Gospel Story Finder

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.

One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.

Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).

In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.

When I was eight, two cousins and I were sent to a nearby town to get groceries for the next 15 days. Looking back, I am amazed at how much confidence my grandmother and my aunt and uncle had in us. The morning skies were bright and shiny as we departed in our small caravan of three horses.
In the middle of the prairie, we had a brilliant idea that we should dismount and play marbles. So we did—for a long time. We were so absorbed in our game that we did not see the “signs of the times” above our heads as dark clouds covered the sky. By the time we realized what was happening, we didn’t even have time to mount our horses. The heavy rain was hitting us so hard, and hail was hitting our faces, so we could not think of anything to do but unsaddle the horses and take cover under the saddle blankets.
Horseless, wet, and cold, we continued our journey, now trying to move as fast as we could. As we approached our destination, we saw that the wide street that entered the town had flooded and was like a river heading toward us. Now our only choice was to drop our covers and climb the barbed-wire fence that surrounded the town. It was late at night when, tired and sore and soaked, we sought shelter in the first home we saw as we entered the town. The good young family there dried us off, fed us delicious bean burritos, and then put us to bed in a room of our own. Soon we discovered that the room had a flat dirt floor, so we had another brilliant idea. We drew a circle on the floor and continued our marbles game until we collapsed to the floor in sleep.
As children we were just thinking about ourselves. We never thought about the loved ones who were desperately searching for us back home—if we had, we would have never delayed our journey in such a useless pursuit. And if we had been wiser, we would have looked at the sky, spotted the clouds forming, and accelerated our pace to stay ahead of the storm. Now that I have a little more experience, I always remind myself, “Don’t forget to look up.”
Returning to my account, my cousins and I woke in the morning to a bright sun and beautiful sky. A man knocked on the door looking for the three lost boys. He put us on horses, and we started back home through the same prairie. I will never forget what we saw on our way home—a multitude of people who had been searching for us throughout the night, their tractors and trucks stuck in the mud. They had found a saddle here and a horse there, and when they saw us returning home, I could feel their relief and their love. At the entrance to town, many people were waiting for us, and in front of them all were my loving grandmother and my uncle and aunt. They embraced us and cried, overjoyed that they had found their lost children. What a great reminder this is to me that our loving Heavenly Father is mindful of us. He is anxiously awaiting our return home.

This was around the time our adult children were starting to come home for Sunday dinners with their spouses. During the week, I found myself making lists in my mind of things I could remind them of on Sunday, like “Maybe try and help out more with the kids when you’re home” or “Don’t forget to be a good listener.”

When I read Brother Maxwell’s comment, I threw away the lists and silenced that critical voice, so when I saw my grown children for that brief time each week, I focused on the many positive things they were already doing. When our oldest son, Ryan, passed away a few years later, I remember being grateful our time together was happier and more positive.

This sister who helped us—we call her our “Sister Miracle” now—invited us to her home, wanting to know more of our family’s story. Our two families enjoyed talking over waffles about missions, temple work, family history, and all our blessings from Heavenly Father.

As the evening ended, Sister Miracle asked for a priesthood blessing of comfort as she had just been diagnosed with aggressive cancer and was preparing for chemotherapy, surgery and radiation.

Together with her husband, I pronounced a blessing that her life would not be cut short, that she would see her children serve missions, and enjoy watching her grandchildren grow up.

Later, Sister Miracle shared with me about our visit:
“It was a tender mercy from the Lord, knowing that He was aware of me and my new trial with cancer. My faith was strengthened in Jesus Christ. I am blessed to have had this experience with my new friends from New Caledonia.”

She continued to share what she is learning:
“We all experience different trials and challenges in our lives. I am choosing to center my life on Jesus Christ and keep my covenants with Him. I have confidence that He will bless me in His perfect way. I often use the phrase ‘but if not’ in my prayers. I ask for healing and strength, but if I am not cured from cancer, I trust that He will bless me in His perfect way. I have confidence that He will provide miracles as well as little tender mercies along the way; to help me know He is aware of me.
“This message from Elder Soares explains how I feel: ‘I know that when the Lord sees even a spark of desire or a flicker of righteous effort in our willingness to center our lives on Him and on the ordinances and covenants, we make in His house, He will bless us, in His perfect way, with the miracles and tender mercies we need.’”

