Gospel Story Finder

Some years later I again visited the Grand Junction Stake. Again I met the same parents. Still the father had not qualified to have his large and beautiful family join mother and father in a sacred sealing ceremony, that this family might be a forever family. I suggested that if the family would earnestly pray, they could qualify. I indicated that I would be pleased to be with them on that sacred occasion in the temple of God. Mother pleaded, Father strived, children urged, all prayed. The result? Let me share with you a treasured letter that their young son placed under Daddy’s pillow on Father’s Day morning.
Dad:
I love you for what you are and not for what you aren’t. Why don’t you stop smoking? Millions of people have … why can’t you? It’s harmful to your health, your lungs, your heart. If you can’t keep the Word of Wisdom you can’t go to heaven with me, Skip, Brad, Marc, Jeff, Jeannie, Pam, and their families. Us kids keep the Word of Wisdom. Why can’t you? You are stronger, and you are a man. Dad, I want to see you in heaven. We all do. We want to be a whole family in heaven … not half of one.
Dad, you and Mom ought to get two old bikes and start riding around the park every night. You are probably laughing right now, but I wouldn’t be. You laugh at those old people jogging around the park and riding bikes and walking, but they are going to outlive you. Because they are exercising their lungs, their hearts, their muscles. They are going to have the last laughs.
Come on, Dad, be a good guy—don’t smoke, drink, or anything else against our religion. We want you at our graduation. If you do quit smoking and do good stuff like us, you and Mom can go with Brother Monson and get married and sealed to us in the temple.
Come on, Dad—Mom and us kids are just waiting for you. We want to live with you forever. We love you. You’re the greatest, Dad.
Love, Todd
P.S. And if the rest of us wrote one of these, they’d say the same thing.
P.P.S. Mr. Newton has quit smoking. So can you. You are closer to God than Mr. Newton!
That plea, that prayer of faith, was heard and answered. A night I shall ever treasure and long remember was when this entire family assembled in a sacred room in the beautiful temple that graces Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Father was there. Mother was there. Every child was there. Ordinances, eternal in their significance, were performed.
A united prayer of gratitude brought to a close this long-awaited evening.

One woman who came to this realization wrote:
“Right after my divorce, I determined that I was going to give my children the best of everything. … I would provide well for them. … I would substitute in every way for their father. I would take them on picnics, build them a tree house, and play baseball with them. I would not allow them to suffer because of our divorce.
“I baked, sewed, ran, played, wrestled. I cleaned, I ironed. I was busy being both mother and father for them.
“One evening I put the three of them in the bathtub together while I finished a chore. Then I came back, soaped the youngest, rinsed him, lifted him from the tub, and stood him on a bath mat while I wrapped a towel around him. Then I carried him off to the bedroom to put his pajamas on and tuck him into bed. I repeated the process with his brother and then his sister.
“As I bent down to kiss them goodnight, my older son said, ‘Sing us a song, please.’
“‘Which one?’ I asked.
“‘“Rudolph”!’ said the youngest immediately.
“‘No, “Johnny Appleseed,”’ said his brother.
“Then their sister said, ‘Sing, “Stay Awake.”’
“‘I can see if I stay to sing one song, I’ll be singing for an hour, and I don’t have an hour to spare. So goodnight.’ I turned off the lights.
“‘Please sing just one song, mommy. You can choose the song.’
“‘What about our prayers?’
“Firmly, I replied, ‘I said goodnight and I mean goodnight.’
“As I walked back to the bathroom to tidy up, I thought of how grateful they would be someday when they were old enough to understand how much I had done for them!
“As I entered the room I stopped short. There on the bath mat were three perfect sets of damp footprints. For one brief moment I thought I saw standing in the footprints the spirits of those precious children I had just tucked into bed. In that instant I saw the foolishness of my ways. I had been so busy providing for the physical needs of their mortal bodies that I was neglecting their spirits. I knew then that I had a sacred obligation to nourish both. If I were to clothe them in the latest fashions and give them all that money could buy and fail to tend to their spiritual needs, I could not justifiably account for my awesome responsibility as their mother.
“Humbled, I went back to their bedroom. We knelt together in prayer. We all four climbed up on the boys’ big bed and sang song after song until I was the only one awake to sing.”

