Gospel Story Finder

As a boy, I well remember Sunday School on Mother’s Day. We would hand to each mother present a small potted plant and sit in silent reverie as Melvin Watson, a blind member, would stand by the piano and sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” This was the first time I saw a blind man cry. Even today, in memory, I can see the moist tears move from those sightless eyes, then form tiny rivulets and course down his cheeks, falling finally upon the lapel of the suit he had never seen. In boyhood puzzlement I wondered why all the grown men were silent, why so many handkerchiefs came forth. Now I know: mother was remembered. Each boy, each girl, all fathers and husbands seemed to make a silent pledge, “I will remember that wonderful mother of mine.”

While serving as president of the Japan Hiroshima Mission, I attended the services of the Hamada Branch in the Hiroshima Japan Stake. This small branch has an average attendance of about 35 members and investigators and meets in a rented building. When I entered the chapel, I was warmly welcomed by 10-year-old Eimi Funaki, who was playing prelude music on the branch’s electric organ. When the sacrament meeting started, I was surprised to see Eimi remain at the organ, thinking that a more mature member would be serving as the branch organist. I was even more surprised when 11-year-old Miho Hirano took her place behind the music stand as the branch chorister and began leading the congregation in the opening hymn. They both did a beautiful job. Although they are young in body, they are very mature in spirit. Their faithful efforts brought a wonderful sweet spirit to the meeting. I hope their example will help other Primary children want to develop their talents.

