Gospel Story Finder

But years later, I was deceived again and ended up in another abusive relationship. When I broke away, I found out I was pregnant again. I didn’t want to place the baby. I was older than before, and I felt like I could be a good mom. I met with my bishop and a social worker. I started following the same process that I had before in praying about adoption, but nothing ever seemed to click. It always felt difficult.
I still went to church. Sometimes ward members would say they were surprised to see me there pregnant, which hurt a little. But I still went every week. I wanted people to see that what I had done reflected a choice I had made but that it didn’t define who I was. I worked with my bishop to move forward.
As my due date grew closer, I started to panic. With my first baby, I’d had a plan, but this one was so different. I didn’t feel like I was receiving a strong answer regarding any option for my baby. I let the couple whom I had placed my first baby with know that I was pregnant but unsure of whether I would place, and that if I did place, I would want them to raise this baby as well.
After I had the baby, I still felt unsure. Then my doctor came in to check on us and said, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to have children again, so love this little one.” While that may not be the answer for everyone, I felt the Spirit confirm that this was the right choice for me. After panicking for nine months, I felt peace. I let the couple know that I had decided to parent my daughter.
I wanted to be the best mom I could be, and I knew that the only way to do that was staying close to family and the Lord’s Church. I knew that what I had learned in the gospel of Jesus Christ would help her like it had helped me.

A 14-year-old sister was all dressed up to go to a Young Women activity at a time in her life when she felt very unsure about herself. She was quietly and self-consciously inching her way toward the front door, hoping not to be noticed by all the young men in the living room who were visiting with her older brother Russell. She was given a life-changing boost when her older brother interrupted his conversation and said to her in front of all his friends, “My, Emily, you look pretty tonight!” A small thing? No. There are young women who claim that they would not have made it through those growing-up years without the encouragement and support of their older brothers.

Sister Sondra Jones of Utah, USA, was called to serve in the Marshall Islands with her husband, Neldon. “I was scared to death about what I was getting into. I have never felt comfortable trying to teach the gospel,” she says. After initially feeling that she had nothing to contribute, she decided to focus on her talents and skills. She learned to love the Marshallese people and served them by cutting hair and teaching them to sew.
After 18 months she estimated having done around 700 haircuts. Eagerly sharing her talents allowed her to serve and build relationships with hundreds of people, including members of the Church, investigators, and other members of the community.

Less well known but equally courageous was Reverend Frederick Vining Fisher, pastor of the First Methodist Church in Ogden, Utah. In the early 1900s, Utah and the Church were the objects of considerable and often scurrilous articles in the print media. In 1911, a series of magazine articles attacked the Church for “polygamy, deception, bigotry, and the seeking of political power.” Reverend Fisher felt inclined to respond.

Writing in a New York journal, The Outlook, he wrote that “with a personal knowledge of conditions twenty years ago, now, after some months of personal contact with that Church and its leaders . . . I am at least in as much a position to speak as magazine writers who have spent from two days to a month in the State seeking material to prove a predetermined prejudice.” Writing that “Utah deserves some fair play at the hands of the press,” Reverend Fisher described the Church as “half a million praying, Bible-reading, law-abiding, thrifty, God-fearing men and women. America has no more strong, genuine, devoted Christians than some of the First Presidency, apostles, and leaders of the Mormon Church.”

To be sure, Reverend Fisher differed with the Church on points of doctrine and beliefs. But these differences caused no discord. What Utah needed, concluded Reverend Fisher, “is not a fight on Mormonism, but a common fight of Mormon and Methodist, Protest and Catholic, on sin; not bitterness, but brotherhood; . . . not a chasm between Gentile and Mormon, but a union of the strongest leaders of both types of Christianity on earth” (see Frederick Vining Fisher, “A Methodist Minister’s View of Mormonism,” The Outlook, 29 July 1911, pp. 726–28).

I do not know why Reverend Fisher held such positive views of his Mormon neighbors, but we can be grateful for his courage in countering the articles that criticized Church members and leaders.

