Gospel Story Finder

One night I had a dream in which someone said to me: “Blessings for you and your family can be found in your home country.”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but because of my son’s health problems, I had to leave the foreign country I was living in to return home to Cameroon to support my sick son.
Arriving in Cameroon in September 2009 after more than 30 years of absence, I went from one pentecostal church to another, but I still had the same feeling within me that something was missing.
Seven years later, when I went to the temple, I finally understood the meaning of the dream I had, because I performed ordinances for several people in my family.

I saw a young man nearly overwhelmed by a new call not long ago. The Lord had inspired His servant to call him to be the president of a stake. The young man had never been a bishop. He had never served in a stake presidency. The stake had in it many men of greater maturity and experience.

He was humbled when he heard the call. His wife through tears said to the servant of the Lord who called him, “Are you sure?” Her husband said quietly that he would serve. His wife nodded her support, tears streaming down her face. As you might have done at such a time, he wanted to talk with his father, who was far away. He called him that afternoon on the telephone. His father has been a dairy farmer all his life. He raised the boy into a man through milking cows and letting his son observe him stop to talk with neighbors to see how they were doing. The next morning, in his first talk as a stake president, this is how he recounted the conversation with his father:

“Many of you that know me know I am a man of few words. I must have gotten that from my father. As I called him yesterday to let him know that I was being called as a stake president, his one response to me was, ‘Well, you better do a lot of praying.’ That was his counsel to me. What better counsel could he give?”

President Hunter, President Hinckley, President Monson, thank you for this opportunity to share my testimony and my feelings of joy, gratitude, and responsibility for being called to serve the Primary children of the Church.
I have appreciated what Elder Wirthlin has taught us. I have also had an experience similar to his.
Several years ago while my husband, Ed, and I were serving in the England London South Mission, there was an unexpected storm. All night the winds raged. When morning came we ventured from the mission home to see the damage. It was devastating. Many trees throughout our garden, the neighborhood, and all of southern England had been uprooted. It was amazing to see the fallen trees with their gigantic root systems, still intact, jutting into the air. I came to the conclusion that because of the “easiness of the way” (Alma 37:46)—rain is plentiful in England—the trees had no need to sink their roots deep into the earth to get the nourishment they needed. Their roots were not strong enough or deep enough to withstand the hurricane-force winds.
On the other hand, the giant redwood trees that grow in northern California also have a very shallow root system. But when they are surrounded by other redwood trees, the strongest, fiercest wind cannot blow them over. The roots of the giant redwood trees intertwine and strengthen each other. When a storm comes, they actually hold each other up.
May I share with you some personal examples and thank those people who have been as the giant redwoods in my life, those who have been an example of caring and teaching, those who have intertwined their roots in mine and helped me stand firm as they taught me through their words and their lives.
I feel deep gratitude to my mother, who allowed me to be responsible and didn’t always fix my mistakes. To my father, who is soon to be eighty-nine years old and is living with us, thank you, Dad. Thank you for teaching me as the scriptures counsel, “only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned; … reproving betimes with sharpness, when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love” (D&C 121:41, 43).
The strongest intertwining roots in my life are those of my companion and sweetheart, Ed, who is supernally righteous. He has taught and encouraged me, exemplifying President Hunter’s prayer “that we might treat each other with more kindness, more courtesy, more humility and patience and forgiveness” (quoted in Ensign, July 1994, p. 4).
To my children, who are a part of my roots, who are a brightness of hope in my life—thank you for helping me stand tall with gladness because you are trying.
I am a happy grandmother. Thirteen of our seventeen grandchildren are Primary and pre-Primary age. They will help teach me about Primary and children. They can be my hands-on training. Could there be a better calling for a grandmother than to love and strengthen children?
May I offer a sincere expression of gratitude to you, my brothers and sisters, who have strengthened me by forgiving me when I have disappointed you.
There are many others in my life who have encouraged me and allowed me to connect with their strengths. My deep gratitude to President Janette C. Hales, the Young Women presidency, board, and staff who have shared their wisdom and insights, who have more than loved and supported me these last two years. To Michaelene Grassli, Betty Jo Jepsen, Ruth Wright, and the Primary board, thank you for your devotion and untiring efforts to encourage all members of the Church to focus on what is best for the children.
When I was ten or eleven years old, I became the Primary organist in the ward in Hawaii where I grew up. That is one of my most vivid Primary memories. I remember being very nervous. I remember making many mistakes. But I remember even more clearly that the Primary leaders cared more about me than about the mistakes I made.
I thank the community of Saints, the ward family of Saints, who, throughout my life, have provided “safe places”—places where I was able to be taught, to have experiences, to practice, and to eventually better understand and live the principles of the gospel.
One day as Ed and I were maneuvering the streets of England, he turned to me with tears in his eyes, and he said, “Look.” I turned and saw a child on the side of the road. And then he said, “Who will teach the children?” That thought will not leave my mind or my heart. Who will teach the children? Who will teach the child who asks, “Will Heavenly Father really answer my prayer?” Who will teach Kate when at five years of age she asks, “Why do we need Jesus?” Who will teach the children? Please, will you? Will you? Will you help teach the children?

