Gospel Story Finder

One evening as I drove to a friend’s birthday party, I turned down a secluded, dark two-lane road. Suddenly, I had a terrible feeling. The thought came to me that I should turn around. I rationalized that I was just being nervous.
The prompting, however, came again two more times. “Heavenly Father,” I said out loud, “there is no place to turn around. If I need to do so, please show me where.”
Immediately, I saw a driveway I had never noticed before during my many times driving this road. I quickly turned around and went home.
My friends were disappointed when I told them I wouldn’t be coming to the party. Thinking I had turned around because I didn’t want to be alone, they suggested that my husband join me on a return drive. My husband agreed. He dropped me off at the party and left for home.
Later, my husband called me. He sounded alarmed. He said that as he drove home, police officers stopped him to ask if he had seen anything suspicious. They said a truck had been forced off the road by gang members who then beat and robbed the driver. The police suspected that the gang had targeted the truck because no other cars were nearby at the time.
I was stunned! Earlier, I had been the lone vehicle on that same road. I realized that my prompting had been from the Holy Ghost and that I had been protected by the powers of heaven. As I contemplated what had happened, other incidents in my life came to my mind. I realized that what I had thought were mere coincidences were actually promptings from the Holy Ghost.

Two Salt Lake North missionaries from Vietnam taught the gospel discussions in English to an investigator who had a Hispanic background. Elder Jeff Reyes, from Los Angeles, California, had been a student football player with the University of Utah before joining a professional team. After a knee injury ended the 122-kilogram man’s football career, he returned to Salt Lake City, although he had very strong feelings against the Church. However, when he met the missionaries, he was receptive to the gospel and was baptized. President Owen recalls that, “Jeff was so excited after his baptism he hugged those little Vietnamese missionaries and literally lifted their feet off the ground. I joked to my wife that I feared for their lives.”

Delivering airplanes from the factory to clients is an unusual job, and I sometimes land in unusual places. This was the case when I left Recife, Brazil, in a small single-engine airplane bound for Abidjan, Ivory Coast, in Africa. Powerful, unforecast winds pushed my plane off course. Without any navigational aids except a compass, I was grateful when I finally landed safely. To my surprise, I found myself about 1,200 kilometers off course, near Banjul, Gambia.
Tired after my seventeen-hour-long journey, and since I had to leave early the next morning, I decided to spend the night at the airport in a small tent I carry for emergencies.
As soon as I began to set up the tent in the warm darkness of the African night, the duty electrician came out. “You may rest in my shop,” he said.
“No, I don’t want to interrupt your work,” I answered.
“But I am only here in case my services are needed and will probably sleep, too. Besides, there are the snakes.”
“Snakes don’t bother me,” I said. “They probably couldn’t get inside my tent, anyway.”
“Two nights ago,” he stated matter-of-factly, “a cobra spit in a man’s eyes. Now the man may be blind.”
At that, I rolled up my tent and joined him. He was delighted to have me as a guest and showed me a long desk I could sleep on for the night. Satisfied that I was as comfortable as possible, he went off to attend to some duties, and I turned out the light.
After a few minutes, I realized I had forgotten to read my scriptures for the day. I got up, turned on the light, and pulled my Book of Mormon out of my chart bag. I began to read from Third Nephi. I was deep in the story of the visitation of the risen Christ to the Nephites when my friend came through the door. He saw me reading and apologized profusely for interrupting my prayers and meditation.
I was about to assure him that it was no interruption, but instead I suddenly said, “Have you ever seen a Book of Mormon?” He replied that he had not. I found out that he was part of the Christian minority in Gambia and that he had studied the Bible fervently. It was a wonderful experience to share the words of the Savior from the Book of Mormon with him. I explained that the Book of Mormon is another sacred testament of Christ.
For more than half an hour we talked, and I told him briefly about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, a short history of the Church, and the significance of the Doctrine and Covenants and Pearl of Great Price. My friend was fascinated but had to return to his duties. Before he left, he urgently requested a copy of the Book of Mormon and some pamphlets. I copied down his address and promised I would send them to him.
I departed for Abidjan early the next morning without seeing him again. As soon as I arrived home I sent the requested material. Perhaps I will hear back from him, perhaps not. Either way, I have the satisfaction of knowing I have done a small part to help spread the gospel in a remote corner of the earth. Now, though my chart bag is full of flight materials, I have reserved a small bit of space for Church pamphlets and a Book of Mormon. Next time a missionary opportunity arises, I will be ready.

