Gospel Story Finder

My own home has long been my favorite holy place. Each time I visit the temple I feel I bring home some of the light that is there. I remember one morning, suddenly realizing, as I prayed, that I felt like I was in the temple. I always kneel in the same place, near a window with a lovely view of the rising sun and the mountains.

Once I had a Jewish friend visit, with whom I had prayed. She said to me, "I want to see the place where you pray." I said, "Come with me." I showed her where I knelt each day and she stepped into it, like it was a circle of light and said, "I can feel that this is the place." It is not the only place in our home that feels holy. The place where my husband gave patriarchal blessings and the place where we knelt together for family prayer are still holy to me.

As the Saints arrive in the Salt Lake Valley, they begin to find happiness in the fertile and untouched basin. They plant crops. They sing songs and dance. They have found a home where none will come to hurt or make afraid. Or have they?
The chipper of crickets comes from above and behind the audience, and then the pioneers on stage begin to stomp wildly, threshing their arms and feet to kill the two-inch black insects. Louder and louder the sounds come until the Saints fall on their knees and pray for deliverance. Finally the calling of sea gulls fills the air—relief is near and the balcony chorus changes the shushing and finger clicking of cricket sounds to a song of thanksgiving.

Crystal was in high school and Angel was six years old when their mother could no longer look after them. I offered to take them in. “I promise I will never leave your children,” I said. “I will take good care of them.”
Years later, another young mother asked me to take in her baby, Allison. This mother faced difficult circumstances and knew I could give her baby a good life. I took Allison in.
I try to teach these children the important things in life. I bring them to church and try to help them grow closer to God. I know that when I am nearer to Him, I can do so much more, even the things I think are impossible. Of course, I want that for Crystal, Angel, and Allison.
These children have suffered in life, but I’ve watched the gospel and the Spirit heal their hearts. I’ve watched their perceptions and behaviors slowly change. Together we pray for their birth parents, because no matter what, I want them to respect and love them.
I love Crystal, Angel, and Allison as if they were my own children. Sometimes people ask me if I will regret my decisions. What if Allison’s mother decides to take Allison back? Will I regret loving Allison and becoming attached to her? But why should I regret it? Helping other people is nothing to regret! It’s something to be grateful for.
I am so grateful for Crystal, Angel, and Allison. Thanks to them, I have learned how to be a mother. I learned how to wake up in the middle of the night for diaper changes, how to teach young children to pray, how to love more deeply than I thought possible. That is something I didn’t think I would ever have.
Perhaps my calling in this world is to take care of those that don’t have mothers or are far away from their mothers.

I was 11 years old when I learned about the Church. From the moment I first entered the meetinghouse, I felt a beautiful spirit. I continued to attend for several months, during which time I turned 12 and started the Personal Progress program in Young Women. Two months later, on August 14, 1994, I was baptized.
It was surprising to the ward members to see a girl of 12 baptized by herself, without her parents. How did this happen? I asked my father if I could be baptized. He replied, “You’re an intelligent young woman, and you will know what decision to make.” I had already made the decision in my heart that I would never again be without the beautiful feeling I had when I heard the true gospel.
During middle school and high school I experienced wonderful and difficult years at the same time, because during adolescence a young person wants support from her parents. It wasn’t easy to be the only member of the Church at home when my parents did things that were at odds with the Church’s teachings. But I remembered what Nephi said, “If ye shall … endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life” (2 Ne. 31:20).
Years later my younger siblings were baptized, but my parents were not. The missionaries talked to them, but they did not want to be baptized. Their decision saddened me, but I knew I had set a good example.
When I was 16 I traveled to the temple in Orlando, Florida, and it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I went by myself and was able to be baptized for my ancestors. Two years later, when I received my Young Womanhood Recognition, my joy could not be contained. I felt that our Heavenly Father was pleased with me.
When President Gordon B. Hinckley visited our beautiful island of Puerto Rico and spoke to the members, I had the privilege of singing in the choir. He urged us to go to the temple on the neighboring island of the Dominican Republic. I did, and in that temple I made a firm decision that I would be married for eternity to a returned missionary.
I reached this goal when I found a worthy priesthood holder who is a returned missionary. We were sealed in the Dominican Republic temple for time and eternity. We now have a baby boy, and I am serving in the stake Young Women presidency. My parents are still not members, but I am pleased with the example I have given them. I try to build on the good in my parents while forgetting their imperfections.
I know I belong to the true Church and that Jesus Christ is my Savior. My dream, which I pray for, is to be sealed someday to my parents and siblings. I love this gospel that has given me so much joy and hope in my life.

