Gospel Story Finder

In 1856, at age 13, Mary joined the Church with her family in England, traveled to America, and joined the Martin handcart company. In her personal history she recounts the difficulty of the journey—the loss of her baby brother and older brother, the freezing of her own feet, and finally the death of an infant sister and her mother. When she arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, the doctor amputated her toes, but she was promised by the prophet, Brigham Young, that she would not have to have any more of her feet cut off. She recounts: “One day I sat … crying. My feet were hurting me so—when a little old woman knocked at the door. She said she had felt someone needed her there for a number of days. … I showed her my feet. … She said, ‘Yes, and with the help of the Lord we will save them yet.’ She made a poultice and put on my feet and every day after the doctor had gone she would come and change the poultice. At the end of three months my feet were well.”
But Mary had sat in her chair so long that the cords of her legs had become stiff and she could not straighten them. When her father saw her condition, he cried. He rubbed her legs with oil and tried to straighten them, but it was of no use. One day he said, “Mary I have thought of a plan to help you. I will nail a shelf on the wall and while I am away to work you try to reach it.” She said that she tried all day for several days and at last she could reach the shelf. Then her father put the shelf a little higher. This went on for another three months, and through her daily diligence her legs were straightened and she learned to walk again.

That August, Apostle Luke S. Johnson ordained 16-year-old Erastus to be an elder. The new elder then became junior companion to Apostle William E. McLellin during a trip into New Hampshire. At Littleton they parted, and Erastus headed West, preaching on the way and performing his first baptism—Zadock Parker. That fall he “baptized many people and organized a branch of the Church in the towns of Lyman and Littleton, in New Hampshire.”

Nancy was excited just thinking about a horse. My very own horse for Christmas! She could almost feel its velvety-soft flanks and see its thick mane and tail streaming in the wind. And the rhythmic pounding of hoofbeats along the dusty trails near her home were just as real in her ears. “Oh, this is going to be the most wonderful Christmas in the whole world!” she murmured.
Quietly, Nancy opened the door to her father’s study and tiptoed over to his desk. She clutched the huge pickle jar, stuffed full of dollar bills and jingling with quarters, nickels, and dimes. It was a whole year’s allowance and money from babysitting and doing special chores—half the cost of a horse, as Mom and Dad had agreed. Now when they contributed their half, she could buy her horse.
“Dad?” she queried. She knew he heard her come in. But he just sat with his elbows on the desk and his forehead resting on his hands. Nancy put the pickle jar down in front of him. “Dad?” she called again.
Her father turned the jar slowly with his hand and looked up. Nancy was alarmed to see his eyes glistening with tears.
She wrapped her arms comfortingly around his neck. “What’s wrong, Dad? What’s happened?” she asked anxiously.
“Nancy,” Dad began, but his voice choked. “Sweetheart,” he started once more, “I know we made a promise to you about your horse, but …”
But what? she worried. They wouldn’t break their promise. I’ve worked so hard.
“Darling,” Dad continued, “we never dreamed they’d close the plant where I work. I have found another job, but it’s on the coast, and we have to move. I’m so sorry, Nancy.”
“That’s all right, Dad.” Nancy planted a big kiss on her father’s cheek. “I can wait for my horse until we move. There’s still time before Christmas.”
“Nancy, there isn’t room in the city for a horse.”
Nancy was beginning to feel desperate. She just had to have a horse. It was about the most important thing in her life. She had saved so long for one. “We could board it at a stable,” she persisted.
“No, dear, that’s not possible. There probably aren’t any stables near where we’ll be living. Even if there were, it would be too expensive. As it is, moving is going to cost so much I’m afraid we won’t be having much Christmas this year. I’m sorry.”
Hot tears squeezed from Nancy’s eyes. She grabbed the pickle jar and ran from the room.
Her sister Emmie was waiting outside the door, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “When do you get your horse?” she asked.
“Oh, be quiet,” snapped Nancy as she dashed past Emmie.
This is turning into the worst Christmas of my life! she fumed. It just isn’t fair!
In the days that followed, Nancy felt so upset that she could hardly talk to her parents. “They just don’t understand how much this means to me,” she complained to Emmie.
However, as the family started moving into their new house in the city, Nancy began to feel guilty. She realized that it really wasn’t her parents’ fault that they had to leave their old home.
“But a promise is a promise!” she wailed to Emmie.
Emmie didn’t pay much attention to Nancy’s feeling sorry for herself. She and Bobby and Ted were too busy thinking about Christmas, which was almost here. The boys made long lists of toys they hoped to get. One day when her parents didn’t know anyone was looking, Nancy saw tears glistening in the corners of their red-rimmed eyes.
“We won’t be having much Christmas this year,” she remembered Father had said.
Nancy suddenly felt very ashamed. There was still Christmas baking and carol singing. And they spent days making gifts for each other. Their traditional nativity scene was already in its place on the mantel. And every night when Mom and Dad tucked them into bed, they were reminded of the special feeling of love for Jesus and their family, and not just the anticipation of presents under the tree.
Nancy and Emmie were old enough to understand, but Bobby and Ted kept expecting a Christmas with lots of presents.
It wasn’t until the afternoon before Christmas that Nancy thought of an exciting plan. As she shared it with Emmie, the excitement bubbled out into loud giggles.
Nancy emptied the pickle jar into her purse, and she and Emmie took the bus to the shopping center. All afternoon they trudged in and out of stores buying Christmas gifts.
“We needed a horse to haul all this stuff home,” groaned Emmie later as they wrapped the last of the packages and hid them in the back of their closet.
“Mom and Dad are sure going to be surprised when they discover I got my horse after all,” Nancy said with a grin. Then the girls collapsed, exhausted, on the bed.
Christmas morning, Mom and Dad woke everyone with an extra hug and kiss.
“Nancy,” Father said as he put his arm around her shoulder, “Merry Christmas, honey. And thanks for being pleasant and understanding.”
Down the stairs Nancy and Emmie followed their brothers. They looked at each other and covered their mouths to keep from laughing.
“Oh, wow!” said Ted as he saw the pile of presents beneath the tree.
“Whoopee!” shrieked Bobby as he ripped the ribbons and paper off a big red fire engine.
“Oh, my gracious!” cried Mom and Dad together, their eyes bright with surprise.
Nancy and Emmie grinned and plopped down beside the tree to hand out presents.
“I don’t understand,” said Dad.
There were shiny new trucks for the boys, a doll with lots of clothes and a buggy for Emmie, puzzles and games for the whole family, perfume and slippers for Mom, and spicy shaving lotion and a bathrobe for Dad.
Nancy could feel her heart warming with happiness. Christmas has never made me feel this good before, she thought. She stroked the cool, smooth flanks of a little china horse bank that Emmie had given her. Inside clinked two quarters and a nickel, all that was left of the pickle jar money.
“See,” cried Nancy, holding up the bank, “I got my horse after all!”
“I just can’t believe it,” said Dad, shaking his head.
“I think I can,” said Mom, her eyes misty with tears. She pulled Nancy into her arms and held her so tightly that Nancy’s ribs felt as though they would snap. Her heart felt so full that it was about to burst, and she couldn’t speak if she had wanted to.

