Gospel Story Finder

Several years ago, the members of a teachers quorum decided to work together to do secret acts of kindness within their ward. It started when one or two of them fixed a broken bicycle for another quorum member without telling him they had been the ones to do it. When he eventually found out about their help, the quorum members decided to find others in their ward whom they could help anonymously. Because others soon became aware of the acts of kindness that were secretly being performed, they became known as the “ward phantoms.” Eventually, they had cards printed which they left as evidence that the “phantoms” had struck again, doing good and trying not to “get caught” at it. It was a long time before the ward finally figured out who had been at the root of these many good deeds of service.

Illustration by Jim Madsen
In October 2011, my bishop heard a talk by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the Spirit of Elijah and the responsibility the youth have to serve through family history. My bishop was inspired by this talk and decided to have the bishopric youth committee watch it in their meeting. He asked the youth what they wanted to do to follow Elder Bednar’s instruction, and they told him they wanted to set up a summer indexing project. Together with the bishop, they set a goal of 50,000 names and invited my whole ward to help with the project.
I was asked by Brother Watts, a member of our bishopric, to serve as an indexing specialist. I accepted, but I had no idea what indexing was or how to do it. I was very confused and just a little bit nervous.
Brother Watts showed me how to use the indexing program on FamilySearch.org. He told me that he was absolutely confident we were going to reach our goal. Even though it was my first official assignment as a young woman, I was determined to learn how to do what I was asked to do by my priesthood leaders, no matter how hard it was.
I soon learned that indexing is part of family history—typing people’s names from records into a database so their family members can find them. I knew this effort was important, and so did my whole ward, especially my bishop.
To serve in this project, I showed many different people how to index and contribute names. By the end of the summer, the youth alone had finished 25,000 names! Before we knew it, we met our goal 100 percent.
I know that every one of my leaders is called of God to serve and direct the Church, and that when I listen to them, I’m not only doing what they ask me to do but also what God asks me to do. When I listen to and follow my leaders, I’m serving too—participating in the work of the priesthood, the work of salvation.

The earliest [time I can remember having] spiritual feelings was when I was about five years of age, a very small boy. I was crying from the pain of an earache. There were no wonder drugs at the time. My mother prepared a bag of table salt and put it on the stove to warm. My father softly put his hands upon my head and gave me a blessing, rebuking the pain and the illness by authority of the holy priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. He then took me tenderly in his arms and placed the bag of warm salt at my ear. The pain [grew less] and left. I fell asleep in my father’s secure embrace. As I was falling asleep, the words of his administration floated through my mind.
Later in my youth, my brother and I slept in an unheated bedroom in the winter. People thought that was good for you. Before falling into a warm bed, we knelt to say our prayers. There were expressions of simple gratitude. They concluded in the name of Jesus.
I recall jumping into my bed after I had said amen, pulling the covers up around my neck, and thinking of what I had just done in speaking to my Father in Heaven in the name of His Son. I did not have great knowledge of the gospel.
But there was some kind of lingering peace and security in communing with the heavens in and through the Lord Jesus.
That testimony grew in my heart as a missionary when I read the New Testament and the Book of Mormon, which further bore witness of [the Savior]. That knowledge became the foundation of my life, standing on the footings of the answered prayers of my childhood.
Since then my faith has grown much further. I have become His Apostle, appointed to do His will and teach His word. I have become His witness to the world. I repeat that witness of faith to you.
Jesus is my friend. He is my exemplar. He is my teacher. He is my healer. He is my leader. He is my Savior and my Redeemer. He is my God and my King.
Gratefully, and with love, I bear witness of these things.

“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”

One of my hardest trials was when my mother had breast cancer. I thought, “Am I going to lose my mother? Why did this have to happen?”
Even when she was suffering, my mother wanted to be strong for us. She would say, “Let me hang the laundry!” But she couldn’t do it. We had to help. I learned a lot about service from that experience. Today, my mother is completely healed, and I thank Heavenly Father every day.