We had a Young Women’s conference, and a sister talked about this very subject. She had us walk into a messy room with pictures that were not uplifting. Then she took us into another room that was organized and had uplifting pictures and sayings. The difference in atmosphere and feeling in each room was amazing. A clean, organized room can bring the Spirit of the Lord.
Heather Holmes, 15Milan, New Mexico

A convert to the Church, I grew up in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Although my parents were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I look back with gratitude upon how they have influenced my life. My mother was born with a congenital heart defect and was told that having children would endanger her life. She waited eight years to have me; I am the only child in the family. Mother was a loving and compassionate person. She always spoke good of everyone and ingrained that teaching in me. In spite of health complications, she lived life to the fullest before she passed away at age fifty.
I often think of the sayings Mother taught me; they come back to me just as if someone had turned on a tape recorder. Among them are these:
Trouble is very easy to get into and very hard to get out of.
Be the labor great or small, do it well or not at all.
Once a job is begun, never leave it until it’s done.
Mother instilled in me a work ethic and a desire to pursue excellence. She had a profound effect on my life, and I had a great relationship with her, as I did with my dad.

“Did I ever tell you about the Missouri snake?” Grandpa asked.
“No,” said Emily. She sat down on the cool grass to listen.
“One day, my brother Lee and I were out playing by a rock pile, when we saw a snake, a great big one. Mom had told us to stay away from snakes because one might be poisonous, and we were scared. Lee and I started throwing rocks at it. We threw so many that we moved nearly the whole rock pile!” he said.
“Did you kill the snake?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know,” Grandpa Charles laughed. “We never did get brave enough to go and see.”

A few days later Richie loaded up his pillow and sleeping bag into the backseat of the station wagon. He ran into the house. “Come on, Mom. It’s time!”
“Just a minute, honey.”
“Mom, Uncle Dave said five thirty, and it’s five twenty-seven now. Let’s go!”
“OK!” Mom smiled. “I think someone is excited about his first camping trip.”
Mom dropped Richie off at his cousins’ house and gave him a hug and kiss good-bye. “Now, be sure to tell Uncle Dave thank you for letting you join them. Dress warm tonight, and be careful.”
Richie waved good-bye, anxious to leave for the camp-out. Soon he and his cousins were traveling up the narrow road that wound through the green canyon. Once they reached the camping ground, they all worked together to set up the tent and build a fire.
Richie marveled at the green fir trees that reached up into the sky. The sky grew dark, and twinkling stars appeared. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” he told his cousin Todd. “It’s like I just took a pair of dark glasses off and can really see what’s in the sky.”
“You can see so many stars now because we’re away from the lights of the city,” Todd explained. “City lights usually drown out most of the stars.”
After a tinfoil dinner of hamburgers and potatoes, everyone gathered to sing around the fire while Uncle Dave played his guitar. The smell from the campfire clung to Richie’s sweatshirt. The soothing sound of the music and a full stomach made it difficult for him to stay awake. He had to fight to keep his eyes open.
“It looks like you are all having a hard time staying awake,” Uncle Dave said. “Let’s call it a night.”
“Come on, Richie, let’s hit the sack,” Todd called. Richie followed him and Douglas into the tent. He snuggled into his fluffy red sleeping bag and quickly fell asleep.
A few hours later Richie awoke with a start. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness, then remembered that he wasn’t in his bedroom but in a tent. The only sound was the steady hum of the crickets outside. His stomach felt queasy as the dream he had just had came back to him. I wish I was home, he thought. I wish I was in my own bed and that I could go get Dad.
He looked around. No one else in the tent was awake. Richie shivered. He didn’t want to wake Todd or Douglas. They were older, and he didn’t want them to think he was a crybaby. Still, the gnawing in his stomach didn’t go away, and the darkness seemed to surround him.
Thoughts of black bears and hungry mountain lions with fiery eyes filled his mind and added to the fear he already felt from his dream. If Dad were here, we could …
Richie quietly pulled himself onto his knees. “Heavenly Father,” he whispered into the darkness, “please help me to not be afraid. …”
When he finished his prayer, he felt warm and safe. As he climbed back into his cozy sleeping bag, he thought, I’m so glad that even if Dad isn’t here, I have another Father who can help, a Father who is always just a prayer away.

