Gospel Story Finder

The Hong Kong sky was filled with large white birds that made Lo Ling’s lips curve into a smile. The graceful birds were chattering, telling the noisy city below that they were on their way to the sea for a fine fish meal. But Lo Ling’s smile disappeared when he remembered the letter that had failed to come from America.

“Mai Chang promised,” he told his mother. His head longed to shake out the words describing the irritation he felt, but he had been taught to show respect. Instead, he thought unhappily that a promise was a sacred word, and Mai Chang was breaking her word.

He remembered that near the teahouse she had taken him aside and, with a voice like a dove, had said, “When Chinese Easter comes, go to the cemetery as is our tradition and sweep the graves of my parents and grandparents. Dig out weeds also. Take incense and bowls of rice, too, that their spirits may not hunger. Even though I shall be far away in America, my ancestors must be honored. Go also at the time of the Moon Festival (Mid-Autumn Festival). I will send money from America.”

“Mai Chang will keep her promise,” his mother said.

“But when?” Lo Ling insisted. “Even now it is almost the time of the Ching Ming, (Easter Festival).”

“When? When there is money to send,” answered his mother quietly.

“But there is money to send!” Lo Ling blustered, forgetting himself. It was not easy to remain silent when he believed that riches abounded in America.

“And who says there is gold in America?” she asked with a quizzical smile.

“Mai Chang herself!” Lo Ling flung back.

“Mai Chang?” His mother’s eyebrows arched. “And how did Mai Chang learn this?”

“From the men in the teahouse!” Lo Ling’s black eyes brightened. Mai Chang had told him, “While I scrub the floor I listen to the men talk. They say that the streets in America are paved with gold, that riches are everywhere.”

“From the men in the teahouse?” mocked his mother. “Have these men been to America, have they seen with their own eyes the fortune they speak of?”

Lo Ling bowed his head, unable to answer.

“Then I shall tell you. These men have not even traveled to the next province. They dream dreams, dreams without fact, dreams they wish to believe and cling to.” She paused, watching disappointment touch Lo Ling’s face, then went on. “But there need not be riches to keep a promise. Mai Chang will send the money.”

“And if she does not,” Lo Ling declared, “I shall not sweep the graves!” Disappointment had made him forget what he had been taught.

“Lo Ling!” his mother uttered in surprise. “You have made a bargain.”

“Yes,” Lo Ling agreed with snapping eyes. “And I shall sweep the graves at Ching Ming, but not when the Moon Festival comes! Why should I?”

“For the same reason Father gives ricksha rides to the elderly and sick who have no money.”

Lo Ling said no more, but he decided that when the Moon Festival came he would not go to the cemetery and sweep the graves of Mai Chang’s ancestors. Besides, it was so far away that most people rode there by train. “Why should I walk my feet off?” he muttered half to himself.

Later that same day he made his way to the teahouse. Why he went there, he didn’t know. He just stood in front of the door with the dragon face and observed the men who came outside.

One man seemed to know Lo Ling. “Son of Tao Ling, are you not?” he addressed the boy. Then his eyes narrowed as he studied Lo Ling. He seemed satisfied with what he saw and pressed a piece of folded paper into Lo Ling’s hand. “Deliver this to Chin Wong at the shop of herbs,” the man said, “and return here tomorrow at this time and you shall receive a coin.” Then he walked quickly away.

Lo Ling was too surprised to think, let alone answer. By the time he had regained his wits, the gentleman had disappeared in the crowd.

“Deliver this to Chin Wong at the shop of herbs?” Lo Ling repeated in frustration. “I shall not!” The man is another Mai Chang, Lo Ling thought, wanting a favor without giving payment. He let out a snort and started running in the opposite direction.

But halfway down the Street of the Dragons he stopped, remembering the words of his father and mother. Slowly he turned around and returned to the Street of the Lotus Blossoms where the shop of herbs was located.

The shop was dim and uninviting. Nevertheless, he opened the door. Inside, the twilight was even deeper, and the musky aroma of a thousand herbs filled the air. Other than a clutter of nestling jars and bottles, no one seemed to be there. Suddenly Lo Ling was startled by a voice from the shadows, “I am Chin Wong. May I be of service?” And immediately Lo Ling surrendered the folded piece of paper.

Chin Wong read the message carefully, then smiled at Lo Ling. “You were paid to deliver the message?” he asked kindly.

Lo Ling quickly moved his head from side to side.

Chin Wong smiled, his eyes half shut. But they were open enough to watch and study Lo Ling closely. “You were not paid,” he said at last, “yet you came here. Why?”

Lo Ling’s tongue remained silent.

Chin Wong’s smile deepened, and he pressed a coin into Lo Ling’s palm. “For your service.” He bowed, then pressed another coin into Lo Ling’s open hand, and said, “An extra yen for being your father’s honorable son.”

Lo Ling had not expected even one coin. He was speechless. And when he found his tongue again, Chin Wong was gone. So Lo Ling stood with an unsaid thanks on his lips and the wonderful feel of the coins in his hand, while thoughts raced through his head. Then he left the shop happily and started for the teakwood shop where he intended to purchase the finest incense his coins could buy!

After that he planned to hurry home and rest. Easter would arrive in two days, and the hike to the cemetery would be long and hard. The thought made Lo Ling smile as he whispered to himself, “But not too hard.”

