Gospel Story Finder

As part of his redeeming power, Jesus can remove the sting of death or restore the spiritual health of a struggling soul. The scriptures are filled with examples, but a young Korean sister indelibly taught me this lesson. In early 1994, while attending a stake conference in Seoul, Korea, I met Kim Young Hee, a young woman in her twenties. I noticed her beautiful countenance as she sat in a wheelchair on the stand waiting to speak. When her turn came, a brother pushed her chair to the front of the stand but off to the side of the pulpit so she could see and be seen. He gave her a microphone, and she told us her story.

As a young woman, she was healthy, had an excellent job, and was content with life. She was not a Christian. In 1987 she was in a terrible car accident that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Following her recovery in a hospital, she returned to her parents’ home wondering what life held for her. She was despondent and empty. One day a knock came at the door. Her mother answered, and two American women asked to share a message about Jesus Christ. The mother was hesitant, but the daughter heard the voices and invited them in. They were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Kim Young Hee accepted the invitation to receive the missionary lessons. She read the Book of Mormon, prayed about its truthfulness, attended church, and received a witness of the divinity of the Restoration. She was baptized.

As she bore her testimony in stake conference, she said: “I know that Heavenly Father does not look on the outward appearance but on the heart. I also know that the true miracle is the healing within, the change of heart, the loss of pride. Although my physical body may not be healed in mortality, my spirit has felt the healing power of the Holy Ghost. And in the Resurrection, a fully restored, perfect physical body will again house my spirit, and I will receive a fulness of joy.”

