Gospel Story Finder

Sixteen-year-old Steven D. McKell of Salt Lake City, who was kidnapped at gunpoint but was able to free himself, received Scouting’s Medal of Merit for his bravery.
The FBI report of the incident reads:
“While alone at his home, Steven was confronted by a person who represented himself as a deliveryman. The man at the door had a truck-type dolly with a large cardboard box on it.
“The man indicated he had a document that Steven should sign as a receipt for the package. As the youth started to do this, the deliveryman pulled out a handgun, held it against Steven’s cheek, and forced him into the house.
“The man placed leg irons and handcuffs on Steven and forced him to lie on the floor. Steven’s mouth was then stuffed with a bandanna, and the bandanna was taped in place. Pads of cotton were placed over his eyes and taped closed. A nylon stocking was pulled over his head to keep the bandanna and pads in place.”
Steven was told to get inside the carton, which was then hauled out of the house on the dolly and lifted into the van, which was driven to a location about 10 minutes away.
The boy was led into an old rabbit hutch where boards were nailed over him. He was told by his captor not to try to escape since someone would be watching him.
“I didn’t believe him,” said Steven, “so when I heard him drive away, I began kicking my feet until I could get out of the frame. In my efforts to get free, I felt a nail against my nose and used that to pull the blindfold off.”
Steven was still gagged and cuffed hand and foot, but he could see and move. He made short jumps toward the road and attracted the attention of a jogger, who removed his gag and carried him over his shoulder to a nearby home. From there, Steven called his father, allowing enough time for the local police and the FBI to set a trap for the kidnapper, who was caught, convicted, and imprisoned.
Steven received the national Scouting office medal at a court of honor. He is a member of the Butler 12th Ward, Salt Lake Butler Stake.

‘Alofanga (‘Alo) Moli’s life has been refined as a result of the gospel. As a young boy on Vava‘u, he was unable to attend school regularly because of severe headaches and nosebleeds. Though not a member of the Church, he fell in love with ‘Ana, who was. ‘Alo was baptized in December 1957 and a short time later was called to serve as a labor missionary, helping to construct meetinghouses. But health problems still plagued him. One day as he lay stricken, he was given a priesthood blessing and promised that if he served the Lord, these ailments would never return. This blessing has been fulfilled.

‘Alo’s knowledge and understanding increased as he magnified his Church callings. In 1960 he and ‘Ana married, and in 1962 they served a two-year mission together. Brother Moli was called as branch president in each place they served.

After their mission the Molis and their two baby daughters moved to the island of ‘Eua to farm with ‘Ana’s brother. ‘Alo served as counselor to the district president. “Our mission prepared us for the callings we received,” he says. “Later I served as branch president for 11 years. The rest of our 14 children were born here.”

This gospel training carried over into his personal life. “After Hurricane Isaac hit in 1982, our crops were ruined and I needed work,” says Brother Moli. “An unexpected opportunity came for me to manage a general store for three years. My experience as branch president helped me know what to do. No one believed I could do it because I had not gone to school, but the Holy Ghost had taught me.”

Now ‘Alo serves as a temple sealer, ‘Ana as a temple worker. “Though I have only been a farmer on a tiny Pacific island,” says ‘Alo, “I stand as a witness of the truthfulness of the gospel and the reality of Jesus Christ.”

