Gospel Story Finder

When I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922, opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that at one time the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting also was discontinued.
My companion and I were invited to travel to South Shields to speak in sacrament meeting. The invitation said, “We feel sure we can fill the little chapel. Many of the people over here do not believe the falsehoods printed about us. If you’ll come, we’re sure that we’ll have a great meeting.”
We accepted this invitation and fasted and prayed sincerely about what to say. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles of the gospel. I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy.
When we arrived, we found a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an inspirational message. I then responded, talking with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not even mentioned the Apostasy. Instead, I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and borne my witness of his divine mission and to the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.
After the meeting, several nonmembers came forward and said, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready for baptism.”
This was an answer to our fasting and prayers, for we prayed to say only that which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

After his brother had fallen asleep and their candle had burned out, Gaelin lay awake. The room was black, except where the moon shone through the window. He was trying to remember something so that he could forget how dark it was and how the shadows looked like wicked giants on the wall.
Only that morning, Gaelin had held the big stallion’s reins as he watched his father, Sir Gareth, swing into the saddle. Equipped with shield and sword, Sir Gareth had smiled at Gaelin through kindly eyes and said, “Now, my little knight, take good care of your brothers and sisters while I’m gone. And remember, Son, that true courage is fear that has said its prayers.” Then he had turned his charger and joined others of King Arthur’s knights as they assembled for a journey.
The next morning Gaelin arose early, dressed quickly, and ran down the stairs. He didn’t think about Sir Gareth’s words again until it was dark. Shivering more because of the eerie shadows than the cold, he went to his room.
That evening about eleven o’clock, a storm blew in from the ocean. The thunder and lightning were the worst part. Loud thunderclaps shook the stone walls of the castle. Gaelin and his little brother shivered under their wolfskins until they fell asleep.
It was past midnight when Gaelin’s mother came into the room and found the boys asleep. She whispered Gaelin’s name, and he awoke with a start. “What’s wrong, Mother?” he asked.
“Your littlest sister is very sick,” she replied. “Get up and dress quickly! The stableboy is saddling your pony. You must ride to the village and fetch old Grimbauld. She can save Leonora if anyone can!”
“The village?” Gaelin stared at his mother in horror. “But it’s five miles away … and it’s thundering and raining so hard!” He bit his lip, terrified of riding in the storm. Then he looked at his mother’s anxious face and whispered, “I’ll go.”
In a few minutes he was on his way, with the wind tugging at his cloak and teasing his pony’s tail. Brennet, his pony, lowered his head and drove himself into the rain while Gaelin held up the lantern his mother had given him. The boy squinted into the wind and bumped the pony’s sides with his heels.
Gaelin was soaking wet and cold even before he reached the forest. Five miles of forest, he worried. It’s dark and howling with wind and full of bears and dragons! Can I make it? His tiny lantern threatened to go out at any moment, and then he would certainly become lost!
The trail through the forest was well worn, and Gaelin urged Brennet into a gallop. The best way is to do it quickly, he decided. Then there won’t be time to be frightened. But the lantern swung wildly, and its moving shadows looked like dark giants bounding from behind old twisted trees to carry him away!
Brennet was strong-winded and had been ridden often, so Gaelin kept him running until he steamed beneath the saddlecloth and his breath came hard. Surely I’m almost to the village, Gaelin thought.
They stopped only once, when there was an explosion and a blinding flash ahead. The pony reared up on his hind legs, snorting. Gaelin didn’t fall, but he felt his heart pounding in his throat. Even so, he encouraged Brennet on.
As they rounded a bend, Gaelin saw the tree. Blackened and still smoking from the lightning, it had fallen across the path. He swallowed hard, gripped the pony’s sides tightly with his knees, and urged him to jump. But Brennet was too tired. He couldn’t spring high enough from the muddy earth, and his front hooves didn’t clear the branches. The pony tumbled headlong on the other side, pitching Gaelin from his saddle so that he struck the ground with the arm that held the lantern.
When Gaelin sat up, he was surrounded by blackness. The lantern was smashed! He couldn’t see the trees, his pony, or even the puddle he’d landed in. Fighting back tears because it was unknightly to cry, he suddenly remembered Sir Gareth’s words: Remember that courage is fear that has said its prayers.
With the storm crashing overhead, Gaelin knelt and prayed: “Please, dear God, don’t let me be frightened anymore! My little sister is very sick, and I must get help. Help me to find the way and not be scared! In the name of Christ our Lord, amen.”
Brennet was snuffling at the boy’s shoulder. Gaelin found the reins, swung up onto the pony, and started off once more. The moon was beginning to show its round face between the clouds, and the storm was moving up the countryside.
In front of old Grimbauld’s cottage, Gaelin tumbled off his exhausted mount and pounded on the heavy door with a hand that no longer shook. The kind peasant woman, wrapped in a thick shawl, brought him in to sit beside her little fire. With a dry sheepskin around him, he delivered his message.
Gaelin was warm by the time she’d gathered her herbs and other things and bridled her mule. She paused in the doorway and looked at him kindly. “You came all that way through the storm, boy? Weren’t you frightened? You must have the courage of a knight!”
Gaelin only smiled as he went out to take care of faithful Brennet. He wasn’t frightened anymore, and he knew that little Leonora would soon be well.

