Gospel Story Finder

A few days later Richie loaded up his pillow and sleeping bag into the backseat of the station wagon. He ran into the house. “Come on, Mom. It’s time!”
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Mom, Uncle Dave said five thirty, and it’s five twenty-seven now. Let’s go!”
“OK!” Mom smiled. “I think someone is excited about his first camping trip.”
Mom dropped Richie off at his cousins’ house and gave him a hug and kiss good-bye. “Now, be sure to tell Uncle Dave thank you for letting you join them. Dress warm tonight, and be careful.”
Richie waved good-bye, anxious to leave for the camp-out. Soon he and his cousins were traveling up the narrow road that wound through the green canyon. Once they reached the camping ground, they all worked together to set up the tent and build a fire.
Richie marveled at the green fir trees that reached up into the sky. The sky grew dark, and twinkling stars appeared. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” he told his cousin Todd. “It’s like I just took a pair of dark glasses off and can really see what’s in the sky.”
“You can see so many stars now because we’re away from the lights of the city,” Todd explained. “City lights usually drown out most of the stars.”
After a tinfoil dinner of hamburgers and potatoes, everyone gathered to sing around the fire while Uncle Dave played his guitar. The smell from the campfire clung to Richie’s sweatshirt. The soothing sound of the music and a full stomach made it difficult for him to stay awake. He had to fight to keep his eyes open.
“It looks like you are all having a hard time staying awake,” Uncle Dave said. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Come on, Richie, let’s hit the sack,” Todd called. Richie followed him and Douglas into the tent. He snuggled into his fluffy red sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep.
A few hours later Richie awoke with a start. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness, then remembered that he wasn’t in his bedroom but in a tent. The only sound was the steady hum of the crickets outside. His stomach felt queasy as the dream he had just had came back to him. I wish I was home, he thought. I wish I was in my own bed and that I could go get Dad.
He looked around. No one else in the tent was awake. Richie shivered. He didn’t want to wake Todd or Douglas. They were older, and he didn’t want them to think he was a crybaby. Still, the gnawing in his stomach didn’t go away, and the darkness seemed to surround him.
Thoughts of black bears and hungry mountain lions with fiery eyes filled his mind and added to the fear he already felt from his dream. If Dad were here, we could …
Richie quietly pulled himself onto his knees. “Heavenly Father,” he whispered into the darkness, “please help me to not be afraid. …”
When he finished his prayer, he felt warm and safe. As he climbed back into his cozy sleeping bag, he thought, I’m so glad that even if Dad isn’t here, I have another Father who can help, a Father who is always just a prayer away.

Around the turn of the previous century, two missionaries were laboring in the mountains of the southern United States. One day, from a hilltop, they saw people gathering in a clearing far below. The missionaries did not often have many people to whom they might preach, so they made their way down to the clearing.
A little boy had drowned, and there was to be a funeral. His parents had sent for the minister to “say words” over their son. The missionaries stood back as the itinerant minister faced the grieving father and mother and began his sermon. If the parents expected to receive comfort from this man of the cloth, they would be disappointed.
He scolded them severely for not having had the little boy baptized. They had put it off because of one thing or another, and now it was too late. He told them very bluntly that their little boy had gone to hell. It was their fault. They were to blame for his endless torment.
After the sermon was over and the grave was covered, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the mother, “and we have come with a message for you.” As the sobbing parents listened, the two elders read from the revelations and bore their testimony of the restoration of the keys for the redemption of both the living and the dead.
I have some sympathy for that preacher. He was doing the best he could with such light and knowledge as he had. But there is more that he should have been able to offer. There is the fulness of the gospel.
The elders came as comforters, as teachers, as servants of the Lord, as authorized ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.

We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.

Things will be different this year, I thought as Christmas was approaching. We had been confined to our home for nine months, and there was uncertainty what would happen later. What could we offer our children during these special days? In the Dominican Republic, the Christmas season is celebrated from the beginning of December until January 6, culminating in an iconic celebration of the “Dia de los Reyes” that commemorates the arrival of the three wise men to the manger where the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ, was born.
I told the children that during Christmas we would not be able to spend time with their grandparents. We would stay home; we would have our Christmas dinner by ourselves, and everything would be fine. My mother heart was beating very hard as I promised my children the same thing that Jesus promised His disciples when He ascended into heaven.
Christmas day arrived, and we prepared our traditional dinner with a lot of love and with the restrictions established by the government and health authorities. Despite all my worries and sadness for not being able to spend time with our relatives, the Lord prepared a way so that, even when distanced, we could be together. Technology played a leading role, and we could see our family in various parts of the world. We felt a spirit of gratitude and kindness knowing that no matter where we are or what situation we are going through, even in the midst of a pandemic, our Heavenly Father cares for each of His children.
Sister Estrella belongs to the Villa Esfuerzo Ward, Santo Domingo Dominican Republic El Almirante Stake.

