Gospel Story Finder

While riding the bus on a school field trip, I was sitting in front of a girl who kept making rude comments and jokes that made me feel uncomfortable. My teachers and other students told her to stop, but she kept going. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to pull out my iPod and listen to some of my favorite music.
I turned it on shuffle and one of the first songs that came on was a song from lds.org/youth/music. I was about to skip over it when something inside told me that I should just listen to the music. I kept listening to inspirational music for the next 20 minutes. The lyrics encouraged me to hold on, and they reminded me that I was a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father.
I know that music can have a profound influence in our lives. I know that listening to the inspirational music on my iPod a couple of days before had helped give me the courage I needed to leave the dance. These experiences helped me get much closer to my Heavenly Father.

Ordained an Apostle in 1882 when he was only 25 years old, Heber worried that he was not capable or worthy of the trust that had been placed in him. While on a visit to Native Americans in Arizona, he left his companions to pray and meditate about the matter. He later explained that while he was alone he “seemed to see” a council on the other side of the veil. The council was discussing who should fill two vacancies in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Heber’s father and the Prophet Joseph Smith proposed Heber’s name. That satisfied Heber’s concerns. “It was also given to me,” Heber said, “that that was all these men … could do for me; from that day it depended upon me and upon me alone as to whether I made a success of my life or a failure.”10

Because of our financial needs, my father expected me to help earn money for the family. I wanted to serve a mission, but when I turned 19 years old, he asked that I wait one year to serve my mission so I could continue working to help my family. When I turned 20 years old, he asked that I wait another year to serve.
Just before I turned 21 years old, he wanted to request that I wait one more year. But my mother told him, “Let him go serve, and it will bless us.” This really happened. Before my mission, only a younger brother and I had worked to help support the family. As soon as I went on my mission, two more of my brothers and my two oldest sisters started working, so my family did better financially.

Last summer I received a letter from a woman who has emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She is ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet is not a member of the Church, to share the joy she now feels.
She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”
After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Tyler moved to the front seat next to his father. Dad asked him what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”
“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”
Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see his face?” Nothing else needed to be said.
As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah: “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

Like Naomi, Eunice learned the importance of good friends.
Before Eunice joined the Church, she was very shy. When she received a calling to serve as Young Women class president in her ward, she was hesitant to accept the call. But she trusted the Lord and accepted the calling.
Although she was shy, Eunice didn’t wait for others to come to her. She made the first move to make friends with other youth. Eunice says, “This is one of the blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ—having eternal friends who will endure with you in the covenant path and help you live the gospel.”
God sends friends to help us in hard times. Like Naomi and Eunice, you can reach out to others and serve them.

Deacons and others of the Aaronic Priesthood who perform today this sacred service, please know this to be a sacred duty. I recall that as a bishop, one morning the boys in the ward over which I presided had assembled—sleepy-eyed, a bit disheveled, and mildly complaining about arising so early to fulfill their assignment. Not a word of reproof was spoken, but during the following week we escorted the boys to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City for a guided tour. They saw firsthand a lame sister operating the telephone switchboard, an older man stocking shelves, women arranging clothing to be distributed—even a blind person placing labels on cans of food. Here were individuals earning their sustenance through their contributed labors. A penetrating silence came over the boys as they witnessed how their effort each month helped to collect the sacred fast offering funds which aided the needy and provided employment for those who otherwise would be idle.
From that hallowed day forward, we no longer had to urge our deacons with regard to collecting fast offerings. On fast Sunday mornings, they were present at 7:00 a.m., dressed in their Sunday best, anxious to do their duty as holders of the Aaronic Priesthood. No longer were they simply distributing and collecting envelopes. They were helping to provide food for the hungry and shelter for the homeless—all after the way of the Lord. Their smiles were more frequent, their pace more eager, their very souls more subdued. Perhaps now they were marching to the beat of a different drummer; perhaps now they better understood the classic passage, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

