Gospel Story Finder

When Lourdes Cutti de Alvarez of Uruguay found out she had two brain tumors, she told her friend Marcela Suarez Albano that she’d be hospitalized for surgery and would require lengthy post-surgery treatment. She worried about how her family of four children would cope with the stressful situation.
Marcela sat down with her 16-year-old daughter, Rocío, to ponder ways they could minister to Lourdes. Marcela had recently been in the hospital herself. She remembered the feeling of being alone and what a difference it made when Lourdes and the sisters in her ward came to visit. So Marecela and Rocío helped organize a mobile phone texting group with the sisters in the ward. This allowed them to easily schedule meals for the family. Having dinners taken care of eased Lourdes’s burden. The sisters also sent a daily scripture or message to strengthen her spirit and show their love for her.
Lourdes’s daughter, Ana Clara, shared: “It was difficult not to have Mom at home. But Heavenly Father sent help to me and my family. It was a great outpouring of His love. What Marcela did to unite the members of the ward to help us was amazing. Every time we saw another family coming, we felt, through them, the pure love of Christ. They shared words of encouragement, laughed with us, and helped strengthen us. Our Heavenly Father undoubtedly was with us in every moment. We could feel it through the smiles that we saw in the faces of those who came to help us.”
A year later, Marcela had to be hospitalized due to a coronary problem. Lourdes and Ana Clara remembered how the Lord had comforted and strengthened them through Marcela and Rocío and were anxious to show their love and gratitude in return.

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax and just let down, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane. We sat on the row behind the bulkhead.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many a day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake, there was no one to meet us at the gate. We walked the length of the terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the curb. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference with a two-and-a-half-year-old boy.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then the mother pulled up along the curb. She had been delayed coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his gear into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever had any feedback on your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not opportune to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient to drop by the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.
As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.
In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”
Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.
The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.
I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

I was a 13-year-old Latter-day Saint young woman living in Gilbert, Arizona, and each year our stake held its yearly girls’ camp in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona.
That year, at the beginning of camp, our leaders gave us each a small spiral notebook. On the inside cover of each was written our name, the name of the camp, and “Summer of ’76.” On the first page of the notebook was the heading, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
We were instructed to write in this notebook our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams for the future. We were also told to put our notebooks somewhere safe. Our leaders hoped that when we were grown up, we would take our notebooks out and see what our dreams had been and if we had achieved them.
I took our leaders’ words to heart. I filled page after page with my hopes for the future. When I came home from camp that year, I unpacked my suitcase and took out the little spiral notebook and set it carefully inside my hope chest.
Years went by, and I gave little thought to the notebook. Over the next 20 years, I went through many moves. I transferred the contents of my hope chest to a cardboard box, which I labeled “Mementos,” and that box followed me wherever I went.
One day, 20 years from the day that I wrote in that notebook at camp, I walked into my garage and saw the box labeled “Mementos.” I decided to get it down and see what was inside. I began pulling out items. Then I came across the little spiral notebook. I opened it to the first page and read, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
I began to read and ponder what I had written—of my desire to be married to a good man in the temple and my desire to have a big family and a happy home. I had written of my desire to keep the commandments. I continued reading about how important it was for me to not compromise my principles and to keep the light of the gospel in my life.
I paused for a moment from my reading and thought about how my life had turned out. I had not compromised my principles. I had married a good man in the temple. We had three children at that time. We were a happy family, and we taught our children the gospel. All that I had read had come true or was coming true.
I then went on to read of a more specific dream I had. The last sentence I had written was, “I want to write a book.”
After reading this, I found myself standing perfectly still, in awe. Then my heart began pounding, and I smiled as my entire being was filled with a warm tingly feeling. I closed the little notebook and held it close to me. A publishing company had just accepted my manuscript for publication.
I received a strong testimony that day of the power of goal setting. I received a testimony that our Heavenly Father loves us and will help us in achieving our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams. I believe that when I was 13, I knew what I wanted to do in my life, and I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I believe in the importance of setting righteous goals now and not compromising your principles. If you do set righteous goals, they will become reality.