The clouds hung low and white over the small town of Liberty Bell that twenty-sixth day of December 1908. Sarah Moseley made her way from her family’s house at the end of the street toward the boardwalk, where her new dress would get a brief respite from mud-spraying wagon wheels.
Sarah’s family had been laboring under the stressful effects of no income in recent months, but her mother had managed to rummage up sufficient materials from an old attic chest to fashion a beautiful patchwork dress for Sarah. It was the only gift she had received for Christmas the day before, and she was fitly grateful for and proud of it.
As she continued along the street, she turned the collar of her frayed wrap up around her neck to ward off the biting chill of wind and lightly-driven snow. Suddenly someone wearing a tattered sheepskin coat stepped out in front of her. He had a tangle of red hair, and a crooked scowl on his face. Toby Wilder! Last week he had asked Sarah for some answers to a test in Miss Cornaby’s class, and Sarah had refused. Now he looked ready for revenge. “I would have passed that test if you had slipped me those answers,” he growled.
“There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,” Sarah said, swallowing hard, “and cheating is wrong.”
Toby glared at her with a look that could have bent an iron poker, then pushed her back toward the edge of the boardwalk. “‘There’s a right and a wrong to everything, Toby Wilder,’” he mimicked. “You think you know all there is to know about what is and what isn’t, don’t you little Miss High-and-Mighty?”
“No,” Sarah told him, her body stiffening with growing fear, “but God does. And He’s told us in the scriptures about honesty.”
Toby glowered at Sarah. He glanced up and down the street through the haze of falling snow. No one was in sight. “Since you’re such good friends with God,” he said mockingly to Sarah, “why don’t you ask Him to keep you from falling down and getting mud all over your new dress?”
Shoving her roughly off the boardwalk, he laughed derisively and swaggered away as she pulled herself up from the street mire. Her eyes welled up with tears as she wiped at the icy ooze on her new Christmas dress and headed for the store.
The bell above the door jangled as Sarah stepped into John Walton’s Mercantile Store. The man behind the counter regarded her solicitously. “What happened, Sarah?” he queried.
“Toby Wilder,” she sighed.
Mr. Walton nodded. “That boy ought to be over somebody’s knee, getting redder than a near-set sun, if you ask me.”
“Yes sir!” Sarah heartily agreed.
“Warm yourself by the stove there.” When Sarah hesitated, he added kindly, “Go on child. There’s no sense in all that warmth going to waste, now, is there?”
“I guess not,” Sarah responded submissively. “It’s just that you’ve given us so much these past few months, all our food and such, that I just don’t feel right about hogging the only spot in front of your stove.” She motioned toward a customer who was stamping the snow from her high-button shoes just outside. “You have paying customers, Mr. Walton. They should be able to warm themselves before someone who—”
“Sarah Moseley,” Mr. Walton declared, “since when did I ever charge a body a cent for warming himself at my potbellied stove?”
Sarah smiled in gratitude and stepped in front of the stove. Mr. Walton came out from behind the counter, nodded to the woman who was making her way to a far corner, and pulled up a chair in front of Sarah. He sat down and spoke privately. “After that boxcar explosion at the depot last September, it’s a wonder your father is still alive. It’ll be a little while yet before he’s up and about.” He pushed a wisp of damp hair from Sarah’s eye. “Your father is a good man,” Mr. Walton continued. “He’ll pay me back when he’s able. Now give me that shopping list I know you have.” Sarah obliged him. “Besides,” he added as he stood with a little grunt, “it’s Christmastime, isn’t it? A time for giving? It would be a shame to deny a man the right to earn a celestial reward in the world to come.”
Sarah’s face wrinkled with curiosity. “What do you mean, Mr. Walton?”
“Christ gave His life for you and me, Sarah, not to mention for those that crucified Him. It seems the least I can do is give a can of beans and”—he checked Sarah’s list—“a box of baking soda and the like to people I love. Of course, that’s easy. The trick is giving to, or doing something for, someone you don’t like. Now there’s the real test. The problem is that I like everybody.” He laughed. “Well, almost everybody.”
Sarah watched Mr. Walton climb the ladder behind the counter. A ray of winter sun made his face radiant. “Why is it so important to be nice to people who are mean to you?” she asked.
Mr. Walton reached for a box of baking soda on a high shelf, then looked down at the girl below him. “Maybe because the Savior was. Maybe because it’s part of forgiving. It’s the same thing, wouldn’t you say?” He climbed down the ladder and began placing the few gathered items in a sack on the counter. “And maybe it’s because of a revelation the Prophet Joseph Smith received once that said, ‘For if you will that I give unto you a place in the celestial world, you must prepare yourselves by doing the things which I have commanded you and required of you.’”* He pushed the groceries across the counter to Sarah. “I have a sneaking notion that charity is one of those things, honey. And that forgiveness is another. What do you think, Sarah?”
“I guess you’re right, Mr. Walton,” Sarah answered, thoughtful.
It wasn’t until Sarah was outside again that she noticed something extra in her sack. A large candy stick. She puzzled over it a moment, then smiled at Mr. Walton’s kindness.
No sooner had Sarah started down the boardwalk in the direction of home than she spied Toby Wilder just ahead, leaning against a pole. His back was to her, and he was looking toward the sun as if he were aching for a little warmth on an otherwise bleak, unfriendly day.
Bracing herself, Sarah stepped up to him. “Toby?”
Toby whirled around. When he saw who it was, he growled, “What’s the matter, Sarah. Didn’t you get wet enough the first time?”
Sarah handed him the candy stick. “Merry Christmas,” she said.
Toby didn’t answer. He just stood there gaping.
Sarah glanced back in the direction of the mercantile store, where she could see Mr. Walton looking out the window, waving. She waved back, then turned and continued down the boardwalk toward home.

In many parts of Jamaica, students like me have to take an exam to get into the high school they want. My friends and I studied hard so we could all get into the best high school. When I started to doubt I could do it, my mom always encouraged me. She reminded me that I’m one of Heavenly Father’s children and that He will help me to go on the right path.
When my exam results came back, I got the highest grade I could get! I was so excited because that meant I could be with all my friends!
But I soon found out that one of my friends didn’t score high enough. We were all so sad she couldn’t come with us. But I found joy in remembering what my mom had taught me. My friend was also a wonderful daughter of Heavenly Father, and He would help her too, no matter the test scores.
My excitement faded when my friend started telling everyone that I didn’t deserve to get into that high school—that she should have gotten in instead. Most of my friends took her side and stopped hanging out with me. I started to doubt myself. Did I really deserve to get in?
I thought back to what my mom taught me: that I’m a unique child in Heavenly Father’s image.
I’m now at the new school, and I made new friends. They support me and remind me of my worth. I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter what other people say about me. I’m happy when I’m trying to be who God wants me to be—because that’s who I want to be.
The author lives in Jamaica.