“A parade up and down the blocks to see what was beneath each tree was an annual Christmas tradition for the children in our neighborhood. How parents permitted such a desecration of the day, such a trial-by-comparison trauma, I can’t understand. But year after year the parade persisted.
“The gifts beneath the trees in the homes of my friends were as different as the income and situation, as the taste and concern for the celebration would allow. And in the difference there was always pain for somebody.
“There was a friend in that pitiful parade whose father gave her a pair of shoes every year. Period. Shoes. Every year he would choose them himself without her counsel, and every year they’d be sturdy enough to last forever, ugly enough to ruin a girl’s chances at life. She hated them of course, and we hated him for what it did to her. Christmas after Christmas. Each year I told her they were okay, cute, neat, or great (whatever was the appropriate vernacular of that year), hoping against hope it would help.
“Then there was a girl who didn’t even get a gift as grand as shoes. Except for maybe an apron her aunt made, she seldom received anything at all. As we neared her house, she’d begin talking grandly about how she had all her gifts put away already. There was no point in even going to her house, she’d insist. But everybody else persisted just the same.
“‘Let’s go to your house last,’ I’d suggest, hoping we’d all have to go home by then. And sometimes it worked.
“I loved this friend with a protective passion and gave her the best gift on my list. And each year I told her that all I wanted was a bottle of her mom’s applesauce. And that’s what she gave me, ribbon tied.
“I think of that each canning season now, wondering why my own applesauce never tastes like the memory.”

Rebecca Swain Williams heard several Book of Mormon witnesses in Ohio beginning in 1830. She bore her testimony to her father and brothers: “I have heard the same story from several of the [Smith] family and from the three witnesses themselves. I heard them declare in public meeting that they saw a Holy Angel come down from heaven and brought the plates and laid them before their eyes.”

When her family members rejected her testimony, Rebecca did not cower. She continued to love them, pray for them, and value her father’s good counsel. She also continued to testify to him that the Book of Mormon witnesses told the truth: “They are men of good character and their word is believed. … They have seen an angel of God and conversed with him.”2

In the late 1830s, a period of widespread dissent in the Church, Rebecca remained faithful, choosing to abide by the precepts of the Book of Mormon.3

For the first time in 27 years, members of the Lakepa-Toi Branch travelled 2,484 kilometres away from their island home to worship together at the Hamilton New Zealand Temple in January 2023.
Individuals and families saved, raised funds, offered many prayers and fasted to make the trip possible.
They also participated in family history research, gathering information for 120 deceased loved ones.
In the temple, the Niue members acted in the place of their loved ones to receive baptism and other sacred temple ordinances.
Timothy Wilson, president of the Lakepa-Toi Branch, said, “It was great to see so many of our branch members . . . doing sacred work for those who have passed on.”
He added, “We felt so close to our Saviour Jesus Christ in the temple. It was spiritually uplifting for me, for the members of the branch who have been away from the temple for so long, and for our youth who were experiencing the temple for the first time.”

