Gospel Story Finder

This incident reminded me of a similar experience in my own life. Nearly thirty years ago, Peter had been my closest friend. We had shared almost everything together, including toys, pet animals, and food.
He and I were quite different in many ways. He was blond and short, like his father. I was taller, skinny and dark haired, like my dad. He liked vanilla-flavored ice cream; I liked chocolate.
Peter and I built a great “hut” down in the rocks and sand of a nearby creek. It was the perfect place for catching little blue-bellied racing lizards. Peter and I were the best catchers in the neighborhood. We could do better than even my two older brothers.
I did not know until we were about ten years old that Peter had been born with a heart defect. He had asthma and often coughed and wheezed from that, but it did not interfere with our play. One reason I did not know that his health problems were serious was that he never once complained.
All along, his parents had been waiting for him to reach an age when he was strong enough to survive heart surgery. Finally, the doctors felt that they could wait no longer, so his parents arranged for him to go to a big city hospital.
He wrote to me saying that he had taken an advance tour of the hospital to see everything, including the operating and recovery rooms. The doctors wanted him to see them in detail, so that when he awoke from surgery, he would not be frightened.
Several days later Peter underwent eight or ten hours of major surgery. Unbelievably to me, he died on the operating table.
I was deeply hurt by the news of his death. I had prayed faithfully and fervently that his heart would be healed. I thought my prayers had gone unanswered. Brokenhearted, I went back to our river hut one last time after the funeral. I stayed only long enough to push some of the rocks aside and destroy the little building. I suppose I thought if I could destroy that which represented Peter to me, I could destroy the horrible feelings of grief that I was experiencing.
Later I would learn that those feelings were normal. I loved Peter. I would miss him. That is a natural instinct, and there is nothing wrong with it.
We will miss Andrew too. That is simply part of life. God would never want us to forget someone who has touched our lives for good. The scriptures tell us, “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
I thought about Peter every day for about a month. Then I began to get busy with other friends, and soon I was just thinking about him occasionally. After about ten years, I found that I would go months at a time and never think of the closeness that we had shared. I noticed, however, that when I started thinking about him, all of the good feelings that I had felt with him so many times would come rushing back into my mind and heart.
Then a year or two ago, almost thirty years after Peter’s death, I dreamed that I was on a business trip, driving my car on a highway that ran alongside the ocean. I think I was supposed to be in northern California.
In my dream I was admiring the beautiful coastal scenery and listening to the car radio.
Suddenly, in my dream, coming toward me on the other side of the road was Peter. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I stopped the car, got out, and ran to him. We hugged and danced like two happy little boys. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty ocean as a backdrop and talked eagerly for about fifteen minutes.
Never mentioning death, or saying “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, Peter finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you going?”
“To take care of some business,” he said simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Andrew also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Peter again, to hug him and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Peter and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.
As I stood at the pulpit at Andrew’s funeral, the Spirit prompted me to tell Ryan that death is not the end of our associations and that our feelings of love and friendship will endure beyond the grave.
I thought Ryan sat up a little straighter on the bench. His eyes became a little drier, and I even thought I saw him nod his head, as if to agree. I thought my spiritual eyes saw Ryan touched by the Spirit.
It is never easy to lose a friend to death. But the understanding which the gospel provides can be a great comfort to us. We know that life continues beyond the grave and that there is important work to be done by those who have gone on. And time will soften the pain of those who are left behind.
Remain faithful, young people. Do what is right and be prayerful. You will see your friend again. It will be sooner than you think. Your loss will not be easy, but God will comfort you and the hurt will eventually go away. One day soon, the memories will be happy and joyful as you think about the good times spent together sharing your lives. That is the promise of the plan of salvation.

My dad was stationed in Okinawa, Japan, so I was supposed to be baptized in the East China Sea. I was really sick on that Saturday in 1996, so the baptism was rescheduled for Sunday. On Sunday morning, I was still sick and throwing up, and to make it worse, it was raining. My mom said we were going to do it anyway, so we all prayed for the rain to stop and for me to feel better. After church, we went home for my baptismal clothes, then drove to Toguchi Beach. By the time we got there, the rain had stopped and I felt better.
The bad thing then was that the tide had gone out. My dad and I walked out to a little tide pool (see photo), and he stood on my toes (to keep them in the water) when he baptized me. My Grandma and Grandpa Taylor were there from the United States to see my baptism. After I was pretty dry, Grandpa confirmed me, and I was a true member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I know that Heavenly Father helped me feel better and helped the rain to stop for my baptism. I got sick again on the way home, and it started to rain again. I hope that all of you who haven’t been baptized will be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.
Thomas Taylor, age 11Drummond, Oklahoma

The Bengaluru Stake presidency wanted to visit members as part of their ministering efforts. One Sunday they went to a hospital to visit a member who needed a surgery. They had a pleasant visit giving hope to the family to know that all will be well. The surgery could not happen as the sugar levels were not within the level needed. A priesthood blessing and a promise was given that his surgery would take place soon. After a day, the surgery was performed and it was successful.