“All the Latter-day Saints in New Jersey at that time comprised only one district,” Bishop Eyring related. “And New Jersey had a very large number of people. There were very few branches, and the Church had not yet built a single building there.

“Before World War II our branch met in a hotel. My memories of Sunday School classes are of rented hotel rooms, where we sat on the bed. During the war, from the time I was eight until I was twelve or thirteen, church was held in our home because gas was rationed. Mother was the pianist and the chorister. Father was the branch president. The dining room table was both the speakers’ rostrum and the sacrament table. Usually about ten to twelve people would attend. To me, the Church couldn’t have been more lovely. The relationships I felt at church in my home are what I want to have again with Heavenly Father.”

Carlos Badiola and his family, of Minas, Uruguay, were meeting with the missionaries. Since the elders asked a lot of questions during the lessons, they decided to invite a nonmember neighbor—a beautiful 14-year-old girl named Norma—to help them answer. Norma was a dedicated high school student who was studying the Bible at school that year, so when the missionaries asked a question, Norma answered. She was a “golden investigator.” The lesson taught that day was about the Word of Wisdom.
When she returned home after the lesson with the missionaries, Norma knew what she had to do. She said to her mother, “Mom, from now on, no more coffee with milk for me. Just milk.” That response was the visible manifestation of her desire to accept the invitation to follow Christ, as extended by the missionaries.
Both Carlos Badiola and Norma were baptized. Later on, following Norma’s example, her mother, father, and siblings were also baptized. Norma and I grew up together in that little but powerful branch. Later on, when I returned from serving a mission, we were married. I always knew that it would be easier to follow the Savior with her by my side.

A few years ago, right before Christmas, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, I decided to take a short nap. My seat was C, near the aisle. Just before the cabin door closed, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s stood beside me and said, “May I have my seat?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” That was the end of my nap. She loved to talk.
She said, “I don’t know why I should have to fly to a cold place like Utah at Christmastime to visit my grandchildren. I hate to leave sunny California.”
She went on to say, “Besides, there are strange and weird people in Utah. They call themselves ‘Mormons.’ My daughter married one of them.”
I said, “I am sorry, but before you go any further, I should tell you that I am one of them.”
Then she said, “I am sorry—I didn’t mean that.”
I said, “Oh, you really meant that, didn’t you?”
Our conversation went on until we were above Provo. We knew we would soon be landing in Salt Lake.
“Patti”—that’s her name—“you have been talking for most of the flight. I feel like I have known you from the pre-earth life. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, your deceased husband—do you know you can see him again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
“Do you know your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby—you will see him also in the future?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. I sensed she had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
“Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?”
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply. And the Lord promises us, “For mine elect hear my voice and harden not their hearts.”
He also said: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep. … My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”
Nephi desired to see father Lehi’s dream—the tree of life—and he did. Then Nephi also saw the beautiful baby Jesus. And the angel asked, “Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?”
Nephi replied, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.”
Before we came to this earth, our Heavenly Father gently and peacefully placed in our bosoms “the love of God.” In Heavenly Father’s eyes, you are a very special child. My friend Patti has the spark of divinity in her soul. When Patti heard the word of Heavenly Father, she was touched deeply and she responded to His voice.
We were total strangers, but the Lord placed one of His precious daughters quietly next to me. I was praying earnestly, that the Spirit of the Lord would touch her and speak to her.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and living daughter who had become a member of the Church. She now knows her family is forever in the Lord. My friend Patti Louise Donaldson found the Lord Jesus Christ. Now she lives in Utah.

