Gospel Story Finder

On William’s 21st birthday, May 1, 1858, he and the crew received shore leave in Honolulu, Hawaii. William heard prior to leaving Britain that President Brigham Young had sent missionaries to the Pacific islands, so the young convert tried to locate some Saints “but could find no record of them.” Unknown to him the Church had called home its Pacific missionaries to help defend Zion, if necessary, against a United States army then marching towards Utah. Ironically, the last elders working in Hawaii left the islands the same day that William landed in Honolulu.
The seaman, an isolated Mormon cut off from contact with the Church, continued to nourish his faith by himself. He read and reread the “works of the Church” that he had brought along. A priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, he was “informed about the authority of the priest to administer the sacrament,” so he felt justified in holding his own private sacrament service in his “beef house” aboard ship. “I prayed often, to the Lord,” he said, “and asked Him to acknowledge me in the administration.” On Sundays, after the ship’s religions service, William returned to his room where “I would place the hardtack (ship’s bread) and water upon a table and then offer prayer, after which I would ask the blessing upon the bread and water and partake of it. In this way I received much spiritual strength.”

A few weeks later I called my friend’s mom again. This time it was to invite her and her family to my baptism. Along with the other books I’d read, I had now read the Book of Mormon and gained a testimony of its truthfulness. I invited my own family to attend my baptism as well. My twin brother came into town the night before. He didn’t understand why I wanted to get baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He asked a lot of questions, especially about the Book of Mormon. The only things he’d ever read about the book were false and negative. I stayed up most the night attempting to answer his questions.
The baptism was beautiful. This time I didn’t show up in a T-shirt and cargo pants. This time I was in a white shirt and tie, and I felt totally comfortable and at home.

Lizzie used to think a lot of Primary songs were boring. She liked the ones about Jesus, but she felt too old for the playful ones. She’d usually slouch and mumble the words.
But not anymore. Now Lizzie sang all the songs as joyfully as she could. She sat up straight. She sang loudly. She had fun.
Because now, Abby was sitting next to her.
Earlier in the year, Lizzie and the other kids in her class had each been matched up with a new Sunbeam. It was their job to help their Sunbeam buddy feel more comfortable in Primary.
Abby was Lizzie’s Sunbeam buddy. They sat together in Primary. They sang together. Whenever they saw each other at church, they always waved or hugged.
Lizzie loved seeing Abby every Sunday. And she knew that Abby loved seeing her. Abby watched her a lot. When Lizzie sang loudly, so did Abby. When Lizzie folded her arms and sat reverently, so did Abby. It made Lizzie want to always be a good example.
Lizzie wanted Abby to love Primary. She wanted Abby to have fun and feel loved. They could learn about the gospel together!
Abby and Lizzie sat side by side, just like every Sunday. But today they were sitting on the stand in the chapel with the rest of their Primary. It was the Primary program.
Abby swung her legs and grinned up at Lizzie.
“It’s almost your turn,” Lizzie whispered. Each of the Primary children had a speaking part in their program. The older children, like Lizzie, read longer parts. The younger ones, like Abby, recited shorter ones. Lizzie had helped Abby learn her part.
“Just remember, be loud and clear for everyone to hear,” Lizzie said.
“You’re coming with me, right?” Abby said. She looked nervous.
“Of course!” Lizzie said. “I will be right next to you. You are going to do great.”
They stood and sang a song with the rest of the children. Lizzie remembered how she used to not like being in the Primary program. But with Abby, it was so much fun!
Next it was Abby’s turn to speak. Together, the two girls walked to the microphone. Lizzie helped Abby step onto a little stool. Abby froze. She looked scared.
Lizzie put her arm around Abby. She gave her shoulder a little squeeze and whispered, “In my prayers …”
Abby took a deep breath. “In my prayers, I tell Heavenly Father what I’m thankful for.” Her voice was confident and clear.
Abby smiled big, took Lizzie’s hand, and hopped off the stool. They sat down as other children stepped up to the microphone.
“You did so well, Abby!” Lizzie said.
“Was I loud and clear enough?” Abby asked.
“It was perfect!” Lizzie said. “I’ll bet they could hear you all the way in the back row!”
Abby wiggled happily and leaned against Lizzie. They listened as other children recited what they were grateful for.
“Hey, Lizzie?” Abby said. She pulled Lizzie down to whisper in her ear.
“I’m grateful for you!”
Lizzie smiled. “I’m grateful for you too!”

One young man, Logan G. Van Wagoner, shared the result of his plans to make scripture study more meaningful: “Duty to God has made a big change in my life. One great change is that I used to just read my scriptures. I wouldn’t pay a lot of attention and just ended up glancing through the verses so I could say I had read. But soon after I started Duty to God, it helped me realize the importance of the scriptures. I started to read each verse and mark or highlight things the Spirit made me feel were important and significant. I also started to check the cross-references to help me really understand and learn what I could. Now I feel the Spirit every time I read, telling me those things are true. It’s made a huge and positive difference in my life.”