All it took was a call to Gary’s Creek Missionary Baptist Church in Tennessee for Chris Collier to find the perfect Eagle Scout project.
Chris, a member of the Memphis First Ward, Memphis North Stake, says, a little nervously, “This is something that’s never been done before.” Gary’s Creek church asked him to document its cemetery—the oldest black cemetery in Shelby County.
Chris first needs to meet everyone involved and decide how much help he will need on the project. He drives to Gary’s Creek Cemetery on a road paved over the old stagecoach line. As soon as he steps out of the car, he has to swat at a mosquito. It’s the height of Tennessee heat in August, and it’s so humid you can practically drink the air. But that isn’t going to stop Chris.
There’s a group waiting for him at the gate to the cemetery. Mr. Lacy, who has many ancestors buried here, greets Chris. “This cemetery is a gold mine for genealogists,” Mr. Lacy tells Chris as he adjusts his wide-brimmed hat. “Think of all those people’s stories buried under the ground.” Mr. Lacy has uncovered the story of one of his ancestors buried here—Joseph H. Harris, better known as “Free Joe.” He wrote two books about Free Joe’s adventures and is turning them into a Hollywood screenplay.
Chris walks through the cemetery with his notebook and camera. The huge trees’ heavy branches droop in the heat, and thick emerald grass covers some of the grave markers completely. There are all types of people buried here, from tiny babies to Civil War veterans. Some of the markers are simple rusty spikes in the ground; others have hand-carved names in aged, chipped stones. Nobody can tell what they say, except for the caretaker, Mr. Brooks.
Mr. Brooks has been caretaker of Gary’s Creek Cemetery since 1939. He moves slowly around the cemetery with the help of his cane and quietly points out different grave markers to Chris. Mr. Brooks is the only one who knows the names on and locations of all the graves. His father was caretaker before him.
“I used to walk around the cemetery with my father while he helped me memorize the graves,” Mr. Brooks says. Many of the graves are unmarked, and the only documentation is in Mr. Brooks’s memory. If Mr. Brooks dies, the information dies with him. Chris isn’t going to let that happen.
Leslie Louthain, the director of the LDS family history center in the area, and her husband are also here to help. She gives Chris tips on how to put all the information in a database. He’ll give one copy to the Gary’s Creek church and send one to the Church’s Family History Library in Salt Lake City.
Sister Louthain thoughtfully examines a grave marker near the woods until she discovers there is more than family history in this cemetery.
“There are snakes in those trees!” she shrieks. Her husband laughs, and she heads for higher ground.
As Chris wraps up his first visit, he sighs. “I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. This one cemetery could be a lot of separate projects,” he says. But he isn’t afraid to plunge in anyway.
Chris doesn’t feel so overwhelmed when he comes back with a big group of teens to help him. The ladies from Gary’s Creek church provide lunch, and it isn’t as hot, because now it’s well into autumn.
Chris divides up the teens into groups to document the graves, with the help of Mr. Lacy and Mr. Brooks, of course. You can barely tell who belongs to which church because everyone is mixed together, trying to get all the information recorded.
As Chris wraps it all up, everyone is pleased. The members of Gary’s Creek church can rest easy, knowing the information in their vast cemetery has been preserved, and Chris’s group can be satisfied knowing they’ve helped preserve information for future family history work.
The cemetery seems a little more peaceful now, thanks to Chris, because the richness of its history won’t be lost. Who knows what stories might later be uncovered?
As Chris takes a reflective look around the cemetery, Mr. Lacy says, “Family history is going to be what brings religions and races together.” And in his little corner of Tennessee, Chris helped do just that.