“Girls, we have a challenge,” Sister Reed said as she rushed into the living room, where Kendyl, Marie, and the rest of the eleven-year-old girls were waiting to start their Achievement Day activity.
“What’s wrong, Sister Reed?” Kendyl could tell that their leader was worried.
“A family just moved into the ward, and they have an eleven-year-old daughter named Sara.”
The girls cheered. “But that’s good news,” Marie said.
“Yes, it is good news, but Sara’s mother just told me on the phone that Sara’s having a hard time with this move. She misses her friends back in their old ward, and she hasn’t left the house since they moved in.”
“I remember when I moved here last year,” Morgan said. “It was really hard at first. I feel bad for Sara. I wish we could make her feel better.”
“I do, too,” Sister Reed said. “And there’s one more thing I haven’t told you yet. Today is Sara’s birthday.”
“Let’s have a party for her,” Rebecca suggested. “That would help her feel better.”
“Yes, a surprise party!” Cindy exclaimed. “Let’s hurry and plan it.”
Half an hour later they were ringing Sara’s doorbell.
A pretty lady with her blond hair in a ponytail, answered the door. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“We’re on a scavenger hunt,” Marie answered. “We wondered if you had any of the things on this list.”
The woman looked doubtful. “We just moved in, so everything’s in boxes.”
Marie handed her the list, “Would you mind looking, please. It’s important that we find all these things.”
The lady smiled. “OK, I’ll look.” She read down the list, and when she got to the bottom, she started to laugh. “Well, well, I guess I do have one thing on your list. I just happen to have a ‘girl named Sara.’”
The girls giggled and looked knowingly at each other.
“Just a minute, I’ll go get her.”
A few moments later, the lady reappeared with a girl who had blond hair and who was holding a brown puppy.
Sara was a little shy at first, but her mother suggested she show the girls her new bedroom. It was decorated in blue checked wallpaper with bright sunflowers. Her bed had a fluffy down comforter on it, and she had her very own curio cabinet full of porcelain dolls.
The girls asked her all kinds of questions about the new puppy, where she used to live, who her best friend was back in her old ward, and if she was excited to start school the next day.
By the time Sara answered their questions and told them about her doll collection, she felt comfortable with the girls and was excited when her mother gave her permission to go with them on their scavenger hunt.
Sara’s mom smiled happily as she told the girls good-bye.
They went from house to house in Sister Reed’s neighborhood, gathering the rest of the items on their list, which included flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, and chocolate chips. “What are we doing with all this stuff, anyway?” Sara asked. “I’ve never been on a scavenger hunt that had cooking ingredients on the list.”
The girls looked at each other and smiled secretly. “You’ll see,” Rebecca said. “We have just one last stop to make.”
Sister Reed was watching out the window when the girls walked up the driveway. She gave them a thumbs-up signal that everything was ready. They knocked on the door, and she invited them inside.
“Wow!” Sara said, noticing the balloons and streamers, “Are you getting ready for a party?”
“Surprise!” they yelled. “Happy birthday, Sara.”
“For me?” Sara gasped!
The girls laughed and hugged her, and so did Sister Reed. “Welcome to our ward, Sara. I’m your Achievement Day leader.”
“I can’t believe it,” Sara said. “How did you know?”
“We talked to your mom, silly,” Kendyl said. “Now, come on—let’s go make those cookies we scavenged for. I’m starving.”
While some of them stirred and baked, the others folded newspaper hats and decorated them with curly ribbons and glitter. Sara asked them for suggestions on what she should name her new puppy. Cindy said, “Name him Brownie,” as she licked a gooey beater. Morgan suggested naming him Chocolate Chip and calling him “Chip” for short.
“Chip,” Sara said thoughtfully. “Chip. Hey, I like it!”
“OK, girls, it’s time to give Sara your presents,” Sister Reed said.
“You didn’t have to get me presents. The party was more than I ever dreamed of.”
“These are special presents,” Sister Reed said, “the kind you can’t buy from a store or wrap with fancy paper. Rebecca, why don’t you start.”
“OK,” Rebecca said. “Since I live right around the corner from you, I’m going to pick you up for school so we can walk together.”
“Thanks, Rebecca, I’d really like that.” Sara sounded relieved.
Morgan offered, “I’ll go with you to school lunch. I know which line is the fastest and which servers give you the most dessert.”
“That would be great! Thanks.”
“And I’d like to play with you at recess,” Cindy said. “Do you know how to play four-square?”
“Kind of, but I’m not very good.”
“I’ll teach you, OK?”
“OK,” Sara smiled.
“For my gift,” Marie said, “I’d like to take you for ice cream sometime. Have you tried pistachio-almond with hot fudge?”
Sara shook her head. “No, but it sounds really delicious.”
“And my gift,” Kendyl said, “Is to have a scrapbook party. I called my mom, and she said I could invite all of you.”
The girls screamed with excitement. Sister Reed took the last batch of cookies out of the oven, while they jabbered about their plans for the scrapbook party and all the different snacks they would bring.
The girls crowned Sara with a glittery, sparkly birthday hat they had made especially for her. She smiled proudly as they sang “Happy Birthday.” When she blew out the candle, she realized that she didn’t even need to make a wish. Her wish had already come true. Her prayers had been answered.

