Gospel Story Finder

Father dropped a stack of books on the table and announced, “Tonight for family home evening we are going to write our testimonies in a Book of Mormon. Practice first on a piece of paper. Then, using your best handwriting, put your testimony on the inside cover, and sign your name. We’ll glue a picture of you underneath it, and tomorrow I’ll give the books to the bishop to donate to the missionaries.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “Maybe what we write will inspire someone to join the Church. Let’s put our address under the pictures, too, and maybe someone will write back to us.”

David and Anna eagerly reached for a piece of paper.

“I’m going to explain about the priesthood and how I was ordained a deacon,” David said.

“I’m going to write about our family and how we can be together forever,” said Anna.

John just sat and stared at his paper.

Soon everyone except John was busily writing. Several minutes later Mother stopped and said, “What’s wrong, John?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Can’t you decide what to say?” Father asked.

John shook his head.

“Maybe you could write how the Church has a living prophet,” Mother suggested, “or how we read the Book of Mormon every day as a family and how that helps you to make right choices.”

“Yes, I guess I could,” John said. He stared at his paper some more. What could I say that would help anybody? he wondered. Who would ever believe what a seven-year-old had to say?

John thought about his next birthday. It was four months away, and he would be baptized then. An idea began to form in his mind, and he started to write. Several times he crushed up his paper and threw it away, but he kept working at the project.

Everyone else had finished writing when John finally started copying his testimony on the inside cover of his Book of Mormon. When he finished, he reread it one last time.

My name is John Richards. I am seven years old. Soon I will be eight. When I turn eight, I will be baptized by immersion as Jesus was. My father will baptize me and confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I believe that this is the true church of Christ. If you read this book and pray about it, Heavenly Father will tell you that the teachings in it are true. Then you can get baptized too. Please write and tell me how you feel when you read this book.
Sincerely,John Richards

Satisfied, John carefully glued his picture underneath it, wrote his address, and added his book to the stack.

“All finished?” Father asked.

“Yes,” answered John. “That sure was hard!”

“Sometimes trying to express your feelings is hard,” agreed Father. “But sharing your testimony will not only help someone else learn about the Church. It will also help your testimony grow stronger.”

“Is that why I feel good now?” John asked.

“I’m sure it is. And when someone gets your book and reads what you wrote, maybe he will get that good feeling too.”

Each day after school John eagerly raced to the mailbox, hoping to find an answer from the person who received his Book of Mormon.

But it was Anna who excitedly said one day, “An answer! An answer! I got an answer!” And three days later both Father and David got a letter.

“My letter came all the way from half way around the world,” David bragged.

Tears welled up in John’s eyes. He crept round to the back of the house and sat by his favorite tree.

Mother came out and sat down beside him. She sat in silence for a few minutes, then said, “You’re really disappointed, aren’t you? Do you want to talk about it?”

John hesitated, then wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. “What if the person who gets my book laughs at what I said? What if he thinks that I’m stupid? What if he thinks that a kid doesn’t know anything, and he decides not to read my book?”

Mother gently put her arms around John. “No one would laugh. He’d know that you’re very sincere and that you care about him. And children can often touch people’s hearts in a way that grown-ups can’t.”

“The why haven’t I gotten an answer?”

“I don’t know, but I’sure that there is a good reason. Maybe the missionaries just haven’t found the right family to give your Book of Mormon to yet. And whether we like it or not, just because we bear our testimonies doesn’t mean that the persons who receive them will accept them. No one has written to me yet, either, so let’s just hope that we’ll still get letters. Sometimes it just takes a while.”

That night when he went to bed, John prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please help the missionaries to find the right person for my Book of Mormon. Bless him not to laugh at what I wrote. Bless him to read the Book of Mormon and get a testimony. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Days became weeks. Finally it was John’s baptismal day. Just before lunch, Anna came running into the house, yelling, “John! John! Look what the mailman just brought.”

John took the envelope Anna was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,

That evening, on August 30, as John came out of the waters of baptism, he whispered, “Peace to you, Tuilolo. Peace to you.”