I never got lost in a supermarket as a child. I never was so turned around in a building that I couldn’t find my way out, and I never had trouble finding my way home after dark. With a perfect never-lost track record, losing my way didn’t even occur to me one Saturday as I began hiking to Heather Lake in western Washington.
The trail was surrounded by moss-covered redwoods and pines. As my best friend Jenn and I started out, we didn’t pay much attention to the orange tags marking the trail because the well-worn path was so obvious. However, conditions changed as we climbed higher. We hadn’t expected to see anything but summer foliage, but soon occasional patches of snow turned into a layer of ice crunching beneath our boots. We were heartened by a hiker returning from the top who assured us that the view was worth the effort. We hurried on, hoping our speed would warm us.
As we continued into deeper snow and lowering temperatures, our path forked. We assumed the most worn path would be the right way to the lake. The path forked again and then again. We kept following what looked like the most worn path until the trail stopped. Jenn and I looked at each other in surprise. We thought that our path would lead us to the lake, but instead we were at the end of a trail next to a freezing river. I quickly looked around to get my bearings, but the clouds obscured the sun. We didn’t have a compass or even a map. As we looked around, I realized that we were lost.
Just as I began to feel a swell of panic, Jenn had an idea. “All we have to do is find an orange marker,” she said. After a minute of looking around, we saw a marker tied to a distant tree. In my rush to get my bearings, I hadn’t even noticed them. Jenn was right. By following the markers, we finally reached our destination.
The lake was beautiful, but I still felt unsettled. How had I become lost following the trail of hikers who were all trying to get to the same place I was? As I thought about this, I remembered Lehi’s dream as recorded in 1 Nephi 8. Lehi saw numberless people heading for the same destination—the tree of life. When mists of darkness obscured their path, those who followed the iron rod were safe, but those who ignored it “did lose their way, that they wandered off and were lost” (verse 23).
The other hiker was right. Heather Lake was the most beautiful place we had ever seen. Likewise, if we hold to the rod and endure to the end, we will receive “eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God” (D&C 14:7).

“Hush, now,” Mom said. “You can tell your Popsicle stories in the order of your return. Benjamin, that means that you’re first.”
“OK,” said Benjamin, jumping up. “Well, I ate my Popsicle while walking down the sidewalk and trying to think of something to do. When it was gone, I sat down on the curb to think some more. I was sitting across from Mrs. Taylor’s house. I remembered about Mr. Taylor dying last year and about Mom and Dad saying what a hard time Mrs. Taylor’s been having trying to do everything by herself. I wished that I could help her. Then I noticed that her garden patch was full of weeds—and I got my idea. I went over and asked Mrs. Taylor if it was all right, then used my stick as a tool to dig weeds out of her garden!”
Mom hugged Benjamin. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “What a great idea! I know that it made Mrs. Taylor very happy.”

That night Danny and I went over to Luke and Jeanette’s. I didn’t much feel like going, but I thought it might get my mind off my unanswered prayers.

Luke answered the door. “Howdy. C’mon in.”

I went upstairs to Jeanette’s room. Luke and Dan stayed in the front room watching TV.

“Hi, Mauri.”

“Hi.”

“Know what? Luke’s grounded again. He was out until four in the morning last night. Mom and dad were so mad. He does it all the time even though he keeps getting grounded. Do you know what’s even worse than that? Mom’s afraid he drinks and steals stuff.”

I knew Luke had stolen stuff because Dan had told me he did, but I didn’t tell Jeanette that. I wondered if Dan did. He hid it pretty well if he did. He’d been in by midnight the night before, so he wasn’t out with Luke.

Jeanette and I talked and listened to records. It was lousy being a freshman sometimes. You were too old to play outside, and too young to date—in our town and our church, anyhow—so we just talked and listened to records most of the time we were together. Sometimes we went with some other girls to the movies, and sometimes we rode horses. Jeanette’s family didn’t have any, so we rode ours. Anyway, we didn’t get bored too much.

Luke popped his head in the door and said, “You guys want to come to the drive-in with me and Danny?”

Jeanette said, “Luke, you can’t go. You’re grounded.”

Luke grinned. “Not till mom and dad get home.”

“I’ll tell them. Luke, you do this all the time.”

“C’mon, Jeanette, you and Mauri come with us. We’ll even buy you popcorn. Can’t beat that offer.”

“Well, okay. What’s playing?”

Luke said some movie that I knew was rated R. Dan and I weren’t supposed to go to R-rated movies. Some example Dan was.

“Do you want to, Mauri?”

“I’ll go if Dan goes.”

“He’s going,” said Luke.

