Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you of a man Diane and I met in a small village outside of Hyderabad, India, in 2006. This man lived by covenant. Appa Rao Nulu was born crippled. His society taught him that his potential was severely limited. Likely, he could only become a beggar in the streets. However, as a teenager he met missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They taught him of a greater potential, both in this life and in the eternity to come. He was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. With significantly raised vision, he set a goal to become an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood and a full-time missionary. In 1987, he was ordained an elder and called to serve in India, which was then part of the Singapore Mission. Walking was not easy. He did his best using a cane in each hand and fell often, but quitting was never an option. He made a commitment (a covenant) to honorably and devotedly serve a mission, and he did.

When we met Brother Nulu, nearly 20 years after his mission, he cheerfully greeted us where the road ended and led us down an uneven dirt path to the one-room home he shared with his wife and three children. It was a very hot and uncomfortable day, about 110 degrees Fahrenheit. He still walked with great difficulty, but there was no self-pity. Through personal diligence, he has become a teacher, providing schooling for the village children. When we entered his modest house, he anxiously took me to a corner and pulled out a box that contained his most important possessions. He wanted me to see a piece of paper. It read "With good wishes and blessings to Elder Nulu, a courageous and happy missionary; June 25, 1987; Boyd K. Packer." On that occasion when then-Elder Packer was visiting India and speaking to a group of missionaries, he affirmed to Elder Nulu his potential. In essence, what Brother Nulu was doing was telling me he was living true to his covenants.

On this visit to the Nulu home, we were accompanied by the mission president. He was there to interview Brother Nulu, his wife and his children; for the parents to receive their endowments and be sealed, and for the children to be sealed to their parents. We also were able to present them with the financial arrangements for them to travel to the Hong Kong Temple for these ordinances, a gift made possible by generous members of the Church. They wept with joy as their long awaited dream was to be realized.

Weeks later, they arrived in Hong Kong; it was the first airplane ride that any member of the family had ever taken. Their excitement quickly turned to disappointment when immigration officials would not let them enter Hong Kong. Although they had secured visas, a judgment was made by these officials that this family may not return to India. After six hours of being held in a secured room at the airport and repeatedly being told they could not stay in Hong Kong and that they would immediately be sent back to their home country, the Nulus' prayers were answered. An official finally called our Church headquarters in Hong Kong and verified the purpose of the family's trip and a guarantee was made that they would return to India. They were allowed into Hong Kong based on the goodwill the Church had established. Imagine the emotion of working so hard to reach a goal and then to have it seemingly denied, only then to have it granted.

With that backdrop, the next day the Nulus entered the temple. In the Lord's divine management, Diane (the only person they knew in Hong Kong besides me) was working in the temple that day. When Sister Nulu unexpectedly saw Diane, she tightly embraced her and sobbed with joy. Diane was able to serve as Sister Nulu's escort during the endowment and she observed the sealing of this faithful couple and then the children to their parents. Their happiness was unspeakable. This represented an accomplishment of deep and abiding significance.

At least I thought I would have peace. Instead, I faced insults and rejection. Slanderous speculations circulated about my reasons for leaving the convent. Frustrated and filled with feelings of worthlessness, I became confused and decided on the most deplorable course of action—taking my own life.
On 21 November 1995 I wandered down a street, with thoughts of suicide filling my mind and tears running down my cheeks, when I happened upon a church building. Trying to keep my tears private and find some relief from my pain, I entered the building. Inside, I came upon a bulletin board. I was surprised to see a friendly and warm illustration of the Savior, accompanied by words so simple and understandable that I was instantly captivated. It was the Christ I had been searching for. Without realizing it, I had stopped weeping.
A few minutes later a kind woman asked if she could help. Not knowing what to say, I blurted out, “What is this church about?” She started to explain, and suddenly tears came to my eyes again. I told her, embarrassed, that I needed a friend. At that moment her husband joined us, and I told them of my sorrow. They said they knew a Friend who had all the answers—Jesus Christ—and they invited me to learn more about Him and our Heavenly Father’s plan. Without hesitation, I agreed.
For 10 days I met with this loving and kind missionary couple. They never pressured me, just shared their testimonies and taught me. They also shared one of the greatest gifts we can receive—the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ. I read it, studied it, and put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moro. 10:3–5). The Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. What had been mysteries to me became clear. I knew who the Lord was and how to serve Him. Two sister missionaries taught me the missionary discussions, and I was baptized on 3 December 1995.