One of my favorite times during childhood was Holy Week, even though I didn’t understand its significance and sacredness.
I loved the traditions my beloved mother had established, especially those related to food. My mother, Doña Negra, was a devout Catholic. During Lent (a 40-day period of spiritual preparation for Easter celebrated in the Catholic Church and other Christian churches), we followed certain practices.
During this period, we didn’t eat meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. The menu at my house always included rice, pigeon peas, fried eggs, fried eggplant (torrejas), green salads, and codfish. My mother would also prepare sweet beans. I loved the food my mother made, but it wasn’t until I grew up and was baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that I began to understand and value the importance and sacredness of this time and why we celebrate Easter.
From one of the Apostles, President Jeffrey R. Holland, I learned that the Passover feast, instituted in ancient Israel, reminded the people that “the Lord brought [them] out from Egypt, from the house of bondage” (Exodus 13:14). Thus, this annual celebration helped the Israelites remember that the Lord had delivered them from death and captivity.
With the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, the Lord delivered us from physical and spiritual death by providing the opportunity to be cleansed from our sins. Therefore, the ritual of Passover, which involved sacrificing the firstborn of the flock, was replaced by the ordinance of the sacrament. By partaking of it, the “children of the promise have been under covenant to remember Christ’s sacrifice in this newer, higher, more holy and personal way. …
“With so very much at stake, this ordinance commemorating our escape from the angel of darkness should be taken more seriously than it sometimes is. It should be a powerful, reverent, reflective moment. It should encourage spiritual feelings and impressions. …
“… Do we see it as our passover, remembrance of our safety and deliverance and redemption?”
For most people, Easter is just a holiday. It is often used to do many worldly things that take us away from the true spirit of Easter. We should strive to establish practices in our families that promote understanding of the Savior’s Atonement and fill our homes with gratitude for the gift of the Father and the Son.
These words from the Prophet Joseph Smith add additional context to the importance of the events related to Easter: “The fundamental principles of our religion are the testimony of the Apostles and Prophets, concerning Jesus Christ, that He died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it”
In his message “The Greatest Easter Story Ever Told”, Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles exhorted us: “Perhaps the question we have asked ourselves is one we could all contemplate: How do we model the teaching and celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Easter story, with the same balance, fulness, and rich religious tradition of the birth of Jesus Christ, the Christmas story?”
We are all trying. I see an increasing effort among Latter-day Saints to celebrate Easter in a more Christ-centered way, which includes a greater and more contemplative recognition of Palm Sunday and Good Friday. We could also adopt appropriate, Christ-centered Easter traditions found in the cultures and customs of countries around the world.
N. T. Wright, a New Testament scholar, suggested: “We should take steps to celebrate the Resurrection Easter in new creative ways: with art, literature, children’s games, poetry, music, dance, festivals, bells, special concerts. [. . .] It is our greatest festival. If we removed Christmas, in biblical terms, we would lose two chapters at the beginning of Matthew and Luke, and nothing more. If we removed Easter, the New Testament would disappear; we would have no Christianity.”
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said:
“No words in Christendom mean more to me than those spoken by the angel to the weeping Mary Magdalene and the other Mary as they approached the tomb to care for the body of their Lord:
“‘Why seek ye the living among the dead?
“‘He is not here, but is risen’ (Luke 24:5–6).
I pray that the Lord will bless us so that we can understand the magnitude of what our Lord Jesus Christ did for us. It is necessary to establish in our hearts and in the hearts of our posterity a greater understanding and gratitude for the Lord’s Atonement and for the celebration of the Passover.
President Monson continued:
“Our Savior lived again. The most glorious, comforting, and reassuring of all events of human history had taken place—the victory over death. The pain and agony of Gethsemane and Calvary had been wiped away. The salvation of mankind had been secured. The Fall of Adam had been reclaimed.
“The empty tomb on that first Easter morning was the answer to Job’s question: ‘If a man die, shall he live again?’ (Job 14:14). To all within the sound of my voice, I declare, If a man die, he shall live again. We know, for we have the light of revealed truth.
“‘For since by man came death, by man [Jesus Christ] came also the resurrection of the dead.
“‘For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive’ (1 Corinthians 15:21–22). …
“… Two weeks ago, I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and ‘always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.’
“Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether his son was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. ‘Jason,’ he said, ‘I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.’ He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, ‘Never!’ in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
“His father wrote: ‘In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. . . . As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. . . . [That] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.’
“Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
“In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. The caption was written beneath the photograph: ‘Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.’
“Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: ‘I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again. . . . We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. . . . If we strive our best to obey and be better in this life, we will see [him again].’ She continued: ‘[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. . . . [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’
“My beloved brothers and sisters, in our hour of deepest sorrow, we can receive profound peace from the words of the angel that first Easter morning: ‘He is not here: for he is risen” (Matthew 28:6).
God lives; He is our beloved Heavenly Father. I am very grateful to now understand a little more of what my Savior willingly did for me. He was wounded, bruised, and chastised. He suffered my pains, afflictions, and illnesses. He is my Savior. And I share this in His sweet name, the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
For ideas on how to celebrate a Christ-centered Easter, see “Making Easter a Time to Remember the Savior” in the April 2023 Liahona.

This story happened in Iceland.
“Higher!” Evolett said to her friend Anita. They were seeing how high they could jump on Evolett’s trampoline.
Just then, Anita jumped very high. When her feet landed again, it made Evolett fly up! Both girls crashed down on the trampoline. They laughed.
“This is so fun,” Anita said. “Can we play tomorrow too?”
Evolett flopped onto her back. “Yeah! I’d love to.”
“We can play at my granny’s house.” Anita’s granny lived a few houses away from Evolett.
Then Evolett remembered the next day was Sunday. She wanted to go to Primary. It would be fun to play with Anita, but she wanted to make a good choice.
“I just remembered I can’t,” Evolett said. “I’m sorry. I’m going to church with my family tomorrow.”
Anita stood up and bounced again. “Why?”
Evolett started jumping too. “Well, I want to follow Jesus Christ. My family goes to church every Sunday to learn about Him and take the sacrament.”
“What’s the sacrament?” Anita asked.
“That’s when we eat a small bite of bread and drink a little cup of water to remember Jesus Christ,” said Evolett. “Then people talk about how Jesus helps them. And after that, there’s a special class for kids!”
“That sounds fun!” Anita said. “Can I come?”
“Sure!” Evolett smiled.
Anita ran home to ask her granny if she could go to church with Evolett. The next morning, Evolett and her family picked up Anita on their way.
When they got to church, Evolett showed Anita around. She showed her the Primary room, the gym, and the chapel.
Soon it was time for sacrament meeting. Evolett and Anita sat together. Evolett tried to think of Jesus Christ during the sacrament. Then they listened to the talks.
Finally it was time for Primary! Evolett introduced Anita to some of her friends.
“This is my friend Anita,” Evolett said.
“We are so glad you came today. I am Sister Magnusson,” the Primary teacher said.
As Evolett and Anita listened to the lesson about Jesus Christ, Evolett felt happy inside. She liked being at church with Anita. She turned and smiled at Anita. Her friend smiled back.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Anita said on the way home.
Evolett was glad she could follow Jesus Christ. And she was glad that Anita wanted to learn about Him too.
It was fun to jump on a trampoline and fly in the air, but the warm feeling Evolett felt inside was even better.
Who could you invite to church with you?
Illustrations by Fiona Powers

