Gospel Story Finder

My grandpa has a big white truck that is really old. He says that it was new when my dad was still a boy. Whenever our family goes to visit Grandpa and Grandma, my brother, Justin, and I like to play in it. Grandma laughs and says we only come to visit Grandpa and his truck.
Some days we have to wait for Grandpa to come home from work before we can play in it. As soon as he opens the kitchen door, out we race to the big white truck.
The first one to reach the truck wins—that’s the rule.
I push my brother up into the truck, and then I climb in behind the wheel. Once inside the truck, we put on hats that Grandpa leaves in the truck—baseball caps or big straw hats or cowboy hats with turned-up brims. Grandpa always leaves hats there for us.
Justin and I take turns making roaring engine noises as we pretend to race with screeching tires and squealing brakes to catch the robbers just around the corner or to finish the big race in first place.
When we are tired of racing, we climb out through the open windows into the bed of the truck. There we hide from the ugly wild things we imagine are lurking behind the trees, or we build big forts with some old blankets Grandpa leaves in his truck.
Sometimes we take turns jumping off the truck’s tailgate. I always jump the farthest.
When Grandpa sits in the truck with us, we put the hats on him in funny ways, and he laughs with us a lot. Whenever he brings us cookies from Grandma, we sit and eat them in the truck. He doesn’t even care if we drop crumbs.
Sometimes Grandpa takes us to the park in his big white truck. We ride high above the cars and look down on them moving along beside us. Justin sits next to Grandpa and reminds him where to turn. I sit close to the door and wave and shout hello to people who pass by.
Once in a while Grandpa takes us to the ice-cream store in his big white truck. Grandma, who says the truck is too old, comes out to see us off. She asks Grandpa if he would rather take the car, but Grandpa says no and tells her not to worry. Then off we go in the big white truck.
We are always sad when it’s time to leave. Grandpa hugs us and tells us to come back soon. Grandma kisses us and tells us to be good.
I think the big white truck might be a little sad to see us go. I think it likes to race and chase and go with us. I’m glad Grandpa has his big white truck.

After moving to Nauvoo, Illinois, Joseph and Emma Smith built the Red Brick Store. It served as Joseph’s office and as a business to support his family.
I’ll take 20 pounds of flour, Emma.
Do you need anything else?
James had recently moved from England to Nauvoo with his sister and her husband, Henry. James was not a member of the Church.
We’ve searched for work all day, Henry. I don’t think we’re going to find anything.
Let’s ask the Prophet for help.
James had never met Joseph Smith or been near him before. He felt an overwhelming spirit just by looking at him.
He is truly a prophet of the Most High God.
Brethren, how can I help you today?
Mr. Smith, have you any employment?
Can you make a ditch?
We’ll do our best.
Joseph took the men a little way from the store and stretched out a measuring tape.
Can you make a ditch three feet wide and two and a half feet deep along this line?
When they finished the ditch, they called Joseph out to inspect it.
I could not have done better myself. Come with me.
Joseph gave the men two of his largest and best pieces of meat and two sacks of flour.
This is too much, Joseph.
We’ll do more work for it.
If you are satisfied, boys, I am.
Because of this encounter with the Prophet’s kindness and because of other experiences in which he felt Joseph’s power from God, James learned the gospel and was baptized and confirmed later that year.

The bishop of a twelve-year-old confined to a wheel chair came to the boy’s home with a measuring tape. Since the young man was not able to walk or carry anything, this sensitive priesthood leader measured his wheelchair and made a wooden shelf that could hold a sacrament tray. Now ward members witness a beautiful example of charity in action each week as other priesthood holders take turns pushing his wheelchair so he can pass the sacred emblems to the congregation.

Throughout my life, I believed that there must be a spiritual link between my ancestors and me.
My grandparents often told stories and showed pictures of my ancestors, and I felt closer to them each time we discussed them. My family and I were not members of the Church, but my grandma still taught me to pray daily. And through those prayers, I started to believe in God and in the idea that my departed ancestors were somehow living on.
In Hungary we celebrate a holiday the day after Halloween called All Saints’ Day. On this occasion, everyone visits cemeteries where their loved ones and ancestors are buried, and we lay flowers on their graves and light candles to remember and honor them.
When I was little, I felt privileged to have an even deeper connection with my ancestors, as I was actually born on All Saints’ Day. It was always an extra-special day for me.
But I would also often complain about visiting my ancestors, because I didn’t want to spend my birthday in cemeteries. I didn’t see what was so unique about visiting the same graves every year, especially when they belonged to ancestors whom I hadn’t ever met.
As I’ve grown and gained a testimony of the gospel, however, I’ve come to know much more about God’s plan of happiness and the sacredness of family history work. I know that everyone can and should treasure their ancestors and strive to have a deep connection with these vital members of our families.

As a child, Elder Morrison and his family attended church meetings of another denomination. When he moved in with his uncle’s family to attend high school, he attended Latter-day Saint meetings with them and then meetings at his church. An early-morning seminary teacher invited him to attend seminary, where he met Hannah Nyarko.
“She was very intelligent and would give great comments,” he said. “It really gave me the edge to want to study more.” After studying the Book of Mormon that year, he said, “I was ready for baptism.”