Zoey dashed to the door the moment she heard the bus stop. Flinging the door open, she raced down the driveway.
“Zach! Zach!” she called. “I kept my promise. I didn’t go into your room once after I got home from kindergarten.”
“Good job!” Zach said, patting Zoey on the back.
“Now can I have the piece of gum that you promised me?”
Zach stopped. He stuck his hand into his pocket, but it was empty. “I’m sorry, Zoey. I forgot and traded it to David for a cupcake.”
“Oh.” Zoey turned and walked slowly back up the driveway. She found Mom in the kitchen, getting out flour, sugar, and salt. Zoey’s face brightened. “Is it time to bake the cookies you promised I could help you make after I got my toys picked up?”
“I’m sorry, Zoey. I forgot that I need to bake cinnamon rolls for a meeting at school tonight.”
“Oh.” Zoey trudged into the living room, flopped onto the couch, and thumbed through the Friend magazine that had just arrived. When she saw a picture of Jesus Christ surrounded by little children, she smiled, remembering how much Jesus loves little children.
The phone rang, and she jumped up to answer it. Hearing who it was, she chirped, “Dad, guess what? I told everyone at school today about the bike ride you and Zach and I are going on tonight. What time will you be home?”
Zoey’s shoulders drooped. “But, Dad, you promised we could go if we helped you weed the garden last night.” She listened as Dad explained. “Oh.” Zoey hung up the phone. Tears spilled out onto her cheeks.
“Who was on the phone?” Mom asked as she came into the living room.
“Dad.” Zoey sniffled. “He said you need to get a baby-sitter for tonight. He forgot he has to work late.”
Mom took Zoey’s hand and gently sat her on the couch beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nobody keeps their promises!” Zoey blurted out. “I stayed out of Zach’s room, but he traded the piece of gum he promised me. I cleaned my room, but you baked cinnamon rolls instead of cookies.” Zoey wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “And Zach and I helped weed the garden, but Dad can’t take us on the bike ride, after all. I’m never going to believe anyone’s promises again.”
Mom hugged Zoey a long time. Then she picked up the Friend Zoey had been looking at. “Zoey, there is Someone who never breaks a promise.”
Zoey wiped her eyes. “Who?”
“Jesus.” Mom pointed to the picture of Jesus and the children. “In two years, you’ll turn eight and be baptized. When we’re baptized, Jesus promises us the gift of the Holy Ghost, membership in His church, and forgiveness for our sins. Do you know what we promise Him?”
“To be good?”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “We promise to obey His commandments and to take His name upon us. That means we’ll act like Jesus Christ—like He would want us to act. And we also promise to always remember Him.”
“I know why He asks that,” Zoey said firmly. “You can’t keep promises if you forget what you promised.”
“That’s right. One reason we have the sacrament every week is to help us remember our promises.”
“But how does Jesus remember His promises?”
“Let me read you something very special that Jesus said.” Mom reached for the scriptures on the table, turned to 1 Nephi 21:15–16 [1 Ne. 21:15–16], and read, “Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands.”
Closing the book, Mom asked, “Do you know what that means, Zoey?”
Zoey closed her eyes and remembered the pictures she’d seen of Jesus on the cross. “Does it mean Jesus remembers because of the scars from the nails in His hands when He was killed?”
Mom nodded. “Jesus never forgets His promises.”
“Wow! That means I can always believe Jesus’ promises. It makes me want to work extra hard to keep my promises to Him.”
Mom gave Zoey another hug. “We all need to work extra hard at keeping our promises, both to Jesus Christ and to each other. Will you give Zach, Daddy, and me another chance to keep ours?”
“OK.” Zoey smiled. Then shaking her finger at Mom, she added, “But don’t forget that with promises, it’s important to remember.”

