Gospel Story Finder

The Voice: Nearly 20 years ago, our second son Brendan was born about six weeks after I had been called into a bishopric. With my Sunday morning schedule, Annette would get the boys ready by herself and make their way to church. Often, the first time I would see my family awake on Sunday was as I was sitting on the stand. One Saturday night, I knew that Annette and the boys didn’t feel real great, but she had told me to go ahead and fill my assignments the next morning. It was a Fast Sunday, and during our sacrament meeting, there were four babies to be blessed – a large number for our ward. With all the resulting visitors, the chapel was absolutely packed, and I had not seen my family, so I just presumed they hadn’t made it. During the meeting, I suddenly heard a tiny cry and knew immediately that it was Brendan. I looked and looked until I finally found Annette over to my left against the wall. Earlier, I had been trying to help the deacons get a microphone ready for the baby blessings, and it hadn’t been cooperating, so I hadn’t noticed Annette and the boys come in on the other side of the chapel. After I took a seat and the meeting started, she had been hidden from my view by the family in front of her.
For me, this story produces enough different thoughts that could be a talk all by itself, but let me just quickly mention a couple. Why did this little voice stick out to me in the way that it did, amongst all the other activity going on in a very full, and on that day, a somewhat noisy chapel? In the tenth chapter of John, we know the Savior shares a teaching that is particularly important to us in the Church, as it relates to such things as people in The Book of Mormon. The Savior notes that He has other sheep that are not of that fold, but then later in the chapter, he says, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”3 In this instance, it was a voice I was familiar with and could pick rather easily out of the crowd.

Fifty years ago, I knew a young man—even a priest—who held the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood. As the bishop, I was his quorum president. Robert stuttered and stammered, void of control. He was self-conscious, shy, fearful of himself and all others, and this impediment was devastating to him. Never did he fulfill an assignment; never would he look another in the eye; always he would gaze downward. Then one day, through a set of unusual circumstances, he accepted an assignment to perform the priestly responsibility to baptize another.

I sat next to Robert in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. He was dressed in immaculate white, prepared for the ordinance he was to perform. I leaned over and asked him how he felt. He gazed at the floor and stuttered almost uncontrollably that he felt terrible, terrible.

We both prayed fervently that he would be made equal to his task. Suddenly the clerk said, “Nancy Ann McArthur will now be baptized by Robert Williams, a priest.”

Robert left my side, stepped into the font, took little Nancy by the hand, and helped her into that water which cleanses human lives and provides a spiritual rebirth. He spoke the words, “Nancy Ann McArthur, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Not once did he stutter! Not once did he falter! A modern miracle had been witnessed. Robert then performed the baptismal ordinance for two or three other children in the same fashion.

In the dressing room, as I congratulated Robert, I expected to hear this same uninterrupted flow of speech. I was wrong. He gazed downward and stammered his reply of gratitude.

To each of you brethren this evening, I testify that when Robert acted in the authority of the Aaronic Priesthood, he spoke with power, with conviction, and with heavenly help.