From the day of our first visit, we prayed for Sister Miracle. Treatments became more complicated, and her white blood cell count was often too low to continue chemotherapy at the same pace. Even with these complications, I had faith and trusted the Lord for her recovery.

Seven months later, Sister Miracle and her husband called me on my way to work. Through video chat, they explained the post-surgery results, after the cancer growth had been removed. Miraculously, the doctors found no cancer cells in that tissue. Words could not describe my joy and tears over this new miracle!

While such a miraculous response is not always the outcome in life’s challenges, Heavenly Father is aware of our needs and has provided strength through covenants with Him.

Indeed, for Sister Miracle, the sustaining help and love she felt from Heavenly Father was the real miracle in her life. As President Russell M. Nelson has said: “All those who have made a covenant with God have access to a special kind of love and mercy.”

An active youth committee in Cache Valley made it their project to take care of the aged and shut-ins. Each week the girls would prepare suppers and the boys would prepare lessons or activities to take to the homes of the unfortunate, giving them plenty of tender loving care in a family home evening situation. What do you think it did for those young people to be involved in such a worthy, compassionate service?
Deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

Mr. Icedale got up one Saturday morning and looked out his window. There was snow everywhere, and icicles hung from his rooftop. “Snow!” he snarled. “I hate snow! I might as well go back to bed.” And with that, he jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over himself.
A squirrel crawled across the outside ledge of Mr. Icedale’s window and scratched on the screen. He wondered if Mr. Icedale might have a few crumbs for him that morning. But when he saw Mr. Icedale snuggled under his blankets and quilts, he stopped scratching and quietly crawled away.
Right next door lived Grammie Brown, whose grandson Jeffry had spent the night. Jeffry loved staying with her.
Grammie woke him up earlier than usual that morning. “Look outside—it snowed last night!” Her voice was filled with the wonder and amazement of new-fallen snow. “Quick—come down! We’ll eat some hot cereal and toast, then go for a walk before anyone else makes a print in the snow.”
Jeffry pulled on his long johns, his woolen socks, his jeans, a turtleneck, and a pullover. He raced downstairs without even making the bed and sat down to eat just as Grammie brought the toast and cereal to the table. They ate their hot, brown-sugared cereal in a hurry, then pulled on their boots, scarves, coats, hats, and gloves.
The streets were silent, and the snow crunched under their feet as first Jeffry stepped in Grammie’s footprints and then Grammie stepped in Jeffry’s. They trailed sticks behind them as they walked along. They fell backward into the snow and made beautiful snow angels by moving their arms and legs back and forth. Grammie made a big heart in the snow with the end of her stick and wrote “GB + JB” in the middle of the heart. Jeffry hugged her through all the layers of clothes that they had on. “I love you, Grammie. You’re the best grandmother ever!”
Grammie chuckled. “And you’re the best grandson ever!”
Suddenly Grammie straightened up. “I have a great idea. Let’s go shovel Mr. Icedale’s sidewalk before he gets out of bed!” Jeffry wasn’t sure it was such a great idea—it sounded like work, not fun—but Grammie was already pulling him along.
When they arrived, Jeffry stamped his foot and began to cry. “I want to keep playing! I’m too little to shovel snow, anyway.”
“Oh, Jeffry, I know that you can’t shovel snow. But you can make the snowmen.”
“The snowmen?”
“Yes, Jeffry, snowmen. You just roll snowballs along the sidewalk to make their bodies, and I’ll come after you and shovel up what little remains.”
Jeffry knew that his dad didn’t shovel the sidewalk that way, but it sounded like a good idea. He rolled two huge snowballs, two smaller ones, and two that were about the size of his own head. When Grammie had finished getting the snow off the sidewalks, she helped him roll the snowballs in front of Mr. Icedale’s bedroom window.
After they anchored the two largest in place, they stacked the smaller ones on top and filled in the gaps with more snow. Then they hurried to Grammie’s to get two carrots for the snowmen’s noses, buttons for the eyes and mouths, and two old scarves to wrap around their necks.
The snowmen were finished. Jeffry hadn’t known that shoveling sidewalks could be so much fun! He giggled as they ran back to Grammie’s house for hot chocolate and sandwiches.
Soon his parents came to pick him up. As they sat in the kitchen and talked, his dad looked out the kitchen window. “Who made the snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard?” he asked.
Jeffry looked at Grammie and put his finger up to his lips.
“Snowmen?” Grammie asked. “Well, look at that! Someone has made snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard. What a nice thing to do! He’s been a bit grouchy lately—maybe that will cheer him up.” She winked at Jeffry.
A few minutes later, as he stretched up to give her a hug and kiss good-bye, he whispered, “Let’s shovel Mr. Icedale’s walks again the next time it snows.”
When they passed Mr. Icedale’s house on the way home, Jeffry looked at the snowmen one last time. And there, with the window wide open, was Mr. Icedale putting out peanuts for the squirrels. He had a smile on his face—the first smile that had been there in a long time.
Jeffry leaned back in his seat with a great big smile of his own.

