Gospel Story Finder

One memory that the Spirit often brings to my mind is of an evening sacrament meeting held many years ago in a metal shed in Innsbruck, Austria. The shed was under a railroad track. There were only about a dozen people present, sitting on wooden chairs. Most of them were women, some younger and some older. I saw tears of gratitude as the sacrament was passed among the small congregation. I felt the love of the Savior for those Saints, and so did they. But the miracle I remember most clearly was the light that seemed to fill that metal shed, bringing with it a feeling of peace. It was nighttime and there were no windows, and yet the room was lit as if by noonday sunshine.
The light of the Holy Spirit was bright and abundant that evening. And the windows that let in the light were the humble hearts of those Saints, who had come before the Lord seeking forgiveness of their sins and committing to always remember Him. It was not hard to remember Him then, and my memory of that sacred experience has made it easier for me to remember Him and His Atonement in the years that have followed. That day the promise in the sacrament prayer that the Spirit will be with us was fulfilled and so brought feelings of light and peace.

As the Saints arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, they begin to find happiness in the fertile and untouched basin. They plant crops. They sing songs and dance. They have found a home where none will come to hurt or make afraid. Or have they?
The chipper of crickets comes from above and behind the audience, and then the pioneers on stage begin to stomp wildly, threshing their arms and feet to kill the two-inch black insects. Louder and louder the sounds come until the Saints fall on their knees and pray for deliverance. Finally the calling of sea gulls fills the air—relief is near and the balcony chorus changes the shushing and finger clicking of cricket sounds to a song of thanksgiving.

More than a hundred years ago in a small remote place in Arizona lived a family sent there by President Brigham Young to make peace with the Indians.

The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He responded to this feeling by heading there at once. He arrived at about four o’clock in the morning. His wife had cuddled in her arms their little baby daughter who had fallen into an open fireplace. She was severely burned. The mother, in grief, said, “Let her die. She will be so disfigured.”

The father took this little infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent of the earth.

This baby girl did live, she matured in life, was not disfigured, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life to that tiny child. That sweet baby girl, in maturity, gave me life. She was my mother.

I owe my very existence to the power of prayer.

On a recent trip to New Zealand, I met with a mission president who wore a beautiful tie tack with the inspiring CTR, or “Choose the Right,” emblem. I had the impression that there must be a story behind this unique pin. When I returned home, I wrote him a thank-you letter and asked him about his tie tack. I received this answer:
“You are very perceptive. Yes, there is a story. I have a number of tie tacks I really prize. They have been gifts from my children, my wife, and friends. However, I choose to wear this silver shield inlaid with lovely blue turquoise, with the inspiring CTR emblem of our Primary.
“Why? I suppose it started back when I was a bishop. I had an interview with a good-looking young man who was to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. He told me a special story. One day after school, he and some of his friends found a package of cigarettes. They lit up, and the young man said as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out and made a very wise choice never ever to do such a thing again. He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for. From this story I gained a special love for the CTR emblem.
“Now for the story of how I received the CTR tie tack. A few weeks before coming to New Zealand as a mission president, I was in the Kayenta Ward in Arizona. As I was saying some tender farewells to many of my Navajo friends, a remarkable young Navajo bishop gave me a big hug, then removed his tie tack and pinned it on my tie. He asked me not to forget him.
“Now here in New Zealand, the last thing I do every morning as I dress for this great calling is to pin my tie with this beautiful silver and turquoise CTR emblem. I love it! It helps this old boilermaker make the right choices throughout the day. I know it also helps fulfill the prophetic promise made to my wife and me by President Gordon B. Hinckley as he set us apart.
“He said words to this effect: ‘You will have an instant bonding of love for every missionary in your mission.’ I can’t tell you how many times a missionary, during a visit, has said something like this: ‘President Gardner, I love your tie tack.’ And then he or she will show me their CTR ring.
“I believe that Navajo bishop was inspired to give me the tie tack and that I make the right decision every day when I choose to wear it. And the beautiful blue and silver CTR pin is helping bond me to a royal army of missionaries in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.
“I appreciate the opportunity of relating to you my special experience associated with this great Primary children’s motto, ‘Choose the Right.’”