“Who are you doing your biography on?” my best friend, Jasmine,* asked. We were in the library working on an assignment to read a biography for our literature and composition class. My head started whirling. Jasmine wasn’t a member of the Church. What would she think? Mustering up my courage, I opened my mouth and squeaked, “Joseph Smith Jr.”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
The butterflies in my stomach fluttered about as I spoke. “A prophet of God who lived in these latter days.”
“A prophet?”
“Yeah, like Abraham and Moses,” I explained. She only shrugged.
Not knowing how to continue, I simply returned to reading the biography I had chosen. How do you describe someone who is that incredible? With a troubled heart, I said a sincere, silent prayer that the Holy Ghost would help me know what to say, but the bell rang. It was too late. Disappointed with myself, I left for home.
The next day, Jasmine and I were working in the library again. We both sat down and began reading our books. Then I stopped myself. I was sitting here with a perfect missionary opportunity before me but was unsure how to approach the situation. But my problem was solved when Jasmine asked, “Hey Sierra, where do you think we go after we die?”
With truth in my mind and warmth in my heart, I explained to her why we were here, where we are going, and the importance of getting there.
As the days went on and we had that precious time together in the library, we had wonderful conversations. I told her about the Restoration of the gospel and Joseph Smith. Eventually I bore my testimony of the Prophet. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my testimony was growing as well. I realized that Joseph Smith really was a prophet of God and that God speaks today. I had had my doubts, but the day I finished the book, I finally could say that I knew that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus in the Sacred Grove, and he really did translate the Book of Mormon. Somehow, I just knew it. No visions, no voices, no angels, just the calm reassurance that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
As I walked back to class that day with the book under my arm, I found myself humming the hymn “Praise to the Man” (Hymns, no. 27). My arm tingled just knowing I was carrying a book about such a marvelous man.
I don’t know that Jasmine believed what I told her, but perhaps I planted a seed that will sprout someday. One thing I do know for certain, though, is that reading a biography on Joseph Smith was definitely one of the most meaningful school assignments I have ever completed.

A number of years ago, I struggled through a difficult marriage and painful divorce. My husband had broken his temple covenants and betrayed me. But he would continue as the father of my children, and I didn't want a miserable, adversarial relationship indefinitely. So I made it a matter of prayer. I said something like this: "Heavenly Father, I know you love all your children; so, I know you love my husband. Help me to feel about him the same way you feel about him."

The result was something of a miracle. The Lord couldn't answer my desperate plea to help my husband change– no amount of faith will take away personal agency. But the Lord could take away my bitterness and help me feel empathy for my husband– not empathy in the sense that I could relate to his feelings completely, but empathy for him as a son of God. I knew that Christ had all the feelings of a tender parent for my husband regardless of his behavior. This empathy has made my life much easier.

I well remember a young couple who started farming in Idaho years ago. They had modest means, but they paid down payment on 40 acres of raw land. They were going into the raising of fruit—peaches particularly. They had leveled the land, brought out the laterals, planted the trees, and then weeded and irrigated and watched until the time had come when they’d have a harvest. This particular spring the orchard was a sea of blossoms, and it looked as though they were going to have a bounteous harvest. Then one night without warning, there came a frost that wiped out practically the entire crop overnight. Well, young John didn’t go to church the next Sunday, nor the next Sunday, nor the next Sunday. Finally his good old bishop came out to see what was wrong. He found John out in the field, and he said, “John, we haven’t seen you in church for several weeks. What’s the matter? Is anything wrong?” John said, “No, bishop, I’m not coming anymore. Do you think I can worship a God who would let this happen to me?” And then he went on to explain to the bishop what had happened. Of course, the bishop felt sorrowful too, and he expressed it to John. And as he looked down at the ground for a moment, he said, “John, I’m sure the Lord knows that you can’t produce the best peaches with frost. But I’m also sure he knows that you can’t produce the best men without frost, and the Lord is interested in producing men, not peaches.” Well, John went to church the next Sunday, and another year a harvest came. He later became a bishop in the Church.

