Gospel Story Finder

Have you ever had a completely life-changing moment—the kind that seems to ruin everything? I have, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
One minute, my siblings and I were sitting on the living room couch, quietly waiting. The next, it felt like my whole world was crashing down.
My dad’s casual explanation of his decision to file for divorce contradicted everything I thought I knew. I thought we were a happy family. I thought daily scripture study and family prayer were supposed to keep us together.
From that point on, a lot changed. My happy childhood memories began to sour. My parents both got remarried. My siblings started choosing sides.
I wondered what had happened to my life.
It felt so unfair—why did someone else’s decision get to ruin my life?
Or did it? For a while, my parents’ divorce felt like the most important day of my life. But a talk by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles made me rethink this.
He taught, “The most important day in the history of mankind was the day when Jesus Christ, the living Son of God, won the victory over death and sin for all of God’s children.”
Then he added that the most important day in our lives is the day when we commit to follow Jesus Christ—a day he hoped would recur “over and over again throughout our lives.”
So, yes, while my parents’ divorce did change my life, the Atonement of Jesus Christ changed the trajectory of human history. And that’s not all; I’ve learned that because of the events of Easter, Christ can change the trajectory of my life—every day.

Miguel Arrellano looked out the window of the tar-paper shack. Thunderclouds had opened up, pouring forth torrents of rain. Such storms were not unusual in his small village set in the mountains of Colombia.
Normally Miguel did not mind the rain. It watered the crops that the family depended upon for a living. Today, though, he prayed for the rain to stop.
It was a special day—the day he and his parents would be baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He remembered when the two missionaries had found them. Elder Berger and Elder Santos, dressed in dark pants and white shirts, had appeared at their door. They wore small, black, name badges proclaiming that they represented the Church.
Elder Berger was tall, almost two meters. He came from Utah in the United States of America. In Colombia, men are rarely so tall. Papá was only a few centimeters taller than Miguel. Elder Santos was a native missionary and even shorter than Papá.
Miguel had practiced saying Elder Berger’s name. The syllables sounded strange upon his tongue. They laughed together as the American missionary tried to say Arrellano.
The elders told the family the story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration. When Elder Berger bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, tears streamed down his face. He and Elder Santos both testified that Joseph Smith had been a prophet and that Gordon B. Hinckley was now the prophet. Though Miguel was only eleven, he knew that he was hearing the truth.
Mamá had cried when the elders had spoken of families being together forever. “Always, we search for something,” she had said. “Now I know we have found it.” She’d placed her hand on her heart. “I feel it. Here.”
The rain continued to fall in sheets and showed no signs of letting up.
Miguel looked from Mamá to Papá. “We must go. We told Elder Berger and Elder Santos that we would be there.”
Papá pointed to the flooded road. “There will be no bus today.”
The family had no car and had to rely on the bus. They had to change buses twice to reach the church. Each week, they carefully counted out the coins necessary to buy the bus tokens for Sunday. This week, they had taken money from their small food budget to pay for the extra trip to the church.
Papá worked very hard, but there was never enough money. Mamá had saved a little and made them new clothes. She had sewn Miguel and Papá shirts and herself a blouse. Miguel thought that she looked pretty in the bright yellow color.
He remembered the picture of President Hinckley the two young elders had shown the family. The prophet would not give up. He would find a way to get to the church, Miguel decided, and so will we.
“Señor Tomás,” Miguel said, glancing out the window and seeing their neighbor. “He goes to the city every day. Maybe he will give us a ride.”
Miguel ran across the muddy yard to their neighbor’s humble home. Señor Tomás nodded agreeably as the boy explained the situation. Miguel and Papá climbed into the back of the truck; Mamá rode in the cab with their neighbor.
They held on tightly as the old truck bounced over the rough roads. When they arrived at the small meetinghouse, they were wet and very tired, but happy.
The elders greeted them. Their clothes were wet and wrinkled, too, but the smiles on their faces were the brightest Miguel had ever seen.
“We weren’t sure you could make it,” Elder Berger said. “We’ve had problems here, too.”
They shared stories. Elder Santos explained that the pipes that carried water to the chapel had burst so that the baptismal font could not be filled. After praying, the elders had filled buckets with rain water and carried them inside the church to fill the font.
Miguel and his parents explained how they had found a ride with their neighbor.
“It’s a miracle you made it,” Elder Santos said.
Papá looked at the baptismal font and said, “We have many miracles today.”
“And much to be thankful for,” Mamá added.
Miguel and Papá changed clothes in a small dressing room while Mamá changed clothes in another one. Miguel touched the crisp white shirt and pants the elders had given him. They felt strange against his skin.
The water was so shallow that the elders had to kneel to perform the baptisms.
Miguel waited while his parents were baptized. When the time came for his own baptism, he felt a warmth come over him, even though the water was cold.
After everyone had changed into dry clothes, Elder Berger and Elder Santos confirmed Miguel and his parents members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Miguel hugged his parents, then Elder Berger and Elder Santos. He would never forget this day or the baptism miracles.

