Gospel Story Finder

Since Dad’s death, when Jared and I were four and five, Mom had been denied the luxury of sentimentality. There had always been so much work, so many worries, so much pressure. That’s why I was surprised after my mission to discover that she had kept the roses. I had just assumed that she had tossed them out with the wilted lettuce, the table scrapings, the cantaloupe rinds, and a host of other disposables. They were, of course, dry and brittle, mere shells of their former, fragrant selves. But there they were, wrapped delicately in the green floral paper, laid in the white oblong box, and endowed by her touch with a tender timelessness, completely impervious to the persistent onslaught of age.
In the beginning Jared and I had gone to Brother Palmer’s floral shop fully intending to send roses to the twins, girls who had earlier taken us to the Easter dance.
We pushed open the glass door with the “Yes, we’re open” sign displayed prominently on the inside. As we did, a silver bell tinkled a cheery welcome, and a wave of intoxicating flower perfumes enveloped us.
“Well, how are the handsome Hansen brothers today?” Brother Palmer called out to us as he saw us enter. We closed the door, stepped into the cool interior, and basked in the fragrance.
Brother Palmer was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of green faded slacks that hung low on his ample hips and supported a stomach bulge that buried his belt buckle and most of his belt. A disarming smile cut across his round perspiring face, the corners of his eyes crinkled in happy welcome, and his bald head, laced with several thin strings of graying hair, shone brightly.
He had been watering and pampering two enormous ferns he kept hanging above the counter, but when he saw us, he set his watering can on the floor, wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, and ambled toward us with an outstretched hand.
Jared and I smiled a greeting. We liked Brother Palmer. He got a little preachy at times, but under all his paternal advice and cautions, he was a good man. He was also our home teacher and had been for as long as I could remember. Mom appreciated him too. In fact, he was the only exception to her strict rule of absolute self-reliance. She would allow him to assist us as long as he disguised his service and kindness enough for her to maintain her pride.
Though Mom was a widow, she was fiercely independent, never one to run to the bishop or the Relief Society for help, refusing anything remotely resembling a handout. Ever since Dad died, she had been supporting us single-handedly. She had worked her way through college, raising us at the same time, and after graduation had finally found a teaching job. She had been working at it ever since.
“We need some flowers,” I announced to Brother Palmer, glancing about his shop, intrigued by his jungle of ferns, flowers, and creepers, mesmerized by the yellows, blues and myriad shades of red that surrounded me. I loved coming to Brother Palmer’s shop because it was like stepping into a giant, magical terrarium.
“How’s your mother, Jarom?” he asked me, ignoring my request and tugging on his sagging pants.
I pushed my hands into my pockets and nodded. “All right, I guess. She manages to stay busy.”
“I suppose she would with two boys like you to look after.” He eyed us sternly. “You treating her all right?” Jared and I nodded. “No back talk? Not too much complaining?”
Our faces colored just a little. “Well, not much,” Jared mumbled.
We were used to Brother Palmer’s interrogations, and we knew he would never talk about our flowers until he had made his inquiries. And it made no difference to him that he had seen us only two days earlier at church and had asked us other questions then. He never let an opportunity pass without inquiring about our welfare.
“Has anyone plowed your garden?”
“Brother Parks is letting us borrow his tiller,” Jared explained. “Jarom and I should be able to take care of it.”
“I have a few extra seed potatoes and tomato plants. I’ll run them over to you tomorrow.”
I grinned. “You always just happen to have a few extra ones. Just enough to plant our garden. You’d think that after all these years you could estimate a little closer than you do.”
Brother Palmer raised an eyebrow. “I estimate all right.” He rubbed his double chin and said, “Tell your mom that my wife will pick her up for leadership meeting tomorrow night.”
“We’ll tell her. And by the way, we’re having our family prayer and home evening too,” Jared grinned knowingly. “Now, what about the flowers?”
Brother Palmer plucked a dried leaf from his pet fern and dropped it into the garbage can behind the counter. “I’m just doing my job.” He heaved a sigh. “One of these days I’m going to meet your dad, and the first thing he’s going to do, even before he so much as shakes my hand, is ask about your mother.” He stared out the front window into the street without really seeing anything out there. “I remember when he courted her. I was in the temple when they were married. Your dad loved your mom.” He slapped his hand on the counter. “Now, when I meet him, I want to be able to give him a good report.” Brother Palmer cleared his throat. “I hope you two have some good answers for him too.”
His eyes twinkled, and he stepped behind the counter. “Now, what did you have in mind? Something for Mother’s Day?”
“Mother’s Day?” I asked, glancing over at Jared. “Is it Mother’s Day?”
Brother Palmer forced a cough. “I’ll bet you don’t forget dinner very often,” he muttered. “And it looks like your clothes have seen a washing machine lately, no thanks to the two of you.”
“Mother’s Day isn’t this Sunday, is it?” Jared asked.
Brother Palmer nodded. “That gives you five days.”
“We’ll have to get Mom a card,” I said to Jared. “Let’s not forget.” I turned back to Brother Palmer. “We’re taking the twins out to dinner this Saturday. We want to take them flowers when we pick them up.”
“Very romantic,” he remarked dryly. He stared at us a moment without speaking. He took a handkerchief, wiped his brow and the top of his head, blew his nose loudly. “Card for your mother; flowers for the twins,” he mumbled.
