Gospel Story Finder

It was late March 1977. I had hurried home from my job as a school teacher in order to plant strawberries. The sky darkened ominously as the dusky clouds piled themselves into a menacing thunderhead. I was anxious to get my strawberry plants out of the refrigerator and into the warm earth before the storm broke, for in southern Arizona rain is precious and welcome. It meant, too, that I would not have to irrigate the strawberries after planting, but could let nature do the job for me.
As I planted, I congratulated myself on my good fortune, and dreamed happily of the tangy scarlet fruit which I would harvest in June. But a glance at the sky told me that I must hurry if I did not want to receive a thorough drenching along with the plants. I stepped up my pace. Perspiring, I wiped my brow with my forearm, leaving a long muddy streak on my face. My clothing was covered with dirt and I smelled like the fish fertilizer I was using. I suddenly recognized how I must have looked—and smelled—when I saw, coming across the field toward me, two little old ladies—my visiting teachers.
Although I had been inactive in the Church for nearly a year, I had always allowed the visiting teachers into my home. I must confess that often I considered them something of a nuisance, for though their manners were always kind and polite, their very presence reminded me that I was not living up to my beliefs. A life-threatening illness and other family problems had left me bitter and resentful toward my Heavenly Father, and it was impossible for me to explain these feelings to them.
Looking back, I don’t think I fooled them; but they were never critical or judgmental. Arriving every third Wednesday like clockwork, they bore their testimonies, encouraged me, praised my child, and often brought some home-baked goody. My frequent coldness never deterred them, and my biting remarks went unregarded. Month after month they came, never failing, always showing love.
Today, however, I would have to be firm. I resolved to tell them that I did not have time to listen to them. But I was never to have that chance. Wearing their Sunday best, complete with nylon stockings, each of mv visiting teachers got down on her knees in that strawberry patch. My mouth was still hanging open as Sister Batty began to read the monthly message while Sister Costner began planting strawberries beside me.
I resumed my planting also, and it was not long before great heavy rain drops began to pelt us and make small craters in the dust. Still we planted, and still Sister Batty read on. I don’t remember what the official message was, but I was grateful that it was raining hard enough to hide the flood of tears that ran down my face as I received a message, not of word, but of deed—a message of love, unselfishness, and devotion. A message that would literally bear fruit.
By the time the last plant was nestled into the earth, we were all drenched. I invited them in for a moment, but they declined, saying that they still had stops to make, as if they were not wet at all. They then produced a fragrant loaf of banana bread from the back seat of their car and drove away, leaving me to marvel at their dauntless spirits.
Years have passed since that blustery day in March. Those fine sisters do not know it, but their unfaltering love worked a miracle in my life. Through their example I was able to yield up my bitterness and again seek the blessings that come through active Church membership. I cannot eat a strawberry or hear the words “visiting teaching” without thinking of those dear sisters on their knees in my garden. And I cannot examine my life without thanking my Heavenly Father for their faithfulness.

I was feeding my baby one night at the beginning of autumn’s half-term holiday, and when scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed, I saw a post from a childhood friend who had started a community pantry box outside her house, full of kitchen cupboard basic foods from which anyone suffering from the loss of school meals during half-term could take what they needed to feed their families.
I often feel I can’t do much for others. I want to give. It’s not easy to find ways to volunteer in the community when you have young children to care for, but that Facebook post got my brain working. I could manage this small thing, couldn’t I? All it needed was a small box. I could manage that.
I searched my cupboard for the largest ‘small’ plastic box that I could find, and then I went through my small store cupboard, filling the box with tinned fruit, vegetables, rice, beans, pasta, sauces, and noodles.
When I ventured out the next morning for a day with my children, I posted a picture of the box on the village Facebook page, hoping it might be useful to someone. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found on my return.
My small box was joined by larger boxes and bags full to bursting with food. I was overwhelmed. Like the widow’s mite (See Mark 12:41-44), my small effort was joined tenfold, by the contributions of others, who have made this endeavour a real success.
It was only meant to last for half term but, at the end of the holiday, I saw a request on Facebook from another mother, saying only the word ‘pantry’, our discreet code word that told me that they had been using, and needed, the box. I knew then that it couldn’t stop now, not with another lockdown on the horizon.
Now, more than ever, we need to support each other. We now have two boxes and are starting a store of warm clothes and blankets. The children in the village school have even drawn posters for the pantry, calling everyone in sight to do a little something for their community by donating!
The donations haven’t stopped, and people have been regularly using the boxes both to give and to take. It’s warmed my heart to see our small village pull together with such love and support. The year 2020 has dealt a rough hand, but without all the hardships of this year, we wouldn’t have had the opportunity to pull together in glorious efforts of kindness and generosity, as I have witnessed with our humble village pantry. What I’ve learned, beyond all doubt, is that if anyone can help someone, then everyone will be ok.