Having successfully obtained a bachelor’s degree, I decided to enrol for a master’s programme at Iowa State University. I met my future husband there; he was not a member of the Church. And as he was on a sabbatical from Oxford University in the UK, he had to return after being in Iowa for a year.

We were married the day we flew out to the UK. It wasn’t easy in the UK to find a house that we could afford. House prices had nearly doubled in the year my husband was in Iowa, and obtaining a mortgage was difficult, carrying an interest rate near 15 percent. Eventually we bought a house in Headington, Oxford, and bought a car.

Up to this point, I hadn’t attended church at all. Once settled, I discovered where the Church held its meetings and attended, but only twice. Although I could drive, I was afraid to do so in Britain. My husband had to drive me there and pick me up afterwards. It was easier not to go to church. Thus began my wandering through the wilderness.

I wasn’t particularly happy in my first year of marriage, but not through any actions of my husband. I was simply lonely, without my family, my friends, my things, and my old familiar life and comforts. I couldn’t make new friends; I was completely reliant on my husband. I was isolated in a new country among strangers. My self-confidence began to wane. I started to question my identity. Was I American, Japanese, Hawaiian? Where did I belong—in Britain, America, Hawaii? I felt totally lost and wanted to go home. But where was home? I couldn’t answer those questions. I was miserable.

Then a little miracle came into my life, my firstborn. People suddenly became friendlier, it seemed, because of this sweet jewel in my arms. My life began to settle down. A couple of years later and another bundle of joy. Then nine years later, a third jewel appeared. By this time, I was settled and relatively happy. I felt very much accepted by society. I had made friends, understood and accepted the British way of life, and was loving it.

But then cracks began to appear. As the children grew older and left the family nest, the cracks grew wider and deeper. I became unloving and deceitful. I was in deep misery. After awhile, I started to reflect on the days at university in Hawaii, those days when I was in heaven on earth. I so desperately wanted to have that again, but I didn’t know how to get it. (I probably knew but didn’t want to go down that path.)

During one of my trips back to Hawaii to see my mother, I related my early heaven on earth experience to the brother who had introduced me to the gospel many years ago. He simply said, “It was the Holy Ghost.” It shocked me! It had never crossed my mind. His response helped me to put two and two together, but I was stubborn as a mule and would not turn to the Lord. I sought the counsel of man to help me deal with my problems, but soon realised that I was going around in circles. At least, it was a starting point to regaining a sense of self-worth. But it was not enough. I yearned to experience that heaven-on-earth happiness.

It was plain to me what I needed to do, but I still hesitated to do the right thing—to turn my life over to God. I was hesitating because in my mind, returning to Church had some negatives. The Lord would require a commitment that I wasn’t ready to give. So, a few more years were lived in misery.

Finally, I was ready to change, to commit myself to God; I just couldn’t continue as I was. I went to church, talked with my bishop, and took the painful step of repentance. I was afraid of going through this process. I didn’t want to go through it again. It was too painful. It would be too easy to turn away from the Lord—I’d done it once before. Would my commitment stand firm?

But since making this momentous decision, I have learnt to love God and have gained a stronger testimony of the gospel of Christ. My conversion didn’t end there, it was just a starting point, albeit a momentous one. As I’ve attended church, studied the scriptures, and repented continually, I have become a happier person. I have learnt that accepting callings in the Church helps me grow stronger and become more faithful. It helps me develop character, but more importantly my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, bringing me closer to them. Conversion is an ongoing process, continually trying to live in accordance with the love of God.

