Gospel Story Finder

Stacey White, a mother of four in Indiana, USA, was longing for an opportunity to help a neighbor, friend, or even a stranger during the week she studied Matthew 25:35–40, where the Savior teaches that serving “the least of these” is, in fact, serving Him (verse 40).
“Because I am a busy stay-at-home mom of four young children, I sometimes feel frustrated that I’m not able to be of service as often as I would like,” Sister White explained. “I am so busy taking care of my own family’s needs that I have little time for anything extra.”
Sister White noted that as she continued to study, cross-reference, and ponder these scriptures, praying for opportunities to serve, “the week seemed to take on a higher level of stress than what normally comes with motherhood”—certainly not what she had hoped for.
“There were school projects to help with, more than the usual messes to clean up, sibling fights to referee, and a mountain of laundry that seemed to regenerate itself. The to-do list seemed to never come close to being completed. My prayer seemed to go unanswered as I longed for the free time and energy to serve someone other than my husband and children.”
But then, partway through the week, Sister White came to a realization: just because she didn’t have the opportunity to serve outside her home did not mean that the Lord had let her prayer go unanswered, and it didn’t mean that she hadn’t been serving in meaningful ways.
“The Lord was answering my prayer by giving me those opportunities within my own family,” she says. “At times I feel that the service within my own family somehow doesn’t count, that in order to be classified as service, it must be outside the home, rendered to someone other than a family member. But with my new understanding, while I was making beds, doing laundry, chauffeuring kids, and doing all my daily duties as a mother, I did them more joyfully. My tasks didn’t seem quite so mundane, and I realized I was making a difference for my family.”

“Where are we going?” Mark asked flatly, uncomfortably perplexed. Transfers had just occurred that day, bringing the reluctant Elder Macklind to a new area with which he was wholly unfamiliar, and pairing his antiathletic body with jog-happy Elder Hilversum. Mark felt very unsettled, and yet Elder Hilversum didn’t seem to notice. He just serenely breezed through the day as if nothing was new, which Mark found somewhat depressing; it’s tough to be gloomy without company, and this cheerful Hilversum guy just wasn’t cooperating. Mark frowned at the ground. His mind was still in Cedar Court, on the Caufields.
Mr. Caufield had grinned so widely, too, after accepting the baptismal challenge. His wife had cried and hugged Mark tightly as he left; he told her she would look so pretty in white. And she would have, too, if they had only tried harder. Mark winced at the memory. All the plans, filling the font, so much excitement, smiling all day, and then finding their note instead of them: “We just do not want to be baptized after all.” Mark shut his eyes tight.
Sometimes Mark wondered why he had come on a mission at all. Just like this stupid run, it often seemed like a lot of effort for no good purpose. He just got sore legs and an aching heart that beat too hard as if it were going to explode out of his chest. And he went back three times, but he never saw the Caufields again before the transfer. Maybe never again, period. Mark contorted his eyebrows into a knot, and tiny trickles of water fell down his face. He gritted his teeth. Why does he keep running?
The jog had become rudely taxing. Mark began to punctuate each plop of his heels with a gutterul groan, partly out of exhaustion and partly in an effort to complain: “Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!”—step—“Ugh!” His seeping energy was beginning to upset him. He could feel anger well up deep inside and churn up toward his head, as if his feet were pumping it farther with every plod. What’s the point in trying anyway? There was so much to be angry about. Mark wanted to give in to it.
They came to a crosswalk, and Elder Hilversum was jogging in place waiting for the light to change when Mark caught up to him. “Is anyone watching us?” Mark huffed to his companion, the pogo stick.
Elder Hilversum grinned again, glancing from side to side, “Nope.”
“Good!” Mark blurted, and promptly fell to the ground in a lifeless sprawl, moaning, “All over. All over. Any time now.”
Anxiously, Elder Hilversum reached for his land-grabbing companion. “Get up, Elder Macklind, get up! Are you all right?”
“Dying. Dying,” Mark lamented from among the grass blades and dirt.
“No, you’re not dying,” Elder Hilversum retorted impatiently, pulling at Mark’s arm. “But you’ll cramp up if you lie there much longer.”
Mark slowly stood again, leaning on Elder Hilversum with dedicated weariness. “Aren’t we done yet?” he wailed.
“Press forward, Elder Macklind,” Elder Hilversum advised, his patience returning with his place-running. “Have a perfect brightness of hope.”
“I’m beyond hope,” Mark murmured. “I’m well into despair.”
The pair jaunted on, Elder Hilversum slowing his pace to stay beside Elder Macklind. Mark wanted to cry. So hard. Thud, lift, thud, lift, thud.
Elder Hilversum began to gasp out a hymn, managing five words at a breath: “Let us all press on … in the work of the … Lord that when life is … o’er we may gain a …”
Mark couldn’t join in, because he wanted to scream. How could he act happy under these conditions? Another thud, lift, thud, lift, thud, lift … every day like this? And Elder Hilversum plowing ahead in breathy song with his permanent smile, like a marathon minstrel harboring a secret pleasure. Mark stared at him with aching eyes, torn between sincere anguish and raging rebellion.
“Elder Hilversum,” Mark called, turning the warbler’s sweaty head in mid-chorus, seeing the grin melt to concern, “how can you go like this every day, running on?”
Two hard plods. “This is silly,” Mark panted, unfinished. “I’m killing myself on this road; I really am. But you just keep going. Why, elder? Why?” And then, after a thud, “How?”
Elder Hilversum furrowed his wet, hot brow. “I don’t know, Elder Macklind,” he said, still tramping on. “I just keep reminding myself that the feeling of accomplishment will always be worth the temporary pain of effort.”
They stepped up to a curb, in lock-jog.
“You make it sound like spiritual persecution,” Mark muttered.
The senior companion grinned. “Do I?” he asked and laughed. Then he stretched the stride.
That grin was ingratiating. But the memory of the Caufields demanded his depression, and so Mark moaned. “I can’t imagine anything being worth this pain!”
“Don’t dwell on how much it hurts, Elder Macklind.”
“Everything hurts.”
“Just keep moving. Don’t worry about how fast you’re going, just keep going, and give it all you’ve got. I’ll run with you.”
Mark nodded, swallowing. “I know.”
“Elder Macklind, do your best. Push yourself, and don’t stop at less. You’ve been doing your best. Don’t quit now because it’s getting more difficult. Give it all you’ve got, and that’s all you need to give. Elder Macklind, all you can do is all you can do.”
Mark watched the sidewalk disappear under his feet. “Yeah, okay,” he said, but wanted to say something better. Elder Hilversum ran beside him, and so Mark pushed a little harder. Elder Hilversum grinned. He was always doing that. And the house wasn’t too far now, anyway.
Mark wiped his face with his hand and threw the sweat behind him. He was beginning to understand a little better, and the day didn’t look so bad now. Running on, he reflected, “All we can do is all we can do,” and smiled a little. That made sense, he decided, and brought his head up to see the sun, thinking, “Maybe I’ll run again tomorrow.”

