Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago I was invited to participate in a fireside in which I outlined ways for people to overcome discouragement. At the beginning of the presentation, I invited those who were in attendance to write on a card a major challenge they were facing, one they would feel comfortable in having me share anonymously with other members of the group. When the problems came forward, I was overcome by the significant issues faced by members who looked in control of their lives. Here are some they listed:
My farm is not making any money.
My son has a terminal illness.
Friction with a teenage child.
My oldest son is nearly blind.
Learning to accept the death of my son.
My husband sees the flaws but doesn’t see the lovely things as much.
Many of us face significant challenges. Even the great prophet Enoch experienced sadness when he viewed the wickedness of the world: “And as Enoch saw this, he had bitterness of soul, and wept over his brethren, and said unto the heavens: I will refuse to be comforted; but the Lord said unto Enoch: Lift up your heart, and be glad; and look” (Moses 7:44).
There are at least three steps to take when striving to overcome discouragement:
You can work on changing your attitude toward the problem. Even though you can’t change the circumstances in which you work or live, you can always change your attitude.
You can receive help from those who are close to you—your family, friends, and ward members, those who love you the most.
You can develop a more powerful and complete trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.
Change your attitude. By looking at a problem in a different way, it may be possible to reduce discouragement. I have been impressed with the pioneer story told about Zina Young. After experiencing the death of parents, crop failure, and sickness, she was encouraged with a spiritual experience that changed her attitude. While attempting to seek divine help, she heard her mother’s voice: “Zina, any sailor can steer on a smooth sea, when rocks appear, sail around them.” A prayer came quickly: “O Father in heaven, help me to be a good sailor, that my heart shall not break on the rocks of grief” (“Mother,” Young Woman’s Journal, Jan. 1911, 45). It is often difficult to change circumstances, but a positive attitude can help lift discouragement.
Accept help from others. The next important point is to be willing to ask for help from those around you. Sometimes help comes from unexpected sources. A few years ago I stood in line in Chicago waiting to put my baggage on a plane. Behind me was an older man. After a few minutes he said to me, “Where are you going?” I said that I was heading for Salt Lake City. He said, “I’m going there too. Are you a Mormon?” I responded by saying I was. He said that he had been a Latter-day Saint all his life and had prepared himself finally to go to the temple. While waiting for the plane, he opened his suitcase to show me all the missionary pictures that he had collected through the years. After some minutes, we were on our way and had a wonderful talk as we flew toward Utah. Upon arrival, we left the plane quickly. I made sure he knew where he was going and said good-bye.
Some weeks later I received this card in the mail: “Dear Brother Christensen, I lost your address and then found it. So I’m writing you a card. When I met you in Chicago, it was a prayer answered. I never travel anywhere. I wanted to be with someone. I have thought of you many times. I really enjoyed myself in Salt Lake City at the temple. Hope to see you someday. Thanks many times for the help you were to me.” I wasn’t planning to be useful that day, but I’m grateful for this brother who sought for extra help and I was nearby to assist.
Develop trust in the Lord. I’ve talked about changing attitudes and receiving help from others. Now, let me mention the need to put more trust and faith in the Lord. I once talked to a woman who received help with her discouragement. While waiting for a temple session to begin, she picked up a Book of Mormon to read a verse. Her eyes fixed upon Alma 34:3: “And as ye have desired of my beloved brother that he should make known unto you what ye should do, because of your afflictions; and he hath spoken somewhat unto you to prepare your minds; yea, and he hath exhorted you unto faith and to patience.” The scripture in Alma was an answer to her prayer. The message was simple: the problem she faced was going to take a long time to solve. If we place a little more patience in the process and a greater amount of faith in the Lord, our challenges will find their way toward successful conclusions.
In the Doctrine and Covenants we read this: “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful” (D&C 136:29).
I pray all of us may appreciate the challenges we have and try to improve our attitudes, even though our problems remain the same. Ask help from friends and family. I also testify that Jesus Christ lives and that He will help us through our discouragements if we will humbly ask for His love. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Hattie leaned against a trunk in the back of the wagon and watched the woods recede behind them. A sudden gust of wind made the tree branches sway and the green leaves quiver. The trees are waving good-bye, Hattie thought, blinking back tears. I can’t believe I’m leaving the only home I’ve ever known.