For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Despite having polio, which left his left arm and leg dislocated, the 17-year-old priest is an inspiration to his fellow youth.
Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile, while his left fingers curled up. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin often became the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another jeered, “but how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!”
Pilay means cripple; it was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
The teasing wasn’t the only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of close friends.
In Manila, a barkada can consist of either buddies who can build you up or let you down. Alvin still tried to maintain his LDS standards even when friends coaxed him to smoke. “My older friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Alvin finally resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future was brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
But it was Alvin’s strong spirit within his rather frail frame that amazed many. After all, isn’t it the inside of a person that really counts?
A little bit shy at first but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also found the Church to be a home away from home. “I enjoy being in church,” Alvin says, “and I like being with my fellow young men.” And because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries that taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.
Today, Alvin is one of the most active Young Men in his ward. Being with his church friends is something he relishes. “They are not ashamed to be with me,” he brightens up, “and they don’t even joke about me.” Instead, it’s Alvin who cracks jokes with them.

When I was a little girl growing up in Perú, I dreamed of traveling through time. But it wasn’t until I was older that I found a way to do so. I don’t have a spectacular machine with flashing lights and strange sounds, and I don’t have to wear a special suit. All I have to do is open a book. But it is not just any book—it is my book of memories, where I keep things that have special meaning to me.
One of my favorite trips through time begins with the cover of a card. On it are beautiful flowers in a vase. Whenever I see this card I am taken back, and it seems like yesterday I held it in my hands for the very first time.
Sister Nancy Pace was one of my Primary teachers; we called her Sister Nancy. We Primary children loved her very much for teaching us new songs and telling us about Jesus Christ. Sister Nancy and the other Primary leaders worked for many months to help prepare the CTR class for their baptisms. Knowing we would be baptized like Jesus Christ was exciting for us, but we still felt nervous.
One day Sister Nancy told us the story of Nicodemus and the Savior, and we read John 3:5: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Sister Nancy told us that once we were born of water through baptism, we would be born of the Spirit through receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. She said that baptism was a commandment from the Lord and that by being obedient to this commandment, we could show our love for Him.
As the day of my baptism approached, Sister Nancy told me and the other children who were going to be baptized that she was very sorry but she was not going to be able to attend our baptism. But she said her heart would be with us.
The day before I was baptized, I began feeling very nervous. I repeated again and again to myself, All you have to do is go down a few steps and take Daddy’s hand. But when I thought about going down under all that water, I was afraid I would never come back up. As I worried about this, someone delivered to me a white envelope from Sister Nancy. When I opened it and read the message in the beautiful flowered card, my fears disappeared.
Romy,
I want to send you special greetings. I know that tomorrow you are going to be baptized. It is such a special day, and I wanted to be there, but I am not going to be able to. You are a good girl, and I know that Father in Heaven is very happy with you and that you are going to have a very special day. I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord. I hope everything goes well.
With love,
Sister Nancy
Reading these words strengthened my desire to be obedient to the commandment to be baptized. At that moment I was more sure than ever that the Church is true.
The following day I was nervous, but the words of my teacher echoed in my heart: “I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord.” Again, my fears vanished, and I felt confident as I was baptized.
Remembering my baptism is one of my favorite trips through time—a trip that begins with the cover of a card and ends with a special feeling—the testimony my dear teacher planted in my heart.