“Huh?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly and stuffed his handkerchief in his back pocket. “Nothing. Just thinking with my mouth open. I have carnations and daisies,” he said gruffly. “If you want I can even gather up some dandelions.”
Jared and I laughed. “Actually we had something a little more impressive in mind. Do you have roses?”
“Not for the twins,” he said bluntly.
“Huh?” I grunted.
He grabbed a rag and began polishing the counter. “Nope, boys, I have flowers for all occasions, but you have to fit the flower to the occasion. Now for your special occasion,” he said with not a little sarcasm, “a bouquet of daisies or dandelions will do just fine.”
“Come on, Brother Palmer, we’re trying to give you a little good business,” I said, not sure whether he was joking with us.
“You’re forgetting,” he said, jabbing a finger at me, “that I’m your home teacher first, your florist second.”
“I don’t get it,” Jared said.
Brother Palmer shook his head and began to explain as though this were the one hundredth time he had gone over it with us. “You don’t give roses to just anyone. You spoil the effect if you do. Now, I don’t know the twins. Maybe they’re good girls, but I suspect that they’re too young for roses. Maybe in a few years they’ll be old and wise enough, but not yet. Have you ever given roses before?” We shook our heads, utterly confused. “Then don’t start on the twins.” He sighed. “You can send a million carnations to almost anyone. But be careful when you send roses.”
“Brother Palmer,” I moaned.
“What will it be,” he demanded, “daisies or dandelions?”
“Roses.”
He wagged his head. “Not for the twins.”
“Brother Palmer,” I protested.
He shook his head adamantly. “I do have a good deal on roses for Mother’s Day,” he added quickly. “I don’t sell Mother’s Day cards, though.”
“Mom doesn’t even like roses. She’s too practical,” I declared. “If you can eat it, wear it, or put it in the bank, she’ll like it, but roses are just for beauty’s sake. To Mom that would be a waste.”
“Yeah,” Jared agreed. He thought and then added, “She does like potted plants. She keeps some around the house, but roses would be a waste of money because you just throw them out after a few days.”
“I know,” I called out, “we’ll get a potted plant and some roses.”
“Who gets the roses?” Brother Palmer asked. “The twins. Mom likes potted plants.”
Brother Palmer shook his head. “I don’t sell that combination.”
“But we’re getting the plant for Mom.”
Brother Palmer eyed us, the disappointment obvious. “Why not roses for your mom, the plant for the twins?”
“It’s not the same,” I complained. “Roses are …” I groped for the word.
“You’re right,” Brother Palmer said quietly. “It’s not the same. There’s a message that comes with a rose. It doesn’t come with any other flower.” He looked at us. We avoided his eyes and stared at the floor. “Don’t send that message to anyone until you’ve first sent it to your mom. Otherwise you spoil the effect. Once you’ve sent roses to your mom, you’ll know when to send them to someone else.”
“But Brother Palmer,” I complained.
“I have a good deal on a dozen roses for Mother’s Day,” Brother Palmer said, straightening up with determination. “Long-stemmed roses.”
“A dozen roses!” I choked.
“Roses come in dozens. Otherwise that magical impression is lost.”
“But we were only getting each of the twins two.” “Well, if you overspent on your mother like you planned to overspend on the twins you’d have to buy her a hundred dozen roses, but since your mother is a practical woman, let’s settle for an even dozen.”
“We can’t afford a dozen.”
Brother Palmer held up both hands. “Calm down,” he soothed, “I’m going to give you a good deal and save you money too. You’ve already planned for four roses and a potted plant. We’ll trade in the potted plant for three more roses. You can take the twins down to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream cone, and with the money you save on dinner you can easily buy the other five roses.”
“But Mom’s not the type,” I tried to explain. “Roses are you know—romantic. They dazzle.”
“Then dazzle your mom,” he said with quiet seriousness. “Don’t you think your mom would like that?”
We laughed. “You don’t know Mom.”
“No, you don’t know her,” Brother Palmer said warmly. “You think because she’s worked her fingers raw and grown gray that all she cares about is washing dishes, cleaning house, and putting food on the table for you. Well, I’ve got news for you. She doesn’t do a lot of things now, but not because she wouldn’t like to. Now she won’t tell you that, and it’s too bad I have to, but it’s better that I tell you than that than that you never learn. You don’t think anything of sending roses to the twins, and what have they done for you? Took you to a dance, smiled at you in the halls, tickled your vanity. And you were going to send roses to say thanks for that? Daisies or carnations perhaps. Roses never. Oh, the ignorance of youth.”
“Roses for Mom?” I asked incredulously.
“I’d sure hate to be in your shoes when you meet your dad,” Brother Palmer remarked. “You’ll have a hard time convincing him your mother didn’t like roses.”
I stared over at Jared, and he glanced my way. There was an annoying twitch in the pit of my stomach, the nagging by-product of a guilty conscience. Brother Palmer was right, and yet I surely had my mind set on dinner with the twins. There was no way we could do both.
Brother Palmer watched us fidget and fret. Finally he said, “Of course, you could always run down to Timmerman’s Floral. I hear he sells roses to anybody for about any reason. But then, he probably won’t ever meet your dad either.”
Glaring at the ground, I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jared doing the same. “All right,” I mumbled, “a dozen roses.”
“It’s for Mother’s Day, not your funeral,” Brother Palmer remarked. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“Brother Palmer,” I cried out completely exasperated, “you just talked us into it. Are you going to try to change our minds now?”
He placed his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands. “Don’t do it for me. Do it for your mother.”
