Gospel Story Finder

Throughout the ensuing weeks, many of those employees had to ask whether their call to the frontier would require a modern sacrifice--affecting not just livelihoods, but also whole families. With his approval, I share the story of one of those BYU-Pathway employees. The note was titled "The Pioneer Spirit," and it comes from Bryan Pope:

Tuesday's announcement has become a waypoint in our lives. It is a point that JaNan and I will look back on and mark the progress of our faith and our testimonies of Jesus Christ.

My great grandfather helped settle this valley. He was the first to dry farm on the Rexburg bench. The grain was so hard he had to pull his wagon all the way to Mud Lake to find a mill strong enough to grind it. My youth was spent following in my grandfather's legacy--dry farming, ranching, and serving others. JaNan and I have worked very hard so that we could return to Rexburg and raise our family in the shadow of that legacy.

Tuesday marked the day that we decided that living in their legacy is insufficient, and that we need to harness their pioneering spirit and forge our own legacy of faith. We feel called to this work and know that in our extremity the Lord will bless both this program and our family--Minerva Teichert could not have known how well she painted our feelings.[13]

Mike winced as he heard Braden start telling a joke. Braden was saying the same bad word again and again. Mike wasn’t sure what to do. Mom had always told him that when other kids were using bad words he should either ask them to stop or just walk away. Mike asked Braden to stop, but Braden just ignored him. Because Mike’s seat on the bus was an assigned seat, he couldn’t walk away.
Mike sank down in his seat. He felt miserable. The more Braden talked, the worse Mike felt. He decided to try again. “Braden, could you stop …” But Braden just kept going with his joke. The bus had barely started its route, and Mike’s stop was one of the last.
Mike wondered how much trouble he would get in if he tried moving to a seat farther away from Braden. Just as he was getting ready to move, he had a thought. He knew that singing Primary songs in his mind had helped him before when he was scared. Could singing a song help now too? But even if Mike did sing a song, wouldn’t he still be able to hear Braden’s loud voice? As Braden started another joke, Mike decided it wouldn’t hurt to try.
“I am a child of God,” Mike sang in his mind, “and He has sent me here.” Braden was still talking, but Mike found that as he concentrated on the words of the song he was able to ignore Braden’s bad words. “Has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear.”
Mike had a warm feeling in his heart. It felt like the song formed a kind of bubble around him. The bubble kept his good feelings in and bounced the bad words away. Even though Mike could still hear Braden’s voice, Braden’s words weren’t making him feel yucky anymore. The Holy Ghost was helping him feel better.
Mike finished the song and then sang it in his head a few more times before arriving at his bus stop. He ran off the bus and into his house. He was excited to tell Mom what he learned—that when you can’t get away from a bad situation, you can use good music to help your mind think of better things.

Elder Gerrit Walter Gong knows the power of prayer and that Heavenly Father has a plan for His children. When Elder Gong was young, his mother was once seriously ill. He remembers praying “in little-boy words and feelings” that she would live.
“Prayers are answered differently at different times in our lives, but on that occasion, gratefully, I felt and knew that she would be better,” Elder Gong says. “I have never doubted from that time that Heavenly Father does hear our prayers and, in His own wisdom and ways, answers them.”

One missionary, Matte Te?o, was severely burned before leaving Samoa, but he came to Hawaii anyway. Doctors feared his charred hand might need to be amputated. Many of his fellow missionaries prayed for him. While in the temple, Brother Te?o cried out to the Lord, “Touch this hand.” “Fix this hand so I can help whatever little bit I can.” He began to heal immediately. Today his hand bears no scar. He now serves as a sealer in the Laie Hawaii Temple and says, “This temple … has a powerful influence throughout these communities not only here, but throughout the Pacific” (in Christensen, Stories of the Temple in L??ie, Hawai?i, 328–330).