When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

Emily is scared to go to Primary by herself. She asks Mom to come with her.
“I get to go to my class and learn how Jesus can help me,” Mom says.
“And you get to go to Primary and learn how Jesus can help you.”
Mom hugs Emily. “Jesus can help us, even when it’s hard.”
Mom walks with Emily to Primary and waves goodbye.
They learn a song about Jesus. Emily likes the music. She feels safe and happy.
Mom isn’t in Primary. But Jesus is helping Emily be brave!
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

One day after class, I met with a young brother, a member of the Church who was less active. I asked him why he was no longer coming to Church; he said that because in the Church not everyone is treated equally. Asking why he thought that, he told me that while he had attended institute classes throughout the year, he never received his certificate. I asked him if that was really what weakened his faith.
As I was thinking about what I could tell him regarding his situation, the Spirit prompted me to tell him about two older, remarkable, and courageous sisters: my mother, Hélène Kapinga, (62) and Sister Charlotte Nsamba (56). I told my friend that these women had set wise goals to better learn the gospel by joining with us every year at institute class. (In 2017, it was their fourth year attending institute!)
As I taught this young brother, I compared these two women to the strong women in the Book of Mormon who taught their children to fight against the enemies of their freedom, religion, families, and country. I gave this brother a reference from the Book of Alma, an epistle sent by Helaman to inform Moroni what the two thousand young men had told him about the source of their courage to fight against the Lamanites. These young men always knew that if they trusted in God they would be sustained in all things; and they had been taught by their mothers that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. “We do not doubt our mothers knew it” (Alma 56:48). Even nowadays our mothers know the importance of the institute.
I also told this young brother that one day I asked my mother what she feels at the end of each year of institute when she does not receive a certificate: “Mom, don’t you feel bad when they don’t award you a certificate?” I told my young friend that I was surprised by her answer when she said, “My son, know that what I receive in these institute of religion classes is more important to me than the certificate.” And then she added, “Some young people come to institute just to get a certificate, but they forget what is important. I would rather lack a certificate than the knowledge of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” I thanked my mother for her inspired words.
I explained to the young brother that—like the two thousand young warriors told Helaman I have no doubt my mother, Hélène, and Sister Charlotte both know the importance of institute.
Today, my older brother and I are both serving in the mission field. I am serving in the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission, while my brother is serving in the Mbuji-Mayi Democratic Republic of the Congo Mission.
I testify to you that institute is an inspired program—and has changed my life. I testify to you that because of institute I had the desire to serve a full-time mission, and today I have the courage to defend the truth wherever I find myself. I am not afraid to testify of the Book of Mormon to anyone because I am well prepared; and he who is “prepared . . . shall not fear” (Doctrine and Covenants 38:30).
I know that I am well equipped with knowledge of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ acquired in institute. Today I am a missionary, authorized to preach the gospel to the world, and an official representative of Jesus Christ and of his Church because I made institute a priority in my life before going on mission.

“We are going to Arizona because the prophet called us to go,” Mother explained. “Remember my telling you about when I was your age and my family lived in Nauvoo? After the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, there were contentions with our neighbors. The Brethren told us to leave our homes and move west. There our lives would be spared, and we could worship in peace.
“It was terrible to leave our home, but there was nothing else to do unless we turned away from God, the Brethren, and the Church. We made the long, hard journey to Salt Lake. We sacrificed again when we followed President Young’s direction to leave there and settle here.
“Now we have been asked to go to Arizona. We do not have to go. No one is forcing us. We are not fleeing for our lives. We could find reasons not to go. This time the struggle to obey comes from within.”
Mother hugged me as she continued. “The Lord said that when we receive a commandment ‘whether by [His] own voice or by the voice of [His] servants, it is the same’ (D&C 1:38). Our prophet has spoken to us. I know he speaks for God. Your father and I decided long ago to follow the prophet, no matter what the sacrifice.”
The Spirit warmed me as I listened to Mother’s testimony. I felt strengthened for the uncertainties ahead.
As I climbed into the loaded wagon, I took one last look at our old home, then turned to face the trail to Arizona. I realized that I, too, had a testimony of God’s representative on earth. Like my parents, I decided I would follow the prophet—even to the last frontier.

