Gospel Story Finder

The next challenge was pitching our tents. Those who had brought their own tents were familiar with them and seemed to have no problems. But others, like our stake president, Craig Marshall, had borrowed tents. The owner of the tent had told President Marshall that it was a cinch to put up, but despite lots of head scratching and lightning suggestions from the great brains of the group, he had trouble getting the frame to fit together.
While President Marshall struggled, the rest of us put up the food tent (the most important camp item), collected firewood, constructed a rack for the canoes and paddles, and prepared cocoa and biscuits to eat around the fire in the true tradition of camp. Eventually even President Marshall got his tent erected, with some friendly help from the rest of the group.

Teaching opportunities often come at unexpected times or in unusual circumstances. A few years ago we gave our two sons 10-speed bicycles for Christmas. Then, trying to be a good father, I took one of our old bicycles to ride along with the boys as they learned to operate their new 10-speeds. We were doing fine until my second son, a 10-year-old, looked down at the sprockets as he tried to change gears. He ran directly into the back of a parked car. Because I was a bit ahead of him, I only heard the crash. I immediately went back to help.
My heart ached as I looked at him with his mouth bleeding and a front tooth broken off; his face had hit the trunk of the car. In addition, he appeared for a moment to have broken his leg, something that had already happened to him six years earlier. As I gathered him in my arms, he looked up into my face and said, “Dad, how come I always have to learn things the hard way?” Now there was a teaching moment!

Living the Young Women Values has helped Joanne Larsen of the Calgary Alberta 12th Ward introduce the Church to a friend. In Young Women meeting they talked about giving a copy of the Book of Mormon to a friend. This class goal got Joanne interested, and she gave a copy to her friend. She also invited her friend to girls’ camp and to ward activities. Now the friend is taking the discussions from missionaries in Joanne’s home.

Illustration by Christiane Beauregard
Two years after my wife, Madeleinne, and I were baptized and confirmed, I became less active and quit going to church. Every Sunday morning, she would encourage me to get up and go with her, but I would say no.
“I’m tired. Let me sleep,” I would say. And later I would go play soccer.
Madeleinne would get up by herself and head to the chapel with our son, Lucas. In the rain or the cold, she always went.
Looking back, I realize that Satan was attacking me. He convinced me that I was fine without the Church. He told me, “You’re good, you’re calm, you’re comfortable.” But in reality, I had lost blessings, progress, and happiness. Thankfully, my wife and my Heavenly Father helped me see things clearly.
One Friday night about a year after I quit attending church, I had a dream. I dreamed that I was in a beautiful countryside, walking hand in hand with my wife and my son. We were very happy.
But then it began to grow dark. It became so dark that I couldn’t see anything. Suddenly, I noticed that I was no longer holding hands with my wife and son. I called their names, hoping they would return. I wanted them back, and I wanted the darkness to disappear.
At that moment, I experienced what it means to be truly miserable. I had lost Madeleinne and Lucas. They had moved ahead without me, leaving me alone, surrounded by darkness.
When I awoke the next morning, I realized that my Father in Heaven had given me a sign. If I didn’t return to church and take my wife and son to the temple to be sealed, I would lose them. I would not have them in the next life. I would be in a lost, miserable state.
“Tomorrow,” I told Madeleinne, “I’ll go to church.”
Every Sunday morning since then, I have gone to church with my family. I have not missed a single meeting since that dream five years ago. We were eventually sealed in the temple in September 2016.
I’m thankful for all my,blessings. I’m especially grateful for my family and for my wife’s courage, strength, and example. I’m grateful that she and my Heavenly Father never gave up on me. I am the man I am today thanks to them.

During Charlie’s five-year struggle to reach the age to become a deacon, he became a hero in another way, in the unselfish help he gave doctors doing research about his disease, even though he would not directly benefit. In the year before and after Charlie died, he was in the spotlight. He was featured on the news show 20/20 and was named by the ABC television network as one of its heroes of the year. His story of sacrifice also became the plot for a television show. Charlie found out that if he let doctors study his body, they might be able to discover a cure for other children who have this rare form of cancer. Charlie traveled to the University of Michigan, where a specialist in medullary thyroid cancer was working at the time. He went through a series of studies and new tests. He gave blood many times for future research. The doctors continued to ask for more blood from Charlie because the research from Charlie’s mutation was proving significant and became the link to solving many unanswered questions about this disease. In June 1996, the mysterious mutant gene was discovered. “Charlie was excited about that,” his mother says, “but he also understood that he would not be alive when the cure for this disease would be found.”
“Because of Charlie,” his mother explains, “it will be easier in the future to detect this type of cancer. It will now be possible to detect it early enough to stop the cancer from spreading. Charlie helped save other children’s lives. That’s an incredible gift he left behind. But to me, the second gift he left behind is just as incredible. He outlived his life expectancy by many years. He set an impossible goal for himself, to become a deacon. Charlie weighed less than 35 pounds when he died. He should have died months or years before. But he wanted to live to pass the sacrament. And he did. That is a miracle. He wanted to be a true follower of Christ. That’s why Charlie is my hero.”