Once in Utah, Dan Jones settled in Manti, where he was elected the first mayor in 1851. A year later, however, he was called to serve a second mission in his native land. Again he responded without hesitation. With a few others, he began the long trek east. When about eighty miles out of Salt Lake City, he met a group of Welsh Saints coming to the Valley. They had been baptized during his first mission, and they could scarcely contain their feelings when they met their beloved leader, they on their way to the valleys of the West, and he on his way to the valleys of Wales. They sang; they wept; they spoke with words of true affection. They spent a happy day together before parting. As they were separating, Elder Jones gave William Morgan a letter to be delivered to the Presiding Bishop of the Church, Edward Hunter. It breathes the spirit of this remarkable man and his love for his Welsh brethren and sisters:
“Esteemed Bishop Hunter.—Many of my compatriots are coming across in the 13th Company; I do not know their condition; perhaps their money and their provisions are scarce. If so, when they reach the Valley, I shall be grateful to you for furnishing them their needs, through the hand of [Brother Morgan], and I shall pay you in Manti, San Pete Valley.”7

When I was 17 years old, I enlisted in the Royal Canadian Army Reserve. I was sent to a training base, and for the first time in my life, I was on my own to determine my path. I suspected that I would be tempted not to remain active in the Church and that my testimony would be challenged
When I arrived on the base, a course sergeant gave a tour of the different buildings and churches. I was prompted to ask where the LDS branch was located. The sergeant paused for a moment. Then he said that church won’t be found on base, but if I would like to attend, I could go with him and his wife. He was a recent convert to the Church and was happy to take anyone who wanted to go. I was glad to have the option of going, even though I had not decided if I was going to go that Sunday. After all, I was alone and free to choose for myself now. But something in my heart told me I needed to attend.
That Saturday night was one of the hardest in my life. I have since called it my “tree of life” experience. It started when my friends wanted me to hang out with them at the mess hall. I knew they were just going to drink, and I told them I needed sleep because I had to get up early for church. They laughed at my choice and went their way.
After they left, I sank into my bunk. From there, I could look out the window and watch my friends on the mess hall balcony, drinking and laughing. I remembered how they had teased me for not joining them. I felt like I imagine Lehi must have felt when he looked at the great and spacious building, where people were similarly laughing at him. I turned around to face my desk, only to notice my scriptures. I eagerly opened them and began to read. These were my iron rod, and just as the word of God had kept Lehi’s family safe, I knew they would likewise protect me.
I don’t recall what I read that night, but I do recall the Spirit I felt. I felt it again when I went to church the next morning. By attending church every Sunday while I lived on the base, I built a lasting testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Since my time at training camp, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony with others as a full-time missionary in the California Sacramento Mission.

Soon after moving to Frankfurt, I was called as a presidency member of our area’s center for young adults. The calling involved coordinating institute classes, family home evenings, and other activities. It required a lot of work, but it was worth it because the center is a great blessing to young adults in the area.
Because of this calling, I learned about and joined a young single adult choir. The choir went on a concert tour to Poland and the Czech Republic. It was a great experience, and I loved having the opportunity to share my testimony through music. I was even happier when I received an e-mail several weeks later telling me that someone had joined the Church as a result of one of our concerts.