With the help of our beloved mission president, President Mortensen, our branch president, Joseph Anandraj, and Elder and Sister Smith, we prepared as a family for the temple and they taught us about temple ordinances and helped our family get temple recommendations. It is the blessing of our worthiness.
Our family history consultant, Sister Elizabeth Chelladurai, helped us collect all our ancestor details and prepared us to do the temple ordinances. She also took efforts to get connected to us while we were in the Taiwan Taipei Temple.
We went to the Taiwan Taipei Temple on 26th December 2017 and we did our temple ordinances. The next day, we were sealed as a family to obtain eternal life.

Chioma N., age 15, of Nigeria, studied John 7 and 3 Nephi 14 as part of a desire to be more obedient. She admits that it’s difficult to “do some things I hate doing—especially tidying up the kitchen when I am tired.” But she also has a desire to “love people around her,” and obedience, she found, was one way to show that love (see John 14:15).
As Chioma studied the Savior’s teachings about obedience and read about His submission to Heavenly Father’s will, she recognized that because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ knew that we would sin and go astray, They gave us commandments to help us stay on the strait and narrow path. She also learned that without obedience, we cannot enter into the kingdom of God.
“I learned that nobody is perfect, but with obedience, we can all strive toward perfection,” she said. “And I have learned that we should be obedient so that Heavenly Father can bless us.”
She found an opportunity to exhibit obedience at school when she was asked to sweep the classroom when it wasn’t her turn.
“I humbly obeyed as I listened to the Holy Ghost telling me to obey and sweep the classroom. My fellow students were surprised, and our teacher also. Because of this incident, people now know me as an obedient and humble girl. I felt happy throughout the week because I was obedient.”

When Randy Lundquist went canoeing down the Snake River with his family last summer, he didn’t realize that he’d be saving two lives before the day was over. Randy, a priest in the Shelley First Ward, Shelley Idaho Stake, rescued his sister Kathy from the turbulent waters of the river when she fell off her inner tube. Randy’s father started to swim back to help and was caught in the unruly waters himself. Randy swam to his father, who was by then unconscious, and got him safely to shore. “Randy is as strong spiritually as he is physically,” said his father, “and I love him greatly.”

Let me share with you an example of the results of daily determination and performance.
In 1960 the Olympics were held in Melbourne, Australia. There on the winner’s platform in the spotlight one day stood a beautiful, tall, blonde American girl. She was being presented a gold medal, symbolic of first place in worldwide competition. As she stood there, some boys whistled and others were heard to say, “There’s a gal who has everything.”
Tears ran down her cheeks as she accepted the recognition. Many thought she was touched by the victory ceremony. The thing most of the audience did not know was the story of her determination, self-discipline, and daily action. At the age of five she had polio. When the disease left her body, she couldn’t use her arms or legs. Her parents took her daily to a swimming pool where they hoped the water would help hold her arms up as she tried to use them again. When she could lift her arm out of the water with her own power, she cried for joy. Then her goal was to swim the width of the pool, then the length, then several lengths. She kept on trying, swimming, enduring, day after day after day, until she won the gold medal for the butterfly stroke—one of the most difficult of all swimming strokes—in Melbourne, Australia.
What if Shelly Mann had not been encouraged to achieve at age five and to continue and overcome? What a tremendous asset were parents who assisted her in the importance of now and today in preparation for tomorrow.