As a child, I became less-active in the Church, but as a teenager I was considering coming back. Before making this important decision, I prayed and pondered what it would mean to come back to the Church and the responsibilities it would entail.
That is when I decided to read some old issues of the Liahona. I was reading to find stories that would encourage me and reinforce my desire to return to church.
Through reading articles about people who had experiences similar to mine, I received a lot of encouragement. Most of all, the articles helped me understand that nobody at church is perfect and that I have my faults as well and need to do something to correct them.
I have now come back to church. I realize that the meetings are like they were before, but now I have a more positive vision, partly due to ideas that I found in the Liahona about how to enjoy classes and sacrament meeting.
Every time I read the Liahona, I feel satisfied as I find answers to my questions.María Pilar Santana, Dominican Republic

When Eliza was baptized, she promised God that she would “ever praise His name in the congregation of the saints.”2 She stayed true to that promise, giving more than a thousand sermons in her lifetime. Yet those who had the privilege of hearing her might be surprised to learn that public speaking made her very anxious. Even while teaching school in Nauvoo and recording the minutes of the Relief Society meetings there, she hesitated to speak up.

An invitation to face her fears came in 1868, when President Brigham Young asked Eliza to help organize Relief Societies throughout Utah. “I want you to instruct the sisters,” he said. The idea was so frightening that Eliza described her heart skipping a beat.3 But she found the courage to do her best, and over time she learned that accepting challenging callings filled her with strength beyond her own.

To one group, Eliza explained that the President of the Church had called her to go on a mission, and she testified that it is easiest “to do at [once] what is required of us.”4 To another group, Eliza confessed that she didn’t feel competent to speak. “But with your faith and prayers and the spirit of the Lord, I may be able to say something that will comfort and bless you.”5 She learned through experience to seek the Spirit to enable her to speak with power.

Eliza encouraged women to find the courage to stand and share their testimonies: “By speaking your best thoughts they will be increased and strengthened.”6 Not only did she learn to speak with authority herself, but she taught others to face their fears and open their mouths.

During a performance of O’Neill’s Ah, Wilderness at Brigham Young University, a young man became so moved that he had to leave his date and go out to cry in the men’s room. Seeing the play examine family relationships had forced him to examine his own relationship to his family in a more intense and poignant way than he ever had before. He faced some things, admitted some things, learned some things. Sometimes two hours in the theater can do for us what years of professional counseling might not.