I learned the importance of the whole armor of God in a powerful way in the fall of 2002. The fall of 2002 was a time of stress and anxiety in my life. Some of that stress came from work, and some came from trying to be more diligent and faithful in living the gospel. In 2000 I had been called to be a member of the stake mission presidency. When stake missions were disbanded in early 2002, I joined the high council and was given responsibility for missionary work in the stake. In fact, it was in the process of working with the missionaries and teaching people about the gospel of Jesus Christ that I had realized I needed to deepen my faith, strengthen my testimony, and be much more spiritually in tune. I had been active in the Church all my life, had served a mission, been married in the temple to the love of my life, reared seven wonderful children, had many strengthening experiences in various callings in the Church, had many sweet spiritual experiences, and had felt close to the Lord. But in the months leading up to the fall of 2002 I began to feel that I needed to do more and to do better.

And so I set out to try to live the gospel more fully, to be closer to the Spirit. Partly, this involved eliminating things from my life, what I read, what I watched, that detracted from the Spirit. Partly, it involved concentrating on things in my life, attending the temple, sharing the gospel, that brought me closer to the Lord. By the fall of 2002 I felt I had made progress, but I also began to feel strong opposition. It seemed as if at the very moment when I began to feel the deeper faith and stronger testimony that I sought, I experienced feelings of darkness and doubt.

One night during this period, I awoke from what must have been a nightmare. I felt very anxious, worried, beset with strange thoughts and feelings of dread and darkness. I felt intensely the need for the Lord's help. I rolled out of bed onto my knees and asked Heavenly Father to help me. I prayed for strength, for guidance, for relief. As I got up, a phrase of scripture came into my mind. It was just a fragment, but it was the key I needed. This is the phrase: "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world."

I knew the fragment was scripture, but I could not recall its location. Since it was the middle of the night, I decided to go back to sleep. The scripture stayed with me. When I got up in the morning, the phrase was still in my mind. I went to my computer and searched on the phrase, and there it was: Ephesians 6:12. As I read, I realized that this verse was embedded in a longer passage. I had not remembered that the discussion of principalities, powers, and rulers of the darkness of this world came in the context of putting on the whole armor of God. But as I read the whole passage, Ephesians 6:10-17, I knew that this was the answer to my prayers. This was the message the Lord had for me. It told me what was happening to me, and it also told me what I needed to do. As so often happens, the message was not only to comfort, to enlighten and inform, but also to assign and command.

At that moment, I knew that this was the voice of the Lord saying to me: "Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

