Gospel Story Finder

We see this promise fulfilled in the lives of faithful people. It was a little over a year ago that I was privileged to meet Travis and Kacie. They were married civilly in 2007. At the time, Travis was not a member of the Church. Kacie, though raised in an active Latter-day Saint home, had drifted from her faith in her teens and had strayed from her foundation.

In 2018, Travis met the missionaries, and he was baptized in 2019. Travis became a missionary to Kacie, who also experienced a life-changing conversion. They were sealed in the temple in September 2020. About two years after his baptism, Travis was called to serve in the bishopric.

Travis has a rare disease that continuously forms clusters of tumors in his internal organs. He has undergone many surgeries to remove the recurring tumors, but the disease is incurable. Several years ago, Travis was given fewer than 10 years to live.

Kacie has retinitis pigmentosa, a rare genetic disease that causes irreversible narrowing of the field of vision until complete blindness sets in.

Kacie spoke to me of her future. She anticipated the time, not far distant, when she would be widowed, blind, without financial support, and left alone to raise four growing children. I asked Kacie how she could handle such a bleak future. She smiled peacefully and said, “I have never been happier or more hopeful in my life. We hold to the promises we received in the temple.”

Travis is now the bishop. Two months ago he had another major surgery. But he is optimistic and peaceful. Kacie’s vision has worsened. She now has a guide dog and is unable to drive. But she is content, raising her children and serving as a counselor in the Young Women presidency.

Travis and Kacie are building their house on the rock. Travis and Kacie trust the doctrine of Christ and the promise that God “shall consecrate [their] afflictions for [their] gain.” In God’s perfect plan, suffering with faith in Christ is linked to our becoming perfected in Christ. Like the wise man in the parable who built his house upon a rock, when the rain descends and the floods come and the winds blow and beat upon the house Travis and Kacie are building, it will fall not, for it will be founded upon a rock.

I used to attend a school where it was really hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and there weren’t many who shared similar standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my freshman year.
During that time life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. But my family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But through the scriptures I found someone else who dealt with family contention.
Lehi counseled Laman and Lemuel “because of the stiffneckedness of Laman and Lemuel; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11–12).
My family was divided. We fought all the time, my parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father; and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
“And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for them. Always I felt lonely.
“But, behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew that Nephi knew sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew that Nephi knew discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew that Nephi knew loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish it ended “happily ever after,” but it hasn’t yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know that he understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Though the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew that the Lord would help him accomplish anything that was commanded, I too know that Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me from my heavenly home as I struggle to deal with a torn earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to that heavenly home.

“President Lee once told of a woman in New York who approached him concerning her nonmember husband. Her spouse wanted her to attend parties that were far below Church standards. President Lee advised her that whereas a woman should follow her husband, she need not follow him to hell. The husband, upon hearing this from his wife, was, like your parents, extremely resentful.

“Let your parents know how much you love them and appreciate their offer but also that the Lord has said that sacrament meeting is the most important meeting we have to attend. Being the only member or active member of a family is sometimes a lonely ordeal. But if we seek to do the Lord’s will over the conflicting desires of loved ones who don’t or won’t understand, he will bless us. He certainly blessed the lady from New York. A few months after she had revealed the advice of the prophet, her ‘resentful’ husband was baptized.”

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares?”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