I began law practice in September 1990 in Seattle, Washington. I had not yet taken a bar examination, mostly because when I left law school for a judicial clerkship in San Diego, I hadn’t yet decided where I wanted to practice law and I certainly wasn’t eager to take the bar exam twice. What this meant is that, once I started working at my law firm, from September until May of the next year, I would not be able to appear in court or sign any court pleadings. In all of my correspondence with opposing counsel my signature read: “James R. Rasband, not yet admitted to the bar.”

That fall, soon after I started, I was approached by a partner to handle an “unlawful detainer” case. He said it was an “ideal” opportunity for a young associate. The basic idea of an unlawful detainer is that a tenant who is in possession of a leased property refuses to pay rent or leave the premises. This particular case involved a western wear store in a small town about 100 miles east of Seattle. As I recall, the tenant had not paid rent in over a year and the landlord had decided he needed the help of the legal system.

These are straightforward cases, but everything took me a great deal of time because I was so new. I puzzled over every step and would have preferred not to bill most of my time because much of it was wasted. The partner in charge, however, told me to write down all of my time and that he would write off what was unnecessary once the case was resolved.

One early puzzle I remember was filing what is called a “motion to shorten time.” Basically, a motion to shorten time—as the title suggests—is a request for the court to shorten the amount of time normally required for a particular legal procedure. I’d never heard of a motion to shorten time. I read the rules. I thought about the equity. I went to look at cases. I used my Harvard Law training to think about the theory behind motions to shorten time. I can’t recall precisely, but I probably spent 5 hours on that motion to shorten time. Later, I would learn that all I needed to do was call out to my secretary and have her prepare the motion for my signature. It was probably a 30 minute task.

The motion to shorten time was not the only task that took me more time than an experienced attorney. I was young and learning.

In any event, the case moved forward and we succeeded. It was certainly not a triumph of brilliant lawyering on my part. It’s not too difficult to prove unlawful detainer where the defendant has failed to pay rent for at least a year on a commercial lease.

Once the case was over, the Washington statute under which we proceeded allowed us to seek attorneys fees. The partner in charge told me to draft the motion and seek fees from the other side. Knowing how long everything had taken me, I was a bit queasy. We cut back the request some but plainly not enough because I will never forget the response from opposing counsel.

Opposing counsel dissected the fee request and my billing statements line by line. The motion to shorten time, he said, could be prepared by a reasonably competent attorney in 30 minutes, but it took “James R. Rasband, not yet admitted to the bar,” and he quoted, five hours. And so it went, this task or that task could have been performed by a reasonably competent attorney in X hours, but it took “James R. Rasband, not yet admitted to the bar,” Y hours.

By the time of the fee request, I had been admitted to the bar, much to the surprise of my opposing counsel. Unfortunately, that meant I was fully capable of arguing the fee motion to the court. I headed over to the small town to take my whipping. As luck would have it, the opposing counsel had filed his response brief late and court refused to consider it. The judge, who had done many, many unlawful detainer cases, assigned a reasonable fee and we were done.

Here I was, after three years of law school and one year of working for a judge on the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit, and yet I was still learning and still feeling inadequate. So, what is my point with this rather long story? It is that almost every important undertaking in our lives will be hard and stressful when we begin. When you serve a mission, the first couple of weeks in the MTC are usually stressful. If you are assigned to learn a language, your first couple of months will be humbling. When you start graduate school, it will likely feel like everyone around you is smarter—that is certainly how it felt for me. When you start anything new, don’t be worried or ashamed that your first effort takes longer. If you work hard, the task will almost always become easier. Your early struggles at a job or in graduate school will turn to competence and confidence. The initial feelings of inadequacy that almost always accompany missionary service will give way to joy and peace. There is no other way to learn than by our experience.

Are you in the right place, or have you pegged yourself? One young girl was getting into her mid-twenties and without opportunity. I urged her to move from the home that she shared with several older girls, leave the office as stenographer, and go to college where she would meet people of the right age. Sometime later I happened one day to be on that campus, and here she came to me, bubbling like a fresh new breeze, with a bright ribbon tying her hair and an optimistic and happy personality. A few months later I was invited to a temple marriage. It may not always work that well, but it did in this case.

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.