Jason dipped a rag into the quart of dark walnut stain and slid it across the unfinished top of his new oak desk. The wood jumped to life, the grain standing out like a picture coming into focus.
“That looks great!” Jason’s foster father, Jim Spence, was standing in the garage doorway, beaming. “I’m glad we could finally get you a desk of your own.”
Before Jason had come to live with Jim and Anna Spence, he’d been in and out of foster homes all his life. He’d never felt wanted—until now.
And until now, Jason had never called any of his foster parents Mom and Dad. The next day was Father’s Day, and Jason wanted to give Dad something special.
After he finished the desk, Jason washed up and changed his clothes. As he was tucking in his shirt, Dad and Mom knocked at the door and came in. Their faces looked serious.
“We just got a call from the welfare people,” Dad said. “They want us to take another boy, a ten year old. His name’s Rob. After his mother died last year, he had several scrapes with the law and has been in three foster homes. He can’t seem to adjust. You know the story.”
A sick feeling churned in Jason’s stomach. He knew the story all right. It was like his own. Every time he’d gotten into trouble, he’d been moved to another foster home. Nobody really cared. Until the Spences! If another kid comes, they won’t have time for me, Jason thought. Maybe they’ll even like him better!
He stared at the floor, unable to say anything.
“It will be like having a younger brother. You can play baseball with him and teach him your pickoff move to first base,” Dad said.
“I don’t want a brother,” Jason croaked, his voice a whisper. “Why can’t things stay the way they are?”
Mom sighed and looked hurt. “This boy needs our help—Jim’s, yours, and mine. We’re counting on you.”
Dad glanced at his watch.
“He’ll be here in a little while. We’d like your help—will you at least pray about it?”
Without answering, Jason pushed past them and headed for the front door.
“Where are you off to?” Mom asked.
Jason grunted something and left. He didn’t know where he was going, or even if he was coming back. He needed to figure things out. He started running and found himself heading toward town.
He passed people and didn’t see them. Someone said hello, but Jason didn’t notice who it was. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d finally found a caring home, and now some new kid was going to ruin it.
Soon he was on the other side of town. It reminded him of places that he’d lived in before. He could tell that the people who lived here had a hard time making enough money to live on, and a lot of the kids here probably learned to grow up hating others.
He passed a flashing video arcade. Both younger kids and teenagers drifted in and out, drinking sodas, leaning against the brick walls, and wandering back inside again. Some of them stared at him and laughed. Jason felt out of place—he’d changed a lot since the Spences had taken him in.
He’d been pretty hostile toward Anna and Jim at first. But it had been impossible to not warm up to them. Dad had found out that Jason played baseball and gotten him into Little League the very first week he was with them. Then he and Mom had come to almost every game. And could they yell! It made Jason feel as if he really were their son.
“Why can’t things stay like that?” Jason thought aloud. “Why’d some new kid have to show up and spoil it?”
As he wandered past a drugstore, he thought of Father’s Day cards. It made a lump grow in his throat. He’d really looked forward to buying one this year.
Just then, three boys spilled out the store’s door and burst into laughter.
“That guy’s so dumb,” one boy said.
“He has an IQ below freezing,” another boy chortled. He held up three packages of bubble gum. “Look what I swiped from right under his nose!”
They ran off with no idea as to where they were headed. But Jason knew. He knew all too well. And if it hadn’t been for Jim Spence, he himself might be headed for a juvenile detention center by now.
Who’s going to help these kids? he prayed silently.
Then he asked himself, Who’s going to help Rob?
Jason felt selfish for wanting all his foster parents’ love for himself when so many kids needed to be loved.
He knew that the Spences loved him. Everything they did for him proved that. Like buying him a desk. They’d saved for quite a while to be able to get it. And all he’d done to show his thanks was to run away!
He hurried into the drugstore and bought a Father’s Day card—the first one he’d ever bought—then hurried home. He still didn’t know what to give Dad for Father’s Day, but he was going home, and that was all that seemed to matter.
He thought of the kids back at the store, ripping off other people and not knowing that they were really ripping off their own happiness. Jason would never have known that if it hadn’t been for Dad. The world needed more fathers like him.
Suddenly he knew what to give him for Father’s Day.
Jason tried to act cool as he strode up the walk and into the house, but it wasn’t easy. He was so glad to be home again! After apologizing to his worried foster parents, he met Rob, a boy with long blond hair, who was leaning against the door casing, trying to look tough.
Jason smiled at Dad and handed him the card, adding, “I know this is a day early, but it’s the right time to give it to you. And there’s something else I want to give you, Dad.” He tilted his head slightly in Rob’s direction. “I want to help.”
Dad gave him a bear hug that would have bruised another bear! “Thanks, Jason.”
Smiling proudly, Mom suggested, “Why don’t you and Rob take a walk and get acquainted while we fix supper.”
“Want to?” Jason asked.
Rob shrugged. “Where?”
Jason thought, then said, “The unfinished-furniture store.”
Rob looked at him as if he’d just jumped off a spaceship.
Jason had to laugh. “We can look at the desks,” he explained. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “They’re big on desks.”