“May I speak to you?” Paula said, pulling Valeria aside. “I felt something special at my uncle’s baptism,” she explained quietly.
Valeria told her friend she had felt the promptings of the Spirit. “He’s telling you that you need to follow your uncle’s example.”
“But I can’t do it alone,” said Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” assured her friend. Before long, Paula and her whole family were meeting with the missionaries and accepting the invitation to be baptized. Their lives changed forever.

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land and many productive fields, orchards, and gardens and had money out at interest. He had a lovely family and at first was contented because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was contented.
An old priest came to Ali Hafed and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his. Ali Hafed said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs through white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”
Said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that was at interest, and left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds, traveling through many lands in Asia and Europe. After years of searching, his money was all spent, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.
Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafed’s successor and found that in the black stone was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the diamond mines of Golconda, the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.
Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds” (story paraphrased from Russell H. Conwell, Acres of Diamonds [1960], 10–14).
We feel only pity for Ali Hafed as we picture him wandering homeless and friendless farther and farther away from the happiness he thought he would find in digging up diamonds in a far-off place. Yet how many times do we look for our happiness at a distance in space or time rather than right now, in our own homes, with our own families and friends?

Joel wheeled his new red bicycle expertly into the driveway, lowered its kickstand with his heel, and bounded into the kitchen. “Is Willie hungry yet, Mom?” he asked. “Do you think it’s time to feed him again?”
His mother, who was scraping carrots, nodded. “Yes, he’s been calling for his supper,” she answered.
Joel reached gently for the small box on top of the water heater in the laundry room. It was faintly warm to the touch, just about the right temperature for a baby bird. He lifted the top off the box. Willie, still quite featherless, crouched in one corner of his paper-napkin nest. But when the lid was lifted, the young bird craned his thin neck and was suddenly all mouth.
“You look like you’re hungry enough to eat a whole sack full of worms!” Joel said with a smile. Willie was important to Joel, because the boy lived with his parents at Crest View, a new apartment complex where the tenants were not permitted to keep a dog or a cat for a pet. But there was no restriction about keeping birds, and when Joel had rescued Willie from the front lawn several days ago, his first thought was, Now I have a pet!
“You know, Mom,” Joel confided as he spread newspapers on the kitchen floor, “I think I love Willie just about more than anything in the world.”
“More than your new bike?” Mom asked in amazement.
Joel frowned. “Well … that’s different. Everybody’s got a bike. But nobody else in Crest View has a baby sparrow that he rescued all by himself!” Willie had tumbled from his mother’s nest high on the corner light pole, and Joel had carried him home to the apartment in his hands.
From a cardboard carton, Joel took some grubs and worms and put them on the newspapers. Then, with a pair of tweezers, he carefully dropped these morsels into Willie’s gaping mouth. “I think Willie’s forgotten he’s an orphan, Mom. And when he gets bigger, we can buy a birdcage for him and I can keep him forever.”
“Forever is an awfully long time, Joel,” his mother replied quietly.
Joel glanced at her, puzzled by her thoughtful tone. “Do you mean I can’t keep Willie?” Joel asked.
“Willie is a wild creature, son,” Mom explained. “In a little while, he’ll want to be out-of-doors, to be free.”
But Joel lowered his eyes and set his jaw. No, he vowed silently, Willie is my pet, and I’m going to keep him forever!
As the summer days passed, Willie quickly acquired tail feathers and some soft gray down on his naked breast. It soon became obvious that his cardboard home was too cramped for him to live in much longer.
“We’ve just got to buy Willie a cage Mom,” Joel declared at last.
The supper dishes clinked in the sink, and his mother turned toward her son with a little smile. “I think Willie really wants to be free, Joel,” she reminded him softly.
“But, Mom, Willie doesn’t even know how to fly!” Joel protested. “Something might happen to him, something terrible!” The thought of it made Joel’s eyes sting.
He looked fondly at Willie. But something had changed, he had to admit. Willie’s eyes seemed dull. His feathers were droopy. He refused to chirp anymore. His appetite had waned. “Are you sure it would be all right if we let him go?” Joel asked at last.
It would really be easier if Mom would just order me to turn Willieloose, Joel thought. Then I wouldn’t have to decide what to do myself.
But Mom only smiled again and looked out the kitchen window at Joel’s bicycle. “Do you remember how you learned to ride your bike?” she asked.
Joel pondered a moment. What a silly question! “Well … I just tried!” he exclaimed indignantly. How well he could remember the first time he rode alone down Butler’s Hill—the wind tore at his hair, pressed the breath back in his throat. The thrill of that day rushed back to him. It was just like having wings, he realized. It was just like flying!
Without another word, Joel lifted the sparrow’s box down from its familiar place on the water heater and carried it out in front of the apartment. With tender fingers he lifted Willie from his napkin nest. The young bird hopped curiously across Joel’s open palm.
Joel held Willie a few inches above the grass. The bird tottered, spread his wings in vain, and plopped awkwardly onto the lawn. “You have to try,” Joel encouraged him. “You have to try, Willie.”
The next time, Willie spread his wings and landed gracefully several feet away. Then Joel picked Willie up again, lifted him high, and gave him a gentle boost into the evening air. The little bird sailed away, over the vacant lot across the street and out to the golden haze of wild clover at the edge of the road. “Good-bye, Willie,” Joel called softly. “Good-bye!”
Joel closed up the empty nest and returned to the kitchen where Mom was waiting. From the open window they could both hear Willie’s chirp grow fainter and fainter in the distance. Joel smiled to himself as he remembered that first ride down Butler’s Hill.
Suddenly he felt happy.
“Now Willie has wings, too,” he murmured.