Sisters!
“We’re going to get sisters!” 13-year-old Lara Bisgaard thought excitedly as she put the letter back down on the counter where she found it. “Just wait till I tell Christopher!”
“No way!” 15-year-old Christopher said when Lara told him about the letter saying her parents were trying to adopt four sisters whose parents had died in Mexico. After all, Lara was always bugging their parents for more kids. Four at once, though? That sounded crazy. “It’s just not true,” Christopher said.
But Lara was insistent. She’d seen a letter talking about adoption. She’d read it with her own eyes—held it in her own hands. So Christopher and Lara decided to confront their parents with it one night when they were eating dinner in a fast-food restaurant.
“Well, as a matter of fact, it is true,” their parents told them. “At least, we’re thinking about putting the wheels in motion. We didn’t want to get your hopes up until we knew how much of a chance we had.”
Chris and Sharon Bisgaard had written the letter after reading an article in the Los Angeles Times. It told how the wife of the American ambassador in Mexico had come across four young sisters whose mother had been killed in the earthquake in 1985. Now their father lay dying of leukemia, and he begged the woman to see that his daughters would be taken care of.
The article struck a chord within the Bisgaards. They had been unable to have more than two children, and they thought this might be the ideal opportunity to expand their family. But there must have been hundreds of people who read the article and wanted to adopt the girls. The Bisgaard’s initial letter just asked if they’d even be considered.
That night, over hamburgers and french fries, as the family discussed the project, they began to realize just how important this could be to all of them. Enthusiasm was kindled, and grew and grew. They decided they’d do all they could to bring the Torres Mendoza sisters to La Cañada, California, where they would be adopted into the family.
Applications were filled out, letters were written, interviews were conducted. Question after question was answered, and many prayers were offered, until finally, the non-LDS organization responsible for the sisters decided that the Bisgaards were the most qualified candidates for the adoption.
That was only the beginning. They still had miles of red tape to untangle to make certain that everything was absolutely legal. In the meantime, the family tried to prepare for the adjustments they’d have to make when the family doubled overnight. Lara would have to move out of her room into the guest room. Five people would have to share a bathroom. Their parents wouldn’t be able to spend as much individual time with them as they had before, and big family vacations would be curtailed.
There was also a degree of racial prejudice to cope with. “It’s funny,” said Lara. “When my friends at school heard I was going to get four sisters from Mexico, they thought it was pretty neat and decided they’d have to stop telling Mexican jokes. That’s good for them.”
On top of all that, they would be responsible for helping acclimate four Catholic Mexican girls who spoke very little English to their LDS, California culture. Would Christopher and Lara be able to handle it?
Handle it? They couldn’t wait! The sisters were allowed to come visit the Bisgaards for Christmas, and the family members all fell in love. They were frustrated to learn that it would take several months longer before the girls were able to come back and stay for good. “We were so excited about having them come, and the waiting hurt so bad,” said Lara. “We needed them to be with us, and they needed to be here.”
Meanwhile down in Mexico, Claudia, 13, Sandra, 10, Yvonne, 7, and Jennifer, 3, were waiting at an all-girls boarding school. They were happy that they’d be able to stay together, and while they weren’t exactly sure what it would be like in a new family, they were anxious for the paperwork to clear. They exchanged letters with the Bisgaards and lived on hope.
Family and personal prayers were especially intent during that waiting period.
At last the big day arrived. The Bisgaards drove to the airport in the van, dubbed “The Mormon Mobile” by Christopher and Lara, that they’d recently purchased to accommodate everyone. The girls arrived in the late spring and would have the whole summer to learn English so they could attend public schools in the fall.
The first week was hectic, to say the least. A lot of tears were shed, a lot of frustrations vented. In the beginning it was a great challenge to communicate, since the Bisgaards knew only schoolroom Spanish, and the girls’ English was limited to a few words and phrases.
There were eating habits to adjust to—scrambled eggs became the common ground. There were bathing habits to adjust to—at first the girls were wary of all the water, and then found it so much fun they wanted to bathe three or four times a day. Even dressing habits were different—the girls were shocked when they were asked to put on nothing more than a bathing suit and swim in public.
Religious habits weren’t similar either. “We found the Mormon church to be very different at first,” said Claudia. “In our church in Mexico, there were Saints and statues and things all over, but in the Mormon church there’s none of that. We liked it, though. Family home evening and family prayer are all very nice.”
It’s amazing how adaptable a family can be when they work together. Within a few weeks, Christopher and Lara knew that getting A’s in Spanish would be a breeze from then on, and their new sisters learned how to communicate in English with ease. Christopher hit on a universal form of communication—teasing. “Oh Christopher!” his sisters squeal as they roll their eyes in mock disgust after he’s told them some outrageous story. But the teasing sessions usually end up in hugs and smiles.
They all learned from each other. Christopher added stroller pushing to his sports repertoire, while his new sisters added American football to theirs. When they went to see Christopher play JV quarterback on his high school team, Claudia commented, “It’s a very strange sport.”
Lara had given up dolls for basketballs and volleyballs quite some time ago, but suddenly she found herself combing and braiding hair, dressing and helping feed her younger sisters. And she loved every minute of it. Well, almost every minute of it. It was only natural for her to occasionally miss the status of being the only daughter in the house.
But one of the best adaptations of all came when Claudia and Sandra announced, out of the blue, that they wanted to be baptized. The Bisgaards had not been pushing their religion on the new family members. After all, they had enough to adjust to at first. But they were always included when they wanted to be. The Spanish-speaking sister missionaries came by now and then, but they were there to translate more than proselyte.
“One day the missionaries told us they were going to a baptism, so we asked them about it,” explained Claudia. “When they told us that in this church they baptize children when they’re eight so they understand everything, we decided that we needed to be baptized now too. We wanted to be members of the Church.”
Their new parents made certain that they understood what they were doing before they were baptized. The girls took the missionary discussions and attended many Church meetings prior to their baptismal date. Brother and Sister Bisgaard wanted to assure that their new daughters didn’t feel pressured into their decision and had sincere testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel.
As time goes on, more and more adjustments are made and the family becomes more unified. They’re not yet perfect. What family is? There are still occasional tears, but there’s also a lot of laughter. As far as the kids are concerned, the pros far outweigh the cons. “Four new sisters mean four times as much joy,” Christopher concludes, tugging Jennifer’s ponytail as she toddles by.