I have experienced many opportunities. One occurred 21 years ago, prior to the time when the German Democratic Republic—or East Germany, as it was more commonly known—was freed from Communist rule. I was visiting with the East German state secretary, Minister Gysi. At that time our temple at Freiberg, in East Germany, was under construction, along with two or three meetinghouses. Minister Gysi and I visited on a number of subjects, including our worldwide building program. He then asked, “Why is your church so wealthy that you can afford to build buildings in our country and throughout the world? How do you get your money?”
I answered that the Church is not wealthy but that we follow the ancient biblical principle of tithing, which principle is reemphasized in our modern scripture. I explained also that our Church has no paid ministry and indicated that these were two reasons why we were able to build the buildings then under way, including the beautiful temple at Freiberg.
Minister Gysi was most impressed with the information I presented, and I was very grateful I was able to answer his questions.

Ruth has a love for children that she gained in part from her own youth. Many of Ruth’s childhood summers were spent in Springville, Utah, with her Aunt Millie Reynolds Martain. Aunt Millie was the midwife for that area, and like the old horse-and-buggy country doctor, many nights—good weather or bad—she would go out to help some new child into the world.

When Ruth was visiting her, Millie would take her along. Ruth would wait outside until the baby had come and then be called in to help give the newborn his first bath.

It was a beautiful tradition that helped teach her reverence for life; she has carried it on with each of her grandchildren. Wherever it happens, when they come into the world, Grandmother Funk is there to welcome them. Her careful attention and investment of time and love has developed into a close relationship with each of her grandchildren.

“Daddy,” Kelly said, “Will you help me say a prayer?”
“Of course, I will,” Daddy said. “Do you remember how to start a prayer?”
“Yes,” said Kelly. “‘Dear Heavenly Father.’ Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Daddy told her. “Now, what comes next?”
“We thank Him for our blessings.”
“Right again!” Daddy said. “Then what?”
“We ask Him for the things that we need.”
“And how should we end our prayer?” Daddy asked.
“‘In the name of Jesus Christ, amen!’ “ Kelly said excitedly. “I remembered all by myself!”
“Yes, you did,” Daddy agreed. “Do you know what things you want to thank Heavenly Father for?”
“I’m thankful for you and Mommy, and Tony and Kimmy, and Grandma and Grandpa. And I’m thankful for my friends to play with.”
“Do you know what you want to ask Heavenly Father for?” Daddy asked.
“To help me to be safe when I’m playing, to be nicer to Tony and Kimmy, to not get angry, and to remember to pick up my toys.”
“I’ll be glad to help you pray, Kelly,” Daddy said, “but it sounds like you can do it all by yourself.”
Kelly smiled at Daddy. “Yes, I can! But will you pray with me, Daddy?”
“I’d be honored to,” he said.

My family lived in São Paulo, Brazil. On the other side of our street, there was a forest of mangrove trees. Mangrove forests have rivers crossing through the trees. The ground is very muddy.
Many people built houses on that muddy ground. They put huge logs in the mud. Then they built their house on top of them. But when it rained, the river overflowed. The water got into their houses. Then the people had nowhere to sleep at night.
When that happened, my father would invite all of them into our home. Sometimes there were as many as 15 people! He brought them into our living room and gave them blankets. Mom made them something to eat. Then they slept in our house until the next day.
This happened at least three or four times. I remember thinking, Not very many people would take strangers in. My father was letting people we barely knew sleep in our house! But then I thought, They have nowhere else to go.
My parents always did things to help people. But their service was more than just helping and giving. It was showing love to our neighbor, even when our neighbor was somebody we didn’t know well.

Ella W. was playing with her friends in the park when some of her friends lost their pet chameleon. This might not sound like that big of a deal. But remember, chameleons change color to blend in with their surroundings. After searching for a while, Ella decided it was time to pray in faith. They were soon able to find the chameleon in a tree! “Once it was in someone’s arms, we said a thank-you prayer to Heavenly Father,” Ella says.

In June 1830 the Prophet went to Colesville, New York, to preach and baptize. When he arrived he found that believers in the area had prepared several of their friends for baptism. After the baptisms, a meeting was scheduled that evening for confirming the new members.
As the people began to gather at the designated time, Joseph was arrested “on the charge of being a disorderly person, of setting the country in an uproar by preaching the Book of Mormon.” However, the constable experienced a change of heart, apparently after getting to know the Prophet:
“The constable informed me, soon after I had been arrested, that the plan of those who had got out the warrant was to get me into the hands of the mob, who were now lying in ambush for me; but that he was determined to save me from them, as he had found me to be a different sort of person from what I had been represented to him.”2
Although he had a duty to take his prisoner to court, the constable kept his word to protect Joseph from the mob. The would-be attackers surrounded the constable’s wagon on its way out of town. Before they could assault Joseph, the constable thwarted the attempt by whipping the horses and driving the wagon past them.
That night the two lodged in a tavern. The constable gave Joseph the bed in the room and slept on the floor with his feet against the door and a loaded musket by his side, because, Joseph said, he had “declared that if we were interrupted unlawfully, he would fight for me, and defend me as far as it was in his power.”3
The next day Joseph was acquitted, and he and the constable parted as friends.