In August 1986, at 19 years of age, I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In August 1987, a year later, I was called to serve as a missionary assigned to the Alabama Birmingham Mission. I did not know a lot about the Church or the scriptures when I left on my mission, so I was catching up as best I could.

As I learned about our Church history, I was surprised about some of the things I learned. At times, I was confused and did not understand some of the past policies and practices of the Church. This lack of understanding led to self-doubts and worries. As a result, I was resisting to become the kind of missionary the Lord needed in Alabama because I was struggling to understand my place in the gospel plan.

It was as if the Spirit of the Lord had left me, and I felt alone. Each night during the midst of my frustration, my companion ministered to me. He did not try to answer any of my questions or concerns but said at the end of each night, “Elder Johnson, I love you.” He repeated these words every night until finally my heart softened, and I began to feel that my companion truly did love me.

With a softened heart and in a quiet place, I knelt down to pray out loud to God. As I prayed, a scripture came to my mind that before this moment I had never read or studied. It is Doctrine and Covenants 6:21–23, which reads, “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am the same that came unto mine own, and mine own received me not. I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”[1]

I remembered. I cast my mind upon that night during my own conversion a year earlier when I simply asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true, and is Joseph Smith a prophet?” On that day, feelings of love and joy filled my heart, and I gained a personal witness that the Book of Mormon is indeed another testament of Jesus Christ and that Joseph Smith is indeed a prophet of God.

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

I grew up in another religion and believed I was in the right church. My aunt and uncle’s family were Latter-day Saints, but I didn’t really understand their faith and didn’t try to. Then in 1996 my aunt telephoned me and asked if I wanted to go to a youth camp at Brigham Young University. Being only 14, I didn’t want to go but agreed to anyway.
At first I felt out of place because I was different. Then I met up with my cousin, Adam. He was friendly and included me in everything. The week went great.
On Thursday evening, we were in our room when Adam began to ask me about my beliefs.
I was happy to share but could not answer a lot of his questions. I asked him if he knew the answers. He told me about our premortal life and how God has a plan for us. He told me about how the early Church members fell into apostasy and how the gospel was restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. He told me how the Book of Mormon came forth.
We talked for about two hours. It sounded awesome, but I had my doubts. Adam told me to pray to God and ask Him if the Church was true. So I waited until Adam was asleep and did just that.
The next morning, I woke up feeling peaceful and happy. I felt the Church was true, but I didn’t say anything.
Adam gave me a Book of Mormon, and I went back home to St. Louis, Missouri. I was scared to tell my family and go forward with something so big, and I soon lost the spiritual feeling I had come home with. I put my copy of the Book of Mormon in my closet.
Six years later, after a lot of tough times and losing interest in my religion, I felt the need to find the right church. I visited different churches but never felt that I had found the right one. I just about gave up hope.
One day I was cleaning my closet, and buried deep down was that Book of Mormon. This time I read it. While reading I remembered that night at youth camp and what I had felt. I called my uncle and aunt and asked if I could go to church with them.
There I met the missionaries and began taking the discussions. Four months and four missionaries later, I was baptized.
It has been almost three years since my baptism. I recently returned from serving a mission in the Belgium Brussels/Netherlands Mission, where I followed my cousin Adam’s example and testified of the Restoration of Christ’s true Church and gospel.
How remarkable and powerful are the seeds that people plant in others.

Brother Nakamura was one of the foremost heart surgeons in Japan until he retired to serve a mission at the Tokyo Temple. “I had ten years left before I needed to retire,” he says. “But my wife and I wanted to serve in the temple.”

The decision to retire was not an easy one. Brother Nakamura had always wanted to be a heart surgeon. However, he believes the Lord was guiding him to the Church for a purpose.

The Nakamuras decided to accept a mission call to temple service. They knew it would mean a complete change in their lives, but to them, it was worth it.

