Gospel Story Finder

Dezbah, the old Navajo woman, watched the footrace through black, sunken eyes. The wisdom of many years told her Nabah would not win. The coughing seized her chest again, and her breath came in short gasps. The sickness of the chest she had endured as a child had now returned with fresh vengeance.
Her dark eyes cast a look of disappointment at her son as he darted past. Seeing her, he dug his toes in the dirt faster, throwing out clouds of dust, but he did not win the race.
She knew Nabah would never be the Flying Eagle of her great-grandfather’s prophecy. The holy people had not granted her desire. It must be that the tchindi, the evil ones, had found a lock of her hair.
Her eyes followed the flat table of brown earth near Shiprock, New Mexico, to a jagged mountain of rock. She remembered the days she had made Nabah climb it to make him strong. “You fill your moccasins with gravel and run and climb. Then your feet will be strong.” He had ignored the cutting sting of his feet, for he feared her strength. But his climbing was slow, and Dezbah felt pain in her heart.
Long ago when Dezbah was young and the morning’s dew was fresh upon her brow, she had sat at the feet of the great singer, her great-grandfather, and had listened to his prophecy: “From my seed shall come a mighty warrior of great strength. Like the Great Eagle he shall fly over my people. In the footrace he shall win the prize of many lambs. He shall have magic to make the fire appear. He shall teach my people to walk the rainbow to the Holy Yei.”
Listening to the prophecy, Dezbah had felt the drum within her beat faster. She must become the mother of the Flying Eagle. Inside her this strong warrior would grow. Surely the Holy Yei would take the weakness from her.
She ran each day with the rising sun, and a singer came to call the words of the Shooting Chant Prayer:
Let me drink the dewdrops again,
Let me taste the yellow pollen again,
Let me live in beauty again,
Let me walk in strength again …
Hozhoni hasthlin
Hozhoni hasthlin.
With the strength of her spirit she conquered the sickness of the chest. And she promised herself: “I will always carry the ashes out of the hogan before the rising sun so the sun will not get angry with me. I will master the art of weaving beautiful rugs to please the ancient spider woman. I will keep gall medicine against witches and other evils of the night.”
She chose a strong brave for a husband, and their paths joined. But in the next 25 years she bore Bahe only daughters. In disappointment she called for the prayers of the Blessingway Ceremony, and in the twilight of her child-bearing years she bore him a son. They named him Nabah Tsosie, for he must earn the name of Flying Eagle.
Dezbah sang to her son, placing his head toward the fire so he would grow tall as the corn. “I will make you soup from the heart of a goat so you will have a strong heart. I will tie a squirrel’s tail to your cradleboard to protect you. For you shall teach our people to walk the rainbow to the Holy Yei.”
But Nabah did not grow tall. His legs grew short and bowed. In his seventh summer she told him: “Fill your mouth with water. Run fast with only the air of your nose. Then your lungs will be strong.” With the force of her spirit she made him run with the rising sun, in the noonday heat, and in the glow of the moonlight. Nabah suffered in silence while the daughters of the old woman laughed at their mother’s foolishness.
Now as she watched Nabah’s bowed legs in the footrace, she knew he would never win the prize of many sheep. As she turned from the race, she admitted that Nabah had never cared for the way of the Dineh. He could not remember the chants. His mind was filled with dreams of a pickup truck and television. His favorite foods were potato chips and soda pop. When he had taken the sheep out to graze for the first time alone, he had been afraid. Dezbah had turned away in disgrace, away from the dark stares of her daughters.
So the old woman wove rigid designs into woolen rugs.
In Nabah’s 12th summer he first heard of his Lamanite heritage in the hogan of the family Grey Eyes. Dezbah prayed to the Great Spirit to remove the senseless white man’s words from her son’s heart.
When Nabah came to his mother to tell her what he had learned, she beat him with a stick. “Get out! You foolish boy! You will never become the Flying Eagle of your great-great-grandfather’s prophecy. You have the heart of a coyote.” She had never beaten him before, and she fell to the ground coughing. The color she coughed up was not good. She would send for the hand-trembler to recommend a cure. And the singer chanted:
Let me drink the dewdrops again. …
Let me walk in strength again. …
Hozhoni hasthlin
Hozhoni hasthlin
The coughing diminished, but the old woman never walked in strength again.
Nabah and his father chose to join the church of their fathers, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They were baptized together. Dezbah turned to silence and would not speak. And when Bahe sent Nabah to live with the white family in Phoenix, she let him go. She could no longer endure the pain of him before her eyes.
Each year in the Season of the Beating Sun when Nabah returned, he had grown huskier and more familiar with the white man’s customs. And each year Nabah found the old woman had shrunk a little from her disease and the relentless baking of the sun.
When he returned with hair beginning on his chin, his father frowned at this white man’s custom but did not speak of it. Instead he said to his son: “Go to the old woman. She wants to make peace. She has only a little wind left in her.”
Nabah plucked the fine hairs from his chin and then went to his mother. She looked small in her shriveled body, but he made slow steps to where she sat weaving in the hogan. “My mother, I am sorry. I have come … to make peace.”
Turning, she reached up a bony arm and pulled him down to her. “Yes, my son. I must leave you in peace. You are not to blame. A sick ewe cannot bring forth a prize lamb.” And her mind wandered: “The holy people are angry with me. It must have been that the tchindi found a lock of my hair. In the autumn of my life I know. It is I who lost the footrace.” And the coughing racked her frame. As she continued her weaving, Nabah sat silently watching. He felt the weight of the prophecy, like a heavy rock, upon his shoulders.
Nabah left his mother’s hogan for the last time. For in the Season of the Bearing of Lambs, the drumbeat of life in the old woman’s chest faltered, then faded, then stopped.
An emptiness filled Nabah’s heart at his mother’s parting, for although in life he had feared her, in death he longed for her strength.
Nabah stayed again with the white family, but their food no longer filled him. A hunger gnawed at him. In the summer he returned to Shiprock to herd sheep, but he found the spirit of the old woman still there. And the weight of the rock remained upon his shoulders.
Wandering alone onto the flat, baked desert, Nabah felt the emptiness inside. He sat with a vacant stare as the sun walked her path across the sky. Then slowly he filled his moccasins with gravel and sharp stones and filled his mouth with water. He ran. He ran stumbling across the hot, dry sand, past the jagged mountain of rock, faster as the stones cut deeper. He ran until the wind within him jabbed with painful stabs and his feet within his moccasins oozed with blood. He collapsed in a tortured heap on the hot, healing earth. A great cry burst from his throat: “Shima, my mother! I am not a mighty warrior. Release me! Oh, Shima! Shima!” And he fell into an exhausted sleep.
The moon had replaced the sun’s silent vigil when Nabah awoke. As he lifted his aching body from the cooling sand, within him flowed the warmth of relief. He breathed in the fresh, free air deeply. Again he felt the hunger, but now he knew how to fill it. He must have truth.
He returned to the white family and entered college where he studied history, and he learned more of his people. At first he read timidly, afraid of the answers. He read of the hunting days, the warrior days; he read of the banishment to Bosque Redondo and felt pain; he read of the enduring days, the rebuilding days, and slowly the fire was kindled. The beauty of the Navajo legend flickered in his mind. When he studied the height of the Lamanite culture, the flicker burst into flame. He felt a surge of strength, not in his legs, but in his spirit. Within him grew a desire to go to teach his people of their greatness.
As Nabah’s shoulders broadened, he was called on a mission to another part of his own Navajo nation. In wonder he boarded the airplane and flew with wings like the Flying Eagle to Arizona, where he went with the strength of truth among his people. They were the sheep, and he baptized them with water and with fire. And he helped to diminish the darkness in the land. Then with a pounding in his heart, Nabah understood. But the old woman was gone. And the drumbeats of ancient ancestors echoed down through time as Nabah taught his people how to walk the rainbow to return to their Heavenly Father.