Donna’s red curls bounced as she skipped home from school. Mrs. Richards had just read the class a story about pirates who buried chests full of treasure. Some of the buried treasures had never been found, and Donna was thinking how wonderful it would be to discover one of them. Her family was going to Grandma’s house for dinner that night, and she could hardly wait to tell Grandma the story. She often talked about the olden days; now it would be Donna’s turn.
When they arrived at Grandma’s house, Donna ran straight to the kitchen. “Grandma! Grandma!” she squealed. “We learned about buried treasure today. My teacher says there are still treasures hidden away. Maybe when I get older, I can find one.”
Grandma smiled. “What kind of treasure would you like to find?”
Donna thought for a minute. “Gold and diamonds.”
Grandma nodded with a twinkle in her eye. “That certainly would be wonderful. Maybe after dinner we could pretend to be pirates and look for buried treasure right here.”
Donna clapped her hands. “Oh, Grandma, could we? I’ll help you clean up after dinner.”
When the dishes were washed and put away, Grandma took Donna aside and whispered in her ear. “When I was a little girl, I, too, dreamed of finding a treasure. I used to search in the attic. Shall we see if there’s any treasure up there?”
Donna could hardly control her excitement. “Yes! Yes!”
They had to climb some narrow steps to get into the dark attic. Donna held Grandma’s hand very tightly. She was a little afraid, but she didn’t want Grandma to know. When they reached the top of the stairs and Grandma turned on the light, Donna was disappointed. All she saw were some dusty boxes, a few cobwebs, and a big trunk that didn’t look anything like a pirate chest. How could they ever find treasure in this junk?
Donna carefully opened one of the boxes. Inside were some old toys. She took out a doll with bright blue eyes and a pink dress. “Who did this belong to?” she asked, admiring the doll.
“Your mother. It was her favorite, and she used to play with it every day. She called it Donna, and she always said that when she had a little girl, she would name her Donna, too.”
Donna smiled, trying to imagine her mom playing with the doll. It made her happy to know that her mom had always wanted a little girl.
Grandma had opened another box and was looking at a large picture in a beautiful wood frame. Standing in the picture was a red-haired girl about Donna’s age. Donna examined the picture carefully. She had seen this girl before, but where?
“Who is she?” Donna asked.
“Well, goodness,” said Grandma, “that picture does look familiar.” She searched and found a dusty mirror, cleaned it off, and handed it to Donna. “Look,” she said, “and tell me what you see.”
As Donna looked in the mirror, her eyes got bigger. They were the same big brown eyes she had seen in the picture, under the same red curls. The two faces were the same!
“That’s me in the picture, Grandma! Why can’t I remember when it was taken?”
Grandma laughed. “Because that isn’t you in the picture, dear. It’s your mother. We had that picture taken when she was just about your age.”
Donna was amazed. She had had no idea that she looked so much like her mom.
Grandma’s eyes were gleaming as she opened the big trunk. “Donna,” she said, “come see what I’ve found!” On top of the pile was the dress Donna’s mom had worn in the picture. It was white with purple flowers and white ruffles.
“Can I try it on, Grandma?” Donna pleaded. “I’ll be very careful; I promise.” After Grandma had helped her put on the dress, Donna looked in the mirror again and giggled. Now she looked exactly like Mom. They were finding some wonderful treasures, even though not of diamonds or gold.
Grandma reached into the trunk again and pulled out another picture. This time it was a small picture of a beautiful building.
“I know what that is!” Donna exclaimed. “It’s the Salt Lake Temple.”
“Yes,” Grandma said. “This picture is very special to me. When I was a little girl, my Primary teacher gave one to each of us after a lesson about the temple. She told us how wonderful it was to go to the temple and be sealed together as a family.
“She said that we could also do work for people who had died without a chance to hear about the gospel. Then she explained that in order to enter the temple, we had to go to church, pay our tithing, obey the Word of Wisdom, and keep the other commandments.
“I was so proud of my beautiful picture that I took it home and hung it right above my bed. Every night before I said my prayers, I looked at the picture, then asked Heavenly Father to help me prepare to go there. I wanted to go to the temple more than anything else. I wanted to help people like my great-grandmother, who didn’t know about the gospel. And I wanted to be married there to a good man.
“The day I went to the temple with your grandpa to be married for eternity was the most beautiful day of my life. When I see our family together, it makes me happy that we have made the right choices. We still need to keep working to be good, but it’s all worth it, knowing that we can be together forever.”
Donna smiled. “I guess we really did find a treasure today.”
Grandma hugged her. “Donna, I want you to have this picture of the temple to help you remember the treasures you will find there.”
Donna gave Grandma a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Grandma. You’re the best treasure finder in the whole world!”