When Julio was 13, he was sexually abused by his uncle. Over time, he began to withdraw from his family and isolated himself. At times, he functioned as though nothing had happened, but occasionally he was flooded by emotion. He has always been able to manage life—even feeling intense happiness, like at the birth of his son. He also feels broken. His son is now approaching the same age when Julio was abused, and as Julio contemplates his son’s potential experiences, he is wrestling with thoughts and feelings about his own self-worth and eternal identity.

The abuse Julio endured at the hands of his uncle did not change Julio’s worth and worthiness. He never sinned but was sinned against. At times it can be hard to remember your worth and worthiness when you have been abused. Remember, you did not sin, your worth has never decreased, and you are worthy to continue on the covenant path.

As Julio began to trust in the Lord, He helped Julio realize that mortal experiences don’t change the love our Father in Heaven has for us. He is now learning to see how even though terrible things happened, they did not change his fundamental worth, eternal identity, or worthiness.

Our main purpose in life is to prepare to return to live with our Heavenly Father (see Alma 12:24). Trauma can cloud this purpose and prevent us from seeing who we are. Finding a specific purpose in our daily actions can help us move forward and even remember our main purpose in life. Julio began to move forward and find purpose in his daily actions when he realized he wanted to help his son.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked his big sister, Jessica.
“Writing a thank-you to Grandma for my birthday present.”
“I want to write one too.”
“You don’t know how to write yet,” Jessica said. “Besides, you write thank-yous to someone who gives you a present, and it wasn’t your birthday.”
“Oh,” said Nate, rolling his tongue around in his cheek. Then he started to grin. “I know someone I can make a thank-you for. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, Nate dumped crayons, markers, and a big sheet of plain white paper on the table.
“Now what are you doing?” Jessica sighed, moving over.
“Making a thank-you picture. I can’t write, but I can draw.”
“Who are you thanking?”
“It’s a surprise.” Nate picked up a yellow crayon, drew a round sun, and colored it in. Then he used markers to make a red house with two blue windows, and a door.
Jessica peered at it. “I know who that picture’s for. It’s for Dad.”
“No,” said Nate, smiling. He drew his black cat, Pepper, and the swing hanging from their big oak tree.
“I bet that picture’s for Mom,” Jessica said.
“Nope.” Nate picked up a blue crayon. He colored birds flying in the sky, and the pond next to their house.
“I’m done,” said Jessica, putting her note into an envelope. “Now I have to write Grandma’s address on it and send it.”
“I’m done, too,” said Nate, coloring a frog by the pond.
“I bet that picture’s for your kindergarten teacher,” Jessica said.
“No,” Nate said. “It’s for someone who gives me different things every day. It’s a thank-you picture for Heavenly Father.”
Jessica smiled. “You’re right, Nate. He does give us all kinds of presents.”
“Do you think He likes my thank-you picture?”
“Sure He does. Everyone likes it when you say thank you.”
Nate smiled. “Help me hang my picture up for Heavenly Father to see. Then I’ll help you mail yours.”

An attitude of faith can convert a doubter to a doer. When Joseph Smith approached the doubting John E. Page with a call to fill a mission to Canada, Brother Page replied, “I cannot go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph. I haven’t even a coat to wear.”
The Prophet removed his own coat, handed it to him, and said, “Here, wear this and the Lord will bless you.”
John E. Page had faith in the Prophet’s promise. He labored two years in Canada, walked 5,000 miles, and baptized 600 souls.