It had been an unusually warm day in Lüneburg, Germany, and Elder Kevin Pepper and I were tired. Our last appointment ended at 9:00 P.M., and we had a half hour more to work before returning to our apartment. It was too late for knocking on doors, so we got on our bikes and rode to Lüneburg’s central shopping district. Most of the shops had closed three hours earlier, and the busy daytime crowds were gone—leaving only a few window-shoppers enjoying the evening, in no hurry to get anywhere.
We pushed our bikes slowly, stopping now and then to ask fellow pedestrians if they would like to know something about the restored gospel. No one was interested. And this was typical. Germany was considered a “hard mission.” Few baptisms. Lots of knocking on doors and stopping pedestrians. People were usually polite, but they were cautious about anything new, for the most part unwilling to consider a change in religions.
We reached the far end of the street at about 9:25. Time to head for our apartment. But there in the evening shadows, leaning against a wall, was a man with thinning hair and a somewhat straggly beard. I looked at Elder Pepper; he looked at me. We were tired, we’d had no success that day, and I could tell we were thinking the same thought. One of us may have even spoken it aloud: “He’s probably just like the rest of the people we’ve talked to today. Let’s go home.” But something inside me said, “Go talk to him.”
We approached the man and asked if he knew anything about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He didn’t. Would he like to learn something about it? Yes, he said, and he gave us his address.
When we visited Alfred Kliche later that week, we discovered he was markedly different from most of the people we talked with. He was more reserved, more serious than most, but also more open-minded. He was searching for something. As he later put it, “I was considering becoming acquainted with other people who, like me, had not yet lost their faith in God.” He showed us a book he was reading, a book from an Eastern religion. We taught him about Joseph Smith and gave him a book of our own. He accepted it with reserved curiosity and said he’d read it.
We left after that first discussion not knowing quite what to think about Herr Kliche. Personally, I doubted he’d read the book. The first year of my mission—a year with no baptisms and plenty of disappointments—had left its mark on me. I’d seen enough “reality” to dilute my hopes with a fair dose of skepticism. But Herr Kliche invited us back, and when we came to teach him again, he told us he had read a good deal in the Book of Mormon. He said he particularly enjoyed the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi. During my 10 months in Germany, no one had ever made that claim before. In fact, I don’t recall having heard it in the 23 years since.
We taught Herr Kliche all through an unusually hot July and into August. He made slow, steady progress but seemed in no hurry to make any permanent changes in his life. Elder Pepper and I didn’t really know what was going on inside him. He was as indecipherable as the Eastern religious book he had shown us.
Then one day in early August a letter came from the mission office. I was being transferred. Elder Pepper and I had a few good investigators by this time, and it was hard to leave them. I wondered what would happen. But immersing myself in a new area and in the lives of a new group of investigators and members took all my attention and left me little time to worry about Lüneburg.
One day several weeks after the transfer, however, I received a phone call from Elder Pepper. He told me Herr Kliche was getting baptized on 16 October, and he wanted me to be there. Since my transfer had been merely to the other side of the Hamburg stake, our mission president gave me permission to attend.
Elder Pepper told me over the phone that Herr Kliche had made slow, steady progress for the most part, but in the end he completely surprised them. The missionaries had given him a baptismal challenge on 21 September, and he had accepted. But on 28 September he was concerned. He believed he had received a witness but wanted to be sure. Then, a few days later, everything seemed to fall apart. Herr Kliche informed them he wasn’t interested in meeting with them anymore. Elder Pepper and Elder Hardy were devastated. Where had they gone wrong? What could they do?
But on 3 October something unexpected happened. Elder Pepper recorded in his journal: “Herr Kliche came to church this morning. … The Spirit was so strong that everyone in the tiny chapel could feel it, especially Herr Kliche. He sat in the second row to the left all by himself. … With tears in his eyes he stood and bore his testimony. The sun shone through the large windows, and a beam of light appeared to shine directly on him as he bore a simple and beautiful testimony. It was so sincere. He said he felt fulfilled in this Church and hoped to become a member soon. Just seven weeks or so ago he was ready to give up his search for the truth; he didn’t see any reason why he should change churches, because they were all about the same. And now the Spirit of Truth has helped him see the difference, and he wants to be a member. I was so thrilled I could hardly keep the joy I felt inside. Today will always be a cherished memory.”
Ironically, four days later Elder Pepper was transferred to Kiel and was unable to attend the baptism. But on 16 October 1976, my companion and I took the subway into Hamburg, walked to the stake center, and there witnessed the baptism of Alfred Kliche, a rare and gratifying event in the course of a difficult mission. I have kept in touch with Bruder Kliche over the years. Indeed, his conversion, because it was complete and enduring, has brought me much joy.
The little Lüneburg Branch was dissolved a few years after Bruder Kliche’s baptism, and the members were absorbed into a Hamburg ward. Bruder Kliche, always solid in the gospel, has served in the bishopric and on the stake high council. He also married a fine Latter-day Saint, and after several years they served a temple mission together. “I am here to serve the Lord,” he wrote me recently, “and to make progress. We are very thankful for our time in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
As I look back to that summer evening in 1976, I am glad Elder Pepper and I were not too tired to talk to just one more son of our Heavenly Father. We almost didn’t, and it has been a lesson to me ever since. Had we quit a few minutes early, what a loss it would have been—for us, for the Church, and, most of all, for Bruder Kliche.