Brother Lind shared his testimony of the power that comes with being about the Lord’s business. He recalled for them the time he was flying into Hill Air Force Base in Utah in order to fulfill a speaking assignment. A raging snowstorm had lowered visibility to zero and made it apparently necessary to divert to the Salt Lake Airport. That, however, would make it impossible to fulfill his assignment. He decided to make one approach before giving up. “I said, ‘Heavenly Father, I’m on your business, and I need your help.’ As I started in north of the Ogden airport, the sky was just like a great gray theatrical curtain, a solid gray wall. The control tower was calling out instructions. The RVR (runway visibility range) had to get up to 1,600 feet or I could not land, and the controller said, ‘You’re at four miles and your RVR is 300 feet. You’re at two miles and your RVR is 200 feet. You’re at one mile and your RVR is 100 feet’—then all at once he said, ‘4,800 feet?’ Just as I got to the critical point it was as if they had opened the curtain, and there was a long crack right down through the center of the snow squall, and there was the runway right underneath it, and I thought of Moses parting the Red Sea. There it was! I dropped onto the runway, and the storm closed over again. The snow was so deep I could hardly taxi in, and nobody landed at Hill Field for the next three and a half hours. Talk about an answer to prayer! I had a church assignment. I had to get there. The Lord literally opened up the snowstorm.”

As prophet, President David O. McKay traveled with his son Llewelyn to Europe. He dedicated temple sites and tried to greet as many Church members as possible.
Llewelyn: Father, you don’t have time to greet all these children. Aren’t you tired?
President McKay: Son, never hurt a child. I can take time to meet these youngsters—I wouldn’t disappoint them for anything.
Girl: President McKay, could you sign my autograph book?
President McKay: Do you think I can write plainly enough for you to read it?
Just then, someone tapped President McKay on the shoulder and whispered to him for a moment. When he turned back to sign the little girl’s book, she was gone.
President McKay: Llewelyn! Please find the little girl in the blue dress. I’m afraid she thinks I didn’t want to sign her book.
Others helped Llewelyn search, but the little girl was nowhere to be found. On their way to London, Llewelyn and President McKay traveled with a group of missionaries. President McKay told them about the little girl in the blue dress.
President McKay: I wish we could have found her.
Missionary: President McKay, we think we know who she is. We’ll talk to her branch president, and he’ll phone you this evening.
President McKay: Wonderful!
President McKay talked to the little girl’s branch president, apologized for what had happened, and arranged for the autograph book to be sent to his office in Salt Lake City. When it arrived, he eagerly signed it and mailed it back.

As youth around the world make the effort to attend seminary, they’re receiving strength in much more than scripture study. Cameron L. of England found that he was blessed in all areas of his life. “Not only does seminary help with the spiritual side of things, but it also helps with school and education,” says Cameron.
He says that “an early start to the day gets your brain into gear. Some of my friends said they were too busy to attend—well, it’s not like you’re going to be reviewing math at 6:00 a.m., are you?” As you study, “the Lord will help you in your exams, and if you go to seminary, He will help you even more,” says Cameron.
Of course, seminary helped Cameron strengthen his testimony as well. He says, “The beginning of my testimony came from the seminary program. At the youthful age of 14, I was really struggling in the gospel. I did not enjoy church, and I got up to things that I shouldn’t have. It was only a matter of months before I would have given up entirely.” But when a friend invited Cameron to attend seminary, he decided to go with her. Then the blessings really began to come.
“I began to feel the Spirit again,” says Cameron. “I started paying more attention in church and attended my Sunday School and priesthood lessons. It became easier, and I started to feel happier. I finally gained a testimony of the gospel for myself.” After two months of seminary, Cameron met with his bishop and was ordained a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.
Cameron knows that seminary helps him stand strong against the temptations of the world. “As seminary continued,” he says, “I found it easier to deal with the challenges that the world presents. It’s pretty tough being a youth in the world we live in—sin is surrounding us from all sides. I testify to you that if you attend seminary, you will find the strength to defend yourself against it. Seminary creates a spiritual shield to protect you. Many different trials and temptations have been thrown my way, and seminary has been such a huge help in keeping me on the strait and narrow.”