Many years later, in 1976, my mother and stepfather were living in Sugar City, Idaho, when the Teton Dam broke, and once again, everything that they owned was lost. After the flood, Mother walked into my home (I was married by this time) with a little plastic clothes basket that contained everything she had in the world—except for her family, her friends, and the gospel. These were difficult experiences, but with my mother’s help I learned a lot about the kindness of people and about seeing events in an eternal perspective.

When I was little, I used to ask myself questions like “Does the Holy Spirit speak?” “When I go to heaven, will I see God?”
Now that I’m a bit older, I can look back and see that Heavenly Father always guided me and showed me evidence that He existed, but I wasn’t always able to recognize His hand in my life. I was blessed to be raised in a home with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, but I lived on a borrowed testimony for a long time. It was difficult for me to believe that God was truly real.
One day, when I was about 15, my bishop announced a ward temple trip. I was already used to going to the temple with my family, so I didn’t think this was a big deal. I never really felt much anyways and didn’t understand the importance of the covenants and ordinances performed in the temple.
When the day arrived, I entered the temple and changed into my white jumpsuit. As I walked past a mirror, I saw a glimpse of myself dressed in white and with a smile on my face. As I waited for the rest of my ward members, I was in awe. I was contemplating the beauty of the baptismal font and the paintings when suddenly, I felt the Spirit gently touch my heart.
I will never forget the words that came to my mind: “Orson, this is the house of the Lord. He loves you. He wants you to change your life and strive to become a better person little by little.”
I felt so much love in those words but was suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. I hadn’t taken the temple seriously up until this point. So I said a prayer in my heart, asking Heavenly Father to forgive me.
And I knew He heard my prayer because I felt so much peace in my heart.
That day, I deepened my faith and received the real testimony of the gospel that I longed for. That day, I was able to say as firmly as those two disciples of John: “I have found the Messiah” (see John 1:41).
Ever since this experience, I have striven to better recognize Heavenly Father’s influence in my life by seeking Jesus Christ each day. Although the world can make it hard to hear the Savior’s voice at times, I know now that He truly is real and that He is with me.

Karen Nielson was born in Aalborg, Denmark, in 1844. She was the daughter of a farm family. In her early years she was taught the skills of successful dairy farming at the knee of her father.
In 1861, Karen was baptized and was never able to return to her home because of her father’s opposition to her conversion. She left Denmark and immigrated to Utah with a group of Scandinavian Saints in 1862. She lived for a few years in Utah County where she married Benjamin Franklin Barney, and then they were called to settle the Sevier Valley.
Karen bore ten children and then was left a widow with several of her children still at home. She had no close family to return to, so she drew on the knowledge she had gained on the Danish farm. She improved the dairy herd using the breeding skills she’d learned from her father. Her herd was soon recognized as one of the finest in the area, and she was able to support her family and care for their needs. Until Karen was well into her eighties, she milked her cows night and morning and cared for her farm with the help of her sons and grandsons. Her legacy was one of hard work and the knowledge that our lives are only as good as we make them. She never turned away from hardships—they seemed only to strengthen her.

Nee-a-ma-ah and his grandparents returned home to Wyoming. Years later, Nee-a-ma-ah longed to return to the Holy Hill where he was healed. He traveled to Utah and found that things in Baa-da-see were very different. Log cabins and houses splayed across the land, and men with long beards had preached to and baptized many Shoshone people.
The sacred Holy Hill was now home to the Logan Utah Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through Church missionaries, Nee-a-ma-ah learned many teachings that aligned with his own people’s beliefs. He found that they believed in the same God—a God of healing and peace.
On August 1, 1897, Nee-a-ma-ah was baptized in the Bear River. His name was changed to Moses Neaman. He met and married Rebecca Widgagee, and they were sealed in the Logan Utah Temple.
Moses’s journey of faith has greatly blessed six generations of his posterity. His great-granddaughter Odessa, from Toppenish, Washington, still shares his story today. “Little did Moses know that he would change the lives of his family,” she says. “I am so thankful for my ancestors, my pioneers. They laid the path for me to enjoy all the blessings of the restored gospel.”

