Gospel Story Finder

When I started my first semester of college in the United States, I was so excited. I was attending a school with a lot of Church members, and I had never been surrounded by so many people my age who believed the same things I did! I expected we would all share the same standards and help each other grow spiritually and intellectually.
However, I was surprised when my expectations fell a little short.
Back in my home city in Taiwan, Church members always seemed to take the gospel seriously. They never missed a chance to connect with Jesus Christ, and neither did I. There, I would go to the temple every month with my younger sister (who always motivated me to go), I never missed church meetings (because of my parents), and I always tried to make decisions that kept me connected to the Spirit, just like the people around me did.
But at school, while nobody was intentionally breaking commandments, for some people, the gospel seemed to be lower on their to-do lists. Some of them made choices that just teetered on the edge between the world and the gospel. Being on my own for the first time, I got busy and caught up in what everyone else around me was doing. I soon saw how easy it is to be influenced by the world around you when you’re not prioritizing the gospel.
When friends around me were making decisions that didn’t always align with gospel standards, I started to wonder if I was living in a way that was too spiritual. I wondered if I was the odd one out—if I was taking the gospel too seriously. I started to feel lonely, especially at church. I felt tempted to change my standards to fit in with the people around me.
However, around that time, President Russell M. Nelson shared a powerful message in general conference:
“We have never needed positive spiritual momentum more than we do now. … Spiritual momentum can help us withstand the relentless, wicked attacks of the adversary and thwart his efforts to erode our personal spiritual foundation.
“… I urge you to get on the covenant path and stay there. Experience the joy of repenting daily. Learn about God and how He works. Seek and expect miracles. …
“As you act on these pursuits, I promise you the ability to move forward on the covenant path with increased momentum, despite whatever obstacles you face.”
That’s when it hit me.
I had been more interested in what others were doing than my own personal relationship with the Savior. I even realized that my school was right next to a temple and I hadn’t been there yet! It also became clear how much I had relied on others to influence my spirituality back in Taiwan too.
I needed to do the work to reignite my spiritual momentum and focus on Christ—who should be my top motivator to live His gospel.
I started making some changes.
Even if I didn’t feel motivated to go to church or attend the temple or do anything spiritual some days, I chose to do so anyway and focus on my Savior. It didn’t matter what everyone else was doing.
The world makes it easy to take the blessings of the gospel for granted, but when I focus on Him, I remember what matters most.
Instead of wallowing in loneliness and focusing on the differences in how we are living our lives, I now reach out to others. I strive to make friends and note all the positive interactions I have with them, like a simple smile or a kind conversation.
I no longer compare my discipleship to others’. Instead, I focus on keeping my spiritual habits consistent and strengthening my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. When I prioritize my relationship with Them, I remember how much They love each of us perfectly, and it reminds me to offer grace to others just like They offer grace to me.
President Nelson also invited us “to take charge of your own testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel. Work for it. Nurture it so that it will grow. Feed it truth. … As you make the continual strengthening of your testimony of Jesus Christ your highest priority, watch for miracles to happen in your life.”
The world makes being casual about your discipleship easy, especially when you’re on your own for the first time as a young adult. However, I encourage you to accept our prophet’s invitation to strengthen your foundation of faith in Jesus Christ.
Making Him a priority keeps me moving forward on the covenant path.

There are many ways in which we can misuse our opportunities. Some time ago I read a tender story written by Louise Dickinson Rich which vividly illustrates this truth. She wrote:
“My grandmother had an enemy named Mrs. Wilcox. Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox moved, as brides, into next-door houses on … Main Street of the tiny town in which they were to live out their lives. I don’t know what started the war [between them]—and I don’t think that by the time I came along, over 30 years later, they themselves remembered what started it. …
“… This was no polite sparring match. This was … total war. Nothing in town escaped repercussion. The 300-year-old church, which had lived through the Revolution, the Civil War, and the Spanish-American War, almost went down when Grandma and Mrs. Wilcox fought the Battle of the Ladies’ Aid. Grandma won that engagement, but it was a hollow victory. Mrs. Wilcox, since she couldn’t be president, resigned … in a huff. … What’s the fun of running a thing if you can’t force your … enemy to ‘eat crow’?
“Mrs. Wilcox won the Battle of the Public Library, getting her niece, Gertrude, appointed librarian instead of my Aunt Phyllis. The day Gertrude took over was the day Grandma stopped reading library books. [They became] ‘filthy germy things’ … overnight.
“The Battle of the High School was a draw. The principal got a better job and left before Mrs. Wilcox succeeded in having him ousted, or Grandma in having him given life tenure of office.
“… When, as children, we visited my grandmother, part of the fun was making faces at Mrs. Wilcox’s … grandchildren. … One banner day, we put a snake into the Wilcox rain barrel. My grandmother made token protests, but we sensed tacit sympathy. …
“Don’t think for a minute that this was a one-sided campaign. Mrs. Wilcox had grandchildren, too. … Grandma didn’t get off scot free. … Never a windy washday went by [that the clothesline didn’t mysteriously break, with the clothes falling in the dirt].
“I don’t know how Grandma could have borne her troubles so long if it hadn’t been for the household page of her daily Boston newspaper. This household page was a wonderful institution. Besides the usual cooking hints and cleaning advice, it had a department composed of letters from readers to each other. The idea was that if you had a problem—or even only some steam to blow off—you wrote a letter to the paper, signing some fancy name like Arbutus. That was Grandma’s pen name. Then some of the other ladies who had the same problem wrote back and told you what they had done about it, signing themselves One Who Knows or Xanthippe or whatever. Very often, the problem disposed of, you kept on for years writing to each other through the columns of the paper, telling each other about your children and your canning and your new dining room suite. That’s what happened to Grandma. She and a woman called Sea Gull corresponded for a quarter of a century. Sea Gull was Grandma’s true … friend.
“When I was about 16, Mrs. Wilcox died. In a small town, no matter how much you have hated your next-door neighbor, it is only common decency to run over and see what practical service you can do the bereaved.
“Grandma, neat in a percale apron to show that she meant what she said about being put to work, crossed the two lawns to the Wilcox house, where the Wilcox daughters set her to cleaning the already immaculate front parlor for the funeral. And there on the parlor table in the place of honor was a huge scrapbook, and in the scrapbook, pasted neatly in parallel columns were [Grandma’s] letters to Sea Gull over the years and Sea Gull’s letters to her. [Though neither woman had known it,] Grandma’s worst enemy had been her best friend.
“That was the only time I remembered seeing my grandmother cry. I didn’t know then exactly what she was crying about, but I do now. She was crying for all the wasted years that could never be salvaged.”