Hannah sat on the train seat between her father and her sister, Bessie. Papa had let Bessie sit next to the window, but Hannah didn’t mind because that meant she could sit next to Papa. She snuggled up next to him, and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Today we’ll go inside the house of the Lord,” Papa said, his voice trembling a little.
“Yes, Papa,” Hannah said.
“Do you know why?”
Hannah nodded. “The Salt Lake Temple will be dedicated today. Then it will be a real temple.”
“Yes,” said Papa. “And why else do you want to go?”
“To see how beautiful it is inside,” Hannah answered.
Papa smiled. “Is that why we go to the temple?”
Hannah looked down at the pink ticket she was holding on her lap. It had President Wilford Woodruff’s own signature on it. She would show it at the door so she could go inside to see the temple dedication.
“To see President Woodruff?”
“We do love our prophet, but why else do you want to go?” Papa tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.
Hannah leaned back in her seat. What answer was Papa after?
“You think about that.” Papa patted her knee. “On the way home, you can answer again.”
The train ride went by quickly, and soon Hannah found herself staring at the Salt Lake Temple. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Looking up at the spires made her delightfully dizzy. The angel Moroni sparkled in the morning sun. “Holiness to the Lord,” Hannah read from the inscription on the wall. She felt a powerful joy in her heart. She promised herself that someday she would be married right here in the temple.
Hannah whispered to her father, “I know why I want to go to the temple. It’s because of Charley and Grandfather Bird and the rest of our family. It’s for Holiness to the Lord and for me too.”
Papa nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I want to go too.”

In Part 1, Sarah Ann describes how her family traveled to the United States from Norway. She hears Mormon missionaries preach and knows what they say is true. Sarah Ann is baptized and promises the Lord that she will always do whatever He asks her to do.

Chardon Point, Iowa, 1849
Sarah Ann was too weak to open her eyes, but as she listened to the crickets chirping nearby she remembered where she was—in a covered wagon camped near a creek in Iowa. Despite painful muscle cramps, Sarah Ann smiled softly, grateful to still be alive.
The crickets were interrupted by the sound of two people talking quietly outside the wagon. Sarah Ann tried to hear what was being said.
“How is she today, Anna?” asked a man with a Norwegian accent.
“I am afraid she isn’t doing well,” Anna said. “Nothing is working. She has a very bad case of cholera.”
Sarah Ann recognized their voices. The man was Canute Peterson. Sarah Ann had known him since she was a young girl. When Canute’s parents died, Mother had welcomed him into their home as though he had been part of the family. The woman, Anna, was Sarah Ann’s nurse.
“I wish that something could be done,” Canute said.
“I do too. Sarah Ann is such a wonderful young woman.”
Sarah Ann let out a cry. The pain was almost more than she could bear. Sarah Ann thought about the events that had led her to where she was now. When she was baptized, she had promised the Lord to do whatever He asked her to do. A short time after that, the prophet Brigham Young told the Saints to gather in the West. Sarah Ann packed a few belongings and joined a wagon team of other Saints. They had traveled 200 miles (322 km) when Sarah Ann became sick with cholera.
A tear rolled down Sarah Ann’s cheek. “I want to live to see the place that the Lord has prepared for the Saints,” she thought.
Meanwhile, Canute walked along the edge of a nearby creek in the woods. As he walked, he felt a gentle prompting from the Holy Ghost to pray for Sarah Ann. He knelt down and prayed that Sarah Ann’s pain would lessen. As he prayed, Canute felt the Spirit tell him what he should do.
“I know that if I give Sarah Ann a priesthood blessing, she will be healed,” he thought.
As Canute returned to the wagon, he could hear Sarah Ann groaning. Anna and the other nurses filled the wagon, making it difficult for him to get close.
Putting all of his faith in the Lord, Canute went to the side of the wagon, put his hands under the wagon cover, laid them on Sarah Ann’s head, and gave her a blessing.
As soon as Sarah Ann felt the hands on her head, she knew whose hands they were even though she couldn’t see Canute.
When the blessing ended, Sarah Ann’s pain immediately stopped.
“I am healed!” Sarah Ann exclaimed.
“You are not in any pain?” Canute asked.
“None at all. It’s a miracle! Thank you for giving me a blessing, Canute. I know that God has healed me through the priesthood power you hold.”
Within an hour, Sarah Ann was up and trying to help others who were sick.
The wagon company was soon able to continue the journey. Sarah Ann felt closer to Canute than she ever had before. As they traveled, the two of them spent a lot of time together. They soon began to fall in love.