I heard a funny story about a captain of an aircraft carrier who is trying to navigate his ship during a storm at night. He sees a light in the distance that appears to be heading straight toward him. He shouts to his radio operator, “Tell that oncoming vessel to change course by 20 degrees!”
The radio operator does and waits for a response. “Captain,” he says, “they are telling us to change our course 20 degrees.”
The captain shouts, “Explain to that radio operator that I’m not asking—I’m demanding. Change course!”
The radio operator sends the message, waits for a moment, and then looks up. “Captain,” he says, “they insist that we are the ones who must turn.”
The captain grabs the headset and barks into the microphone, “I don’t know who you are or where you are going but there’s something you ought to know. I’m the captain of a navy aircraft carrier group accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers, and numerous support vessels. We are proceeding directly towards you and will not change course!”
Through the static the captain hears a reply: “Understood, Captain. But there’s something you ought to know. We are a lighthouse.”

In another instance, a Young Women teacher had a blind girl in her class whose participation was limited because she could not study in the usual way. The teacher would go to the girl’s home and read out loud while the girl translated her personal progress book into braille. The work took two years. The teacher also encouraged the other girls in the class to help. Under her direction, they went to the blind girl’s home and read to her from the manual until it was translated into braille.
The Master’s touch through that teacher reached out and blessed not only this girl but many others who are blind, because the braille translation is available at the general offices of the Young Women organization.

“Jane, run and get your coat. We’re going shopping.”
I ran to do as my father said. A shopping trip with Dad was a rare treat. He traveled a great deal of the time, and I cherished any opportunity to be with him.
Once we were in the car, I asked, “Where are we going?”
Dad only smiled. To my surprise, we didn’t go straight to the store. Instead, we turned down a narrow road where small row houses lined the street.
Dad parked the car, got out, and walked to the first house. Within a few minutes he returned with Alex, a boy from our ward.
I tried to hide my disappointment. I had wanted my father to myself. Now it looked like I would have to share him with someone else.
“Hi, Alex,” I mumbled.
“Hi,” he mumbled back. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.
Dad drove to the store. Not only did I have to share my dad, but I also had to endure looking at boring clothes for boys.
“Alex is going to be ordained a deacon tomorrow,” Dad said. “He’ll need a suit to wear when he passes the sacrament.”
Alex looked with wonder at the rows of clothes.
Dad must have noticed my stiff posture because he drew me aside. “We have an opportunity to help someone in need,” he said in a quiet voice.
Finally, I understood and was ashamed by my impatience. Alex’s family had modest means. I guessed that Sunday clothes had no place in the budget.
With Dad’s help, Alex chose a dark suit. I watched as Dad gently encouraged Alex to add a white shirt, tie, dress shoes, and socks. Alex’s eyes grew wide as the purchases mounted.
“Th … th … thank you, Brother McBride,” he stuttered when Dad returned him home.
“You’re welcome. And remember, this is our secret. Only your mother knows.”
“Yes, sir.”
As I watched, I realized I had a lot to think about. I recalled holiday dinners where the table was filled with widows and others who were likely to be alone.
“Why,” I had asked Dad at one time, “do we always have to invite Sister Potter and Sister Robie to dinner? They never invite us to their homes.”
“It’s easy to invite those who can return the favor, but taking care of those who can’t do something in return is the hallmark of caring.”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but in those few words my father had given me a wonderful definition of charity I would never forget.

I would like to say to the young men who are listening in tonight (I wish I could talk to every young man who holds the priesthood, if it could be effective), we never need to be ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and we should always be humbly proud of the priesthood that we hold.

I was talking to a young man who is going to be baptized next month, the only member of his family to be baptized, and I said, “What caused you to be interested in the Church?”
And he replied, “The young man I was associating with in school was a member of your church, and the way he lived interested me. He was different from the rest of the boys. He was happy, and he invited me to his home; and when I saw the love in that home and how that family lived, I was more interested. He took me to church, and then I joined the ball team, and I found in that church a different feeling than I had found any other place. Then that ball team, those fine fellows all keeping the Word of Wisdom and living good clean lives, impressed me, and I determined that I would join the Church.”
He went on to say: “I came with that friend out to Brigham Young University to attend one semester. I wanted to get acquainted with the people out here. I found most of those young people down there living the way they should, but if I hadn’t determined to be a member of this church before I met some of the others, I don’t know what effect it would have had on me.”
I think, young men, wherever you are, you must keep this in mind. Your actions may be keeping people out of the Church, and I am sure you wouldn’t be happy about that.

