Gospel Story Finder

I did not want to be at Young Women camp last year. Three weeks earlier my grandpa had passed away, and I just wanted to be alone and away from everyone. By the time we got there, I felt like I shouldn’t have come.
However, on the first day, our ward had a devotional that I’ll never forget. One of the older young women spoke about finding joy. At first I rolled my eyes. How could I find joy if there was none?
But then she said something I had never thought about: When it feels like we can’t find joy anywhere else, we can find it in the Savior. Sometimes our mortal lives are filled with grief, depression, anger, trials, and constant uphill battles. Sometimes it is hard to find joy except in Him.
Although my girl’s camp experience was not perfect, I did find joy. I found it by turning to the Savior—in the scriptures, in nature, and in quiet moments where I could pray to Heavenly Father. This principle has gotten me through many trials since. I’m so grateful for the knowledge that the perfect love of the Savior can reach us even when we feel there is no joy.
Elise B., Missouri, USA

Though he was extremely demanding of himself, Heber J. Grant was quick to learn the importance of not judging imperfection in others. He tells the story of how he learned this truth. He had gone to church and the speaker made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks.
Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school where he had to bring examples of mistakes in grammar to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors and caught instead the Spirit of the man speaking, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord in this church.
President Grant ended the story by saying, “During the years that have passed since then, I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mis-pronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

At age 19, H. Ross Workman was engaged to be married and not planning on serving a full-time mission. Then one Sunday morning his stake president walked up to him as he sat in his car and said, “I’ve been inspired to call you to go on a mission. Will you go?” Caught by surprise but feeling the confirming influence of the Holy Ghost, young Ross said, “Yes.” When he told his fiancée, the girl he had dated through high school and become engaged to on graduation day, she cried but agreed to support him and delay the wedding.
The commitments made that day were a turning point in his life. He was born 31 December 1940 in Salt Lake City to Harley and Lucille Ramsey Workman. Following his mission to the southern states, he married Katherine Evelyn Meyers, his high school sweetheart, in the Logan Utah Temple. They are the parents of four children and have seven grandchildren. He earned degrees in chemistry and law from the University of Utah and has worked for more than 28 years as a patent attorney. He worked with the youth for many years and has served in several bishoprics, on a stake high council, and as a bishop, and was president of the Hawaii Honolulu Mission when called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy.