“I’m going to get rich,” Tom told his mother on Saturday morning. “All the money I have in the world is the quarter Uncle Fred gave me. A quarter isn’t enough to buy the green bike in Thompson’s department store window. So I’m going to get rich.”
“How are you going to do that?” his mother asked. “There aren’t many ways a boy your age can earn money.”
“I’ll find things to do,” Tom assured her. “Mrs. Davis’s yard is a mess. I’m sure she’ll pay me to clean it up. Don’t worry. There are lots of ways I can earn money.” He smiled. “I’ll make at least five dollars, just today! In a few weeks I’ll be rich enough to buy the bike.”
Tom whistled as he pulled his wagon down the sidewalk. He was still whistling when he rang Mrs. Davis’s doorbell.
“I’m going to earn money for a bike,” he told Mrs. Davis. “Will you hire me to clean your yard?”
Mrs. Davis looked surprised. Then she looked sort of embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Tom,” she said. “I would certainly like to have this dirty yard tidied up, and I can’t do it myself. But my pension isn’t enough for me to pay to have it done.”
Tom looked at the branches and paper scraps cluttering the yard. Then he looked at Mrs. Davis. Even though she was old and could barely stoop to pick up things, she kept the inside of her house clean. Tom was sure that she hated having a messy yard. “Look,” he said. “Your yard is small, and it’s early. I can easily clean it before I start getting rich.”
“Why, thank you, Tom!” said Mrs. Davis. “Come in when you’re finished. I’m baking cinnamon cookies today.”
Tom smiled. Mrs. Davis’s cookies were worth waiting an hour to start getting rich!
The sun was inching higher into the sky when Tom carried the last branch to the trash pile. If he hadn’t been so hungry, he would have skipped eating the cookies and gone right on to getting rich.
He’d barely left Mrs. Davis’s house with the extra bag of cookies she’d insisted he take home, when he heard someone call, “Young man! Could you help me?”
Looking around, Tom saw Mr. Gunther waving at him. “I need help carrying some boxes to the basement,” the old man said. “I have to store some of my junk down there, or there won’t be room upstairs for me.”
He cackled at his own joke, and Tom smiled. Mr. Gunther lived on a pension too.
I won’t get rich here either, Tom decided.
“Come on,” the old man urged. He walked toward his house, not even waiting for Tom to agree to help.
Tom sighed, then followed Mr. Gunther inside. His mom wouldn’t be happy with him if he refused to help a neighbor. Besides, Mr. Gunther was pretty nice. Last summer he’d showed Tom how to make neat little boats from plain old tree leaves.
An hour later Tom looked at the clock in Mr. Gunther’s kitchen. It was ten-thirty, and he still had only a quarter!
“Wait,” Mr. Gunther said as Tom started for the door. He looked embarrassed, like Mrs. Davis had, and Tom knew that he was going to apologize for not having money.
“I don’t want anything for helping,” Tom said quickly, feeling embarrassed too.
Mr. Gunther looked relieved. “Checks just don’t reach far enough nowadays,” he mumbled. Then he took a small box from the table. “I found these when I was cleaning. Do you have a stamp collection?” He opened the box, and Tom stared at a stack of old envelopes. The one on top had a big stamp with an airplane from World War II on it.
“Wow!” Tom said. “I don’t have any stamps this old!”
Mr. Gunther looked pleased. “Here, then,” he said. “And if you’re trying to make money, Mrs. Jackson seldom moves her car from her garage. She’s sure to need some errands done.”
“Thanks a lot!” Tom said as he left. Helping Mrs. Jackson was a good idea. Once she’d given him a whole dollar just for getting a loaf of bread from the store!
Mrs. Jackson was pleased to see Tom and sent him to the store. But after he’d paid for her bread and milk, there was only a dime and four pennies change.
“I’m so sorry, Tom,” she said after she had dug through three old purses to see if she could find more money. “I guess fourteen cents is all I can pay today. I haven’t been to the bank lately to get any cash.”
Tom gulped. Then he remembered the dollar she’d paid him last time, and he knew that he’d already been paid for today too.
“That’s OK,” he said. “Fourteen cents is plenty. Thank you, Mrs. Jackson.”
“Thank you!” she said. Then she smiled. “You’re a nice boy, Tom. It’s good to have helping neighbors.”
Her words made Tom feel so good that he was almost home before he realized that the morning was gone and that he was only fourteen cents closer to being rich enough to buy the green bike.
Still, he thought as he parked his wagon, Mrs. Davis’s cookies will make a great dessert. And he was eager to get Mr. Gunther’s old stamps soaked off the envelopes and into his album. As for Mrs. Jackson … well, she had given him some money, and she was a good friend.
“Hurry, Tom. Lunch is ready,” his mother called. When he went into the kitchen, she asked, “Well, are you rich yet?”
Tom grinned and replied, “Yep—I sure am.”

Many know Elder Clark G. Gilbert as president of BYU–Pathway Worldwide and as past president of Brigham Young University–Idaho. Many also know him for his innovative development of online higher education programs at both institutions.
Elder Clark credits meaningful Church service—helping young men in inner-city Boston, Massachusetts, USA—for preparing him to take educational opportunities to larger audiences. That service opportunity came as he was busy with graduate school and caring for a young family.
“Those young men didn’t always have a lot of support. They became a part of our lives, and we grew to love them,” he said. “I learned to listen to the Lord and knew He was in their lives. I could hear Him telling me what I needed to do for them.”
Elder Gilbert said the Lord taught him about the needs of other people. “It wasn’t just that He was preparing me for education, but He was showing me what He could do in the lives of people at a deep, personal level.”

In October 1980 I was riding my bicycle when I suddenly realized my foot brake was not working. I panicked, not knowing when or how I would be able to stop. When my wild ride ended and I finally coasted safely to a stop, I ended up next to Rodico Flores, a good friend and high school classmate. I explained what had happened, and then we chatted for a little while. During our conversation, he asked if I had time to come to his church. Since I knew he was a good person and I admired the other Latter-day Saints I knew, I decided to go the next Sunday.
On Sunday I noticed that the building his church met in was clean and beautiful. I felt something different there. I was met by a person who shook my hand and even put his arm around me, telling me he was happy to see me. I felt good, even though I was a bit shy and nervous. This brother took me to a class for investigators.
After the lesson two young women introduced themselves as full-time missionaries. They asked if they could visit me at my home. I quickly told them I was busy and started giving them excuses. But they still asked me to tell them when I was available, and I responded that I was available early Monday morning. I said they could come but only if they wanted to come at 4:00 A.M.
To my surprise, they looked at each other and said, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” Then I insisted that it was hard to reach my family’s house, that it was located in the middle of a fishpond, that we had a lot of dogs. I told them they would have a hard time getting there. But they said again, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” After I left, I forgot all about our appointment because I didn’t believe they would be coming.
Early Monday morning I was surprised to hear the dogs barking and a voice calling, “Brother Solomon! Brother Solomon!” I looked out the window, and I started to feel differently about the missionaries. I felt a confirmation that they were true servants of God. I invited them in and listened to their message. After a while I told them to come every day with a lesson, which they did. They taught me until I was prepared for baptism.
Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.
Since my baptism, I have grown in the gospel as I have been given opportunities to serve. In 1983 I was called to serve full time in the Philippines Davao Mission, and four months after my marriage I was called as a bishop. I also served as a stake president and in a mission presidency. My wife and I are happily married and have two children, Ezra and Brigham, and we are looking forward to a lifetime of service.
I am grateful for the happiness I have found in the Church, for the dedicated missionaries who persevered, and for the broken bicycle brake that actually helped send me on my way.