Reluctantly we counted out our money. All I could think about was the dinner I would never have with the twins. I slid the money toward Brother Palmer, who ignored it completely.
“The roses will be ready Saturday afternoon,” he said as we turned and dragged our feet toward the door. We pulled the door open and the tiny silver bell tinkled softly. “Boys,” he called to us, “I’ll wager that in ten years you won’t even remember the twins’ names. If you can, come back and get a full refund. That’s a Palmer guarantee.”
The roses were forgotten until late Saturday. Most of Saturday we spent at the district track meet, trying to qualify for the state meet the following week. Unfortunately, neither of us quite made it. All we accomplished by going was pulling a hamstring, twisting an ankle, and acquiring a stinging sunburn. As soon as we stepped off the bus at the high school, all we wanted to do was go home, take a long bath, and drop into bed for about 48 hours. We forgot all about the roses until we passed Brother Palmer’s shop on our way home.
It was several minutes past closing time, but the place was still open, and Brother Palmer was waiting for us behind the counter next to our pile of money and a long white box, neatly wrapped with a giant red bow and ribbon.
Guiltily we shuffled in with our sweats tucked under our arms and presented ourselves before Brother Palmer. He eyed us for a moment, and then a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he said sheepishly, “I twisted your arms pretty hard the other day. I apologize. If you’ve changed your mind, you can take the money. Or the roses. Or both.”
We shook our heads and reached for the box. “You can take the money too, if you’d like,” he said, pushing it toward us.
I grinned tiredly. “And what do we tell Dad?”
Brother Palmer chuckled and nodded. “You better tell him you took the roses.”
I opened the door. “Boys,” he called out, “you have a good mom. Some day you’ll find good wives. But you’ll have to look pretty hard and be pretty picky before you’ll find one as good as your mom. The next time you order a dozen roses, you’ll begin to understand what I mean. You’ll be glad you gave your first dozen to your mom.”
When we finally arrived home, stumbled stiffly up the front steps and pushed open the front door, the smell of stew and baking biscuits greeted us. It wasn’t until then that I realized I was just as hungry as I was tired. But I didn’t notice that the carpet was vacuumed, that the furniture was dusted and polished, and that I had freshly pressed shirts in my closet. Nor did I take note of the warm, loving security permeating the homey atmosphere.
“Is that you, boys?” Mom called from the kitchen. “I’m running a little late. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you wash up and come in and tell me how things went at the meet. I’ll bet you’re exhausted.”
We tiptoed into the kitchen. Mom was hovering over the stew on the stove. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,” we called out. She turned around, her face flushed and her hands wet. I held out the roses and pressed them into her arms. She stared down at the box, too surprised to respond. I laughed and wrapped her arms around the box. “It’s all right,” I grinned. “It’s not a trick. They’re real, and they’re for you.”
“We didn’t qualify for the state meet,” Jared remarked, “but we did remember Mother’s Day—with a little help.”
Mom looked shocked, almost scared. Jared pulled out a kitchen chair and gently pushed her toward it and helped her sit down. With her eyes wide with anticipation and her hands trembling, she fumbled with the bow and finally pulled the lid off the box. A rich rose fragrance filled the room. Hesitantly, she pulled back the stiff, crackling green floral paper and gazed inside.
For a long time. she just stared, unable to touch or smell the roses. She didn’t even move. Then a tear glittered in the corner of her eye, soon crowded by another and another until a gentle flow of tears washed down her cheeks.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get another rose,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “They’re beautiful. Just beautiful.”
Setting the box on the table, she stood and went to her bedroom. She returned a moment later, choking back her tears and holding out a plain, white vase. It was one she had always kept on her dresser, always empty. More than once I had wondered why she had kept an empty vase there. It was not pretty. There was nothing unique in its features or design.
“Your dad gave me this when he sent me my first dozen roses, the night he proposed to me. Every year on our anniversary he would give me roses for my vase. Never a dozen, but always some roses.” She swallowed. “Now I’ve received a dozen roses twice.”
A smile of expectancy touched Mom’s lips and lighted up her face. Suddenly she was like a school girl, receiving her first bouquet. Carefully she took the roses from the box, one at a time, and arranged them with tender perfection in the white vase.
That night the stew and biscuits burned. Mom was embarrassed because that was something she rarely did, but Jared and I smelled the roses and ate the stew and biscuits anyway, without comment or complaint.
Five years later, looking down at the dried and faded roses, I was filled with poignant warmth. The roses brought so many things to my remembrance. Of course, I remembered Brother Palmer, and I was grateful for his far-from-subtle prodding. But mainly I remembered Mom. I remembered the clean sheets, the pressed shirts, the thousand meals, the clean home, and the baked chocolate chip cookies. I remembered the late nights when she had waited up for me and listened to me. I remembered the pride in her eyes at each of my ordinations. I remembered her face aglow with quiet excitement at my seminary and high school graduations. I remembered the second job she took, cleaning the seminary building evenings, so that I could go on my mission. I remembered the weekly letter I had received from her every Wednesday of my mission, and I wished then that I had sent a hundred dozen roses.
I smiled, realizing that I no longer remembered the twins’ names. But, oh, how well I remembered Mom!