Lorenzo Snow was a great early missionary. He had been a member of the Church for less than a year when he set out on his first mission in 1837. He tells about his first experiences preaching the gospel in the following words:
“I … traveled about thirty miles [48 kilometers], and just as the sun was setting I made my first call for a night’s lodging, as a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and was refused; then another, and so on, until the eighth call, when I was admitted to a night’s lodging—going to bed supperless, and leaving in the morning, minus a breakfast.
“The first meeting I held was in the neighborhood of my uncle, by the name of Goddard, near the county seat of Medina County, Ohio. The people were notified and a respectable congregation assembled. It was a sore trial to face that audience in the capacity of a preacher, but I believed and felt an assurance that a Spirit of inspiration would prompt and give me utterance. … [It did, for] I baptized and confirmed into the Church my uncle, aunt and several of my cousins” (quoted in Eliza R. Snow Smith, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow [1884], 16).

Teenagers from the priests quorum of the Kansas City North Ward are brightening the lives of some elderly inner-city residents by helping repair their homes. Since last winter, the group has rebuilt steps and added porch railings to several older residences.
“It was hard, grueling work at times, and my toes nearly froze,” said David Nielsen, one of the young men. “But it makes me feel good to help people who can’t keep up their homes just because they are elderly or too sick.”
The boys came up with the idea when the group’s leader, Matt Kessler, read about the Metropolitan Lutheran Ministry’s need for volunteers to help weatherize inner-city homes for the disadvantaged. The following Sunday in priesthood meeting he suggested the young men volunteer. The priests decided it would be a great service project. They contacted the ministry, which provided them with home referrals for the group to get started. A local lumber company provided the materials for the project.
Most of the boys had little or no experience in carpentry before the project began. Brother Kessler taught them the basic skills they required and supplied the tools the young men used. Most of the work was done by hand. “The project gives the boys an opportunity to serve people and see another part of life which they are not accustomed to,” said Brother Kessler. “We also wanted them to know how to build something when we finished.”

My sister had to give an important talk in seminary. She spent two hours working on it on the computer. Then she started working on something else on the computer. When she went back to print out the talk, it had been deleted from the computer. This happened at 10:00 P.M., and I was in bed asleep. She and Mom woke up my older brother and asked for his help. They even called Dad, who was in North Carolina for the week. Neither my brother nor Dad could help get the talk back. They all went to bed upset and discouraged.
In the morning, Mom told me about the talk being deleted. I asked, “Did you pray about it?” Mom said that they hadn’t done that. When I went upstairs to get ready for school, a part of a scripture, Moroni 10:4, came to my mind: “… if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ. …” I thought, Well, I think I have a sincere heart, and I really want my sister to have her talk back, and I have faith in Christ. So I decided to pray as the scripture told me.
When I came home from school, Mom met me at the door and told me that when she got on the computer to work on her Scout committee records, the talk came up on the screen. She printed it out immediately for my sister, who did a good job when she gave the talk. We all learned from that experience how important it is to have faith and to pray and ask Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ for all the things that we need help with.

Growing up without a father, I was fortunate to have wonderful Church and Scouting leaders as role models. One of these was my father’s cousin, Israel Bennion. He was the stake patriarch, and when I was seven, he paid us a visit that helped me look forward with courage and hope during those hard years.
Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed in our Sunday best, waited in turn for this dignified man to place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings. Mine was only 263 words long, but it has been a guide to me my whole life. It helped me begin to realize that I was literally a son of God and that He knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, He would help me. It sustained me when I was in the Navy in World War II. It inspired me on my mission. Throughout my life it helped me chart a course that included honesty and high moral standards.