Before their mission call, says Brother Nakamura, he was very busy in his profession and in the Church. He was enjoying his activities as the head of the hospital where he worked, and as the principal of a school of nursing where he was also an instructor. During this time he also served both as a counselor in the mission presidency and as a district president. He received many telephone calls—day and night—from patients who needed his help, which he freely gave.

“In the temple there are no midnight telephone calls,” he says. “The most wonderful thing is that the temple is the house of the Lord. It is peaceful everywhere. Now everything in my daily life is spiritually based. All of the ordinance work in the temple is to serve God.”

“When I was working in the hospital and involved in my Church duties, I was gone so many days and nights that my wife got lonely,” says Brother Nakamura. “Now we are working together all the time in a holy place. We are very happy.”

My family had just returned from a wonderful vacation. After dinner I let our two children, four-year-old Markus and three-year-old Emma, play in the upstairs bedroom of our fourth-floor apartment. In Denmark, windows open out like shutters. The windows are usually locked, but we had left them slightly ajar during our vacation so the apartment would be ventilated during our trip.
As I was doing the dishes, I suddenly felt that something was terribly wrong. I ran into the living room as Markus came running down the stairs. He was screaming with fear, saying Emma had fallen out of the window—a window about 40 feet (12 m) above a cement sidewalk. I ran down the stairs, repeatedly screaming Emma’s name. I saw my little daughter lying on the cement as if she were lifeless. She was completely limp when I picked her up, and I thought my worst fears were confirmed. My husband, who had followed me outside, took her in his arms and immediately gave her a priesthood blessing.
The ambulance came quickly, and Markus and I said a prayer while the paramedics worked on Emma. Soon we were all in the ambulance heading to the hospital.
At the intensive care unit we were quickly joined by family members who came to support us. Markus went home with his cousins, while my husband and I stayed behind, not yet knowing about Emma’s condition.
After what seemed like a long wait, one of the doctors finally came in, asking for details about the accident. They said that normally a fall from such a height would have resulted in internal injuries and only a small chance of survival. Emma had a broken pelvis and a concussion, but her scrapes were only superficial. The doctor said an angel must have caught her.
Even though Emma’s survival was a miracle, she was still unconscious because of head trauma. My husband and two close friends again administered to Emma. In that blessing she was promised a complete recovery without any lasting problems and that this would be a positive experience in her life. I felt immense gratitude for the power of the priesthood. All my nightlong pleadings had been heard.
Emma came out of her coma four days later. During those four days, friends, members of the Church, and others fasted and prayed for her. I felt the prayers of faithful Saints weave around me, strengthening my family and me. I felt as if Heavenly Father had wrapped His arms around me and filled me with comfort.
Our stake had held a fast on the day before she woke up. We believe that Heavenly Father heard our prayers and that Emma’s waking up was a direct result of the fast. From there Emma recovered quickly. Five days later she said her first word since the accident, and nine days later she was released from the hospital. She spent five weeks in a wheelchair and then started physical therapy.
One year later, Emma could run, laugh, tell stories, and think as a four-year-old should.

President Harold B. Lee had lost his wife and then, while he was at a stake conference in Hawaii, received a call from the doctor attending his daughter, saying, “President, if you don’t come home right away, I don’t think your daughter will be alive when you arrive. Please make every effort to come quickly.”
President Lee begged the doctor to try to keep her alive until he could complete his assignment and return home. He had only two daughters, and she was very dear to him. He prayed all night long, petitioning to the Lord, “Please, please, Lord, keep her alive until I can come home.” But in the wee hours of the morning he received a call from the doctor who said, “I’m very sorry, President, but your loving daughter has passed away.”
President Lee felt very lonely and sad, yet there was a special witness from the Lord. Searching for solace, he turned to section 58 of the Doctrine and Covenants:
For verily I say unto you, blessed is he that keepeth my commandments, whether in life or in death; and he that is faithful in tribulation, the reward of the same is greater in the kingdom of heaven.
Ye cannot behold with your natural eyes, for the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which shall follow after much tribulation.
For after much tribulation come the blessings. Wherefore the day cometh that ye shall be crowned with much glory; the hour is not yet, but is nigh at hand.
Remember this, which I tell you before, that you may lay it to heart, and receive that which is to follow.
Behold, verily I say unto you, for this cause I have sent you—that you might be obedient, and that your hearts might be prepared to bear testimony of the things which are to come;
And also that you might be honored in laying the foundation, and in bearing record of the land upon which the Zion of God shall stand. [D&C 58:2–7]

He also met his wife-to-be, Jill Featherstone, at BYU. She was teaching the Gospel Doctrine class in her student ward. Invited by his brother, Elder Taylor visited her class and met her. A romance blossomed, and they were married on April 30, 1987, in the Salt Lake Temple. They are the parents of seven children.
Sister Taylor is the only daughter out of seven children of Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, emeritus General Authority, and Sister Merlene Featherstone. “They were just really accepting and kind,” Elder Taylor said of his in-laws. “I felt immediately loved.”