Liliana was excited to go to Primary. She wanted to show Sister Lee her new dress.
I’m a princess!
I’m a princess too!
You both are beautiful princesses. Heavenly Father loves you, and we are His children.
Then Sister Lee showed the class some paper crowns.
These crowns say “I am a child of God.”
The children said the words together and then sang “I Am a Child of God.” It was one of Liliana’s favorite songs.
Sister Lee placed the crowns on their heads, one at a time.
Liliana is a child of God.
Liliana felt warm and happy inside.
Liliana couldn’t wait to show Mama and Daddy her crown.
Now I’m really a princess because I am a child of God.
When it was time for bed, Liliana looked everywhere for her crown. She wanted it by her while she slept.
I can’t find my crown! I want to be a child of God!
Mama sat down and pulled Liliana onto her lap.
How do you feel when you sing “I Am a Child of God”?
Happy.
Me too.
Are you a child of God?
Everyone is a child of God, even without a crown. Always remember, you are a child of God—no matter what!
Mama hugged Liliana, and Liliana smiled as if she knew a special secret.

Barbara Matovu remembers the first time the missionaries brought her to the center for an activity to meet other young single adults. She thought she knew what to expect.
“Throughout my life I’ve always had a group that I belonged to,” explains Barbara. “And the groups were always stamped with something—you were the sporty group or the international group or some other group. So when people started coming into the center, it was so strange because no one seemed to have the attitude of ‘I’m in the popular group, so I can’t talk to you.’
“At first, I thought, ‘Are they acting? Is this a show?’ But after a while I realized it actually doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from or which language we speak. The love of our Heavenly Father is for everyone. Usually it takes me a bit of time to find my group, but this time I felt like I didn’t need a group. I was just Barbara, and I could be Barbara for everybody.”

A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Some time ago a man came into my office in deep emotional distress. He was a big, tough-looking man, but he wept bitterly as he told me his story.
He had been married in the temple some twenty years earlier and thought he had a good marriage. He and his wife had their problems, but he assured me that anyone in their ward would say they were the happiest couple in the ward. Then, one day his wife packed up, took the kids, moved out of their home, and filed for divorce.
This man was astonished that his wife had left him. He also expressed deep resentment and anger toward her. It was clear that he considered her action viciously evil and that he felt it had to be stopped at any cost. I became more uncomfortable as I realized that he wanted me to find some way to force his wife to come back to him. Finally I interrupted him and said, “I can’t make your wife come back to you if she is determined not to.”
He looked very disappointed. “I’ve gone to my bishop and my stake president,” he said, “and they couldn’t help me. They told me you were a marriage counselor, so I came to see you, and you say you can’t help me. Now where do I turn?”
I tried to help him consider some approach other than forcing his wife to come back. But as he saw it, she was wrong and had to be punished soundly and forced to do right. He resented the very suggestion that there might be an alternative. As far as I know, he never changed, and his marriage dissolved.

A sister with Down syndrome testified at a legislative hearing in Utah to protect unborn children diagnosed with Down syndrome. She boldly stated that she and others like her had a right to live. Afterward, she stood and gestured to all the committee members and stated, “And I love all of you!”
Lisa Wilson testified at a Utah legislative hearing to protect unborn children with Down syndrome.
Photograph courtesy of Lisa Wilson’s family

Another time when I was feeling aimless was during my final year of university. Life was tough. It was during the pandemic, so I was depressed while I was stuck at home finishing classes. There was such a lack of direction and connection in my life.
I even struggled with church at this time. I often had to make myself roll out of bed in my pajamas to listen to sacrament meeting online because that’s all the motivation I could muster.
During this dark period, I reached out to my family and friends and explained to them how aimless and depressed I felt. I didn’t feel like I had any hope for the future and didn’t know how things were going to work out. And that’s when they told me that they were praying for me and supporting me even though they were far away.
As I reached out to loved ones who have deep faith and as I prayed to Heavenly Father with just an inkling of spiritual motivation, I felt sustaining support and love.