My family had just returned from a wonderful vacation. After dinner I let our two children, four-year-old Markus and three-year-old Emma, play in the upstairs bedroom of our fourth-floor apartment. In Denmark, windows open out like shutters. The windows are usually locked, but we had left them slightly ajar during our vacation so the apartment would be ventilated during our trip.
As I was doing the dishes, I suddenly felt that something was terribly wrong. I ran into the living room as Markus came running down the stairs. He was screaming with fear, saying Emma had fallen out of the window—a window about 40 feet (12 m) above a cement sidewalk. I ran down the stairs, repeatedly screaming Emma’s name. I saw my little daughter lying on the cement as if she were lifeless. She was completely limp when I picked her up, and I thought my worst fears were confirmed. My husband, who had followed me outside, took her in his arms and immediately gave her a priesthood blessing.
The ambulance came quickly, and Markus and I said a prayer while the paramedics worked on Emma. Soon we were all in the ambulance heading to the hospital.
At the intensive care unit we were quickly joined by family members who came to support us. Markus went home with his cousins, while my husband and I stayed behind, not yet knowing about Emma’s condition.
After what seemed like a long wait, one of the doctors finally came in, asking for details about the accident. They said that normally a fall from such a height would have resulted in internal injuries and only a small chance of survival. Emma had a broken pelvis and a concussion, but her scrapes were only superficial. The doctor said an angel must have caught her.
Even though Emma’s survival was a miracle, she was still unconscious because of head trauma. My husband and two close friends again administered to Emma. In that blessing she was promised a complete recovery without any lasting problems and that this would be a positive experience in her life. I felt immense gratitude for the power of the priesthood. All my nightlong pleadings had been heard.
Emma came out of her coma four days later. During those four days, friends, members of the Church, and others fasted and prayed for her. I felt the prayers of faithful Saints weave around me, strengthening my family and me. I felt as if Heavenly Father had wrapped His arms around me and filled me with comfort.
Our stake had held a fast on the day before she woke up. We believe that Heavenly Father heard our prayers and that Emma’s waking up was a direct result of the fast. From there Emma recovered quickly. Five days later she said her first word since the accident, and nine days later she was released from the hospital. She spent five weeks in a wheelchair and then started physical therapy.
One year later, Emma could run, laugh, tell stories, and think as a four-year-old should.

Marikina (pop. 120,000), a bustling town nestled between the heights of Quezon City and the foothills of the Sierra Madre mountain range in Rizal Province, had a bleak daybreak on August 9, 1975, a Saturday, as thick and dark clouds hung like a heavy pall over the valley and torrents of rain fell without let-up.
The dismal atmosphere dampened the will to start the day’s activities and kept many people indoors. At the far end of the main thoroughfare of Provident Village where a group was gathered under an improvised shelter, the situation was more appalling than elsewhere in the valley. That morning, at ten to be precise, groundbreaking for the third chapel of the Manila Philippines Stake was to take place—a predicament that made the guests and Marikina Ward members led by Bishop Roberto Cuizon restless as the appointed hour fast approached.
There were long breaks of silence as the group of Latter-day Saints kept track of time. Among them were Elder Smith Griffin (Regional Representative), Philippines Manila Mission President Raymond L. Goodson, former Philippines Manila Mission President Paul S. Rose and Sister Rose, Brother Frederick Samsel (Church building construction supervisor), President Ruben M. Lacanienta (2nd Counselor, Stake Presidency), and myself.
The rain kept falling without any indication of stopping for this very important Church affair, and it was decided that the symbolic groundbreaking be performed under the improvised shelter. The program, therefore, proceeded as scheduled.
Suddenly, after the speakers had finished and the shovels were about to be given, the rain stopped. An opening in the dark sky showed the face of the sun, and the morning became almost as bright as any sunny day. The ground-breaking ceremony started and was finished on schedule—and the rain started falling again immediately thereafter!—Augusto A. Lim