“There is enough food for only one more day,” the captain said. “Would you like to eat it all or divide it into smaller portions to last three days?”
The company agreed to divide the food. Louisa’s stomach growled as she and her family accepted their tiny portions. As a member of the Martin Handcart Company, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat.
That night, the company gathered around the fire to sing. “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!”*
Louisa’s sister Elizabeth wiped away a tear.
“Are you worried about Mother?” Louisa whispered.
Elizabeth tried to smile. “A little. But remember Mother’s blessing?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It comforts me too.”
Mother had been sick before leaving England, and Father had helped carry her onto the ship. Mother had been given a blessing that promised she would live to see her children reach Zion. Though she improved during the sea voyage, pulling a handcart through the early winter snow and surviving on such little food had weakened her again. Every day she grew worse.
Staring into the dying fire, Louisa tried not to think about the snowy graves that had been dug for so many of her friends along the trail. Instead she thought about Mother’s blessing and the warm feeling of assurance she had felt. Mother, Father, and all six of her siblings—even the two-year-old twins—would make it to Zion safely. Louisa was sure of it!
The next morning, as they plodded through the snow, Louisa’s mother began to stumble.
“Go on without me,” she called to Louisa’s father. “I can’t go any further!”
“You have to keep trying,” Elizabeth pleaded.
It was no use—Mother’s strength was gone. She kissed each family member good-bye. Then she hobbled over to a boulder, sat down, and cried.
“The company can’t wait for us,” Louisa’s father said, his eyes filled with sadness.
Louisa tried to keep her voice steady. “Elizabeth, will you help Father take care of the others?”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Louisa—”
“We can’t all stay here, and we can’t leave Mother alone to die,” Louisa insisted. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry.” She tried to sound brave. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
As the weary company struggled past, tugging their sagging handcarts, Louisa sat next to Mother and watched them disappear over the ridge. Soon Louisa and her mother were alone, listening to the howling wind. Louisa’s skin prickled at the thought of howling wolves.
“I’ll be right back, Mother,” Louisa said. She walked down the trail a short distance and knelt in the snow. “Please, Heavenly Father, wilt Thou protect us from the devouring wolves? Wilt Thou grant Mother the strength to continue so we can reach camp tonight?”
Louisa remained on her knees, waiting. She thought of camp, its welcoming bonfire and loving family members huddled around it. She thought of Zion, still hundreds of miles away.
Even though the chilling wind blew, she felt a warm spot growing in her heart. Yes. Heavenly Father would answer her prayer.
Louisa hopped onto her sore feet and started back up the trail, but something lay in her path. She blinked in surprise. She squinted and crouched down for a better look.
There, in the middle of the road, was a perfectly made pie.
“Oh my goodness,” Louisa cried. “Manna from heaven!” Laughing, she snatched it up. It looked and smelled delicious, like the pies Mother used to make back home in England.
“Mother, I’ve found something!” Louisa called.
“What is it?”
Louisa’s eyes glittered above her rosy cheeks as she placed the pie in Mother’s hands.
She gasped. “Louisa, where did you get this?”
“I prayed for you, and Heavenly Father sent me a pie. I found it on the road.”
Tearfully, Louisa’s mother thanked Heavenly Father for the miraculous gift. She ate the pie and rested awhile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Mother finally said, pulling herself onto her feet. “The Lord doesn’t want us to give up, and I won’t—not ever again.”
Louisa grinned. “Let’s catch up with the others. We can still make it to camp tonight.”
After darkness fell, they met Louisa’s father coming back to look for them. He rejoiced that Mother had regained her strength.
For the rest of the journey, whenever Louisa’s mother felt like quitting, she remembered the gift of the pie and offered a prayer of thanks instead.
Louisa and her family prayed with gratitude all the way to the Salt Lake Valley, where they arrived together safely on November 30, 1856. Mother’s blessing was fulfilled, just as Louisa had always known it would be.

The fraternity of priesthood quorums can indeed be awesome. When I became a member of a Quorum of the Seventy, I assumed that I might be accepted by my brethren in the course of time if I were able to prove myself worthy of their association. I hoped someday to measure up and be approved. I was surprised to find myself immediately welcomed and from the outset treated as a brother, as an equal by men much more talented and accomplished than I. I have been supported and encouraged, loved and tutored in my quorum from my very first day of membership in it. Consequently, I feel a deep desire to contribute to the work of the quorum and to assist my brethren as much as I can.