I couldn’t believe it. I ran downstairs ahead of Luke and Jeanette.

“Dan,” I whispered, “are you really going?”

Dan looked away. “Yeah.”

“So am I.”

“Wait a minute. You are not.”

“I go if you go.”

“Mauri, no way. You’re not supposed to.”

“Neither are you.”

“Yeah, but you’re only 14.”

“That makes a heck of a lot of difference.”

“You bet it does. You’re not going.”

“Dan, you’re supposed to be going on a mission. Have you changed your mind? Missionaries don’t go to R shows.”

Dan looked away.

Luke had walked in the room just as I finished. He laughed. “What’s this I hear? Dan go on a mission? You’re kidding.”

“No,” I said, “he said he was going, but I guess he’s changed his mind.”

“Sure he has,” said Luke.

Dan looked at Luke. His brown eyes were hard like I’ve never seen them before.

“I’m going.”

“C’mon, Danny. Really?”

Dan just nodded.

“Well,” Luke said, “I don’t believe it, but I guess we’ll see. You have a year to change your mind, old buddy. I have a year to try and reform you.”

“C’mon, Luke,” Jeanette said, “you guys quit arguing. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

Danny looked at me. “Let’s go.”

“Some example, Dan,” I whispered under my breath as we walked out the door.

After Luke dropped off Danny and me that night, we went inside and sat down at the kitchen table. Dad had probably been asleep for hours.

“Do you think Luke will get in trouble?” I asked.

“Maybe, I don’t know. He’s pretty used to it by now.” Danny had gotten a pitcher of milk from the fridge. He was drinking right out of the pitcher, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t care.

“I’m going to bed. G’night.” I started walking out the door into the hall and turned around. I said, “I wish I hadn’t gone.” Dan looked out the window into the night. “I wish you hadn’t gone either, Dan.”

I felt so guilty that night about going to that show that I didn’t even try to pray. Why would God answer me, now that I was a heathen? That night I dreamed about that stupid German story.

“You must remember the blessings you can have by being faithful,” says Marc-André Côté, 15, of Chicoutimi. “Always keep that goal in mind. When Joseph Smith was discouraged once, the Lord reminded him to remember what he had been promised if he would remain faithful. [See D&C 6:13.] By thinking of the celestial kingdom and exaltation, you can find strength to overcome the struggles in your life.”

Marc should know. For four years he was away from the Church, but about two years ago he kept “asking myself what I was doing with my life. I was searching for something, and I remembered what I had felt in the Church. I felt the Spirit saying to me, ‘Go!’ So I decided to try it just one time. I had imagined it would be difficult to come back, but it was easy. It was even better than I remembered. I read a lot and studied a lot and really gained a testimony that this is the true church, organized the way the Savior wants it to be.”

One cold day years ago, two missionaries spent hours contacting people on the streets of Nagano, Japan. They talked to a few people, made even fewer teaching appointments, and saw all those appointments fall through.
At the end of this tough day, the missionaries met a young man, only 15 years old, who was interested in learning about the Church.
That young man was me.
I met one of the missionaries that day on my way home from school. He taught me about the First Vision and testified that it was true. I did not understand everything at the time, but I wanted to learn more.
Two weeks later, the missionaries invited me to a Christmas party at the church. When I arrived, everyone was so friendly! They greeted me with smiles and handshakes and called me Brother Wada. I wondered how they knew my name and why they called me brother. Come to find out, the missionaries told everyone I was coming. I felt very welcomed and needed.
When everyone started singing Christmas hymns, they asked me to join them. As we sang “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201)—a new hymn for me—the members of the Nagano Branch made me feel like I belonged. They soon became my good friends.