Dick Richards stood at the kitchen window and listened as the wind howled around the corners of the barn and heaped great mounds of powdery snow. It was March 1939, and southern Alberta, Canada, was having one of the worst spring storms that he could remember.
Dick shivered and pulled back from the window, gazing around the silent room in frustration. His mom and dad were quietly talking in the bedroom, and the younger children were all asleep—except for his sister Jean, who was reading in front of the fire. Dick was thirteen years old—almost a man—and it made him feel restless to be stuck in the house like a chicken in a pen.
He glanced over his sister’s shoulder. She was reading a Superman comic book. He grabbed it from between her fingers and threw it across the room, ignoring her loud screech as she jumped to retrieve it. He wondered why she chose to fill her mind with such nonsense. He had discovered long ago that there were no real heroes in this life, only ordinary people like his dad, who was thin and tanned from working long, backbreaking hours in every kind of weather. And Mr. Meyers down the road, who limped and spit on the ground, and cried when his only daughter married a fellow from Calgary. No, Dick didn’t figure he would ever meet a real hero.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and Nephi Richards appeared, helping his wife into a coat. She looked pale and ill, and her belly seemed larger than ever.
Dick asked, "Is it time for the baby to come?"
"We think so," his father replied.
Dick peered out the window. "How will you make it through the snow?"
"We’ll take the Model A. Uncle Rolley is meeting us halfway with his big Chevrolet."
Dick reached for his boots. "I’d like to come, Dad."
"We need you to stay and watch the children."
"Jean is old enough, and she’s much better than I am with the younger ones." His father was silent, so he continued hopefully, "I could help if something went wrong."
"Nothing will go wrong," interrupted Dick’s mother. She looked lost in her husband’s thick plaid coat and gum boots.
"If you’re coming, you’d better hurry up," his father said gruffly. "We haven’t much time."
As they stepped outside, the wind tore at their faces and almost flattened their bodies against the side of the house. It was difficult getting to the car, and for an anxious moment Dick was afraid it wasn’t going to start. Then it sputtered to life, and they were moving slowly through the snow.
"Can you see where we’re going?" Dick asked, squinting out the window into the speckled blackness.
"Well enough," his father answered.
Dick sat beside his mother and listened. He could hear her breathing—sometimes sharp and ragged with pain, sometimes slow and deep. He could hear the wind screaming, feel it pulling at the car as if it was bent on throwing them headlong into the ditch. He took his mother’s arm and held on tightly.
They hadn’t gone more than a mile when the Model A lurched to a stop. "There’s something blocking the road," Dick’s father said. "I’m going out to take a look."
Anxious to help, Dick got out too. The snow was drifted over the road like a giant feather pillow, and Dick saw that it would be impossible to shovel their way through. He stood silently and watched while his father kicked and stomped his way around the drifts.
Nephi Richards returned to the car and took his wife’s small cold hands between his large ones. "Hazel," he said, "we have a choice to make. We can go home and you can have the baby there, or we can walk to where Rolley is waiting. I think it would be easier for you if we went home."
Dick’s mother held her head up bravely. "But if something goes wrong, it would be better for the baby to be born at the hospital. No, I’d rather keep going."
Dick and his father helped her from the car. Dick heard her gasp as the cold wind whipped across her face. "Let’s get this over with," she said.
They stuck close to the barbed wire fence and struggled through the drifts with a certain desperation. Dick could feel his mother’s hand gripping his tightly through his mitten. He gritted his teeth as snow oozed in the top of his boots and made his legs burn with icy pain. Their breaths came in spurts, filling the cold air for an instant, then vanishing in wisps of steam. Dick knew that his mother was in great pain, but he didn’t know how he could help her. It made him feel helpless.
The journey seemed as if it would never end. Dick’s face burned. His lungs ached. His fingers were numb. His feet felt like two lumps of ice on the end of his legs. He kept hoping that the merciless wind would die down, but it returned again and again with new vengeance, shrieking against their bent bodies as if it would lift them from the earth. Finally Dick’s mother went limp in his father’s arms.
"I’ll carry her," his father said. "We’re almost there. I can see the car."
The last few steps seemed to stretch out forever. Finally Dick staggered against the side of the Chevrolet, wrenched open the door, and helped put his mother inside. Uncle Rolley’s anxious face stared at them from the front seat. "Go as fast as you dare," said Dick’s father.
The waiting room was warm and still and smelled of antiseptic soap and floor wax. Dick was too tired to move, so he leaned back on the wooden bench and watched his father pace back and forth across the floor in front of the nurse’s desk. He had been told many times in Primary, and again in his priesthood lessons, how extremely important it was for parents to have children and how the spirit children of Heavenly Father needed bodies to progress. Up until now, he had figured that having children was just a simple process involving a small inconvenience. He closed his eyes and put his weary face between his hands. Tonight he had seen things in a different way.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man with a white uniform and kind blue eyes. "Mr. Richards?"
"Yes!" Dick’s father crossed the room with two swift strides.
The doctor reached out and gripped the other man’s hand. "You have a son," he said.
"How is Hazel?"
"Your wife is a very sick woman, but we feel that with the right amount of rest and care, she’ll be all right."
Dick saw his father relax as the fear and strain of the last few hours left his body.
"May I see her?" asked Dick.
The doctor nodded. "She’s asleep, so be very quiet."
While his father continued to talk to the doctor, Dick slipped into his mother’s room. She looked peaceful lying there under the white blanket, her face all relaxed and free from pain and worry. Her eyes were closed, and her lashes looked dark and long against her pale cheeks. He leaned close to her. He knew that she probably couldn’t hear him, but somehow it was very important to tell her anyway: "You’re a hero, Mom!"