In my first general conference address, I shared an experience of my mother teaching me to work in our field. “Never look back,” she said. “Look ahead at what we still have to do.”

Toward the end of her life, while Mother battled cancer, she lived with Naume and me. One night I heard her sobbing in her bedroom. Her pain was intense, even after taking her last daily dose of morphine only two hours earlier.

I entered her room and sobbed with her. I prayed aloud for her to receive instant relief from her pain. And then she did the same thing she had done in the field years ago: she stopped and taught me a lesson. I will never forget her face at that moment: frail, stricken, and full of pain, gazing with pity on her sorrowing son. She smiled through her tears, looked directly into my eyes, and said, “It is not up to you or anyone else, but it is up to God whether this pain will go away or not.”

I sat up quietly. She too sat quietly. The scene remains vivid in my mind. That night, through my mother, the Lord taught me a lesson that will stay with me forever. As my mother expressed her acceptance of God’s will, I remembered the reason Jesus Christ suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross at Golgotha. He said: “Behold I have given unto you my gospel, and this is [my] gospel which I have given unto you—that I came into the world to do the will of my Father, because my Father sent me.”

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was very small for my age. I was 5?2? and weighed 105 pounds. When you’re 5?2? and 105, not many coaches want you playing basketball, unless you have exceptional talent, which I didn’t. You also don’t make a very good linebacker for the football team.
I was sitting in the gym one day watching the basketball tryouts, when the wrestling coach walked by and said, “We need a few tough guys your size who can wrestle for us.”
I thought to myself, “Obviously I look pretty tough to the coach, so I’ll give this wrestling a try.” I told him I would do it.
My first problem was finding the wrestling room. After some searching, I found it was three stories under the basketball court in an unventilated, very dimly lit cubicle.
As I entered the room, I found the first thing you need to overcome in wrestling is the odor produced by 50 young men sweating in a room with no air circulation.
I found the coach. Instead of being polite and friendly as he had been the day before, he seemed grouchy and mean. He pointed to a kid across the room and said, “Wrestle him.”
I looked at the kid and thought to myself, “This will be a snap.” He was shorter than I was and looked as if he had missed a few meals. I turned to the coach to say he had made a mistake and surely there was someone else I could wrestle. As I did this, the kid grabbed me and for the next three hours gave me a wrestling lesson I’ll never forget. He rubbed my face in the mat and twisted me into positions I didn’t think possible. Finally, after three hours of mat work, I thought we were done. Not quite. Up to the halls we went, where the coach led us in wind sprints and jogging. Finally, four hours after practice began, we were finished. I sat on the bench in the locker room totally exhausted.
The coach called me into his office. He said, “How much do you weigh?”
I replied, “About 105.”
He said, “You’ll be wrestling 98 in three days.”
That was 7 percent of my body weight. “I’ll have to go without eating,” I protested.
He said, “I know.” So to my surprise, a wrestler not only had to work out for four hours, he couldn’t eat after the workout. I made weight at 98 pounds and put up with this difficult schedule for three weeks. Finally I had had enough.
I went home and told my dad that I was going to quit. I thought he would be elated after seeing how much I had suffered. Instead he said, “I never took you for a quitter. I always thought when you started something, you finished it.”
Well, if he was going to say that, I certainly would not quit now. I said, “I guess wrestling is not so bad after all.”
I stuck it out. For four long months I stuck it out. It was never easy. In fact, it was the most difficult thing I had ever done. It wasn’t glamorous. The basketball team got all the recognition. They got the nice locker room and all the new facilities, and the entire school showed up to their games. The school had to assign four members of the pep club to go to wrestling matches. No, it wasn’t glamorous. But much to my surprise, at the end of the difficult season, I had a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction that I had never felt before. The most difficult thing I had done in my life turned out to be the most rewarding.

“I met a couple in Rennes, France, who had been members for several years. The story of how both of them gained testimonies by reading the Book of Mormon showed me the importance of the scriptures in the conversion process.

“Missionaries stopped by the Segaud home one day while tracting and left a Book of Mormon with Sister Segaud, the only one home. She put the book away with some other books and forgot about it.

“Brother Segaud had a growing interest in the Bible at that time, and spent many hours discussing it with one of his neighbors, who belonged to a Protestant church. Brother Segaud didn’t belong to any church because he believed all the churches differed greatly from the Bible.

“Several years passed, and once again missionaries knocked on the door of the Segaud home. This time Brother Segaud was there, and they talked with him and his wife about the holy scriptures and a book called the Book of Mormon. Sister Segaud said she thought she had that book somewhere around the house and disappeared in search of it. She returned a few minutes later with the book.

“The missionaries asked how they got the book. Brother Segaud said he had never seen it before. Sister Segaud explained that two young men had given it to her a few years ago, but she hadn’t even looked at it.