Some time ago in my high priests quorum meeting, the instructor introduced the lesson by asking each of us to respond to who our hero is and why. As each member took his turn responding, the answers were not unexpected. Of course someone named the Savior, the Redeemer of the world. Another spoke of Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves, led the United States through a civil war, and eventually unified the country. Others chose the Prophet Joseph Smith and our beloved current prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley. As each named a hero, I silently concurred and acknowledged that all were men worthy of emulating and that I would be a better person if I possessed some of the qualities that made those men great.
When my turn came to respond, I turned to a brother on my right, a few seats down the row from me, and said, “My hero is Ken Sweatfield and his wife, Jo Ann.” For 20 years I watched Ken and Jo Ann care for their comatose son with all the love and patience a parent could possibly give. I had often pondered the shattered hopes and dreams they surely had for Shane before he suffered a terrible automobile accident just two weeks before he was to begin his mission in Leeds, England. I have watched Ken and Jo Ann wheel Shane into the sunlight or push him through the neighborhood, describing the scenery, hoping that he might hear and feel, and hoping that the fresh air and sunlight might lighten a very subdued spirit. For 20 years there were no vacations from this care, few evenings out, but there was always a spirit of faith, optimism, and gratitude—never a show of anger, despair, or questioning of God’s purposes.
I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.
I could have also answered that my hero is Tom Abbott and his son John, my faithful home teachers who never missed a home teaching assignment even though we are often a difficult family to catch at home. I could have named dozens of others that I admire and could call my heroes. Many do not hold so-called high or prominent callings in the Church, but all are worthy to hold any position. None are widely known to the general membership of the Church, but all, I am certain, are known by name to our Heavenly Father.
On the occasions that I am able to attend sacrament meeting in my own ward, I am often reflective as I look down in the congregation and see the same faces Sunday after Sunday. Some I have seen regularly in sacrament meeting for more than 20 years. Again, most are not in the limelight of the Church, but all consistently attend their meetings and privately meet life’s challenges.
These are the many members I see, admire, and am grateful for. They are not seeking position, prominence, or fame, but each is earning a place in our Father’s kingdom by taking care of the business of everyday living. They are consistently doing the unnoticed, the unspectacular, but humbly and righteously doing the important. Challenges they have, but out of their bitter struggles they are able to find the sweetness that is so often the silent companion to adversity. This picture is duplicated hundreds of times in thousands of wards throughout the world. They are The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Yes, the strength of the Church is in the millions of humble members striving every day to do the will of the Savior—day by day, one step at a time. These humble members come from all nationalities, all social strata, and every economic background. They include those of the highest educational backgrounds as well as those of the humblest who live in the smallest hamlets in the most remote areas of the world—all having hearts throbbing with a vital testimony of Jesus Christ and a desire to serve the Lord.
As I have pondered these faithful members, I am struck by two qualities they all seem to have. First, regardless of social or economic status or position, their humility leads to submissiveness to the Lord’s will. And second, in spite of the difficulties and trials of life, they are able to maintain a sense of gratitude for God’s blessings and life’s goodness. Humility and gratitude are truly the twin characteristics of happiness.
A story is told of an encounter between the Prophet Joseph Smith and Brigham Young. In the presence of a rather large group of brethren, the Prophet severely chastised Brother Brigham for some failing in his duty. Everyone, I suppose somewhat stunned, waited to see what Brigham’s response would be. After all, Brigham, who later became known as the Lion of the Lord, was no shrinking violet by any means. Brigham slowly rose to his feet, and in words that truly reflected his character and his humility, he simply bowed his head and said, “Joseph, what do you want me to do?” The story goes that sobbing, Joseph ran from the podium, threw his arms around Brigham, and said in effect, “You passed, Brother Brigham, you passed” (see Truman G. Madsen, “Hugh B. Brown—Youthful Veteran,” New Era, Apr. 1976, 16).
Many of us live or work in an environment where humility is often misunderstood and considered a weakness. Not many corporations or institutions include humility as a value statement or a desired characteristic of their management. Yet as we learn about the workings of God, the power of a humble and submissive spirit becomes apparent. In the kingdom of God, greatness begins with humility and submissiveness. These companion virtues are the first critical steps to opening the doors to the blessings of God and the power of the priesthood. It matters not who we are or how lofty our credentials appear. Humility and submissiveness to the Lord, coupled with a grateful heart, are our strength and our hope.
In giving the requirements for membership in His Church, the Lord stated, “All those who humble themselves before God … and come forth with broken hearts and contrite spirits, … [these are the ones who] shall be received by baptism into his church” (D&C 20:37).
And so within the membership of the Church we see men and women of all backgrounds humbly submitting to the counsel of God. We see the prominent business executive graciously and humbly receiving and being taught by a humble, sometimes even intimidated, home teacher. We see the highly educated humbly following counsel from their bishops, who sometimes have little formal education. We see former bishops and stake presidents graciously and humbly accepting calls to teach in the Primary, assist in the nursery, or assemble humanitarian kits to be sent to the needy throughout the world. We see thousands of mature couples leaving their comfortable homes to live in circumstances to which they are not accustomed, to humbly serve the poverty-stricken throughout the world—and then serve again and again and again. We see the poverty-stricken in the world humbly sacrificing to share their meager substance of life with those who are even more destitute. And each, in their humility, is serving and giving with a grateful heart and giving praise to God.
King Benjamin warned that we must “[become] as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [us]” (Mosiah 3:19).
Humbly submitting our will to the Father brings us the empowerment of God—the power of humility. It is the power to meet life’s adversities, the power of peace, the power of hope, the power of a heart throbbing with a love for and testimony of the Savior Jesus Christ, even the power of redemption. To this end, the Savior is our supreme example of the power of humility and submissiveness. After all, His submitting His will to the Father brought about the greatest, and even the most powerful, event in all of history. Perhaps some of the most sacred words in all the scriptures are simply, “Not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).
So we have the thousands, even millions, of throbbing hearts—heroes, I suspect we could say, but perhaps a more appropriate description is merely humble followers of the Savior Jesus Christ. And, as President Hinckley has asked of each of us, they are just doing their best—one day at a time.
May a humble and submissive heart be our empowerment from God with all of its attendant blessings is my humble prayer. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Another incident—at the end of World War II, I was seated in my office in Salt Lake and received a telephone call from a man in New York, a multimillionaire who had made 30 million dollars by the time he was 30 years of age. He had a son in a military camp just outside Salt Lake City. This boy had expected to be shipped overseas, as many others had been. Then the war ended and so they were crowded into that camp, like sardines in a can. This boy was discouraged, and his father was worried about him. So he called and said, “Would you please call him on the telephone and see if you can cheer him up a bit?” I said, “Of course, I’d be happy to.” And I called him and said, “Would you like to come into the office for a little visit?” And he said, “I sure would.” He was a bit delayed in coming, and I was just ready to leave for home when he arrived.