Week after week, my frustration grew. With three small, active children and a busy high-councilor husband who would soon be serving as a mission president, I was finding it harder and harder to stay at a high spiritual level. Church attendance helped, but with my husband often away on assignment, I was left alone on Sunday to quiet one child’s impatient feet, dry another’s tears, or change the baby’s diaper. My spirit desperately craved nourishment.
I knew what I needed to do, but I didn’t know how to make it work. The words I had seen displayed a hundred different times in a hundred different lessons were engraved indelibly on my mind:
Pray Always
Read the Scriptures
Live the Commandments
I was keeping the commandments. I was praying, or thought I was. And I was trying to read the scriptures whenever time permitted. It’s just that time didn’t permit my reading very often. Most of my days were spent in rushing from one household crisis to another, hardly finding time to read the instructions on the laundry detergent box, let alone anything uplifting like the scriptures.
Besides, what did Lehi’s journey to the promised land have to do with my problems? Where was the chapter and verse in the Book of Mormon that tells how to bathe a stubborn two-year-old or get a four-year-old to pick up his toys? I was sure I had more relevant things to worry about than who was going to win the next Nephite-Lamanite war. I had three children fighting with each other all the time.
And so the weeks and months flew by, full of household tasks and Church responsibilities. I met the children’s demands and needs willingly because I knew this was what the Lord wanted from me at this time in my life. But I still couldn’t find time to read the scriptures. There was only so much one person could do, I rationalized defensively. Wasn’t I doing everything expected of me? If so, where were the promised blessings—the joy, the peace of mind? What spiritual growth could one possibly get from sweeping floors and changing diapers? How could I blend the day-to-day chores and responsibilities of child-raising with the celestial peace for which my spirit hungered?
Something had to be done—my spirit was suffering. I was desperate. I discovered that the only quiet time I had was when I locked myself in a room two or three times a day so I could have a private, heart-to-heart talk with Heavenly Father. I really poured my heart out.
Several weeks later, our bishop called me to be the Spiritual Living teacher in Relief Society. This wasn’t the kind of help I had expected, but I took a deep breath and accepted. That call changed my life. The daily study and preparation it took for me to give those lessons taught me two things. First, if the incentive were strong enough—in this case, fear that I wouldn’t be prepared—I found the time to read the scriptures. Second, I learned that when I prayerfully searched the scriptures, I found they contain the answer to every question and dilemma.
One day it occurred to me that if the scriptures can answer all the questions in the Relief Society manual, they ought to be able to answer questions about rearing children. I began reading the Book of Mormon with a purpose. Whenever I discovered an example of parenting, I wrote down the reference with a brief note. When I finished, I organized the examples I’d discovered into principles taught and my applications of each principle.
For example, I was having a hard time getting the children to cooperate. They would fight with each other, ignore my request to help with small jobs until I became insistent or angry, and act up or show off at the most inconvenient times. Alma’s interviews with his sons in Alma 36–42 made me realize how well he knew each one as an individual and how crucial a personal relationship with each child is. My husband, Douglas, and I began holding interviews periodically with each child and doing things alone with each one. It helped to set aside special days or times with each child and make bedtime less hectic and more personal. We found that by treating our children as individuals, they felt less need to seek our attention in negative ways. As they became more sure of themselves and their place in the family, they became more cooperative.
Another example of good parenting is found in 2 Nephi 28:30 [2 Ne. 28:30], where the Lord explains that he teaches us only that which we are ready to accept and understand. We are taught step-by-step as our faith and obedience increases. When we applied this principle to our children, we discovered that we needed to know what each child was capable of understanding, doing, and feeling at different ages. Then we would not ask them to do more than the child was capable of handling.