1 I’m glad you asked for a blessing, sweetheart. Daddy’s calling Brother Simon to come help.
2 I hope you don’t mind my coming, too, Mei Lin. When I heard that one of my girls was sick, I just couldn’t stay away.
I’m glad you came.
4 Thank you, Brother Simon. Thanks, Dad. When you put your hands on my head, I could feel your love.
5 And Heavenly Father’s and Jesus’ love too. The priesthood is their power, not ours, and they’ve revealed that it must always be used with love.
6 My head feels a little better already, and I feel a lot better inside.
So do I, sweetheart.
And so do I.

The young women in the Salt Lake Eagle Gate Stake’s 18th North Ward have a unique way of doing work for the dead. Many of them have done the conventional things lots of teenagers do: finding names, doing baptisms at the nearby Salt Lake Temple, and keeping records of their own lives to pass on to future generations. But this activity has been a little different.
The Salt Lake City Cemetery is within walking distance of the girls’ homes, and they have spent many hours there, working to revive the memory of a woman who seems to have been nearly forgotten. The headstone at the grave was never very large, and after more than a hundred years of cold winter storms and summer heat waves, it was crumbling, the name completely worn off.
The girls took some time to learn about the woman buried there. Her name was Sarah Melissa Granger Kimball. She was a Relief Society president for 41 years in a ward near the girls’ homes and worked tirelessly as a wife, mother, and educator.
The girls decided that a woman who had contributed so much to the lives of women who were the early settlers of Utah deserved a little more recognition than the tired old headstone afforded her.
So they got to work. First, they listed the work that needed to be done and divided it into individual assignments. Crissy Renda was the group’s researcher. Rebecca Priggemeyer documented the group’s progress on film. The other girls helped in various aspects of selecting a new monument to mark the grave, and they each participated in keeping a journal about their feelings and insights during the project.
“I used to think of Relief Society as something for people old or boring,” says Elizabeth Clark. “But learning about Sarah, I realized that she was energetic and really dedicated to making women’s lives better. The way I feel about Relief Society has really changed.”
It isn’t every day the Relief Society general presidency, the general board, and a representative of the Young Women presidency show up to a Young Women activity. But this was no ordinary activity.
When the time came to place the headstone, the Young Women wanted to do something special. They had spent countless hours researching Sarah’s life, and they wanted to pay tribute to Sarah for what they had learned from her.
“I am so grateful for everything that Sarah has done for the women of the Church,” Crissy says. “By researching her life, I have come to feel a closeness to her.”
Many of Sarah’s accomplishments are listed on the back of the monument the Young Women erected. At age 15, Sarah was invited to be educated with the School of the Prophets. She founded the Ladies Society of Nauvoo. She helped build the first Relief Society hall and Relief Society granary. She served as the first president of the Utah Women’s Suffrage Association, where she was a strong voice in the campaign to give women the right to vote. She also served in the general Relief Society presidency for 12 years.
As these young women did this unique work for the dead, they discovered that their work was a fulfillment of prophecy. Sarah was promised by Joseph Smith that because of her devotion she would be remembered from generation to generation.* As the young women uncovered stories about Sarah, they learned of her dedication to the Church. They believe the stories of her dedication will shape their lives and keep the memory of Sarah alive.