Over 30 years ago I was assigned with then-Elder Thomas S. Monson to organize a servicemen’s stake in Europe. We met at Berchtesgaden, Germany, high in the Bavarian Alps. Originally it was a headquarters built by Adolf Hitler in an incomparably beautiful place. Seldom has there been on this earth anyone who has duplicated in personality and purpose the adversary quite as much as did Adolf Hitler. I thought that we had come full circle where that had taken place on that site, and now we were gathered there to organize a stake of Zion.
After we had finished setting apart and completing that organization, we were assigned to go to Berlin for a stake conference. We needed to get from Berchtesgaden high in the Alps down to Munich to the airport.
We got to the airport in ample time for our plane, which was scheduled to leave at about 10:00 in the morning, but it was fogged in. We sat there listening to the announcements for nearly 12 hours. They kept saying they thought the fog would clear. It did not clear.
That night near 10:00, two missionary elders came to the airport. We knew then that the planes would not fly. They told us there was a train leaving Munich for Berlin at midnight. The elders took us to the train station, helped us buy our tickets, and saw us aboard the train, which would take from about midnight until about 10:00 the next morning to arrive in Berlin.
As the train was pulling out, one young elder said, “Do you have any German money?”
I shook my head no.
He said, “You better have some,” and, running alongside, pulled from his pocket a 20-mark note. He handed that to me.
At that time the Iron Curtain was very “iron.” The train stopped at Hof on the border between West Germany and East Germany, and the crews were changed. All of the West German crew members got off the train, and the East German crew got on the train. Then the train set out across East Germany toward Berlin.
The U.S. government had just begun to issue five-year passports. I had a new passport, a five-year passport. Before our trip, we went to have my wife’s passport renewed, but they sent it back saying that the three-year passports were honored as a five-year passport. She still had more than two years left on her passport.
At about two o’clock in the morning, a conductor, a military-type soldier, came and asked for our tickets, and then, noting that we were not German, he asked for our passports. I do not like to give up my passport, especially in unfriendly places. But he took them. I almost never dislike anybody, but I made an exception for him! He was a surly, burly, ugly man.
We spoke no German. In the train compartment, there were six of us: my wife and a German sitting to the side of her and then almost knee to knee in a bench facing us were three other Germans. We had all been conversing a little. When the conductor came in, all was silent.
A conversation took place, and I knew what he was saying. He was denying my wife’s passport. He went away and came back two or three times.
Finally, not knowing what to do, I had a bit of inspiration and produced that 20-mark note. He looked at it, took the note, and handed us our passports.
The next morning when we arrived in Berlin, a member of the Church met us at the train. I rather lightly told him of our experience. He was suddenly very sober. I said, “What’s the matter?”
He said, “I don’t know how to explain your getting here. East Germany right now is the one country in the world that refuses to honor the three-year passport. To them, your wife’s passport was not valid.”
I said, “Well, what could they have done?”
He answered, “Put you off the train.”
I said, “They wouldn’t put us off the train, would they?”
He said, “Not us. Her!”
I could see myself having someone try to put my wife off the train at about two o’clock in the morning somewhere in East Germany. I am not sure I would know what to do. I did not learn until afterwards how dangerous it was and what the circumstances were, particularly for my wife. I care a good deal more about her than I do for myself. We had been in very serious danger. Those whose passports they would not accept were arrested and detained.
All of this comes to this point: the elder who handed me the 20-mark note was David A. Bednar, a young elder serving in the South German Mission, who is now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
So why was it that this young elder from San Leandro, California, handed me the 20-mark note? If you understand that and understand what life is about, you will understand really all you need to know about life as members of the Church. You will understand how our lives are really not our own. They are governed—and if we live as we should live, then we will be taken care of. I do not think he knew the consequences of what he was doing. That 20-mark note was worth six dollars, and six dollars to an elder is quite a bit!
You will be doing some things automatically, almost unwittingly. Without thinking, you will find you have been prompted and guided by the Holy Spirit. That is why this young elder, without knowing why, took a 20-mark note out of his wallet as he was trotting alongside the train and handed it to me as the train was pulling out. He saved us from great danger.

Karson walked to the back of the classroom to put his book away. There, lying on the carpet in front of the bookcase, was a golden ticket! He picked it up. His heart beat faster when he saw that the name line was blank.
The boys and girls in Karson’s class could earn golden tickets by doing well in their work or by being extra helpful or kind. Once a week his teacher drew a ticket out of a jar and let the winner choose a prize.
Karson couldn’t believe his luck! Today was the golden ticket drawing, and here was another ticket, just for him. He looked around, but no one else was near the ticket. All his classmates were at their desks, laughing and talking with each other.
Karson decided to write his name on the blank line. Then he could put it into the prize jar with the tickets he’d already earned. With so many chances, at least one of his tickets would definitely be picked! Then he could choose the pink stuffed pig for his sister’s birthday present, just like he had been hoping. He smiled and reached for the pencil in his pocket.
Suddenly his fingers stopped. There was a weird feeling in his chest, and it wasn’t his heartbeat. It’s finders keepers, right? he wondered.
He looked out the window and tried to figure it out. He did find the ticket, but he hadn’t earned it. And maybe whoever lost it was looking for it. But he needed this extra ticket for his great plan! He traced his finger over the blank name line and sighed. His plan wouldn’t be so great if he won with a ticket that wasn’t really his.
He remembered what Dad had told him once when he hadn’t wanted to share with his sister. “When you make a good choice, you can feel peaceful inside. You never have to feel bad about your choice later.”
He put the pencil back in his pocket and walked over to his teacher’s desk. Miss Evans smiled. “What can I do for you, Karson?”
“Uh, Miss Evans, I found this ticket on the floor near the bookcase,” he said. “I think somebody lost it. But these are mine,” he said, dropping six tickets into the jar on her desk. He turned around to leave, but Miss Evans called him back.
“Karson, you know what? I’d like you to have another ticket because you were honest and returned this one.”
“Thank you!”
“By the way, what prize would you choose if your name was drawn? The big candy bar? Or maybe the fire truck?”
“The pink stuffed pig!” Karson said right away. “It’s my sister’s birthday next week, and I really want to give it to her. That’s her favorite animal.”
Miss Evans smiled. “Well, I hope you can win it for her.”
Karson sat down at his desk and smiled. He still wanted his name to be picked, but he would be happy even if it wasn’t. Dad had been right. Making the right choice did make him feel great, and maybe, just maybe, he still might win the pink pig.