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”

I will begin with a story of Spencer, my nephew. One day when he was three years old, I attended the closing part of Primary with him and his Sunbeam class. A neighbor boy, Phillip, was in the class. I sat with Spence and the Sunbeams on the front row. All of a sudden I felt a pinch on the side of my face. I looked down at the little boy who had inflicted pain. He was grinning. It was Phillip. He continued to pinch me until I took his hand and asked him to stop.
He then proceeded to try and move Spencer out of his seat, roll on the ground, hit another child, run up to the front of the room, and generally cause commotion. Spencer watched all of this dumbfounded and he and I just looked at each other. We got Phillip back in his seat. I tried to give him attention, put my arm around him, and help him be reverent. He was a handful. We made it to the end of the meeting and Phillip ran out of the room. Spence didn't say much on the ride home.
His parents and I got dinner ready. As we were sitting around the table eating, he explained the experience with Phillip during Primary, recalling each incident. Finally, after sharing the details he made this emphatic declaration, "Phillip is not a child of God." We all just sat there puzzled at what he had just said and then got huge grins on our faces and tried not to laugh but be understanding. I recognized that Spencer had been taught by his parents who a child of God was and how he should act and the difference between this and his friend's actions.
We all know that Phillip is a child of God and so is each one of you.

As a Young Women leader, I had been to several New Beginnings programs. But when I went to New Beginnings with my own first daughter, I saw it through new eyes.
As we waited for the program to begin, I couldn’t help wondering what the coming years would hold for my daughter: Would the young women in our ward accept her? Would they be her friends? Would her leaders love her? Would they be her mentors in the challenging times ahead?
After the opening prayer, the older young women and their leaders joined hands in the middle of the room and started singing a beautiful song:
Ours is a circle, a circle of friendship,
and just like a circle, it goes on and on
endless, eternal, this circle of friendship;
enter our circle, for here you belong.1
Then each 16- or 17-year-old young woman took a younger girl by the hand and drew her into the circle too. Again they sang the song, repeating the process until every girl was included.
In the weeks to come, I saw that this song was not an idle promise. It was a symbol for something real and wonderful. The young women in that ward didn’t just accept my daughter; they welcomed her with open hearts. She was treated by the girls her age as an instant new friend, by the older classes as a treasured younger sister, by the leaders as a cherished daughter. How grateful I was—and still am—for those girls and leaders who opened their circle and made my daughter feel wanted, valued, and loved.

Sue was extremely quiet as the family drove home from fast and testimony meeting. So quiet, in fact, that her father sought an opportunity within the hour to talk with her alone. To make a long story short, Sue was laboring under the illusion that she really didn’t have a testimony of the gospel. Two or three members that day had expressed “sure knowledge” that the gospel was true, and in tears Sue said, “Daddy, I can’t say that I know it’s true, and that troubles me.”
Sue’s dad was patient and understanding, for his mind was remembering clearly his teenage years of developing testimony.
“Sue,” he asked, “why do you pay tithing?”
“Because I know it’s a commandment from the Lord,” she replied promptly.
Sue’s dad then led her mind through a quick rerun of some basic principles, including the Word of Wisdom, the law of the fast, partaking of the sacrament, high moral standards, and prayer. To each of these Sue was able to relate positively and promptly. Soon she smiled at her father and said, “Gee, Daddy, I guess I do have a testimony of sorts about everything you mentioned. I suppose I could bear my testimony about the things I understand.”
And that’s the way it is with all of us. Sue had certainly felt a lack of security in this Church, which she loved, but not after her father had proven to her that she was on schedule with a developing testimony about many truths. Real security comes with a developing testimony. Hopefully, we’ll be spending much of our time here in mortality developing our testimony, improving our testimony, and sensing the wonderful security that comes with each new truth riveted securely in its place. We all have an urgent need for security.

Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.

Whoooo! Cole listened to thewind blow outside. Cole thought about the nest in the tree. He hoped the baby birds were OK in the storm. The next morning Cole ran outside. He looked up at the tree. No nest! The mommy bird looked worried. Then Cole saw the nest. It was on the ground. “Chirp! Chirp!” the baby birds said. Dad put a ladder against the tree. He carefully put the nest back in the tree. “Chirp! Chirp!” the mommy bird said. The birds were happy! And Cole was happy he could help some of God’s creations.