As I began making scripture study a part of my daily routine, I also began to examine how I kept the commandments. By changing my attitude, I was able to view homemaking and parenthood not as duties but as opportunities to become more like my own heavenly parents.
It isn’t always easy to keep this perspective when the children are quarreling and the pile of dirty clothes is as high as the pile of dirty dishes. But these occasional setbacks are easier to handle if my spirit isn’t suffering from a lack of nourishment. Now when I give a Relief Society lesson, I can share my testimony, with conviction, that there isn’t a question or problem we encounter that we can’t answer by searching the scriptures.
The following represents my favorite Book of Mormon child-raising scriptures. Others may find additional verses that apply.
Principle
Reference
Application
1. Father (or mother, if there is no father in the home) is to be the spiritual leader in the family and is responsible for teaching the children.
1 Ne. 1:1
1 Ne. 15:30
1 Ne. 16:23–27
The father presides at family home evening, bears testimony to the family, studies the scriptures daily with them, is an example, conducts daily family prayer, presides at family councils, and honors his priesthood.
2. Parental responsibility for both parents begins when the child is an infant; the role is eternal.
2 Ne. 4:5–6
Alma 56:47–48Mosiah 27
A close, consistent relationship is necessary to develop a child’s trust in the parent. Parents must never give up on a child, but continue to pray for, love, and bless him or her.
3. A one-on-one relationship is crucial.
Alma 36–42
Hold personal interviews periodically. Do things one-on-one so that each child has special moments with his or her parents.
4. Know each child as an individual.
3 Ne. 26:9
Find out what children at various developmental stages are capable of physically, mentally, and emotionally. Don’t expect too much too soon. Children must learn to trust a parent before they can trust themselves.
5. Parents must be humble, teachable, and willing to admit mistakes and repent.
Alma 36
Admit parental errors, misplaced blame, and harshness. Ask for forgiveness.
6. A child learns best when taught by example.
3 Ne. 27:21, 27
Alma 25:17
Demonstrate your values about the Sabbath day, wholesome books and movies, education, self-control, honesty, respect for authority, etc. Verbalize your beliefs and discuss them with your children.
7. A child learns best through praise, positive reinforcement, and expressions of parental faith and trust.
3 Ne. 27–30
Hel. 10:5
Enos 1:1–8
Trust your children to do well, and praise them when they do well. If they fail, let them know you are disappointed but that you still love them and are willing to let them try again.
8. Correct children when necessary, then show an abundance of love for them.
Hel. 15:3
Ether 2:14
Make sure your children know you love them, in spite of their mistakes. Teach them about their potential as children of God.
9. Set the rule and allow the natural consequences to follow.
1 Ne. 8:37–38
Alma 303 Ne. 27:16–20
Ether 3:19, 26
Set a rule together, discuss the consequences, then let your children use their agency to govern behavior. Resist saying “I told you so” or sparing the children the consequences altogether.
10. Teach children to use their agency.
Alma 24:12–18Hel. 14:30–31
Allow children to make small decisions in early childhood to develop confidence and wisdom. As they grow older, they can make more important decisions.
11. Listen, listen, listen! Don’t be quick to advise or condemn.
Alma 20 (negative example of fathering)
Things are not always what they appear to be. Give children the benefit of the doubt and don’t assume the worst. Children often need someone to listen while they talk through their problems. Don’t be quick to give help; rather, help them determine a solution.
12. Discipline is necessary. It should be tailored or made to the needs of each child.
Mosiah 26:25–36Alma 30:43–53Mosiah 4:14–15
Methods of discipline are made for each child: Separate an offender from others by placing the child in a specific area or room; have the child remain at home, away from negative influences, where mother or father can give support in making decisions; have the child work alongside a brother or sister with whom he or she has been fighting; to help solve disagreements, let them act out their roles to see the other’s point of view.
13. Teach children to love work and to serve others.
Mosiah 4:15–16Mosiah 6:6–7
Children need to serve one another and the family to feel worthwhile.