I will tell you of an experience I had before I was a General Authority that affected me profoundly. I sat on a plane next to a professed atheist who pressed his disbelief in God so urgently that I bore my testimony to him. “You are wrong,” I said. “There is a God. I know He lives!”
He protested, “You don’t know. Nobody knows that! You can’t know it!” When I would not yield, the atheist, who was an attorney, asked perhaps the ultimate question on the subject of testimony. “All right,” he said in a sneering, condescending way, “you say you know. Tell me how you know.”
When I attempted to answer, even though I held advanced academic degrees, I was helpless to communicate.
When I used the words Spirit and witness, the atheist responded, “I don’t know what you are talking about.” The words prayer, discernment, and faith were equally meaningless to him. “You see,” he said, “you don’t really know. If you did, you would be able to tell me how you know.”
I felt, perhaps, that I had borne my testimony to him unwisely and was at a loss as to what to do. Then came the experience! Something came into my mind. And I mention here a statement of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas … and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation, until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.”
Such an idea came into my mind, and I said to the atheist, “Let me ask if you know what salt tastes like.”
“Of course I do,” was his reply.
“Then,” I said, “assuming that I have never tasted salt, explain to me just what it tastes like.”
After some thought, he said, “Well, I, uh, it is not sweet and it is not sour.”
“You’ve told me what it isn’t, not what it is.”
After several attempts, of course, he could not do it. He could not convey, in words alone, so ordinary an experience as tasting salt. I bore testimony to him once again and said, “I know there is a God. You ridiculed that testimony and said that if I did know, I would be able to tell you exactly how I know. My friend, spiritually speaking, I have tasted salt. I am no more able to convey to you in words how this knowledge has come than you are to tell me what salt tastes like. But I say to you again, there is a God! He does live! And just because you don’t know, don’t try to tell me that I don’t know, for I do!”
As we parted, I heard him mutter, “I don’t need your religion for a crutch! I don’t need it.”
From that experience forward, I have never been embarrassed or ashamed that I could not explain in words alone everything I know spiritually. The Apostle Paul said it this way:
“We speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.
“But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned” (1 Corinthians 2:13–14).
The voice of the Spirit is described in the scriptures as being neither “loud” nor “harsh” (3 Nephi 11:3). It is “not a voice of thunder, neither … a voice of a great tumultuous noise,” but rather, “a still voice of perfect mildness, as if it had been a whisper,” and it can “pierce even to the very soul” (Helaman 5:30) and “cause [the heart] to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3). Remember, Elijah found the voice of the Lord was not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but was a “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12).
The Spirit does not get our attention by shouting or shaking us with a heavy hand. Rather it whispers. It caresses so gently that if we are preoccupied we may not feel it at all.
Occasionally, it will press just firmly enough for us to pay heed. But most of the time, if we do not heed the gentle feeling, the Spirit will withdraw and wait until we come seeking and listening and say in our manner and expression, like Samuel of ancient times, “Speak [Lord], for thy servant heareth” (1 Samuel 3:10).
There is something else to learn. A testimony is not thrust upon you; a testimony grows. We become taller in testimony like we grow taller in physical stature; we hardly know it happens because it comes by growth.
You cannot force spiritual things. Such words as compel, coerce, constrain, pressure, and demand do not describe our privileges with the Spirit. You can no more force the Spirit to respond than you can force a bean to sprout or an egg to hatch before its time. You can create a climate to foster growth, nourish, and protect; but you cannot force or compel: you must await the growth.
Do not be impatient to gain great spiritual knowledge. Let it grow, help it grow, but do not force it or you will open the way to be misled.
We are expected to use the light and knowledge we already possess to work out our lives. We should not need a revelation to instruct us to be up and about our duty, for we have been told to do that already in the scriptures; nor should we expect revelation to replace the spiritual or temporal intelligence that we have already received—only to extend it. We must go about our life in an ordinary, workaday way, following the routines and rules and regulations that govern life.
Rules and regulations and commandments are valuable protection. If we need revealed instruction to alter our course, it will be waiting along the way as we arrive at the point of need. The counsel to be “anxiously engaged” is wise counsel indeed (see D&C 58:27).
Now, do not feel hesitant or ashamed if you do not know everything. Nephi said, “I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Nephi 11:17).
There may be more power in your testimony than even you realize. The Lord said to the Nephites:
“Whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Several years ago I met one of our sons in the mission field in a distant part of the world. He had been there for a year. His first question was this: “Dad, what can I do to grow spiritually? I have tried so hard to grow spiritually, and I just haven’t made any progress.”
That was his perception: to me it was otherwise. I could hardly believe the maturity, the spiritual growth that he had gained in just one year. He “knew it not,” for it had come as growth, not as a startling spiritual experience.
It is not unusual to have a missionary say, “How can I bear testimony until I get one? How can I testify that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that the gospel is true? If I do not have such a testimony, would that not be dishonest?”
Oh, if I could teach you this one principle: a testimony is to be found in the bearing of it! Somewhere in your quest for spiritual knowledge, there is that “leap of faith,” as the philosophers call it. It is the moment when you have gone to the edge of the light and stepped into the darkness to discover that the way is lighted ahead for just a footstep or two. “The spirit of man is,” as the scripture says, indeed “the candle of the Lord” (Proverbs 20:27).
It is one thing to receive a witness from what you have read or what another has said; and that is a necessary beginning. It is quite another to have the Spirit confirm to you in your bosom that what you have testified is true. Can you not see that it will be supplied as you share it? As you give that which you have, there is a replacement, with increase!
To speak out is the test of your faith.
Bear testimony of the things that you hope are true, as an act of faith. It is something of an experiment, like the experiment that the prophet Alma proposed to his followers. We begin with faith—not with a perfect knowledge of things. That sermon in the 32nd chapter of Alma is one of the greatest messages in holy writ, for it is addressed to the beginner, to the humble seeker. And it holds a key to a witness of the truth.
The Spirit and testimony of Christ will come to you for the most part when, and remain with you only if, you share it. In that process is the very essence of the gospel.
Is not this a perfect demonstration of Christianity? You cannot find it, nor keep it, nor enlarge it unless and until you are willing to share it. It is by giving it away freely that it becomes yours.
There is great power in this work, spiritual power. The ordinary member of the Church, like you, having received the gift of the Holy Ghost by confirmation, can do the work of the Lord.
Years ago a friend told this experience. He was 17 years old and with his companion stopped at a cottage in the southern states. It was his first day in the mission field and was his first door. A gray-haired woman stood inside the screen and asked what they wanted. His companion nudged him to proceed. Frightened and somewhat tongue-tied, he finally blurted out, “As man is God once was, and as God is man may become.”
Strangely enough, she was interested and asked where he got that. He answered, “It’s in the Bible.” She left the door for a moment, returned with her Bible. Commenting that she was a minister of a congregation, she handed it to him and said, “Here, show me.”
He took the Bible and nervously thumbed back and forth through it. Finally he handed it back saying, “Here, I can’t find it. I’m not even sure that it’s in there, and even if it is, I couldn’t find it. I’m just a poor farm boy from out in Cache Valley in Utah. I haven’t had much training. But I come from a family where we live the gospel of Jesus Christ. And it’s done so much for our family that I’ve accepted a call to come on a mission for two years, at my own expense, to tell people how I feel about it.”
After half a century, he could not hold back the tears as he told me how she pushed open the door and said, “Come in, my boy. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”
There is so much more to say. I could speak of prayer, of fasting, of priesthood and authority, of worthiness—all essential to revelation. When they are understood, it all fits together—perfectly. But some things one must learn individually, and alone, taught by the Spirit.
I know by experience too sacred to touch upon that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that the gift of the Holy Ghost conferred upon us at our confirmation is a divine gift. The Book of Mormon is true! This is the Lord’s Church! Jesus is the Christ! There presides over us a prophet of God! The day of miracles has not ceased, neither have angels ceased to appear and minister unto man! The spiritual gifts are with the Church. Choice among them is the gift of the Holy Ghost!