When I was a student at Brigham Young University, I lived in a house with several young men. My roommate, Bruce, was the most optimistic person I have ever known. We never once heard him say anything negative about any person or any circumstance, and it was impossible not to feel buoyed up in his presence. His good cheer flowed from an abiding trust in the Savior and in His gospel.
One cold, wintry day, another friend of mine, Tom, was walking across the university campus. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and the campus was deserted and dark. Heavy snow was falling, with a brisk wind. “What miserable weather,” Tom thought. He walked farther, and out in the darkness and snow, he heard someone singing.
Sure enough, through the driving snow came our ever-optimistic friend, Bruce. With his arms outstretched to the sky, he was singing a number from the Broadway musical Oklahoma: “Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beautiful feeling, everything’s going my way” (see Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’” [1943]).
In the intervening years, that bright voice in a dark storm has become for me a symbol of what faith and hope are all about. Even in a darkening world, we as Latter-day Saints may sing with joy, knowing that the powers of heaven are with God’s Church and people. We may rejoice in the knowledge that a beautiful morning lies ahead—the dawn of the millennial day, when the Son of God shall rise in the East and reign again on the earth.

In January 2018, we laid to rest a giant of a man, a prophet of God—President Thomas S. Monson. No words can do justice to the magnitude and magnificence of his life. I will forever cherish our friendship with gratitude for what he taught me. Now, we must look forward to the future with complete faith in our Lord, Jesus Christ, whose Church this is.
On January 14, all of the living Apostles met in the upper room of the Salt Lake Temple. There, they made a unanimous decision, first, to reorganize the First Presidency now; and second, that I serve as President of the Church. Words are inadequate to tell you what it felt like to have my Brethren—Brethren who hold all the priesthood keys restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith in this dispensation—place their hands upon my head to ordain and set me apart as President of the Church. It was a sacred and humbling experience.
It then became my responsibility to discern whom the Lord had prepared to be my counselors. How could I choose only two of the twelve other Apostles, each of whom I love so dearly? I’m deeply grateful to the Lord for answering my fervent prayers. I am very thankful that President Dallin Harris Oaks and President Henry Bennion Eyring are willing to serve with me as First and Second Counselors, respectively.

“He grew up on a farm where one of his main chores was tending the pigs his father raised. He has many ribbons from the state fair that were won by his prize-winning pigs. One time, however, these pigs caused him some embarrassment. While he was at school one day, some of them got out of their pen and his mother was very upset about it. She called the school and had them announce the pigs’ escape over the school’s intercom system. She asked that her son be sent home immediately to find his lost pigs. Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy about everyone in the school hearing about his wayward pigs.”