The flame in the kerosene oil lamp flickered and Mrs. Sheridan looked anxiously to see if all the oil was gone. She knew that the jug in the cupboard contained only enough kerosene to fill the lamp one more time.
As the flame settled, Mrs. Sheridan continued checking her supplies: the big sugar container was empty, the cornmeal was gone, there was perhaps enough flour in the barrel for one more batch of bread. As Mrs. Sheridan replaced the lid on the flour barrel, she gave a long, deep sigh.
Jed, who had just turned ten years old and who was supposed to be asleep, knew why his mother sighed. Just this afternoon he had brought in the last of the carrots and potatoes from their storage. He watched his mother as she turned the wick of the lamp lower and lower until the light was gone.
Jed waited for mother to get into bed. Instead, by the pale moonlight that shone into the room under the lower edge of the window curtains, he could see mother hunched over the table. He knew she was crying. It was not loud crying, because she wouldn’t want father to know she was crying. She always smiled for father and said funny things to make him laugh and think everything was going all right.
It hurt Jed to see his mother cry, although he knew she had many things to cry about. Father was too ill to get out of bed and needed a doctor, and the winter food supply was gone. Father had told mother not to worry when they had given a large supply of flour, sugar, bacon, and potatoes to a hungry Indian family. He had said he’d hitch up the horses and wagon and take a day or two to go to the store for more supplies. But then father had become ill, and though every day he said that in a day or two he’d be well enough to go for supplies, he seemed to be getting worse.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his two younger brothers, Jed slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and placed a hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, mother,” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Oh, Jed!” mother whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake. Jed, maybe you and I could drive to the store for supplies. Do you think you could ride Bess at the head of the horse team and guide her across the river while I handle the reins?”
“Sure I could!” Jed replied bravely, though deep inside he was frightened. Even in the summer when the river was not so high—with father riding Bess and mother holding the reins for the team—it was scary. The river was wide and swift, and there were only a few places where it was safe to cross.
“Good,” said mother. “I knew I could depend on you. We must make it there and back in a day. We’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Come, now, we must get some sleep.”
Mother quietly tucked the covers more snuggly around little Rachel as she slept in her cradle, then slipped into bed.
Just as quietly Jed crossed the room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping brother.
Although Jed knew the day ahead would be a long, tiresome one, he could not sleep. He thought of the river with its splashing, whirling eddies and its swift undercurrents. He remembered how firm father had to be with Bess as he directed her to lead the team to the opposite shore. Jed thought about how cold and icy the water would be as it splashed on his legs.
Then a different thought came into Jed’s mind: Why don’t I ask the Lord to help me? Why don’t I pray and ask for courage so that I won’t be afraid?
Once more Jed slid from the warmth of his bed and knelt on the cold floor to pray. He asked Heavenly Father to bless him that he would not be afraid of the river, that he could manage Bess as father did, that he and mother would have a safe trip to the crossroads and home again, and that father and his little brothers would be taken care of while he and mother were gone. With a feeling of quiet peace, he crawled back into bed and slept.
It was still dark when mother awakened Jed. He dressed quickly in the shivery cold, and he and mother went outside together to hitch the horses. And together, with teeth chattering, they returned to the cabin. Mother kissed father good-bye. Jed gathered up the bearskin robe for their feet, the quilts for their shoulders, and their meager lunch of bread and dried fruit.
It was midmorning when they came to the river crossing. Seeing the river again and listening to its angry rushing and splashing, Jed was afraid all over again.
Mother looked fondly at Jed. She knew the task ahead would be a hard one for him, but she knew of no other way to obtain the supplies. “Think we can get across?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied Jed, jumping from the wagon. “Sure we can.”
But as Jed stood on the sandy riverbank, the river noises suddenly became a mighty roar. His heart began to thud like a pounding hammer, and he had a difficult time climbing onto Bess’s back.
I can’t do it, he thought. I just can’t. But even as his courage seemed to fail, he remembered the sweet, peaceful feeling that had come to him in the night as he had prayed. And so, sitting on Bess at the edge of the river, he prayed again. “Please help me, Heavenly Father, to not be afraid. Please help us to cross the river safely.”
Again the fearful feeling left Jed, and his heart stopped pounding. The river no longer sounded like an angry beast. As the horses stepped into the river, it almost seemed that father was with him—helping him, guiding him, telling him what to say and do. Though at times the water splashed against his feet and legs, Jed did not seem to feel the cold. Sooner than Jed expected, the wagon was being pulled onto the sand of the opposite shore.
“Good boy!” exclaimed mother, as Jed climbed back onto the wagon seat. She tucked the bearskin robe around his feet and wrapped a quilt around him. “You did just as well as father! Just as well!”
In a short time they pulled up in front of the store at the crossroads. Mr. Callihan, the storekeeper, came to the door. “If it isn’t the Sheridans!” he called. “How nice it is to see you. Haven’t seen any of you since last fall. With the river as rough as it is now, I didn’t expect to see any of you until later in the spring. By the way, where is Mr. Sheridan?”
When mother explained, Mr. Callihan promised to let the doctor know about Jed’s father. Then he patted Jed on the back and said, “You’re a fine lad, Jed! I wouldn’t mind having six boys like you.”
“Nor would I,” replied mother with shining eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“Come in now,” continued the friendly Mr. Callihan. “Let’s get your supplies. You’ll be wanting to hurry back to that sick husband of yours and the little children.”
When at last the wagon was loaded with flour, sugar, beans, bacon, dried prunes, cornmeal, potatoes, carrots, apples, kerosene, medicine for father, and a sackful of candy, the Sheridans headed for home. As they rode along, they talked about how good it was to have the wagon filled with good food and other necessities. How happy father would be!
Soon mother again stopped the wagon at the river crossing. For a moment she and Jed sat looking across the river, which seemed to be rushing along as though it were a racehorse urged on by an anxious rider.
Before mother could say a word, Jed jumped from the wagon. As he climbed onto Bess, his body trembled and cold chills raced up and down his spine. But his fear lasted only a moment. With the help of Heavenly Father, he and his mother had crossed the river once, and they would do it again. Turning his head, he smiled at his mother. Then shouting “Giddap!” and giving Bess a smart slap, Jed guided the wagon toward the opposite shore.