Two Brisbane youth recently completed a unique double. As members of the 11th Regional Army Cadet Unit, Michelle Park and Rebecca Hollis received awards as cadets of the year at their annual ceremonial parade. Michelle and Rebecca are the only Church members in the cadet unit, which covers the 16 high schools in the Logan City area.
“I’ve been told the other cadets really respect us for the standards we keep,” Rebecca says. “They know we don’t smoke or drink or swear.”
“Just the same,” Michelle says, “it’s nice to have Rebecca around to help me maintain my standards.”

Siabebe, a young Kuna Indian girl, sits beside her mother on the earthen floor of their palm-leaf hut. Like her mother, she takes a needle, thimble, and scissors and sets to work with brightly colored cloth. For many weeks now, Siabebe has clipped and tucked and stitched. She’s eager to finish her work, yet careful to make perfect stitches she and her mother can be proud of.
In one more week, Siabebe will attend an important celebration with her family and all the people of her village. She and her mother will wear the lovely mola blouses they are making. Siabebe’s is a tutu (flower) mola; her mother’s a yauk (sea turtle) mola.
Two special ceremonies are held for every girl who grows up in a Kuna village: when she officially leaves childhood behind and is declared an adult (usually around the age of twelve) and another time a couple of years later when she is presented as being ready for marriage. Then the village members celebrate with music, dancing, and storytelling. It is during these ceremonies that the finest molas are worn. And it is for Siabebe’s own coming-of-age party that she and her mother have worked so hard to make theirs the loveliest of molas.

Preparing to decorate our Christmas tree, I unpacked a box filled with Christmas decorations that I hadn’t seen or used in several years. As I pawed through the Christmas lights and linens, I discovered a dress box filled with Christmas ornaments I had collected when I was single and teaching school. I discovered a plain, cross-stitched ornament that simply said “Christmas Open House—1984.” My mind raced back to that year. I was unmarried and had apprehensively moved from a young single adult ward to a family ward.
I love the Christmas season, but some had been very lonely for me. Being in my 30s, single, and not having children, I sometimes felt left out. It was easy for me to feel sorry for myself, falling back into what I called the “poor little old me syndrome.” That particular year, 1984, I remember making a conscious decision to conquer the syndrome, to look beyond myself and see what I could do to make Christmas joyful for others.
I was relatively new to the ward and thought that opening my modest apartment to members of the Relief Society would help me celebrate the holidays and become better acquainted with the sisters.
As I reminisced about that open house, I remembered the small Christmas tree decorated with my box of ornaments, the smell of the shortbread cookies my single friends helped me bake, and the sweet taste of Mom’s “white Christmas punch” I served to the guests.
That conscious decision in 1984 to “lose my life” by looking outward was indeed a turning point in “finding” myself. As I pondered the past, I realized that many, in turn, had followed our Savior’s words and lost their life for me. Christmas ornaments had become a sweet reminder of Christlike friends.

Rubén Alliaud was 14 when he left his home in Argentina to spend a year with his uncle in the United States. His father, Rubén Reynaldo Alliaud, had died earlier, and Rubén was developing “a rebellious spirit.”
His concerned mother, María, sent him to Houston, Texas, to live with her brother, Manuel Bustos, and his family. She asked one condition of her brother’s family: “Do not share your Latter-day Saint beliefs with my son.”
The spirit of the gospel, however, spoke to the struggling teenager. He observed how the Church united the Bustos family through prayer and service, and he couldn’t help but notice the numerous copies of the Book of Mormon on the shelves of his room.
Curious, he pulled down a copy and discovered Moroni’s promise that he could know through prayer that the Book of Mormon is true.
“That promise touched me,” says the newly called General Authority Seventy. “I wanted to read the book.”
He took Moroni’s promise to heart, received an affirmative answer, and told his surprised uncle that he wanted to be baptized. Uncle Manuel immediately sent Rubén back to Argentina to ask his mother’s permission. He was soon baptized. Since then, the restored gospel has anchored Elder Alliaud’s life.