I am grateful for the 2025 Area Priorities introduced by the Philippines Area Presidency. The emphasis on ministering under the first priority “Come Unto Christ” reminds me of a letter I received from a bishop a while back.
“One Sunday, a poor mother of eight children came to see me at my office. She was nine months pregnant with her ninth child. She was worried that her husband did not have the money to pay for the delivery of her baby. He worked as a security guard with a meager salary. So, she came to me, her bishop, to ask help.
“I brought the matter to my stake president to ask for his counsel. To my surprise, the stake president told me not to help her because pregnancy takes nine months so the couple should have prepared for it. Perhaps you remember how this policy was effective back then. But the pregnant DATELINE PHILIPPINES The True Essence of Ministering wife obviously did not have the mentality and training to prepare so she came to me to ask for help.
“Again, I asked the stake president if we could extend food assistance. He said no because “the church has extended food to that family multiple times already and yet the father remained less active because of an offense he could not forgive.” I then responded, “what about the pregnant wife and the children who are actively participating in church? We shouldn’t let them suffer, should we?” He responded back, “Let the sufferings of the family be a curse to the father who is unfaithful.” This counsel left me deeply troubled. I could not understand then why I left that conversation feeling so hurt and bothered.
“The poor mother delivered the baby, but my hands were tied. I could not help with the hospital bill. I did not have the authority, and the stake president told me he will not support any request for financial assistance. The father took out two months’ salary in advance from his company to pay for the bill. This left the family without food to eat.
“I decided to convene the ward council to discuss the matter. I decided to provide the family with food. Using up the amount I could disburse in my capacity as a bishop, I asked the Elders Quorum President to buy 50 kilos of rice and asked the Relief Society President to buy groceries including the needs of the baby and the mother. I then asked the council what time the husband usually gets home from work. They said, 8:30 pm. So, I went to visit the family at 9:00 pm.
“The house was small, dark, and in the middle of a field. There was no electricity. But, to my surprise, the Elders Quorum and Relief Society Presidents with their counselors were there ahead of me. They introduced me to the father. He could not believe that a young bishop like me could be called and that I came that night to his house.
“I peeked through the window and saw the children lying side by side on the floor, sleeping and cramped. In one corner was the mother with the newborn baby lying on the floor.
“The father told me he is so embarrassed to receive food from the Church because he’s been less active for a long time. But his family needed it, and he was grateful. I told him we did not come to buy his church activity. I did not know him, so why should I even care. But I said to him, “someone knows you. He knows your family’s needs. He is your Father in Heaven. He sent us here to let you know He cares and loves you.
“The father cried. He sobbed like a little child in front of us. We were all touched by his emotion.
“I then told him that on Sunday, he should not come to church. Not even next week or next month. I warned him that I cannot control people’s remarks and perceptions. Perhaps he may hear someone say he showed up only because he received help from the Church, and it may hurt his feelings. But if he’s interested in coming regardless of what people might say, especially if he recognizes the spirit inviting him, he’s welcome to come to church anytime.
“I looked for him on Sunday, but he didn’t show up. Neither did he show up in the few weeks that followed. Two months later, as I was conducting the sacrament meeting, I saw someone walking up to the sacrament hall. It was the father, sneakily entering and sitting down in the last row. But he was surprised and later became very emotional to hear the stake president announce my release as a bishop. He said he dreamed several times of serving with me in any capacity in the ward. But he agreed to do it with his new bishop.
“Six months later my previous counselor informed me that the brother is the most diligent home teacher the ward has ever had. “This experience taught me a great deal about ministering. I thought I’d share this with you. But I wonder how many bishops today have received the same counsel from their leaders, followed it, and had the charity in their hearts extinguished in the process. I hope there is none. If there is one, I hope he repents and recovers.”

“The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox” in the December New Era was an excellent article. I hope that the many girls who are writing to missionaries will read it and apply the wonderful and appropriate suggestions given therein. I have a strong personal testimony of what the right kind of letters can do for a missionary because I received many such letters during my recently completed mission to France and Switzerland. I cannot remember a single instance in which my friend wrote a letter that was in any way selfish or distracting. There was, of course, news from home, but the majority of the space was used to write thoughts, feelings, insights, and testimony that could only encourage and uplift me. Instead of feeling homesick or full of self-pity after reading her letters, I felt grateful and desirous to work all the more diligently for the Savior. The article spoke of building self-esteem in elders. The friend who wrote to me understood this well and often expressed her respect, her confidence, and her belief in me as a servant of the Lord. This can work miracles and was especially important to me during a very difficult period of my mission. I know that her support played a large part in helping me overcome the difficulties I faced during those months. My friend even earned, at one point, the “Most Edifying Letters to a Missionary Award” presented by the special awards committee of the Switzerland Geneva Mission. I was the committee. I will never cease to be grateful to the Lord for the blessing this sister was to me during my mission.
Walter LenelPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania

Bryan watched his little brother Darren skip down the porch steps and dash out the gate. Darren hugged a handful of cookies to his chest as he ran. “Jonathan will like these,” he called as he disappeared around the corner.
Mom was chuckling as she shut the front door. Bryan shook his head. “Why do you let him get away with it?” he asked her. “You know he’s just making Jonathan up.”
“Darren must be growing,” Mom said. “He’s extra hungry.”
“Yeah, but he’s lying to you, Mom,” Bryan huffed.
“I know you think it’s unfair, Bryan,” Mom said. “But I want to give Darren a chance to admit he’s pretending he has a friend named Jonathan.”
Bryan snorted. “Jonathan has been getting extra after-school snacks for weeks.”
“Maybe so,” Mom said. “But Darren is sensitive. I’ll think of something.”
“Sensitive!” Bryan thought. “This sensitive kid is getting away with lying to Mom.”
Another week went by. Almost every day after school, Darren begged for extra snacks for Jonathan. Once, Bryan heard his mom asking Darren why his friend never came to the house himself. “He’s really shy,” Darren said.
“Why don’t you ask Jonathan to play soccer with us?” Bryan suggested slyly.
“Jonathan doesn’t like soccer,” Darren said.
Bryan gave up. “I guess it doesn’t hurt anything to have an imaginary friend,” he said to himself. “Maybe he’ll outgrow it.”
One chilly day, Bryan heard Mom say sternly, “Darren Robins!” She sounded upset.
“Mom is mad at Darren? I have to see this,” Bryan thought, slipping down the hall.
“I gave it to Jonathan,” Darren said.
“That was a brand-new coat!” Mom was trying not to shout.
“I know, but Jonathan doesn’t have one. I can wear Bryan’s old one.” Darren stood shivering just inside the front door.
Mom knelt down in front of Darren and looked him in the eyes. “I want you to tell Jonathan he can have the coat, but only if he will come see me and say thank you for it.”
Bryan grinned. Mom was a genius.
The next day, Bryan hurried to be there when Darren got home from school. The front door opened and Darren poked his head inside.
“Mom? Please come here. Jonathan is really shy.”
Mom went to the door. Bryan peered around her to see a boy wearing Darren’s new coat. He had longish tangled hair. His eyes seemed too big for his skinny face. Bryan saw him swallow nervously.
“Thank you for the coat,” the boy whispered, and then dashed away.
“See you, Jonathan,” Darren called as the boy disappeared around the corner. He walked into the house, seeming not to notice that Mom and Bryan were standing there, speechless. Mom finally closed the door.
Later, Mom had a quiet talk with Bryan. “I called the school,” she said. “I should have thought of that sooner. They know about Jonathan’s situation. The counselor said they’re working to help his family. I thought you should know.”
“There’s something else I know,” Bryan said. “My brother is a cool kid.”

The Saints in Ukraine are working hard to create electronic indexes that will expedite family history research in Eastern Europe. The Rudenko family in Kyiv is setting a powerful example. They sacrifice to pay for the Internet so they and their children can index names. Sister Rudenko leaves the family laptop on the kitchen table so she can index when she has spare moments during the day. She types names with one hand while holding a baby with the other. Their 16-year-old son and 12-year-old daughter have also become regular indexers, and the family sometimes visits the government archives to research family names. The Rudenko family regularly submits names to the temple and performs the ordinances for those names, sometimes going to the temple multiple times a week.
Sister Rudenko speaks of the blessings she has received through family history work: “I believe that indexing and family history work protect us. I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that doing this work will protect me and my children. Their minds will be clean, and they will be able to withstand the bad influences of this world. … [My children] have the power of God from this work.”

One day while I was ironing, one-year-old Claire began to cry in her crib. It was naptime, and I knew that if I could quickly give her a pacifier, she would fall back to sleep. Three-year-old Lucy was playing in the room where I was ironing. I debated for a moment and then decided to keep the iron on, knowing I’d be out of the room for only a few moments. “Lucy, do you see that iron on my tall table?” I asked. “It’s VERY hot. I need to give Claire her pacifier. Please don’t touch the iron while I’m gone, or it will hurt you.”
I was sure Lucy understood, so I quickly slipped out of the room. I returned a moment later, and I heard a whimper from behind a chair.
“Lucy?” I asked. “Where are you?”
She didn’t reply.
“Are you OK? Why are you hiding?”
I walked over behind the chair and sat on the floor. Her face was buried in her hands. After a few refusals to tell me what happened, she finally said, “Mommy, I touched your iron.”
At first I was confused that she hadn’t heeded my warning. Then I felt heartbroken that she would hide from me after making a small mistake, afraid she had lost my love and confidence. I knew she was powerless to take the pain away, and only I could help her burned finger feel better. I comforted Lucy, and as I rushed her to the bathroom sink to ease the pain, the Spirit whispered to my heart: “This is how Heavenly Father feels when His children fail to heed His warnings and won’t allow Him to ease their pain when they need it most.” In that moment I felt such joy at this knowledge and a confidence in the Lord’s willingness to teach me.