When he returned to London and resumed composing operas, his work was not well received, and creditors began to hound him again. In the depths of despondency, he began to wonder, “Why did God permit my resurrection, only to allow my fellow-men to bury me again?”3 In April 1741 Handel held what he assumed would be a farewell concert. His creativity was spent. A biographer wrote: “There was nothing to begin or to finish. Handel was faced with emptiness.”4
Late one August afternoon that same year, Handel returned from a long and tiring walk to find that a poet and previous collaborator, Charles Jennens, had left him a manuscript. This libretto quoted liberally from the scriptures, particularly the words of Isaiah, foretelling the birth of Jesus Christ and describing His ministry, Crucifixion, and Resurrection. The work was to be an oratorio. Given his previous failures, Handel was apprehensive as he began to read through the text.
“Comfort Ye,” the first words of the manuscript, seemed to leap from the page. They dissipated dark clouds that had been pressing upon Handel for so long. His depression waned and his emotions warmed from interest to excitement as he continued to read of angelic proclamations of the Savior’s birth and of Isaiah’s prophecies of the Messiah, who would come to earth to be born as other mortal infants. A familiar melody Handel had composed earlier flooded into his mind as he read “For unto Us a Child Is Born.” The notes distilled upon his mind faster than he could put pencil to paper as he captured the image of the loving Good Shepherd in the aria titled “He Shall Feed His Flock.” Then came the overpowering exultation reflected in the “Hallelujah Chorus,” followed by the soft, supernal testimony of “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth.” The work came to its majestic conclusion with “Worthy Is the Lamb.”
After all the music he had composed throughout his lifetime, Handel would eventually be known worldwide for this singular work, Messiah, largely composed in just three weeks during the late summer of 1741. Upon completing his composition, he humbly acknowledged, “God has visited me.”5 Those who feel the touch of the Holy Spirit as they experience the overpowering testimony of Handel’s Messiah would agree.