Not long ago, a friend recounted to me an experience he had while serving as a mission president. He had undergone a surgery that required several weeks of recuperation. During his recovery, he devoted time to searching the scriptures. One afternoon as he pondered the Savior’s words in the 27th chapter of 3 Nephi, he drifted off to sleep. He subsequently related:
“I fell into a dream in which I was given a vivid, panoramic view of my life. I was shown my sins, poor choices, the times … I had treated people with impatience, plus the omissions of good things I should have said or done. … [A] comprehensive … [review of] my life was shown to me in just a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I awoke, startled, and … instantly dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to pray, to plead for forgiveness, pouring out the feelings of my heart like I had never done previously.
“Prior to the dream, I didn’t know that I [had] such great need to repent. My faults and weaknesses suddenly became so plainly clear to me that the gap between the person I was and the holiness and goodness of God seemed [like] millions of miles. In my prayer that late afternoon, I expressed my deepest gratitude to Heavenly Father and to the Savior with my whole heart for what They had done for me and for the relationships I treasured with my wife and children. While on my knees I also felt God’s love and mercy that was so palpable, despite my feeling so unworthy. …
“I can say I haven’t been the same since that day. … My heart changed. … What followed is that I developed more empathy toward others, with a greater capacity to love, coupled with a sense of urgency to preach the gospel. … I could relate to the messages of faith, hope, and the gift of repentance found in the Book of Mormon [as] never before.”
It is important to recognize that this good man’s vivid revelation of his sins and shortcomings did not discourage him or lead him to despair. Yes, he felt shock and remorse. He felt keenly his need to repent. He had been humbled, yet he felt gratitude, peace, and hope—real hope—because of Jesus Christ, “the living bread which came down from heaven.”
My friend spoke of the gap he perceived in his dream between his life and the holiness of God. Holiness is the right word. To eat the flesh and drink the blood of Christ means to pursue holiness. God commands, “Be ye holy; for I am holy.”

Now to the present for an interview I had with a handsome zone leader in the Brazil São Paulo Interlagos Mission. I said to the missionary, “Tell me about your family.” He then relayed the following. He was born into a wealthy family. His father had a responsible position in a multinational corporation. They moved from Brazil to Venezuela. He was one of seven children, all members of the Church.

When the missionary was fifteen years old, his father was shot and killed by a fleeing thief. In a family council it was decided to return to Brazil and invest their savings in the purchase of a small home. A year and a half later, the mother informed the children that she had been diagnosed with cancer. The family used valuable savings to help pay the medical expenses—but to no avail. Six months later the mother passed away, leaving the young family alone.

Our young missionary, Elder Bugs (pronounced Boogs), now sixteen years old, went to work, first selling clothing, then later computer supplies. He used his hard-earned money to support the young family. He said, “We were always blessed to have enough to eat. I would work during the day, then help the children with their studies at night. I especially miss my little sister. I taught her to read.”

Elder Bugs continued, “Then the bishop invited me to come in for an interview. He called me on a mission. I told him I would need to speak with my family first. In our family council, they reminded me that Dad had always taught us that we should be prepared to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries. I accepted the call. When I received my letter from the prophet, I withdrew all my savings. I bought a new suit, a pair of pants, white shirts and ties, and a new pair of shoes. I gave the rest of the money to the bishop (enough for about four months of support for the family). I hugged my little family and left for my mission.”

I looked at that brave young man and I said, “But Elder, with you away, who is taking care of your family?”
“Oh,” he said, “my brother is sixteen. He is the same age I was when our mother died. He is taking care of the family now.”

I had an opportunity recently to talk by telephone with Elder Bugs. He has been home from his mission for six months now. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, “I have a good job again and I am caring for the family, but oh, how I miss my mission. It was the greatest thing I have ever done. I am now helping my younger brother prepare for his mission.”

During a spelling test I looked at someone’s paper and saw that I had spelled the word tease wrong. I changed my answer. During lunch that day my mom took me to my violin lesson. I felt bad about cheating, and even though I was scared to tell my mom about it, I did. She said I needed to tell the teacher what had happened. When we got back to school my mother asked if I needed her to come with me to tell my teacher. I told her no. I was scared for the rest of the school day. I kept walking up to my teacher to tell her and then going back to my desk because I was too scared. Finally at the end of the day I told my teacher what happened. She marked the answer wrong but then gave me a hug and told me, “Thank you for being honest.” I’m glad I told my teacher even though it was very hard. I felt much better afterward. I will never cheat on a test again. I will always try to be honest in everything I do.