As the Church’s Materials Management supervisor for Thailand, Kanogwan Wongwiraphab regularly handles requests from members for Church equipment and supplies such as sacred clothing and LDS publications.
But she was surprised one day when a woman visited her office to renew her Church magazines subscription. In that part of the world, members normally renew their subscriptions through their unit’s magazine representative. The woman, however, explained she did not have a ward representative. She was Buddhist and had learned about the Church magazines when a friend who was a member of the Church gifted a subscription to her.
“She started to tell me wonderful things about the Church magazines and how valuable they are to her children,” Sister Wongwiraphab wrote. “When her children came back from school and saw the magazines, they were so excited, and they read and finished them quickly.”
The woman praised the magazines for their “great worth” and for teaching her children good morals and vocabulary. She was so impressed she renewed her own subscription and gifted subscriptions to her coworkers so their children could also benefit.
“Even nonmembers can feel and see the value [of the magazines], and [they] want to share it with others,” Sister Wongwiraphab wrote.

I love to go sledding. We have the best hill by our house that all of the neighbor kids enjoy sledding on. One beautiful day, Mom asked my sisters and me if we would like to go. Of course I said yes. Just as we were leaving, one of my best friends, Braiden, called to see if I could play. I invited him to go sledding with us. He hurried over to my house, and we took off for the hill.
The hill was just as icy and fast as I had hoped it would be. We were having a lot of fun going down the hill! Then my friend said his hands were freezing. He had forgotten to bring his gloves. I felt bad that he had such cold hands. I quickly took my gloves off and gave them to him. We kept sledding for another hour or so. My hands were probably freezing, but I didn’t care because I was happy about giving my gloves to a friend. I know Jesus Christ would do the same for His friend. I want to always try to do what He would do. I had the best day ever on the hill because I felt warm inside.

Recently I traveled to Mexico City with the Northern Wasatch Youth Orchestra for a series of concerts. While there we all stayed in one hotel. There was an intellectual, refined old lady who lived in the hotel alone, and each night she and a few others would come to the lobby and watch the funny, loud American kids. By the time the orchestra had been there a week, she said to my mother in broken English, “Oh, please take these young people all over our country so our young people can see how they behave, for before this we have had little but bad examples from the United States for our children to follow.” And she begged to learn where she could go to hear our symphony play.
After we played a concert with the Ballet Folklorico, some of the performers came to the hotel to visit and learn more about what they called “those clean-looking, talented American kids.”
Later as we came through customs at Dallas, Texas, at 3 A.M. on our way home, they informed us that every piece of luggage must be removed from the plane, including all the instruments—even the large percussion pieces—as many drugs were being smuggled into our country from Mexico. As tired as we all were, each one began helping others, calling out the names of suitcases coming down the belt ramps. Everyone cooperated and willingly lined up for inspection. While the plane was being unloaded and this was taking place, several of the customs inspectors stood together watching us, and suddenly the man in charge came over to some of our tour leaders and asked if we were LDS. He had noticed that no one smoked or used bad language, and when they told him that all but three or four of us were LDS, he said that he had great respect for the members of our church. He remarked to his fellow workers that kids who didn’t smoke wouldn’t be carrying marijuana. They opened very few of our cases after that and hurried us through with dispatch.

