little brother.” Will pulled a package of pretzels from his pocket and offered some to Robbie. “So now I guess we’d better do what Mom asked and figure out how we can stop fighting so much.”
“I think we just figured it out.” Robbie popped a pretzel into his mouth. “We just have to remember how much we like each other.”
Will nodded. “I guess you’re right. OK, we’re done here. Let’s go play some ball.”
Robbie grabbed the old mitt off the bed and followed his big brother down the stairs.

Bradley rode his bicycle along the gravel path through the park, pedaling hard and making gravel fly as he turned the corners. In a few minutes the last school bell would ring. He had been late twice already this month, and if he was late again, the school would call his mother. He just couldn’t let that happen.
His father had died when he was two years old, and since then he and his mother had lived alone. She worked the early shift at the hospital so that she could be home with him in the afternoons and evenings, but it meant that he had to get ready for school by himself and make his own breakfast. If the school called Mom at work, she’d be disappointed and worried. She might even hire Sister Williams again to help him get ready for school.
Suddenly Bradley skidded to a stop. There was a black leather wallet lying on the ground, thick with papers and cards. It took him only a moment to pick it up, slip it into his backpack, and be on his way.
Some early-morning jogger or someone taking a walk must have dropped the wallet, he decided. A fat wallet like this must contain lots of money. He thought about how tired his mother was after her shift at the hospital and about how little money they had after she paid the rent and bought food and clothes. They seldom had anything extra-nice. His mother’s birthday was just two days away, and he wished he could give her a really nice birthday present.
He shoved his bike into the rack in the schoolyard and hurried inside, getting to his seat just as the bell rang. During recess, Bradley went into an empty room and closed the door. He took the wallet out of his backpack and opened it. His fingers trembled as he took out the bills: twenty, forty, sixty—sixty dollars! he stuffed the money back inside and pulled out some cards, searching for a driver’s license. When he found it, the picture of a woman stared back at him. She had big brown eyes and wavy hair, her name was Maryann Foster, and she lived not very far from him. A heavy feeling started in his stomach as he wondered if Mrs. Foster had a son. He put everything back into the wallet and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Finders-keepers, he thought. But there was a tight feeling in his chest.
When Bradley got home after school, he tiptoed into the house and hurried to his room to hide the wallet. He sat down on his bed and thought about the birthday present that he could buy. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel happy.
He worked on his homework until his mother called him for supper. He kissed her and sat down at the table.
“How was school?” she asked.
“OK, I guess,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“You sound unhappy. Did something happen at school that you want to talk about?”
“No, not really,” he replied. “Mom, what would you like for your birthday?”
“Oh, Bradley, I know that you don’t have much money, so I don’t want you to worry about my birthday. Just having you is like getting a present every day.”
“What if I told you that someone gave me some money?” Bradley felt his face grow red. The wallet was making him lie, and suddenly he hated it.
“Did someone give you some money?” his mother asked.
When he looked at his mother’s worried face, Bradley had to tell her the truth. “No, but this morning on my way to school I found a wallet. It has sixty dollars in it. I want to buy you a present.”
“Finders-keepers?” his mother asked.
“I thought that we probably need the money more than anyone else. You’ve always said that I should pray for what I need, and I’ve been praying for a long time for some way to buy you a really nice present.” Tears started to run down his cheeks.
“Do you think that if you really need it, that it’s all right to keep something that isn’t yours?” Mom asked in a quiet voice.
“No. I tried to tell myself that it was finders-keepers, but I didn’t really believe it. All I wanted to do was buy you something nice.”
“I know, honey,” said Mom, “but there’s a better present that you can give me than one bought with money.”
Bradley got up and gave her a hug, then went upstairs to get the wallet.
After supper they started walking to Mrs. Foster’s. When they found her address, Bradley opened the gate, went up the sidewalk bordered with late-summer flowers, and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and Bradley recognized Mrs. Foster from her picture. Clinging to her legs and staring at him shyly were two small children, and she had a baby in her arms. She looked tired, and there were worry lines creasing her forehead.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Uh, … my name’s Bradley. This morning on my way to school, I found this, so I’m returning it to you.” He held out the wallet.
The woman stared at him a moment, speechless. Then her face crumpled, and she started to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the corner of her apron. “Won’t you please come in?”
When they were sitting inside, Bradley noticed that the furniture was old and that the toys on the floor were broken.
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mrs. Foster, “I’m grateful that you are honest. When I couldn’t find the wallet, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been praying all day that whoever found my wallet would return it to me. Thank you for answering my prayer.”
Later, as they were walking home, Mom asked, “When Mrs. Foster tried to give you some money for a reward, why didn’t you take it?”
“Well, I decided then I didn’t really need the money so much. When I first found the wallet, I thought that it was the answer to my prayer. But I’m happier now to have been the answer to Mrs. Foster’s prayer. I think that she needs the money more than we do.”
“Oh, Bradley,” said Mom, hugging him. “I’m proud of you! You really are the best birthday present that any mother could have!”