On May 20 of last year a massive tornado pummeled the suburbs of Oklahoma City, in the heartland of America, carving a trail more than a mile (1.6 km) wide and 17 miles (27 km) long. This storm, an onslaught of devastating tornadoes, altered the landscape and the lives of the people in its path.
Just a week after the massive storm struck, I was assigned to visit the area where homes and belongings were strewn across the flattened, ravaged neighborhoods.
Before I left, I spoke with our beloved prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, who relishes such errands for the Lord. With respect borne not only of his office but also of his goodness, I asked, “What do you want me to do? What do you want me to say?”
He tenderly took my hand, as he would have done with each one of the victims and each of those helping with the devastation had he been there, and said:
“First, tell them I love them.
“Second, tell them I am praying for them.
“Third, please thank all those who are helping.”
I had learned from our dear prophet what the storm-tossed people needed—love, prayers, and appreciation for helping hands.

Personal reflection such as that prompted by Alma can help us make difficult, but necessary changes in direction in our lives. To illustrate, I would like to share a story about our oldest son, Tyler, who recently climbed Mt. Orizaba, the highest mountain in Mexico and the third highest in North America.

Tyler and a friend started their grueling climb at 2:00 a.m. on a cold, clear April night. Navigating huge, unanticipated ice crystals growing on the glacier slowed their progress enough that they were climbing at a time of day when dangerous lightning storms might develop. As Tyler neared the summit he learned of a threatening, massive thunderhead that had been hidden from view by the mountain. So 100 yards from the top, he had to make a decision ... "do I finish the climb and risk the storm, or do I turn back now?" He later shared the self-reflection that helped him make the difficult decision to turn around, "If I die on this mountain," he thought, "someone else will raise my daughter." As you ponder this story, you may want to reflect on your path. Will it lead to spiritual security? Are you willing to make the hard decision to turn around if a friend warns that you are headed towards a spiritual storm?

Nearly a year ago, in Pasadena, California, Sister Janice Burgoyne was dying of cancer. She had shared generously of herself and was dearly loved. Her Relief Society sisters were bringing her meals, cleaning her house, caring for her two young sons, helping her husband plan a funeral. It was hard for Janice to receive so much help, knowing that her sisters would find that piece of old toast behind the couch. She worried her sisters would know more than her heart. But because her sisters knew her heart, it didn’t matter. They provided car pools, tutored homework, played her piano, changed bedding. And they did it day after day after day, without complaint, with boundless charity. Such sharing forever changed those sisters. Before she died, Janice turned to a Relief Society sister and asked with gratitude and awe, “How does anyone die without Relief Society?”

One day some of the employees decided to go on a popular hike in Yellowstone Park. It wasn’t a very long hike, only about three miles in all, but it was steep and none of us were used to hiking.
The trail started out as a gradual slope. We walked along leisurely, breathing in the fresh air of the rain that had fallen earlier that day. We could smell the aroma of pine needles from the towering pine trees that lined the path.
All too soon, the trail grew steep and became difficult to climb. We stopped at a halfway mark to catch our breath. Some of the group wanted to go back.
“This is no fun. My feet are killing me,” one complained.
“Look, it’s going to rain any minute now,” said others.
Indeed, the storm clouds had come back, and it looked as if they might dump their contents on us at any minute.
Just then, some tourists on their way back down the trail stopped to talk to us. They told us that it was well worth the hike to the top to see the beautiful view. They were very enthusiastic and gave us encouragement.
When we finally reached the top of the mountain, we still hadn’t achieved our goal; there was still the fire tower to climb. We had to go up several flights of stairs and then climb a ladder through a trap door to the top platform. When we finally reached the top of the tower and were able to view the magnificent sight, we all agreed that it had been well worth the effort.
All we could see for miles around were pine trees, gently swaying in the wind. From our vantage point, they looked almost like waves in the ocean. The sun slid out from behind the clouds to cast light upon the entire scene. It was breathtaking.
In a nearby pine, we could see an eagle’s nest. Just as we were about to leave, the eagle came into sight, flying high, coming home to its nest. To think we were up where eagles soar! I will never forget the feeling of accomplishment and the wonder of being able to see nature so closely.