Let me show you a picture of the hand of my 93-year-old mother. She never let go of the rod. Just a few weeks before she passed away—when she was unable to stand or walk or really do anything for herself—her one desire was to have the bishop come to her bedside so that she could renew her temple recommend because hers had expired. She received that recommend. You can see that her hand naturally curved around the rod. It had grown that way over many years of practice. I hope that one day my hand will look just like hers. And I believe that we can actually get to the point that we no longer grasp the rod out to the side. Instead, that rod of iron will run right through us, keeping us upright—strong and safely secured.

Jana B. from Baden-Württemberg, Germany, also loves to spread Christmas joy through simple acts of service.
“At first, we’d give our neighbors handmade gifts like soap, candles, or cookies,” Jana says. “Then, little by little, the neighbors started giving out Christmas gifts too. Now it’s a tradition. This year we baked the cookies for our neighbors with the missionaries and talked to our neighbors to bring them peace and joy. We don’t always do things with our neighbors and sometimes forget that they’re always there for us. When we give them Christmas gifts, it’s like a thank-you for helping us all year.”

Now, you may be thinking: It’s not that easy for me. I have so many people to watch over. And I have so little time. But where the Lord calls He prepares a way, His way. There are shepherds who believe that. I’ll tell you about one.
Two years ago, a man was called as the president of his elders quorum. He had been a member of the Church for less than 10 years. He had just become worthy to be sealed to his wife and family in the temple. His wife was an invalid. He had three daughters. The oldest was 13, and she cooked the meals and, with the others, cared for the house. His scant earnings from manual labor supported not only those five people but a grandfather who lived with them in their small house.
When he was called to be president of his elders quorum, it had 13 members. That tiny quorum was responsible for another 101 men who either had no priesthood at all or who were deacons, teachers, or priests. He was responsible to watch over the souls of 114 families, with little hope that he could devote more than his Sundays and perhaps one night a week to his service, with all he did to serve his own family.
The difficulty of what he faced drove him to his knees in prayer. Then he stood up and went to work. In his efforts to meet and know his sheep, his prayers were answered in a way he had not expected. He came to see beyond individuals. He came to know that the Lord’s purpose was for him to build families. And even with his limited experience, he knew that the way to build families would be to help them qualify to make and keep temple covenants.
He began to do what a good shepherd always does, but he did it differently when he saw the temple as their destination. First, he prayed to know who were to be his counselors to go with him. And then he prayed to know which families needed him and had been prepared.
He called on as many as he could. Some were cold and did not accept his friendship. But with those who did, he followed a pattern. As soon as he saw interest and trust, he invited them to meet the bishop. He had asked the bishop beforehand: “Please tell them what it takes to be worthy to go to the temple to claim its blessings for them and their families. And then please testify to them, as I have, that it will be worth it.”
A few then accepted the quorum president’s invitation to a temple preparation class taught by stake leaders. Not all completed the course and not all qualified for the temple. But each family and each father was prayed for. Most were invited at least once to a feast of the good word of God. With every invitation came the president’s testimony of the blessings of being a family sealed forever and the sadness of being separated. Every invitation was issued with the love of the Savior.
During the president’s service, he has seen 12 of the men he taught ordained elders. He has seen four of his elders ordained high priests. Those numbers don’t come close to measuring the miracle. The families of those men will be blessed over generations. Fathers and mothers are now sealed to each other and to their children. They are praying over their children, receiving the help of heaven, and teaching the gospel with the love and inspiration the Lord gives to faithful parents.
That president and his counselors have become true shepherds. They have watched over the flock with the Master and have come to love Him.

When I began my studies at BYU after my mission, I was pretty much set on becoming a teacher. My father and two of my brothers were teachers, so I thought that would be my path. I started in that direction with great anticipation. I completed a good number of classes in my major. Then, after a day of substitute teaching at Provo High School, I felt like I should take another path. I dreaded the call to my parents to let them know I was changing my major. The problem was I had no idea what I was changing it to!

I prayed and pondered and still had no idea what to do. The clock was ticking, and I knew I needed to get things figured out fairly soon, so I didn’t waste time and money.