I always thought that big brothers were supposed to know more than their little sisters. Whenever my sister, Cami, who’s only seven, wanted to know something, she came to me. Why, I taught her almost everything she knows! I showed her how to tie her shoes, how to ride her bike, how to swing a bat and throw a football, how to make a good hook shot, and how to climb the oak tree without falling out.
But there’s one thing that I didn’t teach Cami. I didn’t teach her about apples and things. I learned that from her.
I had always liked Brother Simmons’s apples. He’s our neighbor, and he has a fruit orchard behind our yard. He grows the biggest, best apples in the whole world. It doesn’t matter if they are green, just turning pink, or a deep-shining red—no one grows apples that taste as good as Brother Simmons’s.
All through the spring and summer I peeked through the knotholes in his high board fence to see how the apples were coming along. After the fluffy pink blossoms had fallen, I began to notice tiny green knobs scattered among the leaves. Soon the little knobs became hard green apples that seemed to grow bigger and bigger right while I watched them through the knotholes.
By the time August came, I was so hungry for apples that I could hardly stand it. Brother Simmons’s were bigger than my fist and blushing pink in spots, and I knew that I couldn’t peek through the knotholes with my mouth watering much longer.
I thought about climbing the fence, but I was afraid that Mom or Brother Simmons would see me. Then one afternoon I was exploring and found a loose board. I pushed on it and twisted until I could squeeze through the fence. Before I knew it, I was standing under one of Brother Simmons’s apple trees and looking into the branches at those crunchy, juicy apples.
Before I thought much about what I was doing, I began picking apples and stuffing them inside my shirt. After I had picked seven of the biggest apples I could find, I sneaked back to the loose board and squeezed through the fence. I had just bitten into an apple, when I heard a voice call, “Hey, Joe, where’d you get the apple?”
I was so startled that I jumped back and crashed into the fence, and all the apples dribbled out of my shirt onto the ground by my feet. I stood there with my heart drumming in my throat, my eyes wide, and my mouth open.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Joe,” Cami whispered, pushing out of a little hideout that she had in the bushes.
I glared at her, looked around to see if we were alone, then growled, “You didn’t scare me.” I bent over and started snatching up the fallen apples.
“Where’d you get the apples, Joe?” Cami asked again, making it plural this time. “Can I have one?”
I eyed Cami carefully and said, “Well, maybe one.” I held the biggest one out to her.
She grabbed it and took a huge bite, closed her eyes ecstatically, and smiled while the apple juice dribbled out the corners of her mouth and trickled down her chin. “Did Brother Simmons give them to you?” she asked, taking another bite.
I glanced over my shoulder toward the house to see if Mom was watching. “Promise not to tell?” I asked.
“Promise not to tell what?” she asked.
“Promise not to tell a secret about the apples? If you promise not to tell, I’ll give you as many apples as you want.”
Cami nodded. “I promise.”
I licked my lips, knowing that I was tricking Cami. “I picked them from Brother Simmons’s tree,” I admitted, sitting down and biting into the apple I had already started eating. I tried not to look over at her.
“Did he just give them to you?” she asked, crunching into her apple again.
I shook my head and concentrated on my own apple.
Cami stopped chewing, swallowed, and stared at me. “Well, how’d you get them, Joe?”
“There’s a loose board in the fence. I just squeezed through and got some.”
Cami was quiet for a long time. “Isn’t that stealing?” she whispered after a while.
I finished eating the last few bites around the core and threw it into the bushes where no one would find it. “Oh, Brother Simmons has lots of apples. He won’t miss these. I only took seven. He has thousands.”
“But, Joe, those thousands of apples are all his.”
“They probably would have just fallen on the ground and rotted.”
“But they were still his,” she insisted, “good or rotten.”
“Oh, he won’t care,” I argued. “He’ll probably give us some pretty soon like he always does. We just won’t take as many then, and that will make up for taking some now.”
When Cami didn’t argue, I began polishing another apple on my pants. Finally, I looked over at her. She was just holding her half-eaten apple in her lap and staring at it as it began to turn brown.
“Isn’t it any good?” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “It was,” she mumbled, “until I found out how you got it. Then it kind of went sour.”
“Well, you can’t waste it,” I told her. But I knew how she felt, because my apple had been pretty sour too. It was the first apple that I’d eaten from Brother Simmons’s orchard that hadn’t been the best in the whole world.
Cami looked over at me. “Are you going to eat all of them?” she asked, pointing at the other five apples.
I gulped. “Well, I’m not very hungry now,” I mumbled.
“Then what do we do? If we don’t eat them, they’ll just turn rotten.”
I chewed on my tongue for a while, waiting for an idea. “I know,” I finally said. “We’ll throw them back over the fence. Brother Simmons will never know. He’ll just think that they fell off his tree.”
I tossed the apples over the fence and said, “Let’s go ride our bikes, Cami. I’ll take you down to the park and push you in the swing.”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel like riding bikes or swinging. I feel a little sick.”
“It’s probably the green apple,” I explained, picking it up from her lap and tossing it into the bushes with my apple core. “Green apples can do that to you.”
Cami nodded her head but didn’t say anything.
That night as I went to turn the light off and climb into bed, my bedroom door opened, and Cami tiptoed in. I could tell that she had been crying a little.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I want to say my prayers,” she mumbled. “I keep thinking about the apples, and I can’t pray.”
For a long time I just sat on my bed, staring at Cami. “Are you going to tell on me?” I finally asked.
“I promised,” she cried. “But we did wrong, Joe, and I don’t think I can pray again until we do the right thing.”
“Well,” I growled, “you don’t have anything to worry about. I’m the one who stole the apples.”
“But I ate one. How can I ask Heavenly Father to help me do the right thing when I’ve already done the wrong thing without fixing things up?”
Well, that was about the hardest question that anybody had ever asked me. Being the big brother and all, I knew the answers to a lot of questions, but I sure didn’t have a good answer for Cami that night.
“I’ll think of something,” I said.
“We have to tell Brother Simmons what we did,” Cami declared, “and pay him back from our allowances.”
I could give up some of my allowance, but I just couldn’t tell Brother Simmons that I’d stolen his apples. I would do anything but that. I pointed a finger at Cami and warned, “Cami, you promised not to tell. You promised!”
Cami just stood there. Then two big tears sprouted in the corners of her eyes. She blinked, and they tumbled down her cheeks onto her nightgown. “I promised that I wouldn’t tell, Joe, but you have to help me.”
I bit down on my lip and clenched my fists. “I know,” I said finally. “Tomorrow I’ll go offer to pull all the weeds along Brother Simmons’s ditch bank. That will more than pay for those apples.”
Cami grinned. “That’s a good idea, Joe, and I can help too. We’ll tell Brother Simmons that we’re working to pay for the apples we stole.”
“Cami,” I said sternly, “we don’t have to tell him anything. We’ll just work for him. That will pay for everything. He doesn’t have to know that we stole the apples and that we’re working to pay for them.”
The grin on Cami’s face melted into a sad frown. “But I don’t think that’s honest, at least not all-the-way honest. My Primary teacher told us that if we’re going to be honest, we have to be honest all the way.”
I knew that Cami was right, but I was afraid to tell Brother Simmons what I’d done. “I’ll figure something out,” I mumbled. “You go back to bed. We can’t do anything tonight, but I’ll work something out.” I licked my lips. “I promise.”
Cami nodded her head and asked if she could say her prayers by my bed that night. When I said that she could, she dropped to her knees and prayed that she was sorry for stealing but that she’d fix everything up the next day, because her big brother had promised to help her, and he knew everything.
Well, I didn’t get much sleep that night. I kept tossing and turning and kicking my covers off and punching my pillow and thinking of green apples, Brother Simmons, and Cami.
After breakfast the next morning I took a deep breath and told Cami, “I’m going over to Brother Simmons’s. I’m going to tell him what I did, and I’m going to work for him to pay for the apples.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I shook my head. “I stole the apples, so I’m the one who has to pay for them.”
I started around the block to Brother Simmons’s place. My mouth was dry, my heart was thumping in my chest, my hands were sticky with sweat, and my breath came in short, fast bursts. The closer I got to Brother Simmons’s place, the heavier my feet became.
Just as I was about to stop, turn around, and forget the whole thing, Cami slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. “I’m coming with you, Joe,” she insisted. “I helped eat the apples, so I have to work for Brother Simmons too.”
I never knew that a little sister could give a big brother so much courage, but with Cami marching bravely beside me, I knew that I could do about anything.
I don’t even remember talking much to Brother Simmons. He was out trimming his hedge, and we just went up to him, told him what we had done, and promised to pull the weeds along the ditch bank to pay for the stolen apples. He said that we didn’t have to and that he was proud of us for being honest. But Cami said that the only way she could feel good enough to say her prayers that night was to pull the weeds and pay for the apples.
Cami and I pulled weeds all morning. It was hard work. Flies buzzed around our heads, the hot sun made the sweat drip off our noses, and by the time we were finished, we had dirt in our shoes, stickers in our socks, burrs in our jeans, and little blisters on our hands. But we sure felt good inside!
As I walked home holding Cami’s hand, I thought about Brother Simmons’s apples. I used to think that they were the best-tasting things in the whole world. But they didn’t taste nearly as good as I felt that day, knowing that I had been all-the-way honest. I smiled and squeezed Cami’s hand because that was the best lesson that I had ever learned. And I’d learned it from my little sister!