I didn’t know which was louder—my footsteps in the big, silent house, or my pounding heart. I hurried through the darkness and down the stairs to my parents’ room. I tried to step softly so the stairs wouldn’t creak.
Our hundred-year-old house often creaked and popped at night. Dad said it was the sounds of the old wood and adobe settling as the night cooled down. But it still sounded scary.
Dad was out of town for work, and I felt bad waking Mom up, but I had to talk to her. I stood in the doorway. The moonlight shone through Mom’s white curtains. I felt a little less frightened already.
“Mom?” I called softly.
She turned over. “What’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream again.”
“Oh no. Come snuggle with me, OK?”
Relieved, I climbed into the big bed. The sheets felt cool and soft. Mom hugged me tightly. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It was the dream with the giant shark.”
“You’ve had that dream before,” Mom said. I nodded and tucked my head under Mom’s chin. “Well, you’re safe, sweetheart. Sleep here with me until morning. After school tomorrow, we can talk some more.”
All day I wondered what Mom would say after school about my scary dreams. The shark dream wasn’t the only one. Sometimes I dreamed about a prickly monster. One night I even dreamed that my family was in a car accident.
My dreams really bothered me. Sometimes I screamed and cried in the night. I even felt afraid to fall asleep.
After school, I sat down with Mom. “Are you still thinking about the giant shark?” Mom asked.
I nodded.
“What do you think you’re going to do about those scary dreams?”
“Mom, they’re dreams. I didn’t make them start. I don’t think I can make them stop.”
“Probably not by yourself,” Mom said. “But there’s someone I ask for help when I have a problem I can’t solve by myself.”
“You mean Heavenly Father!” I said.
“Right! You can ask Heavenly Father to help you sleep well at night, with no bad dreams.”
“In my prayers before bed?”
“Then, and any other time you’re thinking about it. I know He will listen to you and help you.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I ask Heavenly Father about problems a lot, and He helps me. Just this morning I asked Him what to do about your scary dreams.”
“Did He help you?”
“Yes. I had the idea that you should pray about your dreams, and when that idea came to my mind, I felt the Holy Ghost telling me it was a good thing to do.”
“How did it feel?”
“I felt warm and happy, and I felt sure everything would be OK,” Mom said. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” I said. And then I noticed that I felt warm and happy inside. “Mom, that’s how I feel right now!” I said.
“That’s the Holy Ghost telling you that what you’re learning is right,” Mom said.
That night, and every night for a long time afterward, I prayed that I could sleep well with no bad dreams. My bad dreams didn’t come back. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Jerome Kenneth Pollard family of Oakland, California.
This past May, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.
When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies Mission to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.
Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

The sound from more than 700 barking dogs is deafening, but Kim Nahler enjoys the noise. And it’s a good thing, because during her summer vacation, Kim spends four hours a day listening to this canine chorus.
Kim, 14, is a member of the Kanab Utah First Ward and a volunteer at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in the heart of southern Utah’s red-rock country. The sanctuary houses more than 1,800 animals, including dogs, cats, birds, and horses. All the animals at the sanctuary are there because they have been injured, abused, or abandoned. Kim, along with the rest of the volunteers, helps care for and rehabilitate the animals until each animal can be placed in a permanent home.
“I like being around the animals,” says Kim, who has volunteered with the dogs for three years during her summer vacations.
Every morning Kim prepares food for the dogs and feeds them. Some of the dogs require special foods and medication, and Kim learns quickly which dogs need special attention. “It makes you patient,” Kim says. “When you feed the dogs, they all jump on you when you go into their cages.”
When Kim takes biscuits around to the dogs, she suddenly has hundreds of best friends. As a small pack of dogs, eager to eat a snack, jumps on Kim, she stays calm even though she doesn’t weigh much more than some of the anxious animals. Although the more aggressive dogs get their biscuits first, Kim makes sure that all the dogs gathered around her get an equal helping.
During the three summers she has volunteered at the animal sanctuary, Kim has gained a greater respect for animals. “Everything is God’s creation, and we should respect that.”
Kim takes her stewardship over animals seriously and is upset when she sees people abuse God’s creatures. Through her service, she shows by example how animals should be treated.
Although working with dogs every day can sometimes be tiring, Kim feels the service is worth her sacrifice. “Sometimes it’s a little bit hard because you have to wake up early in the morning. You know it’s your summer, and you want to sleep in a little bit. Other times it’s ‘Oh yeah, I get to go in to volunteer today.’
“Doing this is well worth my time. Afterwards I feel like I’ve done something,” Kim says. “The dogs need attention, love, and caring.”
As Kim walks past the dogs in the sanctuary, the crescendo of barking moves along with her. Although Kim volunteers with dogs, she loves all animals.
Kim’s service allows many animals to live in a caring environment, free from abuse. This service gives Kim the feeling that she is doing her part to care for God’s creations.