We also spoke of Hector C. Haight, another ancestor, called from his home in Farmington, Utah, to preside over the Scandinavian Mission in 1856 with little or no ability to speak Danish, Swedish, or Norwegian. But trusting in the Lord and with the assistance of the Scandinavian Saints, he accomplished his assignment. He reported in 1858 that “2,610 souls had been baptized … and [that] 990 members had emigrated to Zion” (Andrew Jenson, History of the Scandinavian Mission [Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1927], p. 128).

But I remember a story told to me long ago, far from here, by a sad voice. I remember it not because it was unique but because I have heard the same story told, again and again, about waiting or failing to wait. The details vary, but not the feeling of drama.

She said it happened on a summer Saturday afternoon. She was tired. Tired of being single. Tired of trying to be a faithful Latter-day Saint. Not so much tired of being kind and virtuous as tired of nothing good seeming to come of it. She’d not had a date in months.

She saw no prospect of even becoming friends with, let alone marrying, a man who shared her faith and ideals. In frustration she found herself deciding something. She decided that afternoon, consciously, that years of good works and restraint had produced too little and promised no more. She said to herself almost aloud, “Oh, what’s the use?”

The phone rang. It was a man’s voice, a man she knew. He lived in the same apartment building. He’d asked her out before. She’d refused because she was sure he’d expect her to compromise her standards she’d preserved at great effort. But, almost as if directed by a scriptwriter, he called at that instant.

She didn’t say, “Yes.” She said, “I’ll think about it.” She thought about it. He called again. And finally, she repeated to herself, “Oh, what’s the use?” She went. She found she had been right about his intentions. And in a choice about time and about waiting or not waiting, her life changed. So, she will never know what might have been ahead on the path she decided wasn’t worth the price; she knew quickly the other one was uphill, and a hard climb.

While I was serving as a bishop, a wonderful young man came to my office for an interview. As we visited, he mentioned that his only major problem was swearing. He constantly heard vulgar language around him, and he too had started swearing. He said he had been trying to quit but was unsuccessful, and he wanted some counsel on how he might stop using bad language.
I immediately thought of suggestions similar to what is now found in For the Strength of Youth: “If you have developed the habit of using language that is not in keeping with these standards—such as swearing, mocking, gossiping, or speaking in anger to others—you can change. Pray for help. Ask your family and friends to support you.”1 I wish this counsel had been available in For the Strength of Youth at that time.
Photo illustration by Cody Bell
I did tell this young man of an experience I had as a youth in an environment where inappropriate language was often used. It seemed that whenever I heard any type of profanity, those words would take hold in my mind more easily than the good thoughts I wanted to have. A wonderful priesthood leader told me that the mind was like a miraculous storage device and that we could remove inappropriate thoughts by quickly overwriting them with things that were praiseworthy.
A friend and I decided to do just that. We memorized two hymns, “I Need Thee Every Hour” (Hymns, no. 98) and “More Holiness Give Me” (Hymns, no. 131), and the thirteenth article of faith. We agreed that if either of us said something inappropriate, we would immediately sing one of the hymns or quote the article of faith.
We quickly realized we did not want to sing the hymns aloud in certain places. We were too embarrassed! So we quoted the thirteenth article of faith, emphasizing the part, “If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.”1 It worked! We discovered that when we would repeat it, the inappropriate thoughts would disappear. By changing one word, we also created a simple motto: “We speak after these things!” When either of us said this phrase, we would think, “Are my words true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy?” (see Articles of Faith 1:13). If they were not, we knew we had work to do.