It was dusk as my mother and I drove to my grandparents’ home. I stared out the window, lost in my own thoughts.
“Pretty sunset,” my mother commented.
“Mmmm,” I mumbled in agreement, seeing the glorious sunset for the first time.
“Do you know what Davy says?” she asked me. I turned toward her, suddenly interested. Eloise, my mother’s best friend, had died two years earlier after battling cancer. She left behind four children. The youngest was seven-year-old Davy.
“He says sunsets make him think about his mother,” she said, choking back tears. “He says it’s just like she’s smiling at him.”
I turned my attention to the evening sky. Davy’s words brought me a new perspective. The sunset was now more than a swirl of reds and yellows making intricate and beautiful patterns in the sky. It was a reminder of Eloise and others who had passed on and their love for those they had left behind.
As we drove on in silence, I watched the sunset fade into night. I was suddenly more aware of the beauty of the trees, the stars, the moon, and the clouds. I am thankful to Heavenly Father for the beautiful gifts he gives us every day. And I am thankful for a wise young boy who can see Heavenly Father’s love in something as simple as a sunset.

An older brother, Chris, had previously been baptized, but the rest of the family did not follow. While serving a mission, Chris requested that the elders back home visit Bien, who was taught and soon accepted baptism. But as Bien started high school, other pursuits—including a new group of friends—made church seem less attractive.

“My brother could not force me to go,” says Bien, “and I resisted attempts to reactivate me.” But despite good grades and many friends, Bien felt empty and aimless at times. He remembered how happy people at church were, and he finally decided to return.
After graduating with honors from high school, Bien studied political science at the Christian College of the Philippines. “We were talking in class about earthquakes,” Bien remembers, “laughing about getting caught in one.” Suddenly, the whole classroom swayed. It was an earthquake.
Terrified, everyone scrambled to escape. The building was dancing madly. Just as Bien was about to dash to safety through an open door, he was pinned by an avalanche of concrete.
“A broken chair jabbed at my stomach, one of my legs was in a half-kneeling posture, and I was face-down,” he remembers. His fractured right arm bled profusely under a block of collapsed flooring. Yet, incredibly, a huge chunk of fallen concrete had barely missed his head. “Classmates were crying for help, but I couldn’t budge,” Bien recalls. One by one they died, including three lying on Bien. The quake struck in late afternoon, and by evening it was pitch dark. Everything was silent.
“I cried,” Bien admits. But as he wept, a Primary song crossed his mind. He started singing “I Am a Child of God.” As each word pierced the silence, a feeling of peace came, a feeling that he was no longer alone. “I prayed, saying, ‘Father, if I still need to live, then please let me live.’” As he prayed, Bien remembered the Savior. “He suffered a lot more than I did,” Bien realized. The cave-in became a tremendous spiritual experience.
As the sun rose the following morning, so did Bien’s hopes. Rescue workers pried him from the rubble and carried him to safety. His relieved family was notified. Bien was rushed to a hospital. Doctors immediately amputated his right arm. “I woke up, looked at my right side and cried out, ‘What’s happening here?’ I thought I was dreaming.” Shock turned to sorrow. “I felt so lonely because I might not be able to do what I used to do.”
After three bedridden months, Bien went home. Nearly all of his 50 classmates had perished. It seemed the same thing happened to Bien’s will to live. How could he, a right-handed person, manage with just his left arm?
While tutoring his nephews one day, Bien felt prompted to practice writing the alphabet. At first it was pure frustration. “My mind knew the shapes, but my hand had difficulty following.” However, practice makes perfect; less than a year after that fateful day, Bien was not only writing with ease, but was also oil painting again. And he resumed college.
After a year, he felt it was time to make use of his newfound strength and serve a mission. His family was aghast. “We’d really worry about you,” his mother protested.
“I know this is what the Lord wants,” Bien reassured her.
Months later, as a missionary, Bien received a family letter. “Don’t worry about us,” they wrote. “We’re boasting about you already.”
Bien’s personality affects just about everybody. At the Manila Missionary Training Center he was an inspiration, and his dedication has touched the Santa Maria Branch. But Bien admits there are still some challenges, like forgoing basketball and missing service projects like harvesting rice.
One of Bien’s favorite scriptures says God “will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will … also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13). It’s a scripture that helps Bien see everything as a learning experience.
Mission life, he says, “is like a school where I learn much, not only about the gospel but also about myself.” He hastens to add that it was in the rubble of another school where he learned to trust Heavenly Father.
Ask Bien to sum up his blessings, and he’ll share his motto: “I asked God for health that I might do great things, and I was given an infirmity that I might do greater things.”