One night I was sending instant messages on the Internet to Amber, a friend of mine. I can’t recall how we got started, but we were discussing God and my religious beliefs.
“I’m telling you, Ben, I’ve tried to pray before, and it doesn’t work. I just feel like I’m talking to the wall,” Amber wrote.
Relying on everything I had been taught since Primary, I responded, reassuring her that God does hear and answer His children who humbly approach Him. As I was reassuring her, I started to feel less sure myself. I began to feel guilty since I had never actually gotten down on my knees and prayed about all these things. The conversation progressed, and I became increasingly distressed at my lack of a personal testimony. My spiritual progression had been on the back burner for too long.
As a lifelong member of the Church, I sometimes took the gospel for granted. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that being in the Church was good, and I made sure I went to church every Sunday. However, I always depended on the testimonies of others to confirm that the Church was true. I always tried to be faithful, but I did not actively seek to apply Moroni’s promise to myself. Life was too complicated, and I thought there would be plenty of time for me to gain a personal testimony of the Church at some later point.
As I talked with Amber, I realized even more clearly what I was doing. I was neglecting the more spiritual things in my life in favor of trying to keep up with my hectic schedule. When was the last time I had read the scriptures? When was the last time I had a meaningful personal prayer? When was the last time I seriously thought about going on a mission?
Preoccupation with trying to calm my life’s storm by myself had taken away from my focus on building a testimony and having faith in the Lord. Ironically, a solid testimony would have served to make everything else in my life fall into place.
“Amber, don’t give up on praying. He will answer you,” I wrote, while thinking that I should follow my counsel.
Before I went to bed that night, I got on my knees and prayed. I asked to know if the gospel is true and if Heavenly Father was hearing my prayer. I wanted to know Him and feel His presence in my life. I realized then that I simply couldn’t wait any longer to gain a testimony of Him, especially during my turbulent teenage years. I prayed for a long time and knelt in silence for even longer, listening and feeling for the Spirit.
Nothing happened right away, but after I had sufficiently loosened my heart and made a concentrated effort to listen amidst the quiet darkness, I felt a sensation of peace throughout my upper body. As I held on to this defining moment of joy, I knew His Spirit had touched me. Finally, I had a personal testimony of Him that I could share with others. Even though I knew my life would still be hard and full of uncertainties, knowing that He was there for me made all the difference.

In elementary school I was overweight. I remember stepping onto the scale every morning, praying that I had lost just one pound. Sometimes I came home in tears because of my schoolmates’ cutting remarks.
My older brother and sister, David and Shannon, also had their challenges. When David was one year old, he was severely burned. Scars covered his hands, arms, stomach, and legs. Shannon had a walking disability and was born with a slower mental capacity that often made her act younger than she was. Almost daily children at school made fun of them.
Despite their trials, my brother and sister looked to Christ in everything they did. Both of them served honorable missions. Their humility, constant faith, and perseverance provided wonderful examples. They are everything I want to become.
In this life we may be criticized and persecuted. That’s part of why we came here—to rise above the persecution and become stronger because of it. David, Shannon, and I are better people today for having been faithful in difficult experiences. I often say that everything given to us in life can be either a blessing or a curse. The strength of one’s heart determines which it is.

A true story from the USA.
Lucas and Lexi are brother and sister. They like to work and play together.
Lucas is blind. This means he can’t see well. Lexi has a clubfoot. This means her foot is twisted, and it’s hard to walk. Lucas helps Lexi walk when her legs get tired. Lexi reads to Lucas when his eyes get tired. They like to help each other.
Lucas and Lexi like playing on the playground. Lucas helps Lexi if she trips and falls. Lexi helps Lucas if he can’t find the monkey bars.
Lucas and Lexi like playing board games. Lexi reads the rules to Lucas. Lucas helps Lexi figure out her next move.
Lucas and Lexi like music. Lucas likes to play the piano. Lexi likes to sing. Sometimes Lucas plays the piano while Lexi sings.
Lucas and Lexi like helping each other. Lucas sometimes helps Lexi make her bed. Lexi sometimes helps Lucas pick up his toys.
Lucas and Lexi like reading scripture stories. They like learning about Jesus Christ and how He helped others. Jesus loved those He helped.
Lucas loves helping Lexi, and Lexi loves helping Lucas. They love Jesus Christ and want to be like Him. Jesus loves Lucas and Lexi. He loves that they help each other.
Watch a video about this story here!
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, they were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