We know the Lord makes His servants bold. The young boy Joseph who saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, in a grove of trees was transformed into a spiritual giant. Parley P. Pratt saw that when the Prophet Joseph Smith rebuked the vile guards who held them captive. Elder Pratt recorded:
“On a sudden he arose to his feet, and spoke in a voice of thunder, or as the roaring lion, uttering, as near as I can recollect, the following words:
“‘SILENCE, ye fiends of the infernal pit. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and hear such language. Cease such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!’”
Of that experience, Elder Pratt wrote, “Dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri.”3

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
As we watched the boys with mild interest, Sarah proceeded to tell me about her best friend in high school. At least Sarah said this girl was her “best friend.” I didn’t know how that was decided. As the story went, this girl had been spending the weekend at Sarah’s, and one night they were up late talking. She told Sarah that although Sarah was fun for the first day or so, her charm soon wore off. Sarah, who was overweight and insecure, didn’t have many friends, and she had believed what this girl had told her.
I thought about this “best friend” and what her motives could possibly have been. Maybe she was annoyed with Sarah and just wanted to be mean. Maybe she was merely entertaining herself and didn’t realize that five years later, Sarah still believed that her charm quickly wore off like Cinderella’s gown.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallel between those boys and Sarah’s “best friend.” One remark had scarred Sarah enough, that years later she still expected to be rejected after people really got to know her.
Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.

When my husband and I first got married, I was worried that family home evening with just the two of us would be awkward or would become repetitive. I thought we would run out of things to teach each other. But my husband surprised me on our first Monday night by saying, “I want to bear my testimony.” He proceeded to share his testimony of the Savior and of marriage. After his testimony, I shared mine. It was an evening I will always treasure. Though he had not known of my concern about family home evening, he answered it, and I found that each family home evening was a spiritual experience to look forward to.
Since then testimony sharing has remained a tradition in our family home evenings. Though we now have a toddler and we tailor lessons to her, we also don’t go without bearing our testimonies. I am excited for the day when I will be able to hear my children’s testimonies and when I can teach them why testimonies matter.
Heidi Icleanu, Kentucky, USA

Fifteen-year-old Andy Tuitupou’s feet left the court long enough to grab the rebound during basketball practice. Gliding through the air, Andy was confident—he was good-looking, popular, active in his teachers quorum in our Utah ward, and a member of the school basketball team. But when his feet touched the ground again, his life changed. His strong body crashed to the floor—never to walk again.
Surgeons pinned and cast Andy’s broken leg. Pain became his constant companion. Long days, determination, and patience seemed to bring only more suffering. Although Andy gave it his all, physical therapists weren’t able to help him learn to walk again.
In desperation Paul and Carolyn Tuitupou, Andy’s parents, took him to a hospital where skilled surgeons operated and found the source of Andy’s intense pain: bone cancer. Andy made the difficult decision to have the doctors amputate his leg. Whatever the price, he wanted to beat the cancer.
Several days after the amputation, Andy asked me—his bishop—if he could receive his patriarchal blessing. I wondered what a blessing would hold for a young man facing possible death. I rushed to my office to get a patriarchal blessing recommend. Then I jumped in my car and headed for Andy’s bedside, where I found him waiting patiently for his interview. I asked Andy where he was getting his obvious strength and peace. “From the things I learned in family home evening,” he answered without hesitation. Andy was worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
As I visited with him throughout the next few months, I saw him as a brother who loved his family, friends, the gospel, and life. Although his spiritual health was strong, his physical well-being seemed only to worsen. Chemotherapy treatments left him violently nauseated for four or five days each week.
All hopes of a cure were dashed when a tumor in Andy’s hip erupted. His lungs began failing as cancerous tumors started their deadly invasion. But Andy wasn’t content to watch life pass him by. With the help of a devoted Scout leader, Andy soon fulfilled the requirements for his Eagle Award.
During one of my routine visits with this young member of my ward, I felt prompted to set up a formal appointment for his annual priesthood interview on the next Sunday.
On Sunday I headed for the hospital and found Andy in agony with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly sat by his bedside. After several minutes of listening to Andy’s labored breathing, I heard him whisper, “Bishop, are you going to interview me?”
After a tender prayer, I began the interview.
“Andy, are you morally clean?”
“Yes.”
“Do you honor your priesthood?”
“Yes.”
Our interview was a spiritual feast. After I asked him all my questions, he had one for me: “Bishop, how many priesthood blessings can I have?”
“As many as you want,” I said.
A few days later, I awoke to a ringing telephone.
“Andy is pretty bad. Can you come over?” Carolyn Tuitupou asked.
When I reached my friend, he asked for a blessing and then said, “I want to go home.”
As his humbled bishop, I placed my hands on my young friend’s head and knew Andy was nearing the end of his mission on earth. I asked the Lord to please take Andy home if it was His will.
After the blessing, I held Andy’s hand and said to him, “It’s okay to go home, little brother; it’s okay to go home.”
Before he went home, though, he had a few things to finish. Andy’s pain subsided, and breathing became easier, enabling him to talk to each of his brothers and his sister privately. He expressed his love to each of them and challenged his brothers to serve missions.
When I talked to him again, I asked him what he wanted me to tell the youth in the ward.
“Tell them you don’t have to be ‘cool’ for your friends; real friends don’t care if you’re ‘cool,’” he said.
Andy called several special people on the phone to say good-bye. He called an aunt he was close to and wanted to challenge her to become active in the Church again. Afraid of offending her, he didn’t quite have the courage to do it.
I looked at Andy and knew I had one last calling for him.
“Andy, will you serve as a ward missionary?”
Andy smiled. “Yes.”
I once again placed my hands on his head. After I set him apart, I gave him his first assignment: “Andy, I want you to get on the phone and bear your testimony to your aunt.”
I left the room, and he went to work—an honorable missionary.
Throughout the day, friends and neighbors dropped by to see Andy. Because it is traditional in the Tongan culture to sing in front of the home of someone who is dying, a member of the ward organized a group to come later that evening and honor Andy by singing on the Tuitupous’ front lawn.
Midafternoon, Andy’s breathing became very labored. His father and I laid our hands on his head. Brother Tuitupou pleaded with Heavenly Father to allow his son to return home. Andy died in his mother’s arms.
Their front yard was soon full of ward members singing Andy’s favorite hymn, “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, number 219). Music surrounded the home, and the family wept as love filled their hearts.
Although the Tuitupou family said an early good-bye to their son and brother, they knew they had been given much: the chance to love and learn from Andy.