The raspberries were red, ripe, and juicy. Whitney had never seen quite so many. Mom had bought several large containers when they were on sale, and now she wanted Whitney to help her make jam. Whitney loved jam on toast in the mornings or on hot rolls when they came out of the oven. Her mouth watered at the thought of the treat.
Mom lifted a sack of sugar out of the storage bucket. “Start putting the raspberries in the strainer,” she instructed. “Then run them under the water in the sink until they’re clean. Be sure to pick out any bits of leaves you find.”
Whitney filled the strainer, cleaned the berries, and dumped them into a big bowl. She refilled the strainer and went through the process again and again. It hardly felt like work to her.
After Mom finished measuring the sugar, she took lots of clean jars out of the dishwasher and stacked them on the countertop. Once the dishwasher was empty, she pulled several more jars out of a cardboard box and placed them in the dishwasher.
“Why are you doing that?” Whitney asked. “They don’t look dirty to me.”
“Some of the jars have been sitting on the shelf downstairs for a while. I just want to make sure that they are all clean before we fill them with jam.”
Mom and Whitney worked together for several hours before Dad and Wendee, Whitney’s sister, came home. “Put on some aprons and come give us a hand,” Mom called to them. Dad started mashing up the last of the berries while Wendee began labeling the finished jars.
“Honey, before you put away those jars, make sure all the lids are sealed,” Mom said to Wendee.
Whitney stopped stirring and laughed. “Sealed?” she asked. “Are they getting married or something?”
Now Dad, Mom, and Wendee laughed.
“Well,” Whitney said defensively, “Mom told you to make sure the lids are sealed. So what are you going to do? Take them to the temple?”
Wendee picked up a jar and showed her younger sister the lid. “See, the lid has to seal to the jar so the jam won’t spoil. If the lid doesn’t seal, the jam won’t last. We’re not talking about the temple.”
“Well,” Dad said, “maybe we are. Think about it—isn’t it the same with families? The ones sealed in the temple by priesthood authority can last forever. Those that aren’t sealed aren’t going to last.”
“Keep mashing the rest of those berries while you preach your sermon,” Mom said as she started spooning finished jam into the jars. Whitney reached out to steady the jars while Mom worked.
“I thought getting sealed just meant getting married,” Whitney said.
“Not exactly,” Mom explained. “A man and a woman can get married anywhere, but when they marry outside of the temple, it’s only for this life. Couples married, or sealed, in the temple can be married forever.”
“Now who’s preaching?” Dad asked with a smile.
“Sealed means linked together or hard to break apart,” Mom explained. “When you get married in the temple, you are linked eternally to your spouse and your children. We seal the lids to preserve the jam. Being sealed in the temple preserves families.”
“These berries are all mashed. What’s next?” Dad asked.
“Just take those last few jars out of the dishwasher.”
“I feel another lesson coming on,” Dad said. “See, Mom cleaned the jars before she filled them with jam. Sealing jam in a dirty jar would not work. It’s the same way with the temple. We have to be clean and worthy to enter the temple. That’s the only way the sealing counts.”
“I’m impressed,” Wendee said. “Dad, you’re pretty good.”
“So is this jam,” Mom said. “Now, who wants some before we put it all away?”
Over the next few weeks, everyone in the family enjoyed the jam. Whitney liked it best of all.