I said, “Would you like to go out to the house with me and take potluck with the family? My wife doesn’t know you’re coming, but you’ll be welcome.” So he said, “I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do tonight than that.” So we went out, and we had our dinner, and we had our prayer. We gathered around the piano afterwards and enjoyed ourselves with some singing. Then after we visited for awhile, I drove him down to his bus. In a few days I got a letter from his father, and you know, you’d have thought I’d saved that boy’s life. The father quoted a letter from his son in which the son had said, “Father, I didn’t know there were any people in this world who lived like that.” Yes, we take it all for granted. Here was a man worth millions of dollars—could buy his son anything that dollars could buy and never miss the money—and yet this simple thing of prayer and devotion in the home had passed him by.

Priscila’s family joined the Church in 1991 but became less active shortly after their baptisms. In early 1998 Priscila’s friend began investigating the Church and asked Priscila to come with her to seminary.
“I had gone to another church, but I could never understand what they were teaching. In seminary everything made sense, and I could understand the gospel. Eventually, the Spirit testified to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. When I learned he was a prophet it was so good and so sweet that I cried,” Priscila says.
Priscila’s mother, Francilene, enjoyed welcoming the ward’s young women into their home. She encouraged Priscila’s attendance at Church activities, and she soon began attending regularly herself. Francilene is now serving as her ward’s Relief Society president.