Top soccer teams from all over the world are playing in South Africa this month, hoping to win the World Cup. Teammates will depend on each other, their coaches, and their fans to get them through to the finals. Among players and fans from each country, team spirit is so palpable you can feel it in the air.
But even though they won’t be playing for the World Cup, no team will be more loyal to each other, their coaches, and their fans than the priests quorum of the Kagiso Ward, Soweto South Africa Stake. A little over a year ago, five of these young men were introduced to the Church by their soccer coach, who is himself a recent convert. Now they are at the heart of another team, their priests quorum, and working with another “coach,” their bishop, as they live the gospel day by day and prepare to serve as full-time missionaries.
Like many people in South Africa, 29-year-old Solomon Eliya Tumane loves soccer. He spends tireless hours each week coaching the Hurricanes Football Club. He loves his players and rejoices in their successes. They love and respect him in return. So when Coach Solomon joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his players were curious.
“He would come to practice straight from his institute class,” says McDonald Siyabulela Manyakanyaka, 17. “We could see the scriptures and Church magazines in his bag, so we started asking questions, and to answer, he would read to us,” says Thapelo Benjamin Sesinyi, 17.
“I was eager to teach these young ones because I love them so much,” Coach Solomon says. “I want them to go in the right path. I told one of them, ‘You would do well if you read the scriptures,’ so they all started reading the scriptures. They enjoyed it, so then I taught them about prayer. Then one day they surprised me. I got to practice early, and I was taking a nap when they woke me and said, ‘Coach, we need to visit your church.’ That was a day I will never forget, because I knew then that they were on the right path.”
But the coach wouldn’t go further without parental approval. He went to each player’s home, one house at a time, to ask if it was all right to invite the players to church. The parents agreed. “We came to Church three weeks in a row,” Thapelo remembers. “We wanted to learn more and more.” So the coach again asked parents for permission, this time for the players to study with the full-time missionaries. Again the parents agreed.
“The missionaries gave us each a copy of the Book of Mormon,” McDonald says. “They told us to read it and pray about it because it is true, so we did. I prayed and read and found the Book of Mormon to be true.” So did other players, who were baptized and confirmed. Five of the team members are now Latter-day Saints.
Most teams set goals for a winning season, but these five young Hurricanes are also shooting for another goal in the not-too-distant future. With the guidance of Bishop Bongani Mahlubi, a man they consider a spiritual coach, they are preparing for full-time missionary service.
“They are a great strength in our ward,” the bishop says. “And they are part of that great priesthood team of Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holders all over the world. These young men do everything together—they walk to school together, play soccer together, go to seminary together, and serve in the priesthood together. If I call one young man to ask if he can help, I get all five.” McDonald says the priests quorum also studies regularly from Preach My Gospel, and Thapelo says that in addition to inviting friends to Church, quorum members seek out those who no longer attend. “In many ways, we are learning to be missionaries now,” he says.
“We often hear from these young men in testimony meeting,” the bishop says. “They often promise Coach Solomon that they will go on full-time missions.” Nothing would make their soccer coach happier. “I can’t wait for them to serve,” Solomon says.
Unity, gospel knowledge, and an orientation toward service—those are all part of a solid training regime for prospective missionaries. And in addition, these young men have already developed a great desire to work together to do good. Just like the soccer teams competing for the World Cup, they depend on each other, on their coaches, and on their fans (including ward members, families, and friends) to get them through to their “championship.” With that kind of team spirit, their goals will be achieved.

I cannot even claim one by marriage—Kevin’s pioneer heritage includes his father’s 1960 journey across the plains of America in a car whose tires were so bald they should have traveled only one block, not three thousand miles from the Bronx, New York. That young 1960 pioneer came of Puerto Rican heritage, raised on a diet of New York Yankees, Broadway shows, and playing hooky at Coney Island. That pioneer who made his solitary journey is now the gentle grandfather of my two very wild children. In marrying Kevin, I assumed his pioneer journey as part of my individual heritage—no Young, Smith, Call, or Snow in our combined family journals.

When I first started my academic career I had occasional contact with a very driven professional colleague. He had finished a Ph.D. at the University of Michigan in economics with an emphasis in public finance. Soon he was in high demand to discuss public finance with public and private officials all over the US. He was in demand because he could explain terms like revenue elasticity or dead-weight loss in a manner that people and groups could understand. He was also an accomplished analyst. When he spoke people understood and his observations were generally on target and devoid of rhetoric. He was respected by fellow academics and his work was published in the best academic journals in his field.

Early in his career he discovered the concept of frequent flyer miles. He not only discovered them he embraced them. Frequent flyer miles became an obsession to him. Frequent flyer miles were placed on his vertical axis and on his horizontal axis was time and he wanted the line to be increasing at an increasing rate. His obsession was so strong that if he was going to Austin, Texas he would not take a direct flight but would take a series of flights, Chicago to New York to Miami and Miami to Austin. Such a route would allow him to accumulate thousands of extra miles on each trip. I found out this practice when I had a chance meeting with him in a New York airport and he was on his way to Austin via Miami.

He learned that he could be very productive on an airplane. He could write papers on the plane, he could edit papers on the plane, he could prepare lectures, and he could even correct student exams on an airplane. Travel provided him with credits to his frequent flyer accounts and the freedom to produce academic work without interruption from the phone, colleagues or students.