The members’ ability to receive, in their native tongue, that reassurance from modern-day prophets was thanks in large measure to a team of translators who suffered their own losses during the disaster.
Assigned to provide live interpretation from the islands for the first time rather than from Salt Lake City, the translation team had a choice to make after the disaster struck. The team could turn interpretation over to Salt Lake City on short notice so that they could tend to the needs of friends and family affected by the quake, or they could fulfill their assignment.
Aliitasi Talataina, the translation supervisor and interpretation coordinator, said she felt an impression that there were many who could tend to the physical needs of the people or bury the dead but that “this is what the Lord would have us do [for] the living and generations to come.”
Because a disaster management team took over the service center where the interpretation equipment had been set up, the team had to find a facility that had the digital telephone lines and other technical requirements necessary to provide remote, simultaneous translation.
Sister Talataina said the team’s faith was like Nephi’s in that they said, “Even if we [had] to do this under a tree, we [would] go and do” (see 1 Nephi 3:7).
With the Lord’s help they found a location, and the necessary equipment was transferred, set up, and tested in the few days prior to conference.
“We felt the hand of the Lord in accomplishing what we were commanded,” Sister Talataina said.
Because of the team’s efforts, when conference began, members who took time from the massive cleanup effort to participate in the proceedings were able to hear and understand the Lord’s message for them.

Third, live truth.
At times the most effective lesson in living truth is found close to the home and dear to the heart.
At the funeral service of a noble General Authority, H. Verlan Andersen (1914–92), a tribute was expressed by a son. It has application wherever we are and whatever we are doing. It is the example of personal experience.
The son of Elder Andersen related that years earlier he had a special school date on a Saturday night. He borrowed from his father the family car. As he obtained the car keys and headed for the door, his father said, “The car will need more gas before tomorrow. Be sure to fill the tank before coming home.”
Elder Andersen’s son then related that the evening activity was wonderful. Friends met, refreshments were served, and all had a good time. In his exuberance, however, he failed to follow his father’s instruction and add fuel to the car’s tank before returning home.
Sunday morning dawned. Elder Andersen discovered the gas gauge showed empty. In the Andersen family the Sabbath day was a day for worship and thanksgiving, not for purchases. Elder Andersen’s son declared, “I saw my father put on his coat, bid us good-bye, and walk the long distance to the chapel that he might attend an early meeting.” Duty called. Truth was not held slave to expedience.
In concluding his funeral message, Elder Andersen’s son said, “No son ever was taught more effectively by his father than I was on that occasion. My father not only knew the truth, but he also lived it.” Live truth.

Before his death, the Prophet Joseph directed that a canvas tabernacle be built to shelter the Saints during large meetings. In 1845, as the temple was nearing completion, Elder Orson Hyde of the Quorum of the Twelve was sent back East to raise funds and to buy “about four thousand yards” of canvas to build what Brigham Young referred to as “the Tabernacle of the congregation in Zion.”
Brother Orson Pratt outlined the proposed location and design of the canvas tabernacle in a letter written on August 30, 1845:
“It is intended to erect a tabernacle of canvass in front of, and joining the Temple on the west. The form of this tabernacle will be that of an ellipse. … The area of its base will be sufficient to contain eight or ten thousand persons; its seats will gradually rise one above another in the form of an amphitheatre.”
The brethren the next day began to clear the ground for the construction of the canvas tabernacle. However, because of the intense persecution from their enemies, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo, so the canvas tabernacle was never built. Orson Hyde “loaded the canvas into wagons in 1846 and headed west with it.” Some have speculated that “the canvas was put to good use for such things as tents, tent ends and wagon covers” for the Saints in the exodus to the Salt Lake Valley.