As a youth, I wasn’t planning on serving a mission, but people constantly bugged me about going. They reminded me that the Lord expected me to go. Those telling me to go on a mission meant well, but the pressure made me not want to go.
One day, the local missionaries had an emergency. As a result, a missionary would be left alone for the day. I was asked to stay with him until his new companion arrived. That night, after we had prayed and prepared for bed, my “companion” asked me if I was thinking about serving a mission. I told him no.
He replied, “When you feel like you should do it, then do it.” In other words, if the Holy Ghost prompted me to serve, I should go. I didn’t feel any pressure when he spoke, but I did feel the Spirit. The missionary’s words stayed with me and eventually helped me to find a job and save money for a mission.
On my mission, I developed a special closeness with Heavenly Father. I learned that when the Holy Ghost tells us it’s time to do something, we need to do it.
Leonardo Z., Argentina

An anecdote about the Prophet Joseph, dear to the hearts of the Kirtland children who knew it, concerned some baby mice. Workmen leveling a steep hill uncovered a nest of the tiny creatures, and one of the men carried it over to the Prophet, who seemed fascinated by them. He told the workmen that the mice were “pretty little innocent things” and to “take them back and put them where their mother can find them.”

I recall that when I was a missionary in London, England, more than fifty years ago, we held our meetings in the Battersea town hall, which we rented. The floors were hard, and we sat on chairs. Every time a chair moved there was a noise. But this was not the worst aspect of the situation. Far worse was the noisy socializing of the members of the branch.

On one occasion we invited a family whom we had met while tracting. With great expectation we as missionaries stood by the door to welcome them. There was the usual convivial spirit in the hall, with the members talking noisily one with another. When this family came into the room, they quietly moved toward some chairs, knelt for a moment, and closed their eyes in a word of prayer. They then sat in an attitude of reverence amidst all the commotion.

Frankly, I was embarrassed. They had come to what they regarded as a worship service, and they behaved themselves accordingly.

At the close of the meeting they left quietly, and when we next met they spoke of their disappointment in what they had experienced. I have never forgotten that.

When 21-year-old Gisela Silva moved with her family from Mendoza, Argentina, to the nation’s southernmost city of Ushuaia, she wondered whether she’d left behind her chances of marrying in the temple. Mendoza, after all, has a stake filled with wards of Latter-day Saints, while isolated Ushuaia—located on the island of Tierra del Fuego—has only about 600 members attending three small branches.
“My parents had married in the temple, and I wanted this blessing for myself—to marry a faithful member of the Church, someone with whom I could form an eternal family,” she recalls. “But when I arrived in Ushuaia, there were so few young adults here that I wondered whether that would happen.”
Lucas Romano had the same concerns as Gisela. During his mission to Uruguay, his family had moved to Ushuaia. When he joined them after completing his mission, he quickly noticed that young single adult men outnumbered young single adult women. He was determined, nevertheless, to obey the counsel of local leaders to date only members of the Church.
That counsel became easier to follow after Lucas met Gisela at church and she enrolled in English classes at a school where he teaches. He began walking her home after class, and they soon began dating. As they prayed individually about their growing relationship, they say that confirmation came “line upon line, precept upon precept” (2 Nephi 28:30; D&C 98:12).
In April 2005, Lucas and Gisela married civilly, as required by Argentine law, and then were sealed in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple. Their sealing was significant for the young Church membership in Ushuaia: it was the first of 17 temple marriages in less than four years.