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”11

Illustrations by Maryn Roos
Saturday morning at the Cooper house
Don’t tell me Matt and Dad are still sleeping. I thought I was the lazy one on Saturdays.
Oh, they’ve already had breakfast and left. They went to see Matt’s new friend, Franco.
He has a new friend already? That’s not fair. I haven’t found any new friends yet. I wish we hadn’t moved!
We’ve only been here a week. Just give it time. You made lots of friends at your old school. You’ll make friends here too.
Remember, if you want to have a friend …
I know, I know. If you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Meanwhile, at Franco’s house …
Hi, I’m Josh Cooper.
I’m Hector Delgado.
Some of these rocks are really cool. What’s this one?
That’s a geode. Lots of them are hollow, and some have awesome crystals inside. My dad says geodes are like some people—not much to look at on the outside, but pretty cool inside.
If they’re like people, are any of these rocks musical?
What do you mean?
Because then we could have a rock concert!

When I was deciding if I should serve a mission, I was called to serve as a digital missionary in my home ward. In this calling, I was asked to share the gospel on social media by posting uplifting messages about Jesus Christ. I wanted to do my best, so I posted conference quotes, scriptures, and gospel insights on Instagram every day.
On most of my posts, I got likes and comments from people I knew, but there were also times when I would get likes and comments from people I didn’t know. One time, I shared part of an address by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the principles of Jesus Christ’s gospel. A girl I didn’t know saw the post and reached out to me. Her name was Emma (name has been changed). She was a college student in England and had been searching for truths and more meaning in her life.
When Emma saw my post, she searched for and read the full talk by Elder Bednar and felt a deep desire to learn more. So, she started messaging me to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what I believe as a member. We had some insightful discussions as she expressed her interest in the gospel.
Over time we continued to reach out to each other and get to know each other. Eventually she became more and more interested in the Church, and I explained how she could get in touch with missionaries in her area. Soon she was meeting with them often!
After a few months of being taught, Emma accepted the invitation to be baptized, and she became a member of the Lord’s Church. She struggled for a while with difficult family relationships because of her desire to join the Church, but I was amazed by her courage and faith to keep moving forward with hope in Christ. Today, she loves the gospel and is so thankful for the effects it has had on her life.
Before I became connected with Emma, I had been contemplating serving a mission but had felt so uncertain and insignificant. I didn’t feel that my efforts to share the gospel would make a difference for anyone. But seeing how much Emma’s life changed simply because a stranger like me posted a message about Jesus Christ on social media, I was filled with hope that my desire to share the light of Christ as a full-time missionary and as a disciple of Jesus Christ could truly change people’s lives and bring them to Christ.
Emma and I continue to encourage each other and are now both serving full-time missions.
I know that Heavenly Father inspired me to post that original message from Elder Bednar on social media. The message was small and simple, but that’s all it took for Him to work a miracle.