Hattie’s Uncle Jed was leading her family to Winter Quarters. From there they would cross the plains to join the other Saints in a barren desert. What would they do without trees? How could they build another log cabin? Where could they hang a swing?
Suddenly the wagon stopped.
“Hattie, are you awake? Come and see this,” her father called.
Hattie climbed slowly out of the wagon and walked around to the front. When she looked up, she gasped. She saw grass, miles and miles of it, taller than she was. It began a little in front of their wagon and stretched clear to the horizon, where it seemed to reach up and tickle the sun.
“Well, Hattie, what do you think?” her father asked. “It’s the beginning of the tallgrass prairie.”
Hattie swallowed hard. “Do we have to go through it?”
Uncle Jed laughed. “Don’t you worry, pumpkin. We’ll sail right across the top of it in our prairie schooner. Trust me.”
Father shaded his eyes against the slowly sinking sun. “However, we’d better set up camp here tonight and start that voyage tomorrow.”
“Hat-tie! Hat-tie!” Violet called from the wagon. Hattie lifted her three-year-old sister to the ground. When Violet saw the tallgrass, she spread her little arms as if greeting an old friend and let out an exclamation of delight.
Hattie grabbed one of her hands. “Come on,” she said gruffly. “We have to gather firewood before we get into the grass, where there won’t be any.”
Violet would not be hurried. She stooped to examine anything that caught her eye. Fortunately there was plenty of dry wood around, and Hattie soon had her apron full of sticks. Then she saw a good-sized branch a few yards away.
“Stay right here,” Hattie said to Violet, who was entranced by a butterfly. Hattie ran over as quickly as she could, snatched up the branch, and ran back. But Violet was gone!
Hattie looked around in panic. Then she saw Violet where an animal’s path led into the towering tallgrass. “No!” Dumping her load of wood, Hattie ran!
Violet gave a shriek of delight and disappeared into the grass.
“Stop, Violet! This isn’t a game.” Hattie took a deep breath and plunged into the grass. Grasshoppers exploded from beneath her feet. Pushing her way down the narrow path, she soon discovered other paths crisscrossing the first. Violet’s laughter always guided her toward her sister until one terrible moment when Hattie could only hear the wind and the insects. Then she heard Violet’s voice so close by that it startled her.
“Ooh! Pretty!”
Hattie pushed aside some grass and saw Violet clutching a blue flower.
“Look, Hattie,” Violet said. “Pretty flower.”
“You and your flowers,” Hattie sighed. “Come on. Let’s take the pretty flower to Ma.”
“OK! Let’s hurry.”
But Hattie had no idea which way to go. Each time they tried to find the right path, they seemed to be going in circles.
Hattie yelled for help, but the curtain of grass muffled the sound and threw it back into her face.
Hattie put Violet on her shoulders and stood on tiptoe. “Violet, can you see over the grass?” she asked anxiously. “Can you tell me where the trees are?”
“Giddap!” Violet bounced on Hattie’s shoulders and pulled her braids.
“Ouch!” said Hattie. They both tumbled backward into the soft grass. Violet was laughing, but Hattie was on the verge of tears.
The clouds above the tips of the tallgrass were edged with pink from the sunset. Hattie knew it would soon be dark. She knelt quietly in the grass.
“We need to pray,” Hattie said. Violet snuggled beside her and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Help us, Heavenly Father. We’re lost and don’t know what to do. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Violet opened her eyes and smiled. Hattie smiled back. She felt much better. “We’ll be all right,” she assured Violet. “Someone will find us.”
The air was cooler at the base of the grass, and the ground was spongy. Hattie could almost imagine that she and Violet were lying in the hayloft at home. As the sky darkened, the sounds of the insects changed to a gentle chirp and the wind whispered a lullaby.
When Hattie awoke, it was early morning. A bird sang joyously above Hattie’s head, and sitting in front of her was Uncle Jed.
“Oh, Uncle Jed!” Hattie threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d find us.”
“Hold on there, pumpkin. I can’t take credit for finding you. I had to ask Heavenly Father to show me the way.”
“And He did,” Hattie said.
“Yes, Hattie, He did.” Uncle Jed climbed up on his horse, and Hattie handed him a sleepy Violet. Then he reached down to help Hattie up on the horse. “From up here you can see everything.”
Hattie shook her head. “I’ll walk behind you,” she said. “I don’t really need to see everything, when I know there’s someone I can trust leading me.”
As Hattie walked through the tallgrass, gathering prairie flowers, she wondered what kind of flowers they’d find blossoming in the desert Heavenly Father was leading them to.