When my sister’s in a good mood, she calls me James Herriott. That’s because I’m going to be a veterinarian.
My name is really Jeannette, but everybody calls me Jetty. I’ll be twelve on my next birthday—small but strong for my age.
Mom and Sis and I live in a big old house at the edge of Bone Hollow. There are lots of farms around here. Most of the farmers are so busy they don’t like to fuss with an animal that needs a lot of care.
Somebody brought me an orphan lamb when we moved here a few years ago, and I raised it. Now anything is apt to turn up on our doorstep.
Just this spring I was keeping a lonesome cat, Gorgeous George, in the basement while its owners were on vacation. A runt pig named Pigwig was living in a cardboard box in the storeroom. In another box were twin orphan lambs so small that I called them Minutes.
Mom works long hours at the clinic and doesn’t mind my pets as long as I keep everything clean and the animals out from under her feet. Sis is another story.
One evening I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework while some milk for Pigwig’s eight o’clock feeding was warming. Mom and Sis were doing dishes. They were having a discussion about some dumb dinner Sis wanted to have. It was to impress the parents of her boyfriend, Ted, who were coming to visit.
The discussion woke up Pigwig. He started to squeal, and Sis let out a shriek about as loud. “That kid and her weird menagerie. I can’t invite the Austins to this—this zoo!”
About that time Gorgeous George started to yowl, and the uproar woke the Minutes. It took Mom and me a while to get them all quieted down.
The next day Mom had a talk with me. “You know, Jetty, your sister’s right. It’s her home, too, and it’s only fair that she should be able to entertain her friends here without embarrassment.”
“OK, OK,” I muttered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find another place for your pets that evening.”
“But, Mom,” I persisted. “I can’t put them just anywhere! It’s too cold outside. They could get sick.”
“Jeannette, with your ingenuity I’m sure you can find a comfortable place.” When Mom starts using big words in that tone of voice, I don’t argue.
Finding a place wasn’t easy. I had to promise to give Betsy Lewis, my best friend, my very favorite record before she finally said she’d watch the animals—on the condition that her mother approved. Mrs. Lewis agreed to let Betsy keep Pigwig and the Minutes in a heated room off their garage.
Gorgeous George’s owners were back home by then so it looked like everything would work out. Sis was all excited. You’d have thought the president of the United States was coming to dinner.
I had just come back from taking Pigwig and the Minutes over to Betsy’s house when a car pulled into the driveway.
Mom and Sis weren’t home from work yet, and I was trying to decide whether I should let anyone in when I heard Curt Marsh calling, “Jetty, are you home?” He and his wife, Brenda, are good friends of ours.
When I opened the door, Curt came charging in carrying something in his arms. “Jetty, am I glad you’re here! I’m taking Brenda to the hospital. Moonbeam’s calf has pneumonia so I brought it over. We knew you’d take care of it.”
I just stood there. I mean I couldn’t even stutter!
“What’s the matter, Jet? Is something wrong?” Curt looked so worried and upset, I couldn’t tell him.
“It’s—it’s OK,” I finally stammered. “I’ll get a box.” And I rushed to find one so he wouldn’t see my face.
“Thanks, Jetty. We knew we could count on you,” he called as he hurried back to his car.
I looked at the calf. It was the size of a large dog and pure white with soft silky hair and long dark lashes. Its nose was bright pink. I promptly named it Snow White. It looked completely helpless stretched out on its side, breathing hard.
I didn’t have much time to get it out of sight before the party. I carefully placed the calf in a box. Just then Mom came rushing in, so I quickly shoved it to the back of the big coat closet.
“Hurry now,” she said. “Change your clothes and set the table.”
Everything looked super nice by the time the Austins arrived. Sis looked really neat too. She was so happy she was all sparkly.
I was eating my second piece of chicken when I noticed Sis was awfully quiet. Mrs. Austin was looking our house over like she was at a yard sale and couldn’t find anything worth buying. Mr. Austin was talking about the business he owned and how he thought Ted was wasting his time in such a small town. Ted was just sitting there. He wasn’t even holding Sis’s hand like he usually does, and I felt kind of sorry for her.
About then I thought I heard the sound of feet slipping and sliding. Suddenly through the closet door staggered the wobbly and bawling white calf. I froze for a moment.
Mrs. Austin screamed as her mink stole slid off the calf’s back and onto the floor. I had one glimpse of the stunned look on my mother’s face before I was out of my chair and dragging the calf out of the room.
The dinner party was over. I heard my mother and sister apologizing. Ted left with his parents.
Sis was crying. “Where did that thing come from?” she wailed. “Mom, I thought you told Jetty—no animals!”
“I did, and I have no more idea than you where she got it, but I intend to find out.” My mother’s voice told me I was in real trouble.
I was dragging myself out of the storeroom when the telephone rang. Sis answered it. When she turned from the phone, she had a funny look on her face. “That was Curt Marsh. Brenda had a seven-pound baby girl and they are going to name her Jeannette because Jetty is always so helpful—like tonight with that prize calf of theirs.”
Later I heard Sis say, “The Austins really are pretty stuffy, aren’t they?”
Mom said something I couldn’t hear. Then Sis giggled. “Only Jetty’s pets get to wear mink stoles,” she said. Then they both cracked up laughing!
I mean, who can understand grown-ups?

As a leader he has tried to encourage that desire in others. He remembers a time in 1987 when he was the bishop in Fayetteville, Arkansas. “I went into Primary one Sunday,” he says. “They had invited me. I decided to wear red suspenders. I thought that I would somehow use them as an object lesson. So I got in the Primary room, took off my coat, and said, ‘Now, boys and girls, the bishop has these red suspenders. How are the scriptures like my red suspenders?’ And one little boy raised his hand and said, ‘The scriptures hold up our faith in Jesus the same way your suspenders hold up your pants.’ I said, ‘That is exactly right.’ The little boys in the ward started wearing red suspenders, and the little girls had red bows in their hair.