There is a story about a young builder who had just gone into business for himself. A wealthy friend of his father came to him and said: “To get you started right, I am going to have you build a ranch house for me. Here are the plans. Don’t skimp on anything. I want the very finest materials used, and I want flawless workmanship. Forget the cost. Just send me the bills.”
The young builder became obsessed with the desire to enrich himself through this generous and unrestricted offer. Instead of employing top-grade labor and buying the finest materials, he shortchanged his benefactor in every way possible. Finally, the last secondhand nail was driven into the last flimsy wall, and the builder handed over the keys and bills, totaling over a hundred thousand dollars, to his father’s old friend. That gentleman wrote a check in full for the structure and then handed the keys back to the builder. “The home you have just built, my boy,” he said with a pleasant smile, “is my present to you. May you live in it in great happiness!”

One of President Taylor’s sons, Moses W., described his father’s character through sharing family memories. He wrote:
“When gathering the fruit in the fall, father would come and inspect the baskets and selecting the largest and best fruit would say:
“‘Take the tithing out of this and be sure and pay it in full.’
“When planting trees, he was very careful to make the rows straight, each tree had to be plumb. When filling the dirt around the roots we were required to take great care of the little fibres and carefully lay each one in its place. He would remark:
“‘Take care of the little roots and the large ones will take care of themselves.’
“The first time I left home, father called me in and gave me the following counsel:
“‘Do what is right. Live your religion and the bad men will honor you for it as well as the good.’
“That is all he said, but it made such a strong impression on me, that it has saved me many a time from falling into temptation. At other times, he would say:
“‘Take the high stand and always live so that others can see that you are on a high plane.’
“He had a strong desire to keep his children under the family influence and provided play grounds for us. Even when he was past seventy years of age he would join us in our games. …
“… He was held in such high esteem by his children that to please him seemed to be their greatest desire.”20