“I’m pregnant!”
Conflicting feelings awoke in my heart as my friend shared the news with me. One half of my heart was so happy for her, truly. But on the other half, I felt a raw, biting ache that I immediately tried to push down into nonexistence.
When you don’t acknowledge pain, it’s not real, right? (Wrong!)
I wish that were the case.
This was the 10th friend of mine who had announced a pregnancy in the past few months, and trust me, I was immensely excited for them all.
However, I couldn’t help but feel deep sadness in my soul. I strive to not be a jealous person, but on this day, as someone who is living the reality of reproductive struggles, I felt I had come across one too many baby announcements. The pain in my heart overflowed.
This part of my life felt so unfair, so uncertain, and so unbelievably hard.
However, in that moment of self-pity, I remembered a source of spiritual strength I always turn to when I am feeling vexed about my circumstances:
My patriarchal blessing.
What is it about patriarchal blessings that makes them so special?
Recently, Elder Kazuhiko Yamashita of the Seventy talked about the significance of patriarchal blessings. He taught, “Your patriarchal blessing is a message from your Heavenly Father and will likely include promises and inspired counsel to guide you throughout your life.”
What a gift—seriously.
I received my blessing at 13 years old because I was struggling with some big challenges and I wanted to better connect with Heavenly Father.
And while it did bring me the connection to Him and peace I needed at that time of life, it also continues to do so today.
I have read these sacred words more times than I can count. Strangely, although the words have never changed, they have comforted and inspired my soul in different ways. Without fail, this blessing from heaven seems to say exactly what I need to hear at any moment in time.
When you read and sincerely ponder your patriarchal blessing, you truly can feel that Heavenly Father is speaking words of affirmation, assurance, and comfort to your soul.
Since I was young, I’ve had an illness that I knew would impact my ability to bring children into the world. Through a lot of prayers, temple attendance, and simply trusting the Lord, I’ve felt peace and hope about my situation many, many times.
So I was frustrated with myself for once again feeling isolated from the rest of the young expectant mothers around me.
This wasn’t my first time trying to wrangle these difficult emotions.
And like always, when I turned to the words in my patriarchal blessing for solace, I felt the Spirit’s comforting presence fill my soul.
When I read about my divine identity, I feel connected to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
When I read about my spiritual gifts, I feel empowered to face my challenges with grace and to share the light of Jesus Christ with others.
When I read about the promises the Lord has made to me, I feel a renewed sense of reassurance that He will provide my life with blessings in His time, even if I need to wait on Him.
Elder Randall K. Bennett of the Seventy recently taught, “Cherishing my patriarchal blessing while I was young blessed me with courage when I was discouraged, comfort when I was fearful, peace when I felt anxious, hope when I felt hopeless, and joy when I needed it most.”
I can say the same.
If you haven’t yet received your patriarchal blessing, I invite you to do whatever is necessary to prepare to receive it. Few things in this world have made me feel more connected to my divine identity—and to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—than this sacred message.
If you have received your blessing, don’t take those words for granted—remember this blessing is your “personal Liahona.” Receiving a patriarchal blessing allows us to more fully realize how much our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know us individually and want to guide our lives toward joy.
Elder Yamashita also testified: “[Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ] love us. Patriarchal blessings are sacred gifts from Them. When you receive your blessing, you will realize and feel how They love you and how They focus on you individually.”
I feel the gap between myself and Them minimize every time I read my patriarchal blessing. Although it doesn’t reveal all the details about how my life will unfold, it does reveal that I can turn to Them for guidance and that I can have hope for the promised blessings I’m seeking to come into my life when the time is right.
My patriarchal blessing deepens my trust in Them, which allows me to replace the bite of unfairness and jealousy in my heart with the warmth of peace and hope.
It can do the same for you.