It was April 1992—summer in the Philippines. Our family was spending a vacation at a beach resort in Bagac, on the Bataan Peninsula. As soon as we arrived, my brothers and sisters ran down to the beach and jumped into the ocean. My parents went to look for a cottage to rent.
Confined to a wheelchair, I waited in the shade of some coconut palms, feeling the cool breeze caress my skin. I inhaled deeply and felt my face break into a grin. I turned my gaze to the seemingly endless sea and watched the sun blazing in the sky, a brilliant ball of fire.
On the beach, people were enjoying the warm sand; their laughter was audible even from a distance. In the water, swimmers were engaged in all kinds of activities. I watched my younger brothers practice their strokes. Elsewhere, some young people were riding jet skis or propelling paddle boats.
I thought, How lucky these people are to have the freedom to fully enjoy the beauties of the earth!
And then a wave of self-pity washed over me. I could not do the same. I will live all my life in a wheelchair. A feeling of gloom settled on me. I felt as though an actual force was trying to destroy my faith in Heavenly Father.
I began to pray. I prayed with all the fervor of my soul for this feeling of depression to leave. Into my mind came words I had read in the Bible. At some happy day in the future, it said, “the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart [deer], and the tongue of the dumb sing” (Isa. 35:5–6). A familiar yearning welled up deep inside me. My fondest desire is to walk, but doing so is beyond my abilities.
I was startled from my thoughts by the laughter of young children. They were filled with the excitement of discovery as they searched the wet sand for seashells. Suddenly my spirits lifted, and peace filled my heart. Someday I would walk. Someday I would even “leap as an hart.” In the meantime, my physical disabilities did not prevent me from feasting my senses on the beauties of the earth, pondering my blessings, and praising the Lord for them. Bowing my head, I uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the privileges I enjoy.