Photograph from author
I grew up in a small, rural village in the Philippines. My family was poor. In the Philippines, if you don’t have money, you can’t go to school. Despite that obstacle, I was an ambitious young man.
I told my parents I wanted to become a doctor or a teacher or some kind of a professional, but they always told me to stop dreaming. We didn’t have money for me to go to a university. My parents wanted me to be content and not disappointed with my life.
“Being a professional is not for us,” they said. They didn’t believe that anything better was in store for our family than what we already had.
But that was before we joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
We lived far away from any cities, but the missionaries found us and kept coming back. They made many sacrifices to teach my family, but they changed our lives forever.
When we joined the Church, I learned I was a child of God with potential to grow and learn and become (see Moses 1:39; “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Gospel Library). With gospel knowledge, I knew it was time to elevate my family’s station. We were no longer just poor people from a small village—we were worthy sons and daughters of God deserving of blessings He has promised to His faithful followers.
The missionaries brought the gospel into my life, the gospel brought music into my life, and music got me a scholarship to attend the university. I earned a bachelor’s degree in secondary education and then a degree in music, majoring in choral conducting. Now I teach music at Liceo de Cagayan University and conduct the Liceo U High School Glee Club. I also lead a choir of members of the Church. Our mission is to share God’s truth through music.
Graduating from the university gave me a new life. I don’t know where I would be today without the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Everyone deserves the chance to learn, as I did, that they have a Heavenly Father and that He has blessed them with potential to grow and learn and become.

Illustration by Alberto Ruggieri
I was feeling afraid and alone. Then I moved to another country and went to church for the first time in a long time. I was living with my mom in a little town in Mexico where everyone knows each other. I knew right from wrong, but I was confused and the only active young woman in the whole town.
I wanted to fit in, so I did one thing that made sense back then: have a boyfriend. This was only one of the first mistakes I started to make. I started giving in to peer pressure and believing I was old enough to think and choose for myself, which meant becoming an inactive young woman who lived in darkness.
I lived in darkness for a year, with every passing day becoming darker. My poor decisions led to arguments with my family, and I realized I couldn’t keep living with them. But it wasn’t until the death of a close Latter-day Saint friend that I realized something was missing. Unfortunately, I blamed God and the gospel. I stopped believing that blessings came from being obedient. I knew that if I didn’t decide to start living the gospel, I would continue ignoring my connection with the Church and keep living in a worldly manner.
I was sitting on my bed in a dark room, crying and feeling sorry for myself when I realized that I was afraid—afraid of being there alone with no one to talk to, afraid of not being able to fix all the wrongs I had done, afraid that no one was going to forgive me, especially God.
Eventually, I moved to Minnesota, USA, with my grandparents, who are not members of the Church. My stepdad flew with me, and my first Sunday there, we went to church, but only for sacrament meeting. By the end of the meeting I had already decided to leave the Church, but to my surprise, just when we were going to the car, we saw the bishop running to catch up to us. He asked us a few questions and invited us to come back next Sunday—and we did.
The next Sunday, just as sacrament meeting was ending, before I could stand up, I was surrounded by the young women from the ward—young women who would help me change my life.
I suddenly entered a completely different world: a world with a bishop and a Young Women president who cared for me and, most of all, young women who tried to live the gospel daily, who strived to live high standards and stand for the right. They shined so much that they could brighten the path before me.
That’s when I realized what I had to do: “Let [my] light so shine before men, that they may see [my] good works, and glorify [my] Father which is in heaven” (see Matthew 5:16). And so I started by going to church and Mutual every week, reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day, dressing modestly, using better language, going to the temple, and preparing myself to get my patriarchal blessing.
I had completely changed, but I didn’t realize it until Young Women camp, when I felt the Holy Ghost and discovered that I had a testimony—a testimony that would remind me that God loves me, that He has a plan for me, and that He doesn’t want me to be alone. A testimony so bright and strong that it changed me. A testimony to share and light not only my path but others’. A testimony that is not afraid to shine in the dark.
The author lives in Baja California, Mexico.