I have a Young Women leader named Jennifer. She is my inspiration. When I was in seventh grade, she showed up at my doorstep every Wednesday and Sunday, wondering if I was going to go to Mutual or church. I always came up with the excuse of being “busy,” so I said no. Then I noticed her visits were a repetition. She was showing up every week, so one Wednesday I decided to try going to Mutual.
When I went, I felt so loved. I just loved being there with the other young women and leaders. I went home and cried myself to sleep, I was so happy. On Sunday, Jennifer was at my door again. I said no, so she made me a deal. She said if I went to just Young Women and liked it, she would continue to take me; if not, she would keep bugging me. So I went, and I loved it.
I started getting back into the Church, and I remembered how much I loved the gospel. Jennifer has been there for me through everything. I am so glad that Heavenly Father has blessed me with my leaders, especially Jennifer. She has made such a great impact on my life. I haven’t always made the right choices, but I am glad and so grateful that I have her on my side. She has motivated me to become active again. I don’t know how I could ever repay her. I thank Heavenly Father that I have her in my life.
I now know how to appreciate my leaders more. I know that they are here for us and they can help us become better young women and men. That’s why God blessed us with them.

“Mike,” Dad called. “Time for school.” Walking slowly down the stairs, Mike found Dad waiting for him at the bottom.
“Do I have to go?” Mike asked. “Can’t I wait until tomorrow?”
Dad shook his head. “There have been too many tomorrows. I understand how you feel, but you need to get caught up.”
“Mrs. Peters sent home some of my work,” Mike said.
Dad sighed and handed Mike a sweater. “Today I go back to work—and you go back to school.”
Mike felt tears welling up. Surely he wasn’t going to cry again! “It’s so hard without Mom.”
Dad knelt and hugged Mike. “I know.” Mike could see the pain in Dad’s eyes.
As Mike walked out the door, he looked at Mom’s beautiful rose garden. But it wasn’t beautiful anymore. Weeds were popping up everywhere. He sighed. Would anything ever be the same again?
School was the same—noisy children running and talking. Mike dragged himself into his third-grade classroom.
Sam, his best friend, waved. Mike tried to smile, but his smile wouldn’t work. He kept taking deep breaths and trying not to cry.
Mrs. Peters began class. Mike heard her talking, but his gaze wandered outside. It was sunny. “How can the world look bright when Mom has died?” he wondered. A tear slid down his nose.
“Look, Mike’s crying!” shouted Bill, who sat across the aisle.
Without thinking, Mike got up and ran out the door and down the hall. He would never go back to school again! He pushed open the big school doors and ran the five blocks home. It was cold without a sweater.
He went to his room to get a jacket, then sat on his swing in the backyard. He swung back and forth, staring at the ground.
He thought of going to Grandma’s house, but she was sad now, too. She used to laugh a lot and go bowling and bake cookies. He wondered if she had gone back to work, too.
Mike made the swing go higher. Maybe, he thought, he would fall off and die. Then he could go to heaven and see Mom.
He heard words like the wind in the trees—“Then Dad and Grandma wouldn’t have you. Would you want Dad to leave?”
He stopped the swing, his feet skidding in the dirt. Who had said that? Was it Mom, speaking to him from heaven? He looked around, but there was only the sound of leaves rustling in the wind.
Mike looked at the patch of blue sky through the trees. “I miss my mom! Please, Heavenly Father, help me!” His tears started again.
Suddenly he had the urge to go to Mom’s rose garden. He stood looking at the poor rosebushes, without water and with lots of weeds. Mom sure wouldn’t like that! He knelt and began pulling and yanking at the weeds. Then he grabbed the garden hose and watered the bushes he had weeded. Soon it would be spring, and the roses would bloom bright red and yellow and pink. He wondered if Mom would see them from heaven. Somehow he felt closer to her as he worked in her garden.
Dad’s car came roaring up the driveway. He jumped out, ran to Mike, and hugged him. “They called me from school.”
“I’ll go back tomorrow,” Mike promised. “Dad, look at the rosebushes.”
“Mom would be proud,” Dad said. “I’ll change clothes, and we can work on it together.”
As Mike weeded alongside Dad, he thought of the roses that would bloom. He could almost smell their fragrance. After they bloomed, he decided, he would pick some of them for Grandma.
Mike looked up to see Sam and Bill. The two boys looked at the weeds.
“Can we help?” Sam asked.
Mike nodded. Slowly, a smile crept onto his face.