I have served as an Air Force attorney and military officer for over 20 years. Some time ago, I had an experience that taught me something about the Atonement.
One day Cadet Smith* knocked at my office door. Like many at the Air Force Academy, Cadet Smith had long held the dream of flying as a pilot for the Air Force. It was spring, and he was now within a few months of graduating, receiving his commission as a second lieutenant, and going on to pilot training.
Cadet Smith sat down and said, “You’re a lawyer. Anything I tell you is confidential—it won’t go anywhere—right?”
“Yes. You know that,” I replied. Cadet Smith then explained his problem. A few months earlier, during the Christmas holidays, Cadet Smith had been away from the Academy in a nearby community. After an evening of partying, he had been arrested for driving drunk. As I recall, there may have been a minor accident. But there was no serious damage to property, nor injuries to any person. Some weeks after his arrest, Cadet Smith went to court in that local community where he pleaded guilty and received a sentence that included a stiff monetary fine and a period of probation. As far as the civilian community was concerned, the matter was basically over.
However, the situation had not been settled with the Air Force. Cadet Smith had not yet informed his commander or any military authority. He feared the impact his drunken driving might have on his Air Force career.
“Should I come clean, and tell the Air Force?” he wanted to know. “What should I do?”
After some thought, I explained to Cadet Smith that I was required to speak to him candidly and directly. “Basically, you have two options. Option 1 is to play by the rules. Turn yourself in, explain everything to your commander, and face the consequences. In all likelihood that dream of becoming a pilot will be lost. The Air Force will not offer extremely expensive pilot training and control of multi-million dollar aircraft to a person with a drunk driving arrest. Worse still,” I continued, “once your arrest becomes known, your entire standing at the Academy will be in jeopardy.”
Cadet Smith waited for me to continue. “Let us now look at the alternative, Option 2. On this path, you say nothing to your commander. You continue to lie low, hoping your drunk driving conviction will never be discovered.
“The problem, of course, is that you have a duty to report the matter. You know you do. And every day you fail to do so you are making matters worse. You will continue living under the fear of being found out. Waiting and wondering will be miserable for you.
“In the near future, and repeatedly throughout the years of your service, you will be required to fill out official questionnaires. You will have to declare, under oath, whether there has ever been an arrest or conviction by civilian authorities. If you deny this, you will be committing an integrity violation and further serious crime under federal law.”
I sensed his distress, and I felt bad for Cadet Smith. From what I knew of him, he was a decent young man who had made a mistake. He left my office alone, in a state of confusion and sorrow.
I could not fault the Air Force for its rules and standards. Here was a manmade system where the young man faced only harsh, negative consequences for his transgression. All he had was justice.
It occurred to me that if Jesus Christ were involved, if we had divine law rather than merely that of men, there would be mercy as well as justice. The Lord would know this young man’s heart. If he were truly penitent and fully resolved to do nothing like this again, there would be a way out.
I recognized that we are all Cadet Smiths in one way or another. We all, with our own faults, are sinners like this young man. The Lord has promised, “For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent” (D&C 19:16). We are all in great need of His mercy. We all have great reason to fall on our knees in fervent gratitude for the forgiveness the Lord offers.

Touching on career choices, Elder Maxwell stated, “Whether one is a neurosurgeon, forest ranger, mechanic, farmer, or teacher is a matter of preference not principle.” So how do you choose when there are so many options? I am occasionally asked how I ended up in my current assignment and what I did to prepare for it. Honestly, it has been a rather circuitous route, as you could tell from my background given in the introduction. There is still more to the story. I knew what my aptitudes were and had confidence Heavenly Father would guide my footsteps as I sought His guidance in making choices. When I first started in college, I majored in chemistry and thought I wanted to go into dentistry and become an orthodontist. After a while, I reached the conclusion that for me personally I would be “down in the mouth” too much in that profession, so I decided perhaps I would become a chemistry teacher. Then I went on a mission.
After I came home my interests were different, so I changed my major to accounting and ended up going into the business world. Several years into my career, I started working for the Church.
One day after a meeting, President Hinckley invited me into his office and asked if I would take this assignment within the Church Educational System. Like you would be, I was anxious to do whatever the prophet wanted me to do, so here I am.
Although educational interests and career choices are a matter of personal preference, our Heavenly Father is interested in the details of our lives. He knows us and He understands what our talents are. He also knows where we need to be stretched in order to accomplish His purposes. He will help us as we make these important choices if we earnestly seek His guidance.