The idea of getting a newspaper job came to me because I wanted to help my family. I learned very early in my life that work was an important and essential part of a happy life. My father died when I was a baby, and my mother raised me and my six older brothers and sisters on her own. With her father’s help, she bought some rental units near downtown Salt Lake City, and that’s how she earned enough money to provide for our family.
We all helped with the maintenance and upkeep of those apartments; they were our family project. We worked together and played together while we cleaned the buildings, painted and wallpapered, and took care of the yards. Even though I was the youngest, I did my part—I weeded, picked up trash, painted, cleaned, anything I could. We all understood that we were working together so that we could have money for food and clothes and other things we needed.
The newspaper job was another way I could help Mother. That summer I earned almost one hundred dollars for my family. I felt a deep love and loyalty to my mother and tried very hard to do things that would make her happy. I learned much from following her example. Although she was a widow and had a large family, she served in many callings in our ward, including Relief Society president for several years.
Mother took me to many of her meetings. I felt like the ward “mascot.” All the sisters in the ward took good care of me and made me feel very special. I loved Primary, too, because the teachers were so kind. As I look back on it, I think that they probably treated all the children in their classes with great love and patience, but they made me feel very loved. Because of them, my memories of Primary always stir wonderful and warm feelings within my heart.
My family also strengthened my ability to live the gospel. We prayed as a family every day. I can’t remember missing a single day of family prayer. That is a great legacy that I appreciate today. After I married, my wife and I continued that tradition in our own family. We also read the scriptures together as a family.
One of my favorite scriptures is Romans 1:16: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” This scripture reminds me to not be ashamed of the gospel and to be true to my knowledge of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Sometimes I see people, both adults and youth, who seem almost apologetic or embarrassed by their membership in the Church and their belief in Jesus Christ. This should not be! The gospel is a precious treasure, and we are very blessed to have it in our lives. We should be grateful for what we know and believe, live the gospel as fully as we can, and look for opportunities to share it with others. Many people are looking for something to make them happy, and I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring happiness to those who are obedient and faithful.
I am grateful to my mother for teaching me about the gospel and for setting a worthy example that I could follow. I sensed even as a young boy that she was sacrificing a great deal to raise my brothers and sisters and me and to teach us what was right. I knew that she loved us deeply and wanted us to be happy. Because of her wonderful example and great love, I never wanted to do anything to disappoint or hurt her. Many times in my life, when I was trying to make a right and good choice, I would ask myself what Mother would want me to do. That was always a great guideline for me to use.
At a young age, I also realized that Heavenly Father loved me just as much as, or more than, Mother did. He, too, wanted me to be happy. He loves each one of us and wants us to be happy. Whenever you have a choice to make, ask yourself what Heavenly Father would want you to do. Ask yourself what would please Him. When you use that as your guideline, you will make choices that will bring you joy and happiness, choices that will draw you closer to Him.

One evening, I met with my boss to discuss my situation and the goal I wanted to achieve (i.e. serving a full-time mission). After listening to me, he set a condition: If I would forgo my dream and stay with him, he would do everything for me. I knew he could do that. He had good intentions when he set this condition. He was very close to me, and I had become like a son to him. He trusted me more than some of his brothers. For me, the Savior‘s call was the most important thing. I, therefore, declined the offer. He even sent people to plead with me, but it was all in vain because I was determined to serve a mission.

Finally, I went to Abidjan to apply for my passport, during the COVID-19 pandemic. Along the way, we had to get off the bus and walk for miles to cross certain areas. We even had to walk through the forest during the trip.
There were all sorts of issues with getting a passport, but by God’s grace, I got mine.
After about a year of working on my mission application, I gave it to my bishop to submit it to the stake president. To my utter surprise, my bishop lost the file containing my passport and medical records. This was a huge ordeal for me. That night, I got on my knees and cried my heart out, pleading with God to make it possible for us to find the file. After my prayer, I told Heavenly Father that if we did not find the file, I would work on another application no matter how long it would take.
A few weeks later, a miracle happened: my file was found at the premises of my stake president’s company. The security guard had been keeping the file all this while since he did not know the owner.
This experience strengthened my faith in Christ, that He is mighty to save.
After receiving the file, we gave it to my stake president to fill it out and submit online. However, the file was not submitted online for nearly two months, and it was at this point that I felt like giving up. When I told my girlfriend that I wanted to give up, she replied with a statement that I had made at the beginning of our relationship, that nothing and no one could stop me from serving a full-time mission. I regained hope, called my stake president, and followed up with strict monitoring. When the application was submitted, I quit my job to better prepare for my mission. At one point, I ran out of food and was supported by my girlfriend.
Finally, my call came. I was called to serve in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission with President and Sister Lewis. I was so happy I had attained my goal. I had to go to the training center in Ghana, but due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I had to undergo my training online. There again, I paid for an internet bundle out of pocket until I ran out of money. A few days later I informed my trainer that I would have to stop taking the course for lack of money. Surprised by what he had just learned, he sent a message to my stake president, and the problem was resolved. I then proceeded with my training as planned.
I experienced adversity from the beginning of my preparation till the end. I am grateful for having kept the faith and for the hand of God that supported me during those trying times.
After my mission, I married that young girl who stood by me through it all. We now have a child who makes us so happy. I testify that as much as we shall put our trust in God even so much we shall be delivered out of our trials, and our troubles, and our afflictions, and we shall be lifted up at the last day. (See Alma 38:5.)

I assumed that was all I’d be needed for in giving blessings before my mission, but the next day came the most unexpected phone call of my life. It was my mom, who had been trimming some old tree branches at my grandma’s house. She’d fallen, twisted her knee, and now could not get up because of the pain. Instantly I sprinted from my uncle’s house to go help. When I got there, I helped my mom up and we slowly walked inside my grandma’s home so that Mom could sit down.
Then came the request I will never forget: my mom asked me for a blessing. I, being only an 18-year-old teenager, but also being a newly ordained elder, could accept that call to serve for the second time that week. The blessing finished with everyone in tears and my mom feeling much better.