My former stake president once shared an experience that made me think about media safety in a new way. It all started when his family began hearing noises in the middle of the night.
“We’d run downstairs from our bedrooms but never saw anything,” Brent Butler said. “Some mornings we’d go downstairs and find the cat food bag toppled over on the kitchen floor.”
The family also began noticing a musty smell, which wasn’t unusual given that they live in a canyon. But then they found animal droppings behind the couch. One night after their oldest daughter returned from a date, she went to the kitchen and turned on the light. Then she screamed, “There’s a skunk in the house!”
When Brother Butler ran downstairs, he saw the biggest skunk he had ever seen. As his daughter jumped on the couch, the skunk ran down the stairs to the basement.
“Apparently, the skunk had wandered into the garage, climbed through a hole around a water shutoff valve, and got behind the basement staircase,” he said. “From there he found his way into the basement. He would come upstairs at night, eat cat food, and go back down.”
Brother Butler had seen the valve hole, but he thought it was too small to worry about. “I was wrong,” he said.
Then he shared this interesting observation: “If we’re not careful, metaphoric ‘skunks’ can sneak into our phones, computers, and televisions. They can surprise us and our children. Cyberspace offers lots of wonderful things, but we have to work to keep out uninvited guests like pornography, harmful social media, and other dangers.”
After she screamed, Brother Butler’s daughter called for her parents.
“It’s important that we have a close relationship with our children so that if a cyber skunk does show up, our children will come to us,” Brother Butler said.

When I arrived in Rochester, New York, to serve my mission, the other missionaries in my group and I were taken directly from the airport to the Sacred Grove. Here, said my mission president, we were to “check in” with the Lord.
Although it was summer, the grove was surprisingly empty. I wandered through the grove and found a spot that seemed right. I began to think about what I was doing there. The mission president hadn’t told us exactly what “checking in” meant but left us to determine it on our own.
I thought of how I was a missionary facing two years of telling people that, not far from where they live, in a grove of trees, the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored. Could I rely on my testimony of what had happened to convincingly teach others that God himself had spoken to a young man and reestablished his gospel in this last dispensation?
Despite my feelings of insecurity, I knew that it was important to share the testimony I had gained of the restored gospel. As I knelt in the grove that day, I felt the Spirit whispering to me, telling me that I could testify that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that I could teach others that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had appeared to young Joseph in this grove of trees. The impressions I felt gave me strength to go forward for the next two years.
To remember my experience, and the place where I knelt, I found a stone and placed it where I had knelt so that I would know this spot when I returned. During the next two years, I was blessed with several opportunities to return to the grove to teach discussions, to reflect on spiritual matters, and to have periodic “check-ins” with the Lord. Each time I visited the grove, I would add another stone and ponder over my previous visits and impressions. By the end of two years, the stone I had first placed to remember that place had grown to a small pile, and my testimony had solidified.
“Checking out” was a moving and sacred experience to me. Had I done what was expected? Had I served an honorable mission? Pondering these questions was a very soul-searching experience for me—the ultimate job evaluation. The Spirit again whispered to me, and I departed from that place, which had become like an old friend to me, ready for the next phase in my life. I will never forget those experiences in the Sacred Grove.