Night was falling as we drove toward the flat-topped mountain where the old sheepherder lived. In the evening light, six ragged figures were silhouetted against the orange sky. They looked like scarecrows with hideous painted faces. Their shredded black robes blew in the wind. Tin cans hung from them, clanging dully. They were eerie and strange in the gathering dusk.
A little frightened by the mysterious figures, I said to my companion, “I’m not sure I want to go any further. Whoever made those weird things probably wouldn’t be receptive to anything we had to say.” Turning the truck around, I drove back across the wide open space that was the Navajo Indian Reservation. As missionaries in the Arizona Holbrook Mission, we wanted to share the gospel with everyone, but maybe that didn’t include the person who had made these strange, manlike figures.
During the next week, however, we felt prompted to visit the sheepherder. When we drove back, in daylight this time, we found him standing by an old tree, as motionless as one of the scarecrow men he had created. A wooden staff was in his hand, and he wore a long black coat. Silently, he watched us get out of our truck and approach. His hair was white. His eyes were calm. There was no expression on his wrinkled brown face.
My companion was a new missionary and couldn’t speak the Navajo language. I didn’t speak it very well. But I introduced us in Navajo with a phrase that means essentially, “Hi, who are you? We’re the missionaries.”
He looked at me. I think he was impressed that I knew enough Navajo to greet him. He answered me in English. “I’m Baptist. No hear you. I’m Baptist.”
His words were harsh, but we felt something else behind them—a kindness, a welcome that was louder than his words. We didn’t argue, but we went on talking with him and before long we had an appointment to come back and see him.
During the months that followed we visited the old shepherd often. He wandered far with his sheep and sometimes we had to drive to the top of a hill and scan the distant countryside to find him. Every visit was precious to us.
We had no place to sit and talk with him because his hut was too small. At first we would just sit on the back of our truck. When the weather was too cold, we would crowd together inside the cab. Our visits took a long time because I knew just a little Navajo, and he knew about the same amount of English. We learned together. I would point to a tree and identify it in English. He would point to the same tree and say the word in Navajo. We would both repeat the new word. Little by little I learned enough Navajo, and he learned enough English for us to communicate.
We gradually got to know him. We found out that his name was Peter Wolley. The name had been given to him when he served in the U.S. Army during World War II. After a number of visits, we began to teach him the gospel. I felt the influence of the Spirit very strongly as we talked. My Navajo was not fluent, yet at times I felt inspired to use certain Navajo words that I didn’t think I knew. Even though I couldn’t communicate clearly, he seemed to know the truth of the things I was telling him. He was a very traditional Navajo, and he taught us many of the Navajo ways. I learned not to be so inquisitive, because this is considered bad manners in the Navajo culture. When I stopped asking questions, and when he wanted to, he would tell us about his life.
He took us out to the river and his other favorite places. He showed us foxholes and where the coyotes had been. He taught us to herd sheep. He showed us how he built the tall, black-robed figures that had ended our first visit. They were not designed to terrify sister missionaries but to frighten away coyotes that might harm his flock.
He loved his sheep and would lead them for many kilometers each day in search of the best grass. He took the lambs inside the hut with him when the nights were cold. He was a very caring man.
He knew his sheep. He knew their names and he knew each of their ways. One day when we were searching for him and his flock, we saw one of his sheep separated from the rest. When we found the flock, I said, “Peter, one of your sheep is lost. We saw it over on the other side of the hill.”
He seemed remarkably calm about the news and said, “Oh I know. That’s Box. He’s the old one. He doesn’t have any teeth. He’s all right.” I was amazed. He knew all about that one particular sheep even though it was out of sight. Peter saw my surprise and smiled. He didn’t have any more teeth than Box.
I knew that I had really earned his trust when he began calling me his “tall white friend.” For a Navajo to address you as “my friend,” instead of by your name, is a big compliment. The “tall white” part referred to my height and my light blonde hair.
One time we made him a placemat. It was a piece of paper with the four steps of prayer on it. We had it covered in clear plastic, and he kept it on his little table. He loved that little placemat, and I think it was because he loved prayer. He had plenty of time to pray while he watched his sheep.
We taught Peter for seven months before I was transferred to another district. Some Navajo elders then taught him in his own language. He was receptive to their teaching and joined the Church. I am proud to have helped open the door for my good friend to receive the gospel.
Peter couldn’t go to church very often because there was no one to stay with the sheep. He lived ninety kilometers away from a church and had no truck. He couldn’t walk that far, and few could drive the 180 kilometers round trip over rough country to pick him up and to take him home. But I didn’t worry too much about him because Peter was a good man who lived a good life. I knew that his Heavenly Father knew where he was just as surely as Peter knew where to find old Box. Even alone on top of his distant mountain, he was within the fold.
I think of Peter as my teacher. He taught me most of the Navajo I know. He taught me about sheep and coyotes and patience and silence and pasture in barren places. Better still, he taught me about good shepherds who love and know each sheep, even the old one with no teeth who is seemingly lost and far from the rest of the flock.