Orson’s great faith and natural ability were demonstrated through the numerous assignments he filled for the Church and the Prophet Joseph Smith, whom he revered and loved. Faithful, ambitious, and aggressive, Orson was called as an apostle on February 15, 1835, after which he performed successful missionary service in the United States and in Canada. While serving in Canada he was challenged to a debate by a Presbyterian priest. Reluctantly he agreed. The debate began and lasted until dinner. His record follows:
“After two hours, the forces were again drawn up in battle array. The enemy’s fire soon became less and less spirited, until, at length, under a well-directed fire from the Spirit of God—the enemy raised his hand to heaven and exclaimed, with affected contempt, ‘Abominable! I have heard enough of such stuff.’ I immediately rejoined, ‘Gentlemen and ladies, I should consider it highly dishonorable to continue to beat my antagonist after he had cried enough,’ so I waived the subject. The priest did not appear to think half so much of his scurrilous books, pamphlets and newspapers, when he was gathering them up to take away, as when he brought them upon the stand. Their virtue fled like chaff before the wind. About forty persons were baptized into the Church in that place (Scarborough) immediately after the debate.”3

Most of us probably think family togetherness is a good idea, and the Fa’oa family, from Ulladulla, New South Wales, is no exception. And it’s a good thing. The Fa’oas live in an area where the Church is exceedingly small. At one time they traveled about an hour each way to get to the nearest branch. Now the branch has been divided, and they go to church closer to home but with a much smaller group.
“The branch is pretty much our family and one other family with a few other people,” says 18-year-old Sunny.
Their dad, Paul, is in the branch presidency. Mom, Michelle, is the Young Women president. Add to that the fact the Fa’oas have regular family home evening on Mondays and seminary is held in 15-year-old Troy’s bedroom every morning, and that equals a lot of family togetherness.
“We see each other so much we have to get along,” says Sunny. “Sometimes you feel a little like everything—church, seminary, Young Women—is with just your family. We have to keep a sense of humor so we don’t fight.”
Sunny and Troy meet every morning at about 5:30 with their mother to study the day’s seminary lesson. That’s early, and the fact that seminary is held at home would probably make sleeping in a real temptation. But Sunny and Troy both say their mother’s determination to make seminary a good experience helps keep them going, even if it’s been a short night’s sleep.
“Finishing a year in seminary is a real accomplishment,” says Troy. “I feel so good knowing I’ve read the scriptures and understand them. I would never have made it through the year without my mom to keep me going.”

Jahmin Tengu of New Zealand nearly took his own life. Wanting to know of the Lord’s love for him, he felt prompted to get on his knees.

He recalls, “As I began to pray, I felt the Spirit of the Lord comfort me. I asked the Lord to bring truth into my life.” A few weeks later, Jahmin met a returned missionary who yelled out to him and asked, “Would you like to meet the missionaries?”

This led to meeting the missionaries and receiving a copy of The Book of Mormon. “I had no desire to read it at all, but I had this feeling when I read it. I felt as if the Spirit was saying, ‘I have given you what you asked for, I have answered your prayers.’”