“My dad was a tool-and-die maker, and he would never be caught without his tools. It seemed to me that for members of the Church of Jesus Christ our tools are the scriptures and we would always have them in our meetings. When I became the stake president, we began to hold them up to remind us how they can, if we use them, hold up our faith.”

While I served as a missionary in the Brazil Salvador South Mission, the eight missionaries in our zone usually ate together at the home of Paulo, a member of the Itapua Ward. We would eat with this same family every week on a certain day.
One particular day we were eating in the home of Paulo and his wife and daughter. It had been raining all week, and the streets were filled with rivers of water. Paulo’s home was modest, with a concrete floor that had been worn smooth over time. His family did not have enough furniture for all eight missionaries, so most of us sat on the floor.
Paulo was a convert to the Church who had not had the opportunity to serve a mission. As we finished our meal, he asked where our proselyting efforts would take us that afternoon. We told him we were headed to the mission office for our regular interviews with the mission president.
“Elders,” he said, looking at our mud-spattered shoes, “you cannot go see your mission president with shoes that look like that!”
He went into his bedroom and returned with a nearly empty can of shoe polish. Then he knelt on the floor and began to shine our shoes.
How could this man who had already sacrificed so much to feed eight hungry missionaries each week also shine our shoes? I was one of the last in line, and I resolved to politely decline when my turn came. But when he got to my shoes, I knew that if I rejected his offer, I would be rejecting a sacred gift from a truly humble man.
Because of Paulo’s Christlike service, I feel my heart burn with joy every time I think of him. He taught me about the gift of the Savior’s Atonement in a way that left a permanent impression upon my soul.