“Dad, I don’t want to go,” Spencer said.
“You promised Grandpa you would help him today,” Dad said.
“I don’t want to go to the dump,” Spencer said. “Why doesn’t Grandpa put his garbage can on the curb like everyone else?”
“You promised you would go, so you need to go,” Dad said.
“This is silly,” Spencer thought. Why did he have to waste a day of his vacation at the dump?
A few minutes later, Grandpa drove up in his pickup truck. Two garbage cans were loaded in the back. Spencer climbed into the passenger’s seat.
“We have just a few stops to make before we go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
“This is going to take forever,” Spencer thought as he stared out the window.
Grandpa pulled into his neighbors’ driveway. The couple who lived there had been his grandparents’ neighbors for almost 50 years. Arlo and Wanda were always nice to Spencer when he came to visit. The front door opened and Wanda walked out.
“I wish you wouldn’t trouble yourself with this,” she said to Grandpa as he hauled her garbage can into the truck.
“No trouble at all,” Grandpa said.
“You have the kindest grandpa in the world,” Wanda said to Spencer.
“Give Arlo my best,” Grandpa said.
“I will. Thank you,” Wanda said. A tear fell down her cheek.
“What’s wrong with Arlo?” Spencer asked as they drove away.
“He’s really sick. Wanda has to do everything for him now. It’s a lot of hard work, but she doesn’t complain.”
A few minutes later they pulled into another driveway. A small woman was struggling to keep a garbage can from tipping over as she tried to move it from the garage.
“Minnie!” Grandpa jumped out of the truck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just trying to help,” she said.
Minnie was another one of Grandpa’s neighbors. Grandpa took the garbage can from her.
“I think you’ve grown a foot since last summer, Spencer,” Minnie said, smiling at Spencer. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought over any waffles, but these old hands don’t do much cooking anymore.”
Minnie was an excellent cook and used to bring over a batch of waffles when Spencer and his family came to visit Grandma and Grandpa.
“That’s OK, Minnie,” Spencer said.
“I don’t know what I would do without your grandpa and grandma, Spencer,” Minnie said. “This world needs more people like them.”
Grandpa loaded Minnie’s can into the back of the truck, and soon they were driving down a long, dusty road outside of town. “This is our last stop,” Grandpa said.
“Who lives here?” Spencer asked.
“A new family that moved in a few months ago. They are having a hard time. I told them I would haul their trash for them so they wouldn’t have to pay for garbage service. At first they told me I didn’t need to.”
“Then why do it?” Spencer asked.
Grandpa smiled at Spencer. “Because I can,” he said.
Spencer stared out the window, thinking about what Grandpa had just said. He realized that Grandpa didn’t help people because he had to do it. He helped people because that’s the kind of person he was.
Grandpa parked the truck, but before he could get out, Spencer said, “You stay in the truck, Grandpa. I’ll get these cans for you.”
Grandpa smiled and let Spencer do the work. Spencer hauled the garbage cans to the road and then climbed back into the truck.
“Now we can go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
As they drove away, Spencer thought about all the people Grandpa helped.
“I guess helping people isn’t silly after all,” Spencer said.
Grandpa smiled. “No,” he said. “It’s one of the most important things we can do.”

As a young college student of peace and conflict studies, I took great interest in any process that could be used for resolving conflict. One life-altering conversation with a friend introduced me to a process that I had never heard of before: companionship council.
While sharing about his mission, my friend told me that companionship council is the regular check-in where missionary companionships discuss how they are working together and how to improve. My friend had found the process so helpful as a missionary that he planned to use it in his marriage someday. The idea sank deep into my heart. I read about companionship council in Preach My Gospel and talked to other returned missionaries about their experiences with it. I saw how companionship councils, similar to family councils, could be used to address and prevent many of the destructive conflicts we face in our relationships today.
My husband, James, and I began holding weekly companionship councils before we were even married. I can still remember our first meeting. James was so open, kind, understanding, and willing to take my thoughts seriously that I felt confident in our ability to build a happy marriage.
Now well into our life together, we have continued the tradition of weekly companionship council. While our relationship isn’t perfect, we both agree that the many sessions we’ve held have helped us find deeper joy and fulfillment in our marriage than we thought possible.
Taking notes will also help you to remember—in the words of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985)—“your triumphs over adversity, your recovery after a fall, your progress when all seemed black, [and] your rejoicing when you [succeed].” James and I are so grateful that we have kept a record of the nearly 800 companionship council sessions we have held over the years. What a joy it is to look back and see how far we’ve come!