Is God willing to give us guidance about something like what to study in college? I believe He is. I love what President Nelson taught about revelation in his conference message Revelation for the Church, Revelation for Our Lives. I commend it to you for your diligent review and study. Here is one little bit of what he taught, “The privilege of receiving revelation is one of the greatest gifts of God to His children. Through the manifestations of the Holy Ghost, the Lord will assist us in all our righteous pursuits”. [5]

One day in the spring of 1982, I was walking across the BYU campus when I ran into a good friend who had served in my mission. I shared with him my dilemma and asked what he had decided to study. He said he was majoring in computer science. These were his exact words: “I hear this whole computer thing is going to be big!” How prophetic!

I don’t know if there has ever been a more direct answer to the prayer of a very anxious soul. I immediately enrolled in computer science classes and began my studies.

Think about the counsel Alma gave to his son Helaman: “I do know that whosever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.” [6]

My decision to follow that inspiration truly lifted me up and has been life changing for me and my family. This year will mark over 37 years in the technology industry in Utah. There have been many more answered prayers and inspiration throughout my career.

However, that doesn’t mean God has told me exactly what to do in every circumstance. There have also been prayers that I felt were unanswered. In those cases, I determined the Lord trusted me to make the decision for myself, so I went forward with faith, always correcting my course as I went.

The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)

Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.

After that we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.

While serving as a mission president I would often have a new missionary approach me and ask the question, “How do I regain the spiritual intensity I enjoyed at the MTC?” Further discussion would reveal he was having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of the work and the daily adversity and rejection he faced. To help him through this period of his mission I came up with an analogy.
Every spring at our home in Bountiful, Utah, we plant flowers. We go down to our local garden center and painstakingly pick out the cartons containing the healthiest flowers we can find including many already blooming. We come home and carefully plant them in the soil, fertilize them, water them, and sit back to watch them grow. Much to our dismay, after a few days they start to wilt.
Why does this happen? These plants had lived their whole life in a greenhouse where conditions were ideal, and suddenly they faced the real-world shock of our flower garden. We may get a late snowstorm or a heavy rain; dogs run through the flower beds; grandchildren kick their soccer ball into them or pull the whole flower up and proudly present it as a gift to my wife; deer come often to dine on the tender shoots and nip off the buds or pull the whole flower up and spit out the roots. Last year I trapped and transplanted nine squirrels that delighted in feasting on every new blossom our petunias produced. Our plants had left the greenhouse where all of the elements were ideal and entered the real world.
However, the miraculous thing is that after a few weeks the plants sank their roots deeper and you would see new and stronger growth emanating from within the plant that could withstand the storms of the real world.
The MTC is a wonderful greenhouse, but the time comes when missionaries must leave and be subjected to the adversities as well as the joys of the real mission field. It is a delight to watch them grow.

The night before my daughter’s college graduation, I was far from falling asleep. I’d come to Rexburg, Idaho, to celebrate this big milestone with her. As I lay quietly listening to her sleep, my heart was heavy with worry. My divorce was about to be finalized, and then I would have 30 days to find a new home and move. The family home would be sold. Rentals were sparse, and the homes I had seen were either too expensive or already under contract.
Knowing I had done all I could do to secure a rental home, I turned my concern over to the Lord. I’ve always been a woman of faith—fervently believing in God’s goodness and mercy. When I was young, my mother and grandmother assured me, “God is fully aware of your needs. Turn to Him. Trust Him.”
I knelt down and pleaded with God to provide an answer. As tears streamed down my cheeks, I surrendered: “Heavenly Father, I need a home for my family. I’ve done all I can do. I can’t control the housing market, and I need a place to live!”
I continued to humbly pray for what I urgently needed: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me find a home within the school boundaries that is safe and within my budget. Please also help me find a landlord who knows I will make my payments despite having no credit history as a single woman.” I closed my prayer knowing that “with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).
Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that “not every blessing predicated on obedience to law is … timed according to our expectations. We do our best but must leave to Him the management of blessings, both temporal and spiritual.”1 This is precisely what I chose to do.
When morning came, I was impressed to text Brother Johnson. He had been a source of comfort during my divorce, and I hadn’t followed up with him as I had promised. I grabbed my phone, shared an update, and was just about to finish my text when I was prompted to ask him, “Do you know of a rental in the area?”
To my surprise he replied, “Yes. My sister is looking for a new renter. Let me reach out to her.”
Within a few hours, Brother Johnson sent me his sister’s number. She and I were able to get in contact that very day. As our visit closed, she said, “You’ve told me all I need to know about you. I want you to be my renter.” I was overcome with gratitude for God’s goodness and His divine intervention in my behalf. The rental home was located in a beautiful area and was in my son’s school boundaries. And it was within my budget to the exact dollar!
These events couldn’t have been orchestrated by anyone other than God. He was aware of my need and opened “the windows of heaven” (Malachi 3:10) to reassure me of His presence and goodness.

When I was 14, I got the idea that I was the “special exception” to the commandment of not dating until you’re 16. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s still dating. I lost the trust of my parents and the confidence of my friends. Most importantly, I lost the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. Luckily, I got back on track. This could be one of the most eternally costly choices you ever make.
Name Withheld

Where Jane Manning lived, some people treated her poorly because of her skin color. One day, she heard a missionary teaching. Soon she was baptized.
Jane’s family was baptized too. They all wanted to be with the Saints in Nauvoo. So they began their journey.
Jane’s family wanted to travel by boat for part of the trip, but they did not have enough money. So they had to walk 800 miles (1,300 km).
They had to cross a deep stream and sleep outside in the cold. But they were determined to reach Nauvoo. They cheered themselves up by singing as they walked.
Jane’s family walked until their shoes wore out and their feet got hurt. But when they prayed to God for help, He healed their feet.
They helped people they met along the way. They even helped heal a sick child because of their faith.
Finally, Jane and her family reached Nauvoo! When Joseph Smith heard all they had been through, he told Jane, “God bless you. You are among friends now.”