There is a story told of an old Cherokee teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight, and it is between two wolves. One is evil: he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”
He continued, “The other is good: he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person too.”
Illustration by Allen Garns
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening, I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

Leticia Molina, 12, remembers with gratitude, “Once when we lived in another town we were very poor. The day finally came when we had only 35 centavos (about 3 cents U.S.) among us. There were nine of us, so that was the same as nothing at all. It was Sunday, and we were walking down the street together wondering what to do when we saw a beggar on the corner. My father reached into his pocket and gave the 35 centavos to the beggar so that someone at least could have a little something to eat, and we walked on together without anything. A few blocks later we were crossing a street when one of us saw some bills lying in the gutter. There were 35 pesos, and that gave us enough for something to eat for a few days till my father could get some more money.”

“I’m 18, too, and had been inactive for several years. Recently this changed. My branch president began visiting me, and he gained my trust to the point that I talked with him about my problems. This greatly relieved the burden I was carrying.

“The missionaries also began visiting me. I began reading the Book of Mormon and praying again. Much of this was because of a long period of fasting, praying, and fellowshipping by members of the Church. Because these people would consistently show their love for me, I gradually came around. They also showed me how the Church could help me with personal goals.

“If you truly want to reconvert your friend, try doing with him what my friends did with me. And pray for the Lord to soften his heart. With God’s help, he’ll come around. I know I did. But it may take a while.”
Braun ThompsonAustin, Minnesota

Personally, I can testify of how friendship has been a blessing in my life. Having friends to share good news, bad news, and boring news with has made my life better. As a middle aged working mom, my friendships today look a lot different than they did when I was in college. But I’m grateful for old friends and new friends that have always been loving and supportive but also flexible and accommodating.

In the fall of 2018, I was living in the Bay Area of California, in the city of Menlo Park, with my husband and three children. My then very healthy 35-year-old husband unexpectedly got sick. He was soon diagnosed with brain cancer and underwent his first craniotomy during our kids’ school Christmas break. Families at our school found out and immediately created a calendar to provide help for us. For the next four months, which was until the end of the school year, friends from school were giving my kids rides to and from school and packing them lunch and snacks every day. That was the beginning of a long road for my family as the next four years were filled with two more craniotomies, multiple rounds of chemotherapy, a few rounds of radiation, two clinical trials, and everything in between. In 2022, after being married for 15 years, my sweet husband passed away. As I reflect back to those very hard and trying times, what stands out to me is the love and support we received from others. They were truly angels on earth for me and my children. I have so many examples of specific people who helped with a specific need right when I needed it. God heard my prayers, and He answered them through others. Because of them, I felt God’s love and it strengthened my testimony.