Some time ago I had the privilege of attending a stake conference in the company of President Spencer W. Kimball. He was not the president of the Church at that time. Elder Kimball worked tirelessly holding one meeting after another until late Saturday night. On Sunday we held a meeting with bishoprics and high councilors at 8:00 A.M. This was followed by the general session, a meeting with the seventies quorum, an interview with the patriarch, the dedication of a chapel, and a talk to the seminary students in the evening. We went to the stake president’s home about 9:00 P.M. to wait for our plane that did not leave until nearly 11:00 P.M. The kindly stake president’s wife wanted to fix us dinner. Elder Kimball said, “Please, all I need is a bowl of milk and some of your homemade bread to break up in it.” These are not men to be conquered.

Katie rummaged through the storage box, carefully looking through the crumpled packing paper. She still couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She put everything back in the box and went to find Mom.
Katie had looked behind the piano, under the couch, even in Thomas’s crib. It was lost. She had to tell Mom.
“Mommy, the baby Jesus is lost!”
Katie led Mom to the nativity set in the living room. Joseph and Mary and the shepherds were there. The Wise Men—even a camel and a donkey—were there. All of the figures were gathered around the empty manger.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mom said.
“I can’t find Him anywhere! I looked and looked.” The nativity would be ruined without the baby Jesus.
Mom went to the bookshelf. “He isn’t lost,” she said as she reached up and took something from the top shelf.
Katie sighed in relief. “There He is!” she said. “I’ll go put Him in the manger.”
She reached for the figurine, but Mom put it back on the shelf. “This year we’re going to put the baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning,” Mom said. “It’s a tradition Dad learned in France.”
“But everyone looks so sad,” Katie said.
“I don’t think they’re sad,” Mom said. “To me, it looks more like they’re waiting.”
Katie looked at the figures. She could see the place in the manger where baby Jesus belonged. Some of the figurines were reaching out to the empty spot.
“I guess so,” Katie said.
“Remember before Thomas was born how excited you were for him to come?” Mom asked.
Katie smiled at her baby brother, who was playing on a blanket. “It felt like forever!” she said.
“Did you know that prophets waited for thousands of years for Jesus to come to help us return to live with Heavenly Father?” Mom asked.
Katie remembered seeing a picture in Primary of a prophet writing about the Savior’s birth. “I think so,” she said.
“Prophets like Isaiah thought about and wrote about what the Savior would do when He came,” Mom said. “They spent their whole lives waiting for Him to be born. That’s one of the reasons we set up the nativity like this, to remind us that many people waited a long time for the Savior to come.”
“I would get tired of waiting my whole life,” Katie said, looking at the shepherds who were waiting for Jesus.
“But there’s also another reason we do this,” Mom said.
“What?”
“Do you remember in family home evening when we talked about the Second Coming?”
Katie thought for a minute. “Isn’t that when Jesus comes again?
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“When will that happen?” Katie asked.
“Well, we don’t know. But we’re waiting for Jesus to come, just like the shepherds in the nativity and just like the ancient prophets. That’s the other reason we’re waiting until Christmas to put the baby Jesus in the nativity—to remind us that we’re waiting for Jesus too.”
“Will He come to a manger again?” Katie asked.
“No, He won’t be a baby again. The next time Jesus comes, He’ll be resurrected. But the empty manger in the nativity reminds us that just like you’re waiting for Christmas morning, and just like people waited for Jesus to come to earth, now we’re waiting for Him to come back. We didn’t lose the baby Jesus. This is part of the way our family plans to remember Him.”
“We just need to wait,” Katie said with a smile.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“OK,” Katie said. “But while we’re waiting, can we make some sugar cookies?”