I wonder how many of you, like myself, always have a ’To Do’ list on the go? The first one I can remember doing was for my GCSEs and consisted of how many hours I should spend revising each subject. In the years since it has included tasks to do around the house, things for our family, household finances, work, church or spiritual related activities and always things to do connected to whatever calling I hold. I remember a time when I was in my early 30s and feeling utterly overwhelmed when I looked at the huge list before me. We had 4 young children, Ash was on the stake presidency and I was stake Young Women president. On that day I was prompted to read an article written by the then Young Women General President, Sister Ardeth G. Kapp, and one sentence in the talk changed the way I felt that day and in all the days since. She said, “We live in a time when we can do more, have more, see more, accumulate more, and want more than in any time ever known. The adversary would keep us busily engaged in a multitude of trivial things in an effort to keep us distracted from the few vital things that make all of the difference.”
That’s the key, isn’t it? To focus on the few things that could really make a difference. But how do we know what the few things are? Our personal relationship with the Lord and our family are probably at the top the majority of the time. But what else?
Twenty-three year old Tom Monson, a relatively new bishop, before leaving home that night, had received a telephone call informing him that an older member of his ward was ill and had been admitted to the hospital for care. Could the bishop, the caller wondered, find a moment to go by the hospital sometime and give a blessing? The busy young leader explained that he was just on his way to a stake meeting but that he certainly would be pleased to go by the hospital as soon as the meeting was concluded.
Now the prompting was stronger than ever: “Leave the meeting and proceed to the hospital at once.” But the stake president himself was speaking at the pulpit! It would be most discourteous to stand in the middle of the presiding officer’s message, make one’s way over an entire row of brethren, and then exit the building altogether. Painfully he waited out the final moments of the stake president’s message, then bolted for the door even before the benediction had been pronounced.
Running the full length of the corridor on the fourth floor of the hospital, the young bishop saw a flurry of activity outside the designated room. A nurse stopped him and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?”
“Yes,” was the anxious reply.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The patient was calling your name just before he passed away.”
He vowed then and there that he would never again fail to act upon a prompting from the Lord. He would acknowledge the impressions of the Spirit when they came, and he would follow wherever they led him, ever to be “on the Lord’s errand.”
In 1 Nephi 11:1 it says that Nephi sat pondering in his heart what he should do. He wasn’t pondering whilst reading, hunting or cooking. Nephi sat specifically to ponder and he waited for the Spirit to prompt him on what he should do.
I am currently serving in the Relief Society, so when a sister’s name comes to mind, I try to ponder like Nephi and allow myself time to pause. And then to follow the promptings that come – sometimes it’s as simple as a text to say: "Thinking of you.” “How are you doing?” “Love you" or it might be a phone call or a personal visit. What I do know is that when I have followed the promptings of the Spirit it has always been the right thing to do. I know that those I have contacted have needed to feel the love and care of the Saviour through His promptings to me.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, “In the end, the number of prayers we say may contribute to our happiness, but the number of prayers we answer may be of even greater importance. Let us open our eyes and see the heavy hearts, notice the loneliness and despair; let us feel the silent prayers of others around us, and be an instrument in the hands of the Lord to answer those prayers.”
I pray that I may always listen to my Heavenly Father as He whispers His purpose to me and that I might be brave and noble enough to carry out those things. I know the Lord lives and that we are part of the Lord’s church on this earth today. And that each of us has a special purpose to fulfil for Him at this time. We can know that purpose as we pray and follow Him in all that we do. I testify He lives and He loves us.

I never knew that becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would negatively affect my relationship with family members. I joined the Church two months after getting a new job. My first day attending church was the day a friend invited me to help her with her baby as she was going to be baptized.
The moment I stepped into the chapel, I felt peace, comfort, and joy in my heart, and I knew that I belonged here and that the search for the right church had come to an end. I started reading the pamphlets from a friend and later booked appointments with the missionaries and I got baptized after a couple of weeks of learning with the missionaries.
However, because my family has been staunch Anglicans, I hid my new identity of being a member of the Church until I read a scripture in Romans 1:16, which says that “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ”. This scripture gave me a sense of direction, and I said to myself that I need not to be ashamed of the gospel if I have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I started changing everything on my social media accounts to say that I am a member of the Church. Even though people contacted me about what they were seeing on the accounts, I proudly replied to each one that I have joined the Lord’s church and that I love it and I know that it is true.
Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.
You either stand with God and are condemned by man or stand with man and are condemned by God. If you know the truth and you put your faith first, you can find joy in your challenges because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I know that faith can move mountains and make the impossible possible.

Nature has taught me valuable lessons too. I’ve always loved being in the outdoors, and I love backpacking. One time, several years after I was married and had children, my husband and I and our four sons were on such a trip. We hiked two 12,000-foot (3600 m) mountain passes in one day. I remember thinking, How many more steps? Well, I can take twenty-five steps. I counted twenty-five steps, then repeated the process again and again.

Another time we backpacked in Glacier National Park. It was snowing, and the wind was blowing. I couldn’t go ten steps without stopping to rest. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so tired. Finally we were headed for a tunnel, and that was what gave me strength. I kept looking up at it and thinking about how warm it was going to be inside it.

Achieving any goal is a lot like backpacking. You get there by looking toward your destination and taking one step at a time. You have to dream and then work hard. Don’t be disappointed if you don’t achieve your goals right away. Often it takes a long time. Sometimes you can’t even anticipate what the end result may be—you can’t possibly dream all the things the Lord has in store for you. You just do what you have to do, and you do your best.