The warm smell of hot chocolate chip cookies wafted through the air as Mary came into the house from school. It was family night, and when Mother was in charge of treats, she always made chocolate chip cookies. As Mary burst into the kitchen, rows and rows of cooling cookies met her eyes. She reached for one, but Mother playfully swatted her hand with a dish towel.
“Wait till tonight,” Mother said. “They’ll taste even better if you wait.”
Mary reluctantly turned away from the warm cookies that sagged a little between the wires of the cooling rack. She wasn’t sure that she could wait!
“Oh, I suppose eating one now won’t hurt,” Mother said with a smile. “But only one!”
Mary grabbed the biggest one that she could find, then ran to her room and checked the supplies for her lesson. All the flannel-board figures of Helaman and the stripling warriors were colored and cut out. After practicing telling the story one more time, she decided that she was ready.
Dad was in charge of the activity that night, and he always thought of something fun to do. Sometimes they played games or went on walks. Last time they had played baseball. She wondered what he had planned for tonight.
The boys were in charge of music and prayers, and the thought of little Scott waving his arm in a giant circle as he led “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” made Mary smile in anticipation.
After dinner and the dishes were finished, the family gathered in the living room. Sure enough, Scott’s arm was nearly worn out by the time they got to the last sunBEAM! Mary’s lesson went well, even though Jacob was a little disappointed that Helaman had only twenty stripling warriors instead of two thousand.
“Each one stands for one hundred,” Mary explained.
When Dad got his old hat from the hall closet, everyone knew what the activity was going to be: Charades!
“Let’s do songs!” Scott yelled.
“We’ve never done fairy tales,” Mother commented.
“Let’s do famous people,” Robbie cried.
“Nope,” Dad declared. “I’m in charge of the activity, so I get to choose the topic, and tonight it’s scriptures.”
“Good idea!” Mother said wholeheartedly.
“That sounds hard,” Robbie moaned.
“That’s not all,” Dad continued. “After the team guesses the scripture or scripture story, the team captain has to find the scripture reference and read one verse of it to us. And it all has to be done within four minutes! Your mother will be one team captain, and I’ll be the other.”
Mary and Robbie were on Dad’s team. Mom took Scott and Jacob into the kitchen to choose their scriptures. Dad and Robbie and Mary planned the hardest scripture stories that they could think of for Mom’s team. They decided to give Scott “Noah and the ark” and Jacob “Enos praying in the forest.” Mother got “Samuel the Lamanite preaching to the Nephites.”
When Mom’s team came back into the living room, she had a smug smile on her face. “We’re going to beat you at your own game!” she told Dad.
Scott went first and pretended to build something, then acted like a puppy, then a kitty. Jacob quickly guessed, “Noah and the ark.”
Robbie loved acting out “David and Goliath,” but Dad had trouble finding it in the Old Testament before the time limit was up. Neither Scott nor Jacob guessed that Mother was Samuel the Lamanite, so that gave Mary’s team a good lead. Then it was her turn. When she unfolded her paper and read “The thirteenth article of faith,” Mother’s team was grinning happily.
“You’ll never get it!” Jacob chortled.
Mary knew the thirteenth article of faith by heart. Last Sunday they had been practicing it in Primary Sharing Time. Hmmm, she thought. “We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous,and in doing good to all men …” Suddenly she had an idea. Will they guess it? she wondered.
Mary pulled her ear.
“Sounds like!” Dad yelled.
Mary nodded. She leaned over and hung her arm down near her nose. As she lumbered across the living room, she swung her arm gently.
“Elephant?” Dad asked.
Mary nodded happily. Then she ran around the room, glancing over her shoulder as if she were frightened.
“Are you scared?” Jacob asked. Mary nodded.
“Mary, did you read the paper carefully?” Mother asked.
Mary smiled and nodded, grinning. Mother was stumped!
Mary pretended to be an elephant again, then ran around the room.
“Is the elephant chasing you?” Father asked. Mary nodded excitedly and pulled at her ear again.
“Sounds like ‘chased by an elephant’?” Dad said, more puzzled than ever.
Suddenly Robbie yelled. “I know! ‘We believe in being honest, true, chased by an elephant, virtuous, and in doing good to all men!’”
“Yes!” Mary screamed. Dad grabbed his scriptures and flipped to the end of the Pearl of Great Price. He read as fast as he could. “‘We believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and in doing good to all men; indeed, we may say that we follow the admonition of Paul—We believe all things, we hope all things, we have endured many things, and hope to be able to endure all things. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.’ The thirteenth article of faith. Stop!”
“Four minutes,” Mom said, pretending to be disappointed as Mary plopped happily into her seat.
“Got you!” Dad cried. “You thought you had us with that one, but Mary and Robbie were too smart for you!”
“I’m afraid so,” Mother said with a smile.
Jacob and Dad did theirs easily. Mom and Scott guessed right away that Jacob was Enos when he first pretended to look at a watch on his wrist, then kept peeking at it while he pantomimed praying. And the whole family laughed as Dad acted like a seasick Jonah inside of a fish. The scores were close, but Mary’s team won.
“I thought you were going to beat us at our own game, Mom!” Mary teased.
“We’ll beat you yet,” Mother said, winking at Jacob and Scott. “I’m in charge of treats, and losers get first choice!”
“Oh no!” Mary, Robbie, and Dad all groaned. But there were still lots of delicious cookies on the plate by the time that it reached Mary and Robbie and Dad. And everyone felt like a winner.