Last May, Sister Davis and I were incredibly touched and inspired by a short video segment we saw at the BYU President's dinner that told the story of a young married student in Provo named Brian Ricks who was challenged to give back to BYU. I must admit that Sister Davis and I both related a lot to his circumstances. We also were poor students, and probably similarly would have wondered if it were even possible to start giving back to BYU while we were still students. However, Brian accepted the challenge, and he and his family made it a matter of prayer. He entered an essay contest and won $675--then promptly gave it back to BYU. He said something very insightful about his experience:
Maybe the reason they asked us as students, even as freshmen, to give to BYU was not because they needed the money, but because they wanted to give us this blessing of giving. They wanted us to have this optimism that comes from giving away.[21]
We are inspired by his faith.

I must confess to you that, up until 24 years ago (I got married about 24 years ago), I had but one prayer in my heart. There was only one thing that I wanted to do. I prayed morning and night, unashamedly, that I could be the shortstop for the New York Yankees. That was my prayer. I don’t pray that anymore.

My prayer changed. It became, “I want to be the father of lovely and virtuous young ladies.” I’ve been blessed with four fine daughters. I’ve observed families that have done a great job with their children. I went to one couple, friends of ours, and asked, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do with them?”

They said, “Oh, we do this, this, this, and we give them plenty of love.”

I asked some other friends, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do?”

“Oh, we do this, this, this, and, oh, by the way, we give them plenty of love.” That seems to be the common denominator—give them plenty of love.

Both of my parents learned English when they were in college, and they wanted to raise my siblings and me to speak English in the home. We learned by reading the Book of Mormon in English. At first we’d just read the Book of Mormon and be done, but my mom said she wanted us to read to understand. She told us to pick a verse that stood out to us and explain how it applied to us. This helped me to be confident in speaking and expressing my thoughts in English.
I’m grateful that my parents helped us understand the importance of learning and that they used the Book of Mormon to teach us the gospel and as the number one tool for teaching us English. It was a resource we all had access to, and it helped prepare us to read other materials in English. I know that I’m able to speak English better now because of our family Book of Mormon study. Knowing another language has helped prepare me for school, a mission, and jobs that require English-speaking skills.
Louena H., Tonga

As we talk, Tyson Warner tells of when things changed in his life. He had just been ordained to the priesthood and felt it was time, as he put it, to step up. “When I was about 12, I had a hard time reading the scriptures regularly. I made a goal that I would give up sleeping in, and I would wake up 30 minutes earlier every morning and spend the time reading my scriptures. It was difficult. I thought, ‘What’s the point in doing this?’ After a month I started to feel changes in my life. I was more in tune with the Spirit. I started noticing things in the scriptures better than I could before. That’s how I knew the Church is true.”
Now, four years later, Tyson says, “I like the book of Alma because that was what I was reading when I really started to feel the Spirit. That book is special to me. It was a turning point in my life. I gained a strong testimony.”

I'm grateful to my mom for being willing to leave her family and home in Idaho and move to Samoa for 45 years when she married my dad. I'm sure there were many times when she could have just endured the tougher life in Samoa and then convinced my dad to move back to the mainland when all of her children had moved to the US for college. But, she chose to "endure it well" and adapted to island life by not complaining about what she didn't have. Instead, she was resourceful with what was available. She, along with my dad helped the Church and Church Schools to grow because of her love for her new homeland. She relished the many blessings Samoa had to offer her family - except the bugs. Even after my dad passed away, she chose to stay in Samoa for several more years because it was her home. My dad couldn't have accomplished his work in the church and government if mom had merely endured life in Samoa. She thrived there until all of us, her kids, insisted she move to the mainland for health reasons. But her lessons have left an eternal mark on our lives.