After several years he was offered a position that took him away from his current posting in a Midwestern University to a University located in the Northeast. As part of his bargaining with his new employers he sought additional salary because he thought the new position would not allow him to travel as much and he felt he needed to be rewarded for the potential reduction in his frequent flyer account. He thought the new position would reduce his rate of accumulation of miles. Or the rate of change on the vertical axis would slow. The account might grow but not as fast as he was used to or wanted.

His new employer agreed and granted him a boost in his compensation. There was no need to do so. He actually now traveled more than he ever had. The miles now accumulated on not one but multiple airlines. Not thousands, not hundreds of thousands but millions of miles. He had, at least in his mind a graph for each airline and they were increasing.

Did he use the miles? Did he take a vacation and travel around the world? No! Flying on an airplane for him would be like a bus driver going for a ride on his or her day off, or a postman going for a walk on his day off. The miles just kept accumulating.

Again he was offered a new position with a prominent think tank. This time the location was Washington, DC. Once again he used the argument that the new position would reduce his ability to accumulate frequent flyer miles and again the new employer agreed to his request. About this time Eastern Europe was being transformed from governments based on socialism to democratic governments. These governments now needed to understand how to develop efficient processes to fund their operations. Governments in Eastern Europe wanted him to help them design their tax systems. The same processes began to occur in countries in Asia. And he was off to Asia. And the travel continued to increase at an ever increasing rate. He continued to accumulate millions of miles on multiple airlines and as far as anyone could tell he never used them.

But a cruel reality occurred in this life. One day he noticed a small sore inside his mouth that would not heal. After a series of medical tests it was determined that he had an aggressive form of throat cancer. Within a year this disease imposed a heavy toll on his life. His last months were consumed by surgeries, chemo therapy, and radiation.

He spent most of the time in hospital gowns and hospital rooms. He spent no time using his frequent flyer miles. You might wonder how important the frequent flyer miles were to him. After he passed away the speakers at his memorial service almost universally commented on the millions of miles he had accumulated. Millions of miles that did him absolutely no good. He had found a way to kept score on the vertical axis but the score he accumulated was meaningless.

The danger is the same with wealth or power or status. It can become a measure that consumes us. But in consuming us it consumes everyone associated with us. This is the most important point from this story as the miles accumulated and as they consumed him they also consumed his family, his students, and his associates.

If you are accumulating "things"  at an increasing rate make certain that they are things that matter in the eternity. In other words if I asked to plot over time your relationship with your family I hope it is increasing at an increasing rate. Now think about what really matters to you? And if you decide that what you are accumulating does not make any sense for the eternities then following a model of decreasing at an increasing rate would be appropriate.

On 18 July 2023, I lost the most important person in my life. My mother was my strength, my pillar, but also my weakness. At that time, I was no longer attending church because I worked every day, including Sundays and public holidays, and my ward met at 8:00 a.m. I missed one time, then another … and it became a vicious cycle.
When I lost my mother, I realized I hadn’t made the most of my time with her. I began to regret not quitting my job to spend more time with her after her stroke in March 2020. She lived for three more years, but since I was often at work, I feel like I didn’t truly cherish her final moments. A sense of guilt overwhelmed me. In my mind, I was stuck in a routine: work, medical appointments, caring for my mom, sleep, on repeat. There was no room for anything else.
That’s when I understood the truth: I didn’t trust God enough. I had given more importance to my temporal needs than to my spiritual life.
Yet my mother’s passing brought me closer to the Lord again. He became my support. In Him, I found the peace and love I needed to cope with grief. I gave myself the challenge for 2024 to start attending sacrament meeting regularly again.
With my boss’s encouragement, I joined the Puurai Ward in Tahiti at the beginning of 2024. There, I was welcomed by kind and always-smiling members. It became my place of refuge every Sunday. The more I attended, the more I felt our Heavenly Father’s love grow stronger. That’s when I started to seriously rethink my priorities in life.
Of course, we need a job and income to live, but I was beginning to feel emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted. That’s when my bishop told me about Sister Tararaina Mana, a service missionary and career coach in our ward. He said I could meet with her if I wished. I was immediately interested. I was at a turning point and no longer knew what to do.
On Sunday, 2 June 2024, I had my first coaching session with her. That first meeting was very different from what I expected. I thought it would be like school orientation where you pick a career based on your degrees, but it was so much more! For the first time, someone asked me questions that were truly about me. Beyond my academic background, my coach focused on my needs, my expectations—simply put, on me.
We started exercises that I didn’t quite understand at first. We began with my “Whys.” Thanks to that exercise, I started thinking deeply about my goals and my life vision. I rediscovered myself. I learned to listen to myself, to know myself, to trust myself. I realized I had forgotten who I was. I had let myself be consumed by temporal needs and society’s expectations.
Society imposes a model on us: studies, diploma, great job, house, car, then family. It sounds simple, tut reality is much harsher. Fear, doubt, and anxiety about basic needs had taken over my spiritual growth.
Today, the difference between who I was then and who I am now is immense. From September 2024 to April 2025, I took various small jobs to cover basic expenses while coaching gave me motivation and taught me discipline. I wanted to create professional opportunities for myself, so I registered for three different exams: prison guard, professional tourism qualification, and a SEFI (a local employment agency) training program.
Thanks to my faith in God, my perseverance, and my coaching sessions, I now hold a professional qualification in tourism. I passed the entry exams for the prison guard role, and I’m currently enrolled in “Business Creator and Manager” training, an intensive three-month program. Opportunities are opening up for me!
On a personal level, I’m now reflecting on finding my eternal companion, someone to build my eternal family with. Putting Christ at the centre of my life has become a clear and natural choice.
Coaching has had a powerful impact on my life. Without those regular sessions, I would still be lost—trapped in fear, doubt, and lack of self-confidence. Today, I know what I want. I’m ready to move forward. And I can finally say that I’m proud of myself and the path I’ve walked, even though it’s been filled with trials.
With the Lord by my side and inspiring people like my coach, I know where I’m headed. I can’t wait to have the ideal job so I can, in turn, give back and thank those who supported me when I had nothing. That truly means a lot to me.