I was born and raised on my father’s cattle ranch in Roy, Utah, with very few neighbors nearby. I was the youngest of six children, and as a boy I was shy around people who were not in my family. On my first day at school, my brother Lowell, just two years older than I, took me to my first-grade classroom. Surrounded by children I did not know, I felt lonesome and the day seemed long until I could return home with my brother.
Soon I made friends at school and looked forward to seeing them each day. One friend, Larry Dawson, lived about a mile from my home. Larry invited me to his house for a birthday party. I had never been to a birthday party before. It was so much fun! I still remember some of the special toys Larry received—especially his new toy fire engine.
Larry and I rode the bus to school because we lived too far from school to walk. Larry got off the bus at the bus stop on the main highway just before I got off. He then had to cross the highway and walk half a mile (about 1 km) to his home. At that time cars did not stop when a school bus was loading or unloading students.
One day as we were returning home from school, a car speeding by the bus hit and killed my friend. I felt very sad. I missed being with Larry at school and on the bus. My mother and father comforted me by explaining that even though I wouldn’t see Larry anymore in this life, his spirit continued to live in the spirit world. Larry was so kind and good that I knew he would be worthy to live with our Heavenly Father. As I grew, I learned more about our Father’s plan for His children.
My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.
I was grateful to know that my friend Larry and my brother Darrell had kept the commandments so they could enjoy every blessing from our Heavenly Father. We do not know when we are going to die, so we should live every day so we will not be sorry if our time comes to return home. We need to speak in kind ways to our brothers and sisters and friends. We should not argue or treat others unkindly. We should follow the example of Jesus Christ. One of my favorite Primary songs reminds me of the things we need to do.
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
(Children’s Songbook, 78–79)
When we keep all of our Heavenly Father’s commandments, we will be happy now and in the life to come. It also takes away our fear of dying because we know that if we are good, we will one day go home to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

When I was 14, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Doctors estimated that with chemotherapy, he had a 50 percent chance of living eight years or longer. Since the alternatives were even less encouraging, my father decided to suffer through the six months of weekly treatments.
At the end of the chemotherapy, my ward in Bountiful held a special fast for my father. It was a marvelous experience to join in faith for a common cause. When the diagnosis came back, the doctors could find no sign of cancer. After I left for my mission, I received letters from my father telling me of his continued improvements and how he even ran a marathon. Things seemed to be going well.
The summer before my mission ended, I was serving with a missionary named Elder Causse. He was from a branch in Bourdeaux, France, a place I had once considered “out there in the mission field.”
One morning my mission president called me into his office and told me my father would be calling. When the phone rang, the president excused himself and left me alone. I was apprehensive as I picked up the phone.
My father greeted me, then told me his cancer had relapsed. He would again go through chemotherapy. I then spoke to my mother, who told me our ward was going to fast again. I said I would join in the fast as well. After I hung the phone up, I wiped away a few tears and walked out of the office.
On the way back to our assigned area, I explained the situation to Elder Causse. He promised to fast with me, and his promise gave me comfort. But he did not stop there. He wrote to his family in France and told them what had happened. They, too, said that they would fast for my father and that they would ask the members of the Bourdeaux Branch to join the fast as well. I was astounded that they would fast for the health of a man they did not know.
At that moment, the Spirit spoke softly to me, and suddenly I understood what it means to be “fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). We are of one faith, united in the gospel with bonds stronger than illness or death. We are truly brothers and sisters. None of us is a stranger, no matter what land we happen to worship in.

The road to recognition in this country has been both difficult and frustrating. Since receiving our European assignments, Elder Ringger and I have traveled to Czechoslovakia at least once each year to meet with governmental officials in Prague. Two transoceanic journeys were rewarded only with failed appointments or hopes dashed with the empty statement that “your request for recognition is still being studied.” When we returned to Prague on 6 February 1990, however, we found that the official with whom we had been dealing had been removed from his chair. When his successor heard our complete story, he said, “Your request for recognition will be approved this very month. Your people may again worship in full dignity. Your missionaries may again return to this country.” Recognition was granted February 21, effective 1 March 1990.