Now, a missionary himself, Elder Tengu says, “I can truly testify that The Book of Mormon saved my life. . . . It is the word of God and is solely focused on bringing people closer to Jesus Christ.”

Brother Zúniga typifies the commitment to missionary work found among Latter-day Saints. “There are many members willing to help here,” he says. A returned missionary himself, he goes out to work with the full-time missionaries as often as he can. Almost all of his friends have been willing to at least listen to the gospel.
From the time he was a boy, Larry Zúniga wanted to serve a full-time mission. His father, a carpenter, made him a small box for a bank, and Larry began to save money for his mission. But when he was 18, his mother became seriously ill. He had to give up his mission savings and sell his bicycle to help pay for her treatment, but he sacrificed gladly for her. Nevertheless, through the help of other members and also of relatives, including some who are not members of the Church, he was blessed with the resources he needed to serve a full-time mission. Brother Zúniga’s commitment to missionary work helped bring five of his good friends into the Church, and two of them have also served missions. He continues to work with other friends.

I broke my foot in gym one year because of envy. It was during a basketball practice on an outdoor court. I tried to make Jenny Jaimeson’s shoe come off her heel just as she directed a beautiful shot toward the basket. She jumped away too quickly, and I slipped off balance and fell on the concrete. Something snapped as I went down.
The bell rang, and Jenny disappeared to her next class. I limped to the office to call my mom. X-rays confirmed a broken foot. I learned in a painful, very embarrassing way that we can’t succeed by trying to hold others back.
I had been trying to hold Jenny back so I could somehow reach her level. Not only did she play basketball well, but she swam on the swim team and was good at jazz dance. She glowed. She sported the kind of complexion that is tan all year long. She was always flashing a fabulous smile. Everyone liked Jenny.
The next day I arrived at school with a cast and crutches, hoping to maneuver my way down the hall without being too noticeable. Jenny saw me at my locker and hurried over. If she had any idea how the accident happened, she never let on.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay? Can I carry your books?” she asked.
It was impossible for me not to like Jenny too. That was the maddening part. She was so likable.
I didn’t overcome my envy overnight, but six weeks hobbling around on crutches and trying to coordinate my wardrobe with plaster of paris helped me reflect—on Jenny and on me. She worked hard at what she liked to do and made the most of her talents. When I began to unearth my own talents, my life began to change. I practiced the cello because I loved playing. I showed up for track (once the cast was gone, of course), wrote poetry, and volunteered with a friend at the community hospital. I invited nonmember friends to Young Women.
I haven’t seen Jenny since we graduated, but I’m sure she’s accomplished great things. Envy, I’ve learned, is a way of giving up. It definitely keeps you down! Everyone has unique talents, challenges, and opportunities. We make our own happiness and success through effort and hard work.

We had barely arrived in our motel room when the phone rang. I knew it would be bad news about Jodi, my nine-month-old sister. She had been in a coma since birth and required round-the-clock monitoring and special tubal feedings. We had left Jodi temporarily at a care center so our family could take a much-needed vacation.
I answered the phone. My grandpa was on the line. His voice was firm: “Get your dad.”
Their conversation ended quickly. My fears were confirmed. Jodi had died.
The next day, after we had arrived home, I breathed a sigh of relief. The school bus was at the top of the street. My friends would be coming. At last I would have somebody my own age to share my pain.
However, as I stood in my driveway waiting for my friends, something strange happened. It was almost as if I had become invisible. I watched as my friends crossed to the other side of the street and continued talking with one another. They didn’t even look at me.
The next morning my friends didn’t pick me up as they usually did. “That’s understandable,” I thought. They probably knew I wasn’t going to school because of funeral planning. But they didn’t come the next day or the next or the next. They didn’t wait for me after school either.
During this time my family received lots of support from the Relief Society and other ward members. However, chicken casserole did little to soothe my 13-year-old aching heart. When I returned to Mutual, my adviser gave a lesson on life after death. I started crying. My adviser looked down and continued reading. My classmates stared ahead. I sobbed. How I wished somebody would have cried with me or put her arms around me.
Looking back on these events, I realize that my friends were not cruel and uncaring. They just didn’t know how to respond to my pain. They assumed that I wanted to be left alone to grieve and, since I was in mourning, I would not want to do anything fun.