I could hardly keep my voice steady as I said good night to Ben. Tears were already streaming down my face as I shut the door and flopped down on the living room floor.
I was glad everyone had gone to bed; that way I wouldn’t have to tell them about the prom or why I was crying.
I should have known it would be horrible, since I hadn’t even been my date’s first choice. He had wanted to take Amy, my best friend, but she was already going with Chad. So Ben had done the next best thing—he’d asked me and suggested we double.
It was an awkward situation from the moment we all climbed into Ben’s old station wagon. I don’t think he said anything to me as we drove to the restaurant; he was too busy staring at Amy in the rearview mirror. She didn’t notice. She was too entranced by Chad—star basketball player, student body vice-president, and the most popular guy in school—to notice anything. It was driving Ben crazy.
That’s why he forgot to help me with my chair at the restaurant. He tried to pull out Amy’s chair and bumped into Chad. In the confusion, he must have forgotten about me because he just turned and sat down.
All through dinner Ben played “Name That Tune” with the background music, and I tried to hide my anger. I knew he was feeling as miserable as I was, but why did he have to take it out on me? I didn’t want him to fall in love with me; I just wanted him to treat me like a human being.
I don’t know how we made it through the rest of the evening. At the school neither of us was very anxious to dance, so we had our pictures taken first. Even that didn’t go smoothly. Ben was too tall to stand next to the wicker chair where I was to sit, so we had to trade places. I think we both wanted to die.
Since neither of us wanted to dance the slow dances, we used his height and my shortness as an excuse to sit them out. “Just one more hour,” I thought as I watched his eyes follow Amy around the room. For the first time in my life I was grateful for my curfew.
An hour later, I walked into my living room and dropped onto the floor. All I could think, over and over, was, “What’s wrong with me?” I hardly ever dated and when I did, it always seemed to go like this.
Suddenly the living room light blinked on and I sat up. I must have looked pretty pathetic, lying there in my taffeta dress with mascara smeared all over my face. Dad suppressed a smile.
“So it wasn’t the best date you’ve ever been on, huh?” he said.
“Not even close. But some things never change,” I mumbled, straightening my dress.
He kind of chuckled as he sat down beside me. I couldn’t stand it any more—I had to ask.
“What’s wrong with me, anyway?”
He looked up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, why?”
“Then what’s wrong with the guys?”
He shook his head. “Heck, I’m a guy and I don’t even know.”
I had expected something a little more profound. Why doesn’t he at least say, “Sorry you’re such a social misfit,” and get it over with? I thought. But he just sat there. I gave up.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said weakly as I stood up and headed towards my bedroom. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He couldn’t possibly understand how I felt.
“Christie,” he called after me, “don’t make yourself miserable over something you can’t control. You know, sometimes you just have to be patient and things get better.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. More than anything, I wanted to believe that if I said the right thing or looked a certain way, the guys would beg for a date with me. I just had to figure out what I was doing wrong.
Then one night I read a scripture that reminded me of my dad’s words: “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Eccl. 3:1). It said there was a time to cry, a time to laugh—and even a time to love.
Maybe I’ve been rushing things a little, I thought. One thing was certain: more than I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted to be happy and feel good about myself again.
I only had two dates the rest of the year, and one of them was a girls’ choice. But when I started to feel depressed, I reminded myself that it wouldn’t last forever. I filled up my time with school, Church, and my family and tried to be patient.
Nothing changed—until after graduation. I don’t know how it happened—maybe it was because I met hundreds of new people at college. All I know is that I had dates. Not tons, but enough. I dated regularly for three years, served a mission—and then I met Sam.
On my wedding day, as I knelt at the altar and looked into Sam’s eyes, I knew that everything was right—the right person, the right time, and the right place.
Like my dad had said, there was never anything “wrong” with me in the first place. I didn’t need to change; what I really needed was time.