Then he’ll smile and extend his friendship to you—with a warm, left-handed handshake.

Eliza smiled as she walked back to her seat. Sharing her testimony in sacrament meeting had made butterflies flutter in her stomach. But she’d also felt the Holy Ghost, and that made it worth it.
After sacrament meeting, Bishop Baldry walked over to Eliza and her family.
“Thanks for sharing your testimony today, Eliza,” the bishop said. “It was really great.”
Eliza felt her cheeks get warm. “Thanks!”
“Would you be willing to give a short talk about family history next week?”
“Um—” Eliza’s heart started racing.
“Eliza, you love family history!” Dad said. “That’d be the perfect topic for you.”
“I don’t know,” Eliza said, looking down at her shoes. “It’s hard enough to say my testimony. I don’t think I could stand up there and give a talk.”
“That’s OK,” the bishop said. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He smiled as he walked away.
Dad patted Eliza’s shoulder. “I think you’d give a great talk about family history. If you change your mind, I could help you get ready and practice. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel as nervous.”
Mom nodded. “And Heavenly Father would help you too.”
Eliza thought about standing up in front of everyone. Those butterflies in her stomach started to flutter again.
Then she thought about family history, and she felt more peaceful. Maybe she could give a talk next week.
“OK,” Eliza said. “Where’s the bishop?”
That week, Eliza spent a long time writing her talk. She learned about the prophet Elijah. She learned how, when we get excited about doing family history, we call that feeling “the spirit of Elijah.” My name sounds kind of like Elijah, she thought. She added that as a joke to begin her talk.
But what if no one laughed at her joke? What if she talked too fast? What if she got tongue-tied and couldn’t talk at all?
Her dad helped her practice all week. He got out the broom for a pretend microphone. The first time Eliza read her talk out loud, she couldn’t stop laughing at her joke. But she kept practicing until she could give her whole talk without messing up or going too fast.
On Sunday, Eliza sat on the stand in the chapel. Her heart thumped as she watched the room fill up. She prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help her feel calm.
After the sacrament was over, Eliza heard the bishop say her name. Her legs wobbled as she walked to the microphone. She took a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Eliza. My talk is about family history. I was asked to give this talk because I have the spirit of Eliza—I mean, the spirit of Elijah.” People smiled, and some even laughed.
The butterflies fluttered in her stomach while she spoke. But Eliza also felt the Holy Ghost helping her along. Finally, her first talk was almost over! “I’m glad I got to share my love for family history with you. I know that when I do family history, I am helping people who died without learning about the gospel. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

During an early period in my college life I worked two jobs to meet needs at home and to keep alive my dreams of a mission. One of those jobs was at a repair shop for vacuum machines. We worked on motors and chassis and parts and then prettied them up and sent them home. One model then in vogue had a black Bakelite top, a heavy plastic cover, for ­the motor. It was breakable.

During my first hour on the job, the manager of the shop came out from his office in his business suit to reinforce the instruction I had just had from a senior benchman. M. K. Bradford, who is still living, took off his jacket, turned on the powerful buffing wheel, put some compound on it, grasped this black Bakelite top strongly in his big hands, and buffed it into shiny beauty without a word. Then he cautioned me for a moment about catching an edge, a sharp edge, on the wheel, explaining that the wheel was very powerful and that I should wear ­protective goggles and be cautious.

He went back to his office. I turned to the wheel, applied the compound, forgot the glasses, grasped an unpolished top strongly in my then-athletic hands, and put it to the wheel. The wheel accepted it quickly, tore it from my too tenuous grasp, turned it into a flying mass of tiny sharp parts, and spit it back in my face. I went to the sink, washed the blood away from many small cuts, checked my eyesight, clenched my teeth, and headed back for the wheel.

M. K. Bradford came from his office, checked my wounds to assure himself there was no serious damage, gave me no comfort—in fact, said nothing—took off his jacket, put compound on the wheel, picked up another unpolished Bakelite top, grasped it strongly in his big hands, and burnished the top to shiny brilliance. He then picked up his coat and walked back into his office. He said not a word, then or ever. I went back and began to buff tops and do the work. In the many months I worked at that shop before my mission, I did not lose another Bakelite top.