On one occasion I met with a couple who had been referred to me by a bishop. As the couple started telling me about all the complaints against each other, I attempted to guide their conversation toward the affirmative aspects of their relationship—qualities they had first admired in each other, the deep pleasures they had shared, the mutual goals they had set many years before.
They began to talk about their family, friends, and other important people in their lives; it was apparent that they really did enjoy this aspect of their relationship. This led to a review of their goal for financial security, which they had successfully met. As we talked further, the antagonism gradually drained away. After a few additional meetings, the couple agreed to give their marriage a second chance.

I guess I should start out by saying that I’m just a regular, ordinary, ten year old who lives on a very ordinary street—North Maple. I’ve been going to Primary since I was little, and, of course, I’ve been planning on going on a mission as long as I can remember. But practicing being a missionary is something I haven’t done much—that is, until about a month ago. And that’s where my being a regular, ordinary boy is so amazing. I mean, if I can do it, anybody can!
You probably should know that I’m the only member of the Church in my whole school, except for my little sister. A lot of people know we’re Latter-day Saints. It isn’t hard to figure out, since my family doesn’t go to the local sport club’s Sunday soccer games, we have family home evening every Monday night, and we read the Book of Mormon every day. Sometimes my friends tease me about all the things Latter-day Saints can’t do. One time Nick even wanted to know if Church members could drink milk—and he was serious!
Anyway, when my best friend’s family moved, I resigned myself to living out my days never having any members my own age in my school class. There were two other people in my Primary class, but they didn’t go to my school.
About a month ago, the Millers moved into our neighborhood. Right away Mom took over some of her homemade enchiladas, and Dad helped Mr. Miller carry in their furniture. I was pretty excited to find out that they had an eleven-year-old son who likes baseball cards.
Jeff invited me up to his room a few days later. There were still boxes and stuff all over the place. I was busy admiring his coin collection, when I noticed that he had a picture of Jesus Christ on his nightstand. Whoa! My thoughts started spinning. The whole rest of the room was pretty much a mess, but this picture looked like something he had unpacked right away. I knew he wasn’t a Mormon—I’d already found that out—so I asked him about the picture.
Jeff wasn’t embarrassed or anything. He said that his whole family had prayed a lot before they moved to decide whether his dad should take a job in Chicago or come here. They had felt very good about their decision. He said they didn’t know why they were supposed to move here, but they knew that Jesus Christ loved them and they were sure that He would bless them to know why someday.
Well, I started getting pretty tingly all over, and then I did a very scary thing for a regular, ordinary, ten year old. I told him that my whole family loved Jesus Christ, too, and that we prayed every day. I said I knew that someday his family would know why they had moved to this neighborhood.
Well, since then, Jeff and I have become good friends. He came with me to Primary Activity Day two weeks ago and asked a lot of questions about the Church. Some of the answers were easy, and others I had to find out from Mom and Dad. Even Mr. and Mrs. Miller are starting to ask about the Church. We’re having them over to our house next Friday to hear a missionary discussion with the elders. Who knows? Maybe I will live to see another member family live on North Maple Street.