I grew up to the sound of my older brother practicing his French horn. Day after day, year after year, the sound of his horn emanated from our house. I could even hear it blocks away when I walked home from elementary school.
If challenged, I would surely have contended that my brother was the best French horn player there ever was. Nevertheless, his constant playing embarrassed me sometimes, and once I asked my mother to make him stop. He would even bring his French horn on vacation!
Years later my brother and I found ourselves at a music competition in northern California on the campus of a big university I’d never been to before. While there, my high school madrigal group earned a top ranking, which meant we got to do an encore performance later that day. We were given directions as to where and when to meet, and we all went on our way. Soon I found myself alone, standing in the middle of the campus looking at all the tall buildings. I couldn’t see anyone I knew, but I remembered what my mother had told me to do if I ever got lost: “Stay where you are.”
I stayed but was too shy to ask for directions; besides, I didn’t know where I was going. I couldn’t remember anything we’d been told about where or when to meet. But suddenly the thought occurred to me to ask Heavenly Father for help. I was not a member of the Church at the time, but I had attended church regularly with my Latter-day Saint friends and had been taught that Heavenly Father answers prayers.
So I stood there and silently prayed in my heart. Before I had even said amen, my ears perked up. Far off in the distance, ever so quietly, I heard a familiar sound—a sound I had heard most of my life. As I started walking in the direction of the music, it grew louder. Could it be my brother’s French horn? I was sure of it.
But then other French horns started playing. I hesitated. Did I really think I could tell which of all those horns was my brother’s? Every time I doubted, however, I heard his horn, as if beckoning to me. As I entered a building, climbed the stairs, and got closer to the music, I grew scared. The thought of opening the wrong door to find someone I didn’t know made my face turn red. When I reached the third floor, I listened one more time, made my decision, took a deep breath, and opened the door. There he was!

Continuing to move wherever the main body of the Saints settled, the Angell family suffered from mobs and persecution in Missouri and Nauvoo, and over the years several of Truman’s young children died. While the last of the Saints were being driven from Nauvoo, Truman and a few other brethren remained behind to complete the temple and dedicate it to the Lord. The young joiner must have been heartsick to hear how that sacred building was later desecrated and burned.

There was a moment when I thought that leaving the Church was the answer to my problems because I just felt hopeless about everything. It is so easy to do what you’re not supposed to do in Iceland. The Church is so small here. It was just me and my siblings in our Church classes growing up. I felt lonely and for a while I didn’t like going to church.

Most people in Iceland push religion away. People start drinking at an early age. I got caught up in that, and I was inactive for a moment in my life. I’m not proud of that, but it’s a part of my experience and I learned from it. I studied a talk by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and liked what he said: “The past is to be learned from but not lived in. … When we have learned what we need to learn … , then we look ahead, we remember that faith is always pointed toward the future.”1

One day when I was really struggling, I read my patriarchal blessing. As I read it, I realized that I do have a future. God has a plan for me, and He actually loves me. Going to church, taking the sacrament, reading the scriptures, and praying has brought so much light and happiness into my life. I soon realized, “This actually helps me.” That’s when I knew I always wanted the gospel in my life. After everything I’ve been through, I know that the gospel has saved my life, and I’m very happy about that.

Talking about my depression with family and friends has helped so much. It also led to more help. I didn’t want to take medications or go to therapy. I kept telling myself, “I have God.” But God provides many other tools, like medication and therapy, for us to use in addition to spiritual things.

As I started reading my scriptures more every day and getting closer to God through prayer, I received many blessings and revelations that my purpose is to help others. I feel like so many of us face mental health issues and we try to hide it. My depression and struggles have taught me that it’s better to open up and connect with others. My friend recently opened up to me about her struggle with depression. We talked about it and we truly understood each other.