Sara felt something was wrong the minute she stepped through the doors of the South Bay Winter Club. It was more than being fifteen minutes late for her session; it was a feeling she couldn’t explain. She dumped her skate bag on a bench and walked over to the rink where several friends already were at work.
“Hi, Becky!” she called. “Your loop looks great this morning.”
Becky looked up, waved with a sort of dying swan effort, then turned her back and went to work on her figures again.
Sara tried to get Mary Anne to look at her as well as Polly, who was skating on the next patch, but they acted as though she were the original invisible woman.
What’s going on? Sara wondered as she took her skates from the bag and put them on. I wonder why they’re ignoring me?
Ordinarily this was Sara’s favorite time of the day. She loved to skate in the morning, to walk into the arena and feel the cold air hit her cheeks, and then to stroke out on the rink and hear the scrape of blades on ice as she warmed up. She loved everything about figure skating, not only performing in the club shows, but the long hours of practicing and competing as well. Maybe that’s why she was advancing so rapidly and had a good chance to win the Canadian Juniors competition next week at Edmonton.
If only I didn’t have to compete against Carol. For the hundredth time she wondered why her best friend also had to be her closest rival for the figure-skating title. That’s the hard part. Will our friendship survive the competition?
Suddenly Sara looked up from her laces and glanced around the rink. “Where’s Carol?” she asked Polly, who had skated to the edge of the rink to wipe her face with a towel.
“Talking to Mr. MacGregor,” Polly answered, pointing a thumb at the rink manager’s office.
“Why? What’s she done?” Nobody was ever called to his office unless one of the skating rules had been broken.
“She hasn’t done anything,” Polly replied, placing heavy emphasis on the first word.
“Well, then, who has?” Sara asked, puzzled.
“Oh, come on, Sara,” Polly said disgustedly, and skated away without a backward glance.
Mr. MacGregor’s door opened and Carol came out. Even from a distance Sara could tell she had been crying. What’s wrong? Sara wondered.
Sara thumped along on her blade guards toward Carol, and they came face to face in front of the soft drink machine.
“Are you feeling OK?” Sara began. “Can I help?”
“Yes,” Carol began. “I mean no. Oh, I don’t know what I mean!” She headed for the rest room, then turned. “Mr. MacGregor wants to see you right away.”
Sara couldn’t believe it. Now he wanted to see her too. She skated over and knocked on his door.
“Come in,” said Mr. MacGregor, and Sara stepped into the office.
“Sara,” Mr. MacGregor said earnestly, “I’m afraid we’ve encountered a bit of a problem, and I need you to help us with it.”
“Me?” Sara heard her voice shoot up.
“Do you recognize this?” Mr. MacGregor asked and held up a skating costume. It was full of holes and the material was torn and shredded.
“Oh, no!” Sara cried. “That’s Carol’s costume. She was going to wear it to the Canadian Juniors next week.”
“Exactly,” Mr. MacGregor agreed. “Carol thought you might be able to tell us what happened to it.”
“I don’t understand,” Sara said. Her voice trembled with emotion. “Why would I know what happened to her costume? Does Carol think I would ever do anything to hurt her? We’re best friends.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Mr. MacGregor seemed uncomfortable. “And Carol only reluctantly agreed that you might be involved after Becky told us what she saw.”
“Becky? What did she tell you?”
“Becky said you were all out on the patio eating your lunches together yesterday,” the manager said.
“That’s right,” Sara agreed. She remembered looking up into the warm spring sun and noticing the squawking blue jays building a nest in the tree that shaded the patio.
“Look,” Sara had said.
Everyone looked but Carol, who was busy sewing glitter beads on the dress that now lay in tatters on Mr. MacGregor’s desk.
“Then what happened, do you remember?” he asked.
“Sure,” Sara said. “One of the kids in the Novice class came out and said Toller Cranston had just walked in, so everyone ran inside but me.”
“Why didn’t you go too?”
“Well … I’ve seen Toller lots of times before,” Sara said finally. She didn’t add that she had his pictures pasted in her skating scrapbooks, but she still felt silly about running in with the other girls. “Carol left in such a hurry that she dropped her dress and scissors, so I picked them up.”
Sara stopped. She remembered Becky had come back just at that moment.
“Aren’t you coming?” Becky had said.
“In just a second,” she’d answered.
Now, standing before the manager’s desk, Sara fought back the tears. “Oh, now I understand. Becky saw me with the scissors and Carol’s costume in my hands. But I put them both down on the picnic table by Carol’s lunch and went indoors right after Becky.”
“I see,” said Mr. MacGregor. “Well, that’s all for now. Thank you for talking with me.”
Sara stumbled out of the office and to the rink where she removed her blade guards. Automatically she warmed up, hardly knowing what she was doing. She claimed her patch and started through her figures like a robot. Tears stung her cheeks as she traced circles that looked like pumpkins, and she changed edges in all the wrong places.
Some friends, she thought, as she nearly lost her balance on a one-foot figure eight. Why would they think I’d do something like that? Do they think I want to win that much next week? Then Sara began to get angry. I’ll show them, she decided. I’ll figure out who really did it.
As she traced her figures, she thought about each girl. Maybe Becky did it because she’s jealous. Or, what about Mary Anne and Polly? she wondered, pushing off on a loop. They could have come back and ripped Carol’s dress. Sara stopped skating suddenly and stood on the flats of her blades. What about Carol? What if she did it to point suspicion at me and force me out of the competition?
Sara started a slow spin. No, she thought, that’s too farfetched. Or is it? Carol was certainly ready to place the blame on me without waiting for an explanation. Now Sara realized as she continued to spin that it was really easy to doubt, to distrust someone, to believe whatever you heard about a person. It was the easiest thing in the world and she could understand Carol’s feelings. Maybe, she thought, maybe friendship is only a word that doesn’t mean anything anymore.
At noon, Sara took off her skates and headed for the patio with her brown paper bag. No one was there. She sat at the redwood table and ate part of a ham sandwich that tasted like it had been made from a shoe box. Suddenly she pushed it aside. A blue jay swooped down and sat on the edge of the table opposite her. “Help yourself,” she said, pushing the sandwich toward him. He began to peck at the bread, keeping a wary eye on her at the same time.
The door from the rink opened and Carol came out. There was an awkward pause before she finally said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Sara replied.
“I … I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Carol stammered.
“I’d like to talk to you too.”
“Sara, I didn’t want to believe what Becky said,” Carol began.
“Then why did you?”
“I don’t know. I guess when Becky told Mr. MacGregor and then he told me, well, it seemed easy to believe what they believed.”
“But we’re friends!” Sara almost shouted. “Friends don’t hurt each other like that, do they?”
The girls looked at each other. Carol said nothing, just twisted her hair with her finger. Sara stood up to leave. Carol turned to look at her, her eyes full of tears. “You forgot your lunch,” she said.
“That’s all right. I told the jay he could have it.” They watched as the bird pecked off a hunk of Sara’s sandwich, then flew to the nest in the tree above with it. At that moment, something shiny reflecting in the sun caught Sara’s eye.
“What’s that?” she said more to herself than to Carol.
“What?” Carol asked.
Sara didn’t answer because of a shivery feeling that she was about to discover something important. She stepped up onto the bench, then onto the picnic table.
Sara could almost see into the bird’s nest that was now being defended by two angry blue jays flying overhead. She reached up and felt around inside the nest and then pulled on something that felt like cloth.
“Look,” Sara said, holding a shred of material in her hand. There were several glittery beads still attached to it.
“My costume!” Carol cried out. “They did it! The blue jays did it.”
The birds swooped around them now, angry and ready for a fight. “Oh, Sara, please get down before you get hurt,” Carol said.
Sara jumped down, handed the scrap of material to Carol, and brushed off her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Carol began. “Sorry for not trusting you. Will you ever be friends with me again?”
Sara looked at her. Carol had hurt her today and now she could hurt back if she wanted to. Carol has it coming doesn’t she—a hurt for a hurt? But friendship is much more than a word. I’ve learned that today and maybe Carol will too.
“I’ve never stopped being your friend,” Sara said. They laughed as the blue jays scolded the girls from their tree branch. Then Sara continued, “Come on, there’s still time to make a new skating costume before next week, if you’ll let me help.” Then they linked arms and went back inside.