When that important declaration was made, I sensed that the real hero in this story was our district president in Czechoslovakia, Jiri Snederfler. Some two and one-half years earlier, Elder Ringger and I had learned that recognition could be formally requested only by a Czechoslovakian member of the Church. So we went to the home of Brother and Sister Snederfler. We explained that we had just received that information from the chairman of the Council of Religious Affairs. Knowing that other Czechoslovakian leaders and thinkers had been imprisoned or put to death for religious or dissident belief, we told Brother Snederfler that we, as his Church leaders, could not and would not make that request of him. After contemplating only a brief moment, Brother Snederfler humbly said, “I will go! I will do it!” As he spoke, his wife, Olga, shed a tear. They embraced and said, “We will do whatever is needed. This is for the Lord, and His work is more important than our freedom or life.”

Some months later, when the papers were properly prepared, Brother Snederfler submitted them personally. He and our members were then subjected to strict surveillance. The Saints continued in courage and faith. Ultimately, after periodic fasting and prayer and complete compliance with all requirements, that glorious announcement of recognition came. How I admire the Snederflers and all these stalwart members who endured so much interrogation and risk!

Brother Snederfler has been called to preside over the Freiberg Germany Temple effective 1 September 1991, succeeding President Burkhardt, who has given more than six years of devout and faithful service. Sister Olga Snederfler will serve as temple matron, succeeding Sister Inge Burkhardt.

On 1 July 1990, a mission in Czechoslovakia, forbidden for forty years, was again opened, with Richard W. Winder as president of the Czechoslovakian Mission. He had served in that country on his first mission as a young man. His wife, Barbara, was released as general president of the Relief Society to accompany her husband on this crucial assignment for which they alone were so uniquely qualified.

Sherman and Austin are two of many chimpanzees living at the Yerkes Regional Primate Research Center in Georgia. They, too, have learned to communicate with humans by means of sign language. Taking it one step further, however, they have now begun to converse with each other by this means. Located in separate rooms with a small opening between them, Sherman will use his computer keyboard to ask Austin for a certain food. Austin will read his request and then proceed to fill his order, choosing from among as many as fifteen different delicacies, such as orange drink, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and candies. These chimpanzees are now at the point where they are asking each other for specific tools to help them reach food in hard-to-get-at places.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