I know this sounds a little odd just to blurt out, but I got a new father about six months ago. His name is Raymond. Everyone calls him Ray.
“ ’Bye Christy.” My mom stuck her head through the doorway. “I’m off to run some errands. Then I have one more visiting teaching appointment. Don’t forget tomorrow is Father’s Day.”
“Yeah, I know. Hey! Eileen and I are going to the dance tonight. Okay?”
“I see you’re getting your room cleaned. Okay, bye.”
It was just Mom and me until Ray came along. My parents divorced four years ago. I used to see my dad on weekends until after the wedding, when we moved here. Now we live too far for weekend visits. I miss not seeing him as often.
Ray wasn’t the only new member of my family. I now have two little brothers—Jim and Kirt. Jim’s twelve, and Kirt is ten. Believe me, I nearly died when I found out I’d have two brothers. Sometimes they drive me nuts, but usually we have a pretty good time together.
Anyway, I have to think about my problem. It’s Ray. I decided tomorrow is going to be the time when I let him know I think it’s going to be okay between us. I mean, I hated the thought of having somebody take Dad’s place, but it’s okay now. Dad was Dad, but Ray is Ray, and I like him too. I just don’t know how to let him know that.
Ray came to the door. “Christy, how’s the room coming?”
“I’m working on it,” I said with a shrug.
Ray came in and settled on the bed. He never came in here much, so I was surprised. He looked at the shelf above my bed.
“You know, I never had a daughter before you, Christy. Do all girls collect as much stuff as you?”
I giggled. “Sure, I guess. Everything means something special. That’s the glass unicorn I got for my 12th birthday,” I said pointing it out. “And that’s an Indian bead necklace I made at girls’ camp.” I picked it up and showed him the intricate design I had invented.
“Hmmm, nice. You did this yourself?” he said, taking it from me.
“Yeah. The beads are very tiny and scatter everywhere. It’s a lot harder to make one of those than you think.”
“I bet it is.” His eye traveled along the shelf. “A rock? What’s so special about an old rock?”
“It’s not an old rock,” I said, grabbing the rock and suddenly clamming up. I suddenly felt my eyes start to sting like when I’m going to cry.
Ray was quiet for a minute, but he didn’t leave. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” I said taking a deep breath. “The rock just means a lot to me, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand.”
I hesitated, then I said, “Four years ago, my dad and I took a trip to the beach. We played all day in the sand and waves. When it was almost time to go, he took my hand and we walked along the shoreline. He told me to look for the prettiest rock I could find. After looking and looking, I picked this one. It was round and smooth and had this sort of green spot that reminded me of a heart. See it?”
I pointed it out to Ray. He nodded.
“Dad asked me if the rock would change much if I kept it a hundred years. ‘Of course not,’ I said. He said, ‘Love is like that. It lasts forever.’ Then he told me he was going away and wouldn’t be living with us anymore. He said I should always keep this rock and remember that”—I couldn’t keep the tremor from my voice—“he loves me.”
“I’m glad you have this rock, Christy. Of course he loves you.” He paused. “So do I, you know. I wish …”
“What?” I asked.
“Oh, never mind. Guess I’d better check up on your brothers. When Mom gets home we’d all better have our work done, right?”
“Right.” I watched him leave. He wished … What did he wish? Suddenly I knew. But how could I tell him? Tomorrow had to be the perfect time.
But how? Not a card. He’d think I gave it to him because Mom made me. He’d expect that much. I needed something else, some special gift, to let him really know how I felt.
I thought about my Father’s Day gift all day. While I was getting ready for the dance I decided to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father if He had any ideas for me. When I finished, I glanced up at my shelf, and it hit me. Of course! I closed my eyes and whispered, “Thank you, thank you.” Then I got busy. I had some things to find and a poem to write.
When Mom came in to see if I was ready, she asked me how I felt about tomorrow being Father’s Day and all. I just smiled and told her it would be nice to celebrate it again with her. She looked relieved as she left.
Sunday morning we all got up early and fixed breakfast to take in to Ray. He pretended to be asleep, and we all shouted and woke him up and put the tray in front of him. My mom and the boys all gave him presents.
After they were opened, I pulled out a little leftover Christmas box and handed it to Ray.
He took off the lid. A smile lit his face. He reached in and took out the small flat rock inside, one with a heart lightly smudged with green colored pencil. He glanced down into the box again and pulled out the crumpled paper that contained my poem and read:
Love is like a rock,
Because it lasts forever.
But on the shore are many stones
With which to build a treasure.
“It’s not much,” I faltered, suddenly embarrassed over how dumb it looked beside the other gifts. Mom and the boys were trying to figure out why an ordinary rock was such a neat present.
“But it’s the best present you could have given me!” His eyes met mine in understanding.
He reached over and suddenly pulled me into his arms and gave me a bear hug. “Thank you, Christy, thank you,” he whispered.

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name.

Cerebral palsy has a devastating effect on most of its victims, but not on Steven Roach of Doylestown, Pennsylvania. Thanks to his involvement in martial arts classes, Steven can walk mostly without canes or crutches.
Ward members are now thrilled to see Steven walk unaided back to his seat in the congregation after blessing the sacrament. Steven takes his priesthood seriously. “It’s a very special part of my life,” he says. “I am beginning to understand the priesthood more and more each day as I read my scriptures and study the gospel.”
Steven is also serious about his karate. He’s been able to earn a yellow belt, and is working on his green. Both his sensei (teacher) and his mother have worked hard to help and support him. “I know I may never be able to fly through the air with kicks,” he says. “But I always try to do my best.”

The second reason he listed was: The bishop would find out.
He’d find out because I’d end up telling him, he thought.
It was only a month ago since he had had an interview with the bishop.
“Are you morally clean?”
“I think so.”
The bishop didn’t leave it at that. “What does it mean to you to be morally clean?”
“Well, you know,” he stammered, “keeping your body clean, and things like that.”
“Okay—what kinds of things?”
Bit by bit Troy told what he understood. With each new addition to the definition, the bishop had asked, “And are you free from that problem?”
At that time the bishop was satisfied. But if he pushed the “C” button, the next interview would be different, because he knew he wouldn’t lie to the bishop.
The bishop would be disappointed in me, he thought, staring again at the “C” button.