His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was 11, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year. Brad’s thoughtfulness as a young boy proved that caring and concern are not limited to the physically able.

It all started with headaches. After a while, the headaches intensified and were happening daily. Sometimes they caused me to vomit. Because of this, my doctor requested an MRI.
The results of the MRI showed that I had a tumor called a germinoma in the central nervous system of my brain. When we first found out about the tumor in October 2023, we didn’t know if it was malignant (cancerous) or benign.
I underwent various surgeries, and they even completely removed the tumor. I returned home and everything seemed to be going well, but the biopsy took a long time to come back. A few weeks later, my headaches returned, so I got a CT scan.
When we received the CT scan results, we learned that in less than 20 days, the tumor in my brain had completely returned. The biopsy showed that the tumor was cancerous. My parents were very scared, but I remained calm. I believe that the Savior was already preparing and strengthening me.
After finding out the tumor was cancerous, my parents and I left our city and went to the specialized children’s cancer hospital in the state capital, Curitiba. The first part of my treatment took six months, between surgeries and chemotherapy.
I had another MRI in order to schedule the next surgery. The doctors expected that with the chemotherapy, the tumor should have shrunk to the size of a bean.
But the MRI showed that the tumor was totally gone! The Lord performed a miracle. The doctors hadn’t even considered this a possibility. I was so grateful for the miracles I experienced, but my journey continued to be hard.
At the beginning of this trial, I was sad because I was losing so many things. I had to stop going to school and church. I lost soccer, and I also lost contact with friends. I couldn’t attend seminary either.
I know that the Savior, through His Atonement, will make up for my losses. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I believe Jesus Christ will compensate for all these things I’ve lost.
I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I believe Jesus Christ will compensate for all these things I’ve lost.
No one understands me as well as He does. My mother understands me very well, but not 100 percent, like the Savior understands me. So even though I was sad about everything I lost and everything that happened, the Savior was with me the whole time.
One way to overcome difficulties is by serving the Lord. Service has connected me with the Lord and helped me listen to His voice and follow Him.
This past year, we had an FSY conference, and although I couldn’t attend in person, the couple directing the session invited me to make a video sharing my testimony.
In my video I shared about how no matter what is happening in my life, I have the desire to do my part and serve others. I received 571 letters from youth who saw my video and were encouraged.
Gustavo’s family is a source of strength to him. He looks up to his older brother and sister, who are both returned missionaries.
I’m still facing my health challenge, but this experience has brought me much closer to the Savior and has taught me many things.
I’ve learned to have patience and to wait upon the Lord when dealing with bad news, bad experiences, or bad illnesses. I’ve learned to find joy in the small and simple things. I’ve learned to see the world with different eyes, to study the scriptures, and to commune with the Holy Spirit.
Something that helps me spiritually is always being in the scriptures. Even when I was hospitalized, after surgery or during chemotherapy, I stayed in touch with the scriptures or general conference talks. If I couldn’t read, I asked my mom to read to me, or I’d play the audio for myself.
Now I’m in the phase of radiotherapy, and while waiting for treatments, I use the FamilySearch Get Involved app. During radiation therapy, I like to think about scriptures from seminary. When we choose to put the Lord first, even in difficult times, it makes all the difference. I feel that the Lord is with me because I’ve drawn near to Him.
Jesus Christ is my Savior and my Friend. I know He knows everything I feel, have felt, and will feel. Everything will be made right through the Savior.