Lorenzo Snow first heard about the Church while he was still a young man. At first he had no desire to be baptized, even though his sister Eliza (the same Eliza R. Snow who wrote many Latter-day Saint hymns and served as the second general president of the Relief Society) had eagerly embraced the gospel. He did, however, find the Church’s doctrine very interesting. When Lorenzo began to attend college in Oberlin, Ohio, he would often share Church beliefs with the students who were training to become Protestant ministers. Although he hadn’t yet committed to be baptized, he presented the gospel so well that many of the students at Oberlin admitted the possible truth of the restored Church.
As strong a missionary as he was before he accepted the gospel, it’s no wonder that Lorenzo became even more dedicated to the work after he was baptized. During his early years as a member of the Church, he was called to serve several full-time missions. He first served in Ohio, followed by Missouri, Kentucky, and Illinois, USA. He was later sent to Great Britain to assist with the organization of the Church in England. While there, he even gave copies of the Book of Mormon to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. He later served missions in Italy, Switzerland, and what would eventually become known as the Hawaiian Islands.
When Elder Snow left England to return to Nauvoo, Illinois, he brought a large group of newly baptized members with him. They all booked passage on the ship Swanton and prepared for the long journey to North America.
Although the captain of the Swanton was not unkind to the Latter-day Saints on his ship, he wasn’t exactly friendly either. He usually distanced himself from them. But after about two weeks at sea, something happened. The captain’s steward was badly injured in an accident. No one expected the steward to live through the night.
But one of the faithful sisters who had been attending to the dying sailor had a suggestion. She told the steward that Elder Lorenzo Snow could give him a blessing and that it might save his life. The steward—who was working to support his wife and two children back in Germany—eagerly agreed.
In the middle of the night, Elder Snow was awakened and asked to come to the dying man’s room. When he arrived, he met the captain of the ship. The captain thanked him for coming but expressed the hopelessness of the situation. Elder Snow could see that the captain had been crying.
He went into the room, laid his hands upon the steward’s head, and gave him a priesthood blessing. Immediately after Elder Snow finished the blessing, the man sat up and got out of bed. The steward was completely healed, and he returned to his duties the next day.
The healing of the steward changed things on board the Swanton. The captain began to spend as much time with the Saints as he could spare, and he even studied the gospel and attended Church meetings. The other sailors were just as impressed. When the ship reached its destination, the crew lovingly bid the Saints farewell. Through the power of the priesthood, not only was a man’s life saved, but several others were also given a glimpse of God’s power and love. The steward and many members of the crew were eventually baptized.
Many other amazing events occurred in the life of President Lorenzo Snow. So this year, while the adults are studying Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Lorenzo Snow, why not follow along? On Sundays or when you have some free time, you could read some of President Snow’s teachings. You’ll be able to contribute more to family gospel discussions, and in the process you’ll get to know an amazing man who became a prophet of God.

I have spoken here of heavenly help, of angels dispatched to bless us in time of need. But when we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. Some of them gave birth to us, and in my case, one of them consented to marry me. Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind. Elder James Dunn, from this pulpit just moments ago, used that word in his invocation to describe this Primary choir—and why not? With the spirit, faces, and voices of those children in our mind and before our eyes, may I share with you an account by my friend and BYU colleague, the late Clyn D. Barrus. I do so with the permission of his wife, Marilyn, and their family.

Referring to his childhood on a large Idaho farm, Brother Barrus spoke of his nightly assignment to round up the cows at milking time. Because the cows pastured in a field bordered by the occasionally treacherous Teton River, the strict rule in the Barrus household was that during the spring flood season, the children were never to go after any cows who ventured across the river. They were always to return home and seek mature help.

One Saturday just after his seventh birthday, Brother Barrus’s parents promised the family a night at the movies if the chores were done on time. But when young Clyn arrived at the pasture, the cows he sought had crossed the river, even though it was running at high flood stage. Knowing his rare night at the movies was in jeopardy, he decided to go after the cows himself, even though he had been warned many times never to do so.

As the seven-year-old urged his old horse, Banner, down into the cold, swift stream, the horse’s head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on the horse would have been safe, but at Brother Barrus’s tender age, the current completely covered him except when the horse lunged forward several times, bringing Clyn’s head above water just enough to gasp for air.