Well respected as a leader, Brother Casablanca is the first to take his own advice. At Christmastime, he leads the high priests in his branch in a Puerto Rican tradition called parranda. The Casablancas gather several families together, along with a few guitars or other musical instruments, and sing Christmas carols outside another member’s home. They are soon invited in and spend an hour or so eating, singing, laughing, and dancing. Then the visited family joins the group, and everyone goes to another home. This progressive party goes on all night long and can end up with 50 to 100 people in the group. “We often visit less-active members so we can all join in the fun,” says Brother Casablanca.

As I began my shift and started waiting tables, one of my favorite residents, Stan (not his real name), entered the dining room. I work in an assisted-living center and had spent many hours visiting with this wonderful man. He is an accomplished author and former professor who had served as a mission president, stake patriarch, and temple sealer.
I hoped that as I spent time with him, some of his spirituality and pleasant personality would rub off on me. I was consistently impressed by his humility and faithful desire to serve others. His wife of 63 years had recently passed away, and though he was surely grieving, he was able to find joy as he sought ways to make others feel loved and comfortable.
With the COVID-19 epidemic raging, 2020 had been especially tough for our assisted-living community. But the advent of the Christmas season brought renewed hope for the future.
That evening, Stan sat with another man at the table I was serving. As that man finished his meal, he asked me for some snacks to take back to his room. I went for the snacks, but unfortunately, we were out of what he wanted. When I returned to his table and told him, he was disappointed. I offered substitute snacks, but he politely declined.
Stan, having heard our conversation, rose from his seat. With his walker, he slowly made his way down the hall. He returned a few minutes later with some of his own favorite snacks—chocolate-covered cashews. He offered them to the man, thanked him for his company, and returned to his room.
As I thought about my friend facing the loss of his wife and our community dealing with a COVID-19 quarantine, the Savior’s words hit me. He said, “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it” (Mark 8:35).
Stan found joy as he continued to serve. I remember thinking, “Truly, this is a man of God.”
I will always remember the impact this experience had on me. It helped me set a lifelong goal to become a committed disciple of Jesus Christ, like Stan. He showed me that true joy is found in the continuous giving of small things, like Christmas cashews.

One day I was walking with my friend Alexis. Out of nowhere an older schoolmate said to me, “Move, nerd!” I asked myself, “What would Jesus do in this situation?” I told her that I liked the way she does her hair and the way she picks out her clothing. I felt a good feeling inside telling me I did a good job. My friend Alexis asked, “Why didn’t you say anything mean to her?”
Later after class, the girl came up to me and told me she was sorry. I accepted her apology.

Eleven years later, in November 1991, I was sitting in my office at work and suddenly felt a strong feeling of peace and love. The impression came to me that someone had died, but I could not think of who it might be. I called my wife, Susan, at home and asked if everything was all right. She reassured me, but I still felt the same way.
That evening, I felt impressed to pick up one of my journals. I turned to the pages where I had recorded my experiences in Ormoc. As I read, the Spirit grew stronger and tears came into my eyes. I thought of the wonderful people I had seen embrace the gospel there. Could it be that these strong feelings of comfort were related to my Ormoc experience?
Later that month I read of a devastating typhoon that had hit Ormoc. Twenty-two members of the Church had died in the flooding. Among them were Brother and Sister Ygonia and their grandson Allan. I also saw the names of other people I had known while serving in Ormoc. Again the familiar warmth and peace of the Comforter entered my heart, and I understood why I had felt its influence earlier.
While I grieved over their deaths, I knew they had returned to our Heavenly Father’s presence, where they continue in the work they began here on earth.