We don’t always notice what others are struggling with, but I just walk around sometimes and look at other people and realize that God knows each and every one of us. He loves us and knows exactly what we are all going through. And we can help each other.

Through my struggles with depression, I’ve learned to ask, “What can I learn from this trial?” instead of “Why do I have this trial?” I love Ether 12:27, where it says that weak things can become strong if we have faith in Jesus Christ. This is always a comfort to me.

We all chose to come here to earth. We knew we were going to suffer through trials. And honestly that is what makes life great. Because we know there are good things to come. We know that if we follow the Savior throughout every hard phase, we can have eternal life and all these blessings that are waiting for us.

I’ve definitely noticed how I’ve changed through my depression. The Savior’s Atonement is real, my heart has been changed, and I’ve gotten stronger. I feel like I’m a different person than I once was. People notice and say, “You’ve changed.” One girl from school even said, “I see a difference and a light in you.” It’s weird because she isn’t even a member of the Church, and we hadn’t ever really talked before.

When I was in my worst depression, people would tell me, “It’s going to get better.” I would get so tired of hearing that but, as weird as it sounds, it’s true.

But you have to want to get better. I’ve learned that you can’t expect to get better by doing nothing. You have to want to be happy and believe that you have potential and a future. It’s important to remember that you are loved by so many people, including your Heavenly Father. They are all there to help you.

I never thought I would be as happy as I am now. Some days I still struggle, but with the tools Heavenly Father has given me, I can handle it. Now when I feel myself slipping into depression, I tell myself I am loved, I have people to talk to, and things will get better.

A few years ago a high-ranking official from China visited Salt Lake City, toured Church sites, and spoke at Brigham Young University. Learning about the Church welfare program, he said, “If we all loved each other like this, the world would be a more peaceful place.”

Fasting and giving the value of the meals not eaten to help the poor captured his attention. At the conclusion of his visit to Welfare Square, he handed the manager a small red envelope—a “red pocket.” In China a “red pocket” is given as a gesture of love, blessing, and a wish for good fortune. “It does not contain much,” the visitor said, “but it represents the money I have saved from missing breakfast the last two mornings. I would like to give my fast offering to the Welfare program of the Church.”

When I asked about their father’s sense of humor, one of the children offered this comment, “Dad has very poor handwriting and he readily admits it. He sometimes asks his office secretary to tell him what he has written on his calendar, because he can’t read it himself. President Lee called Dad’s handwriting, ‘unreformed Egyptian.’ One time when he was on the stand with President Kimball at a meeting, a message was delivered to Dad reporting that one of the Church school buildings in South America had burned. Father wrote a note to President Kimball, telling him about it. President Kimball looked at it for a long time, then sent a note back, ‘Do you mean burned or buried?’”