Thank you for printing “The Joy Is in Becoming” in the June New Era. The message is truly inspired, and I believe it with all my heart. One thought the article expressed that I feel is really important is that we never know when we are going to run into a nonmember. When we do, it might be the only contact that person has ever had with a Latter-day Saint. It is so important that we always be prepared (dressed modestly and neatly) to represent the Church.
While in California a month ago, my girlfriend and I went to Disneyland. Not being used to such hot weather, we were very tempted to wear shorts and tank tops. But we talked to my friend’s father and decided that it was better to be hot than to disobey a commandment. We soon became very grateful for that decision.
While we were there we met two guys from Norway. We were the first Mormons they had met, and we were able to do some missionary work. I know we couldn’t have done it if we were dressed improperly. We knew we had made a wise decision when they said, “Mormons are very decent people.”
Kathy BarlowSalt Lake City, Utah

When Jack tripped over his feet, he didn’t worry.
When he dropped his pencil, he didn’t worry.
But when he fell off his bunk bed, he worried. That hurt! Why was he being so clumsy?
Mom took Jack to the doctor.
“Walk down the hall while I watch,” said the doctor. Jack thought it would be easy, but he fell down. A few days later, he couldn’t use his arms very well either. The doctor discovered that Jack had a virus that made his arms and legs stop working. He would need to stay at the hospital for a while. Jack was nervous about staying overnight—especially since visitors weren’t allowed to stay.
“Would you like a blessing?” asked Dad.
Jack nodded. Dad laid his hands on Jack’s head and blessed him to get better. Jack felt peaceful during the blessing, but he still didn’t want to stay in the hospital. He wanted to sleep in the bedroom that he shared with his brother.
“Sorry, honey. The hospital says we can’t stay,” Mom said. “But we’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
Jack couldn’t get out of bed by himself. He couldn’t get a drink. He couldn’t go to the bathroom. There was no one here he knew. Jack felt scared.
After a few days, Jack got to know the nurses and doctors, so he wasn’t as afraid. But he was bored.
A few weeks later, Jack’s arms got stronger. He could push himself around in a wheelchair, so he wasn’t as bored. But he was lonely. His parents came to visit every day, and sometimes his brothers and sister pushed him around in his wheelchair too. But Jack’s family couldn’t always be with him. They lived a long way from the hospital. His dad had to work. His brothers and sister went to school. Jack wished he didn’t feel so alone.
One day a nurse smiled and said, “You have a visitor.”
In walked Jack’s bishop! “Hello, Jack! How are you doing today?”Jack grinned. He felt happy that the bishop knew his name.
“I brought you a present,” the bishop said. He gave Jack a toy and some candy.
“Thank you,” Jack said. At first he didn’t know what else to say. But soon he was telling the bishop about how he had tried to do tricks in his wheelchair. He had tipped over and couldn’t get up until a nurse came to help him. Jack didn’t try tricks in his wheelchair anymore! He also told the bishop about the books he’d read, his favorite hospital foods, and the schoolwork he’d done. Jack was grateful for someone to talk to.
When the bishop stood to leave, he said, “We miss you at church. Get well soon.”
The ward members had noticed Jack was gone, and they cared about him. Knowing that made Jack smile even after the bishop had left.
After six weeks, Jack pushed his wheelchair down the long hallway to the hospital’s front doors. He got in the car and rode home.
After a few more weeks, Jack climbed the ladder to the bunk bed all by himself. He did not slip. He fell asleep to the sound of his brother breathing quietly below.
A few weeks later, Jack made a card with the bishop’s name on it. He did not drop the pencil. He poured some candy inside the envelope and sealed it.
Jack was grateful for priesthood blessings. He was thankful for legs that could walk, arms that could climb, and hands that could write. And he was grateful for a bishop who let him know he was not alone.

How would you like to switch places with your mother for a day? That’s what the young women from Manurewa and Pukekohe in New Zealand did for a role-reversal debate.
In the role reversal, the mothers argued that girls 12 years and older should be able to do as they pleased. The young women argued that there should be reasonable limits.
There were also mother-daughter duets, followed by presentations on motherhood from both the young women and their mothers.
Heather Maloney, the mayor of Franklin, New Zealand, was one of the judges for the debate. She praised the mothers and daughters for their courage in public speaking and thanked the girls for their high standards and values and for the respect they showed in honoring their mothers.