Even their camping trips have a way of turning into adventures. One winter they decided to camp on top of Storm Mountain, a peak that can be reached only after a long hike. They left Christmas afternoon, camped on the lower slopes the first night, and pushed on up the mountain the next morning. At first they mushed through the deep powder on snowshoes, but soon it became too steep for the snowshoes, and they floundered on up the slopes on foot, their legs knotted into painful cramps. When they finally made it to the top of the mountain late that afternoon, they pitched their tent hurriedly because their transistor radio warned of a heavy storm.

They hadn’t been inside the tent long when the storm hit with winds up to 70 miles per hour and an impenetrable wall of icy snow. The tent, which was anchored firmly to some trees, was blown up like a balloon, and ice whipped through it.

“My feet were so cold that there was ice from my left sock stuck to my big toe,” Bennett remembers. “I had to peel the sock off and got frostbite.” Kevin traded his drier pants and socks for Bennett’s frozen ones to prevent further frostbite.

Later that night the radio announcer predicted three days of heavy snow, with travelers advisories out even in the valleys. They knew it would be much worse on top of the mountain, so they decided to leave the first thing in the morning while they still had a chance. It was a long night.

“I could hardly sleep that night because my feet were throbbing, thawing out,” Bennett says, and Kevin adds, “There must have been a wind chill factor of 50 below. I’d stick my hand out the door to check the thermometer, and when I’d pull it back in, I couldn’t move it for a long time.” They were also running low on fuel for their stove, which they had to keep burning all night because of the cold. As soon as they were sure it was morning, they threw their tent in a backpack, dug their snowshoes out of the snow, and started down the mountain. “You couldn’t even see your arm in front of you,” Kevin recalls. “It’s a good thing we knew the mountain so well.”

It was hard going, and before long they were utterly exhausted. “I can remember many times falling through the snow up to my neck and thinking, ‘I’m just going to die here,’” Bennett says. “Finally we were crawling more than walking.” To make matters worse, the snowfall was so heavy that as they got lower down the mountain the snow seemed to get deeper rather than shallower. “It’s a strange feeling,” Bennett says, “to be alone up there and know that everyone else is safe down below in his warm house.” Fortunately their way was mainly downhill, and finally, utterly spent, they arrived at their car and were able to get home. They gained a little more caution from the experience but lost little enthusiasm. It wasn’t long before they were spending the night in some snowcaves they dug on a mountainside.

Illustration by Bradley H. Clark
For a couple of years, I visit taught a neighbor and friend named Sister Morgan. She was a few decades my senior, so I learned as much from her and her life as she did from my visiting teaching messages.
While I was her visiting teacher, Sister Morgan was diagnosed with cancer. I marveled at how bravely she endured her medical treatments and how she almost always had a smile on her face.
During one of my visits, she mentioned that the following day was her wedding anniversary. Our conversation soon led to other things, and our visit ended.
The next afternoon I felt prompted to take what I was cooking for dinner to Sister Morgan and her husband for their anniversary. At first I ignored the prompting because I was cooking an ordinary weekday meal. Surely such simple food would not do justice to such a special occasion.
But the prompting would not leave me. I called my husband at work, hoping he would agree that the idea was a bad one. Instead, he encouraged me to call Sister Morgan and tell her I was bringing over dinner.
Embarrassment over my simple meal and what I thought was presumptive behavior on my part kept me from calling my friend, but I could not shake the feeling that I should share my dinner. So I put the food on a serving dish and nervously walked across the street.
As I entered their yard, I found Brother and Sister Morgan getting into their car. I announced that I had brought dinner for their anniversary and that I hoped they didn’t mind.
A smile spread over Sister Morgan’s face. She explained that they had resigned themselves to celebrating their anniversary at a local fast-food restaurant because her cancer treatments left her too tired to cook or go anywhere else. She looked relieved to be able to stay home for dinner.
A sense of relief and happiness washed over me as they accepted my simple meal.
Not more than two months later, just as Sister Morgan had completed her cancer treatments, her dear husband passed away from a sudden illness. Their anniversary just weeks before was their last.
I learned a great deal that summer about following the Spirit’s still, small voice in serving others. The service we are asked—or prompted—to give may be uncomfortable, inconvenient, or simple in our eyes, but it may be just what is needed. This experience gave me courage to serve in any capacity the Lord needs me, and it increased my faith to do “the errand of angels” (“As Sisters in Zion,” Hymns, no. 309).