When I was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes, it was very hard for me. I had to prick my finger every two hours and get a lot of shots from my mom every day. Sometimes it hurt.
Then last year my mom and I decided to start looking for the good side of having diabetes. First, I have made new friends who also have diabetes. They help me a lot. I can help others who have diabetes by babysitting for their families or by talking and listening.
My brothers have also been blessed by learning to have patience and to be loving when I don’t feel well. The school nurse is my friend, and I’ve been blessed with Primary teachers who understand and help me. In our family we hug and support each other more.
The blessings of diabetes are all around me. I am thankful that my parents teach me to seek and find these special blessings. I know my Heavenly Father always blesses me and always will.Heidi Millett, age 8, and her mom, Queen Creek, Arizona

I’m a new member of the Church, and I honestly know that my journal was one of the factors that helped me finally take the challenging step of baptism.
Joining the Church was very difficult for me. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I’m the kind of person who has to be 100 percent sure about decisions. I always fully investigate a situation before I make a decision.
I first heard the gospel while I was in Quebec City, Canada, on a French language study program. I was placed with a French-speaking family together with two beautiful Latter-day Saint girls. At the time I was quite upset about the situation, for I was a very active Catholic and had been warned against Latter-day Saints. Being brought up the way I was, I was also taught to make the best of every situation and to try to accept everyone. So I did just that, and before I knew it I was investigating the Church. The two girls knew that the Spirit was working in me, and they strongly urged me to write down my feelings no matter how crazy they were or whether they were contrary to what I believed. At the time I didn’t understand why, but I did so because I admired and trusted them. I found myself eagerly writing:
I took the first discussion today. I don’t know what came over me. The things the missionaries told me I know are not what I’ve believed for 18 years of my life, but somehow I felt myself believing them. I was excited about the things they told me. I felt strange all over while they were talking. At times I felt shivers up my spine. Dear Lord, something is happening to me, and I can’t understand what it is—HELP!
The Lord did help, and the further along we got in the discussions the more I knew that the gospel was true. I felt I should have been rejecting what I was being taught, but deep down inside I knew of its truth and I kept writing those inner feelings down on paper. Before I knew it, I had a testimony of the Church. I was so excited, I phoned home and told my parents that I was getting baptized. They pleaded with me to wait until I came home. So reluctantly I did. That night I wept bitterly because of my disappointment, and I wrote in my journal:
I feel so sad and depressed. I’ve prayed so hard about my decision. I know in my heart the gospel is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet and that we have a living prophet today. I believe in everything that I’ve been taught, and with my whole heart I desperately want to be baptized. I know my soul won’t be at rest until I am. I know I’m being called, and I won’t be completely happy until I take that step.
I was sincere when I wrote that, and I feel God was inspiring me for the future. I did want to be baptized, but when I got home my parents thought I had been forcefully indoctrinated by the Latter-day Saints and they did everything in their power to dissuade me. The awful thing about it was that I let them. I lost contact with all my LDS friends, and I let my testimony die. At one point in my life, I had wanted nothing to do with the Latter-day Saints, and I no longer believed in the doctrine. But that still, small voice in me kept telling me to write in my journal. On one occasion I wrote:
I feel empty, I don’t feel complete, there is something missing. Why do I feel like I’m searching for something to grab on to? I’m lost; I desperately need direction. My testimony has been shattered. I feel I should hold on to my Catholic beliefs, but I don’t know what to do.
Well, even though it wasn’t a complete prayer, the Lord heard my plea. My friend from Quebec phoned to see how things were going. I tried to hide my feelings, but she realized what was wrong. She pleaded with me to go to church. I finally told her I no longer believed and wanted nothing to do with the Church. She penetrated that defense also. She told me she knew I had a testimony; it just needed to be revived. She told me that she loved me so much and wanted so badly for me to do the things that were right. We talked a little longer, and the last thing she told me was to go back to my journal and read what I had written. Well, that night I turned to my journal and read what I had written. Something came over me. I felt such a strong urge to pray. As I prayed and read, I felt that sweet, reassuring comfort of the Spirit. The Lord knew that I so very badly wanted to believe but that there were many obstacles in my way.
The next day I went to church contrary to my parents liking. I was so very scared, but right away some girls in the ward recognized that I was new and welcomed me. After many sleepless nights and long discussions, I was finally baptized. What really helped me when I needed it most was my journal. I said to myself, “I must have felt these things or I wouldn’t have written them.” Even at the time when I didn’t believe, I knew the Lord prompted me to write the things which I felt at the time. My journal saved me. It was a way the Lord was communicating with me, and it was something I knew I had to trust because it was coming from within.
I’m so very grateful for the counsel of the Church and for advising us to keep a record of our experiences. I have a testimony of its importance, and I have been blessed with peace and strength from doing so. I can measure my progress and growth and see how the Lord has been working in my life just by listening to that small voice inside me. I know the Church is true and when I doubt, I have a firsthand source I can turn to, to reassure me of its truthfulness.