In 1846 at Council Bluffs, Iowa, the United States government made an appeal to President Brigham Young for 500 able-bodied men to form a battalion and travel to California to offer protection in the Mexican War. John Borrowman accepted the call and enlisted as a private in Company B. At a farewell devotional, President Young prophesied that the men of the Mormon Battalion would never have to face the enemy in battle—a prophecy that proved true, in spite of the odds against it. Still, the men had many struggles. Perhaps the greatest challenges of all were the mountain deserts that yielded little water and food. Yet, in spite of harsh conditions, they followed their leaders faithfully and with valor. As prophesied, they never faced a human enemy in battle, although they did encounter a herd of rampaging wild bulls and dubbed the conflict “the Battle of the Bulls.”
Their supplies grossly inadequate, the suffering and thirsty men cut a narrow passage (sometimes just an inch wider than the wagons) as they ascended the tortuous ravines of the barren Southwestern mountains. It was a thrilling day when they at last found their way onto the gentle slopes that led to their first view of the Pacific Ocean.
Then something unfortunate happened to John Borrowman—because of exhaustion, he fell asleep on guard duty. He drifted off for just a few moments, but a watchful sergeant reported him. In time of war this was an offense punishable by death. The Mormon soldiers were subject to their army commanders and military law, and John was immediately imprisoned. During the next few weeks, he read a friend’s copy of the Book of Mormon, which brought him a great deal of comfort.
After he was set free, it was determined that his release had been an error, and John reluctantly returned to jail. He wrote in his journal that he was lonely and uncomfortable, for “I have no bedding … but my blanket and a cold damp brick floor to lie on” (Journal of John Borrowman, 1846–1860, Church Historical Department, microfilm, 22). When his case was heard, he was sentenced to three additional days in guard quarters and three hours each day in the cells; three dollars of his pay were also withheld. Though grateful that his life was spared, he felt this was a great burden and prayed to the Lord to be relieved of it. His deliverance came in an unusual fashion. When the regular army colonel was informed of the sentence of the court, he was disgusted at its leniency. Yet he didn’t have the power to overturn it. So he set it aside, saying it was better to have no punishment than one that was so light. John accepted this as an answer to his earnest prayers.
Upon his honorable discharge from the Mormon Battalion, John sold his horse and bought passage on a ship to San Francisco, California. Arriving there, he found a small community of Saints who helped him find work as a laborer for two dollars per day. After several months, John started east to join the main body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. Near Sacramento he learned that some of the other members of the battalion were working at a place called Sutter’s Mill when gold was discovered there. Thus John became a prospector. He recorded in his journal that he was washing between $25 and $60 of gold each day—a real fortune compared to his wage as a laborer.
Yet, when the call came from Brigham Young for battalion members to proceed directly to Salt Lake City, John and his partners immediately abandoned their lucrative careers as prospectors and started the arduous trek through the Sierra Nevada mountain range to the Salt Lake Valley. Once there, John was given a piece of land outside the city, which he energetically began to improve into a beautiful irrigated farm.
John writes matter-of-factly of his marriage in a journal entry dated 22 January 1849: “I have not thought proper to write any since the second of this month … since that day I have been engaged in getting things for house keeping [O]n the evening of the ninth I got married and moved into a little adobie house belonging to [B]rother Turbit where I reside at present with my wife” (Journal of John Borrowman).
In time, John and his wife, Agnes Park, were blessed with five children. In 1853 the Borrowmans left their prosperous farm in Salt Lake City when they were called on a colonization mission to Nephi, Utah (about 130 kilometers to the south). According to an article published in the local newspaper, John became a respected and honored citizen of that small community, serving first as prosecuting attorney, then as municipal judge. In 1869 he was called on a second proselyting mission to Canada and left his home and family for two years. Records indicate that over the course of his lifetime, John Borrowman assisted in more than 1,100 convert baptisms.
William Borrowman never forgave his son for joining the Church. He made sure that the family members never referred to John as brother or uncle. However, John’s stepmother, Helen, corresponded with John through the years. In 1857 she wrote to tell him that his father had died and that he had directed that John be given—as his total inheritance—one halfpenny (the equivalent of a nickel in American coin).
Over the course of his lifetime, John abandoned his claim to a prosperous farm in Canada, gave up the sure profits of the goldfields of California, and left a developed farm in the Salt Lake Valley—all seemingly without regret. Whenever and wherever the Lord called, John Borrowman, like so many Saints, answered the call without hesitation.
In studying the life of my great-great-grandfather, I have wondered what he thought about receiving his inheritance. I believe the following scripture best describes his willingness to unite with the people of the Lord:
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking goodly pearls:
“Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it” (Matt. 13:45–46).
And so, for an inheritance, John Borrowman received the pearl of great price—and a halfpenny too!
Information in this article is based on the journal of John Borrowman, who lived from 13 May 1816 to 28 March 1898.

Have you ever just looked at yourself and thought: “Wow! I would look amazing if only …”? Or have you ever compared yourself to every other girl on social media? I have. That was me all my teenage years and before I got married and then pregnant. Even when my husband would tell me that I looked perfect, I always thought, “If only this or that … ,” then I would look and feel better. But in all reality, would those “if onlys” make any of us feel better? In my case, I know that losing weight would only be the beginning, and then I would’ve found something else to “fix” on my body and the cycle would just go on and on.

When I was pregnant, I loved having a big round belly! That was when I realized that I’m perfect in my own way—we all are! I was growing a tiny human, and is there anything better than that? Let me tell you, there is! And that’s holding your baby in your arms.

My baby girl, Sofia, was born just a short time ago. I always planned and dreamed of having a natural birth, with no medication and with a quick recovery. However, there were some complications during labor, and I ended up needing a caesarean section. To be honest, I was afraid of the surgery for both me and my daughter. I was also scared of having a scar.

After the surgery, it took my body a long time to recover. During these weeks and months, I couldn’t really do much physical activity, but all I wanted was to exercise and go back to my pre-pregnancy size. Then one day, it just hit me—my body is not the same as it was before having my daughter, and neither am I. And neither my body nor I will ever be the same as before Sofia came into my life. And I’m grateful for that.

I’ve come to love the stretch marks and the scar that my pregnancy left behind, because every time I look at them, they remind me what an amazing journey I’ve been through. Those little marks are just a sweet reminder of the beautiful daughter Heavenly Father has trusted me with. These marks on my body fill me with gratitude, not just for my daughter, but also for my body that can do amazing things like create, carry, and deliver a human being. My scar also reminds me of how even during our darkest times or when things don’t go according to plan, the Savior is with us. When we are afraid or hurt, He is there, and He knows what’s best for us.

For many moms out there, think about it: you underwent a painful yet life-changing journey to bring Heavenly Father’s children to earth—your children! What an incredible and humbling experience that is to be able to play such a big part in the plan of happiness!

If you’re having trouble accepting and loving yourself, you can pray for help. The Lord wants us to be happy, and loving ourselves is vital to achieving that happiness. God will always help us with the little things, and the not-so-little-things—He knows what’s important to us. If you pray to know how to love and accept yourself, He will show you how.