Several years ago I picked up the desk pen in my office at Brigham Young University to sign a paper that had been prepared for my signature, something I did at least a dozen times each day. That document committed the University to a particular course of action we had decided to follow. All the staff work had been done, and all appeared to be in order. But as I went to sign the document, I was filled with such negative thoughts and forebodings that I put it to one side and asked for the entire matter to be reviewed again. It was, and within a few days additional facts came to light which showed that the proposed course of action would have caused the University serious problems in the future.

When I was in sixth grade, my family moved. One of my new friends was not a member of the Church.
One Sunday, my friend called me. He wanted me to come bowling with him and his parents that afternoon. I had only been bowling once before, and I had really liked it. Bowling again would be really fun, especially with my new friend. I immediately went to ask my mom.
“Well,” she said, “it’s Sunday, so I don’t think you should go. But you can make your own decision.”
I was shocked! I thought that she would say no. Instead the choice was all mine. So I chose to go bowling with my friend.
Pretty soon my friend, his parents, and I were at the bowling alley. I did really well! My friend and I had fun. But the whole time, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew in my heart that my mom was right. I had learned at church and at home that making Sunday a holy day was important. Going bowling with my friend wasn’t the best Sunday activity.
That day, I learned an important lesson. It is good to have fun and be with friends! But choosing to make Sunday special is more important.