About nine or ten years ago, I went through a traumatic event in my life. Around the same time, I also went through a divorce. During this time I was beset by stress and anxiety. My physical body also rebelled against the trauma. I had trouble eating and sleeping, I was plagued by nightmares, and I developed recurring shingles, caused by a remnant of the chicken pox virus that I had as a child. My immune system was compromised, and I caught every illness that was being passed around.

Where could I turn for peace amidst this storm of pain and turmoil in my life? During this time I found peace and refuge from my storm in two sacred places: out in the natural world and in the Lord’s holy temple. Thus, desperately seeking that peace, I spent a lot of time in both places.

One of my favorite movies from my childhood is The Sound of Music (1965). In that movie, the star, Maria, receives words of wisdom from the Mother Abbess at the convent, who repeated prophetic words from Psalm 121: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”8

Today I would like to share with you some lessons that I learned from Heavenly Father’s creations that helped me weather the storm from this traumatic event. As I lifted my eyes unto the hills, I gained a more eternal perspective from the natural world.

As Elder Pino said:
The eternal perspective of the gospel leads us to understand the place that we occupy in God’s plan, to accept difficulties and progress through them, to make decisions, and to center our lives on our divine potential.9

I learned how to accept this difficulty in my life and progress through it. I was able to better center my life on my divine potential. I attribute my progress during this time to six important lessons that I learned from the natural world that I study and love so much.

Growing toward the Savior and focusing on Him made all the difference during my time of struggle. I focused on His light. I grew toward it. How did I do it? I made a choice to keep my focus on the Savior every day. I consciously chose to look up, to grow away from the sadness and darkness in my life, and to bathe in the warmth of the Savior’s light.

President Henry B. Eyring added this insight: “When you walk in the light, you will feel at that moment some of the warmth and the happiness that will finally be yours when you are welcomed home again.”12

As I chose to grow toward the Savior—His light—I felt His warmth and love. I learned how to use the Atonement more fully in my life, and I felt Him carry my burdens and sorrows. I gained a broader perspective of the eternities and now look forward with hope for the time—as President Eyring said—when I might be welcomed home.

During this challenging time in my life, I went on a horseback ride into the mountains and saw a tree uprooted from a storm. The tree roots were not deep and firm enough to withstand strong winds.

Besides light, another symbol of the Savior is living water. As I looked at this uprooted tree, I asked myself, “Am I deeply rooted and anchored in living waters?”

An additional way to remain deeply rooted is to make and keep sacred covenants. I made the choice to keep my sacred covenants and renew my covenants each week by partaking of the sacrament.

President Nelson said:
[Our] covenant[s] will lead us closer and closer to Him. . . .
. . . God will not abandon His relationship with those who have forged such a bond with Him.16

And Elder Neil L. Andersen stated, “Making and keeping covenants allows the love of the Savior to sink more deeply into our heart.”17

Attendance at the temple was yet another thing that helped me to remain deeply rooted. I made a specific choice to attend the temple at least once per week. I often went during my lunch break. Sometimes I would sit in the celestial room and stare at the picture of the Savior. Not only did I find peace there, but it helped me to remain deeply rooted in His living water.

I found myself clinging onto the iron rod18 for dear life, partaking freely of the living water. I am thankful that throughout my life I had developed a deeply rooted testimony of the Savior—the Living Water—for it sustained me during that difficult time.

During my stressful time, I learned from the bristlecones that I had to simplify my life and ­concentrate on the basics. I focused first on my relationship with God and on my relationships with my children. I focused on what was most important—personal scripture study, personal prayer, family prayer, and family home evening—and I let the less important things slide. I did only the basic things. I found that I had no energy for anything more than that. I just survived. Doing this was hard for me because I am someone who tries to do everything for everyone. However, as I focused on what was most important and simplified my life, I drew even closer to my Savior, which further helped me during this stressful time. I was able to tolerate the stress.

During the time I was dealing with my traumatic event, I asked a lot of questions. Why did I have to experience my trauma? Why did life have to be so hard? I did not have the answers.