In September 2006 members in the Bristol England Stake worked within their community to improve a struggling community farm. In one day members were able to work on a wheelchair access path; paint; dig; clean; and build educational toys, bird boxes, and feeders for the farm. More than 2,500 hours of service were given, and the improvement was noticeable. The local mayor visited the farm, expressed his gratitude, and said how impressed he was with what had been accomplished.

Shelley and I began buying basic foods for our home storage in January 1977 and continued to purchase bit by bit until we were married in April of that year. Prior to our wedding, we stored the food at my parents’ home.
Shelley wore the leather band as a wedding ring for a long time while I finished undergraduate studies and then dental school. Over the course of pursuing education, our family moved many times. We became accustomed to lugging buckets of wheat from apartment to apartment, house to house, and city to city. Our friends started to avoid us every time we moved, but in later years, we felt profound gratitude for having followed the counsel of Church leaders.
When I graduated from dental school and began a dental practice, Shelley and I had two children and literally no funds. Gratefully, we were able to live on part of what we had acquired in food storage just before our marriage. Our obedience to prophetic counsel blessed our lives again more than a decade after we were married, when I had completed more schooling and was in an orthodontic residency. We were again out of money, and instead of paying for groceries with credit cards or borrowed funds, we were blessed to be able to feed our family (which now included four children) from our supply.

President Monson tells the story of a retired executive named Ed who lived the example of a quorum member. On one occasion President Monson was speaking with Ed and asked him, “‘Ed, what are you doing in the Church?’ He replied, ‘I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.’” President Monson continues, “Short in stature, ‘Little Ed,’ as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.”2

“Before I joined the Church,” says Bernabé Pardo, another recent convert, “the only friends I had were people who would go out to drink. But now that I am a member, I have many friends—real friends. They invite me to read the Book of Mormon with them. They invite me over for family home evening. They serve each other. I have gone on service projects with them. My life is completely different now. I have received many, many blessings. I pay my tithing, and the Lord has blessed me.”

Even though she was 90 years old, Aletha Gilbert of the Lakeview Ward, Bountiful Utah Central Stake, loved to invite her family over for family home evening. Before her death in 2002, Aletha wrote of these special home evenings: “I make sure I have a supply of pens or pencils, writing paper, and envelopes. Sometimes I address the envelopes in advance. We each write a message to missionaries in the family and ward. What fun! Everyone likes this idea—the one who sends it and the one who receives it.”

A missionary district leader was wondering why Elder Parker, who was about to conclude his mission, was successful in spite of his inability to memorize the discussions. To understand, he teamed with Elder Parker to give a discussion. Elder Parker’s presentation was so disorganized that by the end of the formal lesson, the district leader was confused and surmised that the family being taught felt the same way.

It was then that “Elder Parker leaned forward and put his hand on the arm of the family’s father. He then looked him straight in the eyes, told him how much he loved him and his family, and bore one of the most humble and powerful testimonies that the district leader had ever heard. By the time he finished, every member of the family, including the father, and both elders had tears running down their cheeks. Next, Elder Parker taught the father how to pray, and they all knelt down while the father prayed that they might receive testimonies of their own and thanked Heavenly Father for the great love that he felt. Two weeks later the whole family was baptized.”

Later, Elder Parker apologized to his district leader for not knowing the discussions. He said he struggled with memorization, even though he spent hours each day working on it. He said that he knelt in prayer before teaching each family and asked Heavenly Father to bless him when he bore his testimony so that people would feel his love and the Spirit and know they were being taught the truth (see Allan K. Burgess and Max H. Molgard, “That Is the Worst Lesson I’ve Ever Heard!” in Sunshine for the Latter-day Saint Soul [1998], 181–83).