“If those clouds get any darker, I’ll need a light to work by,” grunted the older man who worked alongside Lao Moy. He was placing a low-power explosive into a crack in a mammoth-size granite boulder.
Twelve-year-old Lao Moy wiped the rock dust from his eyes and squinted into the wintry heavens. The sharp wind that knifed down through the cottonwood canyons of the Wasatch Mountains cooled the sweat on his face. He thought of the high winds he and his father Chen had experienced on the clipper ship that had brought them to America from their ancestral home in China seven years ago.
Lao Moy’s father had been a fisherman on a sampan in Canton when a terrible wharf fire took the lives of Mother, Grandfather, and his baby sister Sze. Then the lure of gold in a strange, far-off land called America tempted Chen in the summer of 1855 to leave China for the goldfields of California. Perhaps, he thought, I can do better by Lao Moy there.
But Lao Moy was to discover at a very young age, along with his father, that the Lord makes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust. What little gold Chen was able to earn as a mine worker was stolen by his rough, bad-tempered employers. Then had come that awful night when a half-dozen drunken men had broken down their shanty door and killed him.
Lao Moy stared at the cloud shadows drifting across the canyon walls like a vulture’s wing. He gritted his teeth and his eyes filled with tears. The bitter memory of his father’s death lodged once again in the depths of his heart.
The immigrant’s youthful eyes shifted to Mosiah Twiggs, the big, bearded Mormon who had rescued him that fateful night. Waves of love and gratitude rolled up the shores of Lao Moy’s sore heart and washed away his tears.
Mosiah, too, had been ensnared by dreams of gold, so he left the Salt Lake Valley settlement in ’49 to fall prey to the same misfortune that had beset so many others—empty pockets and broken dreams.
After his father’s death, Lao Moy had agreed without misgivings to return with Mosiah to Salt Lake City, feeling a loyalty to the soft-spoken stranger who had risked his life to save someone he didn’t even know.
It had been a hazardous journey by wagon from the goldfields of California to the Salt Lake Valley, and they had encountered countless perils. But Mosiah’s promise that the God of Israel would protect them had planted the seeds of a testimony in the boy’s heart. Lao Moy wondered about this man who dutifully paid 10 percent of his earnings to his church for tithing.
Yet standing in the way of Lao Moy’s spiritual progress was that old bitterness born in the goldfields. It crouched like a great beast over his peace and challenged his moments of newfound joy. He had long wished to rid himself of it, to strike out against it, but something or someone always seemed to stand in the way.
Mosiah gazed curiously in the direction of the boy’s unbroken stare. “Autumn leaves die beautifully, don’t they, Lao Moy?” he said, his face lifted into the leaf-spattered wind.
“Yes,” answered Lao Moy, his hurtful thoughts suddenly scattered by his guardian’s grand vision. Autumn was indeed a beautiful time of year, especially in the canyons. Lao Moy’s eyes raced up the huge, yellow red chasms with renewed excitement. He loved these mountains. Mosiah had told him many times about them. How the erosion of long ages had cut deep canyons. How huge glaciers, descending with unyielding power, had broken loose and carried countless boulders, many of goliath size, down the immense mountain furrows. It was these isolated blocks, called erratics, that provided the supply of building stones for the Salt Lake Temple.
In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.

My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.

It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

Another young man, Spencer W. Kimball, was about fourteen when Susa Gates spoke at their stake conference. He recalls: “She gave a rousing talk on the reading of the scriptures; … then she stopped … to ask … us, ‘How many of you have read the Bible through?’

“… My accusing heart said to me, ‘You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?’ I looked around me … to see if I was alone in my failure to read the sacred book. Of the thousand people, there were perhaps a half dozen who proudly raised their hands. … When the meeting closed, I … rushed home … gritting my teeth and saying to myself, ‘I will. I will.’”

He went home, got a coal-oil lamp, and climbed the stairs to his attic room. “There,” he said, “I opened my Bible and began [with] Genesis … and I read well into the night with Adam and Eve … and through the flood even to Abraham.” (President Kimball Speaks Out, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1981, pp. 92–93.)

He continued to read a little each night. Although he didn’t always understand what he was reading, he had made a commitment to himself. At the end of a year, he had finished. This achievement set a pattern for his life. The sermons and the writings of President Kimball convince us that he has labored long hours to gain his profound insights into the holy scriptures.

My great-great-grandmother’s name was Mary Goble Pay. She was twelve years old and living in Brighton, England, when the missionaries taught her family the gospel. The year was 1855, and all Mary’s mother could think of was to join the other Saints in Utah. And so the following spring Mary’s mother, father, and four younger brothers and sisters boarded the ship Horizon for America.

By the time they could get outfitted and started on the trail, it was the middle of July. Winter storms came early that year, and the Gobles spent five terrible months on the trail between St. Louis and Salt Lake City. Mary wrote: “We had to keep close to [the handcart companies] to help them if we could. We began to get short of food and our cattle gave out” (A Believing People, ed. Richard H. Cracroft and Neal E. Lambert, Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1974, p. 144). Many died—among them Mary’s two-year-old sister, her five-year-old brother, and Edith, a baby sister born on the trail and buried in Wyoming.

And then when all seemed lost, the stranded Saints were miraculously rescued by men and teams sent by Brigham Young. But even as the handcart companies crossed the final mountain into the valley, Mary’s mother died.

Mary describes the scene: “We arrived in Salt Lake City nine o’clock at night the 11th of December 1856. Three out of four who were living were frozen. My mother was dead in the wagon. …
“[We were] taken to a home … and the sisters brought us plenty of food. …
“Early next morning Bro. Brigham Young and a doctor came. … When Bro. Young came in he shook hands with us all. When he saw our condition—our feet frozen and our mother dead—tears rolled down his cheeks” (ibid., p. 145).