When my Young Women adviser suggested I do a Laurel value project about my family, I immediately knew we needed a family reunion.
I soon found out that planning a reunion takes time, persistence, and some hard work. It doesn’t hurt to have help from family members either. Here are some ideas that worked for me:
* Select a date. Choose a date well in advance for better attendance.
* Choose a meeting place. Use parks, pavilions, gymnasiums, or even backyards.
* Decide on a menu. Make food assignments or go potluck.
* Send out invitations. Make a list of all the relatives. Leave no one out.
* Plan activities that everyone will enjoy. Plan for swimming, board games, and art projects, just to name a few.
* Include a memento or souvenir of the reunion for each participant. Some families have screen-printed T-shirts. Others offer door prizes. The prizes can be as simple or ambitious as photos, scrapbooks, or recipe books.
* Don’t forget to send thank-you notes. Be sure to thank everyone who helped you with the planning and preparation or who donated their time or talents.
My reunion was hard work but so satisfying. I realize now what family reunions are all about.

The prophets counsel us to study the scriptures daily. So I decided to read my scriptures every night, remembering my Sunday School teachers who assured me I would feel closer to Heavenly Father if I did. Sadly, the only thing I found myself closer to was sleep! I was following the guidance of the prophets and still not feeling this “closeness” or really learning anything. I decided it was one of those things that come with age, like a fondness for liver and spinach. So I was content to continue with my nightly readings, convinced that one day all of the promised blessings would surface.
Finally, after continuing this ritual for several months, something did happen. It wasn’t a revelation, but a realization. I was reading the words on the page, but I wasn’t thinking about them. I was preoccupied with other things. The prophets don’t tell us to glance at or skim the scriptures; they tell us to study them. I guess I thought by having my scriptures open, I might learn something via some sixth sense.
I have continued my habit, but I’ve added a new twist. Now I think about what I read. I can’t believe all the time I’ve worried about problems when the answers were on the pages in front of me. There are so many beautiful stories and messages in the scriptures.
Now that I’ve finally learned to appreciate and gain knowledge from the scriptures, does that mean I’m finally getting old? Nah, I still don’t like liver and spinach.

When I was a kid, I really struggled with reading and writing. My mom tried to help and found different resources for me, but I still struggled, no matter how hard I tried. And then we found out that I had a learning disability that made it difficult for me to learn in the way other people do.
I had teachers who told me to just give up on reading and writing and to focus on things I could do. But my parents knew that I loved stories, and they felt it was important to help me. So, instead of dismissing reading and writing, my parents chose to foster my love of stories in different ways—especially through audiobooks and reading and writing exercises.
But I continued to struggle through middle school and high school.
When I decided to serve a mission, one of the most difficult things was reading the Book of Mormon and keeping a journal. It took me an entire hour to read just one page of the scriptures. Since I had never been great at writing, I wondered how I would be able to effectively document in my journal all the wonderful experiences I would have as a missionary.
But I kept trying and praying for the Lord’s help.
As time went by, I saw small changes. By the end of my mission, I was able to read better than I ever had in my life. And as I kept attempting to write in my journal, I suddenly learned that I actually enjoyed writing. When I finished my mission, I had filled five journals.
This experience taught me that when we turn to the Lord in our efforts, He can truly bring about miracles in our lives.
Sister Michelle D. Craig, former First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, taught:
“With Christ’s help, we can do all things. The scriptures promise that we will ‘find grace to help in time of need’ [Hebrews 4:16].
“The surprising truth is that our weaknesses can be a blessing when they humble us and turn us to Christ. Discontent becomes divine when we humbly approach Jesus Christ with our want, rather than hold back in self-pity.
“In fact, Jesus’s miracles often begin with a recognition of want, need, failure, or inadequacy. Remember the loaves and the fishes? … The disciples … didn’t have enough food, but they gave what they had to Jesus, and then He provided the miracle.”1
When I came home from my mission, I wondered if I would be capable of attending university. Because of my learning disability, I hadn’t planned on it when I was younger.
But since Heavenly Father had helped me during my mission, I had confidence that I could attend university and be successful. I went to school and not only became better at reading and writing but also began learning two other languages and wrote a novel. I am now pursuing a PhD in literature and history—something I never would have imagined for myself.
The prophet Jacob taught, “The Lord God showeth us our weakness that we may know that it is by his grace, and his great condescensions unto the children of men, that we have power to do these things” (Jacob 4:7).
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also taught that “the enabling and strengthening aspect of the Atonement [of Jesus Christ].” 2
Throughout my life, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have helped me take my fear of reading and writing and turn it into one of my greatest joys and strengths. I’ve learned that through our efforts to do better and to repent in moments when we make mistakes or struggle with our weaknesses, Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can strengthen us to become more and do more than we ever thought possible.
Brother Bradley R. Wilcox, Second Counselor in the Young Men General Presidency, has taught:
“The grace of Christ is sufficient—sufficient to cover our debt, sufficient to transform us, and sufficient to help us as long as that transformation process takes. …
“… Don’t quit. Keep trying. Don’t look for escapes and excuses. Look for the Lord and His perfect strength. Don’t search for someone to blame. Search for someone to help you. Seek Christ, and, as you do, I promise you will feel the enabling power we call His amazing grace.”3
It can be easy to feel like giving up when we have tried over and over again to become better at something. From difficulties with sin to simply feeling like we aren’t good enough, the world is full of challenges that can test our strength and dampen our courage. And often, overcoming those challenges takes more time and patience than we expect.
But Jesus Christ can strengthen us and assist us in our unique challenges. I know He can because I have experienced it. It took my whole life up until my mission to finally overcome a major weakness—years and years of struggle and discouragement. But Christ was always there to support me, comfort me, and offer me joy along the journey.
And I know He is there for you too.