Several years ago, I met a friend for lunch. We hadn't seen each other for many years. During my high-school and early-college days, he had been one of my closest friends. We did everything together. We knew each other very well. He was one of the strongest and most committed young men I knew. We attended seminary together, played sports together, and prepared for missions together. We attended the University of Utah, and we left for missions a few months apart. He married a very talented and wonderful woman from my stake.
As the years passed, our lives took different courses. We moved to different cities. But, as is often the case, we eventually lost touch with one another (this was before Facebook). I still remember how stunned I was to hear that he and his wife had left the Church. Of all those I knew in my youth, he was the very last one I would ever have thought would leave the Church. But there we were, sitting in a small café having lunch.
We reminisced over the friendship that had meant so much to both of us. We laughed again at some of the crazy experiences of earlier days. We talked about our families and tried to close the gap of time. Finally, I asked the obvious question: "Tim," I said, "what happened? You were so deeply converted and committed! Why did you leave the Church? What caused you to walk away from your temple covenants? Have you also left the Savior? We promised one another that we would be true and faithful to the end of our lives! What happened?"
"Kevin," he replied, "I simply see things differently now. My view of the Church and its teachings has changed. I don't hate the Church--I just don't need it anymore."
As we concluded our visit, I expressed my love and gratitude for a friendship I still value. Then, with deep feeling, I expressed my testimony. "Tim, I know these things are true. And you know they're true too. You have always known. You've simply lost the clarity you once had. But you can regain the light and understanding of the Holy Ghost you once had again. Please come back." As we embraced, he whispered, "I admire your conviction and passion. But how can you be so sure?" As I walked away, I reflected deeply on the impact of the choices we had made on our own lives and the lives of our children and grandchildren.

With that in mind, no story seems quite so appropriate as one told about Henry Ford II. While he was still head of Ford Motor Company a number of years ago, he was approached by a little band of sisters running a convent who, after laboring for years to get a school started, wanted to provide a hospital somewhere in upstate Michigan. It was not to be a big hospital—in fact, it was not a very big community. But that was the very point—it had not had adequate medical facilities, and they wanted to do what they could. They needed several thousand dollars. They summoned all the courage they had and made a journey downstate to Mr. Ford. There in his office they approached him for a gift toward their little hospital.

Well, I’m sure Mr. Ford and others like him are used to that kind of thing, and he said, “I’ll be glad to help. I do a lot of this around the country and can’t do a great deal for any one group, but I’ll be glad to help. I’m touched by your sincerity,” and he wrote out a check for $10,000. This was many years ago, and $10,000 on a first contact was more than these sisters could imagine. They ran home to their little community absolutely delighted, shared it with the local press, which was a little hand-run operation, and the newspaper came out that weekend saying, “Henry Ford II gives $100,000 to hospital.”

Well, you see the problem. These nuns were very embarrassed because they lost both ways. First of all, people thought they had $90,000 that they didn’t have and I can imagine them explaining that. On the other hand, if Mr. Ford saw it and read about it, he would be embarrassed.

They did not know what to do. They worried about it and prayed about it and talked to each other about it and finally and fearfully returned to Mr. Ford, showed him the headlines, and said, “We are deeply apologetic. We will work it out. We’ll just go tell the people that you didn’t give $100,000.” He sat in silence and then smiled and said, “That probably isn’t a good thing for my image.” Then he took his checkbook out of his pocket and wrote another check for $90,000 and handed it to them.

They were stunned. They were emotional and very, very grateful and said, “What can we do? What can we do to thank you?” And he said, “Really nothing, but you’ll probably have some dedicatory space in this hospital somewhere. I don’t want any personal publicity; I would not like my name associated with it. But somewhere in that hospital on a brick or a small plaque, just record Matthew 25:35,—no message, just the numerals and the citation.”

They were a little embarrassed, religious women that they were, that they couldn’t quite, without scriptures in hand, identify Matthew 25:35. As they got home, (as you are now doing) they opened the covers of their scriptures and read simply, “I was a stranger and ye took me in.”

Archibald Stewart and his wife, Esther Lyle, are my great-great-grandparents. Archibald’s ancestors had been forced to flee from Scotland to Northern Ireland, where they had been promised protection. Instead, they again became victims of persecution.
Their love and devotion and deep religious faith made them receptive to the gospel. When the Mormon missionaries went to their house, Elizabeth, their third child, immediately felt the truthfulness of the gospel message. She began to study and search for more assurance for the things she felt within. She spent many hours telling Granny about the new prophet of God, Joseph Smith, who had brought back to earth the simple, direct message that Christ was alive and had appeared to man. Her feelings and study stirred a response in her old granny, who was the head of the Stewart household.
Elizabeth asked permission to be baptized, but because of the persecution, her parents objected. Then Granny came to her rescue: “Let the child alone. I have read all her books, and I do believe the child is right.”
As Elizabeth went to her baptism, Granny was at her side. They walked to the river, where the elders had broken a hole in the ice that wintry March day. When the elders came toward Elizabeth to baptize her, Granny stepped up and said, “Watch your manners, child; never step in front of your elders.”
The elders baptized Granny in her street clothes. She had brought no extra things to wear, so she had to walk home in her wet, frozen clothes. She said nothing about her baptism to the family but went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. After the others had gone to bed, she hung her clothing around the fireplace.
In the morning, when Archibald saw the clothes drying, he joked with the others about Granny having been “dipped” in the river along with Elizabeth. Granny listened to their fun, then said, “Archibald, if you don’t want people to hear, stop shouting so loudly. You can’t talk about Granny now, for she can hear better than any of you.”
Granny had been virtually deaf for twenty years, but not only had she not caught a cold in the icy river but her hearing had been miraculously restored. From that day until her death, she could hear distinctly.
Most of the other family members were soon baptized too.