The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

Skaidr?te is one of the happiest people I have ever met. Her life seems picture perfect. But as a child she lived with her alcoholic mother, who was incapable of caring for her and her sister. Skaidr?te held her sister as she died of starvation. Starting at age eight, Skaidr?te lived in a series of foster homes. She was kicked, beaten, and forbidden to pray. She was treated like a slave. Over the years, she contemplated suicide.
Years later, searching for hope, Skaidr?te entered an LDS meetinghouse.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
Skaidr?te Bokuma of the Kurzeme Region, Latvia, started work when she was young. She was eight years old, living in what was known at the time as the Soviet Union.
“My mother was divorced,” Skaidr?te says. “She became an alcoholic. I had a father, but he was sent to Siberia. We had lived in a village but the government sent us to live in an apartment. We were often without food. I was holding my younger sister’s hand when she died of starvation. We were in such a poor situation that my mother sent me to the countryside to become a shepherd.”
That was when Skaidr?te started working full-time.
She lived like a slave. “Whatever I was told, I had to do—gather wood, milk the goat, put the animals in their shelter for the night.” She was allowed to go to school for only one winter.
The lady who owned the sheep farm taught Skaidr?te about God. “She said that He sees everything you do, so you shouldn’t lie,” she recalls. “And she taught me some basic principles. For example, when I lost something I would pray for help to find it.”
If Skaidr?te wasn’t listening or did something wrong, the farm owner told her husband to beat the young girl. “He didn’t like to do that. So he would hide me and say, ‘Pretend I’m beating you.’ I would try not to laugh.” After a while, however, she was regularly beaten and kicked. She didn’t laugh anymore.
After two years, Skaidr?te was called back from the countryside. She and her younger brother were sent to a foster home to receive vocational education. As she learned to sew, Skaidr?te also worked on the school farm. She earned a little money by pulling weeds and milking cows, money that enabled her to occasionally visit her two living sisters in an effort to hold her family together.
In the foster house, when Skaidr?te kneeled by her bed at night, others would make fun of her and remind her that prayer was forbidden. “If there was a God,” they said, “you wouldn’t be in a foster home. You’d have a nice family.” They convinced her to stop believing.
After five years at the school, Skaidr?te went to work in a clothing factory. She was a good seamstress, skilled but not fast. Others laughed at her and said she was avoiding work. Because she was slow, she wasn’t paid much. She became discouraged. She even contemplated suicide.
Then a new factory opened and Skaidr?te moved there. This factory emphasized quality rather than speed, and because her skill was apparent, Skaidr?te was selected to oversee the other seamstresses. It was a perfect situation.
Skaidr?te married in 1969 but didn’t have children until her only child, a son, was born in 1981. By the time the boy was eight, Skaidr?te once again felt the need for religion in her life. Her mother-in-law often said, “You don’t laugh about God. Even if you don’t believe, you can respect.”
Skaidr?te still carried emotional scars inflicted by her mother’s alcoholism. She hated being around others at weddings and celebrations where they drank alcohol. Impressed by a relative of her mother-in-law who never drank, Skaidr?te started attending his church. “I was in church,” she says, “but I wasn’t getting to know God.” For 10 more years she floundered, but her desire to find her Heavenly Father persisted, even as her own husband and son both slipped into alcoholism. She divorced and her husband and son moved far away. Again, dark thoughts arose. Was suicide an answer?
In 1999, Skaidr?te was looking for a church. She saw a building with a sign that said The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a weekday, but she opened the door and went inside.
“There was a sister missionary. When I walked in, she was smiling—a very open smile. I thought there was somebody behind me. Then I realized that smile was for me, and I smiled back. I felt like I was meeting a best friend, long not seen.
“She was the one who introduced me to the Church. I had never met anyone like the missionaries. I felt like they were angels, literally come from heaven to earth.
“Basically from that day, everything changed in my life.”
Skaidr?te stopped going to her previous church, even though people there warned her she would find bad things in this new Church. “I told them if there was something bad, I would stop going,” Skaidr?te says, “But there was nothing but good to find.” That was 17 years ago.
Today, Skaidr?te, age 71, is so happy and full of life that it’s hard to believe that hasn’t always been the case.
“When I first saw that sister missionary, when I found the Church for the first time, since that day all the thoughts of suicide were gone. There were no thoughts of life being dark. In spite of everything, I am positive. Life is beautiful to me.”
See more about Skaidr?te’s journey from tragedy to faith at lds.org/go/41740.
Find other Portraits of Faith in the Media Library.
Learn more about preventing suicide at lds.org/go/41738.
Skaidr?te is so happy and full of life, it’s hard to imagine that for years she struggled with depression and thoughts of suicide. “Now I have the gospel,” she says. “Life is beautiful for me.”
While investigating the Church, Skaidr?te asked many questions. “As I did, I found answer after answer,” she says.
Despite the emotional scars left from her childhood, Skaidr?te finds joy in reaching out to others.
Years ago, when others warned her about investigating the Church, she told them there was nothing but good to find.
Skaidr?te strives to walk in God’s light and rely on His strength. When she prays, she says, she feels that Heavenly Father is answering, “Put your burdens on me.”
The first time Skaidr?te entered a Church building, a sister missionary greeted her with a smile. Skaidr?te was so impressed with the missionaries of the Church that she accepted an invitation to attend meetings. Today, Skaidr?te smiles all the time.
Find other Portraits of Faith in the Media Library.
To find out more about preventing suicide, visit lds.org/go/41738.