One day I decided to take my pocket Book of Mormon to preschool. I told my mom, “When we go places during the day, sometimes I start to forget about Jesus. I know I can remember Him better if I bring my scriptures.” During school, my teacher asked about my “little Bible.” I told her it was my Book of Mormon. I told her I brought it because my dad said we should always remember Jesus. My mom told me I was being a missionary and being like Jesus as I kept my scriptures close to me all day.

Three years ago, I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease—a disorder causing progressive tremors and stiffness. It was overwhelming news, and I thought my life was over.
During the next few months, I fell into a well of darkness, anxiety, and depression. I was afraid of the challenges ahead. I thought I couldn’t live long with the continuous pain in my arms and the tremors in my hands. How I longed to sit in the Savior’s path and touch His garment, as did the woman with the issue of blood!
“For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole” (Mark 5:28).
Despite medical treatment and many prayers begging for relief, a cure did not come. One day, as I opened my heart to Heavenly Father, I gained deeper understanding. The Lord was healing me—not with the physical healing I hoped for but with the healing I needed: spiritual healing.
That’s when I realized that my trust in God’s “spiritual tutoring” was growing. My prayers and empathy for others became more fervent. I started to take time daily to meditate and get away from distractions, looking for the lessons I could learn from my challenges. The Atonement of Jesus Christ took on new meaning, and my need for repentance became more urgent.
Amid my pain, when I felt I had nothing more to contribute, I was surprised by a call to serve as ward Relief Society president. Forgetting about my problems as I served other women was a blessing from a loving Father, as if He was saying He still trusted me. In return, I have received the love and affection of kind sisters who understand my challenges.
Today I feel that I am sitting in the Savior’s path. As I wait for Him, my challenges are refining me.
The Lord can heal our pain, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, but we must exercise faith in His healing and wait patiently. Somewhere along the path, the Savior will be so close that we can touch His garments and hear Him say, “Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague” (Mark 5:34).

A few nights ago I had a dream. I saw a piece of white paper with a name on it I did not know and a date I could only partially read. I got up and went to the records of my family. The last name on the slip of paper is from a line which came into my mother’s ancestry 300 years ago in a place called Eaton Bray. Someone is anxious for a long wait to end. I have not yet found that person. But I have found again the assurance that a loving God sends help in answer to prayer in this sacred work of redeeming our families, which is His work and His glory and to which we have pledged our hearts. I so testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I don’t think I have ever been more impressed with what a temple recommend means than when I was a stake president in Boston, Massachusetts. We had a dear lady, a widow, who lived in one of the poorer sections of Boston. She was struggling to sustain herself, but she was an independent person who did not want to be a burden to others. She could not afford to move to a better part of town, and as the neighborhood deteriorated around her, she was almost a prisoner within the walls of her own home. She would venture out to the store and would find people on the streets very unfriendly. Once she had even been knocked to the ground and her money was taken from her.
So she came to rely on the priesthood to be with her as she went out to gather the necessities of life. She had a system of unlocking the door for us when we arrived. We would knock on the door of her apartment, and we would hear her weak and feeble voice through the door, “Who is it?” We would repeat our name, and then she would say, “Slide your temple recommend under the door so I can be certain it is you.” After our recommends were slid under the door, she would unlock the latches and we would be allowed to enter.
I have often thought how symbolic that was. A temple recommend—a little piece of paper—represents us and reflects our worthiness to receive the blessings of the temple.