Jennifer Bezzant, a Beehive from Rigby, Idaho, also tells of the time she spent before writing her message. “I was really unsure as to what to write. No thought seemed to come. The Sunday came when we were to write our messages down in church, and I still hadn’t thought of anything. I was getting desperate. My Young Women president let me take my card home to pray about it over the week. On Tuesday of that week, when I knelt by my bed, I asked Heavenly Father to help me write a suitable message that would help someone. As I got up from my knees, I felt impressed to get my pen and write. The words just seemed to come, and I kept writing until I was finished. When I read over what I had written, I was surprised. It sounded so good, I couldn’t believe I wrote those words.”

Kerry, Nate, and Elizabeth came running in after school. “Mom, guess what!” Elizabeth yelled. “What?” Mom asked.
“Our teachers said we can help hungry children with these bags,” Kerry said excitedly. All three children waved their brown plastic bags with FOOD BANK printed on them.
Mom stopped washing dishes and sat down at the kitchen table. “OK, tell me how a plastic bag can help hungry children.”
“There’s a place called a food bank,” Nate said.
“It’s where families without any money can get food,” Kerry explained.
“Yes!” piped up little Elizabeth. “Then they will always have supper.”
“Can we get some things from our pantry?” Kerry asked. “We have tons of food there.”
“Of course,” Mom said. “Fill your bags while I finish washing the dishes.”
With a happy shout, the three children ran to the pantry. Nate grabbed a big can of peaches.
“Not those,” Kerry said. “Peaches are my favorite. Take that can of sour cabbage stuff that no one likes.”
“Except Mom,” Nate corrected. “But she won’t mind.”
Elizabeth started putting a box of macaroni and cheese in her bag, but Nate stopped her. “Hey, that’s my favorite lunch. Take this old can of spinach instead. Then we won’t have to eat it.”
The children kept pulling cans and boxes from the pantry until their bags were too full to lift. They dragged the food into the living room where Mom was reading.
Mom smiled proudly at them. But when she looked into the bags, a small frown creased her forehead. “What’s this, Elizabeth? An old can of spinach?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Nate said to take it instead of macaroni and cheese because that’s his favorite.”
“And peaches are Kerry’s favorite, so we picked the sour cabbage stuff that you like,” Nate added.
“I’m glad to donate some of my favorites,” Mom said. “But I’m not sure that sauerkraut or spinach would be a hungry child’s first choice. And since Jesus loves us all the same I wonder what He would want you to put in your bags. What if Jesus were going to that food bank for supper tomorrow? Would you feed Him only things that are yucky to you? Or would you share your favorite foods with Him?”
Kerry, Nate, and Elizabeth looked down at their bags. Then they looked at each other. Finally they looked up at Mom.
“We’d better go back to the pantry,” Kerry said.
Nate nodded. “We need to change some things.”
The children dragged their bags back to the pantry and dumped the cans onto the floor.
“Peaches first!” Kerry said.
Nate grinned. “Then macaroni and cheese!”
“And some of my favorite pudding for dessert!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Jesus is going to like what we are giving to others for supper!”

In closing I'll share one more personal experience. When I was a young boy, my father took me fishing. I think I wasn't much older than my ten year old daughter, Celeste, but we went up to a place called Oddgers Creek where he had described to me, he had gone fishing with his father as a young man. And so we had planned for this day, and we packed our gear, and we got everything aligned. And we went to this place and it was everything that I had imagined. We spent most of the morning fishing, enjoying our time together, drinking root beer, and just doing everything a little boy would think is the best thing to do.

Later in the afternoon my father told me he wanted to explore the creek and go up further. He said, "Now I'll be back and don't you worry, I'm just going to be really close." As he left, I watched him walk up the creek and depart into the brush. And pretty soon in little boy time, I felt like a long period of time had passed. I began to be concerned. I wondered where my father was. I was wondering what he was doing, and if he had indeed made it to where he was going, and if he would return shortly. Pretty soon my mind started to reflect upon this and I believe I was making myself more anxious that I needed to be. But my parents had taught me in situations like this that you kneel and you pray, and so I opened up the truck door, got down on the floorboards and kneeled and said a prayer. In my prayer I asked Heavenly Father to please protect my father that he could return home, return back to me and be safe and that we could be joined together again and enjoy the rest of our day. I continued this way for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably only five or six minutes. And soon, I looked up and out of the aspen trees came my father with his fishing pole. He hadn't caught anything, by the way. But he had explored the creek a little bit and had come back and in this period of time, I was worried that something had happened to him. As I watched him come out of the trees, I was so excited and so pleased and so anxious to go and greet him and to be with him and to have this anxiety relieved. And I threw my arms around him around his waist and told him I loved him and then we went and got the root beer out of the creek and we went on with our day.