When I was about 12 years old, I saw a Church movie that showed President Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) praying for Latter-day Saints in St. George, Utah, USA, who were suffering from severe drought.
“Lord,” President Snow prayed, “bless the good people of St. George.”
That phrase, “the good people of St. George,” left a lasting impression on my young mind. Since I lived in Chile, I tried to imagine what kind of faithful Saints “the good people of St. George” must be. I wanted to meet them.
More than 30 years later, in 2005, my family and I took our second son to Provo, Utah, to join his brother, who was studying at Brigham Young University. The evening after we arrived, I said, “I want to go see the good people of St. George.”
“But, Papá,” my oldest son protested, “St. George is far away.”
“Look,” I replied, “Papá paid for the plane tickets. Papá is paying for the food. Papá is paying for the gas. Papá wants only one thing for himself. He wants to meet the good people of St. George!”
“OK,” my son said after he realized I was serious.
The next day we made the 260-mile (418 km) drive. After arriving in St. George, we went to the visitors’ center at the temple and toured the winter home of President Brigham Young (1801–77). We also visited the tabernacle, where I was invited to speak to my family for a minute from the same pulpit where President Snow had addressed “the good people of St. George.” We walked around the city, watching and meeting people. They seemed like normal, faithful Latter-day Saints.
I was happy we went. But when we returned to Chile, I realized something: I had seen “the good people of St. George” before.
Because of my work and my Church callings, I have traveled throughout Chile. In Calama, I have seen young adults who strive to keep the commandments. In La Serena, I have seen dedicated parents who arrive early with their children for Church meetings. In Antofagasta, I have seen Latter-day Saints who fight for what is right every day. In Vallenar, Copiapó, Caldera, Tocopilla, and other cities, I have seen members who get on their knees to pray and then move forward even when things aren’t easy.
When I see faithful Latter-day Saints who obey and endure—no matter where they live or what challenges they confront—I say to myself, “These are the good people of St. George.”

The darkness seemed to come out of nowhere. I started feeling anxious and depressed about all the unresolved issues in my life. I lost confidence in myself, I began questioning my faith, and the list goes on. It seemed like even small inconveniences were blown out of proportion, and my good life was suddenly catastrophic.
I felt like I was fighting an internal battle with demons inside my head.
Darkness seemed to engulf me. And as these feelings consistently got worse, I started asking myself things like, “What if I wasn’t here anymore? Would people even care?” And the demons in my mind would answer, “You’re just dust in the universe. No one would even notice if you were gone.”
These thoughts paralyzed me with fear.
But all while I was dealing with this in my mind, I acted normal. I talked to my family like everything was fine—out of fear, I locked my feelings away from others. I felt like I couldn’t share how catastrophic my mind was.
I was also in denial that something was actually wrong. I told myself I couldn’t have depression. I didn’t want to admit it that I needed help. I was so afraid that if people knew what I was thinking and feeling, they would reject me or think I was weak or crazy. I felt so ashamed for being unable to get out of the dark.
I went on like this until one day, I found comfort from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words. He said: “If you had appendicitis, God would expect you to seek a priesthood blessing and get the best medical care available. So too with emotional disorders. Our Father in Heaven expects us to use all of the marvelous gifts He has provided in this glorious dispensation” (“Like a Broken Vessel,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2013, 41).
This touching message helped me finally accept that I was facing the reality of mental illness and that there is no shame in needing help. Most importantly, I was reminded that I am not weak and that I could be healed.
That night, I said the most sincere prayer I have ever said in my life. Sobbing, I humbled myself and poured out my heart to Heavenly Father. I asked Him for guidance to know what I should do.
After that prayer, I felt prompted to talk to my bishop. He was kind and understanding—I shouldn’t have expected anything less. And he immediately helped me feel peace and great comfort from my loving Father in Heaven. He helped me know that the Savior understood all I was going through, even if I didn’t understand everything myself. He also helped me use the tools I needed.
I learned that mental health issues can be made lighter by faith and by the healing power of Jesus Christ, of course, but that healing sometimes needs to be supplemented by other resources too. I have felt strength and hope and light come from both spiritual and temporal tools. Here are a few practices that bring light into my life each day that you can try too:
Start and end your day with a sincere prayer—ask specific questions, seek guidance, and express gratitude.
Know and accept that it’s OK to be sad and cry sometimes, just don’t let sadness consume you! Talk to a trusted friend or a loved one to help lift you up on hard days.
When you go to bed at night, be proud of yourself for making it through another day! Remind yourself that you are strong.
Read scriptures and general conference talks or even uplifting self-help books to sharpen your mind and your faith in Jesus Christ.
Open up to your trusted friends, family members, or your bishop for support. He can help you find a counselor if needed.
Know there is nothing wrong with seeking professional help! Professionals can be very helpful in learning to overcome and manage mental health struggles. Taking advantage of the free counseling program at my university was very helpful to me.
Don’t be ashamed to see a doctor or of taking antidepressant medications—these are tools Heavenly Father has provided for us to heal.
Do family history and temple work to help you remember that others beyond the veil are praying for your healing too! Elder Dale G. Renlund’s talk, “Family History and Temple Work: Sealing and Healing” gives more insight into promised blessings of doing temple work.
For so long I didn’t think it was possible to hear the voice of the Spirit or to feel God’s love in the midst of depression. I felt like I was constantly floating in an abyss of darkness. But a little glimmer of light from the Savior helped me hold on to hope. And by opening up about my struggles, I’ve learned that many of my friends also experience mental health struggles—and we have helped assure each other that we are not alone.
Who I was before I turned to Heavenly Father for help and who I am today are two very different people. I wouldn’t have the faith and testimony I do in Jesus Christ today if it wasn’t for that period of darkness I went through. I am beyond grateful for the light that He brings into my life that helps me defeat the demons and fears in my mind. I know that He suffered for all our afflictions and that He understands exactly what we are going through (see Alma 7:11–14) and with Him, we can always hold on to hope and light.