More than once that fateful morning, I was sure I was going to die. The combination of seeing all that blood—my blood—soaking into the trail and sensing the ferocity of the grizzly bear raging at me from every side with its teeth and claws left me feeling overwhelmed and hopeless.
What a dramatic contrast to a mere two hours earlier. I had blissfully set off on a backcountry trail run on one of the prettiest days I had seen that summer in the high country of western Wyoming, USA. The sky was a shade of neon cobalt blue, wildflowers covered the hillsides, and the morning air was crisp yet pleasant. It was a perfect day for a 15-mile (24 km) run in the mountains.
This was a classic training run. I was trying to build up my strength and endurance for a marathon just two months away. Runners increase strength by doing repeated short-distance runs. This builds endurance, which in turn toughens resilience.
Little did I know that I would soon need every drop of resilience and power I had because I would be in for the race of my life.
Looking back, I should have seen the signs. After all, the Lord tells us that He will “shew [us] things to come” through the power of the Holy Ghost (John 16:13). As Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught, “The Holy Ghost can help you by warning you in advance of physical and spiritual dangers.” And that He did.
Just a few minutes into my run, I glanced down and spotted something. My heart jumped when I saw the unmistakable outline of a bear track in the dirt in front of me. It was a clear warning. Foolishly, I rationalized that a bear had indeed passed this way but by now I would be safe. No need to worry, right? And so on I ran.
Less than an hour later, I crested a small rise and ran down a hill into a heavily wooded clearing. As I rounded a bend at the bottom of the hill, I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stopped instantly and slowly glanced to my left. Then I froze in terror. The sound, which I quickly identified as breaking branches, was coming at a high speed. Then I saw a sight I will never forget—a full-grown grizzly bear charging directly toward me!
I heard a crashing sound so intense, so severe, that it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
The horrific attack that followed should have taken my life. This was obviously a very agitated bear, which I had surprised as I dropped into that clearing at a dead run. Yet that moment when I thought death was certain was followed by the sincerest prayer of my life. The intervening mercies of heaven then descended.
Inexplicably, the bear stopped his relentless attack and ran off into the woods. That was good news! The bad news was that I had 16 severe wounds from the bear’s teeth and claws and was alone in a forest, covered in blood, and 11 miles (18 km) from the nearest park road, with no help in sight.
I suddenly found myself at a major decision point of my life. If you haven’t had such a moment, be assured you will. Adversity is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. Fortunately, getting attacked by a bear isn’t—at least for most of us! But at some point, you may feel overwhelmed by whatever adversity you are facing. It’s a hopeless feeling that the Lord once vividly described as “the very jaws of hell” that “gape open the mouth wide after thee” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
At these crises crossroads in your life, you have a decision to make. You can give up, lie down, and die; or you can somehow rally all your courage and strength and bravely fight on, trusting that if you will do your part, the Lord will do His. The Lord explained the purpose of life’s travails to Joseph Smith while he was imprisoned at Liberty Jail: “All these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
And they do benefit you. They hone and refine you as you grow stronger and build resilience. This is why the Lord told Joseph—and tells you—to “hold on thy way” in the face of trials and adversity (Doctrine and Covenants 122:9). As you hold on in life—even if it is by your fingernails—you find even your meager strength is more than matched by the Lord’s. As promised, He is “mighty to save” (2 Nephi 31:19).
That is exactly what happened to me. Instead of giving up, I decided to get up. I was determined to live, which meant I needed to find help. Stumbling my way down the trail for more than a mile, I finally crossed paths with the only other people in the forest that day for miles. That miraculous meeting eventually led to a backcountry helicopter rescue, three life-saving surgeries, and a clearer understanding of the blessing of being determined to “hold on thy way.”
After crawling to a trail junction, Elder Dunn was rescued, had three life-saving surgeries, and recovered thanks to the faith and prayers of many, including his then–four-year-old daughter, Emi.
This experience has increased my power, determination, and faith. It also strengthened and prepared me to handle other challenges of life. I am certain that as you “[bear] all things, [believe] all things, [hope] all things, [endure] all things” (1 Corinthians 13:7), you will build the resilience and strength you need to face challenges. You will see the Lord’s hand making you equal to whatever comes your way—even if it is the very “jaws of hell.”

May I share with you something of a personal and sacred testimony?
Nearly forty years ago I was on a mission in England. I had been called to labor in the European Mission office in London under President Joseph F. Merrill of the Council of the Twelve, then president of the European Mission. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. President Merrill said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”
I do not hesitate to say that I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked over to the Goodge Street station to get the underground train to Fleet Street. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that Mr. Skeffington was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. During the next hour she made two or three trips to his office, then finally invited me in. I shall never forget the picture when I entered. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”
I held in my hand the reviews. I do not know what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive and even belligerent. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people. Years later he granted another favor of substantial worth to the Church, and each year until the time of his death I received a Christmas card from him.
I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way.

I observed a marvelous display of obedience during a recent visit to a large cattle ranch in Argentina. Early one morning, the gauchos brought forty horses into a corral to select their mounts for the day. Gauchos are like cowboys in the United States. Each gaucho went into the corral and whistled softly like this [whistling]. This established their presence. When the horses heard the soft whistling, they lined up quickly near the fence, facing the gauchos. The horses held their heads high, kept their eyes constantly on their masters, and kept their ears forward in an alert, receptive stance. They gave complete attention and appeared to be anxious to serve. They quickly organized themselves into a line as if for a full military dress inspection or review. The gauchos stepped back out of the way and whistled again. The horses circled quickly to the other side of the corral and lined up facing the gauchos. They looked as if a drill sergeant had called them to attention. Each gaucho chose his mount for the day’s work and walked up to the horse he had selected. The others stayed in line waiting for their assignments.
When I asked how the gauchos taught the horses to be so obedient, I was informed that their training started when the horses were colts. Each one learned from its caring mother and from other mature horses. The gauchos began training the colts when they were young, with kindness, never using force of a lasso or a whip.
Watching this display of obedience, I thought of you Aaronic Priesthood brethren and how you are taught by your mothers, like the two thousand stripling sons of Helaman, and by caring fathers and priesthood leaders. I thought of you following their good example, disciplining yourselves, and keeping yourselves alert—willing to serve your Lord and Master as He chooses and calls you.