Photographs by Cody Bell
Michelle was born with VACTERL association with hydrocephalus. “This means she has a lot of health problems,” say her parents. “But when Michelle hears there is something to be done, she will find a way.”
When President Nelson asked the youth to help gather Israel in 2018, Michelle T. of Oregon, USA, paid close attention.1
Then she decided to answer the challenge.
Almost immediately, however, she faced obstacles. Michelle wanted to get started with indexing, yet even with her membership number handy, she couldn’t sign up. Not with her parents’ help, and not with her grandparents’ help (and they are very big family history pros!).
Even after going into the nearby family history center, things still weren’t working. This, by the way, is highly unusual! Normally it’s a fairly straightforward process. When the volunteers at the family history center finally got Michelle up and running, they looked at her and said, “You must be meant for great things in family history, because you’re facing a lot of opposition right from the start!”
She has indeed gone on to great things in family history. In fact, a video she shared during RootsTech 2021 ended up being the #1 watched video from the conference. She has an inspiring story to tell! And it’s only gotten more inspiring since then.
Michelle can’t speak, so she uses text on her phone to communicate.
At first, Michelle decided to do a batch or two of names each Sunday evening. She joined a video call with her grandparents so that they could help teach her the ropes.
“It was hard!” she says. “Cursive is hard!”
However, she was not going to be intimidated. Michelle kept at it. As she started learning more and getting better, she decided to set a goal for indexing 1,000 names in 2019.
After hitting that goal, she set a much more ambitious goal for 2020—especially after the pandemic hit and she had more time available. She was soon indexing as many as 1,000 names each month!
As she kept indexing, bit by bit Michelle began noticing something interesting in her life—things were just simply getting better.
“I started noticing differences in my life,” says Michelle. “I felt healthier. I was kinder to my family. I felt calmer and more peaceful. I was happier! I wanted to do more good things. I felt the Spirit so much stronger! Indexing wasn’t just helping me, it was helping others.”
Michelle enjoys sewing and baking for her family. “It’s so fun to see them enjoy all the things I help create,” she says.
One of the other good things that began happening was an increased ability to focus on her other spiritual goals. “I was reading the scriptures more, especially the Book of Mormon,” Michelle says. “I also started studying my Sunday church lessons each week before class so I could be prepared for the discussions. Learning about my family history has become very important to me along with visiting the temple.”
I began to feel so much peace.
Life can be hectic. Lots of stuff can get in the way! But Michelle has learned the blessings that come from carving out enough time to do family history work. “When I started indexing, I began to feel so much peace,” she explains. “Then my family started noticing the peace I felt and it started flowing into the rest of my family. Our whole home just felt more calm and peaceful, and it is amazing. Jesus Christ is the source of peace. By doing the work that I have been called to do, I received a blessing of peace, the type of peace only the Savior can give. The best part is being able to share that blessing with others.”
Michelle loves teaching others how to do family history.
Clearly, Michelle has felt the blessings firsthand of how indexing blesses her life. She also has a testimony of how her efforts can also bless many other lives on both sides of the veil.
One experience she likes to share to teach this point is that her grandmother had been looking for a specific ancestor for a long time, without any luck. Then a few years back, somebody indexed the name of this family member. That’s all it took for Michelle’s grandmother to be able to find this ancestor at last!
“That story really motivates me,” Michelle says. Small steps connect many dots and bless many lives.
Is it easy to get started and find time for family history? Well, no. At least not usually. Most of us are going to have to shift a few things around in order to make some time. But here, too, Michelle has some tips to get going.
Michelle’s Family History Tips
“Be patient with yourself.”
Sometimes we think we need to learn and know how to do everything from the beginning. It’s not true. We can take our time to figure things out.
“Start small.”
Someone recommended in the beginning that I do a batch or two every Sunday evening. This was a small and easy goal. That made it doable and so much less overwhelming.
“Try multitasking.”
I learned to combine indexing with other things I love. Listening to music and audiobooks or doing video calls with my grandparents are things I do while I index.
“Keep it simple.”
With all the different things that can and need to be done, we can start thinking it is just too hard. That is when I start thinking about focusing on one step at a time, little bit by little bit.
Want to Help Michelle?
Michelle has inspired a lot of people with her story. And they in turn have wanted to help her. You see, sometimes Michelle has medical treatments for her unique health challenges that require her to take a break from indexing for a time.
A few people got together and decided to form an indexing group on FamilySearch so they can help index for Michelle to make up for those times when she’s unable. Anyone can join. If you want to help out, head over to FamilySearch.org and then look up the “Michelle Thornton” indexing group.