The zeal of the Korean Saints for missionary work also played a great role in the growth of the Church. One great member missionary was Lee Sung Man of the Jamsil Ward, who joined the Church in his 50s. He had many ups and downs in his life; however, he always had a positive attitude in his religious life. A shoe repairman, he piled up copies of the Book of Mormon in his shop and invited customers to take one for free if they would read it. Over 50 people, including his relatives, joined the Church because of him. He read the standard works dozens of times. They were found beside him when he died.8

In Charles Dickens’s timeless classic A Christmas Carol, Bob Cratchit hoped to spend Christmas Day with his family. “‘If quite convenient, Sir,’” he asked his employer, Mr. Scrooge.
“‘It’s not convenient,’ said Scrooge, ‘and it’s not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you’d think yourself ill used.’ …
“‘And yet,’ said Scrooge, ‘you don’t think me ill-used, when I pay a day’s wages for no work.’
“The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
“‘A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!’ said Scrooge.”
For Scrooge—as with any selfish, or “natural,” man—sacrifice is never convenient.

In A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge changed his ways—he was not the man he had been. Likewise, this is the gospel of repentance. If the Spirit is prompting us to more fully obey the law of sacrifice in our lives, may we begin making that change today.

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.
However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.
Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”
How right she is!

I was late! I threw on a nice dress, grabbed a hair tie, drove to church, parked, and hurried inside. Whew! I found a seat on the stand just as the bishop got up to start sacrament meeting.
I was speaking that Sunday, so I quickly looked over my notes, making sure I didn’t forget anything. In no time at all, it seemed like the sacrament meeting was over, and I was going to Sunday School. Another sacrament success!
But was it?
Over the next week I began to wonder. Another Sunday rolled around, and as I sat in sacrament meeting, considering what the sacrament meant to me, a thought hit me: I recommit each week to always remember Jesus Christ, but how seriously was I doing that?
I wanted to change, so I decided to come up with a weekly plan.
During the week, I would spend time considering my behavior and asking forgiveness for my sins. I would also make sure to arrive early to church so I could listen to the prelude music and feel the Spirit.
During the sacrament, I would remember Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I’d prayerfully review what I did right and what I did wrong. I’d ask myself, "Lord, what lack I yet?" (see Matthew 19:20).
Every day after the sacrament, I would pray for help to improve and to remember Christ.
As I followed my plan, I grew to really love the sacrament! I loved praying to Heavenly Father and talking with Him about my life. Regardless of my behavior the past week, I was always grateful for Jesus Christ’s Atonement and the opportunity to change and become better. Now I’ve learned that the sacrament isn’t just for Sundays; it’s for every day.