As Sister Simpson and I walked along lower Queen Street in Auckland, New Zealand, the other day, we came to a particular place not far from the wharf. There we paused for a few moments as I related to her the incident that took place at that very spot during my first mission.
I could still see in my mind’s eye a very old Maori couple who stood at the curb with thousands of others waving farewell to the Maori Battalion as they marched down to their troop transport and off to war.
The old couple became very excited as one young soldier glanced their way with a big smile. From their Maori conversation, it became apparent that this was their great-grandson going off to war.
His would be an atomic war with sophisticated equipment capable of killing by the thousands—so unlike the Maori wars of the late 1800s that the old Maori had participated in as a young tribal warrior.
Soon the boy was gone from view, and it was then that the old man turned to his wife and said (perhaps a little cynically), “Katahi kua pakeha tatou,” which in effect means, “So now we are civilized.”

When I was eleven, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.

My initial feeling of peace stayed with me for another week and a half. I was sitting in a wheelchair watching fireworks through the hospital window on the Fourth of July when it hit me—my mom was gone. She wouldn’t be at my high school graduation. She wouldn’t be there when I received my endowment in the temple. She wouldn’t be at my wedding. She was gone.
That’s when things started getting really hard. The pain in my leg was terrible, and I had no appetite. I watched TV without seeing it, and I mostly just slept. My family worried about me because I wasn’t crying very much.
The tears came a lot more when we finally went home to Oregon to an empty house. I suddenly had to take over some of my mom’s responsibilities, and my siblings often looked to me for comfort. I tried to be strong for them. But it wasn’t easy.
Going back to school was tough. Everyone had heard about the accident, and if they hadn’t, they heard about it when my teachers introduced me as the girl who was in the accident. I felt isolated.
It was especially hard when my dad remarried nine months after my mom died. I knew that my stepmom would be good for our family and that we needed her, but it was hard to adjust.
Not everything was dark during this time though. I felt a lot of love from my Father in Heaven, my family, and my Church leaders. What helped me heal and move forward after the accident was doing simple things that strengthened my faith. Every day I spent an hour before going to bed reading the scriptures, praying, and writing in my journal in my closet. In the privacy of my closet, I didn’t have to be strong for my siblings. I could cry as much as I needed and pour out my heart to God. I told Him exactly what I was feeling and how much I missed my mom. I know He heard me because of the many tender mercies I felt. That closet space became sacred to me.
Doing those simple things helped me stay connected to God instead of pushing Him away and becoming bitter. I didn’t see the accident as God hurting my family. I felt more power to be patient and submit to His will and keep moving forward through my hard days. And there were some really hard days.
After my dad remarried, I wanted to set a good example for my siblings, and I definitely didn’t want to have bad feelings toward my stepmom, so I continued to put my trust in God. One activity in my Personal Progress book focused on making my home life better by strengthening my relationship with a family member for two weeks. Basically the goal was to try to be Christlike and show love through actions. I decided to try it and serve my stepmom.
With our combined families, there were a lot of dishes. So that’s where I started. As I served her over the next two weeks, I felt enabled to love my stepmom and be patient even though I wasn’t necessarily happy about the situation. Simply focusing on serving her helped me get through hard times because I felt the Spirit with me.
I still don’t understand everything about why the accident happened to my family, and there are still hard days. But like the pioneers, I have put my trust in God and been given the power to persevere.

One day during morning playtime at school, my friends and I were practising for our school’s sports day. I was taking part in the 80-meter sprint. All of a sudden, a little girl came marching up to me.
“Can I play with you?” she asked.
I wanted to say, “You’re a bit small,” but she looked kind of lonely, so I said, “OK, then.”
My friends gave me a weird look, but I remembered that Jesus did not turn anyone away. I started to feel good inside, and, do you know, I enjoyed that playtime very much. So did my friends.
Leila Robinson, age 10Hedon, East Yorkshire, England

There’s a home for unwed mothers and abused children in the Fairfield California Stake, and the young women in the Vacaville Third Ward wanted to help out.
They took several activity nights to make stuffed bears. They also made sugar cookies to take to the home and let the children decorate. The main message they tried to convey was “You are a child of God,” and the smiles on the children’s faces told them they understood.