Here I turn to Brother Barrus’s own words:
“When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me. But it was already dusk, and I didn’t know for sure where I was. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid.
“I climbed down from old Banner, fell to the ground by his feet, and began to cry. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, repeating over and over to my Father in Heaven, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!’
“I prayed for a long time. When I finally looked up, I saw through my tears a figure dressed in white walking toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move or make a sound as the figure approached, so overwhelmed was I by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
“Then a familiar voice said, ‘Son, I’ve been looking for you.’ In the darkness I recognized the voice of my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me tightly, then said gently, ‘I was worried. I’m glad I found you.’
“I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but only disjointed words came out of my trembling lips—‘Thank you … darkness … afraid … river … alone.’ Later that night I learned that when I had not returned from the pasture, my father had come looking for me. When neither I nor the cows were to be found, he knew I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark and time was of the essence, he removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam a treacherous river to rescue a wayward son.”

When I was in the 10th grade, I had a similar problem. I saw a group of people I thought were pretty interesting and decided I wanted to be friends with them. I began talking to them and spending time with them. I ignored the warnings of my friends and parents to stay away from this particular group.
Soon I began dressing like them, listening to the same music, going to the same places. Gradually my attitude began to change, my language became increasingly vulgar, and I made choices I would never have considered a few years earlier. I lost many of my old friends, my parents no longer trusted me, and I lost my good reputation. At the time, I pretended I was happy.
The time came when I realized I wasn’t happy at all. I had gained everything I thought was important and lost everything that really was: my family relationships, my true friends, my reputation, my self-respect, and my faith in God. I had choked on a chicken bone.
It has taken a long time to repair the damage done by that chicken bone. I still struggle with its influence at times. I realize now that my parents’ and friends’ warnings were given to me out of love. They weren’t trying to restrict me; they were trying to help me.

Five cubs had been born to Red and Vixen only nine days ago. These young ones were still completely helpless, and their eyes were just beginning to open. Two of the cubs were the typical red color of their father; two were more of a cross like Vixen—reddish brown with a smoky stripe down the back and across the shoulders; and one had silver black fur sprinkled with white.
Red was now on his way back to his family, feeling rather smug after stealing some leftover meat that a wolf had cached for a future meal. Hunting was not usually so easy. As a matter of fact, when the snowshoe hare population was low and the marmots and ground squirrels were still in hibernation, death from starvation was a constant threat. As if that problem were not enough, a desperate lynx that depended on the hare for most of its diet might anytime add a red fox to its menu. But in recent years snowshoe hares had been plentiful in the north country, so Red had not noticed any extra attention from his lynx neighbors.
Another resident of the wilderness, however, lurked nearby. The clucking alarm and whirring wings of a willow ptarmigan were warning signals to Red. He stopped abruptly, forepaw in the air. His body was arrow straight, tense, ready to spring into action. Something was edging through the lodgepole pines. Suddenly a giant grizzly bear appeared. Its massive hump-shouldered body weighed almost a thousand pounds. The grizzly was one of the most ferocious of all wild animals.
The bear was headed toward the den of Red and his new family. Red couldn’t tell if the bear were aware of the den. But he knew that if the grizzly were not diverted before he had the scent of the cubs, they would be devoured.
Red was one of the smaller predators of the north country, but his intelligence, speed, and courage made up for his size. In a red blur of motion, the fox dashed out to meet the grizzly. He circled around the bear and then rushed in to nip at his heels. The bear turned and snarled. Red circled again and again, darting in and out as he went, teasing, taunting, challenging. He knew that he must draw the bear away from the den, so each time Red retreated from the savage claws of the grizzly, he backed a little farther away from Vixen and their cubs.
In one unguarded moment before the grizzly had completely turned, Red made a rushing leap and bit the bear on the rump. Snarling with rage, the grizzly lunged toward the little fox. The whole forest shuddered with the sound. But the agile fox dodged the lashing paw just in time, backing away in an effort to draw the grizzly still farther from the den.
By now the bear was breathing in hoarse huffs. He was rapidly losing his appetite for a red fox dinner. What may have once seemed like a good idea had become a painful, frustrating ordeal. With a resigned grunt, the grizzly turned and lumbered off into the pines.