Emma Swenson Hansen, another woman of great strength and endurance, regularly helped her husband in the fields when her “condition” would permit it and had the reputation for loading hay better than anyone in the community. Once the hay she was stacking slipped, and her husband saw her slide and fall to the ground. “What are you doing down there?” he asked. “I came down for more hay,” she gamely replied. Her history shows that she kept bees, milked cows, fed the calves, cared for the chickens, cut alfalfa with a scythe to give to her pigs, cured their pork, half-soled the family shoes, and made all the family’s clothing.3

After young Gordon had been ordained a deacon, his father took him—somewhat unwillingly, he recalls—to a stake priesthood meeting. While his father as stake president took his place on the stand, Gordon sat on the back row. During the singing of the opening hymn, “Praise to the Man,” his attitude changed. “As I heard them sing that hymn with power and conviction, there came into my heart a witness of the divine calling of the boy Joseph, and I am grateful that the Lord has sustained that witness through more than seventy years since then” (Ensign, Nov. 1993, p. 51).

5. Family councils. As you would expect to hear from me, one of the best tools we have as parents is the family council. I cannot emphasize enough its importance in helping to understand and address challenges in the family. When members of one family began to feel unusual contention invading their home, they called a family council to discuss the situation. The father and then the mother explained to their children what they had observed and asked how each felt about it. The mother and father learned that since their two oldest children had left home, one to be married and one to go to college, an unfair burden of responsibility had been unwittingly shifted to the two oldest children remaining at home, and they were becoming resentful. By counseling together and listening to what their children were feeling, the family made a more equitable distribution of responsibility among the children, resolving much of the frustration and tension in the home.

I grew up in an active Latter-day Saint family in England, the eighth of 10 children. Our faithful parents taught us the gospel and set good examples. But at about age 14, I began to find it difficult to attend early-morning seminary, go to various classes and firesides, and attend youth activities. Most of my friends were not members of the Church and had very different standards from the ones I was raised with.
I began to make bad decisions because I wanted so much to be like my friends and have the so-called fun they were having. By the time I was 15, I was completely inactive in the Church. As I became older, my life grew even more worldly.
At the same time, however, I began to feel something deep down in my soul. Questions about the purpose of life and the destiny of man started to fill my mind. The world I once knew and thought I loved had become a very dark, cold, and lonely place. My soul was not fully satisfied with what the world had to offer. I had a feeling that I should be somewhere other than my hometown, a feeling that I was meant to do something else with my life.
After many weeks of these feelings and thoughts, I decided to pray and ask for help, the first time I had prayed in a long while. I decided to wait until night, when everyone was asleep. After my prayer, I thought and listened, but there was nothing. I continued in this way for weeks until it hit me: perhaps God would not answer me straight away simply because I had been raised in the gospel and unfortunately I had never seriously appreciated it.
One evening I changed my method. Instead of demanding an answer and expecting the Lord to give it straight away, I promised the Lord that if He would answer, I would serve Him as a missionary. For the first time, I prayed to know if the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Church teachings were true. I felt something so powerful yet so peaceful that it caused me to weep.
I went to my bishop, who happened to be my eldest brother, and asked to serve a mission. I was nervous, but I knew that because the Lord had kept His end of the deal, I had to keep mine. Tears streamed down my bishop’s face as I related my experience.