Mariela came home from school with a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked as she planted flowers in the garden.
“Sonia promised she would play with me, and then she didn’t,” Mariela said. She plopped down in the dirt next to Mom.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “It’s important to keep promises. Next week when you are baptized and confirmed, you will make some very important promises called covenants.”
“Really?” Mariela asked. She was excited to be baptized.
Mom put some yellow flowers in the ground. “You promise to obey the commandments. You also promise to take the name of Jesus Christ upon you. What does Heavenly Father promise if you do these things?”
Mariela thought about what she was learning in Primary. “That I’ll have the Holy Ghost with me.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “You’ll also become a member of Jesus’s Church. How can you keep your promise to obey the commandments?”
“I can be kind, and I can tell the truth,” Mariela said. “What does it mean to take Jesus’s name upon me?”
“It means that you try to be like Him and do what He would want you to do,” Mom said. “What can you do to be like Jesus?”
Mariela twirled a purple flower between her fingers. “I can sit with the new girl at school. And I can try to be nice to Sonia,” she said.
“Those are great ideas,” Mom said. “And when you take the sacrament, you can remember your promises.”
Mariela smiled. “I know another promise—to water the flowers so we can have a beautiful garden!”

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax and just let down, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane. We sat on the row behind the bulkhead.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many a day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake, there was no one to meet us at the gate. We walked the length of the terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the curb. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference with a two-and-a-half-year-old boy.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then the mother pulled up along the curb. She had been delayed coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his gear into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever had any feedback on your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not opportune to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient to drop by the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

The company I was working for closed. I moved to Mexico City, and because I liked to work, I applied for a temporary job with an international editorial company. They wanted me to take an inventory, which was something of a specialty with me. I did the inventory in two weeks. They offered me a permanent job at good pay, and I accepted.
I didn’t speak English at that time. Our director, a man from Texas who didn’t speak any Spanish, said to my boss, “This boy is doing good work. If he knew English, we would pay more. We would send him to New York for training, and he could eventually be a manager here.”
When my boss told me that, I asked, “All I have to do is learn English?”
I was married by then. My wife spoke English because she was born in the Church colonies in Mexico. The first time I tried to speak a few words in English, someone told me not to try. It was not my gift.
Now I was motivated by the thoughts of improving my job position and having opportunities such as traveling to New York. I went to a language school and told them I wanted to learn to speak English as soon as I could.
They asked, “How much do you know?”
I said, “Not a word. Not even ‘Good morning.’”
They said, “We have an intensive course: two weeks, 16 hours a day. Eight hours here with teachers and eight hours in your home with tapes. It costs $1,000.”
I said, “I can do that. I will ask for my vacation, and I can study 16 hours a day for two weeks.”
I went to my boss and said, “I’m going to learn English in two weeks, and you have to pay only $1,000.” He laughed and said, “It is not possible. I learned in two years.”
I told my boss, “Ask the director to give me two weeks’ vacation and pay for the course. If after these two weeks I cannot talk to him in English, then you can take the fee out of my salary.”
He gave permission.
I went to the school. Every 45 minutes for eight hours, they changed teachers. They drilled and drilled the vocabulary, sentences, and conversations.
After eight hours in school, I went into the streets looking for English-speaking tourists to talk to. Then I listened to eight more hours of tapes.
The main reason I went to school was not to learn English. I really wanted to be a manager and go to New York City. Because I was highly motivated, learning English wasn’t hard for me. I enjoyed every second of it.
When I finished the 224 hours of study, I could communicate somewhat in English. I knew that the test was communicating with my director. If I couldn’t, I would have to pay back the $1,000. So I made up a plan. I would talk to him about all that I had learned. When I entered his office, I talked and talked for 20 minutes without letting him say a word. He said, “That’s enough. Send him to New York.” And I went to New York!