Paige shrugged off her backpack, kicked off her shoes, and slumped onto a kitchen stool. “What? No hug? No kiss? No demand for an after-school snack?” Paige’s mother teased. When Paige didn’t respond with a smile, her mother became serious. “Did something happen at school today?”
Paige lifted one shoulder.
“Is it about the play?”
Paige nodded slowly.
“You didn’t get the part, did you?”
Paige shook her head. Her mother wrapped her arms around her. “Honey, I’m sorry. I know how much you wanted to be Dorothy and how hard you practiced. What part did you get?”
“A munchkin.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. You’ll be a wonderful munchkin. You can ham it up and make it fun.”
“I guess,” Paige said, leaning on the counter. “Something’s bothering me more than not being Dorothy, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, you know how you and Dad have always taught me that if I want something, I need to work hard and do all I can do to make it happen, right?”
“Right.”
“Then I need to pray to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus Christ and ask Him to help me.”
“Yes,” Mom said slowly.
“If I have enough faith, Heavenly Father will bless me. Well, I worked hard. I practiced as much as I could, and I did my best at the audition. I had faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus could help me get the part. They can do anything—I know They can. At least I thought I did. I didn’t get the part, so does that mean I don’t have enough faith?”
“Oh, Paige, that’s not what it means at all.” The timer above the stove started beeping. “Just a minute, honey. I need to punch down the bread dough.” Mom lifted the towel covering the bowl of dough. “Oh, no!”
“What happened, Mom?”
“The dough didn’t rise. I can’t make bread out of it now.” Mom drummed her fingers on the countertop, then smiled. “The dough should work for scones.” Paige’s mother placed a pan on the stove, filled it with oil, and began heating it.
Paige smiled for the first time since coming home. “I’m glad the dough didn’t rise. Scones taste better than bread.”
“You know, I worked hard on that bread dough,” Mom said as she flattened small balls of dough into circles and gently placed them in the hot oil. “I followed the recipe, and I tried to make the best bread dough I could. I had faith that it would rise. But it didn’t. Does that mean that I just didn’t have enough faith?”
“I don’t think so,” Paige said. “And something better came from it.”
“Sometimes Heavenly Father has plans for us that are different from what we think we want. Even if we work hard and have faith, He doesn’t always bless us in the way we think that we want Him to.”
“But being a munchkin isn’t better than being Dorothy.”
“You need to try faith again, Paige.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to have faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know things that you don’t, that They know what will be best for you in the long run. Do you think that you can have that kind of faith?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” Mom set a piping hot scone onto a plate, dropped a glob of butter and dribbled honey onto it, and set it before Paige. “Would you like the first scone?”
“Yes!”
The next week during play rehearsal, while the children playing Dorothy and the other lead characters were practicing their lines, Paige painted scenery with the rest of the munchkins and the flying monkeys. She turned to the girl next to her. “Could you pass the green, please, Trisha?”
“Sure.” Trisha set the paint can between them, and the girls dipped their brushes into it together. Trisha sighed as she gazed toward the stage where the other children were practicing.
“Did you want to be Dorothy, too?” Paige asked.
Trisha shook her head. “I wanted to be the Wicked Witch of the West. I would have scared everyone with my cackle.” She cackled wickedly, and Paige laughed.
“That was super! I can’t believe Mrs. Mullen didn’t choose you for the witch after hearing your cackle.”
“I didn’t do it at the audition. I didn’t even try out for the witch. I overheard Sylvie talking about how much she wanted to be the witch, so I decided not to compete against her.”
“Wow, that was nice!”
Trisha shrugged. “It’s what I think Jesus would have wanted me to do. In my church we learn to ask ourselves, ‘What might Jesus want us to do?’ and try to do it.”
“We learn the same thing at our church.” Paige smiled a bit ruefully.
“Really?” Trisha’s eyes grew wide. “I thought you were a Mormon.”
“I am. Mormons believe in Jesus Christ. You see, the real name of our church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“It is? I’m glad I know that now.” Trisha paused. “I like talking to you about church and stuff. We never would have had this chance if we had been given the parts in the play we wanted.”
Paige froze for a moment, paint dripping from her brush back into the can. “I have another scone,” she whispered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry—I was just thinking about something my mom and I talked about.” Paige began painting again. “This year, at church, we’re learning how to have more faith in Jesus Christ.”
“Is it working?” Trisha asked. “Do you think you have more faith now than you did before?”
“Yes,” Paige said, smiling confidently. “I know I do.”

Immediately following the news of Hurricane Katrina’s destruction, the G. family held a family council and decided to give the money they had saved for new furniture to the Church Humanitarian Fund instead. This brought light to the children’s eyes. Taylor, Nathan, and Zachary asked if they could donate their personal savings to the fund. Their parents agreed. However, after counting their savings, the children said they needed to do more and asked if they could set up a stand to sell lemonade and cookies. They were soon open for business. The three boys manned the stand on Saturday from 10:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., taking no breaks except (in shifts) to eat. They allowed themselves no lemonade or cookies. At the end of the first day, they were elated that they had made $67. They asked permission to open again after school, but were told no. “But there are more people who need help!” the children explained. Mother agreed, and they raised another $24. They were filled with gratitude and joy as they sealed their money in a donation envelope.