“The missionaries explained the book and its origins and asked the couple to read it. Brother Segaud said he’d like to read a book like that, but Sister Segaud wasn’t interested.

“Brother Segaud read the Book of Mormon and received the missionary discussions. He accepted the challenge to be baptized, but he wanted to wait for his wife. She was not so willing to accept the message the missionaries brought. She avoided the meetings with them and often hid the book from her husband. Still he never stopped hoping.

“He left the Book of Mormon in places where she could easily see it. He left it open to passages she might be interested in. But she never touched it. He continued to study the Book of Mormon, and he shared with her his thoughts and feelings about what he learned.

“Slowly, as the months passed by, her curiosity grew. She began to read a few sentences. Then she’d shut the book and put it away—away out of her thoughts. But her desire to know what the book said continued to grow.

“She began to read it secretly, and soon she was discussing it with her husband. Finally she wanted the missionaries to come and teach her the gospel.

“One year after Brother Segaud had accepted the challenge to be baptized, he and his wife entered the waters of baptism and became members of the Church. Now years later, they still bear powerful testimony of how the Book of Mormon changed their lives.”

When the phone rang, Michael had no idea that the call would turn a good deed into a bad one.
Dad got up from the dinner table and answered the phone. When he returned a few minutes later, he looked excited. “Great news!” he shouted. “The company has called me back to work. I start next month.”
It was great news. Dad had been laid off from the steel mill nearly two years ago. They had lost their house and now lived in a small apartment. It had been a difficult adjustment.
“Congratulations, Dad,” Michael said.
Crystal jumped up from the table, threw her arms around Dad’s neck, and squealed, “Oh, Daddy!”
Michael hadn’t seen her do that for a long time.
Mom sat quietly, smiling.
“Donna,” Dad told her, “this spring we hunt for a new house.”
A tear slid down over Mom’s smile. She got up from the table and gave Dad a long, tender hug. “Sit down and finish your supper, Fred.” She put on a coat and took the storage shed key from the key rack. “Wait here,” she said, heading for the door. “I have a surprise for you.”
That’s when Michael realized that he might have a problem. He knew that Mom had gone after Dad’s company coat. Dad had been proud of the coat, an award for ten years’ service at the steel mill. But he had refused to wear it after the layoff. Mom had stored it for safe keeping, though—just in case.
Several weeks ago, while Michael and Crystal were doing the dishes, he had overheard his mom and dad talking. She had suggested that Dad wear his company coat since the weather was getting very cold.
“No,” Dad had said sternly. “I’ll freeze before I give the mill free advertising. Just get rid of it.”
The next day Michael had gone to the park as usual. He enjoyed seeing the pigeons and squirrels there on his way to school. He had paid little attention to the old man collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage cans. But that particular morning he noticed the old man sniffing and sampling food scraps, stuffing what he liked into his pockets.
From then on, whenever he could, Michael smuggled biscuits or waffles or jam-covered toast from his own breakfast plate and left it in a neatly wrapped package for the man. Normally the man smiled gratefully when he found the food. It made Michael feel good inside.
But one morning the man reacted differently. He searched about the park with angry glances. When he saw Michael, he marched over, shook the wrapped breakfast in Michael’s face and yelled, “What is this! I don’t need charity from any young do-gooder like you.”
Mortified, Michael had run.
He hadn’t left anything for the man again until yesterday. The weather had turned extremely cold, and on his way to school, he saw the man again—wearing a thin, ripped jacket and huddling under the viaduct near the park. Michael ran home, scavenged two leftover chicken legs from the refrigerator, wrapped them in a napkin, then stuffed them into a pocket of Dad’s coat and hurried back to the park. He jammed the coat into the garbage can, trying to make it look discarded, then fled—it was almost time for the man to get there on his daily round.
Michael’s recollections were interrupted when his mother came back. “Fred, your company coat is gone! Did you throw it away?”
“No,” Dad said. “Didn’t you get rid of it?”
“No,” Mom said. “Just last week I had it out, thinking that maybe I could talk you into wearing it while it’s so very cold. But it had a big grease stain on it, so I put it back until I had a chance to take it to the cleaners.”
Michael looked worriedly at Crystal. She had seen him with the coat. But she just looked at the ceiling and didn’t say anything. He knew that he should tell what happened, but he was afraid to. I’ll wait to tell them tomorrow and not spoil Dad’s good news today, he rationalized.
The next day, when the family was returning home from church, Mom gasped and said, “Fred, that man is wearing your coat!”
Michael spun around to look.
Dad stared at the old man. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Mom said. “See that grease stain?”
Michael blurted, “I think I’d better ex—”
“No need to concern yourself with this, son,” Dad interrupted. “Donna, go ahead with the kids up to the apartment. I’ll take care of this.”
“But, Dad, I want to—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” Dad cut him off again. “Go upstairs now.”
While Michael paced the floor, Mom sat watching out the window. Crystal’s gaze went back and forth from Michael to Mom as if she were watching a tennis match.
When Dad came in, he stared at Michael for a long moment. He didn’t hear Mom’s questions till she tugged at his sleeve and asked again, “Where’s your coat? Wouldn’t he give it back to you?”
“We were mistaken,” Dad said. “It’s not my coat.”
“Fred, I’d know that coat anywhere,” Mom said, astonished. “It’s your coat.”
“It’s his coat, Donna,” Dad said. “He said that his boy gave it to him.”
“Highly unlikely,” Mom said indignantly. “If he had a son, he wouldn’t let his father live on the streets and eat out of garbage cans.”
“It’s not really his son,” Dad replied. “The old man said that ‘his boy’ is like an angel, showing up just when he is most in need. When he’s starving, this boy shows up with food. When he was freezing, the boy brought the coat. Who could ask for more than that?” Dad said, gazing intently at Michael. “In my book, he’s a wonderful son.”
The next morning after breakfast, while Michael got ready for school, Mom said, “Michael, while you’re going by the park, would you care to dump those scraps for me? I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator, and the garbage man won’t come until Thursday.”
“OK, Mom,” Michael said. On the counter he found a nearly wrapped paper plate, piled with leftover food, sitting on Dad’s old work boots. “The boots, too?”
“The boots, too,” Mom said. “Your dad is getting a new pair.”
Now both Dad and Mom knew! And better still, they cared, too. Michael smiled to himself as he gathered up the plate full of “scraps.” Who had ever heard of warm scraps from the refrigerator?