In my fifth-grade class, we started studying Russia. We planned a “Russian Party.” There was mostly Russian food, and we had a quiz.
When the Russian party was about to begin, I put the potatoes and vinegar I’d brought on the table. We all went to our seats. When our teacher called our names, we went up and got a little bit of everything from our teacher, who was standing behind the table.
Before we started eating, she asked everyone who had made something to tell the class what it was. It turned out that the drink was a Russian tea.
When I ate everything on my plate except the tea, my friends who aren’t members of the Church asked me why I didn’t drink it. When I told them about the Word of Wisdom, they understood. So, when our teacher came around to see that we all tasted everything, my friends and I told her that I didn’t want to drink the tea.
I didn’t have to drink it. I’m glad that I can try to set an example to be like Jesus Christ.

Miguel raced down the street clutching a small piece of paper in his hand. His dark hair blew away from his face and his brown eyes shone with happiness as he ran upstairs into the apartment.
“Look what Peter gave me,” Miguel said breathlessly. He handed his mother the piece of paper. It was an invitation to Peter’s birthday party.
“May I go?” Miguel asked. “It’s tomorrow afternoon.”
“Of course you can go,” Mother replied. She had not seen Miguel so happy in a long time.
Miguel missed his old home since his family had moved to the city. The people were nice, but they had different ways and they didn’t speak Spanish. Miguel’s parents spoke some English, but mostly Spanish was spoken at home.
When Miguel’s father came home that night, Miguel told him about the party. “What shall I take Peter?” Miguel asked. “Some of the boys said they were getting cars for his collection, but I don’t know what kind he wants.”
Miguel wanted to take something very special for Peter. When Miguel had first come to school, Peter became his friend. Peter had not teased or made fun of Miguel as some of the other boys had done. In fact, Peter had even asked Miguel to teach him some Spanish words.
After supper Miguel and his father sat at the table. Miguel watched his father pick up a block of pinewood and begin to carve with his pocketknife. His father carved small animals, and Miguel thought they were beautiful. But tonight Miguel was more interested in the birthday party and what he should take as a present than he was in his father’s carvings.
At last Miguel’s father looked up from his work and said, “Do you think Peter would like to have one of my little burros?”
Miguel looked at his father in surprise. “Oh, yes,” answered Miguel. “I’m sure Peter would really like one.”
Picking up a burro from the shelf, Father asked, “How about this little burro?”
The burro had large ears and a gentle expression on its face. It had strong legs and a firm neck. On the burro’s head and neck, Miguel’s father had glued thin strips of leather for a halter, and over its back was a harness. Fastened to the harness were two casks for carrying grain. Each cask had been carefully carved out of wood.
Miguel was filled with excitement at the thought of taking such a present to Peter.
The next day when Miguel arrived for the party, he smiled as he handed Peter the tissue-wrapped present and said, “Happy birthday!”
“Hi, Miguel,” answered Peter. “Come in. We’re just about to play Pin the Tail on the Donkey.”
As Peter put Miguel’s present on the table next to the others, Roger walked over and picked up the little white box. “Hey,” he shouted, “it’s so light I’ll bet it’s empty!” Then Roger put Miguel’s box right next to the biggest present there. It looked small next to the large package wrapped in bright green paper.
After the boys played a few games, they all sat down on the floor to watch Peter open his presents.
Miguel had never seen so many wonderful gifts. There was a sports car, an antique car, and a car-building kit.
“Hurry and open mine!” Roger shouted.
Peter picked up Roger’s present, tore away the green wrapping, and opened the big heavy box. Out came a bright, shiny blue metal car with a trailer and boat attached to it. The boys all crowded around to see the car.
The boys were so excited over the car they forgot about the one small gift left on the table. But Miguel had not forgotten. All of a sudden he wished he hadn’t come to the party. His present was not like any of the others. He wished he had a shiny car to give Peter.
As Miguel looked around at all the fancy presents, he thought of the little carved burro. A large lump started to form in his throat as Peter reached up and took the small white box. The lump grew bigger and bigger when Peter unwrapped the tissue paper and held up the little burro.
Slowly Peter turned the burro around in his hands. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly.
“What is it?” Roger asked in a loud voice.
“It’s a burro,” answered Miguel quietly. “My father carved it.”
“You mean it’s homemade?” laughed Roger.
“Yes,” answered Miguel. “My father is the best wood-carver ever!”
“He sure is,” said Peter. “I’ve never had anything like this before.”
Miguel looked surprised. Peter really did like his present.
All of the boys crowded around Peter and wanted to hold the little burro.
“My father makes many little animals and figures,” Miguel explained. “And he is teaching me to carve also.”
“Oh, Miguel!” exclaimed Peter. “Would he teach me too?”
“Sure,” Miguel replied happily.
The little burro was given a special place of honor on the table next to the birthday cake.
As Miguel looked at the burro, he felt a warm glow within him. He was glad he had come. Being different wasn’t so bad after all!