“I never asked God for anything that He didn’t then give me,” my wife, Deborah, said. This statement still astonishes me even though I was with her throughout its fulfillment. And it probably astonishes all those who know of Deborah’s seven-year struggle with systemic lupus, her two-year fight with breast cancer, and her eventual death on September 19, 1990. But those who are amazed and astonished may not understand priesthood blessings or their fulfillment. It was with difficulty that I learned for myself what it means to hold the priesthood and to exercise it to bless others.
Although my parents were both active in the Church and faithful to its precepts, I don’t remember the priesthood being a specific spiritual influence in my childhood. I don’t recall being sick enough to need a blessing and have no memory of priesthood blessings administered to others in my family.
This lack of emphasis on priesthood blessings carried over into my own family when I married and my wife and I had children. I gave priesthood blessings if someone was seriously ill or was having an operation. I also gave my wife a few blessings for emotional help, but those occasions were rare.
Giving a blessing was always a positive experience for me. But a lack of understanding and a shortage of self-confidence limited my exercise of this priesthood function. I struggled to know the words to say, unsure if what came into my mind was really what God wanted.
This situation changed little when my wife discovered she was suffering from systemic lupus. Those years of battling a disease of exhaustion and discomfort were aided by only occasional priesthood blessings. My wife was aware of my uneasiness about giving blessings and seldom asked for the additional spiritual help she may have desired.
In March 1989, when the doctor announced that my wife had cancer, our lives were altered. Because of the exotic nature of her cancer, it had eluded physicians for two years. By the time it was finally diagnosed, it had spread and her chance for recovery had significantly diminished. Knowing we were in a struggle we could not win on our own, we further opened our lives to spiritual help. Our ward fasted for Deborah, and we gratefully accepted the care of the Relief Society. Her battle became one fought by many. A friend who had endured the same chemotherapy my wife was about to receive confided that during the most difficult periods of the treatment, he had requested and received priesthood blessings. He advised us to do the same—to seek spiritual help in order to tolerate the effects of the treatments.
The chemotherapy was difficult. My wife experienced all the expected reactions. She was sick for several days after a treatment. She spent most days in bed, and eating was a chore. But little by little we learned how to confront each challenge as well as possible.
During this difficult period, my wife, as our friend had advised, called on me for priesthood blessings. I gave her a blessing to help ease the anxiety she experienced the first week of chemo. Through a priesthood blessing, the fear accompanying an operation—though not completely eliminated—decreased. Long periods of vomiting stopped and sleep replaced restless nights as I laid my hands on her head and blessed her. These blessings gave us promises of help and comfort, intermingled with glimpses of the future. They filled us with warmth and joy.
I wish I could say that giving blessings became easier for me then, but I can’t. I gave the requested blessings, but my difficulty in exercising the priesthood persisted. I never mentioned my discomfort to my wife, but she could sense my reluctance. However, these were difficult trials, and she knew she was entitled to help and I was the conduit through which she could receive it. So when she needed help, she asked.
Before giving any blessing, I knew what I wanted to bless her with: I wanted more than anything to bless her to be healed. And she wanted that too. But that blessing never came. What did come were blessings of comfort, which didn’t take the trial away but made it easier to bear.
Slowly I began to understand better how the priesthood and priesthood blessings work. Giving blessings wasn’t a tool to get what I wanted but rather a way to receive needed help. I learned to trust in the Lord and His will instead of what I thought needed to be done. I gained confidence that the words that came to my mind were indeed the words God wanted me to say. And while giving blessings has never become easy for me, I have learned to trust in the feelings I have while giving blessings.
After Deborah completed her treatments, we began the difficult phase of waiting to see if the drugs had been effective. We enjoyed this time free of doctor’s appointments, tests, and treatments. However, in the back of our minds was the fear that some cancer had been able to survive the onslaught of the poisonous anticancer drugs and was reestablishing itself.
Little by little, small physical signs convinced us of our greatest fear: the treatments had not been successful. The doctors were upbeat, but we knew it was a matter of time.
The last six months of Deborah’s life were incredibly calm. After one last procedure failed, we decided to discontinue the treatments and to go home and enjoy what time was left. Some may not believe that it was a wonderful few months, but it was the best time of my life.
During this period some concerned friends and family suggested that we needed to be more assertive with the Lord in our battle to save her life. They told me that I had the priesthood and should use it to cure her. Though I understood their feelings, these friends didn’t understand what was happening. There was nothing I wanted more than to promise Deborah life, but those words never came while I was giving her a blessing. There was little she would have desired more than to have a blessing of health, but she never felt she should ask. We both believed in miracles but also recognized our limited perspective on an experience that fits into an eternal plan.
What did happen was a greater miracle. In the blessings, she was never promised life but was given the indisputable assurance that what was happening was God’s will. She was not promised ease but was given help to endure the difficult times. She was not allowed to stay and raise our children but was assured of eternal bonds. She passed away with only limited pain and discomfort, with her family at her side.
I know that God does exist and deeply cares for us. He provides us with comfort and assistance when we need strength and understanding. Though life is difficult, the Lord has promised to help us through our trials, and one way help comes is through priesthood blessings. Knowing this, my wife was able to say, “I never asked God for anything that He didn’t then give me.”