I recall talking to the proprietress of a nursing home. From the hallway where we stood, she pointed to several elderly women assembled in a peaceful living room. She observed, “There’s Mrs. Hansen. Her daughter visits her every week, right at 3:00 P.M. on Sunday. To her right is Mrs. Peek. Each Wednesday there is a letter in her hands from her son in New York. It is read, then reread, then saved as a precious piece of treasure. But see Mrs. Carroll: her family never telephones, never writes, never visits. Patiently she justifies this neglect with words that are heard but do not convince or excuse: ‘They are all so busy.’”

Many years ago I heard a story that impressed me. I share it with you today as I endeavor for a few minutes to direct your thinking toward the important word peace. A beautiful little blind girl was sitting on the lap of her father in a crowded compartment in a train. A friend seated nearby said to the father, “Let me give you a little rest,” and he reached over and took the little girl on his lap.
A few moments later the father said to her, “Do you know who is holding you?”
“No,” she replied, “but you do.”
Some might be inclined to say, “What a perfect trust this child had in her father.” Others may say, “What a wonderful example of love.” And still others might say, “What an example of faith.” To me it indicates a beautiful blending of all of these principles, which brought a priceless inner peace to the child. She knew she was safe because she knew her father knew who was holding her. Affection, respect, and care over the years had placed in this little girl’s heart a peace that surpasseth all understanding. She was at peace because she knew and trusted her father.
We plead for peace in our prayers and thoughts. Where is peace? Can we ever enjoy this great gift while wars, rumors of wars, discord, evil, and contention swirl all around us? The answer is yes. Just as the little blind girl sat on the stranger’s lap with perfect contentment because her father knew him, so we can learn to know our Father and find inner peace as we live his principles.
It is very significant that when Jesus came forth from the tomb and appeared to his disciples, his first greeting was, “Peace be unto you.” (Luke 24:36.) Peace—not passion, not personal possessions, not personal accomplishments nor happiness—is one of the greatest blessings a man can receive. Our trust and our relationship with our Heavenly Father should be one similar to that of the little blind girl and her earthly father. When sorrow, tragedy, and heartbreaks occur in our lives, wouldn’t it be comforting if when the whisperings of God say, “Do you know why this has happened to you?” we could have the peace of mind to answer “No, but you do.”
Just as the little girl could sit peacefully on the stranger’s lap because her father knew him, so we can find peace if we know our Father and learn to live by his principles.

Let me tell you about one of my recent experiences. I was assigned to a stake conference to release the stake president, who had served for many, many years. It was a difficult stake to administer. The stake had been losing population. It was located near one of our major city centers. Industry had moved in. With the growth of industry, many of the members had moved out to the more suburban areas. Because of his assignment, he had stayed in the area to shepherd the flock. He had not found it to be a hopeless situation. Through his energy, effort, and great enthusiasm, the stake started to grow once again.
As the weekend progressed, his children came by auto and air, returning home to pay tribute to their father for his years of faithful service. I found a special spirit in this home. They were a very close family. How they enjoyed being together!
As I stood to address the conference in its final session, there seated to my left sat his entire family, tears streaming down their faces as they honored their father on this grand occasion.
Following the conference session, I had been invited to stay for family dinner before leaving for the airport to fly home. As the family gathered around the table, the father requested that we kneel in family prayer. Kneeling in prayer, I discovered their strength. This family understood their relationship to God, their Eternal Father. They understood their relationship to their earthly father and mother, to their brothers and sisters. The brotherhood and sisterhood existing in this family unit made it easy for them to stretch beyond their borders to friends and neighbors.
Being a guest in so many different homes over the last few years has certainly convinced me that a special spirit is clearly evident when a family prays together.