One evening when it was raining, the family sat around the fireside when suddenly a thought came to me. “Father,” I said, a bit boldly for a young boy, “tell us about our grandparents on your side of the family. We have seen our grandparents on Mam’s side but we have not heard anything about our other grandparents.”

Father stared into the fire for a few moments before answering. “Thomas,” he said, “that’s a good question, but I don’t know much about my father. My mother, who died a few years ago, told me that he died just after I was born, and I have never visited his grave. Someday I must do that.” Sometime later Father announced he was taking a day to go visiting out in the country. There was nothing unusual about this as he had relatives who lived in a little cottage in a village a few kilometers away.

When he returned home that night, we could tell by his actions that something was wrong. A few days later, he called the family together and told us what he had learned.

He had visited an old church in a village called Llanviangel and there he had found the record of his father and of his own birth. This was the story that our father told us:

In a little coal mining village up the valley a girl was born to his grandparents. They named her Rhonwen. When she was sixteen years old, she was sent to work as a servant for a rich family. Before a year had passed, she returned home expecting a baby. Her wealthy employer had taken advantage of her innocence. When he found she was pregnant he paid her two months’ salary and sent her home.

Rhonwen married one of the young men of the village before the baby was born. She failed to have him christened or his birth recorded, and he grew up with the name of Rhonwen’s husband who was killed in a coal mine disaster just after the child was born.

The discovery of the circumstances of his birth, which had later been recorded by the minister of the church, changed our father’s life. He lost interest in his garden and in his personal appearance. Instead of being his happy self, he became morose and moody.

Then one day, Mam, who normally was as gentle as an angel, made Father sit down in his favorite chair. Her gentleness was gone and in her eyes there was a bit of fire. “Gwyllam [William],” she said, “you are acting like a fool. Just because a wicked man took advantage of a young girl and a child was born, you are cursing yourself and putting the curse on all your family. It was God that gave you birth and I saw in you a fine man whom I loved dearly and married.”

The fire was still in her eyes as she spoke again. “Now I will not stand by and see you destroy yourself and us.”

She put her arms around his neck and in a voice that was now touched with love she said, “Oh my Gwyllam, we cannot live in the past. We have each other, our children and our love. Someone sinned but it was not you. Besides, we have the gospel and you hold the priesthood of God. Can we ask for more?”

It was then the agony in his heart burst forth and the tears came—tears that washed away the bitterness and cleansed his mind. From that day on he became our beloved father again. We resumed our walks in the hills and he tended his garden and flowers.

Carlitos wiped the tears from his eyes. His mamá had been sick for many months. At last Papá had convinced her to go to the city, many kilometers from their small village in Chile, and see a doctor. After many tests, the doctor said that Carlitos’s mamá had cancer.
Mamá refused to feel sorry for herself. “I still have much to do,” she said.
One day, two young norteamericanos (North Americans) appeared at the door of their small home. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” one said in halting Spanish.
Mamá listened intently and occasionally asked questions. She accepted the young men’s message immediately. “It is the truth,” she said.
Despite the disease that caused her much pain, Mamá was determined to be baptized and confirmed.
On Saturday morning the family traveled to the small meetinghouse where Elder Metzer baptized her. She shivered as she stepped from the baptismal font.
“Mamá, you are cold,” Carlitos said and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You must go home and get warm.”
Mamá shook her head. “It is not enough. I will stay until I am confirmed. How can I be cold when the gospel warms me?” She was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Mamá was not content with just that. She was determined that Papá and Carlitos learn of the restored gospel as she had. “If you will pray, you will know the truth of which the missionaries speak,” she told them.
The elders taught them the gospel of Jesus Christ. Papá would have to give up his cigarettes. Carlitos listened to the elders’ teachings and felt peace wrap around his heart. He began to understand the warmth that Mamá had described.
Within a month Papá had stopped smoking. Shortly afterward both Papá and Carlitos were baptized and confirmed. A few weeks later Papá received the Aaronic Priesthood. Carlitos would have to wait three more years before he could receive the priesthood.
Mamá was very weak, but she always managed to go to church and visit those in the village who were sick.
“We are members of God’s Church, but it is not enough,” Mamá told Papá and Carlitos one night.
“What must we do now?” Carlitos asked. He loved learning about the gospel and wanted to live it in every way.
“We must be sealed in the temple,” Mamá said.
The temple in Santiago was the closest one to their home. But they did not have enough money to travel there. Any extra money Papá earned went to buy medicine for Mamá.
So Mamá started a temple jar. She placed it by the door. The coins she collected grew until the family had enough money to make the trip. In the temple their family was sealed for time and all eternity.
Mamá glowed with happiness. “It is enough,” she said.