If good fences make good neighbors, these young men and women are the best neighbors in the world, because their back fence is the Niagara River and Niagara Falls. A group of young Latter-day Saints from Niagara Falls, New York, and Hamilton, Ontario, got together recently on the Canadian side of the falls to enjoy one of the most awesome borders in the world.
Their first, and most important, order of business was just looking. That may be a lazy sort of activity in some places, but here it taxes the imagination to its very limits. People often go away from the falls feeling they have not seen everything there is to see. Not, as with the circus, because there are so many different things going on, but because the one thing going on is too overwhelming for the mind to absorb it.
But what can be seen is worth seeing. The falls, rainbow-spanned, plunge into a deep stone gorge through which the river runs on between high banks, heading north toward Lake Ontario. Far below, mist-shrouded tourist boats butt against the current, and tiny people in yellow slickers walk along shimmering wet paths.
Above the falls, the river sweeps down in a broad turn of shallow rapids, forking around green islands. The Canadian falls curve away in a great turquoise and white arc, and on the other side of the river the American falls cascade down onto broken slabs of stone. The viewer feels himself drawn over the abyss with an overwhelming sense of power. The falls pull with a weight of gravity equal to the whole massive world, reeling the water and the imagination irresistibly downward. You can’t help thinking with a delicious shudder, “What if I were in a boat and …”
And yet, even as millions of gallons of water go thundering over, a strange illusion of silence and motionlessness reigns. Later, remembering, you will not recall the thunder, and the water will go over the brink in ponderous slow motion. At the lip of the falls the water is drawn so swift and shallow that you can see the bottom as if through glass, each rock distinct and unwavering, each little wave and ripple as motionless as crystal. And from the chaos below springs up a rich, thick mist, as sustaining to the heart as a feast of ambrosia.
Standing by the falls you seem lost in a wilderness, which is amazing because this is no wilderness spectacle. The river is sandwiched between two cities. Hotels, towers, curio shops, and parking lots crowd its banks. Nearby, wax museums, carnival rides, and side shows blare out to attract tourists. It is hard to imagine a more commercialized natural wonder, and yet it seems to shake all that off like an elephant dispatching a mosquito. There is a sense of delicious solitude, even though you must maneuver your way to the rail to get a viewing spot, rubbing shoulders with a sea of tourists speaking a babble of unknown tongues. You can imagine yourself an Indian standing here long ago in the young green wilderness, or a European explorer suddenly frozen in wonder as you first glimpse the thunder you have heard from far upriver.
For a long time the young men and women looked and looked and looked. All around them others from all around the world stood shoulder to shoulder with them doing the same thing. In one sense they had all seen everything there was to see at a glance, but in a truer sense they all knew that they had not even begun to see it yet, because there is a magic here that cannot be reached by seeing. It demands reverence. Even blind people have been known to stand by the railing and look and look and look.
But no one can look forever, and when the group had taken in as much of the reality as they could, they turned to other things—playing catch with a frisbee and a football, talking, relaxing on the grass, or just watching an incredible cross-section of humanity walk past—turbaned, tennis-shoed, or tuxedoed; gowned or grubby. They talked about the falls as a proud parent might speak of a bright child, feigning nonchalance, but enjoying the enthusiasm of others. They spoke reverently of the falls in winter—bearded, solemn, and venerable—as pagans might speak of some sacred object.
Leaving the falls behind after a few last looks, they crossed over to the American side en route to Fort Niagara, stopping for lunch at a drive-in. The American drive-in readily accepted Canadian money because here tourism is king, and money, after all, is money. The Canadian youth got a kick out of the “funny money” they got back as change.
Fort Niagara is built on Lake Ontario at the mouth of the Niagara River. The French established it there because from that spot they could control the water route into and out of the continent. The French flag was later replaced by the British and then the American. As the young men and women crossed the moat and walked through the heavy gates, they sensed that they were in a place where history lay as thick as incense. As they viewed the iron and stone implements of death, the hard wooden bunks, the musty stone chambers, the awareness grew in them of the hard life those early soldiers led. This had been a land abounding in beauty and solitude but very short on pity or compassion. As they went from building to building reliving the exploits of fur traders, generals, and colonists, they began to feel they knew these colorful, flint-hard men.
The fort was well designed for defense. On three sides impregnable sea walls rose from the lake or the river. The landward side was well defended by thick walls, earthworks, moats, and banks of cannons. The gates they passed through for an inexpensive ticket would have cost lives to breach in the old days.
But for all its hard past, the spot is peaceful and beautiful now, with a park outside its gates and the blue horizon of Lake Ontario behind it. The young men and women learned much about history there, and they learned about each other as well, forging bonds of friendship. The two groups, from different nations but one gospel, brothers and sisters forever, made plans for joint activities as they strolled through the fortifications. Then they parted, the Americans to return to their homes, the Canadians to theirs to put in several hours at their stake farm. As the Canadian youth passed the border stations on their way home, they knew better than ever that in the gospel there are no borders, and no passports are required except the ones we carry in our hearts.

“Why doesn’t that happen to my dad?”
I found myself asking this question over and over again as I listened to teachers and new missionaries at the Missionary Training Center tell about family members who had been converted to the gospel. These missionaries and returned missionaries had received the promise—just as I had—that as they served the Lord, their families would be strengthened.
From the first time I prayed by myself as a child, I beseeched my Heavenly Father daily, “Please bless Dad that he’ll want to go to church.” But he hadn’t gone. My older brother had served a mission, but it didn’t seem to change Dad.
I really loved my father, and I knew he would do anything for me. I had always been his little girl. He had supported me in every good thing I had ever done, including my mission. But I was always sorry we didn’t have family scripture study or family prayer. I had never received a father’s blessing. I always felt I was being left out when teachers gave lessons on eternal families and the blessings of being together forever.
During my stay at the MTC, my parents went on vacation. When they returned home, my mom wrote a letter to me. Most of the letter described their trip home. As they were driving, they passed two teenagers standing by a car on the side of the highway. Dad immediately turned around and went back to see if they needed help. He recognized the problem quickly. They had a flat, and a regular lug wrench would not fit the car’s custom wheels. Dad pulled a spark plug wrench out of his trunk and solved the problem.
But he didn’t stop at that. He discovered that two of the car’s passengers had walked to the nearest town to find help, and that neither of the teenagers who were left behind knew how to drive the car, which had a manual transmission. So Dad drove them into the town and helped them find their friends.
After showing them how to repair their next flat tire, Dad and Mom went on their way without accepting any kind of compensation.
I was not surprised to read about Dad’s kind act. He did, and still does, that kind of thing all the time. As I tried to finish reading the letter, tears blurred my vision. I began to understand that the Lord had blessed my family in ways I had always chosen to ignore. Perhaps Dad didn’t perform all the outward actions of an “active” Latter-day Saint, but long ago he had been converted to many core principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It was through his example that I learned about true service, charity, and love. I realized that while I was preaching the gospel in a strange place, my dad would quietly live it at home.