My husband and I lived in the same ward as my angel mother. Each Sunday, as a member of the Relief Society presidency, I sat at the front of the Relief Society room, facing the sisters. My mother always sat in the same place on the front row.
I enjoyed watching her responses to the lessons and hearing her comments. After each meeting, she kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand. My mother and I were close, so it broke my heart when she passed away unexpectedly.
After her funeral, my emotions remained tender. When Sunday arrived, my husband asked if I would be all right attending church without him. His calling often took him away from our ward.
“I will be all right until I see Mom’s empty chair,” I said. “I don’t know if I can see that empty chair and keep my emotions under control.”
My husband suggested that I try not to look at the chair. I decided to do my best.
Everyone at church was supportive and loving. When it came time to go to Relief Society, I took my seat at the front of the room, but I kept my eyes on the floor.
As the lesson began, however, I couldn’t help but look toward my mother’s usual spot. I expected to see her empty chair, but instead I saw my ministering sister sitting in her place. She smiled at me. I felt relief and gratitude for her kindness. I was able to get through the meeting without being overcome by grief. After the meeting I thanked her.
“Seeing Mom’s empty chair was the one thing I knew I couldn’t handle today. How did you know?” I asked her.
“When I walked into the room today, I had a feeling that seeing her empty chair would be hard for you,” she replied. “So I decided to sit there.”
This kind act meant more to me than she knew. I am thankful she was in tune with the Spirit’s prompting. I know that even small acts can have a healing effect on those we minister to. I believe this is how the Savior would have us minister to each other.

A mission had been a great desire of mine since I was a child. But since I married young, I put the dream aside while we raised our children, hoping that my husband, Ben, and I might be called later in our lives.
That lifelong hope appeared to be crushed when Ben suffered a stroke at the age of fifty-four which took away his ability to speak, write, or read and paralyzed his left side. In spite of a miraculous recovery through the power of the priesthood, he was still handicapped in many ways when our bishop called us in twelve years later to interview us for a mission. The stroke had left Ben unable to speak properly, so that he had difficulty communicating with anyone except family members. Words just did not come out right, and he had not been able to pray vocally or even ask a blessing on our meals. His left arm had been amputated; his right leg was swollen and painful much of the time; and he was likely to get a heart attack when under tension.
Furthermore, our financial income was small—about as small and inadequate as we felt. But we had no misgivings about accepting the call. Ben felt that if the Lord needed him or wanted him, that was it.
Our stake president was not too sure about submitting the application to Church headquarters. However, the Missionary Department’s advice was, “Send in the papers, and we’ll let the Brethren make the decision.” I prayed fervently that there might be a place suited to us where we could help in building up the kingdom. A few weeks later, when our call came to serve in the southeastern United States, my joy was full. I knew without a doubt that my prayers had been answered.

Like many little girls, when Maria Victoria Rojas Rivera of Chile—Mavi to her friends—was four years old, she decided she wanted to become a ballerina. And like all of those other little girls, she quickly discovered that the grace and freedom she saw on the stage came at a pretty steep price. The effort and discipline required to become a professional ballerina are too much for many young dreamers.

“When you’re little, you don’t understand the sacrifice it takes,” Mavi says. “When I started studying at age 10, our teachers told us that half of our lives would be spent dancing. We’d have to give up a lot of things.”

Things like free time and certain foods. Mavi would have to put a lot of time and effort into exercising and practicing. She’d have to watch carefully what she ate. And after schoolwork and dance, there wouldn’t be much time for friends.

Mavi decided that her dream was important enough to her to try.

“The teenage years can be a complicated time,” she says. “My friends didn’t always understand why I wouldn’t eat certain things or stay out late with them.”

Mavi learned early on that what appeared to be restrictions on her freedom were actually the only way she could free herself from things that would keep her from her goal.

“I chose not to stay out late, and I chose to spend time practicing instead of going to the mall with my friends,” Mavi says. “If I was tired because I stayed out too late or if I didn’t know the steps because I didn’t practice, I couldn’t dance.”

That kind of discipline isn’t easy, but Mavi says it is worth it.

“Everyone has moments when you want to give in,” Mavi confesses, “but you have the power to choose. Discipline can appear restrictive, but self-discipline is a choice. And I chose to accept this lifestyle in order to dance.”

A ballerina can make her body move in ways that would hurt most other people. This freedom of movement is essential for communicating with the audience. But even though a good ballerina makes every move look effortless on stage, she has put in a lot of effort off the stage.

After eight years of sacrifice and hours of training almost every day, she was living her dream on stage—and in the gospel.