The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.
I wanted to run ahead, but my little brother, Joseph, was having a hard time going up the last steep hillside, so I stayed behind and helped him.
I’m proud to be a Cub Scout, and I always try to live the Cub Scout promise to help other people.

When I was only about four years old, I lived in a small town in the state of Coahuila, Mexico. The town had perhaps a hundred people in it—and Coahuilan chestnut monkeys. Here, I first became aware of the Bible. Some men who taught Bible stories to children came once a week. I don’t remember what religion they belonged to, but from the very first time I heard the Bible stories, I loved them. My older brother and my younger brother, too, liked to hear them.
My father was very fond of reading the Bible. He wasn’t a Catholic, but my mother was. She took us to the Catholic church from the time we were very small. Then, in 1956, when I was twelve, the LDS missionaries came to our home. My mother didn’t want to listen to them and, rather than offend them, told them to come only when my father was home. They did and began to teach us. Only two of my brothers were still at home with me—the others were all married.
The missionaries were not only competent but very inspired in getting my mother and us children involved. Each time they came, they read something to us from the scriptures—almost always from the Book of Mormon—and the next time they came, they asked us to report on what they had told us and on what we had read. The three of us and my father and mother were baptized six months later.
When I was baptized, I was already too old for Primary. Even so, I attended it for two years. I did hold the priesthood, but the branch was small and the Primary teachers were so good that I went there. I loved it and was grateful that the teachers didn’t tell me that I couldn’t attend because I was too old. I remember three outstanding teachers. Olga Ramos, Lida del Bosque, and Irma Torres were their names. All three cared a great deal about us children. They diligently taught us and had activities for us. They were young adults then. Now they are married women with grandchildren. I am very grateful to them because it was through their teaching that I learned the gospel.
Once I was baptized, the Church was my world. What I loved best was to be at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in the branch’s Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

While this is a lesson that the Lord is constantly teaching me, I learned it most profoundly during what was probably the biggest storm of my life. After a beautiful and relatively easy pregnancy, complications from the delivery brought me to the edge of life. I lay in the hospital for a month, only partially aware of what was going on and closer to death than I actually then realized. I literally could do nothing on my own. I remember the day that I first felt lucid enough to get perspective on it all and I wrote myself a list so I wouldn’t forget the moment of pure inspiration. Do you think my list had groceries on it or work deadlines? Nope. It said, “Everyone has been amazing. Love them and remember that. Remember that you thought you were going to die. Life is good…live it, be grateful for it. Listen. Simplicity. Slow down, relax, be less worried. Be authentic. Miracles have happened.” But some of my favorites that relate specifically to what we are talking about today are: “Guess what, the world didn’t stop without you!” (Meaning, I realized that I didn’t have to do everything I had thought was so essential before). Another was, “sometimes you just have to say, ‘oh well’”! (Which was very uncharacteristic of me at the time). And finally, “The Lord and Heavenly Father know…follow them.” In the center of it all, in the eye of that storm, the Lord healed me, and not just physically. He taught me the things that mattered most. My family who made extraordinary sacrifices, my health, my job, the priesthood, angels and prayers. I saw that I had been “careful and troubled about many things” but not all of them were needful.

Sometimes the lessons will come quietly. A few weeks ago I was visiting a sacrament meeting at a care facility in Salt Lake City. The priests at the sacrament table were sitting quietly prior to performing their duties when the opening hymn was announced. A patient near the front of the large room had difficulty opening his hymnbook. Without so much as a question, one of the young men slipped to the patient’s side and, gently turning the pages to the correct hymn, placed the disabled man’s finger at the beginning of the first verse of the hymn. They exchanged an understanding smile, and the priest returned to his seat. This modest gesture of love and helpfulness impressed me. I congratulated him and said, “You are going to be an effective missionary.”