I’m so grateful for my family, and that includes my ancestors. One way I like to show gratitude for all of my family is by doing family history work.
This all started with my Personal Progress project for Individual Worth, value experience 6. I wanted to learn how to do family history work. At first I began with indexing and then tried looking for names on FamilySearch.org. It was so cool to start finding names of my own ancestors. Recently, I went to the temple with several names I’d found. I was able to do the baptisms and the confirmations. I loved it! The whole experience reminded me of my own baptism. It made me feel good to imagine that my ancestors were watching and that they were excited to have their ordinances done.
I’ve done temple baptisms before, but doing my own family names brought a whole new meaning to the names and ordinances for me.
After the baptisms were complete, I then sent the names to other family members to complete the remaining ordinances. My aunt and uncle have done 12 names so far. Sometimes I even babysit for them so they can go to the temple together.
At first I used to do family history research mostly on Sundays, but lately I’ve been squeezing it in during the week whenever I can. My grandfather is a convert to the Church and the only member in his family, so there’s a lot of opportunity to do temple ordinances for my ancestors on that side. I’m excited to research and work on their names as I hear stories about them from my grandfather.
I’m so thankful to have a loving family, and I know my ancestors are a big part of that family. I’m glad I can do this sacred work for them.
Emily H., 15, Arizona, USA

A few years ago Jeremy Kearns and his family were on a bow hunt in the La Sal Mountains in southern Utah. One drizzly morning Jeremy and his younger brother Daniel saw a deer near their camp. They shot at it with their toy bows and arrows, then ran after it, not realizing how far from their tent they had run before they lost sight of the deer. Finally they stopped to catch their breath before starting on their walk back to camp. However, they soon realized that they were lost. All afternoon they walked and called out for help, but no one heard them. They began to be afraid. It was raining hard, and they tried to make a shelter under a big tree. They huddled together to keep warm. All night they prayed to Heavenly Father for help.
After walking for three hours the next morning, the boys saw some cows. Just then Jeremy heard a voice in his mind. He was told to follow the cow’s path to the stream, go up the stream, around the mountain, and then someone would find them there.
Jeremy and Daniel heeded this answer to their prayers, and when they reached the other side of the mountain, they heard people calling for them. Soon they were back with their family, grateful for the answer that they had received to their prayers.

In section 111, verse 9, of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord said that the Prophet should “inquire diligently concerning the more ancient inhabitants” of Salem. The coastal town of Salem was founded in 1626. In 1663 Anthony Ashby was recorded as being in Salem. Anthony was the great-great-great-great-grandfather of Nathaniel Ashby. Since Anthony, six generations of Ashbys had lived in Salem.
The little brown book (Robert Ashby, Ashby Ancestry, 1941), explained that “in 1841, Elder Erastus Snow and others brought to this family the true gospel message which they gladly accepted.” My ancestors were among the converts of Salem!
As I read about Nathaniel and his family, I discovered that Elder Snow and his wife occupied one of Nathaniel’s homes in Salem for two years, rent-free. Perhaps for the missionary, that had been a treasure better than gold. In the fall of 1843, the Ashby family moved to Nauvoo, where they shared a large duplex home with Elder Snow’s family. The Ashbys donated their wealth to help build the temple.
Members of the Ashby family wee in Nauvoo on the day the Prophet Joseph was martyred. They lived only a short distance from the Prophet’s home, and one of Nathaniel’s sons wrote that he was in his father’s garden one morning in June of 1844 when the Prophet rode by on his way to Carthage. “Never shall I forget the look of deep sorrow that covered his noble countenance. That was the last time I saw him alive,” wrote the son.
Members of the Ashby family were in the congregation during the transfiguration of Brigham Young. Nathaniel’s son Benjamin wrote that “the last time I saw the features of Joseph Smith was when the form, voice, and countenance of Brigham Young was transfigured before the congregation so that he appeared like Joseph Smith in every particular.”
The Ashby family was also among those who left their homes in Nauvoo and started west. Within days, Nathaniel died in Iowa. But Susan Ashby pressed on with her eleven children, crossed the plains, and arrived in Salt Lake City. One of the Ashby daughters was my great-grandmother.

As I grew up, I heard the testimonies of many members and especially of my mother. I asked my mother how I could gain my own testimony, and she encouraged me to read the scriptures and the Tambuli (now Liahona).
From then on, I tried my best to read the scriptures and the Church magazines. Doing so has helped me to have faith and doubt no more. Also, I now desire to go on a mission when I reach the age of 21.
Carpio Dhareen,Placer Branch, Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission

I was afraid a lot.
I was afraid my dad would kill himself while driving drunk. I was afraid he’d kill someone else when he was driving drunk.
Late at night I would lie in my bed with all the lights out. I would wait and wait to hear his car pull in. I’d pray over and over, “Please help him get home safely. Please don’t let him hit anyone.”
In the morning I’d look at how the car was parked in the driveway. Sometimes it would be barely an inch from the house. Sometimes it would be over into the neighbor’s flowers.
I was afraid he’d embarrass me. He did. He’d wake up from sleeping off a drunk and not really be sober. He’d stumble out of the bedroom. He’d stink of beer. He’d say dumb things. I hated it.
My real friends still liked me. Still, it was embarrassing.
I was afraid my parents would get a divorce. Many times they would have fights when my dad drank. He had a black leather suitcase in his closet. He’d get it out and start packing his clothes. If it were daytime I’d run out of the house. One day I took my dad’s white pocketknife with me. I wanted to have something of his if he left.
Sometimes I was afraid my parents would not get a divorce. I was afraid they would keep living together and I would never have a home that was nice. I thought my mother and I could go live with my grandparents. It sounded so safe.
Fear
Your friend may worry that her dad will get into an accident while driving drunk.
She may be afraid her parents will divorce. Or she may be equally afraid this painful way of living will go on forever.
She fears that her dad may embarrass her with inappropriate behavior.
She’s afraid no one will like her because of her father’s actions.
Of these fears only the last one is within your control. Make very sure your friend knows that you love and respect her. Your friendship can help reduce the corrosive effects of all the other fears.
Fear
Your life is full of fears—fear of a drunken accident, fear of divorce, fear of humiliation—the list seems endless.
I wish I could give you an easy formula for banishing fear, but I can’t. For one thing, many of your fears are well grounded.
I can only give you two bits of advice. First, when you are afraid, pray. Our Father in Heaven knows your fears and can help you master them.
Second, let some trusted adult counselor help you distinguish between real dangers and imaginary ones. With so many real things to fear, there is no room for phantoms.

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

For a few months before my mission, I lived with my brother and his family in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. After moving in with them, I found a job working with a crew framing houses.
My first day on the job, my boss dropped me off at the work site and introduced me to my supervisor. Soon I was on the roof of the garage learning how to “sheet” that part of the roof. As I looked on, I noticed that my supervisor might be in danger. He had placed a piece of sheeting down on the framework and had fastened one side. The other side was to be cut off with a Skil saw so the sheeting would fit in place.
As he was cutting, I noticed he was standing on the side that wasn’t fastened. If he continued to cut, he would end up “surfing” off the roof on a piece of sheeting. I kept silent, rationalizing to myself. Since this was my first day, what did I know? He probably knew what he was doing.
It turned out that my supervisor did slide off the roof on the piece of loose sheeting. I watched him, with the saw, fly through the air, landing on the ground on both feet. He looked back up to where he had been with a funny look on his face. I managed to control my laughter when it became clear he wasn’t hurt.
Since that time, I’ve thought more about that experience. Although it seemed funny, I’ve realized how dangerous that situation was. I’ve thought about how I would have felt if my supervisor had been badly hurt, crippled, or killed. I would have felt responsible. I knew something that could have helped him avoid a dangerous situation. I was afraid of what his reaction might be if I told him what he was doing wrong. I felt I didn’t have enough knowledge. But, in truth, I had the knowledge, the power to help save him, and I failed to use it.

After the destructive wildfires in California in 2017, I traveled with Elder Von G. Keetch of the Seventy to minister to those who had lost so much. We saw whole neighborhoods that had been destroyed in just minutes.
In that destruction, Elder Keetch discovered some lessons that he later told his family members he might someday use in a talk. Sadly, though, Elder Keetch passed away from cancer less than a year later. With the help and support of the Keetch family, I’d like to share one of the lessons Elder Keetch shared with them.
As Elder Keetch walked through what used to be a home, he saw some pottery among the ashes. The pottery was unharmed, not even blackened by the flames.
The unharmed pottery that Elder Von G. Keetch saw in a burned home became a metaphor for a lesson he wanted to teach his family about adversity.
Photograph courtesy of Keetch family
“While everything in that house had been burned or melted,” Elder Keetch’s daughter said, “that pottery held strong. Why? Because it had already been through the refiner’s fire. As it was created, it had already been exposed to temperatures and pressures so great that the fire had little effect on it. Adversity in this life is our refiner’s fire. It is what molds us, strengthens us, and causes us to withstand the fires of this mortal life.”
Elder Keetch also said that God “allows us to experience trials and difficulties because He knows we need the ‘hard things’ to help us become who we need to become. And yet He also will shoulder our burdens and carry us through the difficult times [see Mosiah 24].”
The Keetch family couldn’t have known that soon after his trip to California, Elder Keetch’s illness and death would place them in their own fiery furnace. During that trial, his daughter said, “Just like the pottery in California, I will withstand the flames. And I will be stronger because of them.”
For me, the image of pottery unharmed by extreme heat shows that we can withstand the fires of affliction. Through our faith in Christ and His Atonement, we will receive strength. Even during our most painful trials, He can bring us peace. (See Matthew 8:23–27; 11:28; Mark 4:35–41.)
I believe the Keetch family will not only remain strong but also increase in faith—and yes, even joy—as they look forward to a sweet reunion with their husband, father, and grandfather. When our faith is built “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God” (Helaman 5:12), our burdens become lighter.

The New Era is my favorite magazine. I eagerly await each issue. I particularly want to thank you for the February 1987 issue on temple marriage. My best friend is getting married in the temple in June, and after I read that issue from cover to cover, I let her borrow it. It was really an eye-opener for us both and answered a lot of questions we had. It also made me realize what a blessing it is to get married in the temple, and it makes it even easier to stick to my goal of going there someday. But when I’m in doubt, you can be sure I’ll sit down and read it all over again!