When Jamie learned of her husband’s pornography use, she reacted with an understandable desire to control whatever she could. She thought she could arrange the life of her husband, Jon, so he wouldn’t seek instant gratification through pornography, and he would, therefore, have no other option but to choose righteousness. She wrote daily lists for him: what he could do for fun and what chores he needed to complete.
A pivotal moment in Jamie’s journey came when her bishop was inspired to emphasize, “Jamie, this is not your fault. Nothing you are doing is making him look at pornography. He is choosing.” And just as she was not the cause of his looking at pornography, she also could not be the cause of his stopping. Intellectually, she already knew what the bishop told her, but Jamie says that after the bishop’s reminder, “the lists stopped. I gave up trying to control his behavior and trying to force him into righteousness—and I focused on myself.” In effect, Jamie gave herself permission to feel her own hurt and to work on her own recovery.
After Jamie’s realization, Jon struggled and relapsed often, but he took responsibility for his own actions. And as they each worked on their own healing, Jon and Jamie found that they could heal better as individuals and as a couple.
Another turning point for Jamie and Jon came when one of their children needed a blessing. They called their home teacher, who bravely explained that he was seeking help to deal with his own struggles with pornography. He offered to find someone else to give the blessing. That openness lessened the shame Jon and Jamie felt about their own situation, and Jon finally felt safe enough to discuss his addiction with someone besides Jamie.
When the home teacher’s wife offered to talk with Jamie, Jamie didn’t see the point since her talking wouldn’t fix Jon—and at that point, fixing him was her goal. Yet after she and the home teacher’s wife visited, Jamie felt lighter. Nothing had changed. Jon still struggled, but she was relieved that someone else knew what she was going through and her world hadn’t come crashing down.
Well into their journey of overcoming pornography, Jon and Jamie discovered how helpful it was to set boundaries, and they still have them today—even after a good amount of sobriety—because of the peace of mind that boundaries provide. Jamie says that when she was most vulnerable, setting boundaries “protected my heart.”
She and Jon agreed that there were appropriate times and ways to discuss issues surrounding a relapse. They agreed not to have “text wars” but to speak in person. They also agreed that if a discussion was turning into an argument, they could take a break and talk later.
Many of Jon and Jamie’s boundaries relate to how they communicate, but some of their other boundaries take the form of if/then statements in which they agree that certain actions will lead to certain consequences. That, Jamie says, allows them both to feel that life isn’t quite so chaotic.
So do Jamie and Jon, who actively help other couples find the healing they have found through the Savior and His Atonement.

Sometime later, I was home one evening with my brothers and sisters. We heard a whining noise coming from outside. We went to the window and peered out into the darkness. Soon, Major, our large German shepherd, passed through the light from the window. We could see that something was terribly wrong! Fearfully my older brother and I went outside and were able to get Major back into the light and see why he was trembling in pain. He had had an encounter with a porcupine, and countless quills had been thrust into his nose, mouth, tongue, and chest.
Immediately we went inside to call for my father to come home. He had been working late at the college. He came quickly, examined Major, and sadly announced, “We will probably have to put him to sleep.” We understood what that meant, and, through our tears, we said, “If you’re going to put Major to sleep, you will have to put us to sleep first.”
Dad had no other choice but to pull out the quills one by one. We watched in agony as Major winced and howled in pain as each quill tore away some of his flesh.
It wasn’t long until he had fully recovered and was back on duty, faithfully protecting us and our farm from all intruders. Unfortunately, some months later, he had another encounter with a porcupine and had to suffer all that pain again.

When Jessica attended an Especially for Youth program at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. In one class, the teacher asked if any of those attending had met any of the General Authorities or President Hinckley. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”

“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person and a grandfather and as a prophet. What an amazing thing that is.”