In 1901 he became the first president of the Church born of LDS parents. When John Ruothoff, a young boy from Holland with failing eyesight, discovered that President Smith would be visiting in his country, he said to his mother, “The Prophet has the most power of any missionary on earth. If you will take me with you to the meeting and he will look into my eyes, I believe they will be healed.”
After the meeting President Smith lifted John’s bandages, looked into his eyes, blessed him, and promised him that he would see again. Later at home when the bandages were removed the boy cried out, “Mama, my eyes are well; I cannot feel any more pain. I can see fine now, and far too.”

Illustration by Alberto Ruggieri
I was feeling afraid and alone. Then I moved to another country and went to church for the first time in a long time. I was living with my mom in a little town in Mexico where everyone knows each other. I knew right from wrong, but I was confused and the only active young woman in the whole town.
I wanted to fit in, so I did one thing that made sense back then: have a boyfriend. This was only one of the first mistakes I started to make. I started giving in to peer pressure and believing I was old enough to think and choose for myself, which meant becoming an inactive young woman who lived in darkness.
I lived in darkness for a year, with every passing day becoming darker. My poor decisions led to arguments with my family, and I realized I couldn’t keep living with them. But it wasn’t until the death of a close Latter-day Saint friend that I realized something was missing. Unfortunately, I blamed God and the gospel. I stopped believing that blessings came from being obedient. I knew that if I didn’t decide to start living the gospel, I would continue ignoring my connection with the Church and keep living in a worldly manner.
I was sitting on my bed in a dark room, crying and feeling sorry for myself when I realized that I was afraid—afraid of being there alone with no one to talk to, afraid of not being able to fix all the wrongs I had done, afraid that no one was going to forgive me, especially God.
Eventually, I moved to Minnesota, USA, with my grandparents, who are not members of the Church. My stepdad flew with me, and my first Sunday there, we went to church, but only for sacrament meeting. By the end of the meeting I had already decided to leave the Church, but to my surprise, just when we were going to the car, we saw the bishop running to catch up to us. He asked us a few questions and invited us to come back next Sunday—and we did.
The next Sunday, just as sacrament meeting was ending, before I could stand up, I was surrounded by the young women from the ward—young women who would help me change my life.
I suddenly entered a completely different world: a world with a bishop and a Young Women president who cared for me and, most of all, young women who tried to live the gospel daily, who strived to live high standards and stand for the right. They shined so much that they could brighten the path before me.
That’s when I realized what I had to do: “Let [my] light so shine before men, that they may see [my] good works, and glorify [my] Father which is in heaven” (see Matthew 5:16). And so I started by going to church and Mutual every week, reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day, dressing modestly, using better language, going to the temple, and preparing myself to get my patriarchal blessing.
I had completely changed, but I didn’t realize it until Young Women camp, when I felt the Holy Ghost and discovered that I had a testimony—a testimony that would remind me that God loves me, that He has a plan for me, and that He doesn’t want me to be alone. A testimony so bright and strong that it changed me. A testimony to share and light not only my path but others’. A testimony that is not afraid to shine in the dark.
The author lives in Baja California, Mexico.

Last year, Lisa dislocated her shoulder and missed a chance to go to the Blue Star Basketball Camp to be seen by college recruiters. She was disappointed, but she didn’t give up. “I knew that I’d kept my body clean and strong and that it would heal fast.” She came back playing even stronger.
Lisa’s coach, John Schneiter, says, “In my 35 years of coaching, I’ve never seen a harder working athlete.”