Well, Mary grew up. She married a good man. They had thirteen children whom they taught to love the gospel. She said it made her sad to talk about that trip across the plains, but she always remembered her mother’s words: “I want to go to Zion while my children are small, so they can be raised in the Gospel of Christ. For I know this is the true Church.” Mary concludes, “I think my mother had her wish” (ibid., pp. 149–50).

Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live, and they are in charge of this world.
They knew Mary Goble Pay.
They loved her.
They had a plan for her future.
She obeyed the commandments, worked hard, and trusted in their plan. And sooner or later, everything was okay.

Late one evening shortly after I had been called as bishop, I received a telephone call from a distressed member. She told me her elderly husband was missing. He had left home to perform some errands and was long overdue. Tearfully, this sister explained that she had called all the hospitals in Southampton to check if he had been admitted following an accident of some sort. The police had also been alerted and were on the lookout throughout the city.
I said I would visit immediately to see if the ward members could help in any way and to give her a priesthood blessing if she wished. She gratefully agreed.
I quickly called the elders quorum president. By now it was after 10:30 P.M. I didn’t normally like to bother members late at night, but this was an exceptional situation and I knew I could rely on Brother Rosser to assist me.
When we arrived at the sister’s home, members of her family were there, and it soon became clear that all that could reasonably be done to help had been done. There was little to do other than to offer comfort and perform the priesthood blessing. We laid our hands upon this dear sister’s head and blessed her by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood. But when I reached the point when one usually adds comfort and insight as directed by the Spirit, my mind was completely blank. I found myself pleading with Heavenly Father for some words with which I might bless her, while simultaneously examining my life to see if some personal unworthiness was acting as an impediment to divine communication. After what seemed a lengthy silence, I was at last inspired to ask Heavenly Father to bless her with the Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter and then I closed the blessing.
After the blessing as Brother Rosser and I walked to the car, I expressed my concerns about feeling nothing other than to make the request concerning the Holy Ghost. The more I dwelt on the matter, the more my fear increased that something dreadful had happened to the missing husband.
It was now past midnight. As Brother Rosser and I drove away, I felt impressed to drive through a particular district of town rather than taking the direct route home. Brother Rosser agreed that we should follow the impression.
After a few minutes we were halted by a red traffic light where I intended to make a left turn. At that moment what seemed to be a loud and distinct voice instructed me to turn right. The light changed to green, and I turned right. As we drove over the junction, I saw a solitary figure seated on a bench in a deserted shopping precinct. I pulled over, and we got out of the car. As we approached the person huddled against the cold, we called out the name of the missing man. He looked up, and we recognized him. We had been sent directly to him!
This elderly brother had fallen and been knocked out earlier in the day. By the time we found him, he had regained consciousness but was in pain and suffering from exposure to the cold. We quickly called the police, summoned an ambulance, and informed his wife that he had been found.
After we had ensured that all was well, Brother Rosser and I started again for home. We reflected upon what had happened. We had been specifically guided by the Holy Ghost. Our tears flowed freely.
I learned a number of things that night. First, we should give only the blessings we are inspired to give, not those we think the recipient would like to hear. Second, a priesthood holder must always keep himself worthy to be called upon at a moment’s notice. Third, Heavenly Father makes known His will in His own time and way. Fourth, we need to recognize the many ways in which the Holy Ghost communicates to us and to act upon those promptings when we receive them. Finally, I learned that at times the Lord does intervene directly to help, and we can sometimes be the means through which His help comes. I am grateful for the many lessons of that cold, dark night.