This story happened in Indonesia.
“Aminah, that’s mine!” Indira shouted. She grabbed the doll away from her little sister.
“Girls, I’m leaving,” Mom called. “Please be good for Dad.”
Indira looked up. “Where are you going?”
“To the market. I’m buying food to cook something special tomorrow.” Mom waved goodbye.
A special meal? But why? Indira went to find Dad. “Why is tomorrow special?” she asked.
Dad smiled. “Tomorrow we get to watch general conference! It’s special because we get to hear the prophet and other Church leaders speak. They’ll tell us what Heavenly Father wants us to hear.”
When Mom got home, she put away the food. Dad swept the floor.
“Indira, can you help Aminah set out her clothes for tomorrow?” Mom asked.
Indira frowned. “Why do I have to help her?”
“Please do what I ask,” Mom said.
Indira groaned. She dragged her feet and went to help Aminah.
The next morning, Indira woke up to a yummy smell. She jumped out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Mom had made beef rendang and satay to eat for lunch later! It would taste so good.
Soon general conference began. Indira sat with her family to watch on the TV. She listened to the choir sing. She heard people talk about temples and scriptures and Jesus Christ.
The last speaker was the prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He talked about how the Church helps people around the world.
“Our greatest joy comes as we help our brothers and sisters,” he said.
Indira thought about that. Did helping make her happy? She kept listening. President Nelson said that living the second great commandment can help us be like Jesus Christ.
When it was over, they ate the lunch Mom made. Indira kept thinking about the prophet’s talk.
“What is the second great commandment?” she asked.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” Dad said.
Indira thought about the people the Church helped all over the world. “How can I help if my neighbors live far away?”
“Your neighbors are everyone around you,” Mom said. “Like your family members.”
Indira looked down. She was not very nice to her family sometimes.
But maybe helping them could make her happy, like President Nelson said. It was one way she could follow Jesus. She wanted to try!
For the rest of the week, Indira tried to be extra nice to her family. She played with Amirah. She shared her toys. She did what Mom and Dad asked without complaining. When Indira helped her family, they were happy. And that made her happy too.
The prophet was right. Helping others brought her joy!
What did Indira learn from the prophet?
Illustrations by Judi Abbot

Illustration by Allen Garns
Our family has a Christmas tradition of giving gift bags of food, gloves, hats, and other necessities to those in need. In 2016, Christmas Eve was especially cold for the area of California, USA, we live in. We were bundled up, but we were still shivering!
As we drove to a park near our home where many people who are homeless stay, we saw a man huddled in the meager shelter of a bus stop, covered in an old blanket. My husband, Dennis, stopped the car and took our son, Jonathan, with him to give the man a gift bag. Our daughter, Abbey, and I stayed in the car and watched.
The man lifted his head as Dennis handed him the bag. A huge smile spread across the man’s face. They shook hands and began to talk. This was unusual because normally there isn’t much of an exchange.
After several minutes, Dennis returned to the car and opened the trunk.
“Is everything OK?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m giving him my parka. He needs it more than I do.”
I was speechless. This was a really nice parka that Dennis had worn only a handful of times! Dennis went back to the man and helped him put on the warm parka. The man’s face was beaming. Dennis and the man continued talking.
I felt compelled to meet this man. I opened my car door, and Abbey followed me. Dennis smiled as we approached, and he introduced us to the man. I extended my hand and asked for his name.
He took my hand, smiled warmly, and replied, “Jesús.”
My family continued the conversation, but I didn’t hear much after that. I kept thinking of the significance of this sweet man’s name: Jesús—the name of our Savior. In that moment, I was reminded of the Savior’s teaching: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40). That experience forever changed me.

On December 22, 1841, less than a day before Joseph Smith’s 36th birthday, 13 wagonloads of merchandise, purchased in St. Louis, Missouri, arrived in Nauvoo, Illinois. The Prophet was pleased to receive the goods because he was preparing to stock the shelves in his new general store.
The store’s double doors were opened for business on January 5, 1842, and Joseph was delighted with the response of the public. He wrote: “The store has been filled to overflowing, and I have stood behind the counter all day, dealing out goods as steady as any clerk you ever saw, to oblige those who were compelled to go without their usual Christmas and New Year’s dinners, for the want of a little sugar, molasses, raisins, …
“Our assortment is tolerably good—very good, considering the different purchases made by different individuals at different times and … I rejoice that we have been enabled to do as well as we have, for the hearts of many of the poor brethren and sisters will be made glad with those comforts which are now within their reach” (History of the Church, 4:491–92).

Now I would like to speak of the special meaning the temple has for me. Part of this message is going to be sensitive, so I will appreciate your prayers as I give it so that I do not become too emotional.
Fourteen years ago the Lord took my wife beyond the veil. I love her with all my heart, but I have never complained because I know it was His will. I have never asked why but rather what is it that He wants me to learn from this experience. I believe that is a good way to face the unpleasant things in our lives, not complaining but thanking the Lord for the trust He places in us when He gives us the opportunity to overcome difficulties.
Fourteen years ago the Lord decided it was not necessary for my wife to live any longer on the earth, and He took her to the other side of the veil. I confess that there are times when it is difficult not to be able to turn and talk to her, but I do not complain. The Lord has allowed me, at important moments in my life, to feel her influence through the veil.
I know that I will have the privilege of being with that beautiful wife, whom I love with all my heart, and with those children who are with her on the other side of the veil because of the ordinances that are performed in the temple. What a blessing to have once again on the earth the sealing authority, not only for this mortal life but for the eternities. I am grateful that the Lord has restored His gospel in its fulness, including the ordinances that are required for us to be happy in the world and to live everlastingly happy lives in the hereafter.