I share just one tender experience. While President Monson was serving as a bishop, he learned that a member of his ward, Mary Watson, was in the hospital. As he went to visit her, he learned that she was staying in a large room with several other patients. When he approached Sister Watson, he noticed that the patient in a neighboring bed quickly covered her head.
After President Monson had visited with Sister Watson and given her a priesthood blessing, he shook her hand, said good-bye, and prepared to leave. Then a simple but amazing thing happened. I quote now from President Monson’s own recollection of this experience:
“I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand [was] resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: ‘Go over to the next bed where the little lady covered her face when you came in.’ I did so. …
“I approached the bedside of the other patient, gently tapped her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet which had covered her face. Lo and behold! She, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient in the hospital. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, ‘Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you would know I was here, but when you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.’
“I said to [Sister] McKee: ‘It does not matter that I didn’t know you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed silently for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to intrude on your privacy.’”

My freshman year at university, I was sitting in Relief Society when someone shared an experience where she felt impressed to write down how she thought God felt about her.
This struck me.
When I got home, I felt impressed to do the same thing. But after 10 minutes of sitting there with nothing written down, I burst into tears. I felt like a fraud. So much of my testimony was based on God and His perfect love for us. And yet I couldn’t even write anything down.
I knew that God loves all His children, but for some reason I felt like the exception.
How could that be?
When I began attending therapy the following year, I was able to start working through my thoughts. My therapist pointed out that I had a tendency to be an all-or-nothing type of person. I believed that either I had to be perfect at keeping the commandments or I wasn’t strong enough. And I realized I had decided that because I couldn’t feel God in my life, He didn’t exist. But looking back on my life, I knew that couldn’t be true. And so I realized the issue was me, not God.
Ever since I was little, I had engraved into my mind this idea that if I wasn’t perfect, I would never be good enough. Of course, because no one is perfect, I found myself swimming in a sea of insecurities. I was uncomfortable with the idea that I could be worth something. It was because of this that I always felt like I didn’t measure up and didn’t deserve anyone’s love—including God’s.
For a while, I had tried to combat my loneliness and feelings of inadequacy by trying to be everything. I busied myself with every activity I could find to keep my mind off the real issues in my life. And I spent an excessive amount of time considering others’ needs as a way to avoid having to focus on my own. I tutored, played tennis, baked for all my friends and neighbors, and became a teaching assistant. I also worked part-time, took a lot of classes, and was the president of multiple clubs and groups on campus.
To those looking from the outside, I was the girl who had it all together. What they couldn’t see was that inside, I was desperately searching for something to make me feel good enough. But always trying to do more and more only brought added confusion into my life as to who I was and who I wanted to be.
Toward the end of my freshman year I realized how badly paralyzed I had become by my feelings of worthlessness. I had allowed myself to be so overwhelmingly insecure that I denied myself all the amazing things life offered and was becoming numb to my own life.
I stepped back and wondered why, despite doing so much, I still felt nothing. This sent me into a dark depression. What do you do when you feel absolutely abandoned by God?
Anxious to move forward but feeling empty as I wondered how God really felt about me, I realized that something inside of me needed to change. This realization started me on the path to feeling God’s love for me.
At first, I didn’t know how to start; that task alone felt daunting. But over the next year, I relied on the Lord and His infinite goodness to get me through each day. I found so much strength and peace of mind in reading the messages of prophets, pondering the temple covenants I had made, setting even just 10 minutes aside each night to read the scriptures, and communing with Heavenly Father in prayer throughout the day.
As I did these things, I began to see His hand in my life. I didn’t know who I was or what path in life to choose. I didn’t know what path could ever make me feel good enough. But I soon realized that what I really needed was to know who I was to God.
I am now in my last semester at university. Among all the stresses of being a student, employee, daughter, sister, and friend, I have realized that knowing my worth and understanding how God feels about me are vital to my success in all that I do.
There are still many unknowns about my future, and that’s OK.
For me, knowing that I don’t have to be perfect right now helps get me through each day. I know that God is aware of me. I also know that even when I can’t feel His love, He still is patiently working with me.
Over the past few years of this struggle, God has helped me discover qualities and talents in myself that I would have never noticed before. Most importantly, in time, through personal revelation and daily efforts to understand God’s will for me, I’ve learned how He feels about me. I’ve been able to draw liberally on the Savior’s power and the blessings of His Atonement in my life. This has helped me to feel God’s love and know that I am His beloved daughter.
In reading the messages of the prophets, I was touched when I read these words from President Russell M. Nelson: “Feelings of worth come when a woman follows the example of the Master. Her sense of infinite worth comes from her own Christlike yearning to reach out with love, as He does.”
He also noted, “[A woman’s] self-esteem is earned by individual righteousness and a close relationship with God.”1 From this, I have come to understand that who I am is more than the combination of the things I do or say. I am an eternal being with an extraordinary calling to lead with love and compassion, just as the Savior did. And that understanding transcends anything my depression may try to tell me.
Even now, I still find myself sometimes forgetting what God’s love feels like and what lasting joys there are in the smallest and most ordinary moments of life. But the miracle of Christ’s Atonement is that it is not only for repentance; His grace also enables us to get through each day and to love ourselves. I forget that fact a lot, but it is still true.
There is no escaping that we are prone to human nature and that these moments of divine clarity and inspiration may not always feel so true. So to help us, we can write down and look back on the times when we have felt God’s love. We can keep trying to seek ways to feel that love. Our daily worship and continued efforts to deepen our personal holiness will not only strengthen our relationship with our Heavenly Father but also increase our personal happiness and self-esteem. Christ can magnify these efforts to help us become who our Father in Heaven wants us to be.
I am determined to keep trying because I have hope in Christ. I know that life will continue to get better and that I will grow as I rely on Him. Once I discovered how infinite God’s love for me was, I was able to find greater strength each day to push past heartbreaks and overcome my feelings of inadequacy and my need for perfection.
When I find myself falling back into my insecurities, I remember that God thinks that I am funny, kind, giving, and beautiful. Most of all, I remember that He sees me trying.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) declared: “God’s love is there for you whether or not you feel you deserve [it]. It is simply always there.”2 I am so grateful for this truth. In our deepest struggles, we can see God’s glory in helping us move forward. He is always cheering us on.