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”
“Bishops, home teachers, visiting teachers, and members of priesthood quorums and of Relief Societies … all stand ready to help. …
“Of course, your brothers and sisters in the Church are not to solve your problems for you. … But your brothers and sisters will be at your side to strengthen you, encourage you, and help you.”Elder Joseph B. WirthlinFrom an April 2000 general conference address.

About 15 years ago my doctor told me that I had to make a lifestyle change: “Start being more active, or you won’t live very long,” he told me. I took his warning seriously. I decided to start running.
To make this lifestyle change successful, I needed to keep the long view in mind because if I only had the short view, I wasn’t going to get very far.
My long view is a recurring goal to run one marathon each year. This goal helps me get up and run every day because I know that on one certain day next year, I’m going to have to run 26.2 miles (42.2 kilometers). I stay disciplined to train and meet my short-term goals each week because I know they’re getting me ready for race day.
Sometimes there are things that try and stop me, like the weather. Maybe it’s too hot or too cold outside, or maybe it’s raining. So I have to run inside on the treadmill, even though I significantly prefer to run on the street. Injuries also try and stop me. Maybe I didn’t stretch properly before my run, so I tweak my hamstring. Or maybe it’s not necessarily my fault that I got injured. But no matter how it happens, I can’t give up because I know I’m going to be running a marathon next year. So I make alterations to my training. I recover and get back out running.
Running has taught me a lot about the gospel. We all have a long-term gospel goal to endure to the end and achieve exaltation. But we set short-term goals like taking the sacrament at church each week that help us get there. We get spiritually injured when we make mistakes. But we don’t give up. We repent, and we get back out there. The only way we can achieve our long-term goal is by making little changes all along the way to help us stay on track.
For over a decade, I worked as the senior vice president for Walmart in Brazil. My family was financially stable, I enjoyed my job, and life was good. But the job was demanding. It required me to travel a lot, which was interfering with our family and with my Church service. After 11 or 12 years, it was becoming too much.
My wife and I counseled together and proposed that I leave this job. We talked it through with our children, and together we said, “It’s time for us to make a change.”
When I quit, I plummeted from senior vice president to unemployed. It took nearly a year to find and accept another job. When I finally took a position with a small real estate company in the United States, I felt good about it. This job would let me dedicate more time to the things that really mattered.
But other people told me I was crazy. Why leave a stable job for a real estate company no one has even heard of? And move halfway across the world to the United States?
They were right that this was a huge change we were choosing to make. But they were wrong that it was a poor choice.
It took a lot of faith for us to switch jobs and move to a new country, but the Lord took care of us. And I had more time to fulfill my responsibilities as a husband, father, and ward member.
I believe change is mandatory for achieving our potential. We will never become what Heavenly Father wants us to become if we’re stationary in our lives. And we become like Him as we make deliberate changes in faith.
Another big change that happened in my family was when my youngest brother died in a car accident. We didn’t choose or want that for him or for us, and it’s still painful, even after 10 years. Forced change is never easy.
But the changes we don’t choose can also become opportunities to build our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It’s easy to stay faithful when things are going our way. But can we keep the faith and keep going when the changes don’t fall in our favor?
Divorce, infertility, unemployment, illness, and other painful experiences like these are not experiences we hope and plan for. They can make us feel like life is happening outside of our control. But that’s not entirely true—amid your unsolicited circumstances, there are still things you can control. You can set small goals, even just the goal to get through one more day. You can do it! You can bear all things with patience! (see Alma 38:4).
Joseph of Egypt is a perfect example of this. His life was full of forced change—he lost his freedom twice! (Once when his brothers sold him into slavery, and again when Potiphar put him in jail.) But Joseph didn’t break down because his circumstances were undesirable or unplanned for. He adapted and grew through his experiences. And in the end, he saved his family and an entire nation. The Lord was molding him and preparing him the entire way (see Genesis 37–46).
It’s hard to be patient when forced change upsets your plan, but remember that the long-term goal is to achieve exaltation. Heavenly Father knows what we need to get there: “Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels; wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected” (Doctrine and Covenants 67:13).
Heavenly Father loves you and wants you to succeed. He wants you to be happy. And He’s laid out a plan for you to achieve both of those things.
When I see mortality for what it’s meant to be—training—the changes in my life become more purposeful. Change helps me achieve my long-term goal, which is to become like my Savior Jesus Christ. I know Heavenly Father shares the same long-term goal for me and for all His children. Just like my doctor knew I needed to change something for the sake of my health, God clearly sees the changes we need to make to become like Him. He supports us and supplies resources like the scriptures, a local congregation, and a living prophet to help us in our quest to change for the better.
On the hardest days—those days when it’s hard to get out of bed and put on your running shoes, when you know you need to repent, or when you are struggling with some other unexpected change—we remind ourselves of God’s infinite love and of His desire for us to be even happier than we are right now.
That reminder gives us the strength to make the changes the Spirit prompts us to make. And it helps us trust that the unexpected changes we’re forced to make are part of His plan for our greatest happiness.