Parker was helping Daddy plant a garden. He wished his brother Eric was here to help. But Eric was far away on a mission.
“I’ll never be big like Eric,” Parker said. “How can I go on a mission like him?”
“Don’t worry,” Daddy said. “You’ll grow.”
Daddy handed Parker some pumpkin seeds. He helped Parker plant them.
“These little seeds will grow into big pumpkins?” Parker asked.
“If you take good care of them,” Daddy said.
Parker came out to look at the garden every day. He watered it, and soon tiny sprouts came up. The leaves got bigger. Parker carefully pulled up weeds.
By fall his pumpkin plants had grown. And there were big orange pumpkins!
Parker grabbed Daddy to show him. “You took great care of your pumpkin plants!” Daddy said.
“Yup! And I’ll take good care of me, so I can get big too.” Parker grinned. “And when I’m big, I can go on a mission just like Eric!”

Consider the lifesaving power in this story. A few years ago, twin girls Brielle and Kyrie were born prematurely to the Jackson family. They were placed in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly slept. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, could not keep up with her. Suddenly one day Brielle’s condition became critical. The nurse tried everything she could think of to stabilize Brielle. Still Brielle squirmed and fussed as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared. Then the nurse remembered a procedure she had heard about. She said to the worried parents, “Let me just try putting Brielle in with her sister to see if that helps.” The parents consented, and the nurse slipped the squirming baby into the incubator with the bigger sister. No sooner had the door of the incubator closed than Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling (see Nancy Sheehan, “A Sister’s Helping Hand,” Reader’s Digest, May 1996, 155–56).

This story happened in the USA.
Weston was playing outside when a car and a big moving van drove up to the house across the street. Lots of kids got out of the car. One of them was a boy who looked like he was Weston’s age.
Weston ran inside his house. “Mom, Dad! A new family is moving in!”
Dad looked up from the project he was working on. “That’s awesome.”
“I want to meet them,” Weston said. “Will you come with me?”
“Of course!”
Weston and Dad walked across the street to their new neighbors’ house. When they knocked, a lady came to the door. The boy Weston’s age was standing behind her.
Weston waved. “Hi, I’m Weston. What’s your name?”
The boy stepped out from behind his mom. “I’m Nate.”
“Want to play at my house?” Weston asked.
Nate looked at his mom.
“You can go,” she said. “Just be home in time for dinner.”
After that, Weston played with Nate almost every day. He was so happy to have a new friend. They rode bikes, swam at the pool, and played pirates at the park. Sometimes Weston played at Nate’s house too. Nate’s whole family was nice!
One day, Nate’s dad got really sick. He had to go to the hospital. The sickness got worse and worse. Nate and his family were so worried.
Weston was worried too. Everyone at church fasted and prayed for Nate’s dad. Weston also fasted. He hoped for a miracle. But Nate’s dad passed away.
As the days went by, Weston saw how sad Nate and his family were. He wanted to cheer them up. He walked across the street and knocked on Nate’s door.
“I don’t want to play today,” Nate said.
“Oh, OK,” Weston said. Was there anything he could do to help Nate?
Weston went home and found Mom. “Nate doesn’t want to play,” he said.
“That’s hard.” Mom hugged him. “Sometimes when people are sad, they just need some time alone.”
Weston nodded. “I guess if my dad died, I wouldn’t feel like playing either.”
But Weston still wanted to help Nate and his family feel better. He had an idea. “Where are the scissors?” he asked. “I want to give Nate something from our garden!”
Weston went to the backyard and searched for something to give to his friend. He looked in the dirt where they’d planted some carrots. But they weren’t ready yet. He searched in the fruit trees but only found bare branches.
Then Weston looked under some vines with big leaves. He pushed aside a few of the leaves and found a tiny green cantaloupe growing on the vine. This was the cantaloupe he had planted and watered himself!
Hopefully Nate and his family liked melons. Weston cut it from the vine and carried it inside. Then he wrote a note to go along with his gift.
When the card was finished, Weston carefully set the cantaloupe and card on Nate’s doorstep. Then he rang the doorbell and ran back home as fast as he could. I hope they like it, Weston thought.
Later, Weston saw Nate’s family at a neighborhood barbecue.
“That was the best cantaloupe ever!” Nate’s sister said.
“We weren’t sure what it was at first.” Nate laughed. “We thought it was a weird coconut!”
“Thank you for the sweet gift,” said Nate’s mom.
Weston felt warm inside as Nate hugged him. He couldn’t take away his friend’s sadness, but even a tiny cantaloupe could help bring a smile.
Illustration by Greg Paprocki