Next, President Hinckley said we should be trustworthy in our motives. I learned a great deal about pure motivation as we served to prepare for the Olympics. The First Presidency had suggested to members of the Church along the Wasatch front that they get involved in their communities to be good hosts to the guests who would be coming from throughout the world to attend the Olympic games. President Hinckley had said on many occasions that he hoped we would be good hosts and that he hoped there would be a legacy of goodwill in the community because of the games. Such a large event required that everyone work together. President Hinckley also said publicly and it was reported in the media that the Church would not use the Olympic games as an opportunity to proselytize.

Among our other assignments, Ray and I were asked to be responsible for the training of about 5000 Church volunteers who would host guests at Church sites. We formed a committee to develop the training with the decision to base the training on the chapter in President Hinckley's book on Civility. In the training we discussed how we could prepare ourselves to be good hosts. We quoted President's Hinckley's words, ". . .the essence of civility (is) to extend, without price, a helping. . .hand. . ."[13] Think about that. "Without price." That is a pure motive-- a motive that can be trusted. Without price means your concern is for the other person. You are not promoting your own agenda. We must have repeated thousands of times these words: We want to be good hosts. The Church will not use the Olympic Games as an opportunity to proselytize. The essence of civility is to extend without price a helping hand. I learned how important it is to identify the desired outcome and then provide training and preparation. I believe the members of the Church and the people in the State of Utah were good hosts. The International Olympic Committee said that Utah was the volunteer mecca of the world. It soon became apparent that it is obvious to others when motives are pure.

We see cases of kidnapping, when children are taken away. I remember years ago, I think it was in 1932, when Colonel Lindbergh’s little boy was kidnapped and a note was left asking for $50,000. He would gladly have paid what they asked if he could have gotten his boy back again. And yet here we come along with the knowledge of life eternal. Brother Marion G. Romney quoted this morning the revelation of the Lord where he said that in the resurrection children would come forth and grow up without sin unto salvation. (See D&C 45:58.)

There are those of us who have laid away our little ones in the grave, and we had that responsibility. A little daughter was born to us over in Holland while I was president of the mission there, and we kept her until she was three and a half years old. My wife has said time and time again that she knew the angels brought that spirit to her because she felt their presence, and yet we laid her away in the grave. If we had to feel that that was the end, we would have given anything in this world to have her back again. And then we come to this great knowledge that we have in the restoration of the gospel, that she will be ours in the eternal world and we will have the joy of seeing her grow up without sin, unto salvation. Sometimes I have thought that probably some of these choice spirits did not need the experience here in mortality like other children, and that is why the Lord has seen fit to call them home.

We had four daughters before we had a son. We were sent to California to preside over a stake down there, and our boy went out with a member of the high council and his boys, and he lost his life in an accident. That is the greatest sorrow that ever came to us, but now we are getting up on the top of the ladder, so to speak, and we look forward, knowing that these love ties are intended by God, our Eternal Father, to endure throughout the eternities. It takes the sting away from death to know that we are going to meet those who are so dear and sacred to us. Thank God for this knowledge! I want to see our foundation here so laid that we will be worthy to stand with our loved ones and with the sanctified and the redeemed of our Father’s children.

I was on a basketball team when I was in third grade. After playing the first and second quarters, we’d practice shooting the basketball during halftime. One boy never brought a ball but always tried to get mine away from me and play keep away. It happened every halftime, and it wasn’t much fun.
My mom and I decided that we needed to do something about it—but what? We could talk to his parents, we could confront him about it, but neither seemed the right thing to do. After thinking about it, we decided to bring another ball for him to play with.
At the beginning of halftime of the next game, before he could start his tricks, I handed him my basketball and said, “Why don’t you use this?” He stopped for a minute, then started shooting baskets. I went to the bench and got the other ball from my mom and started shooting baskets, too. He saw me and said, “Oh, you brought another ball.” But he didn’t try to take it from me. I kept bringing two balls and sharing one with him. After about three games, he started bringing his own ball.
Was what I did hard to do? No. I learned that sharing is better than bringing one thing and not sharing and that sometimes we have to go even farther, if the other person isn’t willing to share with us.
I still bring two basketballs to my games. After all, you never know who needs a little extra friendship.

Six-year-old Amber looked around the busy chapel as the people came in. She saw the young men who passed the sacrament smiling as they sat down. Moms and grandmas hugged their neighbors. Dads and grandpas shook people’s hands. She also saw her friends from Primary sitting on benches with their moms and dads and brothers and sisters.
Then Amber looked at her bench. Only her mom, older sister, and brother sat with her. Her dad sat with the bishop at the front of the chapel.
Amber didn’t like Dad sitting at the front of the chapel. She knew he sat there because he was called to be the second counselor in the bishopric. But she wanted him to sit next to her so she could snuggle against his arm.
Mom looked at her grumpy face. “What’s wrong, Amber?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t like Dad sitting in the front,” Amber said.
“Bishop Smith is responsible for all the people in the ward,” Mom explained to her again. “That is a very big job. He needs helpers like Dad and Brother White. They have received a call from Heavenly Father to help the bishop and each person in the ward.”
After sacrament meeting Amber went home with her family. Dad stayed at church for a meeting. When Dad got home, Amber sat on his lap. “I missed you in church,” she said quietly. Dad looked at her carefully. “Well, I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said.
The next Sunday after Primary, Dad was waiting for Amber. Together they walked into the chapel and up the steps. Dad took his place next to Bishop Smith. Dad had told Amber that she could sit with him for a few minutes before the meeting started.
Amber tried to be very reverent. She listened to the soft organ music and watched as all the people sat down in the chapel. She saw white-haired ladies sitting together on a bench. She noticed that some of the families had only a mom, and some had only a dad. And some children came to church with their grandmas and grandpas.
“And the bishop takes care of all these people!” she thought. “He does need help.” Amber knew that she could help the bishop by not being grumpy when Dad sat away from her. “From now on I’m going to be happy!” she thought. Then she looked at Mom and her brother and sister. “They look lonely without me sitting next to them,” she decided.
Amber smiled at Dad and whispered, “See you at home. We’ll be waiting for you.” Then she walked quietly back to her family.