It’s not a real mission, but it is missionary service. And it’s for four weeks instead of two years. But it does bless and change lives.
Every year around Easter, people of all ages are called to serve in the Mesa Arizona Easter Pageant.
Performed on the grounds of the Mesa Arizona Temple, the pageant tells the story of the Savior’s birth, life, death, and Resurrection. The production requires hundreds of volunteers to design and sew colorful period costumes, build stages and props, write original music, and perform for an audience of approximately 150,000 during the month.
While a production as demanding as the Easter pageant might burn out the normal volunteer, the youth who participate tell of a different attitude. These 132 young volunteers say they are changed forever by the strong spirit that fills the temple grounds, and they want to return to the pageant again and again.
Before and after each performance, 425 cast members step out of their biblical characters to become real-life missionaries. Their job is to mingle with the crowd, greeting visitors and answering their questions about the pageant and the Church.
“One night, I was talking to some people in the audience and started talking to a family,” says Preston Merchant, 12. “I had a good discussion with them and really felt the Spirit. I thought, ‘This is what the Easter pageant is all about!’”
Participants promise to obey certain simple rules:
Never miss even one rehearsal or performance;
Attend the evening devotionals;
Pray often;
Read your scriptures every day;
Tell your friends and neighbors about the pageant;
Be a good representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in every way.
Full-time missionaries from the Arizona Tempe Mission met with cast members to teach them how to answer questions about the Church and how to give away a Book of Mormon.
“I loved bearing my testimony to the audience,” says 14-year-old Connie Fairbanks. “After our performance, we talked to the people in the audience. It was really neat to see how the Spirit had touched them.”
The youth aren’t the only ones getting into the act. Entire families participate in the pageant, either as members of the cast or part of the crew. One family, the Nielsons, voted to audition for the pageant together. “My family said either everyone’s in or no one is. Majority rules,” says David Nielson, 14. “So we all went as a family and tried out—and we all made it!” David played a beggar and a member of the mob in the pageant.
Telicia, David’s 12-year-old sister, played a child in the multitude, but she’s also a gymnast, so she was worried about the time commitment. “I love gymnastics,” she says. “And I knew if I got a part, I wouldn’t be able to work out [in the gym] for a whole month.” But Telicia says she doesn’t feel bad about her choice to miss gymnastics because she gained a stronger testimony of the Savior and His sacrifice.
“I invited my gymnastics coach and several of my teammates to come to the Easter pageant,” she adds. “They’re not members, but they said they would come. I was so excited!”
Kristin, 17, Telicia’s older sister, played an angel. The angels dance and sing on a platform high above the stage, which is pretty scary for Kristin. But she says she felt peaceful and closer to the Savior when she and the other angels sang about His birth. “Not only have I drawn closer to my Savior, but my family became closer to each other,” she says. “For one month, we dropped all our other activities and spent every night together. It was the neatest experience ever!”
The best part about the pageant is the spirit that surrounds it. Eighteen-year-old Janna Halcomb’s brother encouraged her to try out for the pageant with him just before he left on his mission to Hungary. “That year we were able to be angels together,” she says. “It was such an incredible experience. The Spirit on the temple grounds is so strong, and as we bore witness of the Savior and His life my testimony was strengthened.”
Many of the youth describe the mood of the pageant and on the temple grounds as a sweet feeling that seems to envelop them and anyone else who comes. “The many witnesses of Jesus Christ that I have received have been incredibly worth my time and sacrifice,” says 17-year-old A. J. Wilcox. “This has been great preparation for my mission.”
Dayton Rohner’s mom thought it would be a good idea for her family to volunteer for the pageant. At 17, Dayton wasn’t so sure. But now he’s grateful to his mom. “Being in the pageant helped me feel what others might have felt when the Savior healed the sick and taught through example what we should do in our lives. Through this experience I now have a better understanding of our Lord and His sacrifice.”
These young volunteers say they want to be a part of the pageant again; it’s such a great experience. Sister Nanci Wudel, director of public affairs, has heard similar comments. “The young men and women tell me they do better in their schoolwork, on tests, at sports, and in their lives altogether during the month of the pageant. They believe they really are blessed for participating,” she says.
Two years ago, the Pace family was able to bring a part of the Easter pageant home with them. A pure white baby lamb, needed for a scene where Adam offers a sacrifice, didn’t have a mother, and many worried the lamb might die.
“When my mother noticed the lamb,” Kelsey Pace, 14, remembers, “she told the owner that I had raised lambs on a bottle before. So the lamb became my responsibility. I had to feed her every four hours, even in the middle of the night, with extra-large bottles of powdered goat’s milk and sometimes medicine, too.
“We prayed for her every day. She is now healthy, and she’s even in the pageant again as one of the sheep with the shepherds who hear the angel tell of the birth of Jesus.” The lamb, now a family pet, lives in the Paces’ backyard.
“A few weeks after my family tried out for the pageant, we each got letters telling us that we all made it. My dad was assigned to be Joseph in the scene of 12-year-old Jesus in the temple, my mom got to be Mary, and I played Jesus. When I looked at our letters again, I couldn’t believe it! I know Jesus lives and the Church is true, and I’m glad I got to be a missionary by being in the Easter pageant.”–Tyler Starr, 12
“Being cast as Eve alongside my brother, Trevor, who played Adam, was the best thing that could have happened to me. Every time I watched the scenes of the miracles Jesus performed so long ago, I received such a strong confirmation from the Spirit! I know He suffered and died for us. I know He did that so I could repent of the bad choices I’ve made. That piece of knowledge is priceless to me.”—Casey Gorton, 17
“Last year was my ninth year in the pageant, and I loved the experience. It was a wonderful way to bear testimony of Jesus Christ and His life. Sometimes it was hard for me when I had to act in the betrayal scene and yell, ‘Crucify him!’ I can’t imagine doing that in real life. I am grateful for the opportunity I had to be in the pageant. It helped my testimony to grow.”—David Butler, 14
“I loved setting up for the Last Supper scene. At the beginning of this particular scene, the director asked for silence because it allowed the Spirit to really touch our hearts but also because the subject matter is so sacred. My favorite part is when Jesus tells His disciples to love one another. It was almost as if He were talking to me. It made me want to go out and just love everybody.”—Aubri Erbe, 16