One evening last year, just before Christmas, my husband, Heber, and I made our way through the deep snow of an unshoveled walk and rang the door-bell. We were immediately greeted by Brent, an eight-year-old boy. He invited us in. We exchanged greetings with others while Brent stood by, anxiously waiting for the first opportunity to pose a question. In a most forthright and direct way, he simply asked, “Have you ever shaken hands with the prophet?”
His eagerness gave me reason to believe that he may have rehearsed that question in his mind several times in anticipation of our visit. “Yes, Brent,” I said, “I have shaken the hand of the prophet.”
“Oh,” he said, “if I could just shake the hand of the prophet.”
Sensing the love and respect Brent obviously felt for our prophet-leader, and wanting to somehow provide a tie between the prophet and the young boy, I reached out my hand. “Brent,” I said, “this hand has shaken the hand of the prophet.” To that offer he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. Then, letting go, he turned his right hand over from front to back to examine it thoroughly. “I’ll never wash my hand,” he said.
I suggested that he probably should wash his hand and just keep the memory in his mind. This suggestion was not acceptable to Brent. He had a better idea. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll wash my hand, but I’ll save the water.” That seemed like a good suggestion, although I supposed he was only joking.
A few minutes later, he came into the room carrying a plastic bag dripping with water. Before anyone could question him, he proudly announced, “I washed my hand,” holding the bag full of water for all to see. Brent sat on the floor facing the Christmas tree, his knees poking through his faded blue jeans. From the corner of my eye I watched him examine the bag full of water as if he were expecting to see some evidence that it was holy water.
As we continued visiting, Brent got up and, taking his treasure with him, left the room. He returned again, this time without the plastic bag full of water. He had determined a better solution. Brent stood there in the doorway with his faded gray T-shirt wet all the way down the front. Without hesitation he gave a complete explanation. “I drank the water,” he said.
Brent’s creative solution was not to be viewed as a joke or something to make fun of. He was serious. He was carrying something important—not on the outside where he could lay it down, but on the inside. The water from the hand that he had washed that had shaken the hand of someone who had shaken the hand of the prophet was now part of him, on the inside, and he wanted to keep it there. He seemed very pleased with his solution.
Would it really make any difference? I wondered. What did it really mean to Brent? It was much more than water I was sure. It was in sacrament meeting the Sunday before Christmas that I received a deeper understanding of what I felt this young boy, just recently baptized, was feeling and wanting. The sacramental prayer had been offered, and the sacred ordinances were being passed quietly and reverently. It was a time of recommitment and rededication, sorrow for wrongdoings, and resolve and hope with the beginning of a new year to do better.
The sister on my right passed the sacrament tray and held it while I raised the small cup of water to my lips. Into my mind came the thought, “I want to get this water on the inside.” I remembered the baptismal covenant; I thought of the symbolism of the water and the covenants made.

One extremely hot afternoon I was crossing the green agricultural lands of the pampas in Argentina. The sun had scorched the highway until heat waves were visible. Nevertheless, I was confident and comfortable because I had just purchased a brand-new car with a big motor and plenty of power to conquer the elements and allow me to travel briskly in air-conditioned comfort.
Suddenly I noticed that the temperature inside my new car had begun to climb and that the engine showed signs of strain. When the dashboard heat gauge reached the danger point, I pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that, with my very limited knowledge of mechanics, I could discover what was wrong. I was disappointed to think that something could disable my new car so soon.
After I had lifted the hood, I discovered, to my amazement, that a myriad of colorful little butterflies had collected on the radiator and stopped the cooling process. I was struck with the realization that the combined effect of a few hundred tiny butterflies mashed on the radiator had the ability to make the immense horsepower of the motor useless. No, it wasn’t something as obvious as an eagle or hawk striking it or an engine malfunction that had stopped the car—it was just a lot of little butterflies!