A couple of months ago, we were heading home from Church to go eat lunch. As we were biking, a woman sitting near the roadside, called out to us. We pulled our bikes over to her to see what she needed. She introduced herself as Florence and asked us if our Church prays for people. She was thinking in the ways of healing, not just in general. We explained a little bit about how the Church is run but told her we didn’t really pray about people in Church. She then explained to us that she was a single mother to a young boy.
She said that her son was almost 4 years old and couldn’t walk or talk. She talked about how she had taken him to many different places to try and heal him from his sickness. We listened to her and responded by teaching about priesthood blessings. She then asked us if that was something we could give to her son. We agreed and followed her to her house to meet her little boy.
On arrival, we met her little boy. She told us his name was Edem and showed us a little bit of his skills. He was able to crawl well and was very flexible. He made some noises but could not speak words. She also showed us that he could walk a little if you held his hands. After some talking, we had him sit down on a stool so we could give him a quick priesthood blessing. We blessed him that he would continue to develop and gain strength in the Lord’s due time.
After the blessing, we thanked his mother and told her we would come back soon. Every so often, over the next couple months we checked up on Edem and his mom to see how they were doing. Each time Edem seemed to be just like before, happy and curious. We also noticed that he was able to walk a little easier just by holding onto one of his hands. After a few weeks we visited again. This time around we found Edem playing in the sand with his mom nearby. She seemed happy and told us she wanted to show us something. She had us sit and watch as she stood Edem up on his two feet. After holding him up for a second, to help him balance, she let go. With no help, Edem began to walk! One little step in front of the other, he began to make his way across the sand. We were amazed.
It was so amazing to see this young boy making progress. We knew the Lord was helping Edem.
We know the Lord truly has power and does works wonders for us in these days. Miracles may not be instantaneous, but they are a work in progress.

Over the last hours I have come to understand other blessings from “always remembering him.” I thought of a family in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I met years ago: a father, mother, and two teenage daughters who belonged to no church but read the Bible together every day. They pondered the Savior’s life and his words. When we found them they had decided that Christ would have a church and that they should find it. They knew that it would have prophets and apostles at its foundation because that is what Christ had left in his church in the meridian of time. They knew that the resurrected Lord had appeared to his Apostles.
And so when we testified that God the Father and his Son, the Savior of the world, came to a boy prophet, Joseph Smith, that seemed right to them. When they heard us testify that Peter, James, and John appeared and restored priesthood, they knew that would have to have happened. And the Holy Spirit, which they also recognized, told them it was true. I realized sometime last night or early this morning that they recognized the truth—that this is the Church of Jesus Christ—in large part because they had always remembered him. Every day they had gathered to read about him and his words, and so they remembered him. And after they were baptized they were ready to follow the living prophet because they knew the Savior always speaks to his prophets to bless his people.

Abby: Hayley was 10 and I was 6 when we started.
Hayley: At first it was kind of scary because we had to audition. McKay started a little while after Abby and I began recording. Then came our brother Jacob, who still just reads for the Friend because he’s 10.
When my voice was younger I only used to read the Friend. Now I read both the Friend and New Era. We’ve all gotten better over time at enunciating things well and at making our voices go up and down to keep the sentences from all sounding the same.

At the October 1856 general conference, President Brigham Young (1801–77) announced that handcart pioneers were still crossing the plains and that everyone was to help gather supplies for them immediately. Lucy Meserve Smith wrote that women “stripped off their petticoats [large underskirts], stockings, and every thing they could spare, right there in the Tabernacle, and piled [them] into the wagons.”

As the rescued pioneers began to arrive in Salt Lake City, Lucy wrote, “I never took more … pleasure in any labor I ever performed in my life, such a unanimity of feeling prevailed. I only had to go into a store and make my wants known; if it was cloth, it was measured off without charge.”4

After the divorce, I realized I couldn’t use my parents’ marriage as a model for my own future marriage. For a while I didn’t know what a strong, happy marriage looked like. Then, a few years after my parents’ divorce, I started noticing the big differences between their marriage and marriages in which the spouses truly loved and liked each other.
To counterbalance the negativity of my parents’ marriage, Heavenly Father has blessed me with an abundance of “power couples” in my extended family—aunts and uncles and grandparents who have very strong marriages. Whenever I’m at family gatherings or visiting relatives, I watch these couples closely, noting things they do or have that I want in my own future marriage. One uncle easily and habitually slips his arm around his wife’s shoulders and jokes with her in whispers. An aunt always takes time out of her busy schedule to talk with her husband when he gets home from work. And another couple does almost everything together.
There’s romantic love: sweet kisses (often in public), affectionate nicknames, and holding hands. But there’s also deep friendship: humble apologies, good-natured laughter, and impressive teamwork. They understand that, as Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, “the first element of divine love … is its kindness, its selfless quality, its lack of ego and vanity and consuming self-centeredness.”1 These friendships have developed over time as both spouses continually live the principles of the gospel—treating each other with Christlike kindness and respect. They seem to live President Russell M. Nelson’s counsel that “marriages would be happier if nurtured more carefully.”2 Through these fantastic examples of friendship-based marriages, I have seen that liking my future husband will be as important as loving him.