“People think it looks so beautiful and graceful,” Mavi says. “But the movements are very controlled. It takes a lot of strength to control yourself like that.”

“The rewards from so many sacrifices are that I can dance,” Mavi says. “I feel strong, and I feel the guidance of the Holy Ghost in every step I take—on stage and off.”

My Grandfather Patterson was a missionary in the Eastern States Mission in 1927 when Elder B. H. Roberts was president of that mission. Elder Roberts had an intensive six-week school with which he prepared his missionaries for the rigors of missionary life. Elder Roberts cared deeply about his missionaries and wanted them to develop the spiritual, intellectual, and physical gifts that would help them succeed. He pushed them very hard to think about the gospel and to develop the ability to preach it and defend it. My grandfather recorded in his journal what I think is the essence of the work required of us to learn the gospel. On January 17, 1927, he wrote:

School started out as per schedule and we have been following the schedule all week, and it certainly put one’s nerves on edge, for my head has felt like a boiler factory. But it was worth it just to hear Pres. Roberts talk.

The next day, January 18, he recorded: “School went along as schedule[d], even if my head did hurt.”

January 19: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

January 20: “School as usual. Head still hurting.”

Now, lest you think this ends with my grandfather’s head exploding, he recorded on January 21, “Just had school till noon, had the rest of [the day] to catch up on our loafing.”

Service requires unselfishness, sharing, and giving. My wife and I learned a valuable lesson during our time of service in Africa. We were assigned to a district conference in Jinja, Uganda. Early Saturday morning before our meetings began, we took the opportunity to tour a new chapel in the area. As we arrived at the building, we were greeted by a young boy of three to four years of age. He had come to the Church grounds to see what was going on. Struck by his broad smile, Sister Snow reached in her purse and handed him a wrapped piece of hard butterscotch candy. He was delighted.
We spent a few minutes touring the chapel before returning outside. We were met by more than a dozen smiling children who each wanted to meet the new neighborhood candy lady.
Phyllis was heartbroken, as she had given the boy her last piece of candy. She disappointedly gestured to the children there was no more. The small boy who initially greeted us then handed the candy back to Sister Snow, gesturing for her to unwrap it. With a heavy heart, Phyllis did so, fully expecting the boy to pop the butterscotch candy into his mouth in full view of his envious friends.
Instead, to our great surprise, he went to each of his friends, who stuck out their tongues and received one delicious lick of the butterscotch candy. The young boy continued around the circle, occasionally taking his own lick, until the candy was gone.
Now, one can argue the lack of sanitation with this gesture of sharing, but no one can dispute the example set by this young boy. Unselfishness, sharing, and giving are essential to service. This child learned that lesson well.

During a recent stake conference assignment I attended in the Philippines, my heart was broken as I learned of the tragic experience of Brother Daniel Apilado. Brother Apilado and his wife were baptized in 1974. They embraced the restored gospel and were sealed in the temple. Thereafter, they were blessed with five beautiful children. On July 7, 1997, while Brother Apilado was serving as the stake president, a fire broke out in their small home. Brother Apilado’s oldest son, Michael, rescued his father, pulled him from the burning structure, and then ran back into the house to rescue others. It was the last time Brother Apilado saw his son alive. Taken in the fire were Brother Apilado’s wife, Dominga, and each of their five children.
The fact that Brother Apilado was living a life pleasing unto God when tragedy struck did not prevent the tragedy, nor did it make him immune from the sorrow that followed. But his faithfulness in keeping his covenants and exercising his faith in Christ gave him assurance in the promise that he will be reunited with his wife and family. This hope became an anchor to his soul.
During my visit, Brother Apilado, now the stake patriarch, introduced me to his new wife, Simonette, and to their two sons, Raphael and Daniel. Truly, Jesus Christ can and will “bind up the brokenhearted.”
In sharing Brother Apilado’s story, I am concerned that the enormity of his loss may cause many to think their own sorrows and sufferings are of little consequence in comparison. Please don’t compare, but seek to learn and apply eternal principles as you wade through the furnace of your own afflictions.

Like each of you, I have had to use faith and be a pioneer in my life. My first real experience happened when I was in the second grade. My teacher came to our class and told us how a “special” girl would soon join us. I remember imagining the girl to see what she would be like.
The first day Jenny walked in, I knew I would love her. The fact that she was handicapped urged me to learn more about her. I had never really been around children with disabilities. Although I had many anxieties, I knew I needed to be her friend. I was faced with the unknown; I accepted the challenge.
I decided to go to Jenny’s house after school one day. I remember being a little nervous but felt it was the right thing to do. Her mom was very nice and helped me get to know more about Jenny.
Soon I found myself always with Jenny. She became one of my very best friends. We loved to go to the store, play on her trampoline, and have sleep overs. I made up for Jenny’s physical handicaps, and she made up for my spiritual handicaps. Jenny is a wonderful example of Christlike love and forgiveness. I truly believe we helped each other overcome both of our handicaps.