The day after Martin’s departure, Emma endured an agonizing labor and gave birth to a boy. The baby was frail and sickly and did not live long. The ordeal left Emma physically drained and emotionally devastated, and for a time it seemed she might die too. Joseph tended to her constantly, never leaving her side for long.38
After two weeks, Emma’s health began to improve, and her thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript. “I feel so uneasy,” she told Joseph, “that I cannot rest and shall not be at ease until I know something about what Mr. Harris is doing with it.”
She urged Joseph to find Martin, but Joseph did not want to leave her. “Send for my mother,” she said, “and she shall stay with me while you are gone.”39
Joseph took a stagecoach north. He ate and slept little during the journey, afraid that he had offended the Lord by not listening when He said not to let Martin take the manuscript.40
The sun was rising when he arrived at his parents’ home in Manchester. The Smiths were preparing breakfast and sent Martin an invitation to join them. By eight o’clock, the meal was on the table but Martin had not come. Joseph and the family started to grow uneasy as they waited for him.
Finally, after more than four hours had passed, Martin appeared in the distance, walking slowly toward the house, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.41 At the gate he paused, sat on the fence, and pulled his hat down over his eyes. He then came inside and sat down to eat in silence.
The family watched as Martin picked up his utensils, as if ready to eat, then dropped them. “I have lost my soul!” he cried, pressing his hands on his temples. “I have lost my soul.”
Joseph jumped up. “Martin, have you lost that manuscript?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “It is gone, and I know not where.”
“Oh, my God, my God,” Joseph groaned, clenching his fists. “All is lost!”
He started pacing the floor. He did not know what to do. “Go back,” he ordered Martin. “Search again.”
“It is all in vain,” Martin cried. “I have looked every place in the house. I have even ripped open beds and pillows, and I know it is not there.”
“Must I return to my wife with such a tale?” Joseph feared the news would kill her. “And how shall I appear before the Lord?”
His mother tried to comfort him. She said maybe the Lord would forgive him if he repented humbly. But Joseph was sobbing now, furious at himself for not obeying the Lord the first time. He could barely eat for the rest of the day. He stayed the night and left the next morning for Harmony.42
As his mother, Lucy, watched him go, her heart was heavy. It seemed everything they had hoped for as a family—everything that had brought them joy over the last few years—had fled in a moment.43

While I was growing up, my father was a very busy man because he had a demanding job as a truck driver for construction projects. But he always took time for me. When I was in high school, my father would ask my five sisters when he came home from work, “Where is Benjamín?”

My sisters would come to me and say, “Father wants you.”

I would leave playing with my friends and run to ask him, “What do you need, Father?”

He would say, “Bring your scriptures, and come with me.”

Two or three times a week we would read the scriptures together like that. He was a master teacher of the scriptures. At that time we did not have seminary in Mexico. Now I think of those study sessions as my own seminary class with my father as the teacher.

While reading the scriptures and hearing my father explain them to me, I learned for myself what the Spirit feels like in my heart and in my mind. Many times the Spirit was very strong as he would explain the scriptures.

These kinds of experiences with my father were the beginning of my own testimony of Heavenly Father and the Church. I always thought that the Church was true, but just thinking so was not enough. My father took my hand and put it on the iron rod. His manner of taking care of me was the key for my testimony and my inner security in the gospel.

During those meetings, not only did I learn many things from him about the scriptures, but I learned that my father loved me in a way that I couldn’t quite understand at the time. Many other times he would invite me to a movie or to eat, and I know that I was protected by my father’s care for me. Now I am a father, and I know that he loved me in a special way.

Gwen lived in sunny South Africa with her parents and four younger sisters. Each week she and her family traveled a long distance to attend their meetings. They rode part of the way on a double-decker bus until they reached the Mowbray station. Then they walked several blocks up Grove Road to the chapel.
Gwen especially enjoyed the beautiful scenery on Sunday mornings as the family walked along together under the shade of the huge gum trees. Towering above the road like a big giant lifting his head to the blue sky was Devil’s Peak. In September when it was spring, the hills were alive with thousands of colorful proteas, daisies, crassulas, and other wild flowers.
Gwen was grateful for the beautiful world in which she lived. And because she was always happy, everyone enjoyed her special smile.
One day Gwen did not feel like smiling. That day she could not help but cry because she had severe pains in her head, her back continually ached, and she had a high fever. Her parents immediately called their family doctor.
After his examination, the doctor reported that all of Gwen’s symptoms—especially the rigid condition developing in her back—indicated she had meningitis. He suggested that a specialist be called in to consult with him.
Her parents agreed to have the specialist come, but as soon as the family doctor left, they called “Cumorah,” the mission home, and asked LeRoy H. Duncan, who was mission president at the time, to come with another elder and administer to Gwen.
When these brethren arrived, Gwen was so ill that she could not smile. President Duncan and his companion placed their hands on the girl’s feverish forehead and gave her a blessing, praying that she would be made well if it were according to Heavenly Father’s will.
Even before the elders left, Gwen began to feel better. By the time their family doctor returned with the specialist, she seemed almost well. After another examination, the specialist turned to the family doctor and said, “Sir, you must have been unduly alarmed. This child has no symptom whatever of meningitis. All she needs is a few days of rest.”
Although neither doctor could understand the great change in Gwen, she and her family knew they had all been blessed through the power of the priesthood. And once again Gwen’s face was radiant with the happy smile that everyone loved!