President Nelson: When my grandfather A. C. Nelson was a young husband and father, just 27 years old, his father died. About three months later, his deceased father, my great-grandfather, came to visit him. The date of that visit was the night of April 6, 1891. Grandfather Nelson was so impressed by his father’s visit that he wrote the experience in his journal for his family and friends.
“I was in bed when Father entered the room,” Grandfather Nelson wrote. “He came and sat on the side of the bed. He said, ‘Well, my son, as I had a few spare minutes, I received permission to come and see you for a few minutes. I am feeling well, my son, and have had very much to do since I died.’”
When Grandfather Nelson asked him what he had been doing, his father answered that he had been busy teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in the spirit world.
“You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world who have not yet received the gospel,” he said. “But many are receiving it, and a great work is being accomplished. Many are anxiously looking forth to their friends who are still living to administer for them in the temples.”
Grandfather Nelson told his father, “We intend to go to the temple and get sealed to you, Father, as soon as we can.”
My great-grandfather responded: “That, my son, is partly what I came to see you about. We will yet make a family and live throughout eternity.”
Then Grandfather Nelson asked, “Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency hanging on the wall of the bedroom.
“My son, just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true. The gospel of Jesus Christ has within it the power of saving every man and woman who will obey it, and in no other way can they ever obtain salvation in the kingdom of God. My son, always cling to the gospel. Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. Never do anything that would displease God. Oh, what a blessing is the gospel. My son, be a good boy.”
A. C. Nelson, grandfather of President Russell M. Nelson.
Illustrations by Bjorn Thorkelson
Sister Nelson: I just love all those B’s. “Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. … Be a good boy.” Six B’s brought to you by your departed great-grandfather. He certainly sounds a lot like President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) with his six B’s.1
President Nelson: He does, doesn’t he? It’s so precious to me that my grandfather would leave that record for us. We learned that his father’s children were subsequently sealed to him. So the reason for his visit was accomplished.

In speaking of those who are unafraid to live lives of righteousness and example, I am reminded of one of the missionaries who served in Eastern Canada when I was the mission president there. He was a special young man by the name of Elder Roland Davidson. He was dedicated and hardworking and obviously loved the gospel of Jesus Christ. And then he became very ill. After weeks of hospitalization, as the surgeon prepared to undertake extremely serious and complicated surgery, the surgeon asked that we send for the missionary’s parents. He indicated that there was a great likelihood that Elder Davidson could not survive the surgery. His parents came. The evening before the surgery, his father and I, in that hospital room in Toronto, Canada, placed our hands upon the head of that young missionary and gave him a blessing. What happened the following day provided for me a never-to-be-forgotten example of the influence of a true “believer.”

Elder Davidson was in a six-bed ward in the hospital. The other beds were occupied by five men with a variety of illnesses. On the morning of Elder Davidson’s surgery, his bed was empty. I learned later that the nurse came into the room with the breakfast these husky men normally ate. She took a tray over to bed number one and said, “Fried eggs this morning, and I have an extra portion for you.” Bed number one was occupied by a man with his toe wrapped up in a bandage. He had suffered an accident with his lawnmower. Other than his injured toe, he was well physically. He said to the nurse, “I’ll not be eating this morning.”

“All right,” said the nurse. “We’ll give your breakfast to your partner in bed number two!”

As she went over to bed number two, he said, “No, thank you. I think I’ll not eat this morning.”

She said, “That’s two in a row. I don’t understand you men, and there is no one this morning in bed three.” She glanced at the bed Roland Davidson had occupied, and then she went on to bed four, bed five, and bed six. The answer was the same from each one: “No, this morning I’m not hungry.”

The young lady put her hands on her hips and said, “Every other morning you eat us out of house and home, and today not one of you wants to eat. What’s going on here?”

And then the man who occupied bed number six came forth with the answer. He said, “You see, bed number three is empty. Our friend, Davidson, is in the operating room under the surgeon’s hands. He needs all the help he can get. He is a missionary for his church, and while he has been lying on that bed he has talked to us about the principles of his church—principles of prayer, of faith, and of fasting wherein we call upon the Lord for blessings.” He continued, “We have come to admire Davidson as a person of great goodness and compassion and faith. He’s an example of what a follower of Christ should be. He has touched our lives—each one of us—and we are fasting for him today.”