Hi, I’m Mei.
I found this picture in an old box. On the back, I saw the name Fumiko.
My mom said it was a picture of my great-great-grandma Fumiko. I wanted to find out more about her.
We looked back in the box and found an old letter Fumiko wrote and more pictures. It was fun to learn about her.
We went to FamilySearch.org and added Fumiko to our family tree. We put in her birthday and the date when she and her husband, Hiroshi, got married.
We also added Fumiko’s pictures. Now if the photos get lost or ruined, my family can always find a copy online.
Fumiko was never baptized when she was alive. but now I’m old enough to go to the temple to be baptized for her.
We made a copy of Fumiko’s name and information. Then we went to the temple and I got baptized for her!
When I got home, I wrote about it in my journal. Someday I hope to meet Great-Grandma Fumiko. I want to keep learning about her and about my whole family!

The importance of this step is illustrated by a family of five who became converts to the Church. They had lived in a neighborhood where there were many Latter-day Saints, and they had learned much about the gospel. Then they had moved to a mission area, and a Mormon missionary invited them to church. In a short time they were baptized. Someone asked, “Why didn’t you join sooner?” The father answered, “No one ever before invited us to join or even to go to church.”

I wish I could go back to my youth and there have another chance to reach out to those who, at the time, didn’t attract my compassionate attention. We are so vulnerable in our youth. We want to feel included, to have the feeling we matter to others. For example, in 1979 we held in St. George, Utah, our 20-year class reunion for Dixie High School. An effort was made to find current addresses and get everyone to the reunion. In the midst of all that fun, I remember the terribly painful letter written by one very bright—but in her childhood, somewhat overweight and less than popular—young woman, who wrote: “Congratulations to all of us for having survived long enough to have a 20-year class reunion. I hope everyone has a wonderful time. But don’t reserve a place for me. I have, in fact, spent most of those 20 years trying to forget the painful moments of our school days together. Now that I am nearly over those feelings of loneliness and shattered self-esteem, I cannot bring myself to see all of the class and run the risk of remembering all of that again. Have a good time and forgive me. It is my problem not yours. Maybe I can come at the 30-year mark.”

But she was terribly wrong about one thing—it was our problem, and we knew it. I have wept for her and other friends like her in our youth. We simply were not the Savior’s agents or disciples that he intended a group of young people to be. I cannot help but wonder what I might have done to watch out a little more for the ones not included, to make sure the gesture of a friendly word or a listening ear or a little casual talk and shared time might have reached far enough to include those hanging on the outer edge of the social circle, and in some cases barely hanging on at all.