Several years ago, my bishop asked me to help all the young people in our ward to read the entire Book of Mormon in a certain period of time. It was a glorious year as the young people read and reported. These young people learned that the Book of Mormon could help them conquer discouragement. It helped them conquer feelings of loneliness. It helped them conquer disobedience, anger, and lack of faith.

Age 14. From Tennessee, USA. Likes musical theater and playing soccer.
When I was eight years old, I asked my mom to teach me how to sew a blanket. I started making blankets as gifts for all my friends.
Then my mom and I decided to do a blanket giveaway on Instagram. We got 16 nominations. I couldn’t pick just one person, so we sent one to each of them. And then the nominations just kept coming, and we just kept making blankets. In the last five years, we have made 1,121 blankets and sent them to 29 countries.
Most of the blankets go to kids who are sick. The hardest part for me is when a child passes away before a blanket gets to them. Sometimes I blame myself and feel a lot of guilt and regret. But when I feel this way, I pray, and I feel peaceful.
I have seen some kids going through really hard things. I met one young woman who had just gotten out of brain surgery, but she had such a happy spirit in spite of everything. This inspires me to be grateful for everything I have.
Sometimes people ask me, “Why do you do it?” I think that if Jesus Christ were here, He’d be serving others. He’d make sure everyone felt loved. So I can be His hands. I can help do His work.
“I can be His hands.”

If you’re ever asked how you’re dating, I hope that “intentionally” is one of your first responses. Let me try and illustrate this with an example.
More than half of my and my wife’s time dating was long-distance. I met Catherine while we were in school in Santiago, Chile. We started dating, but she moved back home to Antofagasta before I finished my degree. Because we wanted our relationship to develop, once or twice a month, I made the 20-hour bus ride back to Antofagasta on Thursday afternoons, spent weekends with Catherine (including church services), and took the bus another 20 hours back to Santiago to be at my 8:00 a.m. class on Monday morning.
On the days we couldn’t be together, we talked on the phone. Since we didn’t have cell phones at that time, I bought a phone plan that allowed me to make unlimited calls on public phones. I spent hours tethered to a phone booth, and if anyone else needed to use it, I would have to hang up and call Catherine back as soon as they were done.
Throughout this experience, because of the many obstacles in our relationship, I had to learn to be intentional about how I communicated with Catherine.
I invite you to make dating deliberate and intentional. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to be intentional with our discipleship. We can also seek to be intentional in the way we date.
We should ask important questions:
What do you think about life, family, and most importantly, the Savior?
I know what kind of things you do and don’t like to do, but what are your feelings about the gospel?
What are your standards and morals?
Intentional questions should be accompanied by doing a variety of intentional activities. Have fun, but be sure to do spiritual things together too. Do activities that will help you understand and truly get to know each other.
After you’ve been dating for a while, it can seem like a daunting decision to choose to get married. I was still nervous right up until the moment Catherine and I were married!
Choosing to get married might be a hard decision, but it’s not a decision you make just one time. Choosing to get married means choosing to recommit to your eternal companion throughout your life and strengthening that commitment together.
When you have questions about marriage or the gospel, you should “study it out in your mind; then you must ask [the Lord] if it be right” (Doctrine and Covenants 9:8) You should also ask yourself, “Am I willing to choose to be part of this for the rest of my life?”
When I got married, some people asked me if I was nervous that I would end up getting divorced like my parents. My answer has always been no. When I got married, I decided that I would do whatever it took to make my marriage work out. That meant choosing every day to follow the Savior and be joyfully married to my wife. I chose not to let fear of divorce drive me away from a good and righteous decision.
President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said: “Once there has been genuine illumination, beware the temptation to retreat from a good thing. If it was right when you prayed about it and trusted it and lived for it, it is right now. … Face your doubts. Master your fears. ‘Cast not away therefore your confidence.’”
The reality is that there are many of you who have very good and sincere desires to find a companion. You know this is a good and righteous desire, but when you’re struggling to find someone you’re compatible with, you feel stuck in your progress on the covenant path.
Regarding this, Sister Kristen M. Oaks said: “If you find yourself marking time waiting for a marriage prospect, stop waiting and start preparing. Prepare yourself for life—by education, experience, and planning. Don’t wait for happiness to be thrust upon you. Seek out opportunities for service and learning. And most important, trust in the Lord, ‘calling on the name of the Lord daily, and standing steadfastly in the faith of that which is to come’ [Mosiah 4:11]. And I promise as you do, happiness will come to you.”
Your journey on the covenant path has not stopped because you are not married yet. You still have your covenantal connection with the Savior. If you are struggling with rejection, loneliness, or fear, bring Him into your struggles. He will succor you. He will help you.
For some, dating with the intent to find an eternal companion will not bear fruit immediately. For others it will. No matter what, I know that God will fulfill every single promise He has made to us if we are intentional and trust in Him.
No matter where you are in the world or what is happening or not happening in your life, because of Jesus Christ, you can have joy in all circumstances. He and His teachings are always the answer.