It was my junior year of high school, and I was taking the usual classes, including advanced placement (A.P.) American history. This was my most important class. I had waited two years to take it and was determined to succeed.
It was a difficult class. We had a test every week, research papers to do, weekly essays to write, and a class presentation now and then. I learned a lot, but I never could seem to do well on those awful tests.
The whole goal of the class was just to pass the infamous A.P. test at the end of the year. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Griffin, saying that it took at least a grade of three or above to pass. Those words rang through my mind night and day all year long.
I worked as hard in that class as I thought I possibly could. I studied every day, met with a tutor, took notes in class, did my weekly essays on time, and paid close attention. I decided the worst thing that could happen would be to fail.
Spring rolled around, and my best friend, Emily, and I began studying together. We discussed, wrote, and memorized. The first evening went smoothly, and when I got home I prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me to pass this test. Help me to make this year worthwhile.” My prayer the next night and the next was much the same.
I could feel May 15 coming closer until it arrived. I got up and, just like every morning, got down on my knees and prayed. But this morning was special. “Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I’ve done everything I can do to pass this test. Please help me.” I went off to school with confidence.
“You may begin.” Those anxiously awaited words were spoken. The test was as difficult as I expected, but I really felt good as I filled in the answers. I finished the test and turned it in. I was so happy it was over, and I was sure I had passed. After all, I had studied and prayed and had even had a father’s blessing the night before.
Weeks went by, and I checked the mail every day for my scores. I thought they’d never come, but they finally did. I was lying down when my mom walked in.
“Kathy, I’m sorry,” she said. “You got a two.”
At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was real. I was so confused. What more could I have done? I was discouraged and upset that my prayers weren’t answered. I had prayed to pass the test, not fail.
I felt this way for about two weeks. Then one day I picked up the Doctrine and Covenants and read: “The glory of God is intelligence” (D&C 93:36).
I tried to ignore the scripture. I didn’t feel intelligent. I felt like a failure. But after a while it dawned on me what I had done wrong. The glory of God is intelligence, not a three or above on an advanced placement test. I was basing my success on the score of an exam! I didn’t even think of how much I had learned in the class. I had forgotten the whole purpose of getting an education. I was more concerned with getting the answers right than pleasing myself and my Heavenly Father. I am so thankful for my education and will never forget this much-needed lesson.

After that first visit to Queenstown, Brother Raubenheimer and I departed for Ilinge, where we met with branch president Augustine Mjiba and the more than seventy Saints there. They met in a rented school classroom with a corrugated metal roof and a dirt floor. They share the building with another religious group, which uses African drums to lead its singing. But in spite of the interruptions by the drumming and singing, we felt the Spirit in abundance and experienced a warmth and love for the Saints who meet in such conditions.