“Water rushed over Greg’s face and he panicked. I tried to help him, but he fought me because he was scared. We gave him a board to hang onto, but it gave away. I grabbed him, but he pulled me under with him. When we came up, I grabbed his hair and started for shore, but he threw his arms around my neck and wouldn’t let go.
“Finally I broke the hold and again started working him to shore. He struggled all the way. I was tired, but I knew I had to keep trying. The water was deep—I never touched bottom in the middle. Just as I reached shore, a cramp set in my leg and I couldn’t move. But we had made it, and were both okay.”
What may sound like a passage from a pioneer journal describing the crossing of the Mississippi is actually 17-year-old Daniel Kite’s description of how he rescued a sixth-grader from the Weber River near Ogden, Utah. Dan, a member of Troop 38, Hooper First Ward, Hooper Utah Stake, was awarded a Certificate for Heroism by the Boy Scouts of America.
But Dan wasn’t alone in receiving the honor. When the National Court of Honor announced recipients of recognition for heroic action last October, there were ten Latter-day Saint Scouts and leaders among the 216 honored.
Ten-year-old Kristin E. Hofmeister received the highest award of any of the LDS Scouts. He was awarded an Honor Medal, which is given for “unusual heroism in saving or attempting to save life at the risk of [his] own.” Kristin rescued his cousin, who had fallen through ice into six feet of chilling water. He remembered the importance of lying flat on the ice so it would not crack as he worked his way to the edge of the water.
“I feel the Lord gave me more strength than I usually have so I could pull him out,” Kristin said. “He is the same age I am, but he seemed to come out easily, although I normally couldn’t have lifted him like that.” Kristin is in Pack 108, Honeyville Ward, Brigham City Utah North Stake.
Several other Latter-day Saints received Medals of Merit, awarded to “Scouts who perform an outstanding service of an exceptional character, practicing Scout skills and ideals, but not necessarily involving risk of life.”
A. Kenneth Crockett, a Scoutmaster, administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to a 60-year-old man who collapsed in a bank lobby. Thanks to Brother Crockett’s efforts, the man began breathing again before the ambulance arrived. “Any one of the 20 people in the bank at the time could have done what I did,” Brother Crockett said, “but they were waiting for someone else to act.” He is a member of the Globe First Ward, Globe Arizona Stake, and was at the time Scoutmaster of Troop 3. He has since been released and is presently serving on the stake high council.
Craig Galbasini, 11, saved his one-year-old brother Ryan from drowning when Ryan tipped his walker upside down into a swimming pool. “I assume the Lord was watching out for Ryan, and I was there to help him,” Craig said. Active in the Scottsdale Fourth Ward, Scottsdale Arizona Stake, Craig is a member of Pack 418.
Lee W. Johnson, who was at the time Cubmaster of Pack 218, rescued his brother from underneath a fallen haystack. “My brother was covered by a haystack four feet deep and about 20 feet square. Where do you dig? In my mind a voice said, ‘Over here.’ I dug to within six inches of my unconscious brother, and the voice said, ‘Throw the pitch fork away.’ And there he was. You have to give somebody besides myself credit for something like that.” Brother Johnson is in the Benson Ward, Benson Utah Stake.
Michael P. Poppleton, 10, saved his brother Chris’s life by holding the youngster’s arm and head above swift-flowing water in an irrigation culvert until additional help came. “My little brother’s life was in my hands,” Mike said. “I did what I had to to save him.” Mike is in Pack 221 and is a member of the Wellsville Third Ward, Logan Utah Stake.
Michael J. Parry, 17, of Orem, Utah, applied direct pressure to a laceration on his sister’s arm, controlling bleeding until paramedics came. “It was frightening to see my sister lying hurt and to know she could die. I kept praying she would be all right, and when I heard the ambulance, I had a burning sensation in my heart that told me she would be okay. I think the Lord was directing me the whole time in order to save her life.” Mike is in the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, and is a member of Post 1447.
Timothy Stewart, 14, rescued his brother when he fell through ice on a pond. “I got down on the ice and crawled about nine feet from the shore. The ice broke under me just as I reached him. I got him out, but broke through the ice two more times before we got to shore,” Tim said. Tim is a member of the Newton Branch, Wichita Kansas Stake, and belongs to Troop 328.
Brent Robinson rescued a woman’s son who was stranded on a cliff. “A lady knocked at our door and said her son was trapped. We got a rope, and I climbed to where he was stranded. I couldn’t get him down from below the cliff, so I came down to him from above and then pulled him up with the rope,” Brent said. Brent, 16, is from Post 363, Kanab Third Ward, Kanab Utah Stake.
David Worthington, 11, saved a friend who was drowning. A member of the Washington Second Ward, St. George Utah East Stake, and (at the time) of Pack 416, David reacted mostly on instinct reinforced with good Scout training. “I knew I was supposed to help someone in trouble,” he said. He is now a Tenderfoot in Troop 416.
In addition to the LDS recipients, there was at least one Scout recognized who came from an LDS-sponsored troop but who is not a member of the Church. John C. Eisenhart received a Medal of Merit for saving his grandfather’s life when the grandfather fell from a six-foot ladder and fractured his skull. John used a handkerchief compress to stop the bleeding, and then called an emergency squad. The wound required 61 stitches. “I was glad that I had had my Boy Scout first aid training,” John said. He is senior patrol leader of Troop 51, Newark Ward, Columbus Ohio East Stake.
All of the Scouts had advice to offer to others who might find themselves in emergencies. “I would never have thought it would happen to me,” Mike Parry said. “I think people should be ready for things like this and get proper training in advance because things like this will happen.”
Brent advised hikers to always travel with a partner and not to take shortcuts. “Stay on the trail or you’ll get in trouble,” he said. Daniel warned swimmers to know the water they’re swimming in and not to swim in conditions beyond their capability. Kristin advised everyone to learn how to swim and to become familiar with lifesaving techniques. Brother Crockett advised those who find themselves in an emergency to do something, rather than just watch, which complemented Brother Johnson’s advice to “be quick and alert, but think things out before you act. Keep calm and don’t panic. Move as quickly as possible and listen for guidance from the Lord.” Mike Poppleton said Scouts should pay attention during classes on lifesaving techniques so that when an emergency does arise, they’ll be able to think of what to do. And the entire group agreed that proper training is vital and that people should be careful about what they do if they have had no training.
Most of the group agreed that their rescue efforts had been a spiritual experience for them. “At the time I acted only on instinct, but since then I have thought how great it is that I was able to save one of Heavenly Father’s sons,” Kristin said. Dan said he felt the Lord helped him “keep a straight head,” and gave him that “additional strength needed to get to shore before the cramp set in.”
“I found the experience to be very humbling,” Brother Crockett said. “I feel that through the Church programs the Lord provides for us, including Scouting, that I was prepared to act in this emergency.” Mike Parry said, “It strengthened my testimony to know that the Lord helped me to be in the right place at the right time.”
But perhaps it was Brother Johnson who summed up the most common sentiment: “It was a spiritual experience,” he said, “but I wouldn’t want another one of this kind.”
Editor’s note: Since the 1978 awards, the New Era has learned of one additional LDS Scout who has received national attention for his heroism. Eleven-year-old Roger Walters, a member of Troop 839, which is sponsored by the Union 18th Ward, Sandy Utah Willow Creek Stake, was cited for saving the life of his five-year-old sister Tanya, who fell into deep water at a reservoir. He was awarded the Medal for Heroism, an award similar to those mentioned above.