Elder Andersen provided insight on this. He said:
We . . . remain steady and patient as we progress through mortality. At times, the Lord’s answer will be, “You don’t know everything, but you know enough”—enough to keep the commandments and to do what is right.29

Not knowing everything about a particular plant species, its ecology, or its role in the eco­system has been okay for my research program. As I spent time in the natural world, I ­realized that it must also be okay not having all the answers to the questions in my personal life.

I relied heavily on my favorite scriptures:
Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.30

Further insight is given in the Doctrine and Covenants:
Search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good, if ye walk uprightly and remember the covenant wherewith ye have covenanted one with another.31

Realizing that I did not need to know everything helped me find peace. I could believe that all things would work together for my good if I walked uprightly and kept my covenants.

In the plant world, seeds often need to be scarified before they can germinate and grow into a beautiful plant. Simply put, scarification is a breakdown of the hard seed coat, such that water can enter. Scarification can be done through digestive tracks of animals, wind, freeze-thaw cycles, mechanically bouncing off rocks, and so forth. Maybe I needed to go through this trauma to become a bit scarified so that the living water could enter.

Regardless, I knew enough, and that knowledge sustained me.

I have been blessed as I have learned to be patient in my prayers for answers both in my ­ecological research and in my personal life.

Elder Peter M. Johnson said in his devotional last fall, “The Lord loves diversity.”34 I have come to learn the importance of a diverse community in the gospel. During my difficult time, I was surprised by the diversity of help that came to my rescue. It came from a wide variety of people and places: a former college roommate living in California provided support, a former country-band bandmate who lived in South Dakota flew out to be there for me, a retired neighbor stepped up to help me with my children when I needed her, former graduate students called during this time and provided collaborations and research help, my bishop came by my house unexpectedly and offered a blessing—and there were many, many more. These people were from diverse socioeconomic positions, diverse educational levels, and diverse cultural backgrounds. Even their relationships with me were from diverse aspects of my life. However, each brought their own unique perspective.

I am thankful that I had built a diverse community around me. My community had a diversity of talents, abilities, and approaches. Each found their own unique way to help me. Some were better able to get through to me at different times than others. However, just like a diverse ecological community, my community came to my aid and provided me stability and refuge amidst my storm. They were able to work in unity and harmony for my rescue.

For me, it is sometimes a challenge to remember to do this in times of hardship, and it was particularly difficult during my traumatic event.

My traumatic event was a real test of my gratitude.

Just as the Lord’s creations and Nephi did, I tried to praise Him all day long. I made a conscious choice to actively look for things to be grateful for each day. For me, maybe it was just a beautiful sunset, good weather for my commute, kids who happily ate their dinner, a class lecture that went well that day, or that none of my kids forgot their homework.

President Thomas S. Monson further taught, “Sincerely giving thanks not only helps us recognize our blessings, but it also unlocks the doors of heaven and helps us feel God’s love.”42

And I felt God’s love. But could I find happiness, as Sister Parkin suggested? Because I remembered to look up and say, “Thank you, Father,” each day, I gradually began to find happiness again, and I gained the eternal perspective that I so desperately needed.

It’s hard to go through life feeling like I’m a disappointment to God. So along with feeling like I could never be good enough, I also had a distorted idea of God, which hindered my ability to feel His love.

I remember a time in Primary when my teacher was teaching about keeping the commandments, and how all of our actions were watched by God and angels, and were recorded in the book of life. At the end of our lives, when we were judged, all of our good and bad deeds were calculated. I was told if we had more bad marks than good, we’d receive a lesser kingdom.

So I got the idea that God was always scrutinizing my every move and just waiting for me to do the next thing wrong so he could mark it down. Somehow, I missed the concept that He is a loving Father in Heaven who wants the best for me.

Even though I sang “I feel my Savior’s love” and “yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me,” I didn’t truly understand what those words meant.

Wilford Woodruff set a standard of excellence in missionary work in England. Today, youth like Mark Pope, a 16-year-old from Haarlow, Essex, are doing their part to keep the missionary spirit alive.

Mark has always been what you might call a self-starter. He taught himself to play the piano, guitar, oboe, and flute. He taught himself Ninjutsu (a martial art) by reading about it in books. This kind of self-discipline comes in handy for all kinds of things, but especially when it comes to sharing the gospel.

“There was only me in the Young Men program for a long time,” Mark says, “so it seemed a good idea to bring in my school friends.” Mark works with the local missionaries during school holidays and after school. He also gives out copies of the Book of Mormon to teachers and has brought two friends into the Church.