Years later, when Sister Ellis and I had young children and I was starting a new career, my employer changed medical insurance plans. The old plan would end on June 1 and the new one would start on July 1, leaving us without insurance for one month. We did not know what to do, but at that point we remembered a talk by President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982) in which he counseled Church members to always have health insurance.3
I talked with the company, and we negotiated a contract to ensure continuous insurance coverage throughout June. On June 28 our oldest son, Matt, fell off the high diving board at the neighborhood pool and hit the concrete deck. He suffered a fractured skull and a brain concussion. He was rushed by helicopter to the hospital, where he was treated by specialists. The costs were astronomical and would have ruined us financially. Fortunately, health insurance paid for most of his treatment.

I spent most of my twenties measuring progress in a very specific way. I had certain milestones and life events planned out that I was relying on to show me I was accomplishing everything I wanted to in life.
Well, I just turned 30 this year, and a lot of those milestones haven’t happened yet, especially with my career. And because of that, I struggle with feeling like I’m falling behind—behind my peers, behind where everyone expected me to be, and most painfully, behind where I expected myself to be.
I’ve known I wanted to be a doctor since I was a teenager, and it’s something I’ve been working toward for years. If I went back and told my teenage self how far behind my plan I am, he would probably be horrified.
But here’s the good news: My 30-year-old self has a far better perspective on life.
When I was 18, things were going great. I moved to a different country to start university and was successfully navigating life in a new place, I started the major that the other premedical students around me were doing, and I kept my grades up.
Things continued to go well as I paused my studies to serve a mission, came home, and got married a few years later.
But this was the point when things started to get a little more complicated.
First, I took a gap year because my wife was a few years younger than me and needed to finish her education. The next year, I applied and was accepted to a school in my home country—but turned down the offer because of COVID-19 border closures and my wife’s unexpected career opportunity. The next year I applied again, this time in the country I was currently living in, but had little success because I wasn’t a permanent resident in that country.
By the time I hit my 27th birthday, I was completely discouraged. I was supposed to be halfway through medical school by now! The friends I had gone to school and graduated with were moving on with their lives, while I was stuck in what felt like a never-ending cycle of applications and rejections.
From my point of view, I was stuck and not making any progress. The lack of hitting the milestones I’d outlined as a teenager made me feel pretty despondent and disappointed in myself.
But here’s the thing—there are so many different ways to make and measure progress. And in hindsight, I’ve realized I was growing and learning all along.
That first gap year? That was a chance for me to show my wife that her education was important to me and to keep gaining experience that would help me be a better doctor.
That second year, when I turned down an offer? That was an opportunity for us to pray and counsel together about how to balance competing priorities and build the life we wanted.
And that final year, when I felt helpless about things that were out of my control? That let me seek personal revelation and receive the confirmation I needed from Heavenly Father that I was on the right path, even when I was discouraged and couldn’t see what the future held.
I don’t want to pretend like those years of waiting were easy. While I was living them, I often felt frustrated, stagnant, and discouraged. But guess what? The future ended up being better than I could have imagined. I’m in my second year of medical school, while my wife works her dream job and can support us financially. After the years of prioritizing her work and education, she’s ready to support me in mine, and we have the kind of relationship that can stay strong through the grueling days of medical training.
I still look forward to the day when I can call myself a doctor. But as President Russell M. Nelson, a doctor himself, once taught, there are identities that are more important than that one.
And remembering my identities as a child of God, a child of the covenant, and a disciple of Christ helps me in times when I want to label myself as “falling behind,” which is something I think many of us are inclined to do during young adulthood.
Maybe you’re like me and have labeled yourself a failure because of career detours. Or maybe your career is going fine but you deal with the label of “single,” “struggling with a mental illness,” or something else entirely.
Whatever your situation, know that there are so many ways to grow and learn and progress. Don’t measure yourself by someone else’s life or expectations—or even your past self’s expectations.
Instead, remember what matters most: “Our relationships with Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, our families, and our neighbors, and allowing the Spirit of the Lord to guide us in those relationships.”
I may not be a doctor yet, but I am a son of God. I’m a covenant keeper. I’m someone who tries hard to be a good husband.
And that’s always mattered more than arbitrary timelines.