For Naea Bennett, that is both a great blessing and a big problem. Everyone in Tahiti knows the story of his father, Erroll Bennett. As a young man, Erroll was the best soccer player in Tahiti, maybe the best player in the South Pacific. He was taught about the Church and wanted to be baptized. The missionaries taught Erroll about keeping the Sabbath day holy, but all of Erroll’s soccer games were on Sunday. He felt that if he and his wife were to be baptized, he would have to give up playing soccer. He felt that if he committed his life to the Lord, then he would have to follow the Lord’s instructions to keep the Sabbath day reserved for spiritual matters.
Erroll Bennett’s decision did not go unnoticed. After all, soccer was by far the most popular sport in Tahiti, and he was the star of the top team. He had pressure from his extended family, from his teammates, and from those who ran organized sports. But once Erroll was baptized and told his team that he wouldn’t be playing on Sunday anymore, sports officials began to make changes to make it possible for Erroll to continue playing. They rearranged sports schedules, moving the Sunday games to nights during the week. It turned out that his teammates appreciated having Sundays off to spend with their families, too, and the team performed even better with their star player able to play. Erroll became the most prolific scorer on the team. Because the best team in Tahiti would not play on Sunday, the finals for the Tahiti Cup were changed to Saturday. Even the finals of the Pacific games were changed. One man who made a stand changed the sports habits of a nation.
That man, Erroll Bennett, now the stake president of the Pirae Tahiti Stake, is Naea’s father. And because of his father, Naea does not have to play on Sunday. He has not had to make the hard choice his father made. Neither do the other 11 Latter-day Saints on Naea’s team. Nor do Naea’s sisters have any Sunday basketball games. Everyone in Tahiti knows not to even bother asking if a Latter-day Saint will play on Sunday. How does Naea feel about the decision his father made? “I’m very proud of him,” Naea says. “It was a good decision. It is known in all of Polynesia.”

For instance, I once visited in a counseling session with a young woman in her early twenties, hurt and angry because her father had verbally exploded at her the night before. She asked, “How am I supposed to feel any self-esteem?” With a strong sense of ill-usage, she told of a friend working in law enforcement who wanted to prosecute her ex-boyfriend who had introduced her to illegal drugs. She thought this was unfair and she felt responsible for her ex-boyfriend’s getting in further trouble with the law. You see, this boyfriend had returned to dealing drugs after serving a prison term for the same thing. In addition, he had kept all her furniture the last time she moved out and, incidentally, had given her an STD. Yet she had just a week previously contemplated moving in with him again, rather than stay with a new boyfriend (not an ex-felon and with a stable job).

It’s important to understand that this was a very nice young woman. She was attractive and could obviously be lively and fun. She wanted to be drug-free and out of debt (“but how am I supposed to pay my bills if I’m in a re-hab center?”). Those living at a telestial level are not necessarily unpleasant or “bad” people. Nevertheless, they are allowing appetites and passions to govern their choices and their lives. Eventually, the consequences start to pile up for them and for those around them. While not a terrible person, this young woman was not a very safe candidate in terms of potential for marriage or motherhood.