Born in 1838 to Hyrum and Mary Fielding Smith, Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the elder brother of Joseph Smith Jr. As you may know, Hyrum was martyred alongside his brother, the Prophet, in Carthage Jail in 1844. Joseph F. Smith was only five years old when he lost both his father and his uncle. Although his memory of the event was limited, he vividly recalled his mother’s anguish upon learning of his passing. Even as an adult, he refused to enter Carthage Jail due to the painful memories it evoked.

From the ages of 7 to 9, Smith led his mother and younger sister on an arduous trek westward, first to Winter Quarters, Nebraska, where he witnessed the toll of starvation and freezing conditions on hundreds of Saints, and finally to Utah, where food was scarce due to a cricket infestation upon their arrival. During the journey west, Smith was forced to take on adult responsibilities, leading and protecting his family. After navigating a heavy wagon over a thousand miles, he proudly declared that he never once got stuck, broke a wheel, or overturned the wagon.

A couple of years after settling in the Salt Lake Valley, his mother Mary fell ill and was quarantined in Heber C. Kimball’s home. After eight uncertain weeks, Mary passed away, most likely from pneumonia. Smith was 13 at the time. His sister wrote that when Joseph learned of their mother’s passing, he fainted.

From his journals and other records, we know that the hardships of his youth— including the loss of both parents, the struggle witnessed on the trek westward, and assuming the role of protector before entering his teenage years—had a profound impact on him. In his own words, he described it as “perilous times,” where “I was almost like a comet or fiery meteor without attraction or gravitation to keep me balanced or guide me within reasonable bounds.” [3]

Working to reconcile such hardship wasn’t always easy for Smith. For example, he sometimes had difficulty managing his temper as a young man, and one particular incident even led to his expulsion from school.

Charles Nibley recorded Joseph’s account of that incident. Joseph's little sister Martha was called up to be disciplined. He saw the schoolmaster bring out the leather strap, asking her to hold out her hand. Joseph spoke up loudly and said, 'Don’t whip her with that!' At that, he turned to punish Joseph instead, but instead of allowing him to, Joseph stood his ground, physically engaged with the school master, and was later expelled for it. [4]

Shortly thereafter, Smith was called on a mission to the Sandwich Islands, or Hawaii. At 15 years old, he was the youngest missionary in the field. He traveled from Utah to San Francisco by company, followed by a three-week sail to Hawaii. When he arrived in September of 1854, the Hawaii mission was still relatively young, having been established by pioneers like George Q. Cannon and others just four years prior. Thanks to the faithful service of these early missionaries and Hawaiian converts such as Kaleohano and Jonathan N?pela, the Church had already grown to around 4,000 members by the time Smith arrived.

Like Elder Cannon, who is remembered for his faithful service among the Hawaiian Saints, Elder Smith quickly learned the Hawaiian language and was greatly respected for his sermons given in ‘?lelo Hawai?i. However, the pace of conversion began to slow in 1854, possibly due to epidemics such as smallpox that were ravaging Hawaii at the time. Joseph himself fell severely ill while serving on the island of Molokai shortly after his arrival. During this precarious period, he was adopted, or hanai’d, by a young Hawaiian couple. The young wife took Joseph under her wing and cared for the ailing missionary with genuine love and aloha.

Naoheakamalu, affectionately called Ma Manuhi’i by Joseph F. Smith, became his hanai mother. As she cared for him, his health improved, and he went on to serve faithfully on Maui, Lanai, and the Big Island. Their bond lasted for decades. In 1915, as an elderly man on official Church business in Hawaii, he saw her again, embraced her, and, with tears in his eyes, introduced her to his companions, saying, “This is my mother.” Ma Manuhi’i is memorialized with a beautiful statue on the Laie Hawaii Temple grounds, near the fale behind the temple.[5] His time in Hawaii, with his new ohana and in the service of the Lord, helped him heal past wounds and move forward with aloha.

A student, Dixie Kolditz, reinforced this lesson for me when she refused to back down during a very aggressive interview. A filmmaker had asked to interview BYU students about their beliefs in the gospel of Jesus Christ. The producer and his crew were charming, and I was looking forward to the interviews with the three students selected. Dixie, a young convert from South Africa, was to be their final interviewee.

As the camera started rolling, however, the reporter’s charm quickly turned to hostility. Our two returned missionaries did just fine, fending off every question with solid answers. But Dixie had just come into the Church; she had no such experience with this manner of questioning. And I felt responsible for her vulnerability.

“Dixie,” I said, “you don’t have to do this. In fact, you shouldn’t do this.”

“No,” she said. “I should.”

With that she proved to be a powerful interviewee, basing her comments on the 13 Articles of Faith—principles she had not only memorized but understood on a deep and personal level.