The island, Frøya (say Freh-ya), is sparsely inhabited, home of fishing villages, salmon farms, and marine biology research stations. It is also the birthplace of an Apostle. Here, in 1872, John Andreas Widtsoe was born. Later, his widowed mother moved with her children to Trondheim and joined the Church. When John was 11, the family moved to Utah, where he became a great educator and served for 31 years as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve.
“The youth know a little bit about Elder Widtsoe,” says Branch President Arne Dahlø, who organized the trip. “Mostly they know he was somebody important, that he was born on Frøya and lived in Trondheim. But he’s part of our heritage as Norwegian Latter-day Saints. We live where he lived. We ought to know what he did.”
By the time the ferry docks, the light is fading. The youth and their leaders pile quickly into cars. They drive over rough, bumpy roads to the far end of the island, where President Dahlø, a university professor who often does research here, has arranged for two buildings in which the group can stay.
On the rocky shore of an inlet, a young man yells, “Let’s get it started.” Soon a small flame grows bigger, the wood pops as it burns, and the sparks become dancers leaping through the night. The warmth of the flame takes the edge off the cool, salty air. It’s time for a “sausage roast,” the cooking of hotdogs over a campfire.
And like anybody around a campfire, the young people here sing, tell stories, and talk.
“We know a lot about Trondheim, the city where we live,” says Kjetil Bakkland, 13. “It used to be the capital of Norway. it has neat old buildings down by the river; it has a university and a cathedral. But Frøya, what’s it got? Mostly rocks, I think.”
The others laugh, but President Dahlø talks seriously for a minute. “We live in a wonderful city, it’s true,” he says. “But Frøya is a wonderful place, too.” And he talks about life in the villages, about flowers that grow among the rocks, about the incessant, pounding crash of the sea. “Elder Widtsoe knew about that,” he says. “He said you could hear the ocean in every room of his house, that it beat on his memory all through his life” (see In a Sunlit Land, Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1952, p. 1).
Talk of the ocean and of storms invites comparisons with life and its storms. “I’ve been a member one year and one week today,” says Sonja Sivertsvik, 19. “I like it, but it’s hard to be a Mormon in Trondheim, because everyone says, ‘Oh, Mormons! You’re the ones with lots of wives!’ Or you get Christians who try to tell you you’re not Christian. There are lots of misconceptions about the Church, so to be a member here is not always popular.”
“But it’s not always what’s easy that’s best,” says Kristin Davik, the branch Young Women president. “You have to follow the deepest part of you, your conscience. You may meet hard times, but you have to be yourself.”
“All your friends won’t have the same standards you do,” says Lars-Petter M. Bedin, 15. “They’ll have other ideas about alcohol, smoking, chastity. But it’s really not a problem unless you make it a problem. I’m the only member in my family, but I’m happy to be in the Church. It’s one of the greatest things in my life.”
What they’re really talking about is growing, growing even when it’s difficult. The youth may not know it, but they’re talking about things Elder Widtsoe would understand. One of his educational specialties dealt with agriculture. He was an international authority on how to help things grow in a harsh climate.
The next morning dawns wet and gray, as it often does on Frøya. No matter. There’s much to do—first, a meeting with the mayor of one of the towns, then a visit to a monument erected in Elder Widtsoe’s honor, then a trip to the house where he was born and to a church built by his father.
It’s a morning of driving on unmarked roads, of hiking slippery hills, and of pleasant surprises—like finding the mayor already knows quite a bit about John A. Widtsoe, and that the local ship builder would love to have the youth visit his shop.
But mostly it’s a continuation of the journey of self-discovery. As President Dahlø tells some of the youth on top of the hill where the monument to Elder Widtsoe stands, this is like being in a time machine.
“You’re looking back,” he says, “and seeing the origins of a man who went on to do great things for the Church. He didn’t come from someplace famous. His father died when he was young. His mother learned about the Church when a member put some pamphlets inside shoes she was having repaired. But he loved God and he wanted to serve, and Heavenly Father provided a way.
“You can also look forward, and see the future of the Church in Norway,” President Dahlø continues. “And you all have a great part to play in that. It doesn’t matter where you come from or how hard you think things may be. What matters is whether or not you love the Lord, whether or not you want to serve. If you have the desire, God will provide the way.”
It is later in the afternoon now. The youth of the Trondheim First Branch are waiting, looking out to sea, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ferry. Soon it will appear on the line where the gray water and the gray sky meet. The ferry is coming to take them home. But even as they wait, even as they throw rocks in the water and look for sea urchins down by the pier, these young people seem a little bit different than they did before their journey to the island.
The lesson of this harsh land is that good things can grow here. That’s a lesson they’ll remember when they’re back in Trondheim, the next time the waves and winds of life try to beat them down. Here on Frøya, where they have come to look at the past, they have also glimpsed the future. It’s a future that, thanks to the gospel, can be bright indeed.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.
This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.

As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.