The operation performed on Roland Davidson was a success. In fact, when I attempted to pay the surgeon, he refused any money, saying, “It would be dishonest for me to accept a fee. I have never before performed surgery when my hands seemed to be guided by a power which was other than my own. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t take a fee for the surgery which Someone on high helped me to perform.”

For instance, James Moyle was a stonecutter in Plymouth, England, when he was baptized at the age of 17. Of that occasion he wrote: “I then covenanted with the Lord that I would serve Him through good and evil report. It was the turning point in my life, as it kept me from evil company” (in Gordon B. Hinckley, James Henry Moyle [1951], 18).

Notwithstanding his skill as a mason, he had little money. He borrowed from the Perpetual Emigration Fund and left England in 1854, sailed to America, crossed the plains, and almost immediately secured employment as a stonemason on the Lion House at $3 a day. He saved his money, and when he had $70, the amount of his indebtedness, he promptly repaid the Emigration Fund. He said, “I then considered that I was a free man” (see Moyle, 19–24).

I wish I could get in touch with the person whose letter was published in the September 1986 feedback section under the title “I wish I had a friend.” I had a very similar experience in my lifetime. When I was nine years old we moved from a ward where I had wonderful friends to a ward 30 miles away from my old one. I never fit in with the large crowd of kids my age in my new ward. I struggled along for nine years, never really quitting, but sometimes attending Mutual and Sunday School only half of the time.

But I consider myself a survivor. When I moved away to attend college I made a new beginning, and I did my best to be the “Marcy” in my student ward. I sought out those who sat alone or seemed shy, and I tried to be a friend to them. By doing this, I built up my own confidence and again found myself confident around anyone in our ward.

My story has a happy ending. I have since married in the temple and have had three children. If I could make contact with the writer of “I wish I had a friend,” maybe we could compare experiences and learn from each other and perhaps bring about a happy ending for this story, too.

I always wanted to retire young from my job and I did that in March 2018. I am a professional agronomist, and I loved my job. After retirement, I thought the fatigue caused by my work would be improved and I would be more relaxed, as my job was very demanding. After a few months of retirement, my fatigue got worse, and I only wanted to be in bed sleeping. Following the advice of my husband, I visited a doctor who helped me learn the reason for my exhaustion.
After undergoing different tests as advised by the doctor, they found the reason for my fatigue. I had a colonoscopy, and I was diagnosed with a malignant stage 3 colon tumor. I had cancer! When I received the news, I wasn’t scared at that moment, but I did become a bit anxious. I asked the doctor, “Am I going to die?” She replied with a smile, saying she didn’t think that would happen for now, but I needed to hurry to have the tumor removed.
I underwent an operation on September 24, 2018, and had many people by my side taking care of me. A few days after the operation and being discharged, while at home, I felt a lot of fever inside me. I visited the clinic again, and after several tests, they found that during the surgery to remove the colon tumor, they had left a small hole causing the fever. I developed sepsis because no hole was supposed to remain after the operation. I had to stay in the clinic for one more week.
On the third day of being hospitalized, I felt extremely sad. I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked many questions. After finishing my prayer and shedding many tears, there was a knock on the door of my room, and to my surprise, it was the two missionaries who were attending my ward at that time. Seeing me crying, they prayed with and encouraged me. I told them about the prayer I had made and how the Lord had sent these two messengers to me.
Thanks to my Heavenly Father, I overcame the sepsis and moved on to the next stage, which, although difficult, was a true miracle. I had to undergo chemotherapy, and when I received the first treatment, I suffered another health setback. A port was inserted to administer the chemotherapy, and the doctor who placed it put it in too high, causing me to have four embolisms and two pulmonary infarctions. My oncologist couldn’t explain how I had survived the embolisms and infarctions. I told her that I believed God was keeping me alive because I still had important work to do for Him.
During my chemotherapy, which was the most painful part of my treatment, I dedicated myself fully to my calling as the Young Women president of my ward, and that helped me a lot. I also did service, which kept negative thoughts about my health from my mind. I am extremely grateful to my Heavenly Father for everything He does in my life.
During a check-up in 2019, I was found to have a tumor the size of a softball in one of my ovaries. My oncologist thought the colon cancer had metastasized to the ovary. On November 14, 2020, I underwent a hysterectomy and, thankfully, the tumor in the ovary turned out to be benign.
I have been cancer-free for six years, and I hope to enjoy good health for many more years to come. I always had Heavenly Father by my side taking care of me, and I value life more. I enjoy many hobbies with my husband and have since accomplished some big educational and career goals. I also enjoy serving in my callings.
I no longer fear death because I know without a doubt that it is part of the plan of salvation that our Heavenly Father created for His children. If you ever find yourself in a situation like mine, never lose faith. Hold strong, and you will see that miracles do exist.