Trying to write a message to the world caused some serious contemplation. For some of the girls it was not easy. The words were put on paper only after prayer and thought. Beth Story of the California Saratoga Stake said, “I don’t really know how I came to write what I did. After I found out I would be writing to a stranger about how I felt about the Church, I prayed. I really had a desire to write something that a person would pay attention to if he found it.” Jennifer Bezzant, a Beehive from Rigby, Idaho, also tells of the time she spent before writing her message. “I was really unsure as to what to write. No thought seemed to come. The Sunday came when we were to write our messages down in church, and I still hadn’t thought of anything. I was getting desperate. My Young Women president let me take my card home to pray about it over the week. On Tuesday of that week, when I knelt by my bed, I asked Heavenly Father to help me write a suitable message that would help someone. As I got up from my knees, I felt impressed to get my pen and write. The words just seemed to come, and I kept writing until I was finished. When I read over what I had written, I was surprised. It sounded so good, I couldn’t believe I wrote those words.” Heather Thompson of Rexburg, Idaho, also caught the vision of the broader purpose for the balloon event. She found that the thought she invested as she prepared her message was valuable even if no one ever received the copy sent aloft. Heather said, “I feel as if I wrote my message, not only to the finder of my balloon but to myself and my Heavenly Father.”
Young Women in some areas of the world were in situations that did not allow them to release balloons. Many of them sent their messages to Church headquarters, where they were distributed to girls in stakes that were holding balloon events. Shawna Bowcutt was one who asked that someone release her message for her. She wrote, “I live in Kinshasa, Zaire, and our branch has not yet been organized, so I am including my message in this envelope for someone to send up for me. I am one of two Young Women in our branch. Thank you for including me in this event.”
Five Young Women in Egypt put into action an alternate plan. It was inappropriate for them to release helium-filled balloons, so their adviser planned an excursion. They drove through a tunnel under the Suez Canal to the tip of the Sinai. There, following a sunrise service, the girls snorkeled over the edge of the reef and released their messages sealed in bottles into the ocean currents.
In many locations the most touching moment came when the signal was given and the balloons were released. As the balloons rose in unison, a shout of joy sent them on their way. Then it was quiet, but girls’ faces, some streaming with tears, were still upturned watching for as long as they could follow their balloons.
Andrea Smith from the California Saratoga Stake remembers that moment at Coit Tower in San Francisco. “As we let go of the balloons, I think everyone gasped. It was a beautiful sight, and I was overwhelmed with the thought of the wonderful testimonies and messages of the girls.”
Marilee Griffeth was one of 2,000 gathered in Rexburg, Idaho. She shouted with the rest as the balloons were released. “I felt a warm glow when the words were spoken, ‘Girls, release your balloons.’ A part of me rose with that balloon so that I shall never forget that day.”
Lance Wickman, the stake president of the Poway California Stake, wrote, “We watched, transfixed, as the balloons floated steadily heavenward until they disappeared into the clouds still gathered overhead. I cannot express the feeling that I felt—that we all felt—at that moment.”
The balloons made their journeys, and much like the parable in the scriptures, some seeds fell on fertile ground. A message written by Laura West in the Salt Lake Cottonwood Height Stake was found by one who desperately needed her encouragement. Laura had written, in part, “Keep your hopes up and rise like the balloon. Always have faith in Christ and Christ will have faith in you.” Her balloon was found only a couple of miles from where it was released. The man who found it wrote to Laura that he was a member of the Church but had fallen away 18 years earlier while he was in his teens. He told of his struggle to be reunited with his wife and children and the decision he made to come back to the Church. He wrote, “I’ve been reading the Book of Mormon and praying since Sunday night (the day after I got your letter). I went to the bishop of my ward that night and told him I knew it was time for me to straighten out my life. … If only you could feel the peace and tranquility that has come to me since I began the reading and prayer. It’s truly like the difference between night and day. To top off my own feelings that I’m on the right track, I picked up your letter. You said you hoped your letter would brighten my day. It not only brightened my day, it was a godsend! I will remember your letter forever.” He signed it “Your friend you’ve never met” and his name.
All the messages in the balloons were good seeds. Even though every balloon was not discovered and appreciated by someone, the messages still took root where they could be nurtured and cherished. Each message took root in the heart of the girl who wrote it. As Tahneam Merrill of Rexburg, Idaho, said, “I can sincerely say my testimony soared higher and farther than my balloon could ever travel. My message may not be received by anyone, but it was received by me.”

A few years ago I accompanied a group of Explorers from our stake on an excursion. We sat around talking about the subjects that interest young men, and soon the subject of girls came up. I asked, “What about ________? She seems to be a pretty sharp girl. She’s attractive, has a neat figure, and seems to have a good personality.” There was some shoulder-shrugging, and then one of them said, “Well, she’s … uh … well … uh … you know.” Another added, “She’s kinda straight.”
I asked these Aaronic Priesthood brethren just how straight they thought a Latter-day Saint girl should be to be popular. We also considered how straight they would want their sisters to be. What these young men finally said to me was, “We don’t expect a girl to lower her standards, but she should have a sense of humor, be fun, and be a good sport.” Maybe it can best be summed up with this description of a Venturer by his friends: “He’s cool, but straight.”