I grew up in a city near Seattle, Washington, and was not a member of the Church. When I was 11, I joined a local ballroom dance team that several of my friends were on. The team had started as a youth activity for Latter-day Saints, but it was so popular the instructors kept it going. I didn’t know much about the Church, but the instructors and other youth were so welcoming that I didn’t care.
My friends invited me to Mutual activities and weekend Church dances. I began to notice something interesting about them: they were always smiling. They were positive, encouraging, and enthusiastic about any opportunity that arose. They had joy that I had never felt.
I wanted to know what made them so happy. During six years of careful observation I learned some interesting things. My friends jumped at the opportunity to help and serve those around them. They never judged their peers for the way they looked, talked, or acted—they accepted everyone. My friends believed in speaking cleanly, acting appropriately, and dressing modestly. They valued their parents and siblings as the most important people in their lives. And most important, my friends had firm testimonies of Jesus Christ that strengthened them in difficult times.
After high school graduation, I said good-bye to these friends and started college in New York City. It took only two weeks for me to desperately miss what I now know was the Spirit I felt at Church activities and dance classes with my friends. I looked up the closest ward on LDS.org and then walked to the meetinghouse the following Sunday. I met the missionaries and began learning from them.
When the missionaries taught me about Joseph Smith, I knew instantly through the Spirit that his experience was true. Then, when they explained Jesus Christ’s sacrifice and how He atoned for us, my heart was filled with gratitude for my Savior and His love for me. Six weeks later, I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
I owe my introduction to the Church to my friends who were so kind and welcoming. They didn’t allow their standards to slip when pressure was strong or their decisions were unpopular. Their testimonies were firm and unwavering. They held true to their faith and showed me what it meant to truly live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I know the importance of always living my standards. Both members and nonmembers need strong examples of friends who refuse to lower their standards. Even when I think no one is paying attention, I will try to never waver. You never know who is looking at your example.

One day each of us will finish our earthly journey. Twenty-five years ago, just days before my mother-in-law, Martha Williams, died of cancer, she received a small check in the mail. She immediately asked my wife, Kathy, for her checkbook to pay her tithing. As her mother was so weakened that she could scarcely write, Kathy asked if she could write the check for her. Her mother responded, “No, Kathy. I want to do it myself.” And then she quietly added, “I want to be right before the Lord.” One of the final things Kathy did for her mother was to hand her tithing envelope to her bishop.

“Do I have to ride the bus today?” I knew what the answer would be, but I had to ask, just in case.
Riding the bus every morning was the worst. The older kids teased me. It was hard to find a seat. And I was always lonely.
“Yes, Jason,” Mom said. “Dad already left in the car.”
I dragged my feet to the bus stop. I’d do anything to not ride the bus. Then I had an idea. I jumped behind a big tree.
I heard the bus slow down and stop. Then I heard it pull away.
I did it! I didn’t have to ride the bus. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
I walked back home and told Mom that the bus had left without me. I promised to be more careful next time. She called Dad, and he came home to drive me to school.
Later that day I saw Ryan, a boy who rode on my bus.
“What happened to you this morning?” he asked.
“I missed the bus,” I said.
“I know, but why were you hiding behind a tree?”
Oh no! “You saw me?”
“Yup. Everyone did.”
I groaned. Now they would tease me more than ever!
All day long I worried. How could I possibly ride the bus now?
The next day I trudged back to the bus stop. Why did I hide? This was going to be the worst ride to school ever!
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed. Heavenly Father, Please help me be OK on the bus.
Just then the bus turned the corner and slowly rumbled to my stop. The doors opened, and I climbed up the stairs.
Ryan waved and patted the seat next to him. “You can sit here,” he said.
My eyes widened in surprise. Ryan was funny and had lots of friends. And he wanted to sit by me?
“You didn’t hide today,” he said.
I shook my head, hoping he wasn’t going to tease me.
“I don’t like riding the bus, either,” Ryan said. “But it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.”
I was even more surprised. Did Ryan feel lonely sometimes too?
We talked the whole way to school. Some of the older kids still teased me, but it was easy to ignore them when I had a friend. It was the best ride to school ever!
But the next morning I was worried again. Would Ryan save me a seat? As I climbed up the stairs, I saw Ryan. He smiled and waved me over. It felt so good to have a friend to sit and laugh with. Ryan was my school-bus hero!
The next day Ryan wasn’t on the bus. But before I could panic, I remembered what Ryan had said: I don’t like riding the bus, either, but it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.
Maybe there was someone else who needed a friend too. I spotted an empty seat next to a quiet boy I had seen at recess. I sat down next to him and asked what his name was.
“Blake,” he said.
Soon we were talking and laughing. I made another new friend!
It doesn’t take much to be somebody’s hero. Just look around for someone who needs a friend!
For the rest of the year I was never afraid to ride the bus again. I knew what it felt like to be alone, so whenever I saw a kid looking around for a place to sit, I patted the seat next to me. I could be a school-bus hero too.