When my sister was single and struggling with dating, she realized she might be making this mistake. So she drew a simple picture of her desired partner:
A stick figure with three—only three—of the most important attributes she wanted in a husband. No height requirements, no six-figure salary quota.
Within several months she started dating her future spouse. He was dedicated to the gospel, hardworking, and honest. Together they are working to create an eternal marriage.

Nine-year-old Camille has lots of friends. “The thing I really like about my friends is that they are all different,” she says. “They come from different places, and they have different ways of doing things.” Camille loves to learn good things from her friends, and she likes to share things with them. The best thing she’s ever shared with a friend is the gospel. After sharing the first article of faith with her friend Yailin, Camille invited her friend’s family to meet the missionaries. Camille also taught Yailin how to pray. Now Yailin and her mother are members of the Church.
My friend Yailin got baptized in 2011. I love that we can go to church together. I am helping her memorize the Articles of Faith. We’re working on the ninth article of faith.

At first I thought seminary would be hard.
I had to change schools, and seminary was early in the morning. I didn’t think it would work because I had a lot of homework and other things going on.
But when I started going to seminary, time just opened up for me. Now, I always have enough time for my homework. And I’m always excited the next day to get up and go back to seminary again. My friends and I support each other and learn a lot while we’re there.

I am fortunate to come from a heritage of faith and spiritual learning on both sides of my family. My parents, John and Rhonda Kauwe, taught me the gospel in word and deed. As a sixteen-year-old on the island of Molokai, life experiences led me to reflect on my personal commitment to the Savior. I studied and pondered for several weeks and yearned to grow in faith. I worked to be more obedient and sought a stronger personal relationship with Jesus Christ and our Heavenly Father through personal prayer. On a perfect spring morning, I knelt in the sand at the Kapuaiwa Coconut Grove and asked Heavenly Father to confirm to me the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. That morning I received a clear confirmation that Jesus Christ was my Savior and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints provides the path to salvation. While life has challenged me in many ways since then, the spirit has confirmed to me on several occasions that these things are true.

The faithful widowed mother who raised us had no confusion about the eternal nature of the family. She always honored the position of our deceased father. She made him a presence in our home. She spoke of the eternal duration of their temple marriage. She often reminded us of what our father would like us to do so we could realize the Savior’s promise that we could be a family forever.
I recall an experience that shows the effect of her teachings. Just before Christmas one year, our bishop asked me, as a deacon, to help him deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of the ward. I carried a basket to each door with his greetings. When he drove me home, there was one basket remaining. He handed it to me and said it was for my mother. As he drove away, I stood in the falling snow wondering why there was a basket for my mother. She never referred to herself as a widow, and it had never occurred to me that she was. To a 12-year-old boy, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband, and we had a father. He was just away for a while.
I anticipate that glorious future day when the separated will be reunited and all of us will be made complete as the Lord has promised. I testify of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of the Eternal Father, whose priesthood authority and whose Atonement and Resurrection make it all possible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.