But I wasn’t alone. The Savior Jesus Christ was with me, even in my darkest days and nights. His face showed through the faces of my ward family. My bishop and his sweet wife met with me and were there the night I realized my husband and I would be getting divorced. They were heartbroken for me and for my children.
My bishop continued to call and check on me in the difficult months that followed that night.
Brother and Sister John ministered to me and my children in so many ways. They have been an example of Christlike love.
My ministering brother had been with us since we first moved to Idaho. He made many efforts to befriend my then-husband. Not only did this good brother visit us monthly, but he also called or texted to offer his assistance when I stubbornly told him I didn’t need anything.
After my separation, he and his wife became ministering partners, and they lovingly, and without judgment, met with me often. They invited us to sit with them at the local Independence Day parade and to join their extended family at a barbecue.
Our ministering brother found out my children’s favorite characters and carved them into plastic pumpkins for Halloween. They have helped us string Christmas lights, prepare our home for winter, spray our weeds, answer the children’s questions about electronics, and dig my van out of the snow. They brought me the softest blanket as a Christmas gift, which has comforted me many nights when I’ve been lonely and uncertain of what life would bring.
But the most important act of service was the many priesthood blessings this kind brother bestowed upon me and my children. He truly was an example of the scripture, “They did watch over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness” (Mosiah 23:18). So many times, when my anxiety felt like it had reached its peak, he and his wife would come over to talk with me, and the conversation would end with my receiving a priesthood blessing.
He gave my children priesthood blessings before the school year started. He participated in my daughter’s confirmation. This loving couple’s generosity has been an example of Christ’s love for me and my kids.
My friendship with my Relief Society president (second from right) and other sisters in Relief Society has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
I also saw Christ in the face of my angelic Relief Society president. As soon as she heard I was struggling, she took me to lunch and let me spill my emotions and found ways to relate to me with her own life experiences. She texts me often to make sure my children and I are OK. She and two other women in my ward began inviting me to dinner, to go on walks, and to attend the temple with them. They’ve helped steam-clean my carpets and paint rooms. One of them taught me to dye and cut my own hair so that I could be more self-sufficient. The four of us have created a bond and friendship I never knew was possible during such a difficult trial. Their friendship has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
As Sister Elaine S. Dalton, former Young Women General President, said, “Your righteous influence and friendship can have an eternal effect not only on the lives of your associates but also on generations to come.”2 These ladies have made a profound impact not only on my life but on the lives of my children as well; they buoy me up and give me the strength to remain the mother my children need me to be.
Our bishop regularly checked on me and my children.
Though the bishop, ministering couple, and Relief Society president were called to serve our family, it never felt like we were an assignment. And so many others, who had no obligation whatsoever, have shown love to our family.
Two anonymous parties delivered gifts to my children at Christmas. The young men have done yard work, a ward member changed the locks on my doors, and a few others helped with my computer. We’ve received coupons to the pool, been treated to fun at a local water park, and been invited to numerous dinners and movie nights where we could relax with friends and be ourselves.
One sister, while babysitting my children, took them to the store to choose birthday presents to give to me. Another sister did the same with my children at Christmastime.
We’ve also received flowers or treats from people even when there hasn’t been a special occasion; they just wanted me to know I’m loved, thought about, and cared for.
I can testify that what President Jean Bingham, Relief Society General President, says is true: “Sometimes we think we have to do something grand and heroic to ‘count’ as serving our neighbors. Yet simple acts of service can have profound effects on others.”3
Even a small gesture helps me know that Christ hasn’t left me alone to deal with the unpredictability my life has become.
Photograph of simulated Bible scene by Welden C. Andersen
There is peace in Christ. When we sincerely and selflessly care for those around us who are struggling with major life challenges, we really can help them feel the unwavering love and peace of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
I know my Heavenly Father has blessed me and my little family as we made the trek away from family in Arizona to live among strangers in Idaho. Those strangers have become like family. Their Christlike love and examples have helped to keep us strong and where we need to be.
My children and I are eager to serve after seeing how much service impacted our lives. We are living testimonies of what can happen when disciples of Christ follow the pattern of ministering taught in Moroni 6:4: “Their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith.”
I am grateful for my ward family, who remembered and nourished us so that we could keep our hearts turned to the Savior.