At one point, Dan Ellsworth, also from the United States, wasn’t sure he had a particle of faith left to exercise. His initial exposure to academic and historical approaches to the Old Testament weakened his faith in the Bible and affected his belief in all scripture. But Dan kept going to church and decided to experiment for six months with a plan to pray, fast, and serve in the Church. At times, he asked his young daughters to also pray for their daddy’s faith.

After a while, Dan began having spiritual experiences and finding answers to some of the questions that bothered him most. One day, while at a library, he felt prompted to go down a row of books and pick out one. In it, he found insightful counterarguments to the book that initially shook his belief in the Bible. While this experience didn’t resolve every question, it taught Dan some important lessons: “First, I needed to be humble about how much I could really know on my own. And second, other ways of finding truth, along with reason, exist: spiritual impressions, positive outcomes from fruits of the Spirit, and ideas that foster mental breakthroughs, all of which led to much stronger convictions and faith than I had before.”

I was supposed to wake up, hop in the shower, get dressed, and then head to seminary. That’s how it always went, anyways.
But this morning, my routine was interrupted by my mom coming in to tell me that one of my soccer teammates had died in a car accident the night before. I was stunned. My teammate was gone?
Only a few weeks after the death of my teammate, one of my close friends took their own life.
I attended two funerals that month—my first encounters with death.
In a lot of ways, my friends’ deaths didn’t seem real, and they had a big impact on my testimony. As time went on, I found myself wondering again and again if what I had been taught all my life about resurrection and the plan of salvation was true. And although I might have tried to say the words, I wasn’t sure if I really believed that I would see my friends again someday.
But I hoped that I would.
I thought of my two encounters with death while I was studying 2 Nephi 9:21–22, which talks about the Savior, saying, “He suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children … that the resurrection might pass upon all men.”
I really wanted the plan of salvation to be real. I wanted to believe that Jesus Christ had overcome death and that because of Him we would all be resurrected. So, I acted according to that hope. I did my best to believe, even if I wasn’t completely sure.
Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”
Death, though painful, is part of God’s plan for us. But we can trust in the Savior, who died that we all might live again. This is the amazing promise of Easter. Knowing this doesn’t always make the pain of losing my loved ones go away. But now I have hope and peace that I, and everyone I love, will be resurrected and that if we are sealed in the temple and keep our covenants, we can live together again (see Doctrine and Covenants 88:14–17, 27–31; 132:15–21).
This Easter, learn about the truthfulness of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, the Resurrection, and everything joyful that’s encompassed in the plan of salvation. Choose to believe. Know that because of Christ’s sacrifice and perfect love for us, death is not the end.
It’s OK if all you can do now is have faith that the plan of salvation is true. As you continue to live the gospel and to hope, your hope, like mine, can also blossom into a testimony.