Members who follow President Hunter’s counsel sometimes find temple doors open to them in surprising ways. One such member was Kuteka Kamulete of Zaire. Although he lived thousands of kilometers from the nearest temple, President Hunter’s words touched his heart. He met with his branch president and received a recommend. Later, through an opportunity at work to travel to North Korea, in unexpected and unusual ways he was able to arrange a stopover in Switzerland and attend the Swiss Temple.
He later wrote: “How humble and grateful I felt! … I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life” (“From Zaire to the Lord’s House,” Liahona, August 1997, 9).

All during that winter of 1846 in those frontier establishments, forges roared and anvils rang with the making of wagons. My own grandfather, barely out of his teens, became an expert blacksmith and wagon builder. No vocation was more useful in those days than that of the ability to shape iron. He would later build his own wagon and with his young wife and baby and his brother-in-law set off for the West. Somewhere on that long journey, his wife sickened and died and his brother-in-law died on the same day. He buried them both, tearfully said good-bye, tenderly picked up his child, and marched on to the valley of the Great Salt Lake.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told about a single mother who got chicken pox—and then her children got sick too. The normally spotless house became cluttered and messy. Dishes and laundry piled up.

In a moment when she felt completely overwhelmed, Relief Society sisters knocked on her door. They didn’t say, “Let us know if we can help.” When they saw the situation, they sprang into action.

“They cleared up the chaos, brought light and clarity into the home, and called a friend to bring over some much-needed groceries. When they at last finished their work and said their good-byes, they left that young mother in tears—tears of gratitude and love.”7

Both the givers and the receiver felt the warmth of joy.

On March 1, 1842, Margaret Cook visited Sarah Kimball to do some sewing for her. They discussed the recent appeals for support of the temple laborers. Margaret’s means were meager, but her sewing skill could be useful to those needing clothing. If fabric could be made available, Margaret said she “would be pleased to contribute needlework.”2 Sarah said she would provide the material, and as they continued conversing, they wondered if others might want to help as well. They spoke with friends about organizing a sewing society.
This conversation, prompted by Margaret and Sarah acting on inspiration, led to further interactions with others, including the Prophet Joseph Smith. In response, the Lord told His prophet that He had “something better” for the women and inspired Joseph to organize them under “the pattern of the priesthood.”3 This laid the revelatory foundation of what we know today as Relief Society, one of the world’s oldest and largest women’s service organizations.

Steven (8) and Douglas (11) Brown, and Kevin (8) and Kimball (11) Galbraith were neighbors in Sugar City, Idaho. On Saturday, June 5, 1976, they were planning to go fishing at their secret spot on the Teton River after Steven and Douglas had finished mowing their lawn.
Ordinarily the boys used a power mower but for some reason that day they used the hand mower even though it took longer. Word about the dam breaking came before they finished the lawn.
Doug said, “If we had used the power mower we’d have been at the Teton River and Dad doesn’t think that he could have gotten us out and we probably would have drowned.”
One month later Steven, Douglas, Kevin, Kimball, and Paul went back to see their homes. (see photographs)—

Susan (name has been changed), like many adoptees, had a great curiosity about her birth parents. She was sealed as an infant to her adoptive family and felt the power and confirmation that these were her people—the ones she was meant to be with forever. She felt blessed by doing family history and temple work for this family. However, that didn’t take away her curiosity or her desire to offer the saving ordinances to the people on her birth line. She worried that she was being somehow disloyal to her adoptive family for having that desire. But after a loving conversation with her parents, she was assured that feelings of love and loyalty would not be diminished by pursuing the sacred work for her birth line.

A number of years ago, our son, who was four years old at the time, was involved in a serious road accident away from home. After a week or so in hospital, he was able to be transferred the 200 miles (320 kilometres) to our local hospital. When we arrived home, there was a note from a loving and caring ministering sister with details of who would collect our other four children from school, who would provide meals and who would do our laundry. During the subsequent five weeks our son remained in hospital, my wife gave birth to our youngest son. With a son in one end of the hospital, a wife and new baby in the other end, four children to care for, and a full-time job to fit in, we would not have coped without the significant help given to us by our fellow ward members. How grateful we were for their selfless ministering. We know that the common question “Can we do anything to help?” is always sincerely offered, but this wonderful, thoughtful sister went the extra mile, anticipated our needs and ministered accordingly.