Tally walked home from school, her shoes crunching through dead leaves. She loved this time of year. The day after tomorrow her class was having a party. They would make crafts, play games, and eat pie. The day after that, her cousins were coming for Thanksgiving dinner. She couldn’t wait! Tally’s good mood made it easy to feel grateful, even with the cold wind whipping through her hair.
But the next day, Tally woke up feeling awful, especially when she swallowed. Mom used a flashlight to look inside Tally’s mouth. “We’d better go see the doctor,” she said.
All the way there, Tally prayed, Heavenly Father, please help me get better so I don’t have to miss the party.
The doctor used a cotton swab to swipe the back of Tally’s throat. Then she left the room to go test the swab for an infection called strep throat. Tally prayed she didn’t have it.
When the doctor came back, she said, “It looks like you don’t have strep.”
Tally beamed. Did this mean she could go to school tomorrow?
“I’ll do a second test to make sure, but for now go home and rest,” the doctor said.
The next morning it still hurt when Tally swallowed. Maybe if she went to school, she’d have so much fun she wouldn’t notice the pain. She was getting dressed when the phone rang. Soon Mom came into Tally’s room.
“I’m sorry, Tally, but the doctor just called. The second test showed that you do have strep throat. The first test was wrong.”
Tally’s heart dropped. “But can I still go to school? I promise I won’t breathe on anyone.”
“I’m sorry, Tally. That wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. No matter how careful you are, until you’ve taken medicine for a day, your infection could still make other people sick.”
Tally tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, but it hurt too much. It wasn’t fair!
While Tally rested in bed, feeling bored, she thought about her classmates making crafts and playing games. When she took her yucky pills, she thought about her friends eating pie. They probably didn’t even notice she was gone. She knew Thanksgiving should help her remember her blessings, but it was hard to feel grateful when she felt so sad and left out.
That afternoon the doorbell rang. Tally heard her teacher’s voice when Mom answered the door.
“We sure missed Tally today,” her teacher said. “The class made some crafts for her. And we saved her some pie too. Please tell her we hope she feels better soon. Happy Thanksgiving!”
Tally came out of her room to find paper turkeys and a clay cornucopia on the kitchen table. She could tell someone had worked hard on them. She was grateful for such good friends.
“Do you want some pie?” Mom pointed to the treat Tally’s teacher had left.
Tally took a bite. When she swallowed, her throat didn’t hurt quite as much. She was grateful that after resting and taking medicine, she was starting to feel better in time for the family party tomorrow.
Heavenly Father hadn’t healed her right away, like she’d asked, but He had blessed her to feel comforted. And she was beginning to feel a little better. Tomorrow her cousins were coming, and she could show them the crafts her class had made. Maybe they could even make some crafts together.
Tally smiled. It was easy to feel grateful with so many blessing to count.

After I finished high school I got a job that didn’t pay very much, and I was embarrassed to be paying so little tithing. One of my friends reminded me of Jesus praising the poor widow (see Luke 21:1–4). From that point on, those thoughts didn’t return to my mind. I continued to pay a full tithing. Later on I was blessed to get a better job and earn money for my mission.
Fabián Argote Montalvo,Las Granjas Ward, Neiva Colombia Stake

I had somebody tell me not to mention his name in this talk, but I have something that I should probably say, so don't worry Sione, I won't say your name. A couple weeks back I was worried about one of my friends back home [in California]. He has not been doing too well and I had been hearing a lot of things. I really started to worry about this friend. I decided to give my parents a break and I went [to a friend] and I asked him what I should do [about my friend back home] and basically I explained my life. What he said shocked me and inspired me. He asked me if I'd shared my testimony with this person [back at home]. Now this friend of mine from back in California, I've known him for a while and he is not the type that you'd just go up to and [say], I want to tell you about the Gospel. But I had somebody there to encourage me; somebody that knew I had the potential to influence someone. Whether I ever find out if it made a difference or not, I listened to this person and I wrote a letter. Now those of you that know me know I write about 20 letters a week, but this one took me a couple of hours. I told him that he does have a great potential, that I hope that he gets back on track. Then I told him my testimony about the Gospel. I am one person, but I am striving to reach my potential. I needed that person to encourage me and in turn I needed to encourage someone else. This is something we must all learn. There is nobody in this world that should be without the Gospel. So in reaching your potential will you build the Kingdom of God?

She thinks all children should remember that when you have problems, you can always turn to your Heavenly Father in prayer. Sometimes it takes patience. Her brother Jérôme had worked very hard and saved money to buy a bicycle. When it was stolen out of the Roth’s garage, he prayed every day that he would get his bike back. After three months of praying every day, he felt impressed to go play in an area where he’d never gone before. He found his bike there. Samantha knows that Heavenly Father helped her brother find his bike. She knows He helped her find her brother Semjon. And she knows that although He doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to, He does listen and answer everyone’s prayers.