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.
Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease killed half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.
Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite blue dress with the white lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome.
During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her and said, “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”
As they finished their dessert, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke.
When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.
“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”
Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

Despite all these blessings, I still faced challenges.
Working as a live-in nanny didn’t go as smoothly as I was expecting. My host family didn’t keep up their end of our contract, and I ended up deciding to search for a new job and place to live.
There were many nights when I didn’t know where I would go. The search seemed endless, and tension with my host family made me question everything.
I knew that the first step was to pray to Heavenly Father about my situation. As Elder Clement M. Matswagothata, Area Seventy, taught: “Be prayerful as you look for ways to become self-reliant. I assure you that Heavenly Father will bring thoughts into your mind and will bless you.”
Every night, I turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, asking not only for a way out but for strength to act on promptings. I knew that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:26).
When I shared my situation with friends in the ward, a sister offered me a part-time job, helping me save extra money to support myself. I was so grateful that I’d connected with my ward and could rely on them during this difficult time.
Eventually, I found a new host family in Utah. After much prayer, I felt strongly that this was where I needed to be. I moved again, finding a YSA ward where I could continue to serve and grow.

I remember specifically making this promise one day as I sat in a chapel waiting for a baptismal service to start. As I sat pondering the doctrine of Christ, I began to have a strong feeling of joy telling me that everything I had learned from the missionaries was true. In that moment I silently committed to God to always trust Him and that I would remain active in His Church throughout my life if it meant I could continue to have the joy that comes from the Holy Ghost. To me this promise included not only attending church every week but also trusting in the Lord’s doctrine, the scriptures, the living prophets, and especially my Savior, Jesus Christ.
It was relatively early in my life that I made this important decision to trust in the Lord’s promises. Since then my decision has proved to be very beneficial to me. Whenever a doubt or a question has come up, I have been able to think back to the commitment I made and have based my life decisions on that commitment. Deciding early on the standards you will live by will help you make correct choices when doubts or problems come.

If I had to name one thing I hated concerning college life, it was buying books each semester and watching my checking account go from a pitifully small amount to almost nothing in one mean whack. This was only the second semester of my freshman year, but I remembered the pain I’d gone through last semester, and I wasn’t too thrilled about dealing with the “money massacre” again.
I’d been mentally going through my classes for winter semester, figuring roughly the amount each book would cost while I tried to keep up with the step aerobics instructor and the rest of the sweating bodies around me. I was sure I must have added something wrong when I reached an eye-popping total of $200—not including tax.
“Hey, Jenny, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mumbled.
“Here, let me help you.” Cathy’s a great friend. She doesn’t laugh at me when I do stupid things like tripping all over my bench during aerobics because I’m not concentrating. Even now, while I was busy trying to re-tie my shoelace, she was on the floor, straightening my bench for me.
“Killer class today, huh?”
“Yeah.” Tripping over my bench had made my very tender right hamstring muscle even more sore.
“So, Jenny, have you bought your books yet?”
Ugh. That again. “I’m going to buy them right after this class is through.”
“I spent $175 this time. I won’t be able to do anything fun for weeks.”
Only $175? I was wishing I could be so lucky all the way to the bookstore.
The place was jammed with other poor souls like myself who’d waited until the last possible second before taking the hardest plunge of the semester.
Chemistry, English 201, trigonometry, humanities, music appreciation. By the time I made my way to the cash register, I had two ugly stacks of reading material that would keep me busy for months.
The clerk behind the register hardly gave me a glance before rubbing her eyes and wearily lifting the first book from one of my piles. I was sure she must have hated the book rush as much as everyone else did.
“Hey, Jenny!”
I turned around and saw a waving figure with a big, blonde ponytail. Cathy again. She pushed and shoved her way through the endless line of students. Her eyebrows lifted to new heights while she examined my piles of books.
“Pretty impressive.”
“Just don’t be expecting a birthday present from me this year.”
Cathy laughed and rattled off her latest winter semester classes.
“That will be $157.30, please.”
I whipped my head in surprise to face the clerk. The look on her face dared me to make any negative comments, so I quickly wrote my check and escaped with Cathy.
I was all ready to gloat over the low cost of my books that night to Gary, my freshly returned missionary brother, since I knew his books had cost him a small fortune. But as I picked up my receipt and quickly scanned each book price, then the total, I stopped and frowned. I counted the figures again and again.
“Something’s not right here.”
“What’s wrong, Jenn?”
I glanced up from my cross-legged position in the middle of my bed. Gary was standing in the doorway.
“Oh, nothing, really. I bought my books today, and I think the lady at the register may have added them up wrong.”
“Really? Well, let’s have a look.”
I scooted over to make room for him on my bed, and in a matter of minutes, it was all figured out: Only one stack of my books had been rung up. I had gotten the other stack free.
“Gary, you know what a rip-off it is to buy books. The school makes a killing. Besides, all together my stuff isn’t worth more than $150.”
“It’s tough to part with hard-earned money, and if I were you, I’d feel the same way. At one time, I might never have taken the books back and paid for them.”
“After all, it’s not like I stole them. I didn’t see what she was doing. I thought she’d rung them all up. It’s her mistake, not mine,” I quickly chimed in defensively.
“I know, I know,” Gary soothed. “And I’m not going to tell you to take them back. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.”
I started to gather the books, my mind made up, but something in Gary’s voice stopped me.
“You know, this reminds me of something that happened to me about a year ago in the Netherlands.”
Great. An inspiring missionary story. I sighed and settled against my pillows to listen, resolving that nothing he could say would make me change my mind.
The next few days were miserable ones. I couldn’t get Gary’s words out of my head, let alone even look at my “free” books. It was hard for me to do, but Monday morning after my aerobics class, I waded through the endless line of students at the bookstore, ready to lose another $150.
The same clerk was behind the register as I shoved my books onto the counter before her.
“I was in here a few days ago, and these books of mine were never rung up.”
She lifted her eyebrows at me in surprise. “Really? And you brought them back? Even I wouldn’t have been so honest at your age.” She paused for a second. “Maybe not even now.”
For a moment I had a happy, fleeting thought that she was going to reward my honesty by telling me not to worry about these books—that I’d already paid for them in my own way. I almost smiled. Being honest wasn’t so hard.
“That’ll be $175 even.”
As I drove home, I tried to tell myself I wasn’t losing money but gaining an education. It didn’t help much. Especially considering the fact that my right hamstring was still pretty sore. Yet it hadn’t been as touchy today as it had been on Saturday. It would get stronger as I exercised. Pretty soon, it’d be so strong, no amount of fancy step work would bother it, and I’d be able to do all the steps with ease.
Gary’s words struck me again, and for the first time, the memory wasn’t painful. Exercising, integrity; it was all the same. Of course I’d walked away from the book incident feeling a little bruised. I had exercised something harder than ever before. But the next time, it’d be easier even if it was trickier.
Strengthening my muscles and my character in the same day. That was the true, total workout.
I waved to Gary as I maneuvered the car into the garage. I did feel sort of warm and good inside, and I wondered if realizations like these were truly the best types of warm feelings you could ever have.
“So how was your day?” Gary questioned as I jumped out of the car. I held up my bag of books for him to see.
“Hard and good. Even my hamstring is shaping up.” I grinned at him and hurried into the house. Doing something right when it was hard for me to do didn’t feel so terrible after all. In fact, it felt pretty good.