How often do you reach the end of the day, look back on it, and say, “There were just enough hours in the day today! There was time to do everything I wanted to, and a little time left to spare!”
If you’re like most of us, it’s not often. If you’re Gracious Shoko from South Africa, it’s almost never. On a typical day, she rises at 3:30 a.m. to do her scripture reading, personal prayers, check her weekly goals, and list what she needs to do by the end of the day. By 6:30 a.m. she’s off to drop her two children at school and get to work. After a full day’s work and dinner, when most of us would be getting ready to put our feet up, she gets out her sewing machine to sew curtains, duvets, and pillowcases for her part-time business. Around 10 p.m., when many of us would be getting ready for bed, she opens her study books.
Being a parent, working full-time, running a part-time business, and studying part-time simultaneously are “not easy,” says Gracious, who has been studying toward a certificate in management accounting for some years. “That’s the reason I’m going like a snail in my studies,” she says. She alternates late nights with earlier ones so that she can get an adequate amount of rest. “Sometimes I feel so tired that I sleep for an hour when I get home, then I start studying after that,” she says. But she keeps at it, and recently wrote an exam that will take her one step closer to completing her qualification.
“It will get rough out there,” we read in the self-reliance course under principle three: Be Obedient. “We will all have times when we are discouraged or overwhelmed, but our Heavenly Father hasn’t left us alone in the wilderness. He gave us a lifeline: the Holy Ghost. We can pray for direction, confirmation on our choices, the energy to perform the tasks at hand. But the answers will come only if we are being obedient to the commandments.”
Obedience to the commandments can help us develop self-discipline, the self-reliance course teaches. And that ability to “endure to the end” (see 2 Nephi 31), to keep persisting toward a goal despite difficulties, is inherent to success.
The course gives a few practical tips for improving self-discipline, and by extension, our ability to be obedient and therefore succeed.
1. Visualise your motivation. Why are you choosing to keep this habit? Examples might include that you want to live with your family forever, or be more Christlike. When the going gets tough, it’s important to refer back to your greater purpose. Psychologists teach that it helps you deal with stress and stay focused as you encounter difficulties in your task as well.
2. Identify and practice good habits daily. “Behavioral scientists will tell us in order to succeed we need to control the things we can control,” says the course.
“This is the art of developing healthy habits: going to bed at a decent hour, rising early and preparing for the day with scripture reading and prayer, and then organizing your day; being honest; being kind; making time in your schedule to practice good habits daily. As you do, you’ll find your self-discipline increasing, making it easier to be obedient.”
And Gracious can attest to that. “I read my scriptures during the mornings,” she says. This gives her the focus she needs to stay positive.
3. Interview yourself at the end of the day. Identify what you did well and what you need to do better. Gracious does this regularly. She describes this self-interview as “kind of a push, a motivation—like if you talk to someone, and they say something positive, you feel like: ‘Oh yes, I will get there.’”
4. Pray. Be grateful for the opportunity to grow. Ask for guidance on important decisions. “When we have a load, we must just offload it on Him,” she says. “I feel like by so doing it gives me that strength to do what I need to, and my load becomes lighter.”
As long as she stays obedient, Gracious knows she can achieve her long-term desire of turning her part-time business into a full-time endeavour.
“You just give yourself to the Lord, and then you tell yourself that you’re just going to do what is right and you wait for the promises which He has made,” she says. “The important thing is having hope—you know that He’s not going to let you down.”

I was one of only four Spanish-speaking missionaries in the New England Mission. We worked hard to learn the language and share the gospel, but we met mostly with rejection.
One day we knocked on the door of Hugo and Niza Diaz, a couple in Providence, Rhode Island. After they invited us into their apartment, I asked how long they had lived there.
“We just moved here from New York,” they said. “The Lord told us to move to Providence and He would send us messengers to teach us the truth. Are you the messengers?”
We responded assuredly, “Yes, we are the messengers.” We taught Hugo and Niza about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they readily accepted our message and were soon baptized.

James Forten had been fifteen years old when he enlisted on the privateer Royal Louis as a powder boy in 1781. His job was to fetch gunpowder for the cannons as they were fired in battle. After several successful raids on British ships, the privateer was captured by the British warship Amphyon. The British captain was so impressed with James’s intelligence and warm personality that he offered James a comfortable life in England for the duration of the war.
But James told him, “I cannot be a traitor to my country.”
James had then been placed on the Jersey. It was a fate preferable to slavery, James felt. At least on the Jersey he might have a chance of returning to his home in Philadelphia. Now the opportunity he had been waiting for had arisen.
James searched the hold of the wretched ship for men who had not survived the night. To his relief, there were none. Then, looking for sick men to help to the deck, he found his friend Daniel Brewton, former ship’s boy on the Royal Louis.
In the sunlight on deck, James saw that Daniel’s eyes were glazed. His body was covered with sores, and his sunken face was pale. With a horrible feeling, James realized that Daniel was dying. Unless …
James tried to thrust the thought from him. He’d made his plans. He would not spend another night on the Jersey!
“James,” Daniel whispered. “Would you get me some water?”
James scooped up a dipperful of the thick, almost-green water from its cask. Daniel choked down the liquid and lay down again with a shudder.
The next morning, Daniel Brewton escaped in the officer’s sea chest and returned to his home in Philadelphia to recover. James was finally released from the Jersey almost three months later. Although he was weak, he made his way on foot back to Philadelphia. He went to work for the sailmaker, Robert Bridges, who had employed James’s father for many years. Two years later, when he was only twenty-two, James was supervising twenty black and twenty white employees. He was known for his fairness and generosity to all. Later, Bridges sold his sail loft to James Forten, and he became one of the most successful and respected businessmen in Philadelphia.
Forten fought for equal job opportunities and equal citizenship for blacks in the United States. Even though he amassed a large fortune during his lifetime, at the time of his death, only a fraction of it remained. Most of it had been used for buying the freedom of many slaves and for the struggle for equal rights. He wrote eloquent pamphlets and made moving speeches against unfair laws and practices.
When James Forten died in 1842, he had earned his place in history for helping not just his country but all mankind.