Playing basketball has been really good and helped me gain some friends. There is a park next to our house and it makes me feel more motivated to get out and shoot, to get really good at basketball. For school we were playing, and I played really well against a team. Two days later I found out that they offered me a spot on an all-state team, which is a really big deal. We did some research and realized that they play on Sundays, and so it just never really crossed my mind to play there after that.

We don’t have a lot of youth in our ward. As far as the young men it’s me, two other priests, and about five deacons. Our leaders like to take us out each month to visit and see the youth that don’t come and invite them to youth activities. It’s just cool to see how much the leaders think about others.

Our ward has been really focused on goals because of the new Children and Youth program. We had a combined youth activity that involved all four areas! Each area had a different activity attached. I was in charge of focusing on the physical goal activity, so we played volleyball.

We’ve really been working to emphasize those four parts of our lives. It’s helped me also realize how important goal setting is. Without goals, it’s hard to see that you are improving in your life.

I think it’s important for people in the Church to understand how amazing it is to have the knowledge we do, such as the plan of salvation.

“I grew up on a farm in Salt Lake Valley and learned to appreciate work. I developed a tremendous love for the outdoors, for crops and animals, and for all nature.

“We had a gentle horse that I could put the bridle on by climbing onto a wagon wheel. I was riding that horse the day I was to be baptized, and it slipped and fell in a muddy spot in the orchard. I sprained my leg when it fell, and I couldn’t be baptized until the following month.

“Our summertime baptisms were performed in the irrigation ditch across the street from our chapel; the water wasn’t sparkling clean. My father was the bishop, but he didn’t baptize me. He felt that he should pass the privilege around, so he called a priest in the ward and asked him to baptize me.”

A year ago Kennedy decided to serve a mission and become those arms of the Savior for others. His “better than adopted family”, his brother Bwalya, and his determined Bishop Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare.
For many African missionaries, their first opportunity to attend the temple is when they come to the missionary training center in Ghana. It is also their first and often only opportunity to do ordinance work for their deceased parents, siblings, or grandparents until they return home and are able to have sufficient resources to travel to the nearest temple.
Elder and Sister Meredith serve as temple and family history missionaries in the Africa West Area and spend time at the MTC each Sunday helping interested missionaries prepare their ancestors’ names so they can do temple work for them in the short time they are there. Their most joyous efforts occur in opportunities to help missionaries who want to do work for their own parents. Such was the case with Kennedy Chitalu.
While he was at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi Mission, he was able to attend the house of the Lord and take part in not just his father’s ordinance work but also the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity. He was so excited he didn’t want forget even a moment of his experience and stayed in the temple to savor the spirit he felt as long as he was able.

“I think we ought to kick Robby Burns off the team,” my best friend, Joey, said to me one day after a football game. “He can’t run very fast, and he’s always fumbling the ball.”
“Yeah, and whenever he plays,” I mumbled, “we usually lose.”
“But you’ll hurt his feelings,” said Joey’s younger sister Margie, who had overheard us.
“What does she know about guys playing football,” I grumbled under my breath. “I’ll see how the other guys feel about it,” I said aloud to Joey. “If they agree with us, I’ll talk to Robby after supper.”
“I think you’re both awful,” Margie complained. “Robby can’t help it if he’s not as good as you two are.”
“Margie,” I said, trying to be patient with her, “we’ll still play with him, but not football. He can watch us when we play that.”
I looked up, and Robby was standing right beside me. He had heard what I had said!
“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind not playing.”
Something about his smile stuck in my mind. Way down deep I knew that if I’d heard someone say that he didn’t want me on his team, I wouldn’t have smiled. That night after dinner I went for a walk with my dad. “You can understand how we feel, can’t you, Dad?” I asked him as we walked along. “He never helps us win. He’s just not good enough.”
“Yes,” Dad answered, “I do understand how you feel. Even so, it won’t be easy deciding which is more important—winning a game or keeping a friend.”
“But Robby’s still our friend. He told me he doesn’t care if he doesn’t play. I know he understands why we dropped him from the team.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dad said thoughtfully.
The next day in school we had a spelling bee. Robby Burns was one captain, and he picked me to be on his team. “We’ll have a contest each day for four days,” the teacher explained, “and the team that spells the most words correctly will represent our class in a spelling bee against the other third grade class.”
It sure sounded like fun. It was fun, too—except that I found out I wasn’t as good a speller as I thought I was. But Robby was terrific. He never missed a word. The other two on our team didn’t miss many, either. But I sure did.
On the last day we were tied with another team for first place, and there was a special spell-off. I was scared, but Robby encouraged me every time my turn came. It didn’t do much good, though, because the words were just too hard for me, and I missed nearly every one. I felt awful when we lost and the other team was declared the champions. I wouldn’t have blamed Robby for being sore, but he wasn’t.
“I’m sure sorry, Robby,” I apologized. “If it hadn’t been for me, our team would’ve won.”
“That’s OK, Chris,” he answered. “I know you did your best. Besides, it was fun just being on the same team.”
I thought of a few days ago, when I’d said we didn’t want him on our football team.
“Robby’s quite a guy,” I told Dad that night at supper.
“He sounds like a good sport,” Dad answered.
Dad was right. That’s just what Robby was—a good sport. He wanted to win as much as anyone, but he was willing to lose rather than hurt someone else’s feelings.
The next afternoon when the guys got together to play football, I made a little speech. “And from now on,” I said, “anyone who wants to play, can, and no one is going to make fun of someone else. We’re not a professional team where everyone has to be terrific. We’re just a bunch of neighborhood kids who want to have a good time.”
Robby was standing next to me. “Come on, sport,” I said to him, “you’re on my team!”