As time passed and we both matured, we started to talk to each other about school, teachers, friends, and all the other things that concerned us. Tommy and I actually became friends. In high school, Tommy was a senior when I was a sophomore, and it was nice to receive advice from an experienced student. We were both in the marching band, and even though we had our own friends, Tommy was always willing to talk to me or help me in any way. He had developed a real sense of humor, and I enjoyed spending time with him.
I remember nights when we would be the only ones up, doing our homework, and Tommy would serve us both some ice cream. We would talk late into the night. Tommy was a wonderful example to me, and I was always learning something from him. He chose good friends, and I never saw him hesitate to choose the right. I especially respected him for how well he treated my parents. Whenever we came home from school, Tommy would go into the kitchen to get something to eat, and we would sit down and chat with Mama about the day. Somehow, the conversation always drifted to things deeper than school. I will always cherish those times.

As we attend the various stake conferences, it is thrilling to meet the young leaders whom the Lord has raised up—men such as President Eraldo dos Santos. He embraced the gospel as a young boy of seventeen. When he elected to accept a mission call, he was disowned by his family and put out on the street with his meager belongings. He served faithfully, however, and later was led to a beautiful young convert girl. They were sealed in the temple and are rearing their family under the covenant. Still under thirty years of age, he is successful in his business and is a great leader in the stake. How the Lord blesses the faithful members of the Church!

I remember the day my father died, my mind was somewhat in anxiety and turmoil. I returned home, sat in my favorite chair, and picked up the scriptures. I read a little, then closed my eyes. In my mind’s eye I saw my father as a young man, and he was dressed in white. Although he had never become a member of the Church, I knew I would see him in the resurrection and, furthermore, I had seen him as he would appear. My mind was at peace again. When we rely on the Lord, we can have fulfillment of his promise, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: … Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). He is “The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:6).

Julie Loper, the Mia Maid adviser in the Sunnyside Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, shared this story: “My husband and I concentrated one of our family home evenings on what to do in case of an emergency. Since our children were so young, we felt the most important thing to tell them was to get help as fast as they could. We made up several situations, acted them out, and tested our children to see if they understood.
“Little did we know that the following Wednesday our efforts would pay off. Our daughter, Erin, 15 months old, fell into a four-foot-deep irrigation box that had a great deal of water rushing through it. Three-year-old Ryan was just coming out of the house when he heard her cries.
“All Ryan could see was her fingertips holding onto the cement. He did not take time to investigate further, but immediately called me for help as we had discussed the week before in home evening. Those valuable seconds saved made the difference. I was able to reach her before she was forced down into the pipe which carries water onto other farms.
“Had Ryan waited before going for help, Erin’s strength would have gone before help arrived. If he had attempted to pull her up himself, probably both of them would have fallen in. Ryan said, ‘Family night helped me know what to do.’”