A therapist in Chile noticed that several people in her branch seemed depressed and lonely, especially during the winter months.
Meanwhile, when asked about challenges in her area of South Africa, a therapist mentioned addiction and economic difficulties.
And a therapist in Portugal brought up how social media pressure seems to be contributing to significant anxiety in the young people she knows.
Challenges like this exist pretty much everywhere, don’t they? True, some specific pressures and stressors might be unique to a culture or circumstance. But in many ways, the patterns of mental health challenges are universal.
“It is crucial to remember that we are living—and chose to live—in a fallen world where for divine purposes our pursuit of godliness will be tested and tried again and again,” said President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Understanding this, and knowing that Jesus Christ is the Master Healer, professionals within the Church have created mental health resources to help members connect with hope and help. These resources acknowledge both what we understand scientifically about mental health as well as what we understand spiritually about gospel truths.
Whether or not you currently struggle with feeling emotionally well, these resources are worth exploring. Chances are, someone in your sphere of influence does struggle from time to time. By understanding the situation and what help is available, you will be better equipped to be an answer to their prayers. And you’ll be strengthened in the process.
In the Gospel Library, the Church provides many resources for those who are struggling, as well as for their loved ones and leaders.
In the Gospel Library app, look for a tile labeled “Life Help.” Tap on that to display a variety of topics, including “Mental Health.”
At ChurchofJesusChrist.org, look under “Libraries,” “Life Help,” and “Mental and Emotional Health.”
“Many factors can contribute to mental health challenges—genetics, environment, impairing accidents, life circumstances, and, at times, choices,” states one section. “Regardless of the contributing factors, we can draw strength from the Savior.”
In some languages, you’ll see links to crisis helplines around the world. Many countries now offer free, confidential services through phone calls or text messaging. Ward and branch leaders could encourage members to add these numbers to their list of contacts to be ready to use if they ever feel they are in crisis.
Additionally, this Life Help section shares real-life accounts of those who have found peace despite emotional and mental health challenges.
“One of the hardest things about mental illness is that you feel really isolated and alone,” said Eldon, who was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
Connecting with therapists and medication, accepting love from friends, adjusting expectations, and being willing to embrace the Lord’s help have all been tools that Eldon practices as part of his wellness journey. “You can do more than you could do on your own if you rely on the Savior,” he said.

Mandy’s giving the lesson at the Cooper family home evening.
… so if we listen, the Spirit can tell us if we’re doing something wrong and need to repent.
After the lesson …
Good lesson on repentance, Mandy.
Hey, I heard about a great new ice cream shop. Let’s go there for our treat. I don’t know that neighborhood very well, but the GPS I got for Christmas should get us there.
Cool!
Turn left onto Jackson Street.
I think I know this area after all. If we go past Jackson a couple more streets and then turn, we can avoid some traffic lights.
Uh-oh!
Turn around and proceed to Jackson Street. Then turn right.
Guess I should have listened to that little voice the first time. Well, I’ve listened now, and I can get back on the right track.
Thanks, Dad. You just acted out my repentance lesson!

Emily’s family had spent a wonderful weekend at Grandma’s house, and now it was time to leave. Emily was sad to say good-bye but happy that it was her turn to fly home with Dad in his small airplane while her sisters and brother drove back with Mom in their car. Emily loved flying with Dad. It was so peaceful in the sky. She liked to gaze across the tops of the puffy clouds and pretend that she could jump down onto them and run about.
“We’d better get going,” Dad said. “Although when I turned in my flight plan, the airport official said that we should easily miss the storm coming in, it’s almost dusk. I don’t like to take chances, even on a short flight like this one.”
Emily hugged Grandma good-bye and climbed aboard. Soon they were in the air.
It quickly became dark and began to rain. “Are you OK, Emily?” Dad asked. Emily nodded. The weather was making the flight bumpy, but she did not mind. The bumps made her tummy tickle.
The storm grew worse. Rain pounded the windows, and lightning flashed all around. The little plane bucked and shook. Emily started feeling scared. She knew that Dad must be nervous, too, because he stopped talking to her and concentrated on flying.
Then Emily remembered something she had learned in Primary. Sister Adams had told them that whenever they were afraid, they could pray to Heavenly Father. “Dad, can we have a special prayer to help us get home safely?” she asked.
Dad smiled at her. “I’ve already been praying in my heart. Will you please say a prayer for us out loud?”
Emily closed her eyes and folded her arms. She asked Heavenly Father to bless them to fly safely home and to help her to not be afraid.
“Thank you for praying, Emily,” Dad said. “We should be home in about thirty minutes.”
Emily felt peaceful and calm. The wind and rain continued to lash the plane, and the ride was still bumpy, but she was no longer afraid. Instead, she felt sleepy.
When the wheels of the airplane hit the runway, they made a squeaky sound that awakened her. “We made it, honey,” Dad said. “Let’s go home.”
The next morning when Emily got up, there was a letter by her pillow.
Dear Emily,I wanted to tell you how much I love you. Last night I was afraid. I couldn’t believe that I had taken my little girl with me in such a bad storm. After your sweet prayer, I looked over to see how you were doing. When I saw that you were asleep, an overwhelmingly peaceful feeling came over me. I knew that if you could sleep while the plane was being tossed around in a lightning storm, you must have tremendous faith that we would be OK. Then I, too, had faith that we would be OK. I knew that Heavenly Father was watching over us and that I would be able to fly us home safely. Thank you, Emily, for not only having faith in me, but faith in our Father in Heaven.Love,Dad
Emily felt good inside. She loved Dad and her family so much! She knelt by her bed and thanked Heavenly Father for such a wonderful family and for the gospel. She couldn’t wait to get to school and tell her friends all about her airplane ride in the storm.