Illustration by Alex Nabaum
When I was about 11 years old, I was exposed to pornography. That one instance developed into a greater problem that became the defining struggle of my teenage years. By the time I was in high school, I had turned away from pornography and toward Jesus Christ’s Atonement. Although I experienced a miracle in having the filth erased from my mind, I still felt overwhelming guilt in my heart.
Around this time, my grandma lent me my great-great grandmother Thea’s handwritten autobiography. Within days I felt deeply connected with Thea Martina Waagen (1883–1967). Thea’s father tragically died just a few months before her birth, so she was raised by her widowed Norwegian immigrant mother. Growing up was difficult, but she found joy in picking wild strawberries and playing the organ at her local Lutheran church. Thea’s mother remarried, and with her stepfather’s help, she attended college. Later in life, Thea and her family converted to the Church and moved to Utah, USA. Things weren’t easy for Thea. She and her husband divorced. She experienced great heartache and severe depression, yet she remained true to her testimony.
As I learned about Thea and her choice to persevere through adversity, I was overwhelmed with an intense love that reassured me of my worth and helped me overcome my paralyzing guilt. I realized that if she could do hard things, I could too.
I went on LDS.org and requested Thea’s patriarchal blessing. I was further touched when I read, “The seed of thy womb shall rise up and call thee blessed among the women in Zion.” I realized that my profound respect for her was a fulfilment of that simple sentence. Thea’s love helped heal my heart of guilt and turn my heart to my ancestors. This was my first witness of Elder David A. Bednar’s promise that by participating in family history work, I would “be protected against the intensifying influences of the adversary” (Oct. 2011 general conference).
I feel an added measure of strength and clarity in my life as I continue to search out my family and learn their stories. By consistently participating in family history activities, I feel like I gained an entire army of allies who help me fight my spiritual battles. I can live without fear because “they that be with us [our ancestors] are more than they that be with them [Satan’s followers]” (2 Kings 6:16).
Although I haven’t found thousands of family names to take to the temple, I have learned my ancestors’ stories and sought out their families through careful research. I have taken the time to remember their lives and respect their legacies. I know that I have been strengthened and protected against Satan as I’ve filled my life with the light of my family.

In the vicinity where I lived and served, we operated a poultry project. Most of the time it was an efficiently operated project supplying to the storehouse thousands of dozens of fresh eggs and hundreds of pounds of dressed poultry. On a few occasions, however, the experience of being volunteer city farmers provided not only blisters on the hands, but frustration of heart and mind. For instance, I shall ever remember the time we gathered together the teenaged Aaronic Priesthood young men to really give the poultry project a spring cleaning treatment. Our enthusiastic and energetic throng gathered at the project, and in a speedy fashion uprooted, gathered, and burned large quantities of weeds and debris. By the light of the glowing bonfires we ate hot dogs and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. The project was now neat and tidy. However, there was just one disastrous problem. The noise and the fires had so disturbed the fragile and temperamental population of 5,000 laying hens that most of them went into a sudden moult and ceased laying. Thereafter we tolerated a few weeds, that we might produce more eggs.