A few years later I was called to be a counselor in my ward Relief Society presidency. I felt inadequate to fulfill this calling. I began to study the principle of charity. I prayed to develop more Christlike charity for the sisters I served. But I wasn’t quite sure what this spiritual gift would look or feel like.
My anxiety was weighing on my mind as I made lunch one day. My third daughter, Annie, was sitting on the middle landing of our stairs, engrossed in her two-year-old imagination. I watched as she leaned forward to grab a toy, lost her balance, and tumbled down four or five stairs. I ran to her and tried to calm her as she cried. I quieted her enough to hear a little sob coming from the kitchen table. I looked over to see five-year-old Claire crying.
“Come here.” I said. “What’s wrong?”
She ran to join Annie and me in a family hug. The words she spoke were a direct answer to my prayerful question about charity.
“I saw Annie start to fall, and then I watched her and saw how sad she felt,” she said. “I would rather fall down the stairs for Annie than watch her have to fall down.”
The thought immediately came to my mind through the Spirit, “That is charity.”

Everyone in the third grade class likes Sarah. She always has someone to eat her lunch with and is the first one chosen for team games. She has pretty, dark brown hair and can draw beautiful pictures. I wanted everyone to like me the way that they liked Sarah. I thought about it as I walked home from school. Maybe, I decided, if I was just like Sarah, everyone would like me too.
The next morning I had my mother put my hair in braids just like Sarah’s. I tied a red ribbon bow at the end of each braid—red was Sarah’s favorite color. Then I put on a sweater. Sarah always wore a sweater.
When it was time for art class, Mrs. Williams wanted us to draw a picture of summer. I watched Sarah, then drew frogs and ducks and kids swimming in a pond just like in Sarah’s picture. The kids liked her picture, but nobody said anything about mine.
At recess, Sarah was playing jump rope with a bunch of girls, so I went over and joined in. But I don’t really like playing jump rope, and I was glad when the bell finally rang.
At lunchtime, Sarah ate with Sally and Anna. I ate by myself. I’m not trying hard enough, I thought. Tomorrow I’ll do better.
The next day, I brought my purse to school just like Sarah does. I dressed like Sarah, too. I even brought the same kind of sandwich that Sarah likes so much. When Sarah volunteered to help clean the chalkboards after school, I did too. At recess, I followed Sarah to the kickball field. She got picked first. I was chosen second to last. I didn’t like playing kickball any better than I liked jump rope. At lunchtime Sarah ate with Jenny and Michael, and I ate by myself again.
When we had music class, I played the xylophone like Sarah. And when Sarah helped Billy during math class, I told Mrs. Williams that I could help too. She said, “Thank you for offering, but you need to finish your own work first.” Some of the girls giggled at me, and Mrs. Williams told them to be quiet. I felt horrible. Being like Sarah was hard.
After school I stayed and helped Sarah clean the chalkboards because we had volunteered. Everyone else went outside to play while they waited for the school buses to take them home. The sun was shining, and I wanted to leave too.
“Which board do you want to clean?” Sarah asked.
“I’ll do the front one,” I said. It was the smallest, and I wanted to get done fast.
“OK,” Sarah said, and she got out two clean erasers. Sarah hummed the new song that we had learned in music class as she worked. It was a catchy tune. Pretty soon I was singing the words.
Sarah stopped working. “Katie,” she said, “you have such a pretty singing voice—and a good memory too. I could never have learned all those words yet.”
I looked up in surprise. “Thanks,” I said. “I guess music is my favorite class.”
All the way home, I thought about what Sarah had said. I am good at remembering and singing, I thought. Then I figured out that each person was different but that everyone was the best at something. I also realized that I couldn’t really be like Sarah—except maybe in one special way that I hadn’t tried yet.
The next day, I wore my favorite shirt to school. I had my mother fix my hair in a big ponytail, and I took a sandwich for lunch that I liked. At recess, I played volleyball—I love playing volleyball.
At lunchtime, Sarah ate with Susan. I looked around and saw Andy eating by himself. Not many people talk to Andy. I walked over and smiled at him. “Could I eat my lunch with you today?” I asked. “You can tell me about the farm that you visited.”
Andy smiled. “Sure,” he said, moving his lunch sack over to make room.
I sat down to eat, and I felt happier than ever. Being friendly and kind was the best way to be just like Sarah.