I recently asked a doctor of family medicine how much of his time was devoted purely to correcting physical disorders. He has a large practice, and after thoughtfully considering, he answered, “Not more than 20 percent. The rest of the time I seem to be working on problems that very much affect the physical well-being of my patients but do not originate in the body.
“These physical disorders,” the doctor concluded, “are merely symptoms of some other kind of trouble.”
In recent generations one after another of the major diseases has yielded to control or cure. Some very major ones still remain, but we now seem able to do something about most of them.
There is another part of us, not so tangible, but quite as real as our physical body. This intangible part of us is described as mind, emotion, intellect, temperament, and many other things. Very seldom is it described as spiritual.
But there is a spirit in man; to ignore it is to ignore reality. There are spiritual disorders, too, and spiritual diseases that can cause intense suffering.
The body and the spirit of man are bound together. Often, very often, when there are disorders, it is very difficult to tell which is which.
There are basic rules of physical health that have to do with rest, nourishment, exercise, and with abstaining from those things which damage the body. Those who violate the rules one day pay for their foolishness.
There are also rules of spiritual health, simple rules that cannot be ignored, for if they are we will reap sorrow by and by.
All of us experience some temporary physical sickness. All of us now and again may be spiritually ill as well. Too many of us, however, are chronically spiritually sick.
We don’t need to stay that way. We can learn to avoid spiritual infections and maintain good spiritual health. Even though we have a serious physical ailment, we can be spiritually healthy.
If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame, from jealousy, disappointment, or envy, I have something to tell you.
Somewhere near your home there is a vacant corner lot. Although adjoining yards may be well tended, a vacant corner lot somehow is always full of weeds.
There is a footpath across it, a bicycle trail, and ordinarily it is a collecting place for junk. First someone threw a few lawn clippings there. They would not hurt anything. Someone added a few sticks and limbs from a nearby yard. Then came a few papers and a plastic bag, and finally some tin cans and old bottles were included.
And there it was—a junkyard.
The neighbors did not intend it to be that. But little contributions from here and there made it so.
This corner lot is like, so very much like, the minds of many of us. We leave our minds vacant and empty and open to trespass by anyone. Whatever is dumped there we keep.
We would not consciously permit anyone to dump junk into our minds, not old cans and bottles. But after lawn clippings and papers, the other things just don’t seem all that much worse.
Our minds can become veritable junk heaps with dirty, cast-off ideas that accumulate there little by little.
Years ago I put up some signs in my mind. They are very clearly printed and simply read: “No trespassing.” “No dumping allowed.” On occasions it has been necessary to show them very plainly to others.
I do not want anything coming into my mind that does not have some useful purpose or some value that makes it worth keeping. I have enough trouble keeping the weeds down that sprout there on their own without permitting someone else to clutter my mind with things that do not edify.
I’ve hauled a few of these away in my lifetime. Occasionally I’ve tossed these thoughts back over the fence where they came from, when it could be done in a friendly manner.
I’ve had to evict some thoughts a hundred times before they would stay out. I have never been successful until I have put something edifying in their place.
I do not want my mind to be a dumping place for shabby ideas or thoughts, for disappointments, bitterness, envy, shame, hatred, worry, grief, or jealousy.
If you are fretting over such things, it’s time to clean the yard. Get rid of all that junk! Get rid of it!
Put up a “no trespassing” sign, a “no dumping” sign, and take control of yourself. Don’t keep anything that will not edify you.
The first thing a doctor does with a wound is to clean it out. He gets rid of all foreign matter and drains off infection—however much it hurts.
Once you do that spiritually, you will have a different perspective. You will have much less to worry about. It is easy to get all mixed up about worry.
Somewhere there is a message in the protest of a man who said: “You can’t tell me worry doesn’t help. The things I worry about never happen.”
Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.
His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.
This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.
He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.
My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.
As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.
Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.
How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—over-worked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”
And that is my counsel to you. If you have festering sores, a grudge, some bitterness, disappointment, or jealousy, get hold of yourself. You may not be able to control things out there with others, but you can control things here, inside of you.
I say, therefore: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone.
You may need a transfusion of spiritual strength to be able to do this. Then just ask for it. We call that prayer. Prayer is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.
One of our sacred hymns carries this message:
Ere you left your room this morning,
Did you think to pray? …
When your soul was full of sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow
At the gates of day?
O how praying rests the weary!
Prayer will change the night to day;
So when life gets dark and dreary,
Don’t forget to pray.
(Hymns, no. 31.)
All of us carry excess baggage around from time to time, but the wisest ones among us don’t carry it for very long. They get rid of it.
Some of it you have to get rid of without really solving the problem. Some things that ought to be put in order are not put in order because you can’t control them.
Often, however, the things we carry are petty, even stupid. If you are still upset after all these years because Aunt Clara didn’t come to your wedding reception, why don’t you grow up? Forget it.
If you brood constantly over some past mistake, settle it—look ahead.
If the bishop didn’t call you right—or release you right—forget it.
If you resent someone for something he has done—or failed to do—forget it.
We call that forgiveness. It is powerful, spiritual medicine. The instructions for its use are found in the scriptures.
I repeat: John, leave it alone. Mary, leave it alone. Purge and cleanse and soothe your soul and your heart and your mind.
It will then be as though a cloudy, dirty film has been erased from the world around you; and though the problem may remain, the sun will come out. The beam will have been lifted from your eyes. There will come a peace that surpasseth understanding.
A great significant message of the gospel of Jesus Christ is exemplified by the title given to Him: the Prince of Peace. If we follow Him, we can have that individually and collectively.
He has said: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)
If you, my brother or sister, are troubled, there is at hand, not just in Gilead, a soothing, healing balm.

Seeing the needs of immigrants in Milan, Italy, Relief Society sisters organized a service opportunity to provide them with clothing and household goods. Some sisters donated gently used items, while others organized and cleaned the donations. Each sister’s offering was important. The Relief Society sisters helped visitors feel the love of Jesus Christ as they came to the donation center. Monia, a local Relief Society sister, said, “From little things come great things. And we can bless the people inside and outside the Church. It’s the gospel in action.”