Two years ago, while visiting Santiago, Chile, I was very much impressed by Daniel Olate, a young man who often accompanied the missionaries. I asked him to write to me, and with his permission I will read to you part of his recent e-mail: “I just turned 16, and Sunday I was ordained to the office of a priest. That same day I baptized a friend; her name is Carolina. I taught her the gospel, and she regularly attended church and even received her Personal Progress award, but her parents would not allow her to be baptized until they got to know and trust me. She wanted me to baptize her, so we had to wait for a month until Sunday, when I turned 16. I feel so good to have helped such a good person to be baptized, and I feel happy that I was the one who baptized her.”

One of our most memorable experiences occurred when we visited the temple construction site in Guayaquil, Ecuador. There President Hinckley recounted to us how that property was selected. On a prior visit, he had been shown several possible locations, but none seemed to satisfy him. While prayerfully searching, he asked about ground on a hill not far from the airport. But it was said to be not for sale. President Hinckley directed that they visit that property anyway. There he received inspiration from the Almighty that this was the right place for the temple. Now we were privileged to stand on that spot reserved by the Lord and then procured for this sacred purpose. Our joy was indescribable.

When I was in junior high, I had a couple of good friends who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints: Suzy and Dene. Travel back in your mind to your junior high experiences. I don’t know about you, but my wonderful group of friends sometimes had ill feelings toward each other for seemingly minor slights that seemed huge at the time. During one of these times, I observed Suzy and Dene acting as the peacemakers in our group. They worked together in healing a rift between two good friends, even quoting Christ’s words in Matthew 18:22 to forgive “seventy times seven.” I remembered that experience. Fast forward to ten years later, when I was receiving the missionary discussions. This memory of Suzy and Dene flooded into my mind. Their actions as thirteen-year-old girls influenced my decision to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And they had no idea of their powerful influence in my life until many years later when I could thank them.