Peter McBride was a six-year-old boy who was probably hungrier, colder, and more exhausted than you have ever been. But he couldn’t go inside to warm up or buy food at the store. He could only go inside his tent, which collapsed on him one night and froze to his hair. He could only eat whatever he could find, like boiled ox hide and tree bark. Peter was a member of the Edward Martin Handcart Company.
Members of this company had come from faraway England. Problems delayed their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, and by October they were running out of food. All Peter and his baby sister were given to eat was a little flour each day. Early winter storms came, making pulling a handcart very difficult. Many were dying from cold and exhaustion.
When they came to the North Platte River, Peter said his father “worked hard all day pushing and pulling handcarts through the icy waters of that dangerous river,” helping people reach the other side. Peter’s father had a beautiful singing voice, and before he went to bed that night, he sang about how he longed to be in Zion. “The wind was blowing very cold,” Peter described. “The snow drifted in and covered our tent.”1 The next morning, Peter’s father was dead. Peter cried as he watched his father’s body being buried beneath the snow.
Peter’s older sister Jenetta was left in charge because their mother was sick. Jenetta often walked to the river to get water for cooking, even though her shoes had worn out. Her bare feet left bloody footprints in the snow wherever she went. Realizing they could go no further, the company camped near the Sweetwater River and hoped that help would arrive before it was too late.
A group of missionaries returning home to the Salt Lake Valley passed the struggling pioneers and told Brigham Young about them. Immediately, he called for 20 rescue wagons to be sent. At last, Peter and the pioneers joyfully caught sight of the wagons approaching. Peter said that “men, women, and children knelt down and thanked the Almighty God for [their] delivery from certain death.”2
The rescue teams could not carry enough food and supplies to relieve all the suffering, but they helped give the pioneers courage to continue. Together, they crossed the Sweetwater River and found shelter amid the rocks now known as Martin’s Cove. There, most of the company left their handcarts behind. The weakest pioneers rode in the wagons, and others walked until more wagons came, giving enough room for everyone to ride the rest of the way. On November 30, 1856, Peter and the handcart pioneers arrived safely in the Salt Lake Valley—where they remained faithful Church members for the rest of their lives.

Growing up, I had lots of fun with my older brother and my younger brother. We had water fights with water hoses and garbage can lids. We took apart roller skates and made them into scooters. And I always looked for ways to earn money. One summer, I picked vegetables from our garden and sold them around the neighborhood—until my mother found out! I was selling what she was counting on as food for our own family. When I got older, I mowed lawns and did other jobs around the neighborhood.

Sometimes confirming and restraining revelations are combined. For example, during my service at BYU I was invited to give a speech before a national association of attorneys. Because it would require many days to prepare, this was the kind of speaking invitation I had routinely declined. But as I began to dictate a letter declining this particular invitation, I felt restrained. I paused and reconsidered my action. I then considered how I might accept the invitation, and as I came to consider it in that light, I felt the confirming assurance of the Spirit and knew that this was what I must do.