McLear was different from most deer. Most deer are timid, but McLear wasn’t afraid of anything!
He would go into the haunted house or jump off the high bridge over Blueberry Creek. He would even walk past the mean bull in the back pasture.
He could run faster down the slope and climb higher up the bluff than anyone else. So naturally when little Betty Bobcat climbed too high and was afraid to come down, everyone thought of McLear.
“McLear will rescue her,” cried Reggie Rabbit. He ran to get McLear.
“Come quick!” he shouted. “Betty is stuck on the bluff, and no one can get her down.”
When they reached the bluff, McLear saw that it was very steep and that the little bobcat was on a very narrow ledge. But he bravely climbed up and brought her down.
After that everyone said that he was the bravest deer in the whole world. And pretty soon he began to believe them!
But Willy Weasel did not like all the attention McLear got. One day Willy said, “I’ll bet you’re not brave enough to pick up Sulky Snake.”
“Pooh,” bragged McLear. “I’m not afraid.” He grabbed Sulky by his tail and held him high.
“Oh! McLear is the bravest deer in the whole universe!” cried Milly Meadow Mouse.
“Humph!” sniffed Grandfather Bear. “That’s not brave. That’s foolhardy. Some day he’ll pick up the wrong snake. Then he’ll learn that it’s sometimes smart to be afraid.”
McLear just laughed and took every dare his friends could think of. Once they dared him to sneak up on Sammy Skunk and scare him. Then they wouldn’t play with McLear for a week because he smelled so bad.
Another time Willy dared him to eat a red pepper in one bite.
“Don’t do it McLear!” cried Reggie.
McLear had never tasted a red pepper. But he didn’t want Willy to think that he was afraid, so he popped the whole pepper into his mouth and chomped. Suddenly he felt like he was on fire! He nearly drank Blueberry Creek dry, hoping his mouth and stomach would stop burning.
Willy and his friends rolled on the ground. They laughed until tears ran down their cheeks. McLear knew that they weren’t laughing because he’d been brave.
The next day the forest animals saw Percy Porcupine sleeping under a tree.
“McLear,” said Willy, “I dare you to sneak up and pat Percy’s tail.”
McLear looked at Percy’s prickly tail. Then he looked at Willy. Willy had a sly grin on his face. McLear gulped hard. “No!” he shouted. “You just want to see me get hurt so that you can laugh at me!”
The forest animals gasped.
“I never thought that McLear would be afraid of anything,” Reggie said sadly.
“I guess he’s losing his nerve.”
“You’re wrong, Reggie,” said Grandfather Bear. “That’s the bravest thing McLear has ever done. It takes more courage to say no than to take a foolish dare.”

An observant young man noted, “There are some missionary approaches that I’ve noticed don’t work, and some that I’ve noticed do work, and one that doesn’t work is saying, ‘This is what you believe, and it’s wrong.’ I did that a few times and wrecked some good chances. But now my younger brother and sister are taking a couple of Jewish friends to Primary with them, with the permission of their friends’ mother. So far they haven’t asked much about the Church, but we think that if we just don’t jump on them and try to push too hard that maybe they will come around.”