One day the sisters asked Monica’s mother to pray to know if she should be baptized, and she did. She read the scriptures every day, too, and one night she had a dream. In the dream she was looking for white clothes to wear to her baptism. She felt very happy and peaceful. When she woke up, she knew that Heavenly Father had answered her prayer.
The day before Monica’s ninth birthday, Monica and her mother were baptized. Her aunts and uncles and cousins and father and grandmother came—so did many people from the branch. It was a very happy day for everyone, but most of all for Monica and her mother.

Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

Ammon Arvidson and Brooke Noble, two youth from the Maitland Ward, Newcastle Australia Stake, were chosen to represent Port Stephens, Australia, at the first World Child Summit, held in Kushiro, Japan, last summer. The theme was “The Natural Environment and Our Future.” To be chosen, they each had to present a 10-minute speech on the environment of Port Stephens, the problems facing the habitat, and their role in protecting the natural beauty of the world.
Speaking of the presentations he made at the summit, Ammon, 12, said, “It makes me very aware of the beautiful world our Lord has created for us to enjoy.” Then thinking about all the people, languages, and cultures created by the Lord, Ammon added, “It makes me look forward to serving a mission wherever Heavenly Father sends me.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Dad said. “Do you remember when you asked me if you could go to the train tracks with some friends last week?”
“Yes,” Matt said. There was a field a few blocks from his house that had train tracks in it. Matt had never been there before.
“When you asked me, you wanted me to say that you could go, right?”
Matt nodded.
“But how did I answer your question?”
“You told me that I couldn’t go,” Matt said.
“Even though that wasn’t the way you wanted me to answer your question, I still answered it,” Dad said. “Every time you pray and ask Heavenly Father for something, He listens and answers you. But sometimes we think He doesn’t answer our prayers because He doesn’t answer us the way we want Him to.”
“Why doesn’t He answer us the way we want?” Matt asked.
“Matt, even though I said no the other day, does that mean I don’t love you?” Dad asked.
Matt shook his head.
“Why do you think I told you that you couldn’t go?” Dad asked.
Matt stared out the window for a moment and then looked at Dad. “I guess it’s because you know that the train tracks are dangerous and that I might get hurt if I play on them.”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “You didn’t realize it, but I did. Heavenly Father also sees things that we don’t. That is why He sometimes gives us answers that are different from what we want.”

One Sunday I was substituting in a Primary class of particularly rambunctious five-year-olds. The lesson was about love. We began by singing the song “Jesus Said Love Everyone.”
Afterward I commented, “Jesus loves everyone, and we must do that, too.”
Robbie challenged me. “Oh, no, he doesn’t love everyone—he doesn’t love the bad people!”
“Yes, Robbie, he loves everyone.”
“He doesn’t love the robbers.”
“Even the robbers.”
Robbie thought a minute and said, “I know some people he didn’t love—he didn’t love the men who killed him!”
At that point I told Robbie about the Crucifixion.
“When Jesus hung on the cross,” Robbie interrupted me, “did they really put nails in his hands and feet?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, that must have hurt.”
“Yes, it did. Even after that happened, as Jesus hung on the cross in great pain, he said, ‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.’ (Luke 23:34.) Jesus was speaking about the men who had placed him on the cross. He asked Heavenly Father to forgive them. Yes, Robbie, Jesus even loved these people, and he forgave them.”
Robbie looked at me, furrowed his brow, and said, “I’m going to ask my dad if Jesus really did say that.”
After class was over, I was walking into sacrament meeting with my family, and I felt a tug on my dress. It was Robbie.
“Sister Wright, my dad says you’re right.”
The tenderness of this experience was that Robbie went from challenging the idea that Jesus could love everyone to a sweet trust of Christ’s unconditional love.