Yes, it’s true—a blind postman! His name was Owen Jones, and he delivered the mail for almost twenty-five years.
Owen was born in 1819 in a little village in Wales. When he was just a small boy, he fell into the fireplace, severely burning his face and losing the sight in one eye. When he was about thirty, he lost the sight in his other eye.
At first, he was discouraged and depressed, but before long, his natural, happy disposition returned. He continued to play the violin, and he worked at developing his talents for mimicking voices and telling stories. He learned to accept his blindness without bitterness, and, like many blind people, he developed his other senses.
When the missionaries came to Wales, he and his family were baptized and decided to go to America. He and his brother and sister arrived in New Orleans in 1849 on the ship Hartley. From there they made their way to Utah. Owen settled in Brigham City, a small community about sixty miles north of Salt Lake City, where there were other Welsh pioneers.
The neighbors found him cheerful, sociable, and friendly. He often did small repairs for them, and he made chair seats of rush (a course grass), cane, and rawhide.
He never had any trouble getting around the little town. He had an excellent sense of direction, counted the steps between fences and trees, and listened to the sounds around him.
When the job of postman became available, someone suggested that “Blind Man Jones,” as he was affectionately called, could do it. He was happy for the opportunity to be useful and to earn a steady paycheck.
He did well at his new job. Each day an associate sorted the mail for him and put it in the proper order in his canvas bag. Then away he went. Carrying a long buggy whip in front of him much like blind people nowadays use a white cane, he made his way around the town, delivering the mail. If he was not sure he had the right letters in his hand, he asked homeowners to check and resort them for him.
Owen took his meals with many of the townspeople; they all enjoyed his company and loved to hear stories about his early life in Wales. He spoke English almost as well as his native Welsh, and he was often called on to translate for immigrants who had not yet learned English.
Many children remembered having him in their homes for meals and parties. Owen loved to be a part of these happy times. Sometimes the carpet was rolled up, and the children danced to his violin music. He particularly enjoyed hearing the children’s laughter as they hopped and skipped to the music.
After one evening of dancing and merriment, the host asked his son to walk Owen home. After a block or so, he said to the boy, “You’d better go back; it must be very dark.”
“But what about you?”
“Oh, I can find my way without any trouble. Remember, the world looks the same to me whether it is night or day!”
The children always watched for him, and they took his hand and walked along with him, especially when he came to a small footbridge over a little creek. He probably would have had no trouble getting across, for the bridge had a railing, but he let the children feel that he really needed their help, and they loved it.
Owen never complained, and he never seemed to feel sorry for himself. He often said, “I would much rather lose my eyesight than my hearing. I can laugh and joke with friends, play the violin, and enjoy the music. I can hear the birds and the rushing streams and the other sounds of the world around me. Those are the things that give me joy!”
Owen Jones died of pneumonia in 1894 and was buried in the Brigham City Cemetery. He never married, but he enjoyed the love and affection of all the townspeople just the same as if he had been part of their families. He was an inspiration to all who knew him because he was willing to make the most of his abilities.
“It is not so bad to lose your sight,” he once said. “After all, what counts is what is in your mind!”
We could all learn a thing or two about living from Owen.