It had been a one-step-forward, two-steps-back day for me. At 6:00 A.M. I tiptoed into my parents’ bedroom. “Psst, Dad, my alarm clock didn’t go off.” It was not until we were halfway to school that I realized my socks were each a different color, and that I had forgotten the homework I had stayed up until midnight to finish. Even though I slipped into the classroom only three minutes late, I was marked tardy by my smiling, but sharp-eyed teacher. You can probably guess that with such a terrific beginning, the rest of the day went downhill fast.
An unbelievable series of setbacks led to the final indignity, which occurred as I was running across the lawn to catch the bus for home. Almost as though there were a plot against me, they turned on the sprinklers.
By the time I staggered off the old yellow school bus, checked the mailbox, and plodded up the driveway, the only thing that kept me on course was the therapeutic thought of an afternoon with no obligations. Not one single thing I had to do. Just my own time—all mine!
As I drooped along nearing the house, I noticed a strange car. Upon shutting the back door and throwing my books toward the kitchen table, I called, “Whose car?”
“It’s mine and Dad’s,” came a six-year-old voice in answer. And who should come shooting around the corner but Aaron, my first-grade, out-of-town cousin. He sprang at me with a flying leap, wrapping himself around my legs in glad greeting.
“Uncle Dick brought Aaron along to help him,” Mom explained. Each time he came on business, Uncle Dick brought a different son, and this was Aaron’s turn. His first time. A big event.
Aaron is a beautiful boy. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and broad smile make me proud. He looked great standing there in little tennis shoes, faded jeans, and a gap-tooth grin that all but shouted, “I know you’re glad I came!” Ordinarily he’d be right. But not today.
So while everyone was caught up in conversation, I took a small year’s supply of cookies and started downstairs. Then I heard it. The big news was that Aaron was to stay with us the whole afternoon. My afternoon! I would be expected to spend my own private, precious time babysitting!
I slammed the bedroom door and turned up the radio extra loud, pretending I didn’t hear Mom’s call. Then I flopped down on the bed to figure out how I could make up a final in Algebra. I would have solved that, and other world problems, too, but the bedroom door was thrown wide. An eager Aaron was suggesting, “Hey, pal, let’s do something.”
“You go right ahead,” I muttered, turning my head away. Aaron pulled on my pant leg. “C’mon, Brad, let’s go for a walk.”
“Oh, joy, a walk!” I thought with a thud. But who could resist that full-face grin? Off went the radio, on went my jacket, away went my afternoon. Aaron grabbed my hand, dragged me up the stairs and out the door.
With explosive excitement Aaron began to show and explain all the mysteries of the world. Holding a dandelion under his pixie chin, he explained, “You know, if you like butter, you’ll get a yellow shadow. Try it, Brad.” And sure enough, I like butter.
Aaron’s next nature lesson concerned a cunningly soft, striped caterpillar discovered by fortunate accident. With profound observation Aaron remarked, “The reason caterpillars have so many legs is cause their moms had lots of legs, too. All babies are like their moms.”
As we built finger bridges for our caterpillar to make its ticklish way, my excitement grew to match Aaron’s. I began to see the world through freshened eyes. I had forgotten how much fun climbing a tree could be, or playing pirates in the leafy branches. The game was barely used before Aaron traded it in on a new entertainment.
“Look at those neat lines, Brad,” Aaron called, as he heaved a fistful of small pebbles into a spring puddle. They made neat ripples, and I watched them ripple and wear out against the shore. I stood wondering how I could have let myself forget all this. How could I have become so grown-up-busy as to forget the black-bordered pastel of butterfly wings, the crisp smell of wild flowers, the snow-nourished spring greenery of my mountains? How could I have passed them by day after day?
I had forgotten how high you can go on Grandma’s swing, or how good the sun feels after months of winter bundling. I had become so mired with mundane problems, I had forgotten to enjoy life. Only 16 years old and already I was so engulfed in monumental anxieties, I had simply forgotten small pleasures.
I picked up a pebble to jar the stillness of the small pool again. Then I noticed that Aaron was kneeling down all curled into a small-boy ball.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m being a rock. Can rocks feel, Brad?”
“Well, you’re a rock. How do you feel?” By now I was chuckling.
“I feel hard. C’mon, Brad. You be a rock, too.”
It seemed like forever that I lay curled up in the sun with a slight breeze creeping beneath my jacket. I loved it. I hadn’t taken the time to get that close to my earth for so long.
Aaron, the rock, was first to break our stony silence. He whispered, “Didn’t God make a beautiful world? And all for us. Boy! He must love us rocks.”
“You bet!” I agreed as I draped Aaron, the all-American twerp, around my neck with a swoop of joyful energy. Life was suddenly fresh, new, beautiful!
I was sorry to see Aaron go that evening. Really. What a world of good he had done his doddering old cousin as we had stretched out together on that moist, grassy hill, with eyes for nothing but the cloudless blue sea above. His chubby hand had reached for mine.
“Hey, Brad, let’s always be pals just like we are now. Pals forever.”
Behind my eyes I felt tears forming, childlike tears of joy. I rolled over to squeeze that miniature boy wonder.
“Yeah, pals,” I pledged. “Pals forever.”

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, “Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm.”

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

One day after my doctor told me that I would have to receive physical therapy for months, I went home in tears and asked Heavenly Father, “How long will I have to endure this?” Immediately, it was as if a tender and clear voice told me, “You can’t progress without trials. You still need even more.”
I couldn’t believe that I had received an immediate response to my prayer. At that moment, I was determined to move forward in faith. I decided to resubmit my mission papers and serve God, despite my challenges. A few months later I received my mission call to the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission! But getting to that point wasn’t easy either. It took a lot of bravery and courage to accept my circumstances, forget myself, and invite others to follow Christ.
My mission was wonderful. I learned to value the principles of the gospel even more, and I found confidence in myself to share my testimony and bring hope to many people who didn’t know where to find it. I felt my heart being changed by Heavenly Father. I had never experienced what it felt like to love total strangers and be willing to give everything I had for them without hesitation until now—walking day in and day out, rain or shine, my feet tired and sore.