We can teach the importance of prayer to our children and grandchildren both by word and by example. I share with you a lesson in teaching by example as described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. “Dear President Monson: Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.”

Her letter continues as she describes how she and her children were watching general conference, where I was speaking about prayer. Her son made the comment, “Mother, you’ve already taught us that.” She asked, “What do you mean?” Her son replied, “Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”

The first day of my last year in high school, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with excitement. She was unpredictable. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hilarity. The teachers, therefore, weren’t very fond of her, but we, her classmates, love her. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew which Alyce it was.
Why Alyce began teasing me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she would say. And she would mimic the way I pushed my glasses back, while reading a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, without thinking I put the chalk in my mouth for a moment like a cigarette. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think of a Mormon smoking?” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I had never received so much attention before, and it was fun and exciting. Alyce was not malicious in her teasing, she was never cruel. She never joked about people who were not present. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then later she became a different person, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t only a clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.

Two years ago, Sister Nelson and I visited Samoa, Tonga, Fiji, and Tahiti. Each of those island nations had experienced heavy rains for days. Members had fasted and prayed that their outdoor meetings would be protected from the rain.

In Samoa, Fiji, and Tahiti, just as the meetings began, the rain stopped. But in Tonga, the rain did not stop. Yet 13,000 faithful Saints came hours early to get a seat, waited patiently through a steady downpour, and then sat through a very wet two-hour meeting.

We saw vibrant faith at work among each of those islanders—faith sufficient to stop the rain and faith to persevere when the rain did not stop.

Church history and the experiences of our ancestors illustrate this reality. My great-grandfather Henry Eyring prayed fervently to know what he should do when he heard the restored gospel taught in 1855. The answer came in a dream.
He dreamed that he was seated at a table with Elder Erastus Snow of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and with an elder named William Brown. Elder Snow taught the principles of the gospel for what seemed to be an hour. Then Elder Snow said, “In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to be baptized and this man [Elder Brown] … shall baptize you.”1 My family is grateful that Henry Eyring had the faith and humility to be baptized at 7:30 in the morning in a pool of rainwater in St. Louis, Missouri, USA, by Elder Brown.
The answer to his prayer did not come in an audible voice from the Lord. It came in a vision and dream in the night, as it did with Lehi (see 1 Nephi 8:2).

When Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve was growing up, more than anything he wanted to be a basketball star. When he was young, he was the best basketball player among his friends. In fact, he taught one of his friends how to play. But as time went on, his friend grew very tall and he did not. One of the hardest experiences of his life was being cut from the school basketball team while his friend made it.

Let his life be an example to you. Not all of your prayers will be answered the way you’d like. But if you trust Heavenly Father, he will not betray that trust.

For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it too.

Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is six-feet-two inches tall, and at the time he was a lean 200 pounds.

“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on and the coaches stuck me at outside linebacker. I was still only 205 pounds, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.

That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 250 pounds. The sport he’d taken up for fun was suddenly his ticket to college. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for BYU. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.

“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “There was nothing that was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”

And that included the glamour of playing big-time college football.

Says Elder Moleni, “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”

And now just three months short of the completion of his mission, Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and an outside linebacker.

“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’ve had a successful mission.”

When I was young, I wanted to be a general in the army. I planned to apply to the military academy in order to further my goal. That decision meant that I wasn’t expecting to serve a mission because I knew that the program in the academy for military officers would not excuse anyone for any religious activity.
Then I had the opportunity to go to a regional conference in Seoul, Korea—an experience that changed the direction of my life. During the conference, I heard President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) counsel youth to:
attend seminary,
serve an honorable mission,
marry in the temple, and
work toward exaltation.
I knew his counsel was right, and I remembered the verse that says, “My word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same” (D&C 1:38).
When I heard the prophet speak about the importance of serving a mission as a priority in life, I knew I should put my trust in the Lord, serve a mission, and forego my dream to become a general, remembering to “seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).