My husband and I were struggling financially due to a recent career change. He had joined the United States Army to further his education and had taken a huge pay cut to do so. We were barely making ends meet and were deeply in debt. We had cut up our credit cards to avoid more debt, had used up all our savings, and were living on our year’s supply of food.
I have always had a testimony of the gospel, but I was literally living on faith. After an incredibly difficult month I was daunted by our pile of bills and knew we just weren’t going to make it. For the first time in my adult life I was tempted not to pay tithing. I thought, “I need the money more than the Lord does. The amount I’m going to pay won’t even pay the electric bill for the stake center, but it would make a huge difference to me.”
After selfishly considering the many places the money could go, I had a scripture come to mind: “Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings” (Mal. 3:8). I knew I had to pay tithing. Somehow things would work out. I wrote the tithing check, placed a stamp on the envelope, and put it in the mail.
The next morning I had to run a few errands. I walked to my car and to my utter despair realized one of the tires was almost completely flat. Frustrated, I drove to a nearby repair shop.
A flat would cost a few dollars to repair. I sat in the waiting room and prayed that Heavenly Father would watch over us. A few minutes later the attendant called me to the cash register. He told me the tire had a nail in it, but the nail was positioned in such a way that the tire could not be repaired. It would have to be replaced, costing even more than I had mentally prepared myself for. I said, “I want to see it.” The attendant patiently showed me the nail and explained why it would be impossible to repair the tire. With tears in my eyes I asked him to please replace my tire with the cheapest one possible.
I went back to the waiting room and pleaded silently with Heavenly Father for help. We could not afford a new tire, but we had to have the car.
A few minutes later the attendant called me to the register again. He explained that my tires had locking lug nuts and without the key the tire would not come off. I told him I didn’t have the key. He apologized and explained that their shop did not have the proper tools to remove my tire. He recommended another shop. He then put air in my tire free of charge and sent me on my way.
I climbed back into the car and broke down in tears. Why was this happening? We had done everything right. We paid our tithing; we had a year’s supply; we were trying to get out of debt; we were going to church every week. Why would the Lord allow this to happen?
I drove to the other shop and quickly explained my situation to the attendant. We picked the cheapest tire, and I proceeded to the waiting room. After what seemed like forever my name was called. I walked slowly to the register, dreading what I was about to hear.
“We have run your tire through the water about five times,” the attendant told me. “Three of us have searched for the nail. There is nothing. You still have a lot of wear left on your tires. There is absolutely no reason to replace any of them.” I stared blankly at the attendant. I had seen the nail with my own eyes. I knew it had been there. I thanked him, and he sent me on my way, again free of charge.
We have since been transferred to a new duty station and have driven about 8,000 miles (13,000 km) on that tire. I know the Lord blesses us and there is safety in obedience.

I was able to go to the temple when I went on my mission to Cochabamba, Bolivia. I began preaching the gospel in October 2000. A few months later my companion and I visited the temple with the youth from the ward where we were serving. I took my disk and was able to provide 599 names for ordinance work.
While I served as witness, my companion baptized the young people on behalf of my ancestors. What great joy I felt. The Spirit was with me, testifying of the truthfulness of what we were doing. I could feel my ancestors’ happiness and gratitude.
But there were other ordinances that still needed to be done. Because there were so many names, I turned them over to the temple. But I kept the names of my great-grandparents and their children, and later that month my companion and I, with the help of other missionaries, performed the work for them.
I am grateful to my Heavenly Father because, although I was far from my country and perhaps thought that I would baptize only the living, I was also able to participate in the work of redeeming the dead.

Let me share with you the experience of Julie, a young woman who was able to face a challenge by following the promptings of the Holy Ghost. She was studying the Old Testament one day, and the thought came to her mind, “Read Matthew 5. Read Matthew 5.” She thought, “Why would the thought come to me to read the New Testament?” She acted on that prompting and read in Matthew, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).
The next day she had some difficulties with her friends who were unkind and betrayed her. At first she was very upset, and then she thought, “I’ve been prepared for this. The Spirit prompted me to read Matthew, and I must love and pray for my friends.” The small step of reading the scriptures prepared her to respond in a Christlike way. From that experience, she was assured that the Lord knew her, and through the promptings of the Holy Ghost, she knew what she was to do.