At that moment I knew and experienced maybe a fraction of what it would be like for us to be reunited with our Father in Heaven. He knows us. He knows our weaknesses. He knows our strengths. And His desire for us to return to Him is very powerful and eternal.

As I interact with other young single adults, I’ve noticed that sometimes it can be easy to be so focused on our marital status that we don’t pay attention to those around us. For example, when I first started attending a family ward rather than a young adult ward, I believed I deserved extra attention, pity, and looking after because I was single. I have yet to find an instance when having such an attitude ever did me any good.
During the first year in my ward, I was surprised that many of my other ideas turned out to be myths. I learned that married people can be friends with single people and that I could make a difference in people’s lives. Some mothers are overjoyed to have a friend come over for a visit when their husbands are gone for work or Church callings. Parents are often grateful when an adult can provide some individual attention to their children, and most are quite willing to “lend out” their children for movies or other activities.
I also learned that I was not the only person who was single. Other ward members are empty nesters, divorced, or widowed and also struggle to deal with life’s issues on their own. And despite my belief that married people are happier, I met some who dealt with depression, job loss, or disabled or wayward children. Those with such struggles always appreciate a listening ear.
But these realizations and friendships did not happen instantly. They took time and effort as I consistently attended my Church meetings, served in callings, and looked for opportunities to help. When my bishop asked me to teach the six-year-olds, I felt inadequate. However, after my first month, several parents thanked me, saying how much their children enjoyed coming to class. To this day some of my closest friends in the ward are family members of those children.
I try to always be available to help others in my ward, but on occasion I have been the one in need of service. Once when I needed to paint a room in my home before moving, I was in the middle of final exams and also had to leave town for a wedding. When I mentioned these circumstances to a sister in my ward, she told me she would get some other sisters together to paint the room. Their service saved me lots of time and money.
The members of my ward seem not to define me by my marital status because I don’t define myself by it. In conversation I don’t bring up my lack of a spouse; instead, I talk about my job, studies, hobbies, and immediate family. By my focusing on these topics, people often see that there is more to me than what is lacking.
A wise friend once told me that friendship is a two-way road; you can’t give some without receiving some in return. I realize that all my friendships will never provide me with the same experiences that a spouse and children would, but I also know that Heavenly Father loves all His children. No matter our circumstances in life, it is possible to feel loved and accepted.

For several years, I have worked as a special education teacher for children between the ages of five and eight. My students struggle with many disabilities—from traumatic brain injuries and autism to learning disabilities.
Many of my students lack fine motor skills and are unable to tie their own shoes. I applaud parents who buy shoes for their children with Velcro straps, but I grumble about parents who buy laced shoes for their children.
Illustration by Enya Todd; photograph courtesy of the author
To have properly tied shoes is a safety issue for the children. So, multiple times each day, I can be found kneeling and tying the shoes of my little students. During the school day, this is both time-consuming and inconvenient.
Recently, as I knelt impatiently on the playground to tie yet another pair of shoes, a beautiful thought came to my mind. I pictured the Savior kneeling by His disciples to offer kind service by caring for their feet. Then the Savior’s words came to my mind: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
I felt the Savior’s love for the little child I was kneeling beside to serve. I also felt the Lord’s love for me. I felt seen and appreciated by Him for the tireless hours I spend each week trying to serve His little, most vulnerable ones.
This sweet experience gave me much-needed peace, strength, and assurance that I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing. I am grateful for the Lord and His tender mercies in my life. And now I am grateful for daily opportunities to kneel and tie shoes.

You are never too young to strengthen your family. Just ask Edward B., age 7, from Halifax, Canada. His testimony helped his father realize that the Church is true. Now their family is holding family home evening for the very first time and getting ready to go to the temple!
When I was born, my dad wasn’t a member of the Church. When he tucked me in at night, I always told him, “Daddy, you have to know that this really is the true Church.” Mom and I prayed and prayed that he would join the Church. Finally, one day he told me that he wanted to be baptized!
Even our cat came to family home evening!
We sang my favorite Primary song, “Nephi’s Courage,” and had chocolate brownies, which I love.
To prepare for family home evening, we visited the Halifax Nova Scotia Temple grounds. I took lots of pictures.
During our first family home evening, we talked about how our family could get ready to go to the temple. Every time we thought of a way we could prepare to go to the temple, we put one of my pictures of the temple up on a board.
We braided bracelets out of colorful string. The strands of the bracelet are tied together to remind us that our family can be sealed together forever.