I will never forget walking the grounds at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, USA, where pioneers had lived years before. The ground felt sacred, almost as if I were visiting an outdoor temple.
My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision. I saw a statue but could not make out the figures. When I wiped away my tears, I saw a man and a woman whose faces were full of grief. As I looked closer, I saw the figure of an infant lying in a grave at their feet.
This sight filled me with so many emotions: sadness, anger, gratitude, and joy. I wanted to take away the pain those Saints felt, but I was grateful at the same time for what they had sacrificed for the gospel.
My experience at Winter Quarters helped me realize that Heavenly Father gives the gospel to His children and allows them the agency to do with it as they will. The parents of that baby could have chosen to take an easier course. Following the prophet and living the gospel required these pioneers to press forward even when it meant burying their child. But they chose to take the gospel into their lives and accepted their challenges. I learned that the Saints’ dedication to the gospel and their determination to press forward were driven by faith and hope—hope for a bright future and faith that the Lord knew them and could ease their pain.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

God expresses His love for us by helping us to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. A young man could not get his computer to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short, and he threatened to destroy the computer. His wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor to get an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a computer than the person or company that created it? By working within the guidelines given in the instruction book, the boy soon enjoyed the full potential of his computer.

For me and my wife, Karri, our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative. Though we met in the sixth grade (as a sidenote, I fell for her hard in elementary school—she took a little bit longer), it was as a young married couple at BYU–Hawaii when we became determined to put our faith in Jesus Christ. We entered with almost nothing and left tightly bound to each other and to the Savior, Jesus Christ. As our relationship with Jesus Christ grew during that time, it allowed the BYU–Hawaii experience to transform us. That experience prepared us for our lives today and will prove to have prepared us for the life to come. Just as our experience at BYU–Hawaii was transformative for us, your experience at BYU can be transformative if you involve Jesus Christ in the journey!