When I was in middle school, I filled my journal with doodles of myself battling the challenges I was facing. That tough essay? It became a hulking paper monster that stick-figure me could fight off with a sword. Final exams? They were a rickety bridge for me to cross with lava below and the promise of vacation on the other side.
Drawing helped me make my biggest middle-school enemies feel more manageable. But as a young adult, I’ve felt like if I had to draw my biggest enemy, the sketch would be a self-portrait.
My own mental battles feel like the toughest I’ve faced yet, and the self-love that would help me overcome them is in short supply. So where is the help for those of us who struggle to show ourselves compassion?
Loving yourself doesn’t come naturally to some people, and I’m one of them. I struggle with perfectionism, and when I make mistakes, my inner voice can be ruthless. I know my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me, but it’s still hard to feel that same love for myself.
And it’s not for lack of trying. Remembering my divine identity, focusing on my strengths, and prioritizing physical and mental well-being have been great ways to defend against negative thoughts about myself.
But there are still times I end up wallowing in self-disgust despite my best defenses.
There are still disheartening moments when I catch myself mounting yet another mental self-attack.
I once thought that if I practiced the gospel hard enough, my negative thoughts about my shortcomings would evaporate into rainbows and the blessings of self-compassion. But it turns out that to start loving myself, I needed to see the battle for self-love more clearly.
A great enemy in this battle is Satan. He would love to see us as miserable as he is (see 2 Nephi 2:27). So he distracts us with false thoughts. When we aren’t seeing or thinking about a situation clearly, it’s easy to fall into a pattern of negative thinking about ourselves.
Fortunately, Heavenly Father has given us the Holy Ghost to help us pierce Satan’s haze of lies and break out of that negative thinking pattern. The Spirit testifies of all truth and speaks “of things as they really are” and “as they really will be” (Jacob 4:13).
President Russell M. Nelson has taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”1 That means we need to live as God has asked us to so the Spirit can be present.
When I’ve started believing Satan’s lies about me, the Spirit has helped me see things clearly. Sometimes He prompts other people to act or speak in ways that help me, like when my husband testifies of God’s love. If I’m listening, sometimes He speaks to me after I pray, helping me feel peace about my progress.
Regardless of how we feel and recognize the Spirit, God is always ready to send His Comforter, bearer of truth and defender against Satan’s lies. Sometimes we just need to muster the strength and patience to hear Him.
But there are times strength and patience might seem out of our reach. One such time put me flat on my back on my bedroom floor. It had been a rough day of mean mental comments and tears, and I was frustrated at my spiral of self-judgment. Self-love felt light-years away. I was sick of it, and all I could do was pour out my heart to Heavenly Father, begging for anything He could give me.
As I stared at the string lights on my ceiling, scripture stories flashed through my mind: Naaman the leper commanded to wash in the River Jordan, not once, but seven times to be healed (see 2 Kings 5:10–14); the Savior using first clay, then water when he healed the man born blind (see John 9:6–7); Christ teaching His disciples not to forgive seven times, but “until seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:22).
I wanted to heal from self-loathing right then. But thinking about those stories, I realized that healing can take time, repeated effort, and the Savior’s help. I felt like Christ was inviting me to repeatedly turn to Him with whatever energy I had. He was inviting me to discover the joy of daily repentance.2
The Lord is your strength as you fight to love yourself. Jesus Christ made repentance possible through His Atonement, and He will fight with you against the adversary for as long as it takes. If I doodled my battles with myself now, I would be sure to keep the Savior in the picture. After all, our battles are also His (see 1 Samuel 17:47).
He will “have compassion upon you” as you strive to overcome the world (Doctrine and Covenants 64:2). And it’s not just a little bit of compassion. He stands “being filled with compassion towards the children of men” (Mosiah 15:9, emphasis added). He will fill us with compassion for ourselves too as we turn to Him.
That night on my bedroom floor, I didn’t magically start loving myself all the time. But I did learn an important lesson: developing love for myself is a process, not a one-time event. Through that process, whenever I make a mistake or have hurtful feelings toward myself, I can lean on the Spirit and the Savior’s love for me. “As we humbly turn to Him, He will increase our capacity to change.”3 Because I have experienced this for myself, I have confidence that He doesn’t see my repeated efforts as failures—He sees them as repentance (see Mosiah 26:30).

Girls’ camp in Panama takes place when the southern and northern heavens mingle. During the first part of April in Panama you can see the Southern Cross and the Big Dipper at the same time. Under this fitting symbol, native Spanish-speaking Panamanians and English-speaking girls from the Canal Zone combine their languages, testimonies, cultures, and cuisine for one of the most fascinating, informative, and spiritual girls’ camps held anywhere in the Church.
At a recent camp, the girls and their counselors organized into groups and committees according to their levels of certification in the Young Women Camp Certification program. Each group or committee had at least one American who spoke Spanish or a Panamanian who spoke English so there was always a translator handy plus a person to make sure no one felt left out. All of the girls learned about a new culture and a different way of life.
The standard camp certification program has been modified somewhat to fit the particular circumstances in Panama. The girls’ camp under palms instead of pines; they hold two flag ceremonies each morning; and they eat typical Panamanian food, like Sancocho de gallina (chicken cooked with native herbs, roots, and cooking bananas), along with U.S. favorites, like pizza or tacos, the next day. Machete usage is taught as part of the regular camp skills.
The girls also learn about poisonous plants and dangerous reptiles. They learn early in their programs to avoid coral snakes and the feared fer de lance. They do learn a few of nature’s lessons the hard way. One night in camp some of the girls pitched their tents in the path of army ants on the march. These particular ants in Panama are between 1/2 and 3/4 of an inch long and don’t like to deviate from their chosen course.
Scripture study classes were held in Spanish and English at the same time, and these sessions helped to prepare everyone for the spiritual high point of the outing—a special evening testimony meeting when the girls from two lands could express their common beliefs in their own language. As they shared their feelings, the Big Dipper and the Southern Cross were both sparkling in the heavens, making everyone feel closer to each other and to the Father of them all.