On a vacation, I was traveling by ship down the Volga River in Russia, far from any LDS chapel. That Sunday I had planned to read the Book of Mormon alone in my cabin.
My plans changed when I found out the ship was leased for summer tours to a Latter-day Saint family. With permission from their Church leaders, they had scheduled a worship service for LDS passengers, including several Russian Latter-day Saints traveling on the ship. I was asked to bless the sacrament. I wondered if I would bless the sacrament alone and if I would be the only teenager there. I hoped not.
Later that morning when I entered the music salon where the meeting would be held, my anxious heart quieted as I saw other young men in ties and young women in dresses. I looked around for something resembling a sacrament table. To my right, I noticed that a white tablecloth from the dining hall had been spread over the piano bench. The bread and water trays sat on the white linen. The brother who had asked me to bless the sacrament introduced me to a young man.
“This is Sergei,” he said. “He will bless with you.”
Sergei, from Moscow, had just completed his service in the militia. He had met two missionaries in the subway. That eventually led to his baptism.
“Dobray Dien!” I said, practicing what little Russian I had learned.
“Dobray Dien,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Minyah Savoot, William,” I said, introducing myself.
“Minyah Savoot, Sergei.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“A little.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper—tattered from use—and unfolded it. It contained LDS religious terms with their definitions. He pointed to the word sacrament as if to communicate our role in the worship service. I nodded. He next pointed to the word bread and then to himself.
“Me?” he asked.
Then he pointed to the word water and then pointed to me, I understood. He would bless the bread. I would bless the water.
“Da,” I said in Russian, agreeing with his plan.
The music began, and a young man, Vladimir, led the congregation in “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” The curtains of the room had been drawn aside, and through the windows we saw a panoramic view of Russia’s countryside.
Sergei’s copy of the Book of Mormon was well used. He thumbed through its pages for the sacrament prayer.
We stood and broke the homemade Russian sourdough bread. I could hear the congregation singing “I Stand All Amazed,” half singing in Russian and the other half in English. No one had hymnbooks, so we sang from memory. I was impressed to hear the combination of Russian and English as if our voices were creating a new language.
When the hymn ended, I knelt with Sergei. As we knelt on the floor, I could feel a slight rocking of the ship. The congregation bowed their heads. Sergei began saying the prayer in Russian.
I felt the Spirit of God enter my heart and burn through my chest. Here we were, Sergei and I, on a ship far from our homes and families, two people from different continents and speaking different languages—but feeling the same Spirit. I understood the words he spoke, clearly and peacefully. I felt solemnity fill my mind.
After wiping a few tears from my eyes, I stood with Sergei. We passed the bread trays to three young priesthood holders, who then passed the bread to the congregation.
A few minutes later, I blessed the water in English, saying the prayer with more conviction than ever before. I felt as if I were actually speaking to the Lord. My heart swelled with joy as I said amen and stood to serve the water trays.
That day, Sergei and I had come together to do the Lord’s work. We had blessed the emblems Christ instituted just before his death and sacrifice. Sergei had spoken Russian. I had spoken English. But for all of us who were present, the language spoken was the Spirit.

It all adds up for Elizabeth Thompson, 14, of the Bangor Ward, Bangor Maine Stake. She was the first student ever chosen to represent Orono Junior High in the National Math Counts competition.
The competition involves geometry problem solving. Elizabeth was in high form for the event, held in Washington, D.C. She didn’t win but gained invaluable experience.
Elizabeth would one day like to be more involved in engineering technology and archaeology, but for now she spends time getting good grades, reading, and being involved in sports and theater.

In KwaMashu, South Africa, the full-time missionaries hosted an event that, in basketball lingo, would have been “nothin’ but net.”
Since many of the communities in South Africa haven’t had much exposure to the Church or its teachings, the missionaries have to work hard, not only at teaching the gospel, but at letting people know that the Church exists. During their community service time, the missionaries decided to get youth in their area involved in a community activity that they knew a lot about—sports, especially basketball.
Radio and television stations soon got involved and were making public service announcements for the missionaries’ “American Streetball Tournament.” By the time the tournament rolled around, 115 young people arrived to play basketball, have a good time, and get to know the missionaries. Because of the hard work of the area elders, the Church is now known for its positive contributions to KwaMashu.
Of course, now that the missionaries are finished with all the hard work of putting the tournament together and getting to know their neighbors, the real work of spreading the gospel is just beginning. But the elders know that, as missionaries, they will always be on the winning team.