You know what makes me smile most? When Mama says she called me her little china doll—I was a baby then. I don’t remember much about that but I remember some kids saying, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah,” and making funny faces, and Mama shooing them away and then holding me against her and crying. I don’t understand it yet.
I remember when a strange man came to our house when the chapel was finished. He was from Salt Lake.
“He’s an apostle of God,” Daddy told me. I stood and stared at him and pinched his arm until Mama pulled me away.
“Don’t bother Brother Kirkham, Cindy,” she said.
“It’s all right, Sister Abbott,” he said. His eyes twinkled and he lifted me onto his lap. He put one hand on my hand.
“Cindy’s no bother.” He smiled, and I felt something warm inside of me. “Brother and Sister Abbott, this spirit is so special in God’s eyes,” he went on, “that she was sent to earth for her mortal body in such a way that she cannot be tempted by this world. She will return to God as pure as she came. You have been chosen to take care of this special spirit. Try to understand her for she certainly holds hands with God.”
Mama didn’t cry as much after the apostle went away, and Daddy began to whistle. The children didn’t say, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah” anymore. They took my hand and said, “Come and play with us, Cindy.”

Some years ago I was in Washington, D.C., on business, and the planes of five major airlines were grounded. It was imperative that I get back to Utah as soon as possible since I had some research that needed to be attended to, some classes to teach, and some Church responsibilities to discharge. I decided to go to the terminal in the wee hours when most people don’t like to travel. By going from one airline office to another I finally arranged for a flight to Chicago. I did the same thing at Chicago and finally got to Denver. I thought I would have no problem getting to Salt Lake from Denver because there were three airlines that had planes flying that route, but that is where the problem really became difficult. I just couldn’t get a plane to work it out. I took an airplane that was headed for Phoenix, Arizona, got off at Farmingion, New Mexico, intercepted a plane that was headed for Salt Lake City from El Paso, Texas, and I had it made.
But you know, as I sat in those terminals hour after hour after hour, I looked out on the runways and saw those magnificent jet planes—each one costing millions of dollars, each one having a tremendous potential to do a transportation job for me and for thousands of other people who were caught in the same fix I was—but what were they doing? Nothing. Why? Because there was no one who could or would step on the starter, or step on the gas, so to speak. Thus many were stranded.

After an 11-year struggle with dementia, my husband passed away. For me, his passing was bittersweet. I had been his caregiver, friend, and sweetheart, and though I was happy he no longer had to suffer, I missed him terribly. I thought I knew about grief, but the sadness and feelings of loss set me on a path I did not anticipate going down.
Much to my dismay and astonishment, negativity crept into my life. I felt ignored, useless, and invisible to family, friends, and ward members. I indulged in self-pity and felt resentful toward others.
One Sunday, I sat in the back of the chapel. I watched a friendly and outgoing sister meet with other ward members. She was kind and generous to everyone.
“But,” I thought, “she has never asked how I am doing, she has never offered her condolences, she has never validated how hard my husband’s passing has been for me!”
These negative thoughts continued as the sacrament hymn began. I felt I could not partake of the sacrament with such resentful feelings in my heart.
“You must ask for help to get rid these feelings now!” I thought.
I prayed for the darkness to be removed. This sister did not deserve my resentment in the slightest. I prayed for forgiveness and for help to let go of my resentment. By the time a deacon stood in front of me with the sacrament tray, I felt I could partake of the sacrament. Throughout the next week, I continued to pray for guidance.
The next Sunday, I walked into the foyer and saw the woman I had focused on the week before.
“Oh, Carol!” she said. “I have been thinking so much about you! I can only imagine how difficult things have been for you. You were your husband’s caregiver for so long. This must be a difficult adjustment for you. How are you doing?”
We talked for a few minutes, and she gave me a wonderful hug. I was speechless! I sat down on my usual bench in the chapel with a big smile. Immediately I thanked my Father in Heaven. He had sent this good sister a memo to say the words I needed to hear. From that point on, I have felt that Heavenly Father is mindful of me. He has given me the strength to face the “new normal” that has begun in my life.

My mum’s relationship with me skyrocketed when I said, “I want to spend more time with you, but I don’t know what to do or when to do it.” Playing board games happens to be our favorite pastime. So we set aside a time together to play, laugh, and make memories. When you are open with your parents, eventually they become your best companions. You will be able to talk to them about anything, and you will be sure of an honest answer. That is the sign of a mature relationship.
Ephraim S., 15, New South Wales, Australia