It can be easy to feel like we’re not good enough. I felt that recently when I was invited to sing with the Tabernacle Choir on Temple Square during general conference.
My patriarchal blessing says that I should develop my talents, especially those involving music. I really took that to heart on my mission and decided to develop my voice.
When I got home from my mission, I chose to pursue a career in music. I went to a nearby university and got a degree in music. I later started a job as a music teacher, which I am still doing today.
When I found out that the Church was offering to bring singers from around the world to join the Tabernacle Choir and sing for general conference, I decided to audition. However, after the audition was over, all I could think was, “That was so bad. There’s no way I’m getting in after that. I’m definitely not going to be a part of the choir.”
A few weeks later, I got an email response. Again, I told myself I would not be invited to join the choir, based on how badly I’d botched the audition. However, I was stunned to learn that the email was not in fact a rejection letter—it was an invitation.
I was dumbfounded. It was an immense honor to receive this invitation.
Being able to sing with the choir was a highlight of my life. I learned a lot, met many incredible people, and felt the Spirit speak to me strongly as I performed.
When I think about everything that led me to that moment, I’m amazed. I felt the Savior’s love and direction when I felt prompted to get my patriarchal blessing, and I continue to feel it. There were certainly moments in between getting my patriarchal blessing and now when I wondered to myself, “What am I even doing?” I struggled to trust the timing of the Lord and to feel like I was good enough for whatever lay ahead.
During one of those times, a friend gave me this advice:
“When you’re not feeling good enough, there are really only two options.
“Option one: You tell yourself you can do it. You say, I’m going to be great, and it’s going to go well. But in that moment, you’re not letting Christ in. You’re convincing yourself that you can do it alone. But you’re never going to be able to do it alone.
“Hence option two: It is Christ who helps you through all things. It is Christ whose strength helps you live and stand and do. Especially in our brokenness. Because it’s in the brokenness that we turn to Christ and He in turn lifts you and carries you.”
“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,” said Paul to the Philippians (Philippians 4:13). This verse reminds me of what my friend taught me that day and helps me keep in mind my dependence on Christ and His Atonement.
Oftentimes when we face things that are scary or stressful, we shut down. We procrastinate. But that’s not how Christ would have us be. He would rather we act and do, trusting in Him, than not do anything at all.
I’ve come to realize—in times when it’s hard and times when it’s easy—that I’m OK. I’m OK because Jesus Christ knows me at my very worst, and as I rely on Him, He helps me become my very best. And I’ve also learned that once we’ve accepted that within ourselves, then it becomes our priority to love other people in their brokenness so they can experience Christ and become their best.
President Emily Belle Freeman, Young Women General President, taught: “Like Enoch, we must remember that the One who was bruised and broken for us will allow mortality to do its work in us, but He doesn’t ask us to face those challenges alone. No matter the heaviness of our story or the current course of our path, He will invite us to walk with Him.”
If you’re not feeling good enough, remember that the Savior loves you in your brokenness. He and Heavenly Father know what you’re capable of and what you can become. They will support you and lift you up and help you become your very best.