Grant’s musical talent started to show when he was only five years old. Because his four older siblings would play the piano and sing all the time, he decided that he wanted to join in the fun. Although Grant was only in kindergarten and could not yet read music, he says, “I started playing the piano by ear and would pick out melodies on the piano.”
Michael, his brother, adds, “One thing Grant is good at is that he can listen to a difficult piece of music and be able to pick out all the parts on the piano.”
Not only does Grant play the piano, but he also plays the trumpet and the flügelhorn, and, of course, he sings. Such a wide variety of talent was great to have when Grant, Guy, and Michael started to record their first CD. The three brothers had dreamed of making a CD but waited until Michael returned from his mission in Geneva, Switzerland, to start.
Michael says that before he served a mission there was never a temptation to stay home and record music. “I received assurance through prayer that my mission call was going to be right for me,” Michael says. “When I got my call, I knew it was what the Lord wanted for me.”
When he got home two years later, the three boys worked together, using their vocal and instrumental talents to produce a CD. Their goal in releasing it, Michael says, was to give youth and young adults “safe, appropriate, and upbeat music to listen to.” But the brothers will have to put future goals of making another CD on hold for a couple of years because Guy Richey, who goes by both his first and middle names, recently left to serve a full-time mission in Toulouse, France. In this family of musicians, serving the Lord is more important than music.
“Even if we had a top record in America right now, we would still go and serve the Lord. We know that serving is the most important thing,” Michael says.
Making the mission a priority is an example to Grant, who says that his brothers and dad have paved the way for him. Grant wants to serve a mission, too. “Michael’s decision process to go on a mission started with our father, who went on a mission. We look up to our father so much. He’s such a great example to us that we have all felt that going on missions was the right thing to do,” Grant says.
Michael gives Grant his best advice for serving a mission: “Go out with a smile every day and talk to as many people as you can. Be selfless and bring joy into other peoples’ lives. If you’re concerned about other peoples’ needs, the stresses and sacrifices of serving a mission will not be a big deal.”
In three years, when it comes time to serve a mission, Grant will have no doubt that giving up his musical career for two years to serve the Lord is the right thing to do. He is already preparing for that by following the Holy Ghost and building his testimony.
Although Grant can play by ear a song he hears on the radio, he’s also working on training something else—his spiritual ear. “When I feel spiritual promptings, I follow them,” Grant says. “Because I follow them, I’m able to recognize those promptings easier. I try to be better at listening to the Spirit.”
And why does he want to follow the Spirit? Because Grant has a testimony of the gospel. “Ever since I was little, my parents have taught us about the gospel,” he says. “The more I learn about it, the more I know it’s true. My testimony is always strengthened when I’m trying to live more like Christ.”
One way that Grant is able to live the gospel is by listening to good, wholesome music. When asked what advice he would give to teens who struggle with inappropriate music, he answers, “Just know that inappropriate music is what Satan wants you to listen to, and it doesn’t please Heavenly Father when we don’t listen to uplifting things. We don’t always have to listen to Church music, but it has to bring a good spirit.”
Michael agrees. “Music is so spiritual, and it’s so connected to our soul that when we listen to music that is destructive, uses bad language, or even has a feeling that is inappropriate, we know that it’s the wrong music to listen to,” he says. “Finding music that makes your soul and spirit feel good is very important.”
Grant’s mom, Lucie, says that good music is always playing in their home, and that creates a loving atmosphere. “It’s never quiet in our home; somebody is always singing or playing the piano,” she says. As if on cue, the family sings “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294) in perfect harmony. No, it is never quiet in the Gibbons’ home, but a spirit of love resides there. Music is a big deal to Grant and his family, but serving the Lord always comes first.