Helping others along their covenant path may take the form of an unconventional act of service. As an example, during my current assignment in the Philippines, I learned of the Agamata family. They were baptized in 2023, and then they eagerly set a date to be sealed as a family in the nearby Urdaneta Philippines Temple. However, just before the family’s appointment, several typhoons struck the region. Brother Agamata, a rice farmer, was unable to plant his crops during the harsh storms. When the tempests finally passed, he needed to quickly plant the rice while the ground was soaked with water—ideal conditions for planting. Sadly, the temple trip would have to be postponed.

Two disciples, Elder and Sister Cauilan, along with three young service missionaries, heard of the Agamata family’s struggle and offered help despite having no farming experience. Working under the blistering sun, they helped plant the seedlings, allowing the Agamatas to complete their task and attend their temple sealing as scheduled. Elder Cauilan observed that “[the Agamatas’] countenances glowed as we saw them dressed in white in the house of the Lord. The joy we felt ministering to the one is a joy beyond compare!”

The Agamatas now enjoy the rich blessings of being sealed as an eternal family because a few fellow disciples who were filled with charity—a sign of their discipleship—determined to help their brothers and sisters forward along their covenant path.

One of the great East German leaders was Henry Burkhardt, who worked closely and was with President Monson for two decades at the scene of all the pivotal events in that country. Brother Burkhardt was a man who served so faithfully and at such great risk all those years behind the Iron Curtain as the Church’s representative to the government. He served, among other positions, as a Church leader and as president of the Freiberg Temple.
I asked him what stood out in his mind as the singular moment in President Monson’s ministry. I expected him to mention the meeting in Görlitz, the dedication of the country in 1975, the organization of the first stake, the dedication of the Freiberg Temple, or the meeting with Herr Honecker, East Germany’s highest Communist official, when President Monson asked permission for missionaries to enter the country and other missionaries to leave the country to serve in other lands. Given the death squads that patrolled the wall, the query sounded almost ludicrous, but Herr Honecker responded, “We have watched you all these years, and we trust you. Permission granted.” Which one of these events would Brother Burkhardt choose?
Tears began to flow down his cheeks as he responded: “It was December 2, 1979.” I couldn’t register in my mind a major event attached to that date. “Tell me about it,” I said.
“It was the day President Monson came to East Germany to give my wife, Inge, a blessing.” President Monson had a weekend without an assignment, and he flew from the United States to Germany for just that purpose. Sister Burkhardt had been in the hospital for nine weeks with complications from surgery, and her condition was deteriorating. President Monson had recorded in his journal, “We joined our faith and our prayers in providing her a blessing.”8 He had gone thousands of miles with his only free time in months—to the rescue.
“Let us ask ourselves the questions,” he has said, “‘Have I done any good in the world today? Have I helped anyone in need?’ What a formula for happiness! What a prescription for contentment, for inner peace. … There are hearts to gladden. There are kind words to say. There are gifts to be given. There are deeds to be done. There are souls to be saved.”9
Such is the ministry of President Monson. He is always reaching out to the weary, the lonely, the faint hearted. As Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says, “The Lord had to make Thomas Monson big because of the size of his heart.”10

In later years I worked as an engineer installing robotic systems for many companies. There was one project I worked on for a long time. Some of the people I worked with didn’t always use good language, but they were my customers, and I had to work with them. I tried, in little ways, to improve their language.
I went back to that company years later, and while the manager was giving me a tour, someone came up to him and spouted a long sentence of expletives about a problem they were having. The manager didn’t respond to the question being asked but introduced me and said, “Now, he doesn’t stand for that kind of language, and we will not use that when he’s here.” I had no idea of the influence I had had all those years earlier. I didn’t need to defend my standards; the manager stood up for me.