That’s how things are now. But for a long time, the family didn’t go to church very often. The children attended only when they visited Brother Stailey’s mother in another town. They enjoyed those visits and started reading the Book of Mormon on their own. They read almost the whole book over a two-year period and started asking their dad to take them back to church. When the family went through some difficult times, Brother Stailey realized that they needed the gospel in their lives. They started attending meetings again, and they’re glad they did.
“I enjoy going to church,” Allysa explains. “Everyone is nice to us. Even on our first day back, they helped us find our way around and were friendly.”
“The members of the Church really care about you,” Teylor adds.
The Staileys were already good people before they went back to church. But now they are much happier good people. “A lot of wonderful things have happened to us,” Brother Stailey reports. “We pay our tithing faithfully, and blessings have come from that. A couple of months ago, I was ordained an elder and I got to ordain Jeddy a priest that same day.”
There were many things that helped the family become active, but Brother Stailey has no doubt about the most important one. “You can’t believe the strength that comes from these kids. They are the reason for my change of heart. They and my mother are the reason this family turned around.”

The Fayette group was led by Thomas B. Marsh and the Prophet Joseph’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Lucy had called the twenty adults and thirty children together and reminded them that they were traveling by commandment of the Lord, just as father Lehi had when he left Jerusalem. She then said that if they would remain faithful, they could expect the blessings of God just as Lehi’s people had.

The group traveled on the Cayuga and Seneca Canal to Buffalo, New York, where they planned to take a steamboat across Lake Erie to Kirtland. But when they arrived in Buffalo, ice blocked the harbor and further travel was impossible.

They experienced hardships, including hunger and sickness, while they waited for the ice to break. After several days, they put their belongings on a boat, and Lucy persuaded the group to ask the Lord to break the twenty-foot ice barriers that jammed the harbor.

No sooner had they finished praying than a thunderous noise exploded in the air. The captain cried, “Every man to his post!”

The Fayette Saints looked up to see the ice parting to make a passageway just large enough for their boat. When the boat entered the opening, the ice was so close on both sides of it that buckets were ripped from its waterwheel.

As soon as the boat passed through, the opening closed and no other boat could get through. Once again the prayers of the people had been heard! Because people on shore saw the ripping of the waterwheel, they thought that the boat would sink in the icy harbor. So when the Fayette Saints arrived in Kirtland, many people there were surprised to see them.**

“A soldier is often in a poor environment. It is unfortunate, but the worst of mankind seems to reveal itself during war. And maybe this is the reason returned servicemen don’t feel equal to returned missionaries. Missionaries are in a situation to see the most beautiful and uplifting parts of mankind; military people see the opposite. This naturally created a state of inequity in my mind; I didn’t feel as good as if I had been serving on a mission. And, of course, I wasn’t treated the same as a returned missionary. But the most important difference to me was that difference inside of me.
“For the first while it was natural for me to be hostile and suspect that people were not sincere because this is what I had been conditioned to expect. But finally I had to get hold of myself and say, ‘Look, these people are trying to help you, and they want to be your friends.’ It took me a while to realize this, but when I did, the change started happening to me, and I began to come around,” said Warren Mallen, a Vietnam veteran.

He describes his introduction to the gospel: “Elder Pulsipher opened with prayer. He knelt down and asked the Lord in the name of Jesus Christ for what he wanted. His manner of prayer and the influence which went with it impressed me greatly. The spirit of the Lord rested upon me and bore witness that he was a servant of God. After singing, he preached to the people for an hour and a half. The spirit of God rested mightily upon him, and he bore a strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon and of the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith. I believed all that he said. The spirit bore witness of its truth. …
“Liberty was then given by the elders to any one in the congregation to arise and speak for or against what they had heard as they might choose. Almost instantly I found myself upon my feet. The spirit of the Lord urged me to bear testimony of the truth of the message delivered by these elders. I exhorted my neighbors and friends not to oppose these men, for they were the true servants of God. They had preached to us that night the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. When I sat down, my brother Azmon arose and bore a similar testimony. He was followed by several others.”
Three days later, after carefully searching the Book of Mormon, he was baptized on 31 December 1833. He wrote: “The snow was about three feet deep, the day was cold, and the water was mixed with ice and snow, yet I did not feel cold.”