A sobering and poignant scene appears on our screen as we switch channels. A grieving young father and his two children sit before a television set in their home after a makeshift dinner. The children have been staying with Grandmother while their mother has slowly slipped away in a lingering illness; now they and their father are home again after her funeral. The little girl drops off to sleep and is carried to her bed. The little boy fights off sleepiness until he finally asks his father if tonight, just tonight, he can sleep with him in his bed. As the two lie silently in the dark, the lad speaks: “Daddy, are you looking at me?” “Yes, son,” the father replies, “I am looking at you.”
The boy sighs and, exhausted, sleeps. The father waits a time and then, weeping, cries out in the dark, in anxious anguish: “God, are you looking at me? If you are, maybe I can make it. Without you, I know I can’t.”

In April 2010, Evelyn Vigil was concerned that her husband, Amado, was losing his faith. He had not attended any church for 11 years, having arrived at the conclusion that the true Church did not exist. Meanwhile, Evelyn had never stopped believing in God, and she went from one church to another, yearning to hear His word but never satisfied with what she heard. Some mornings she awoke in tears. On such days, she pled for guidance from her Heavenly Father. She asked Him why she never felt right in any of the churches she attended, even though she wanted so desperately to learn of Him. She also prayed that her family would someday find unity in one church.
“Our story began,” Amado recalls, “when we found a pair of elders—rather, when they found us. We were leaving the home of Evelyn’s parents, and we were carrying shopping bags. We noticed that the elders had seen us and were crossing the street toward us. One of them kindly asked if they could help us.
“They also asked if we would allow them to visit us. I said yes, mostly out of curiosity. Up to that point, I didn’t know much about the Church—only comments I had heard from other people.
“After I agreed to let the elders visit our home, I told my wife, ‘Don’t get too excited about this. Don’t get any illusions about me deciding to join a church. I’m just curious to see what they have to say.’
“The elders started visiting us. I was ready to politely tell them to go away if they said anything that didn’t seem right to me. But they were so kind, and I was impressed that they never said anything bad about other churches. They taught with such love and diligence, and they were patient when I asked many questions. They quickly endeared themselves to us.”
Bit by bit, Amado and Evelyn prepared themselves to be baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Evelyn’s biggest challenge was the Word of Wisdom. She was saddened by the realization that she would need to let go of her desire for coffee. Amado didn’t need to let go of any bad habits; he just needed to learn to grab hold of the truth. He believed what the missionaries were teaching, and he even recognized many doctrines and practices that he and his wife had felt were missing from other churches, such as eternal families, baptisms for the dead, and fellowship and organization in the Church. But he hesitated to commit to be baptized. He worried that he would join the Church only to find that he had made the wrong decision.
These concerns soon faded. Evelyn prayed for help and overcame her coffee habit, saying, “I’m not going to let this keep me from receiving blessings.” After about two months of indecision, Amado committed to be baptized. Now, according to Evelyn, he frequently says, “We need to embrace the doctrine.”
Amado, Evelyn, and Michelle were baptized and confirmed in early July 2010. “From the time that we were baptized,” Evelyn says, “I could feel that everything started to change. My family was united in the Church. We had found the restored gospel. We have had trials and sickness since then, but our Heavenly Father has poured many blessings on us.”
Amado observes: “The first change I noticed was unity in our family. It’s not that we were dysfunctional before, but we started to unite more. The doctrines of the gospel helped us. As Church leaders taught us about the sacredness of the family, we thought more about the value we should place on our family.”

When I began preparing this talk, I did all the things I knew I should do: I went to the temple, I fasted, I read the scriptures, I prayed. And I wrote a talk. But, sisters, when you choose to write about charity, you need to feel charitable. And I didn’t. And so, after many prayers and tears, there came a realization to my mind that I had to ask forgiveness of those who, unbeknownst to them, were the cause of my uncharitable thoughts. It was hard. But it was healing. And I testify to you that the Lord’s Spirit returned.