While serving as missionaries a number of years ago, a young married couple had been sent with a young elder to New Orleans by the president of the Central States Mission. They took with them their tiny eighteen-month-old daughter.
Upon returning, it was necessary for them to cross the Atchafalaya River, a wide and deep stream. They drove their car onto the raftlike ferry that was to be pushed across the river by a small tugboat. It was placed about two feet from the edge of the ferry with only a light cable across the front.
The flat ferry could accommodate just four cars at a time, and the automobile in which the missionaries were riding was the third to be driven on. The fourth automobile was to be placed immediately behind the missionaries’ car.
Looking back through the small rear window of the crowded car, the young elder saw a rather large car on the top of the high levee. It was waiting to approach the ferry. At a signal from the ferryman, it started down.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed. “That car is coming too fast! It’ll crash right into us!”
Faster and faster it came, gaining speed as it approached the ferry. There was no time for the missionaries to leave their car. The brief and terrifying thoughts of being pushed into the river raced through their minds. The driver, uttering a brief but fervent prayer, set his foot against the brakes—hard!
A woman in the onrushing car screamed. Onto the ferry it hurtled, out of control. Then, miraculously, one of the wheels struck the edge of a raised plank on the floor of the ferry, and the car turned abruptly away from the one in which the missionaries sat. With its right wheel on the very edge of the platform, the runaway car came to a halt within inches of their car. A period of complete silence followed.
“Poor brakes,” gasped the frightened driver as he climbed out of his car.
Neither he nor the stunned onlookers could explain why the runaway car had stopped where it did rather than bumping the missionaries’ car over the edge of the ferry and into the river. Undoubtedly, many silent prayers were given by both the frightened passengers and the onlookers.
“You must all be good praying folks!” the ferryman said in wonderment, shaking his head slowly.
The missionaries knew that only the watchful care provided by our kind Heavenly Father had prevented a disaster. Before leaving that morning the missionaries had not forgotten to ask their Heavenly Father for special protection in their journey. Their prayers had been answered!
NOTE: I know that this incident is true because I was the driver of the small car. Others involved were Sister Christiansen, our daughter, Frances Jean, and a fine elder. Although Frances Jean was too small to realize what had taken place, the scene has never been blotted from the minds of the rest of us.

In 2013, when I was about to finish high school, I was diagnosed with a ruptured appendix. It was so severe that I had to stop school for a while. I had surgery done and was recuperating. One night, as I was having dinner, I began to feel intense discomfort in my stomach. I was rushed to a nearby hospital that night and was referred to Randel General Hospital.
At the hospital, there was no bed for me and the discomfort and pain I felt at this point was excruciating. My parents were about to take me away from the hospital when a nurse brought a wheelchair and asked that I sit there. She told me that I would receive treatment soon. We had little or no choice than to do so, I was in such pain. Eventually I was able to get a bed. I spent many days in the hospital and finally recovered.
As I was leaving the hospital, I realized that written on the back of the wheelchair that I had used during my hospital stay was the name “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I was overwhelmed by the joy I felt knowing that the wheelchair donation had saved my life. I had been a partaker of the donations of the Church, and I could not help but think about my Savior’s love.
One lesson I learned was that we might not entirely comprehend the extent to which our acts of service might go, but we can rest assured that somewhere, somehow, there is that one person who needs that help or service. If the Church had not made that donation, I do not think I would have been able to receive treatment in that hospital and my health challenge might have been prolonged.
I am indeed grateful for the opportunity to be served by my fellow brothers and sisters. May God bless the donors, LDS Charities and USAIDS.

I recall so well a young man of great faith and devotion. He was my friend and my mentor during a sensitive period of my life. The manner of his living and the enthusiasm of his service were evidence of his love for the Lord and for the work of the Church. But he was slowly led away by the flattery of associates who saw in him the means of their own advancement in the affairs in which they were engaged together. Rather than lead them in the direction of his own faith and behavior, he slowly succumbed to their enticings in the opposite direction.

He never spoke in defiance of the faith he had lived by. That was not necessary. His altered manner was testimony enough of his having forsaken it. The years passed, and then I met him again. He spoke as one disillusioned. With lowered voice and lowered eyes, he told of his drifting when he cut himself loose from the anchor of his once-treasured faith. Then, concluding his narrative, like Peter, he wept.