At age 25, I found myself in a verbally abusive relationship. I’d become less active in the Church, but when I finally left my boyfriend, I decided to go back to attending church regularly. I wanted to be on the straight and narrow path again. Little did I know, though, that when I made that decision, I was already pregnant.
I decided to stay true to my choice to be active again in the Church, but I didn’t really want to be pregnant and go to church where I lived. I wanted to attend a ward in a different city, so I went there one Sunday. It was the day of the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. As the children talked about how Heavenly Father always loves us, I felt His love too. That message was a great blessing for me that day.
After the meeting, I asked the bishop if I could attend that ward given my situation. He advised me to go to the ward within my boundaries. I didn’t want to, but he assured me I’d be OK, and I was.
When I told my bishop about my pregnancy, he was so helpful. It was a blessing to meet with him regularly. As I talked with him about my options for the baby, he wanted me to know that he was there to represent the Lord in my repentance process but would not tell me what decision to make about raising or placing my baby. As we were studying Doctrine and Covenants 9:8–9, my bishop asked me to pray and tell Heavenly Father what I really wanted—he encouraged me to make a decision and seek confirmation from the Lord.
So I went home and prayed. I told Heavenly Father all the amazing reasons why I would be the best mom for this baby, and I asked to know if that decision was right. The next day, everything in life felt like it was falling apart. For instance, I lost my medical insurance, and my car broke down.
At church the following Sunday, I told my bishop how life seemed to fall apart after I prayed about my decision. Because of what had happened after my prayer, my bishop suggested that I consider a different decision and seek confirmation about it instead.
While working with my bishop, I had considered placing the baby for adoption and had narrowed down the potential adoptive families to two couples. The bishop suggested that I select one of the two couples and pray about that decision to ask if this little guy needed to go with them.
I went home and reluctantly prayed, asking Heavenly Father if the couple I had chosen were the ones my child needed. The next morning, a connection my sister made led to a miracle solution for my insurance. I felt this was a confirmation that adoption was the right path for me, and I remember thinking this child could have so much more with a different family.
I knew that Heavenly Father would help me with this decision. Part of me hoped this choice would be like the story of Abraham and Isaac (see Genesis 22)—that when it came time for me to place my son for adoption, God would tell me I didn’t need to do it anymore. But He didn’t. I needed to place my son with a wonderful family.
As I sat in the hospital with my new little bundle of joy, I turned on the TV. General conference happened to be on. I heard a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles entitled “None Were with Him.” He taught that “because Jesus walked such a long, lonely path utterly alone, we do not have to do so.”1 I closed my eyes and told Heavenly Father that I felt so alone, and then I felt so much love from Him.
After the placement, I felt completely empty. But in the back of my mind, I still knew I wasn’t alone. I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were with me, as Elder Holland had taught. I prepared for the temple and received my endowment. I was obeying the commandments, and I was determined I would never let myself be deceived into wrong choices again.
But years later, I was deceived again and ended up in another abusive relationship. When I broke away, I found out I was pregnant again. I didn’t want to place the baby. I was older than before, and I felt like I could be a good mom. I met with my bishop and a social worker. I started following the same process that I had before in praying about adoption, but nothing ever seemed to click. It always felt difficult.
I still went to church. Sometimes ward members would say they were surprised to see me there pregnant, which hurt a little. But I still went every week. I wanted people to see that what I had done reflected a choice I had made but that it didn’t define who I was. I worked with my bishop to move forward.
As my due date grew closer, I started to panic. With my first baby, I’d had a plan, but this one was so different. I didn’t feel like I was receiving a strong answer regarding any option for my baby. I let the couple whom I had placed my first baby with know that I was pregnant but unsure of whether I would place, and that if I did place, I would want them to raise this baby as well.
After I had the baby, I still felt unsure. Then my doctor came in to check on us and said, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to have children again, so love this little one.” While that may not be the answer for everyone, I felt the Spirit confirm that this was the right choice for me. After panicking for nine months, I felt peace. I let the couple know that I had decided to parent my daughter.
I wanted to be the best mom I could be, and I knew that the only way to do that was staying close to family and the Lord’s Church. I knew that what I had learned in the gospel of Jesus Christ would help her like it had helped me.
With my pregnancies, was one decision easier than the other? No. Both options were hard—just different kinds of hard, as were the joys. With my daughter, she is an incredible delight to me. Yet being a single mother is hard. With the son I placed, I still think about him and hope he’s happy throughout his life, but I am not as involved in his day-to-day happenings. When I was pregnant with him, I couldn’t see what Heavenly Father had in mind for him. But now I can see it, and I know he’s where he needs to be.
We can’t know beforehand what placing or single parenting will be like. But we can always trust in the Lord.
As part of my repentance, I remember hearing my bishop say, “Your sins are forgiven.” I felt such great relief, and I realized that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is real. I would remember my sin, but from that moment on, my Savior, Jesus Christ, would remember it no more (see Doctrine and Covenants 58:42). I knew that He wanted me to move forward to become a better person, to become what He sees I can be. That’s what I strive to do every day—to become even closer to Him and to hold ever tighter to the iron rod (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24; see also 1 Nephi 11:25).
One of my favorite scriptures reads, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). I am grateful for Heavenly Father’s plan of redemption.
I currently serve as my ward’s Young Women president. One principle I try to help the young women learn is that regardless of any choices they make, there is no place where they are out of Heavenly Father’s reach. As Elder Holland taught: “However many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don’t have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.”2
I hope that the young women in my ward—and everyone—remember that truth. It has blessed my life immeasurably, and the joys I now feel in living the gospel have become an even greater strength to me.

My brother Bill was six years older than I was. He was my ideal, I wanted to be just like him. I would follow him and his friends around and, although I am sure he sometimes thought of me as a little pest, he was good to me and allowed me to tag along.
When Bill was in high school, he had saved enough money to buy himself a car. I remember well the day he drove his very first car home. It was his pride and joy, and he spent many hours shining it up. One day as we were coming home, he stopped at the bottom of the lane that led to our barn and asked me if I would like to drive his car up the lane, which was permissible in those days on a farm. Of course I would! I couldn’t believe that he would trust me to drive his new car—I knew how much it meant to him.
I ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. He showed me where the key was, how to shift gears, and where the gas pedal was. My foot just barely reached the pedal. I knew everything I needed to know to start the car, and off we went. It was great! It was only when we reached the top of the hill that I realized he hadn’t shown me how to stop the car, and we ran right into the side of the barn. I felt so bad! I was sure that Bill would never trust me to drive his car again. However, a few days later he asked me again if I wanted to drive his car up the lane—but this time he showed me where the brake was! I was so grateful that he understood that running into the barn had just been an accident and that it hadn’t destroyed his trust in me.