The speech that resulted, “A Private University Looks at Government Regulation,” opened the door to a host of important opportunities. I was invited to repeat that same speech before several other nationally prominent groups. It was published in Vital Speeches, in a professional journal, and in several other periodicals and books, from which it was used as a leading statement of the private university’s interest in freedom from government regulation. This speech led to BYU’s being consulted by various church groups on the proper relationship between government and a church-related college. These consultations in turn contributed to the formation of a national organization of church-related colleges and universities that has provided a significant coalition to oppose unlawful or unwise government regulation in the future. I have no doubt, as I look back on the event, that this speaking invitation I almost declined was one of those occasions when a seemingly insignificant act made a great deal of difference. Those are the times when it is vital for us to receive the guidance of the Lord, and those are the times when revelation will come to aid us if we will hear and heed it.

I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.

On a dark December night 36 years ago, a Lockheed 1011 jumbo jet crashed into the Florida Everglades, killing over 100 people. This terrible accident was one of the deadliest crashes in the history of the United States.
A curious thing about this accident is that all vital parts and systems of the airplane were functioning perfectly—the plane could have easily landed safely at its destination in Miami, only 20 miles (32km) away.
During the final approach, however, the crew noticed that one green light had failed to illuminate—a light that indicates whether or not the nose landing gear has extended successfully. The pilots discontinued the approach, set the aircraft into a circling holding pattern over the pitch-black Everglades, and turned their attention toward investigating the problem.
They became so preoccupied with their search that they failed to realize the plane was gradually descending closer and closer toward the dark swamp below. By the time someone noticed what was happening, it was too late to avoid the disaster.
After the accident, investigators tried to determine the cause. The landing gear had indeed lowered properly. The plane was in perfect mechanical condition. Everything was working properly—all except one thing: a single burned-out lightbulb. That tiny bulb—worth about 20 cents—started the chain of events that ultimately led to the tragic death of over 100 people.
Of course, the malfunctioning lightbulb didn’t cause the accident; it happened because the crew placed its focus on something that seemed to matter at the moment while losing sight of what mattered most.

The caravan had left Winter Quarters in mid-June, about two months after the advance company’s departure.1 Though only in her twenties, Jane was used to long overland journeys. After being denied passage on a canal boat in 1843, likely because of the color of their skin, she and a small group of black Latter-day Saints had walked almost eight hundred miles from western New York to Nauvoo. Later, Jane and Isaac had walked across the muddy prairies of Iowa with the Camp of Israel. For most of that time, Jane had been pregnant with her son Silas, who was born along the trail.2

Whenever I’m having a hard day, I like to read the New Era. I always find that it helps me cheer up. February 2007’s issue came exactly on one of those days. I was sick and couldn’t go to school. That night I read the New Era and found the article “Don’t Face the World Alone.” It included a couple of scriptures that helped me regain happiness. The article itself said that if we can have faith in the Lord and obey Him, we can have good things happen to us and we can help other people. After that, I felt inspired to read the rest of the articles.Wryn W., Colorado

To prepare for the devotional, the Loneza family utilized the Meet the Apostle feature of the Gospel Library app during family home evening. After having a fun activity learning about modern-day apostles, “we asked our sons Lou Fredrich and Lourd Frincerich to show us an apostle they knew,” Sister Marisol Loneza describes, “and they browsed through the computer screen and pointed to Elder Rasband’s picture.”
Sadly, Marisol had to be hospitalized on the day of the devotional due to breathing problems, and her husband Rico had to leave their children with relatives. But, still desiring to hear the words of the Lord’s representative, Sister Loneza watched the livestream of the devotional using her smartphone—and from her hospital bed.
“His words were a great comfort to me and my husband,” Sister Loneza states, “and I felt I was healed as his message sank into my heart.” As Elder Rasband restated the three things the Lord would want His children to feel (I love you, I thank you, and I need you), Sister Loneza felt an affirming, transforming power: “Truly, the message of the Lord has power to heal a wounded soul.”