I remember in the seventh grade reading the classic book by Charles Dicken's, Great Expectations. The thought of reading that book worried me because it seemed large and complicated. Very likely it was just a little beyond my ability to fully comprehend. However, it was the one that was left on the table for me after all the other students had chosen a book. As I reluctantly opened it and began to turn its pages a wonderful thing happened; I was pulled into the richness of it. I envisioned the landscapes and the room interiors. I saw the faces of the characters in my own mind—Pip, and Estella, and Miss Havisham, and Magwitch, and Jaggers. The story became real to me. The suspense, the joy, the heartache, the reconciliation became understandable. I think the book helped to change me from a child into a young adult. Why? Because it made me work—and therefore helped me grow. I had unknowingly tested Joseph's admonition—I had sought out of one of "the best books."

Elyssa also loves her tata (grandpa). When Elyssa was a baby, Tata would play the guitar for her. Later they sang together. Tata was with her a lot because he developed a serious disease and couldn’t go to work. Each day, he picked her up after school and took her to eat at a place of her choice. When Pixie was missing one stormy night, Tata comforted Elyssa, prayed with her, and kept searching until her beloved pet was found safe several days later.

When my great-great grandparents joined the Church in Sweden over one hundred years ago they were faced with a long ocean voyage to America, a train trip from New York to Omaha, and then a trek by wagon to Salt Lake City. But when they boarded the train in New York, they discovered that they were to ride in stock cars that had been used to haul hogs to market—and the cars were filthy and filled with parasitic insects that live on hogs.
Grandmother accepted the inconvenience, but the humiliation was almost more than grandfather could bear. “To think we are no better than hogs,” he complained. Unwillingly he made the trip anyway.
Grandmother was expecting another child, and when they reached Omaha to begin their long trek west, grandfather was concerned about her health and the safety of the baby. The person in charge of the wagon train assured him that there were competent women trained to deliver babies available and that everything would be all right, so they began their journey.
Somewhere on the plains of Nebraska, a healthy baby was born. But a few days later, the three-year-old son got cholera. In the middle of the night, grandfather went to a neighboring wagon to borrow a candle, but was told they couldn’t spare one. This angered him, and he was angry as he sat in the dark with his son’s drooping, feverish body in his arms. The boy died that night.
The next morning the wagon master said they would hold a short funeral service and bury the boy in a shallow grave, apologetically explaining that they were in a dangerous Indian country and didn’t have time to do anything more. But grandfather couldn’t accept this, and insisted on staying behind and digging a grave deep enough so the animals couldn’t get the body.
Throughout the day and into the night he worked, building a strong wood coffin and digging a grave 1 1/2 meters deep in the hard soil. Finally, very tired and sobbing, he buried his son and then walked all night to catch up with the wagon train. He was heartbroken and he was angry—angry at the wagon master for not waiting to give his son a proper burial, and angry at God for “allowing” his son to die. When he arrived at his wagon and expressed his feelings to his wife, she spoke to him tenderly:
“Father, we have to make the best of it. The baby and I are all right and, thank the Lord, the rest of us are well. If we get to our journey’s end without any more trouble, we must be very thankful to our Heavenly Father. We have joined the Mormon Church because we believed it was the only true one and I have faith that it is. We are not the only ones that are having sorrow and trouble on this trip” (from the history of Hakan Hanson).
This wasn’t the end of their difficulties; they continued to suffer serious hardships and adversities throughout their lives. But although they both went through identical experiences, each was affected differently by them. Grandfather became withdrawn, ill-natured, and bitter. He stopped going to Church and found fault with Church leaders. He became trapped in his own miseries, and the light of Christ grew dimmer and dimmer in his life.
On the other hand, grandmother’s faith increased. Each new problem seemed to make her stronger. She became an angel of mercy—filled with empathy, compassion, and charity. She was a light to those around her. Her family moved toward her and looked to her as their leader.