That suggests at least two things. One is to recognize and welcome those whom the Lord sends to help us. The other is to see in every assignment the opportunity to strengthen another. A mission president once told me of a missionary he assigned to more than 12 or 13 companions. He said to me, “Every one of those companions was about to go home early or be sent home. But we didn’t lose one of them.”
When I mentioned that miraculous fact later to the companion who saved so many at the point of their being overwhelmed, I got a response which surprised and taught me. It was this: “I don’t think that story is true. I never had a companion who was failing.”
I could see that a mission president had been inspired to send the right angel time after time. We can expect in our service to have help sent to us at the right time who will see strength in us and lift us up. And we can look forward to being the one sent by the Lord to encourage another.

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.

Photo illustration by David Stoker
When I was 12, the girls I thought were my four best friends decided they didn’t want to be friends with me. They began to say horrible and hateful things about me. I felt unloved, unwanted, unneeded, and worthless. I thought I would never feel happy again.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came. I didn’t want to do anything, and I stopped participating in school activities. After a few months of feeling like everything was falling apart, I started to hide my feelings and pretend to be happy.
I stopped praying, and I complained anytime I had to go to church or midweek activities. My former friends had constantly teased me about being a member of the Church. I told myself that if I stopped going to church and living the standards, I could get my friends back.
I tried and tried, but the happiness just never came.
But after a few months, I realized that I needed to rely more on the Savior when I was feeling hurt and lonely. Jesus Christ felt all of my pain. He died on the cross for me, and I was setting aside His sacrifice and His gospel. I started complaining less and less until, finally, Sunday was my favorite day of the week.
Even after going to church, something still didn’t feel right. I decided I needed to pray. I couldn’t remember the last time I had prayed. Before I could think twice about it, I knelt down and started to pray. I cried to Heavenly Father about everything that had happened. I apologized for forgetting Him when He was what I needed most.
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just opened up to a random page and started reading. I came across Mosiah 26:31: “Ye shall also forgive one another your trespasses; … he that forgiveth not his neighbor’s trespasses when he says that he repents, the same hath brought himself under condemnation.”
After I finished my prayer, I had a very strong impression to go look at my scriptures.
I realized that my pain and unhappiness weren’t simply caused by what those girls had said or done to me. I was unhappy because I was holding a grudge against my former best friends, and I blamed myself for letting them hurt me. By not forgiving them or myself, I became my biggest bully.
I prayed that I would be able to forgive the girls who had hurt me and that I could forgive myself. Forgiving them was so hard for me, and it took a while. Forgiving them was like letting a piece of myself fall away. But after fully forgiving them, I felt that I could move on and learn from what happened to me by helping the people around me who might be struggling.
I don’t know why I let myself be sad for over a year, and I honestly have no idea why I thought being away from the Church would make me happier. Clearly, I was wrong. Even though it was still hard to feel happy and to forgive after that time, keeping an eternal perspective and focusing on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation really helped me. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were there for me the whole time I was struggling; I had just been too stubborn to turn to Them. I’m glad I eventually did.
I am grateful for what I learned from my experience. I am a stronger, more compassionate, all-around better person because of it. I have been able to help so many people through their hard times because of my own. I have a strong belief that trials really can lead to blessings when we turn to God.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Todd and Sam used to be good friends. Then they got in a couple of arguments. None of the arguments was over big things, but they disagreed with each other and each thought the other person was wrong. It was hard for them to let go of what happened.
What should they do?
STOP IT!
Try This After hearing President Uchtdorf’s talk, Todd decided he needed to forgive his friend and let things go (see D&C 64:9–11). Every time he saw Sam, he tried to be nice and act like nothing was wrong. Eventually they both got over their feelings, forgave each other, and became good friends again.