Jane’s mother was a wonderful gardener. She could grow beautiful flowers even in a patch of rocky soil. “No matter how tired I get, working in the garden or just looking at a meadow of Maine wildflowers always perks me up,” she had once told Jane.
After Mama got sick, Jane picked flowers for her each day, filling her bedroom with forget-me-nots, daisies, lady’s slippers, and wildflowers of all the colors of the rainbow.
But then autumn came, and there were no more flowers.
“The frost killed the last flowers,” Jane whispered one day as she brought a handful of bright orange and red maple leaves to cheer her mother.
Mama took her hand. “When spring comes, Jane, remember to look at the flowers for me.”
Jane thought that the long Maine winter would never end. The house seemed so cold without Mama. Little Rose and Isaac had been sent away to Aunt Ellen’s. Father was grave and silent.
One day her father said, “Aunt Ellen has found a cousin of your mother’s who can come and keep house for us this spring. If she does, then Rose and Isaac can come home.”
“What’s her name?”
“Kate. Cousin Kate.”
Cousin Kate didn’t look much older than a girl. She was plump and wore her dark red hair in braids piled on top of her head. Rose and Isaac came home. They missed Mama, and so did Jane. But Cousin Kate cuddled Rose and Isaac and made them laugh. Even Papa smiled a little at her funny ways. But Jane still could not laugh.
Finally the beauty of spring touched the world. Mama’s daffodils came up; then the forsythia bushes burst out in bright yellow. There were new leaf buds on the trees. One night Jane caught the sweet scent of lilacs from the bush under her window.
But Jane only wanted to scream and yell at the flowers. How could they be here when Mama was gone?
One morning Kate said, “Jane, we must set about spring cleaning.”
Kate and Jane began a whirlwind of turning over mattresses and shaking out rugs. After the whole house had been cleaned, Kate said, “We haven’t touched your mother’s dresses. Come and help me go through them.”
Reluctantly Jane followed Cousin Kate into her parents’ room. Mama’s dresses still hung in the closet.
“We’ll put some of these dresses aside for you, Jane. Then you’ll have something of hers to wear when you’re grown.”
Kate began to sort through Mama’s dresses. Jane sat on the floor, holding a familiar red wool dress her mother had worn often to church. She felt the tears run down her cheeks and turned toward the window so that Kate wouldn’t see them.
Outside, Papa was just visible near the barn, and Rose and Isaac were playing near the garden. Kate had worked hard in the garden, and it was blooming with the promise of all kinds of flowers and vegetables.
Jane looked down at the dress in her hands. She didn’t want to give it—or any of them—away. They would help her remember Mama during the long, cold winters when there were no flowers. Suddenly she had an idea. “Remember to look at the flowers,” Mama had said. Jane turned to her cousin and said softly, “Kate, could I have one of my mother’s dresses now, before I’m grown?”
Kate stopped and looked at Jane. “These dresses bring her back, do they?”
Jane nodded. “I want to make something to remember her by. I could make a quilt, but I’m not very good at quilting.”
“Did your mama teach you how to make rugs? She made some beautiful ones herself, with appliqué and embroidery.”
“Oh yes! Mama did teach me! I remember she said that if you knew how to make a rug, you could make any house into a home.”
“Well, let’s see,” said Kate, nodding her head. “The red dress you have there would be perfect. Here’s a black wool one too.” She smiled at Jane.
She understands how I feel, thought Jane.
The rug would be made from wool, so it would last. Jane began to plan its design—it must have lots of flowers!
Jane worked on the rug each summer evening. It was big—almost four feet wide and six feet long—perfect for in front of a fireplace or in the kitchen.
She filled the center of the rug with pictures of everything around her that summer: trees, their old cow, birds sitting on their nests in the apple orchard, her father riding his horse to town. She even put in their house, with its two large windows downstairs, four windows upstairs, and two big chimneys. She embroidered a beautiful starflower, and a dozen lovely hearts. In the very center she copied her mother’s favorite vase filled with a bright bouquet.
“You don’t have any more room in the center,” Kate laughed one evening. “Now what will you do for the borders?”
“Vines and more flowers,” Jane said.
“That’s quite a project for an eleven-year-old,” her father observed. “I don’t recall ever seeing anything like it in the whole of Maine.”
“Oh, Papa!”
“Well, in Wiscasset, anyway. It’s sure to win a prize at the Harvest Fair,” he said.
“Jane has put a lot of love and memories into the rug, and it shows,” Cousin Kate agreed.
Jane cut out over one hundred flowers to appliqué around the border. She used her mother’s brightest clothes. She embroidered curving leaves, vines, and flowers trailing up and down the sides of the rug. Each night when she went to bed, she had to shake her hand because her fingers were so tired and sore from holding the needle. But each morning she looked around her more eagerly, wanting to capture the beauty her mother had taught her to see.
Finally it was done. Cousin Kate helped her press it with a warm iron the night before the Harvest Fair.
They took the wagon to the center of Wiscasset to the big churchyard. Quilts and rugs and samplers of all kinds were already displayed.
Jane hesitated.
“Come,” said Cousin Kate, taking her arm. “Let’s enter it.”
“What have we here?” Mrs. Kingsbury asked.
“A rug made by Jane Gove, age eleven,” said Kate proudly, while Jane stood shyly to one side.
In the morning sunlight the bright cloth and the colored threads shone and sparkled on the black wool.
“Why it’s almost like being in a garden! You’re Mary Gove’s oldest, aren’t you? Your mother would be proud!” Mrs. Kingsbury exclaimed.
As they walked around the churchyard, looking at jams and jellies and animals and pumpkins, it was almost like being a family again. Cousin Kate couldn’t ever take Mama’s place, but Jane was glad that she had come to live with them. It was good to see Isaac and Rose laughing again. And Papa seemed to walk with a lighter step. But we haven’t forgotten Mama. She is still in our hearts.
After supper, the winners were announced. After seeing the display of needlework, Jane didn’t really think her rug would win. But suddenly she heard her name!
“For the 1845 Wiscasset Harvest Fair, first prize for needlework, the winner is Miss Jane Gove. This young lady is only eleven years old, but she has created one of the most extraordinary pieces of needlework our judges have ever seen!”
Although Jane grew up and made other rugs for her own family, she always kept this special rug. It stayed in her family for a long time, and finally someone decided that it should be seen by other people as well. It is now recognized as a masterpiece of American folk art and is displayed in the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, California.
As long as she lived, Jane kept the joyful memory of her mother in her heart. And she never forgot to smile each spring when the flowers came back to the gardens and meadows.