She wore overalls to school. This was unheard of in 1936 when I was eight years old. And that wasn’t her only crime.
“Look at what ‘Overalls’ brought for lunch,” one of my friends whispered. I watched the girl pull out two slices of bread—no meat, no cheese, no peanut butter, no sandwich spread. Strange.
No one sat by her or talked to her, so I didn’t either.
That changed one cold, blustery, winter day when the snow was four feet deep with twelve-foot drifts. Because I lived in a small mining town 10 miles away from school, I usually left class early to catch the bus that the high school students also rode. But on this day my teacher made an announcement: “None of you will leave this room until you have handed in your projects and cleaned up after yourselves.” I watched the clock, hurrying as fast as I could. As soon as I finished, I grabbed my coat and raced after the bus. But it was no use. Groaning, I watched it drive off without me. My family had no telephone, and I could think of nothing to do but start walking.
I wrapped my hand-me-down brown coat tightly around me, lowered my head, and set off up the icy road. I had no hat, no gloves, and no boots. Then, as now, a few drivers thought it great sport to splash people, so I was soon soaked.
At the time there was an epidemic of scarlet fever, and nearly every house along the road had a quarantine sign on it, meaning that no one could enter or leave. Families without the disease did not welcome strangers for fear of catching it, so I had no chance of going inside to get warm. One very nice lady came out and gave me a warm hat, though, and said she was sorry that I couldn’t come in.
Five miles into my trek, I was so stiff and cold that I was beginning to doubt I could make it. Just then, two young ladies came running out from a farmhouse. “Would you like to come in?”
I nodded, and they helped me through the door. Inside, they hung my wet clothes by the fire to dry and wrapped me in a warm blanket. They asked me where I lived and then disappeared. Their mother spoke to me gently to calm my fears as she prepared supper. Before long, who should come through the door but the last person on earth I expected—the overall girl!
“I was in the barn doing chores and I saw you walking,” she said. “I told my sisters that you go to my school and that you don’t have scarlet fever.”
“Thanks.” I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt to see someone I knew. We talked until suppertime, and then her mother invited us into the kitchen. I especially liked the large slices of fresh homemade bread and homemade butter. Mmmmmmmm, good!
I learned later that her sisters had gone out and stood in the cold, waiting and watching for someone to come looking for me. When my parents drove slowly past, they were waved down and brought inside. Was I ever glad to see them!
I learned a lot about the overall girl that day and decided that she was better than all the snobs at school put together (including me). From then on I made it a point to sit with my new friend at lunch. Sometimes she would even trade her delicious bread-and-butter sandwiches with me.

Neither James nor Jessa knew how to speak or read English when they moved to the United States, so they didn’t say much. But their family claims that they talk nonstop now. Because they are still learning English, they are in an ESL (English as a Second Language) class at school. Jessa uses this class as an opportunity to serve others. “I help friends in the class who don’t know English as well.” She has many friends because of her openness and caring. One friend even wrote her a note that said, “You are my very best, best, best, best friend. Today I will buy you a candy and an ice cream.”

I was sitting on a crowded bus one morning, on the way to my typing class at our local education center, when suddenly I heard a voice within me say, There is no typing class today; it’s the half-term holiday. Get off the bus and go see Sister Benson.
I looked about in amazement. Slowly I realized that it really was the half-term holiday, and that the bus was fast approaching the stop near Sister Benson’s home. The voice had been quiet yet clear and unmistakable, so just before the bus pulled away from the stop, I arose and stepped off.
Feeling rather bewildered, I stood on the street corner in front of a grocery store. “What now?” I wondered. Then the impression came: Buy some groceries and take them to Sister Benson.
I looked into my purse. There wasn’t much there. Then I looked up and down the road, wondering if I should just catch the next bus home. But the spiritual direction I had received urged me on: I entered the shop, considered the fact that I was short on money that week and couldn’t do the impossible, and decided that I could buy small amounts of the basic foods—a packet of sugar, a pot of honey, bread, butter, cheese, and one or two other things. These would do. “Do for what?” I wondered. I paid at the cash desk and once again stood outside on the street corner.
Looking in my purse again, I found I had just enough money to get home on the bus. I also remembered that my own kitchen wasn’t too well stocked with food at the moment. “Maybe I’ll just go straight home and have these things for myself,” I thought. But again the Spirit whispered: Take those groceries to Sister Benson. So I walked up the street to her house.
Sister Benson smiled wearily as she opened the door for me. When I told her that I had brought her a few groceries, her eyes filled with tears. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. But as we talked, I learned that after paying her tithing that week, she had no money left for food at all. How humble I felt!
The experience taught me once again that the Lord is very much aware of our needs. I also learned that he is continually working through his children to provide assistance to those in need, and we never know the moment when he may call on us to do just that.