“In my darkest moments I was always guided to the words of hope and descriptions of a life filled with joy in my patriarchal blessing,” one member wrote. “Often I would plead with God to help me believe that those blessings could really come true for someone as pathetic as I felt I was. I literally clung to the blessings promised, hoping that I could be happy someday. My testimony grew as I saw the Lord fulfilling promised blessings in my life.”

My brother and I like to watch our grandpa’s bees. Once we followed a trail that many of them seemed to be taking and found that it led to some old cans that Grandpa had filled with water. The bees would land on pieces of wood sticking out of them and walk down to the water for a drink. And do you know how bees drink? They stick out little, long tongues and draw water up through them just like we sip lemonade through a straw.

To the full-time and service missionaries, and senior missionaries, Elder Bednar reiterated the importance of listening to the Spirit. To those gathered at the Philippines Missionary Training Center (MTC), Elder Bednar requested the missionaries to prepare to be ‘taught by the Spirit’ by studying five articles. Instead of just writing down what he would say, Elder Bednar invited them to write their impressions as given by the Spirit. As he spoke to them, he invited them to ask questions.
Sister Asis, who is assigned to the Japan Kobe Mission, realized that such preparation and study was crucial to inviting the Spirit before the devotional began. “Without studying his previous talks,” she noted, “comprehending everything he says would have been difficult.” Elder Ruiz of the Philippines Iloilo Mission gained a deeper understanding of the word conversion: “As a missionary, if I am converted, I can follow the Missionary Standards and [the Savior’s] example and rely on my testimony to teach by the Spirit.”
At a similar devotional at the historic Buendia Chapel with missionaries from four missions (Philippines Antipolo, Philippines Manila, Philippines Quezon City and Philippines Quezon City North), Elder Bednar asked the Elders and Sisters to prepare themselves and to learn by the Spirit—to hear not just what had been said but also what was taught to them individually by the Holy Ghost.
For her part, Sister Bednar highlighted the importance of the For the Strength of Youth guide, recounting how she and Elder Bednar had shared its inspired counsel with nonmember friends of their three sons as they were growing up. “My husband and I have found that when you live in places where there are very few members of the Church,” she related, “it’s easier for our children and… your children to give away the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet… it’s a great missionary tool.” She then narrated how she and Elder Bednar reared their children in gospel values.
“When Sister Bednar mentioned about having a picture of Jesus Christ on their sons’ walls, I remembered our family scripture study where my father mentions two characteristics of Jesus Christ in John 2 where he cleanses the temple,” Sister Laneah Benigno of Cubao Ward, Quezon City South Stake recalls. “Now that I also have a picture of Him, I can see and remember not just His characteristics but also His teachings that made an impact in my life.”
“Elder and Sister Bednar talked about how pictures of Jesus and the temple in their son’s rooms made them excited to go to the temple,” shared nine-year-old Kaylee Sophia Lopez of Quirino 1st ward, Quezon City South Stake. “I am excited to go to the temple, too, but I have to wait until I’m twelve.”

Lucy’s Heart
Lucy and her older sisters entered an art contest at their school about making the world a better place. Lucy knew she wanted to paint a heart. She said, “The world would be a better place if we have love in our hearts.”
A Loving Sister
When Lucy found out that her painting won the contest, she told her sister Ruby, “Yours is so good. I wish you would have won instead of me.” Lucy couldn’t believe it when she found out her painting won the contest for the whole United States too!
A Special Way to Communicate
It’s hard for Lucy to tell others what she is feeling. But she wants to help people feel loved and happy. And her paintings do that!

I used to have that situation as well. My sibling and I didn’t get along at all. Getting back and tattling never worked and made me feel worse, and it didn’t help get the friendship back. As time passed, I realized that I should start to be an example. I wasn’t rude as often, and I started to be more Christlike toward my sibling by helping out and encouraging scripture study and uplifting music. My sibling started to take me seriously and started being more like a friend to me.
Alex P., 14, Idaho