When I was 11 years old, I loved basketball. My oldest brother loved it too. He played on the basketball team in college. He had to decide whether to serve a mission or keep playing on the team.
One night at dinner, he was talking with our family about whether or not to serve a mission. I just blurted out, “If you go on a mission, I’ll go on a mission.” Everyone was silent as my brother thought about what I said.
My brother did decide to go on a mission! In fact, all four of my brothers served missions. When it was time for me to decide whether or not to serve, it wasn’t a question. I had already made that choice!

Grace, a widow with short brown hair and shining eyes, was first. Her day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, she told us. She awoke with a terrible head cold—the first time in more than three years she had been ill. In revising her plans for the day, she decided to put together a scrapbook about her mother’s life, something she had been thinking of doing for a long time. Grace asked her sister to help, and they worked together to reconstruct their mother’s life story in pictures and words. It took most of the day, but the end result was a cherished scrapbook.
Grace found that her activities on that day opened up a new avenue to her. Her patriarchal blessing had said that she would work on her family history. “Because I didn’t understand family history, I just couldn’t get really interested in it,” she confessed. “But after doing my mother’s book, I decided to do one about my husband who died recently.”
She has since compiled histories of her husband, her son, and her daughter. “By cleaning out all the boxes of treasures and mementos I had been storing for years, I’ve found enough information to do the temple work for many of my ancestors,” she says. “I can see my work is just beginning. And I’m happy to do it.”

Many of us have seen examples of such faith in our lives, but often they slip by us quickly. In 1839 Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, wrote a letter to her brother Joseph Fielding, and we have it in the record. It frames with clarity the reciprocal nature of our relationships with one another and with God in the ways we are taught in the scriptures.
“Dear Brother:
“… You have, I suppose, heard of the imprisonment of my dear husband, with his brother Joseph, Elder Rigdon, and others, who were kept from us nearly six months; and I suppose no one felt the painful effects of their confinement more than myself. I was left in a way that called for the exercise of all the courage and grace I possessed. My husband was taken from me by an armed force, at a time when I needed, in a particular manner, the kindest care and attention of such a friend, instead of which, the care of a large family was suddenly and unexpectedly left upon myself, and, in a few days after, my dear little Joseph F. was added to the number. Shortly after his birth I took a severe cold, which brought on chills and fever; this, together with the anxiety of mind I had to endure, threatened to bring me to the gates of death. I was at least four months entirely unable to take any care either of myself or child; but the Lord was merciful in so ordering things that my dear sister could be with me. Her child was five months old when mine was born; so she had strength given her to nurse them both.
“You will also have heard of our being driven, as a people, from the State, [Missouri] and from our homes; this happened during my sickness, and I had to be removed more than two hundred miles, chiefly on my bed. I suffered much on my journey; but in three or four weeks after we arrived in Illinois, I began to amend, and my health is now as good as ever. … We are now living in Commerce, on the bank of the great Mississippi river. The situation is very pleasant; you would be much pleased to see it. How long we may be permitted to enjoy it I know not; but the Lord knows what is best for us. I feel but little concerned about where I am, if I can keep my mind staid upon God; for, you know in this there is perfect peace. I believe the Lord is overruling all things for our good. I suppose our enemies look upon us with astonishment and disappointment” (quoted in Carol Cornwall Madsen, In Their Own Words: Women and the Story of Nauvoo [1994], 98–99).

Down in the South, when I was president of the mission down there, I went to one of the beautiful new chapels there—not of our Church—and the minister showed us through. The ground had broken away so that the basement was above the ground level, and I said to the minister: “Do you know what we would do with this if we had it?”
And he said: “What?”
I said: “We’d improve it and use it to entertain our young people.”
“Well, Mr. Richards,” he said, “you can do it. You have trained leaders, you don’t have to pay them. But we haven’t got them, and we can’t afford to pay them.” Now I knew he could not because one of our members sang in his choir each week and was paid by the minister for singing in the choir.
What if we had to pay all of these folks here, and then all of our ward choirs, and all of the auxiliary organizations. And, just think!—on Friday we had a gathering of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I don’t remember just how many were there, but I think about 190. They are businessmen, executives, and professional men, and go all over the country without any compensation for their work in order to help build the kingdom. Thank God for the gift of the Holy Ghost! No wonder the Prophet said that included all things.