My mother has always been an amazing influence in my life. She’s always taught me to do the right thing and has helped me form my testimony of the gospel.
When my freshman year of college came and I moved away to my new apartment, I didn’t realize just how much she had helped me until one night my roommates asked me to go to a party with them at a neighboring apartment.
The two other girls and I got ready and then went to the apartment where the party was being held. The shades were drawn and the door was locked. We had to knock on the door and then say who we were for them to let us in. I didn’t think much of it; I just thought of it as a way for them to control how many people came in.
As the two girls and I walked into the room, I had a feeling of unease come over me. Never having had that particular feeling before, I didn’t know what exactly it was. I just brushed it off as the uneasy feeling you get when you walk in a room full of people you don’t know.
I was sitting there with my roommate, who was talking some guy’s ear off, when I noticed that people were coming in and out of the door that led to the rooms in the back. Because my roommate had been to a party with these guys before, I quietly asked her what was going on back there. My roommate told me matter-of-factly that that’s where all the alcohol was and that they had to keep it back there in case the police showed up.
Immediately, I realized that the feeling of unease that I had felt the moment I walked through the door was the Spirit trying to tell me that this was not a place I should be. I told my roommate that I was going to go back to our apartment. She grabbed onto my hand and told me to stay. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. If I stayed, I knew that I wouldn’t have to go back behind that door and that I would be fine, but I also knew that if the police showed up and I was there, they wouldn’t believe that I hadn’t been drinking.
Then, the voice of my sweet mother came to my mind and said four words: “You know what’s right.” I left the apartment that moment and went back to my own. Even though the police didn’t show up that night, I knew that I had made the right decision and that it was the knowledge taught to me by my mother that had finally helped me do what I knew was the right thing.

The hands on the clock seemed glued in place. Every time I looked, they showed the same time. Why didn’t the teacher come to start the exams so that my agony could finally be over?
Like most Japanese students, I was scared to death by the college entrance exams. In our country, those who fail the tests aren’t allowed to attend a university. Students often stay up late all year long to cram, and they have a favorite saying: “He who sleeps four hours passes; he who sleeps five hours fails.” Like my friends, I had spent many sleepless nights in preparation and had received countless urgings from my parents to “make sure you pass those tests.”
For me, though, the exams carried even more weight. They might make a difference between whether or not my parents would allow me to be baptized. For four years I had been trying to convince them, especially my father, that joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would be good for me. He would hear nothing of it, always insisting that, for now, schooling was more important.
If only I could pass these exams, college would be assured and the pressure would be less. Perhaps then my parents would grant permission.
I looked at the clock again. Three minutes to go …
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.

This is a very scary time we’re in right now. Schools are shut down, Church meetings are suspended, and temples are closed. Getting used to this new routine of being in quarantine has been difficult. The load of homework I had seemed unmanageable at first. I’ve been scared about the safety of my extended family members, especially my grandparents. But I’ve had to remember that living on this earth means that we will go through hard things.
After being in quarantine a while, I’ve been able to see some good aspects, like getting to sleep in and make my own schedule. One thing that’s helped me stay positive during quarantine is doing things with my family, even though at first it was hard being with each other all the time and we sometimes had small fights. But now it’s great being all together. My 12-year-old sister and I have tried some cool new recipes and baked lots of cakes and cupcakes together during the last couple of weeks.

In her youth she dreamed of marriage and motherhood but was single for many years. “Sometimes I wondered if my dreams would ever be fulfilled,” Sister Cook says. “But I tried to have faith and focus on the blessings I did have.”
During this time she earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in speech pathology and audiology and an EdS (Education Specialist) degree from Brigham Young University. She worked as a special education teacher and later as a school administrator.
On July 16, 1988, in the Salt Lake Temple, she married Richard E. Cook, who later served as a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy. At that time, Sister Cook says she “inherited four wonderful children and became a grandmother of eight,” as Elder Cook’s first wife had passed away in 1984. They now have 17 grandchildren.

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.