The Primary. How did it come about? Did not the Lord promise the Saints at Kirtland that if they would be patient and faithful, all things would work together for their good, and that as the gospel unfolded, they would be taught line upon line, precept upon precept? (See D&C 98:2, 3, 12.)
The inspiration for a children’s class came to Aurelia Rogers of Farmington, Utah, one hundred years ago. There was a need to teach children the principles of the gospel in children’s language along with good manners and dress.
In 1878 Farmington, Utah, was a cultured community with over 1,200 people and a beautiful stone chapel. They had a Relief Society, Young Men’s Literary Association, and a Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association, along with a brass band.
But with all this spiritual and cultural influence, Farmington, like other communities, had its juvenile problems—little boys out late at night; darkness and mischief made the boys into a challenge.
Bishop John W. Hess, a Mormon Battalion veteran, called a meeting of parents and urged them to look after their children. These conditions also concerned Aurelia Rogers. She pondered and prayed.
In March 1878, Eliza R. Snow and others attended a Relief Society conference in Farmington. Aurelia Rogers later wrote:
“After the meeting, … when on their way to the depot, these sisters … stopped at my home. … The topic of our conversation was the young people, and the rough, careless ways of many of the young men and boys. … I asked the question, “What will our girls do for good husbands, if this state of things continues? … Could there not be an organization for little boys, and have them trained to make better men?” (Aurelia S. Rogers, Life Sketches, Salt Lake City: George Q. Cannon and Sons Co., 1898, pp. 207–8.)
Eliza R. Snow seemed deeply impressed with the question and indicated she would speak to the Brethren.
Brigham Young had died a few months before. The Twelve, with John Taylor as president of the council, presided over the Church.
Shortly, approval was received by Bishop Hess for a new organization of children. Bishop Hess asked Aurelia Rogers if she would be willing to preside over such an organization. She was willing.
Aurelia wrote that in contemplating the possibility of an organization for boys, “A fire seemed to burn within me. … The query then arose in my mind could there not be an organization for little boys wherein they could be taught everything good, and how to behave.” (Rogers, p. 207.)
Up until that time little girls had never been mentioned, but Aurelia felt the class would not be complete without them. The name Primary was suggested as “the first” or “original.”
On August 11, 1878, Aurelia Spencer Rogers was set apart to preside over that first Primary Association by Bishop Hess. At his suggestion, Aurelia Rogers and her new counselors, Louisa Haight and Helen Miller, visited all the homes to secure the names of the children and to see if their parents were willing to send them to Primary. Following this careful preparation, 115 boys and 100 girls came to the stone chapel on August 25, 1878, for the first meeting. Citizens passing the meetinghouse that eventful day heard the children’s voices singing:
In our lovely Deseret,
Where the Saints of God have met
There’s a multitude of children all around;
They are generous and brave,
They have precious souls to save,
They must listen and obey the gospel’s sound.
Hark! hark! hark, ’tis children’s music,
Children’s voices, O how sweet,
When in innocence and love
Like the angels up above,
They with happy hearts and cheerful faces meet.
(Sing with Me, B-24.)

“I can tell you something that happened to me the summer after I was baptized. Is that close enough?”
When Malcolm nodded, Mom went on, “I call this story ‘One Day in the Water.’ This is how it happened:
“Shortly after we moved to the farm, my Uncle Virgil and his daughter Cindy came to see us. She was a year older than I.
“‘How would you girls like to go swimming with Cindy at the town swimming pool for a couple of hours while I do some business?’” he asked my sister, Pam, and me. ‘Afterward you could come home with us and spend the night?’
“Your Aunt Pam and I raced to pack our suitcases with pajamas, clean clothes, and toothbrushes. Then we quickly changed into our swimming suits, grabbed our towels, kissed our parents good-bye, and headed into town.
“I had never gone swimming without your grandpa and grandma being right in the pool with me, but Pam assured me that the lifeguard would keep an eye on us and help us if we had any problems.
“The lifeguard didn’t look nearly as strong as your grandpa, but Pam didn’t seem the least bit worried, so I jumped into the water after her and Cindy and joined in the splashing and races across the shallow end. I was having a wonderful time until Cindy challenged Pam to swim around the entire edge of the pool with her. I had swum in the deep end before when your grandpa was there, but I wasn’t too confident on my own. Still, I didn’t want to be left out, so I started to swim behind them. When we went under the rope, I lost my nerve and decided to circle the deep end by hanging onto the edge.
“Five older boys were taking turns doing stunts off the low diving board. One of them spotted me clinging to the edge, and he started to tease me. ‘This is the deep end, little girl,’ he said. ‘No babies allowed.’
“‘I’m not a baby,’ I retorted, embarrassed that he had noticed me.
“‘Yeah, then why are you hanging onto the edge?’ he jeered. Soon his four friends joined him in the pool, and one of them started to splash water in my face. I turned my head away and looked for the lifeguard. But the lifeguard chair was empty, and there was no one standing around the edge of the pool with a whistle.
“‘Leave me alone,’ I told the boys. ‘I’m just resting.’ I felt tears welling up in my eyes, so I bit my lip hard, trying to control them. If they already think that I’m a baby, I thought, what will they do if I start crying?
“‘Well, you’ve rested long enough,’ the first boy snapped. ‘Now swim.’
“Pam and Cindy, unaware of my plight, had finished their trip around the pool and were sunbathing at the other end.
“‘What are you waiting for?’ the boy who had splashed me demanded. ‘You heard Bruce—swim!’
“I turned to swim close to the edge of the pool, and when the boys realized what I was going to do, three of them lined up in front of me and two got behind me so that I would have to swim across the deep end. I took a deep breath and pushed off as hard as I could. When I reached the middle, I turned to look back. By then the boys had completely forgotten me and were back on the diving board trying to outdo each other.
“I probably would have made it to the other side just fine except that I became frightened without someone watching over me. I panicked and went under. I sank clear to the bottom. I let my knees bend, then pushed off as hard as I could. The weight of the water pulled against me like a giant magnet. My head broke through the surface of the water just below my eyes, but I couldn’t get my nose above it to take a breath. I sank back to the bottom. Once more I pushed up with all the strength of my legs. Once more I was two inches too short. My lungs were really aching as I sank that time. My heart was pouring out silent pleadings to the Lord: ‘I’m drowning Heavenly Father! Help me! I can’t get my nose out of the water.’
“I remembered being told that if someone went underwater three times without being able to get a breath, he would drown. Again I pushed off. Again I failed. As I sank the third time, my mind cleared of all my fears, and I thought, This is what it is like to die. All I have to do now is take a deep breath. My lungs will fill with water, and I will drown. I wonder if my lungs will stop hurting when the water fills them? As I touched the bottom, a thought came to me as clearly as if it had been spoken: ‘Turn around. You will not drown.’
“I did turn around. I found myself at the side of the pool directly under the ladder. How I had gotten there I do not know. But I do know that it was not under my own power. I pushed up one last time, grabbed the ladder, and pulled myself up far enough to breathe. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I silently thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. The warmth of the sun, the song of a nearby bird, the smell of the water—everything was a gift to be cherished.
“When I got my strength back and rejoined Pam and Cindy, I decided not to tell them about my experience. Somehow it was too sacred to talk about. I didn’t even tell your grandma for many years.
“When I ate supper that night, I concentrated on really tasting everything. After Pam and Cindy were asleep, I got out of bed and walked quietly around Uncle Virgil’s house, touching everything. I wanted to store in my mind the look, feel, and smell of everything. I savored my senses as though they were brand new. I wanted to really understand what it was like to be alive. That feeling stayed with me strongly for several days, then gradually faded away. But sometimes, when I’m all alone, it comes back to me for a short time.”