Yellow Leaf was lying on a moss-covered boulder that overhung a deep, clear brook. Dreamily, she watched a huge speckled trout nosing among the pebbles on the bottom of the deep pool. Olive green, with iridescent flecks of color on each side, the trout was so beautiful, Yellow Leaf had no desire to catch it. A pale golden moth fluttered too near the surface. The trout spun upward with incredible speed. “Aiii,” the Indian girl sighed in sorrow as the moth vanished.
A strange squealing sound startled Yellow Leaf and drew her to the top of the hill. Dropping flat, she watched in amazement as a clumsy, bargelike wagon drawn by a pair of oxen pulled to a stop below. The squealing sound she had heard was the iron-bound wheels, badly in need of grease.
Judging from the clouds of dust still hanging in the air, the wagon had come out of the arid, boulder-strewn badlands. The people in the wagon must have traveled all night to have survived; it would have been impossible to travel during the heat of the day.
The wagon had no cover; only charred pieces of canvas clung to the metal hoops across the top of the wagon. There were no water barrels lashed to the sides. Creeping closer, Yellow Leaf saw a telltale arrow piercing the wagon bed.
This family was probably all who had survived from a wagon train. Indian tribes to the east, who were also enemies of her tribe, were on the warpath because of a broken treaty. These Indians must have attacked the wagon train.
Yellow Leaf felt pity for the little family. “They will have little chance of survival here,” she murmured. Yellow Leaf watched the woman, carrying a small baby, herd two other children to the meager shade provided by a large boulder. The man, bent with fatigue, moved about among the rocks, searching.
“Water! They’re dying of thirst!” the girl whispered as she remembered the missing barrels. “If they had horses instead of oxen, the horses would sniff out the water and lead the people to it.”
Yellow Leaf yearned to help, but she didn’t dare. Even if she could speak their language, it wouldn’t help. The man had a gun, and she would almost certainly be shot if she approached. Regretfully she turned to leave.
A feeble wail from the baby stopped her. It sounded like her baby brother. Looking back, she saw that the man was some distance away, still threading his way through the barren rocks. There was water out there, but he wouldn’t know where to find it. He was even going in the wrong direction and would soon drop in his tracks from thirst and weakness.
There was another weak cry from the baby, and Yellow Leaf raced back to the brook. Spilling the lush purple berries from the earthenware pot, she filled it with icy water. Hesitating for only a moment, Yellow Leaf glided silently down the steep slope.
The woman was lying there, curled protectively around her children, her eyes closed, and her lips cracked and swollen. Forgetting all danger, the Indian girl knelt and scooped up water in her hands, letting it splash on the woman’s face. Her skyblue eyes reflected disbelief as they fluttered open and stared into Yellow Leaf’s dark eyes. For a long moment, the girl held her breath, expecting the woman to begin screaming; that would bring the man running with one of the long guns feared by Yellow Leaf’s people.
But the woman’s panic was overcome by concern for her children. Taking a metal cup from the wagon, the mother watched carefully as the older boy and girl drank, making certain they didn’t drink too much. She cared for the baby, and then she wet cloths to cool the heads of the children. Only then did she drink herself.
Preoccupied with watching the children, Yellow Leaf didn’t hear the man approach. She wasn’t aware of the danger until the woman cried out, “No, Frank. No! She brought us water.”
The man seemed dazed as he lowered his rifle. “Water? Where could she find water in this dried-up land? There’s not a sprig of grass anywhere!”
When he too had quenched his thirst, the tall, gaunt man pointed to the clay pot and asked, “Where?” His tired face fell as Yellow Leaf pointed to the bluff.
“We could never get the wagon up there,” he sighed, motioning toward the heavy wagon and the thirsty oxen.
Yellow Leaf understood. Standing up, she walked to the wagon and stood waiting. “She wants us to get in. Maybe she knows a way!” the woman said hopefully.
Walking ahead of the oxen, Yellow Leaf led the way around the barren hills to a gentle slope that led up and then down into a green valley where the brook wound like a silver thread.
“It’s the most beautiful spot I’ve ever seen! It’s exactly the place we’ve dreamed about,” the woman cried in delight.
“Yes. There are trees to build a cabin, and the land wouldn’t take too much clearing. It’s rich ground, too, Sarah. Almost anything should grow here,” the man said softly, his eyes bright with excitement and hope.
Neither noticed when the Indian girl slipped away. Turning for a last glimpse, Yellow Leaf felt tears sting her eyes as she watched the man and woman, hand in hand, lost in their brave dreams for the future. They were the first white people who had ever seen the fertile valley hidden away behind the desolate rocky hills. Would they ever know the anguish Yellow Leaf suffered at giving them her beautiful green land?
A chill swept over Yellow Leaf. Suddenly she felt like the fluttering golden moth.

Photograph posed by model
When I crossed the finish line of the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska, I felt extremely grateful to be a finisher because I had been fighting the battle of living with a chronic illness. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I hurried to call my mother. She was thousands of miles away serving a mission with my father in Samoa. With heartfelt emotion and tender tears, my first celebratory words to her were “I’m free! I’m free!”
Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

Brother Turner’s faith has always been at the heart of his artistic endeavors. His spiritual journey began in 1956 when missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints returned to the Penrith area for the first time in over a century. That year his mother—a devout Christian who had always sought gospel truths—met the missionaries, accepted their teachings and became the first person in the Penrith area to accept the gospel. She later shared that she had long believed key elements of the restored gospel and had even had a vision confirming its truthfulness.
In 1957, when Jim was eight years old, his mother began taking him to Church meetings in the CWA Hall in Blacktown, NSW. These early experiences nurtured his understanding of God and the gospel of Jesus Christ, laying a foundation that would influence his life and work. “As a Christian, I know that God created all things and that He knows each one of us individually,” Brother Turner reflects.