Photograph courtesy of the author
I have a best friend. Her name is Barbara. We love watching and singing along to movies. We go on walks together and look at the flowers on the temple grounds. We read princess stories together every night. When I’m around Barbara, I can be myself. Not only is she my dearest friend, but she is also my sister.
Barbara has cerebral palsy, a condition that affects her physically and mentally. She can’t walk, and she needs to be fed through a tube. She loves singing but struggles to verbally communicate her feelings, wants, and needs. And although Barbara is 29, mentally she acts like a toddler.
Even though Barbara is four years older than me, I’ve always felt like the “big sister.” My family’s whole world revolves around her. She is the sun, and we are the circling planets. While the situation sometimes has amazing benefits—like being able to skip lines at amusement parks—other times it means making sacrifices, like not going to certain activities or needing to host events in our home. Each day we review our schedule to make sure someone is always taking care of Barbara and her needs.
To help my parents take care of her, my older brother and I matured very quickly. We had to learn how to identify when Barbara was having a seizure and what to do, how to feed her through a tube, how to change her diapers, and how to prepare her medications when we were very young. While this early maturity helped me have confidence in myself, it did make socializing a huge struggle.
I felt so different from everyone my age. Even if I was invited to hang out with friends and my parents encouraged me to go, I struggled to have fun because I felt guilty that my parents had so much to do at home. Other times I would have a hard time enjoying myself when Barbara was struggling with her health. Most of the time, I just wanted a friend to sit down with me and listen.
Sometimes I felt like no one understood what I was going through. But a few things helped remedy that loneliness. I decided I’d try to reach out to people who might be feeling similarly. When I did go to activities or church, I tried to include those who were sitting alone or who looked like they were having a bad day. As Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would.” 1 And I saw miracles come into my life. I felt much more comfortable going to activities and was happier when I offered love to others.
Another thing that helped was realizing how much the Savior truly understood me. I realized that He knew exactly what I was going through and would always be with me. I focused more on getting to know Him through the scriptures and prayer. Sometimes when I prayed, I would imagine that He and Heavenly Father were sitting with me and listening. When I have difficult feelings and feel overwhelmed at how unfair Barbara’s situation seems at times, I remember that Christ will help me find peace and reassurance. Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this perfectly when he said, “In unfair situations, one of our tasks is to trust that ‘all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.’” 2
Having a loved one with a disability can require near-superhuman strength. It affects your life physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. For the past 29 years, my parents have awakened nearly every day at 2:00 in the morning to care for Barbara. We all go to the gym regularly so we can be strong enough to lift and carry Barbara when necessary. And so many other responsibilities can take a toll on us all.
How do we possibly do everything?
This can be described in one word: grace.
“Grace [is the] enabling power and spiritual healing offered through the mercy and love of Jesus Christ. …
“The grace of God helps us every day. It strengthens us to do good works we could not do on our own.” 3
What do I love most about Barbara? With her I’ve learned more about the Savior’s love for us. You can’t help but feel of His love when you’re around Barbara. Despite all her difficulties, she is always smiling, singing, and making us laugh. However, there are also days where I feel helpless, when nothing seems to make her feel better. But because of my experiences, I know with certainty that the Savior understands what both Barbara and I are going through. No matter our earthly trials, a beautiful aspect of the Savior’s enabling power is that we can not only be given strength to experience and overcome hard things but also do it all with joy.
The author lives in Utah.
Editors’ note: Since the time that this article was written, the author’s sister has passed away.

On one occasion, when President David O. McKay was in his youth serving as a missionary in the land of Scotland, a very spiritual missionary meeting was held under the direction of Elder James McMurrin, a counselor in the mission presidency. As testimonies were borne and spiritual experiences mentioned, President McMurrin turned to President McKay and said: “Elder McKay, I’ll say to you as the Savior said to Peter, ‘Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: But I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not: and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.’” He then said, “If you are faithful you will yet stand in the leading councils of the Church.”

She studied elementary education at Brigham Young University and minored in Spanish. During a class trip to Mexico, she met Jorge Dennis, and the two began corresponding.
When he moved to Salt Lake City a year later to study English, they began dating. Within a few months, they were engaged. They married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 4, 1980. They have four children and nine grandchildren. They live in Bountiful, Utah.

Moeaki began art while attending Liahona High School in Nuku’alofa, Tonga. He once placed third in a Danish international art competition, and later gained a bachelor of fine arts from BYU-Idaho in the United States. He has been teaching art for the last nine years at his alma mater, Liahona High School.
Moe works in oil, acrylic and watercolour and describes his art as abstract expressionism. He is most interested in drawing things that are “beyond the veil.”
“I had some near-death experiences when I was a child, which have influenced me. When my father was a mission president, he asked me to do a drawing of the plan of salvation as a missionary tool. . . . It really fired my imagination to think about what it is like beyond the veil.”
His selected work is a tapa collage and acrylic on cardboard entitled, “All Are Alike unto Christ.” A unique feature of this piece is that it includes a strip of tapa cloth.
“Tapa is a very important part of Tongan culture. Newborn babies are wrapped in it, brides and grooms wear it on their wedding day and caskets are draped with it at funerals. It literally is the fabric of our lives,” Moeaki says. “To me, it is an actual veil between this life and the spirit world so it’s important that it is included in my art.”
In his painting, tapa separates our mortal life and a heavenly existence. Beyond that veil, ministering angels are depicted eager to reach out and bless those in times of great need.
“All are alike unto God. . . . We all long for peace, love, and comfort,” Moeaki says, “we all feel that we are being ministered to by the Saviour and His angels in times of need.”