Some who profess to be followers of Christ insist that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are not Christians. Indeed, there are those who make their living attacking our church and its doctrines. I wish all of them could have the experience I shared recently.

A friend who was making his first visit to Salt Lake City, called on me in my office. He is a well-educated man and a devout and sincere Christian. Although we have not discussed this with each other, we both know that some leaders of his denomination have taught that members of our church are not Christians.

After a short discussion on a matter of common interest, I told my friend I had something I would like him to see. We walked over to Temple Square and into the North Visitors’ Center. We viewed the pictures of Bible and Book of Mormon Apostles and prophets. Then we turned our steps up the inclined walkway to the second level. Here Thorvaldsen’s great statue of the risen Christ dominates a setting suggestive of the immensity of space and the grandeur of the creations of God.

As we emerged and beheld this majestic likeness of the Christus, arms outstretched and hands showing the wounds of his crucifixion, my friend drew a sharp breath. We stood quietly for a few minutes, enjoying a reverent communion of worshipful thoughts about our Savior. Then, without further conversation, we made our way down to the street level. On the way we walked past the small diorama showing the Prophet Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove.

As we left Temple Square and took our leave of one another, my friend took me by the hand. “Thank you for showing me that,” he said. “Now I understand something about your faith that I have never understood before.” I hope that every person who has ever had doubts about whether we are Christians can achieve that same understanding.

Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.

This past Christmas was one of the most selfless Christmases I’ve ever experienced. One week before Christmas at the ward Christmas party, the members were invited to bring clothes, toys, furniture, and other items to donate to needy families. And if that wasn’t enough, the Cub Scouts offered to give us all the food from their food drive.
Boy, did we get a response! Three classrooms were packed full. It was a beautiful and overwhelming sight! During that week, we probably spent 7 to 10 hours just sorting and separating all that had been donated. In the end, home teachers delivered 48 boxes as Christmas presents the night of December 23rd.
This experience reminded me of Jacob 2:19: “After ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good—to clothe the naked, to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.”
We not only had the opportunity to help Church members, but we were involved in helping the community as well. Another 30 boxes of food were distributed to other families in need. What a way to spend Christmas! No gifts or decorated tree can ever compare to the feeling of giving.
As we continued to visit the families who received these gifts of love, we saw the homes brighten and hearts open. These are my most prized memories—giving all that I have and am to the service of my Lord.
Nicole Cox served in the Washington Spokane Mission; she is a member of the El Segundo Ward, Inglewood California Stake.

In 2003 I was called to serve a mission in the Ivory Coast, in western Africa. As I researched, I found that the country seemed to be involved in constant civil war, but I was comforted to learn there was a ceasefire in place. Further comfort came when I was set apart. The stake president gave me a promise that while I was serving, I would at times feel the presence of angels and they would protect me. I was also promised that if I was obedient, I would return home safely.
In the first months of my mission, the mission president counseled us to be prepared. In our apartment in the capital city of Abidjan, we kept a three-day supply of food and water, and at meetings we received training on what to do if conflict broke out.
Still, we were nervous when rebels broke the ceasefire on November 4, 2004. Our mission leaders gave us a 6:00 p.m. curfew. During our last teaching appointment the next day, we heard a sudden explosion. Immediately we ended with a prayer, left the family a chapter from the Book of Mormon to read, and rushed home. The other companionship in our apartment arrived shortly after us. The assistants phoned and told us not to leave our apartments under any circumstances—not for church or even food. We learned that some French peacekeepers had been killed in air strikes, so France had attacked the military airport, crippling the small Ivorian air force. In reaction, massive riots had broken out across the capital.
Tens of thousands of protesters swarmed the streets, wielding machetes, looting French shops, and breaking into homes where they suspected the French lived. From our window, we could see the violence unfolding. We knew we were in danger because of our white skin.
On Sunday afternoon, November 7, amid the sounds of screaming, gunshots, and explosions, we held a sacrament meeting in our apartment with only four participants. After blessing and passing the bread and water from our three-day food supply, each of us shared a scripture and bore testimony. I read Doctrine and Covenants 84:88: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” As I read, I reflected on the blessing my stake president had given me, and I knew I would be safe.
We were shut in our apartment for a week. Ward leaders and members visited us and brought us food. One member even took messages from us and e-mailed our families, letting them know we were safe for now. These members’ help was amazing! Meanwhile, our families and Church members around the world were praying for our safety. As my family prayed, they felt a calm assurance that I would be OK.
On Friday, November 12, our evacuation began. Ivorian Church members led us through the streets of Abidjan, and though we heard reports of other refugees being harmed, we made it safely through the barricades to the British ambassador’s home. Then British forces evacuated us from the country, and my family’s prayers were answered when they saw two other elders and me on the news being evacuated. In the dark of the night, members took other non-African missionaries to the mission home. From there the Italian air force transported them to Ghana, where we were reunited.
Despite dozens of attacks on foreigners throughout the country, none of the missionaries were harmed during the riots, and no missionary apartments were broken into. Because we listened to the mission president’s counsel, we were safe at home when the riots broke out and we had supplies necessary for our survival. And even more comforting than military protection was knowing we had the Lord’s protection.
When we were being evacuated, I found out that on Sunday afternoon after our sacrament meeting, a group of protesters had been preparing to attack our apartment. One of our neighbors shouted, “They aren’t French!” but they would not leave. Finally, another neighbor cried, “They’re missionaries!” and the rioters dispersed. I again remembered the words, “My Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you,” and I realized that I was living the promise from my stake president’s blessing. I had seen prophecy fulfilled.