In another city we were in the home of a less-active young man named Melusi Ngwenya. He was busy writing exams, and he gladly accepted when we asked him if he would like a blessing. Joining us on that visit was a seminary friend of Melusi’s. This inspired friend reminded Melusi of the good questions he would ask in class and that his participation had inspired and helped other students. His big smile suggested that he had no idea that he had positively impacted anyone.

As we were leaving Melusi’s homestead, we stopped by his pigeon house and noticed that there were 10 birds inside, and the cage door was open. We asked why he leaves the door open and if the birds ever fly away. With another big smile he responded, “They always come back; they know there is food and water here and that it is home.” He then told us that he actually had about 50 pigeons and the rest would return that evening.

As we left this young man, his words “they always come back; they know it is home” did not leave my mind. I thought of the Church as the shelter, with food, water, and safety. Some may wander at times and pursue strange and forbidden paths, but when we have eyes that see and ears that hear, we return to partake of the living water and bread of life and the embrace of our Savior. We then realize that “His hand is stretched out still” (see 2 Nephi 19:17), beckoning us to come unto Him that we may “have eternal life” (see 3 Nephi 9:14). I was reminded again of my responsibility to make it easier for any who may have strayed to come back through loving them and not judging them.

Melusi and the two families we visited are once again actively participating in church. Elder Mervyn B. Arnold of the Seventy said, “As we go to the rescue, God gives us power, encouragement, and blessings.”1 I have learned that we will receive help and inspiration when we are on the Lord’s errand. We surely do not go alone when we go to rescue His children. He has indeed graven us upon the palms of His hands and will therefore never forget any of His children.

There were at least two Latter-day Saint connections to the Titanic. Both illustrate our challenge in understanding trials, tribulations, and tragedies and provide insight as to how we might deal with them. The first is an example of being appreciative for the blessings we receive and the challenges we avoid. It involves Alma Sonne, who later served as a General Authority. He was my stake president when I was born in Logan, Utah. I had my mission interview with Elder Sonne. In those days all prospective missionaries were interviewed by a General Authority. He was a great influence in my life.

When Alma was a young man, he had a friend named Fred who was less active in the Church. They had numerous discussions about serving a mission, and eventually Alma Sonne convinced Fred to prepare and serve. They were both called to the British Mission. At the conclusion of their missions, Elder Sonne, the mission secretary, made the travel arrangements for their return to the United States. He booked passage on the Titanic for himself, Fred, and four other missionaries who had also completed their missions.

When it came time to travel, for some reason Fred was delayed. Elder Sonne canceled all six bookings to sail on the new luxury liner on its maiden voyage and booked passage on a ship that sailed the next day. The four missionaries, who were excited about traveling on the Titanic, expressed their disappointment. Elder Sonne’s answer paraphrased the account of Joseph and his brothers in Egypt recorded in Genesis: “How can we return to our families and the lad be not with us?” He explained to his companions that they all came to England together and they all should return home together. Elder Sonne subsequently learned of the Titanic’s sinking and gratefully said to his friend Fred, “You saved my life.” Fred replied, “No, by getting me on this mission, you saved my life.” All of the missionaries thanked the Lord for preserving them.

My dad is in the Air Force. Sometimes he has to go on trips. I don’t like it when he has to leave. One time he had to go away for two months. I was sad, and I didn’t want him to go. The morning he had to leave, I was crying. He asked me if I wanted a blessing before he left. I said yes. In the blessing, he said that if I would obey my mom, it wouldn’t seem like his trip was so long. It really worked! While he was gone, I tried my best to be a good helper, to obey my mom, and to be a peacemaker with my two brothers. My mom and dad always tell me that being a peacemaker is one of my best talents. Jesus Christ loves peacemakers. When my dad got back, it seemed like his trip wasn’t long at all.
Derek Driggs, age 6Colorado Springs, Colorado

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.