One of the matters that had been discussed in the stake welfare meeting was how the needs of ward members could be relayed to stake leaders if telephone communications were not functioning. Don McNeece, the high priests group leader in Coalinga and a ham radio operator, had been designated as the primary communication link with stake leaders in Hanford, 45 miles away. The evening of the earthquake, he was able to get the information to stake president Gerald Thompson that most members had been accounted for and, while many suffered extensive property damage, there were no deaths or injuries.
Early the next morning President Thompson visited Coalinga to help ward leaders assess the damage and determine how the stake could help.
The greatest immediate need, especially for the elderly, was for help in getting their homes back in order. For 79-year-old Veda Cooper, who was crippled from a bone disease, the experience was traumatic, and the love and service offered by ward and stake members were badly needed.
“I was standing in the kitchen doorway when everything started falling down,” she explained. “I couldn’t get backward and I couldn’t get forward. It felt like the house was going to come tumbling down. But I couldn’t get out and run. I’m crippled. Everything that could fall fell. Jams and jellies, pickles, clothes, suitcases, goblets and glasses, a whole set of china for 12—everything was all mixed together. Water was squirting all over the bathroom.
“Later when I thought about all the mess I started feeling sorry for myself. I thought, now look, I’m not afraid to work. And it’s all right for the Lord to take my husband, and it’s all right to have my three sons so far away. But I felt like it was just adding insult to injury to be crippled and alone and then to have a mess like this. The tears were running down, and I thought, I’ll be all summer getting this mess picked up.
“Then here came somebody knocking on the door, somebody from Hanford to help me clean up, and I didn’t feel sorry anymore. But for a little while I thought this is too much—just too much—until help came. Then in no time they had the water turned off, and the plumbing fixed, and the mess cleaned up, and I was just doing fine.”
Shari Vanlandingham, 14, and a convert of eight months, said she feels that being a member of the Church makes a big difference during a time of calamity. “I don’t know what we would do if we didn’t have all this help. After the quake they had a meeting at the Church and asked what everybody needed. Whatever you needed, they would help you get. Everybody was helping everybody.”
Janel Woolsey, 14, agreed. “The Church made a lot of difference. The evening of the quake the church was opened for anybody who needed food or a place to sleep. People just came by to see if they could help.”
The meetinghouse quickly became a center for coordinating relief efforts. Several families whose homes were unsafe to live in set up tents and trailers in the parking lot. The bulletin board in the foyer was divided into headings—Carpentry, Plumbing, Brickwork, etc.—with listings of those who needed help in each area. Local radio stations announced that anyone who needed help cleaning up could contact the LDS church.
The Church organization was able to respond quickly to individual needs largely because of preparations that had been made before the earthquake. Even before the Tuesday planning meeting in Hanford, ward leaders had compiled a list of supplies that ward members could provide in the event of a disaster. They knew who had campers, tents, cooking equipment, and first-aid supplies. They knew what members were trained in medical, plumbing, and construction skills. And members of the ward welfare committee had been assigned specific responsibilities in the event of a disaster—communications, child care, food preparation, sanitation, emotional problems, etc.
While most members had plenty of food, cooking it with the power off was a problem. And since everyone was so busy trying to clean up their homes, the evening meals provided by different wards in the stake were extremely welcome. For two weeks after the quake, meals were prepared by the Relief Society sisters in the stake and transported over long distances to Coalinga.
Even more important than the food was the emotional support and closeness derived from ward and stake members coming together to talk and share concerns. “Coalinga is about the farthest ward from the stake center,” explained Sister Millie Netherton. “We used to see these people at meetings and work with them, but we didn’t really know them very well. Now we fall into each other’s arms we’re so glad to see each other.”
About a month before the earthquake, the Relief Society had shown a film to the ward about the 1971 San Fernando earthquake. As a result of that film, many families had taken their own precautions.
James and Shirley Sirman had prepared small emergency backpacks for their whole family. The packs contained identification cards (in case the children got separated), a three-day supply of food, a change of clothing, flashlights, water purification tablets, and other emergency supplies. Although their children are young (ages 3 through 9), they knew the places in their house that are safest in an earthquake, and they knew where in the yard to meet after the quake.
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.
But perhaps even more important to the Latter-day Saints in Coalinga than the disaster plans, the emergency supplies, and the stored food were the reserves of faith, testimony, and gospel knowledge that grow naturally when people are obedient to the Lord and try to follow the counsel of his leaders—reserves that can turn a calamity into a chance for spiritual growth.
A lot of members in Coalinga would agree with President Joseph F. Smith’s observation that the Lord allows natural calamities “for the good of his children, to quicken their devotion to others, and to bring out their better natures, that they may love and serve him” (Gospel Doctrine, Deseret Book, 1919, p. 55). It’s not hard to find examples in Coalinga these days of people’s “devotion to others” or to see evidence of their “better natures.”
Brother Lawrence Richie, retired for ten years and living alone since his wife’s death, had his home paid for. The quake caused severe structural damage, requiring him to move into a trailer until the house could be made safe. But none of this has dampened his good spirits. “We were flooded out one time, and we were burned out one time. Now we’ve been shook out. That’s just the way it goes,” he added good naturedly. And he didn’t find it hard to see a positive side to these experiences. “You know how people draw apart? When there’s a disaster they unite. They get together, and they work together. When that quake hit, the town was just like this,” he said, clasping his palms together.
Fifteen-year-old Tracy Boucher agreed. “Everybody worked together. All my neighbors helped us out, and we helped them out. Before, hardly anyone helped each other, but in this situation everyone was helping.”
Many members found that the earthquake brought their priorities into much sharper focus. “I always take it for granted that the world is just gonna keep going and nothing is going to happen while I’m alive,” Denise explained. “So when it hit I thought, this is the end of the world. Oh man, I need to repent.”
“I realized that in a few minutes you could lose everything—your whole house and everything in it—but you’re still the same person,” said Dan McNeece, 18. “You get worried about all your stuff, but if you really think about it, it’s just here, and after you die you’re not going to have it. I think more now about the things that really matter.”
There are others, too, who are thinking more now about the things that really matter. “My wife had gone through I don’t know how many houses and helped clean up,” explained Brother Roy Vanlandingham. “And after she looked at all that broken fine china and cut glass, we realized what Christ meant when he said not to store up your treasures on earth. No matter what you’ve got, it can be taken away from you in less than 32 seconds. Your family is the only thing that matters. During the aftershocks, we sat in the middle of the street and watched our house rock three feet in each direction. But once I had found out my family was all right the panic was over.”
“I was pretty weak in the Church, and I wasn’t planning on going on a mission,” said Cary Scherer, a 19-year-old college student. “But because of this I feel I need to straighten out my life and get closer to the Lord, because when these kinds of things happen I’m going to need his help.”
Sister Netherton is confident that her family is receiving the Lord’s help. With her home destroyed and the family’s food storage inaccessible in the basement, she is full of faith in the Lord. “My husband is two years from retiring, and we have three teenagers. I don’t know how we can start over this late in life. But I feel so calm. The Lord says he is bound when we do what he commands us to do—not that the Church is going to come in and take over—but we’re going to be able to manage. The gospel gives total purpose to life and helps you put value on the things that are of most worth. Material things are just not important. This is what’s comforting us—the gospel—so there’s no fear.”