I work closely with athletes as they prepare to be coaches and teachers. I find that some of them associate their worth with their behavior in the athletic arena. I remember a young track star who blew out her knee in a pickup basketball game during the off-season. Her world was shattered, and her identity was that of a good-for-nothing—useless. She was depressed and unproductive for several months because she felt her worth was dependent on her accomplishments, and she felt she would not be able to accomplish much now that she was injured. She worked very hard at her rehabilitation to get back to her earlier running form, and this story does have a happy ending. She did return to athletic glory. At that point in time, for her, her worth was determined by her athletic abilities. When I saw her with her young child several years later and asked her about her running, she remarked that wasn’t the focus of her life anymore. Perhaps love for her baby had helped her to understand that worth is not determined by accomplishments or talents or possessions or power or appearance. It’s a given from God and is always there.

One year after Mohamed Turay had joined the Church in Caldwell, Liberia, the 1989 war broke out. As rebels moved closer to Caldwell, he saw people in his community leaving. He had a dream in which a bomb fell near his home. Finally, after seeing an article in the newspaper describing how people were being beheaded, Mohamed knew he and his family were in danger and he resolved to flee Caldwell. Mohamed believed the dream was a warning from God. “It was a blessing for my family,” said Mohamed. “A serious blessing.”
“Come,” he told Abie, his wife. “Today, we’ll not sleep here.” Mohamed took Abie and their children to the border where they would be safe. But he had to return to Caldwell to make final arrangements for their departure. Just hours before rebels took the city, Mohamed managed to escape and join his family.

Thump! went the backpack on the living room end table. “Put your bag in your room, Petey!” Mother said as she rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile faded as she noticed Peter’s somber face. “Are you OK?”
“I guess so.” Peter shrugged as he hung his coat on a hook by the door.
“Then why the glum face? Did you have a fight with Justin?”
“Well, no … It’s just that whenever I ask him to come to Primary with me, he says he’s too busy or has stuff to do or something. Why can’t I make him come? Primary is so cool!”
“Let’s sit down a minute,” Mother said, heading for the couch. She tossed the towel onto the end table next to Peter’s backpack. “Do you remember the eleventh article of faith?” she asked when they were seated. “I think that’s one you’ve already learned.”
“Hmmm, let me think.”
“‘We claim the privilege …’” she started him off.
“Oh, yeah! I remember now. That’s the one that says ‘how, where, or what they may.’”
“That’s right! It says, ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship …’”
“‘how, where, or what they may!’” Peter finished proudly.
“That’s very good, Petey. But do you know what it means?”
Peter began to fidget on the couch.
Mother smiled thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can help. Remember last week, when Dad was out of town and we had that snowstorm?”
“Do I ever! We had to shovel the walks and driveway before school. It was a lot of work. And then the neighbor kids wanted to walk through the snow, so they tromped across our lawn, instead! What a waste of time!” Peter shook his head, remembering the footprints across the front lawn.
“Well, no it wasn’t,” Mother corrected gently. “Because our walks were clear, it was easy to get the car out to take you to school.”
“OK, OK.” Peter’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I still don’t get what that has to do with the eleventh article of faith—or Justin.”
“Well, we worked hard to clear a path in the snow—that’s what we wanted to do. It was important to us. But the neighborhood children chose to walk in the snow, instead—because that’s what was important to them. Right?”
“Right,” Peter said. “So what?”
“Well, you want Justin to go to Primary on Sunday because it’s important to you, right?”
“Oh. I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “Even though I choose to go to Primary, that doesn’t mean that Justin has to, right?”
Mother smiled. “That’s right. Heavenly Father has given us a very precious gift called agency. It is the right to choose and act for ourselves. We can’t force someone to follow the same path we choose to follow. However, while you need to let Justin have his agency, it’s also very good for you to love him and be his friend. You can keep showing Justin the ‘clear path’ that’s important to you. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll want to follow it one day.”
As Peter grabbed his backpack and headed up the stairs, he turned and smiled. “I’m glad I have my agency so I can choose to go to Primary.”

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our last visit was at the home of a sister whose husband recently died in a tragic accident. A recent convert to the Church, she had not understood that she could receive her own endowment and be sealed to her husband. When we taught her that these blessings could be available to her and her deceased husband, she was filled with hope. Knowing that through temple ordinances and covenants her family can be sealed together, she has faith and determination to face the trials ahead.
This widow’s son is preparing to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. His ordination will be a great blessing to her and her family. They will have a priesthood holder in their home.