After serving in the temple one evening, Elder Hammond stopped at a fast-food restaurant. He began visiting with a worker who was cleaning tables. The worker asked Elder Hammond why he was wearing a suit. “I told him about the temple,” Elder Hammond says. “We talked for more than 30 minutes. I don’t know if he’ll find out more about the Church, but he knows there is someone who doesn’t just see him as kitchen help.”

The borrowed white tablecloths and snowmen centerpieces gave the cultural hall a festive look as last-minute preparations were being made for our family Christmas party.
As we waited for our guests, my gaze drifted to a table where an empty jar—labeled “Sub for Santa”—sat. I prayed that by the end of the night, the jar would be full.
During our party preparations we had discovered that my cousin’s husband had been out of work for over a year and a half. Her family’s main source of income consisted of handling five paper routes, which required them to begin each day at 3:30 a.m. The majority of their income went to paying the mortgage and other necessities, leaving little for things they wanted, such as Christmas presents.
My cousin’s family was one of the first to arrive. I watched as they made their way toward the dining tables, past our Christmas jar. As they approached, my cousin’s husband stopped to read the sign on the jar. Without hesitating, he took out his worn wallet, pulled out a couple of dollars, and tossed them in the container, oblivious to who the family “in need” was.
Emotion welled up in my throat, and I instantly recalled the New Testament story of the widow and her two mites. Wealthy men were flaunting their large donations to the treasury when “there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites” (see Mark 12:41–42).
No one would have blamed my cousin’s husband for walking past the jar thinking, “If I had I would give” (Mosiah 4:24). His great example of charity and love for his fellowmen touched not only me but also other members of my family who were watching him. I knew his family would be fine because “charity is the pure love of Christ, … and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him” (Moroni 7:47).
We had hoped to give his family something that night, which we did later on, but by giving in the midst of his own time of need, he showed us that when it came to what mattered most, he was already a rich man.

My family and I saved our money during the COVID-19 pandemic and in December 2023, we were able to travel to Utah to visit our daughter and the many temples available there. After five years of not being able to do work for our ancestors, we had prepared 65 names to take to the temple during our stay.
It was a challenge to line up appointments for all the temple work we had planned for Utah. We were desperate to help our ancestors, and as our return date approached, our incredible adventure began—we secured four baptism sessions in four different temples on the same day.
We entered the baptistry at the Provo Utah Temple early in the morning, and I begged Heavenly Father to provide a miracle for the work we needed to do. I had faith that He would also want to see my ancestors baptized.
The patrons at the baptismal font were moving slower than usual that morning, but I explained our situation to a sister working in the temple, and she invited other willing patrons to help perform the work with us.
It was an incredible and emotional experience to witness all 65 ancestors baptized by proxy, one by one, after the significant effort we had made to find them! We were so grateful for this first miracle. The Spirit was strong, and we could feel the relief, gratitude and happiness from those 65 precious souls.

Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.

We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.

More than once that fateful morning, I was sure I was going to die. The combination of seeing all that blood—my blood—soaking into the trail and sensing the ferocity of the grizzly bear raging at me from every side with its teeth and claws left me feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.
What a dramatic contrast to a mere two hours earlier. I had blissfully set off on a backcountry trail run on one of the prettiest days I had seen that summer in the high country of western Wyoming, USA. The sky was a shade of neon cobalt blue, wildflowers covered the hillsides, and the morning air was crisp yet pleasant. It was a perfect day for a 15-mile (24 km) run in the mountains.
This was a classic training run. I was trying to build up my strength and endurance for a marathon just two months away. Runners increase strength by doing repeated short-distance runs. This builds endurance, which in turn toughens resilience.
Little did I know that I would soon need every drop of resilience and power I had because I would be in for the race of my life.
Looking back, I should have seen the signs. After all, the Lord tells us that He will “shew [us] things to come” through the power of the Holy Ghost (John 16:13). As Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “The Holy Ghost can help you by warning you in advance of physical and spiritual dangers.” And that He did.
Just a few minutes into my run, I glanced down and spotted something. My heart jumped when I saw the unmistakable outline of a bear track in the dirt in front of me. It was a clear warning. Foolishly, I rationalized that a bear had indeed passed this way but by now I would be safe. No need to worry, right? And so on I ran.
Less than an hour later, I crested a small rise and ran down a hill into a heavily wooded clearing. As I rounded a bend at the bottom of the hill, I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped instantly and slowly glanced to my left. Then I froze in terror. The sound, which I quickly identified as breaking branches, was coming at a high speed. Then I saw a sight I will never forget—a full-grown grizzly bear charging directly toward me!
I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The horrific attack that followed should have taken my life. This was obviously a very agitated bear, which I had surprised as I dropped into that clearing at a dead run. Yet that moment when I thought death was certain was followed by the sincerest prayer of my life. The intervening mercies of heaven then descended.
Inexplicably, the bear stopped his relentless attack and ran off into the woods. That was good news! The bad news was that I had 16 severe wounds from the bear’s teeth and claws and was alone in a forest, covered in blood, and 11 miles (18 km) from the nearest park road, with no help in sight.
I suddenly found myself at a major decision point of my life. If you haven’t had such a moment, be assured you will. Adversity is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. Fortunately, getting attacked by a bear isn’t—at least for most of us! But at some point, you may feel overwhelmed by whatever adversity you are facing. It’s a hopeless feeling that the Lord once vividly described as “the very jaws of hell” that “gape open the mouth wide after thee” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
At these crises crossroads in your life, you have a decision to make. You can give up, lie down, and die; or you can somehow rally all your courage and strength and bravely fight on, trusting that if you will do your part, the Lord will do His. The Lord explained the purpose of life’s travails to Joseph Smith while he was imprisoned at Liberty Jail: “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
And they do benefit you. They hone and refine you as you grow stronger and build resilience. This is why the Lord told Joseph—and tells you—to “hold on thy way” in the face of trials and adversity (Doctrine and Covenants 122:9). As you hold on in life—even if it is by your fingernails—you find even your meager strength is more than matched by the Lord’s. As promised, He is “mighty to save” (2 Nephi 31:19).
That is exactly what happened to me. Instead of giving up, I decided to get up. I was determined to live, which meant I needed to find help. Stumbling my way down the trail for more than a mile, I finally crossed paths with the only other people in the forest that day for miles. That miraculous meeting eventually led to a backcountry helicopter rescue, three life-saving surgeries, and a clearer understanding of the blessing of being determined to “hold on thy way.”
After crawling to a trail junction, Elder Dunn was rescued, had three life-saving surgeries, and recovered thanks to the faith and prayers of many, including his then–four-year-old daughter, Emi.
This experience has increased my power, determination, and faith. It also strengthened and prepared me to handle other challenges of life. I am certain that as you “[bear] all things, [believe] all things, [hope] all things, [endure] all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7), you will build the resilience and strength you need to face challenges. You will see the Lord’s hand making you equal to whatever comes your way—even if it is the very “jaws of hell.”