One day, a shy student came crying into Julie’s history class. After listening to the young woman’s feelings, Julie gave her some Church pamphlets to read. The girl trashed them. A short while later, the friend suffered severe family problems and ran away. Julie and her family invited the girl to stay at their home for a few days. “I tried to share the gospel with Maura, but she didn’t seem interested,” comments Julie. “Then I volunteered to help her at her job in a stable. In familiar surroundings she could sense how much I thought of her.”
Julie continues, “Maura felt discouraged about life and down on herself. She would ask, ‘Why would God let these things happen?’ Heavenly Father inspired me with answers to her questions. It was amazing how she changed when she started the discussions. She came to know she was a child of God and to believe in herself. I could not believe my joy the day of her baptism,” exclaims Julie.

After we got baptized, I was eager to have my mother’s temple work done but not my father’s work. The missionaries, however, encouraged me.

"It’s part of doing your part," they said. "Your father is also waiting for you to have his work done."

I told them I didn’t care. I was still upset with him.

"We have found the gospel," my aunt told me. "You need to forgive him and do his work."

Reluctantly, I accepted their counsel. A year after I was baptized, I took my parents’ names to the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It was a powerful, emotional experience. I was baptized for my mother and for several other people. Then our branch president prepared to be baptized for my father. I did not want to watch, so I began to leave.

After the branch president entered the font, I heard my father’s name during the ordinance. Immediately afterward, I felt the presence of my father. That experience left me feeling ashamed for not wanting to have his work done.

"Forgive me, Heavenly Father," I prayed as I began to weep. "I have been selfish."

When I returned to Nicaragua, I went to the cemetery where my father was buried. For the first time, I visited his grave and placed flowers on it. I asked him to forgive me, and I told him that I loved him. Then I wept again.

My father, like my mother, had been waiting for me to take his name to the temple, where Heavenly Father allowed me to have a wonderful experience. That experience cleansed my heart. In that moment, all of the pain and anger I had felt toward him went away.

For that, I am eternally grateful.

Growing up LDS was pretty normal to me. Most of my friends were LDS. We went to Primary together, played together, and then moved on to Young Women and Young Men together. I had my future planned by the age of 15: get married in the temple, go to college and become a fashion designer, start a family, and continue to live the teachings of the gospel. I was obedient to the Church standards.
But when I was 17, I started questioning the Church and became more relaxed in keeping my standards high. By my senior year of high school I had stopped going to church. I thought I was in love with a boy and felt that he was all I needed. I tore up my relationship with my family. That fall, after graduation, the boy and I split up, my heart was broken, and I fell in with the wrong crowd. I thought drugs and alcohol could fill the emptiness in my heart. For the next three years I wandered, spiritually blind. Occasionally I would have spiritual moments, but I either ignored them or was too proud to recognize that the Lord was there for me.
About this time my younger brother was preparing for a mission. I started to feel that something was missing in my life, but I couldn’t figure it out. I was still very lost until the night he was set apart as a missionary. That night as I sat in a room full of close friends and family, I could feel the Spirit’s presence. I started to feel the warmth of my Savior, and in my heart I could feel the fullness I had been missing. I felt a whisper in my ear as if to say “This is what you need.” I knew in that instant that the Church is what I needed.
Since then I have repented and firmly held on to the iron rod. It isn’t always easy, and I am often tempted, but because I feel closer to the Savior, I recognize the temptations now and shun them. Never have I understood the promptings of the Spirit so clearly in my life. The Spirit speaks so clearly when you’re listening. The Lord will always be there for you as much as you are willing to let Him into your life. And if you have strayed, He will still be standing near to offer a hand to help you repent and get back up and onto the right path.