Mark says his love of the gospel and his desire to share it with others comes from many places, including seminary.

“It’s a warm feeling being there with your friends, knowing they believe the same things as you,” Mark says. “Before I started seminary I was a bit nervous when talking to people about the Church because everyone has such different ideas. Now when they ask me questions it flows out. It’s really good.”

President Archie Brugger of the San Antonio East Stake in Texas shared an experience worthy of your interest. While he served in the military (in Germany, I believe), a young officer came to him one day and said, “Colonel Brugger, do you know there are only eight straight arrows in our entire company?” A straight-arrow is a soldier who does not have an illicit affair with a woman. He said, “I know you are a straight-arrow and so am I.” A few weeks later this young officer returned again and said, “Colonel Brugger, now there are only four.” It was only a matter of a few more weeks and he returned a third time and said, “Colonel Brugger, there are only two, you and me.” President Brugger said to this young man: “I intend to remain clean. I am a Mormon and I have a wife back in the United States who is keeping herself clean also while I am away. I trust her and she trusts me, and we both honor the teachings of the Church.” The young man said: “You are leaving in six weeks to go back to the United States and I will remain here. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.” President Brugger said, “My young friend, if I can do it you can do it. The Lord will help you.”

My family noted how careful the Jews were in Israel to keep that commandment to the best of their abilities. They made sure their shopping was completed well before their Sabbath began. Many orthodox Jews would not even turn on lights in their homes or turn on or off their ovens on the Sabbath day to avoid what they considered to be breaking the Sabbath. When the Sabbath arrived, they do not drive cars. They would dress up in the Sabbath best and walk to their synagogues and rejoice and sing and welcome in the queen of the Sabbath. My family laughs now at an experience that happened while we were eating a Sabbath dinner at one of our orthodox Jewish Friend's home. The couple had a couple of young children. One was 5 years old and he left the table to use the restroom.
While there, we heard him say to his parents he saw a spider in the bathroom. The father told him not to kill the spider, because it was the Sabbath day. Almost immediately, he heard the young boy say, "Too late. I killed it!" These Jews were a great reminder of the importance of keeping that day holy. They took it as seriously today as if it had been given to them anew from God.

Recently at a stake conference, Elder Charles “Tiny” Grant, one of our fine regional representatives, shared an experience with us. He said that some years ago while he was the football coach at Ricks College, he met a man named Hal Barton, who was famous for his love of fishing. He was warned, however, that “although Hal knows where to find the big fish, he often goes into strong waters to find them.”

Their first opportunity to go fishing together was in February as the ice was breaking up. As they walked together up the river, Hal pointed to an island about 50 yards away and said, “Coach, that is where we will find the big ones.” The day was cold, and now they had to cross a dangerous part of the river. The coach soon discovered that the rocks were round and slick, and the water was only inches from the top of his waders. Since he is six feet five inches tall, that meant it was deep. He was about to tell Hal that he was afraid he couldn’t cross the water, but realized that the football coach could not admit that he was afraid.

Just then Hal said, “Coach, this is how we are going to cross the water. You take a step and get a firm footing while I hold your hand and arm steady. Then I will take a step while you stand firmly and furnish the support. We will work our way through this roiling, swift water over these slippery rocks.” With this mutual support, they crossed the river safely and caught the big ones.

I served in the Hungary Budapest Mission. When I returned home early, it was hard because all my companions were still out on their missions and I missed being a missionary. I also feared that other Church members would judge me, but fortunately, everyone treated me with love and understood my situation.
As time passed, I felt better. I read an article in the Liahona about early-returned missionaries that helped me feel better because I didn’t feel I was the only one anymore (see Destiny Yarbro, “Home Earlier Than Planned,” Liahona, Jan. 2018, 44–47). And I also took to heart what my aunt said: “Missionary work continues wherever we are.”
Lucas Ludwig Saito, São Paulo, Brazil

But her children had not forgotten her, either. Susan, only seven at the time of the separation, ran away when she was eleven and sought refuge with a Mormon family, hoping to find a trace of her Mormon mother. The baby was already dead; another daughter would die a few years later. But about 1870, a missionary met Susie Williams and mentioned her to the Yates family in Scipio. With so fragile a clue, mother and daughter were reunited in Utah.