Berglind (left) with her sister Elín (right). When Berglind was in the deepest depression she had ever faced, she felt that she couldn’t go on. By opening up about her struggles to family and friends, she has found spiritual and emotional healing through the tools Heavenly Father has provided.
Mindy Selu, Photographer
I’ve been dealing with depression since I was 13. At one point, things got so bad that I tried to take my own life. I felt very hopeless at that time. I thought, “I’m never going to be happy. I’ll never achieve anything.”
There was a moment when I thought that leaving the Church was the answer to my problems because I just felt hopeless about everything. It is so easy to do what you’re not supposed to do in Iceland. The Church is so small here. It was just me and my siblings in our Church classes growing up. I felt lonely and for a while I didn’t like going to church.
Most people in Iceland push religion away. People start drinking at an early age. I got caught up in that, and I was inactive for a moment in my life. I’m not proud of that, but it’s a part of my experience and I learned from it. I studied a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and liked what he said: “The past is to be learned from but not lived in. … When we have learned what we need to learn … , then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future.”1
One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.
Talking about my depression with family and friends has helped so much. It also led to more help. I didn’t want to take medications or go to therapy. I kept telling myself, “I have God.” But God provides many other tools, like medication and therapy, for us to use in addition to spiritual things.
As I started reading my scriptures more every day and getting closer to God through prayer, I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I feel like so many of us face mental health issues and we try to hide it. My depression and struggles have taught me that it’s better to open up and connect with others. My friend recently opened up to me about her struggle with depression. We talked about it and we truly understood each other.
We don’t always notice what others are struggling with, but I just walk around sometimes and look at other people and realize that God knows each and every one of us. He loves us and knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.
Through my struggles with depression, I’ve learned to ask, “What can I learn from this trial?” instead of “Why do I have this trial?” I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.
We all chose to come here to earth. We knew we were going to suffer through trials. And honestly that is what makes life great. Because we know there are good things to come. We know that if we follow the Savior throughout every hard phase, we can have eternal life and all these blessings that are waiting for us.
I’ve definitely noticed how I’ve changed through my depression. The Savior’s Atonement is real, my heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was. People notice and say, “You’ve changed.” One girl from school even said, “I see a difference and a light in you.” It’s weird because she isn’t even a member of the Church, and we hadn’t ever really talked before.
When I was in my worst depression, people would tell me, “It’s going to get better.” I would get so tired of hearing that but, as weird as it sounds, it’s true.
But you have to want to get better. I’ve learned that you can’t expect to get better by doing nothing. You have to want to be happy and believe that you have potential and a future. It’s important to remember that you are loved by so many people, including your Heavenly Father. They are all there to help you.
I never thought I would be as happy as I am now. Some days I still struggle, but with the tools Heavenly Father has given me, I can handle it. Now when I feel myself slipping into depression, I tell myself I am loved, I have people to talk to, and things will get better.
Facing depression has made Berglind more aware of how we can help each other through challenges. “God knows each and every one of us, He loves us, and He knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.”
Berglind has seen a change in herself through her challenges. “The Savior’s Atonement is real,” she says. “My heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was.”
“As I started reading my scriptures more every day,” Berglind says, “I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.”

Last year we had a serious problem regarding a great many obscene telephone calls that we were receiving. I thought the caller would get tired of making such calls, but he didn’t. Upon inquiring around the neighborhood I learned that a number of other women were receiving the same calls. I investigated the situation and discovered that the person making the telephone calls was a teenage boy who lived up the street. The next time he telephoned, I addressed him by name, telling him that was the last obscene call he was going to make. By this time, of course, my feelings against this person were very strong. In my mind he was clearly and simply one of the nuisances in life like mosquitoes that had no right to exist but did anyway.
After a long debate with myself, I went to talk to his mother. It was obvious that he needed help, and it would not be possible for him to get it unless his parents understood what he was doing. I told the boy’s mother all about her son’s telephone calls. She was surprised but took the news very well and was very grateful to me for coming to her.
“I’ve been concerned about Jack for a long time,” she said. “He’s under such tremendous pressure from his father. He’s not allowed to have even a minute of free time, it seems. On the weekends he has these long, long lists of chores to do, and they’re never quite done well enough. ‘You missed a spot in the hedge, Jack,’ his father says, or ‘You didn’t get all the weeds.’ It seems like his responsibilities never end. Last weekend his father made him type a letter over four times, finding something different each time. If Jack isn’t home when his father comes in, he’ll say, ‘Where’s Jack? Is he doing his homework?’ And if he’s out playing in the neighborhood, he’ll go and call for him to come home. Sometimes when Jack will come in he’ll ask, ‘Is father here?’ and I know he’s really asking, ‘Am I going to have to do something?’ If his father isn’t at home, he’ll relax a little bit. But it doesn’t last. Jack has developed a nervous twitch. And I know all this pressure has something to do with the obscene telephone calls.”
Again the tremor of conscience. Again the breaking down of my first perception, allowing me to see inside the problem. I knew Jack’s secret, at least a little bit about the ache inside him that made him do sad, sad things. And I wanted to help him, encourage him, instead of slapping him like a mosquito. He did deserve to live after all.