Trying to infuse these new insights into my life and riding, I found myself in Banff, Alberta, Canada, toeing the start line for the 2018 Tour Divide. After years of preparation and a failed attempt in 2017, the time was finally here! I was nervous. Rain and cold weather were forecasted for the first five days of the race. The mountains in early June were unpredictable, and I would be riding my bike through dense grizzly bear country. I was nervous about the many things I would not be able to control, but I was determined to pay attention to the ride and immerse myself in the experience.

Once again, the ride and the experience were much, much harder than I anticipated. The sheer amount of riding was overwhelming. On average, I rode about eighteen hours per day with about four hours of sleep. When the time came each night to end my efforts for the day, I slept wherever I could, including once in a forest service outhouse to separate myself from a menacing grizzly bear. The weather was extreme at times, with several instances when I bordered on hypothermia.

After just a few days, my body was broken: I was constantly uncomfortable, knee and back issues were gradually getting more intense, gastrointestinal issues made keeping up with the twelve thousand daily calories extremely difficult, and sores from contact points on the bike made sitting on the bike saddle almost impossible. I was also suffering mentally. My confidence was waning, and I regularly beat myself up for simple, inconsequential mistakes. My enthusiasm and pessimism seemed to ebb and flow with my ability to take in calories. I really missed my family—I really missed them. Every day I contemplated quitting. Some of you may be able to relate to some of these feelings.

It was under these conditions that I learned my next valuable lessons on endurance; the tough conditions created an incredible learning environment. Early on in the race, I realized that I would definitely need help, but there was no other racer or spectator who was allowed to help me—the ethos of the race is self-support. I realized that I would have to get help from a higher source. Part way through the race, I was broken and beaten; my pride was at an all-time low, and I started to search for inspired solutions to the many challenges I was facing. The inspiration came, and it made all the difference.

Every morning was brutal. After a few hours of sleep, I would drag myself onto my bike around 4 a.m. I was unbelievably stiff and sore and unable to really sit down on my saddle. Additionally, it was usually freezing cold and wet outside, and the darkness added an element of loneliness. The mornings felt hopeless. Every day I said to myself, “There’s no way I can do this again today.” I finally decided that this was a good time to pray, out loud, while I rode. I was alone during these times, and I found myself in hours of daily conversation with my Father in Heaven. With almost no pride left in me, my prayer sessions were sincere; they were brutally honest, and they were often raw with emotion. In an attempt to rid myself of my focus on the negative circumstances, I tried to think of everything for which I was grateful, sometimes talking about ridiculous things.

For example, during one of these early morning prayer sessions, I found myself thanking my Heavenly Father for synthetic insulation that could get wet and still keep me warm, only to get into a self-debate over natural down versus synthetic insulation. It was pretty ridiculous.

I had some amazing experiences, and I spent some incredible hours praying for my family, making mental lists of the things I love about my amazing wife, Holly, and how I wanted to share with her all the things I was feeling. I was so grateful for how supportive she was. I was—and I am—extremely fortunate to have her in my life. I thought about the challenges each of my four daughters would face over the coming years and how I could teach them the right things to help them with their future decisions. I prayed for family and friends, making lists of people I wanted to reconnect with and learn how they were doing. I prayed for my students, and I wondered about ways I could help them find success in their lives.

I laughed and cried aloud during these sessions, and I felt like my Heavenly Father was laughing and crying right next to me. He was right there. I felt it. These mornings were unbelievably special. And each morning, wrapped up in my conversations with God and almost without noticing, I would eventually ease into the saddle and climb up the next mountain.

After sixteen days, I made it to the finish line of the Tour Divide. It was a lonely finish at the desolate border crossing of Antelope Wells, New Mexico. There was no finish tape, but I felt I had accomplished something great. You may find this hard to believe, but I loved every minute of it! I didn’t realize it at that moment, but the lessons I learned over those days of racing and years of preparing were life changing.