Photographs by Cody Bell and courtesy of Sydney G.
For an entire week, Sydney G., 14, from Utah, USA, visibly carried a copy of the Book of Mormon everywhere she went—to school, to her extracurricular activities, and to church. She was prayerfully trying to find someone to share the gospel with, and keeping the Book of Mormon out with her was a constant reminder of that goal.
One day, she went to the office at school and accidentally left the book there. Without even opening the cover, the office secretary knew immediately whose it was. That week, Sydney had become known at her school for carrying that Book of Mormon with her. And throughout her life, she’s become known for many other things as well.
For instance, she participates in student council. She dances for her school’s dance company. She was the lead in an Alice in Wonderland musical. She volunteers for a service group. She cheers. She crafts. She loves to spend time with her friends and family.
She’s also a strong advocate of type 1 diabetes awareness and research.
When Sydney was three, her parents noticed changes in her behavior. Among other things, she was extremely thirsty, moody, and fatigued. One day she slept for 22 hours, waking up only for moments before falling back asleep. Her parents knew something was wrong and took her to a doctor the next morning. The doctor said she was on the verge of a diabetic coma and was lucky she came in that day. Sydney and her parents now recognize that the timing was more than luck; it was a blessing.
Sydney’s diagnosis flipped her life upside down, but that hasn’t stopped her from living a life that gives back to others. Despite her age, Sydney is a leader, role model, and friend as she works to help promote diabetes awareness.
What Is Type 1 Diabetes?
Type 1 diabetes is a disease in which the pancreas produces little or no insulin, the hormone that converts glucose into energy. To treat this, people with type 1 diabetes take insulin every time they eat to help their bodies get the energy they need.
If left untreated, diabetes can have serious complications. It’s important to recognize the symptoms and be treated as early as possible. Type 1 diabetes requires constant care and vigilance throughout a person’s entire life.
In 2015, Sydney and her family participated in a fundraising managed by JDRF, an organization that helps fund research for type 1 diabetes. After the walk, Sydney wanted to keep helping. She says, “I was super excited to get out and do stuff, and I wanted to inform people of the symptoms of type 1 diabetes so they would know to get tested.” To do this, she and her mom created a social media page to promote awareness. Their first post included pictures of the walk, and they’ve continued with regular posts debunking myths about diabetes, promoting fundraisers, and showcasing diabetes-related events and activities Sydney participates in.
Sydney knows the impact youth can have in their communities, and she hopes to keep helping those around her. “Young people can make a huge difference,” she says, “and it’s good for them! They get to get out and help the community. It’s just good for the soul.”
She’s already seen some positive results from her efforts. One day, soon after they started the page, Sydney’s mom felt prompted to post Sydney’s diagnosis story. A woman in their neighborhood read the post and then, two days later, recognized the symptoms in her own daughter. As a result of a prompting, this five-year-old girl was able to receive an early diagnosis and get the medical attention she needed.
Sydney knows it’s important to have friends during times of trial, and she always strives to be that friend for people in times of need. When she heard of another young girl in the community who was just diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Sydney immediately reached out and met with her. The girl’s mother later told Sydney about the great influence she had on her daughter. The daughter had felt alone in her trial because no one else she knew had diabetes. But immediately after Sydney’s visit, she had a friend, and that made all the difference.
Sydney also recognizes the importance of friendship in her own life and strives to include and love others. When she was about to turn 12, she was “probably more excited than anyone to go to the temple for the first time.” So for her birthday party, she invited some friends over to eat a formal dinner and then go to the temple to do baptisms and confirmations on behalf of those who have died. One of her close friends, Lindsay,* wasn’t a member of the Church, but Sydney still wanted to include her. So Sydney invited Lindsay to the birthday dinner with them and explained why the temple was so important to her.
Remember that Book of Mormon that Sydney carried around with her? She felt prompted to give it to Lindsay with her testimony. Though Lindsay respectfully said she didn’t believe in the book, Sydney didn’t focus on the rejection. Instead, Sydney just appreciated the opportunity she had to share her testimony with someone she cares about.
Though she sometimes feels discouraged, Sydney tries to stay positive and move forward in her goal to help others. She says, “I think it’s important to just keep going if you’re having a trial. It helps to focus on something positive. Like, if you fall off your bike, you just get back up and keep going, and soon you’ll forget you even fell off in the first place.”
Every day, Sydney chooses to focus on the positive of her situation by striving to be a leader in her community and a friend to those who need one. She’s learned that the smallest decisions—like deciding one day to go to a fundraiser walk with her family—can make a big difference.