I saw his wagon coming across the flats, wheels churning up the dust, wagon top flapping in the wind. I slid off Red’s back and broke into a run for the cabin.
“Look, Ma!” I hollered. “The Bible man is coming!”
Ma came to the door. Shading her eyes against the sun with a flour-covered hand, she watched the dust cloud slowly moving our way. “If he stops here, help unhitch and feed his horses,” she said. “I’ll get the biscuits into the oven.”
I tied Red to the corral poles and sat on the fence to wait. I knew he’d stop. Anybody who knew about Ma’s biscuits wouldn’t pass on by. And the Bible peddler knew about them, sure enough. He’d stuffed down plenty of them every time he’d stopped by our cabin.
The peddler would likely be hauling the same wooden box filled with hymnbooks and Bibles. And he’d talk about how he was saving “lost sheep” by selling his books to folks.
He usually teased me about my red hair matching perfectly with my horse, Red. I didn’t much look forward to his teasing.
When the peddler drove into the yard, I hopped off the fence to help him unhitch.
“See you still got that red colt,” he said, first thing.
I nodded. “I ride him now.”
“Want to sell him?” he asked, all the while rubbing his thick mustache.
My head jerked up. “I won’t sell him for any price! He’s the best thing I ever had!”
He chuckled and slapped the flank of the nearest unhitched horse. I led his team to the corral and tossed them some loose hay. I gave Red some too. Then I sprinted for the cabin. Even though I dreaded the peddler’s teasing, I didn’t want to miss out on anything.
He was eating Ma’s biscuits like he’d never get another chance. Ma had set out fresh buttermilk for him too. I slid onto a stool, hoping she’d set some out for me. But she paid me no mind at all, and I saw why. She was holding one of his books and sliding her fingers over its pages edged with gold. “How much?” she asked.
I missed what he told her, his mouth being so full of biscuit. But Ma heard. She just sort of smiled, put the book down ever so gently on the table, and shook her head.
The Bible man glanced at me. “I’d take that red colt out yonder for it,” he told Ma. “This here is the finest Bible made. I’d throw in the latest hymnbook to boot.” He might have winked at Ma, but I didn’t see it.
I came off the stool, my eyes wide. “You can’t do that, Ma! Red’s my own!” I gave the peddler a dirty look. “Red’s worth more’n any old book; you know he is.”
The peddler gulped down the last of the buttermilk and rose from the table. “I’ll come by next year,” he said. He looked at me. “Maybe by then Ben can figure out a way for you to have that Bible, him being the man here now.”
I looked at Ma. What looked to be a tear slid down her cheek. I’d not seen Ma shed tears since Pa died, and it choked me. I knew she really wanted that Bible, and I wished that I could figure out a way. But I sure couldn’t part with Red to get it for her.
I was still choked some when I went to lead the peddler’s team outside and hitched them up again to the wagon. I held the team while the Bible man put an armload of books back into the wooden box at the end of the wagon bed and climbed up onto the wagon seat. I wasn’t sorry to see him go.
I watched him going toward the knoll that marked one edge of our homestead, his wagon wheels making dust again. He hadn’t teased me at all about my red hair, and I puzzled over it.
Right in the middle of my puzzling, Ma came running out of the cabin, hollering, “He forgot the Bible!” Her face was full of worry. “He’ll think I kept it on purpose!”
My mouth dropped open. Nobody could think that about Ma. “I’ll catch up to him,” I promised her.
I ran to untie Red, and sidled him over to the fence so that I could climb onto his back. Then I took off after the Bible man. Halfway to the knoll I slowed, thinking. What if I don’t catch up? Will he remember leaving the Bible behind? Ma would have plenty of pleasure from that book by the time he comes again.
I let Red plod slowly along in the dusty road, and the peddler’s wagon went out of sight behind the knoll. I reined Red in and sat awhile. Then I started feeling uncomfortable.
I had never done anything deceitful like I was doing now. It bothered me some that I had told Ma that I’d catch up to the peddler, and I wasn’t even trying. I kicked Red and sent him toward the knoll at a good lope.
At the top of the knoll I stopped and stared. The wagon was bouncing and rattling off through the sagebrush, the team looked to be on a dead run, and the peddler was pulling hard on the reins.
Runaway!
The clatter of the bouncing wagon was something fierce. It swerved through a boulder patch, hit a big rock, and bounced high in the air. The wooden box came flying out, sending books sailing. I closed my eyes for an instant and prayed that the Bible man wouldn’t go sailing off too. When I looked again, I saw that the wagon had slowed some and the peddler had the team circling.
I rode Red down through the brush to help look for the scattered books. Nobody will miss a gold-leaf Bible in all this mess, I decided. And with such excitement, even Ma wouldn’t hold me to remembering why I’d set out after the Bible man.
I slid off Red’s back, righted the wooden box, and gathered the books and loose pages the best that I could. It was a while before the peddler had the horses calmed enough to drive them to where I was. Then he just looked at the jumbled books and rubbed his mustache.
After a while he said, “An old sage hen and her young’uns flew up right under the horses’ noses. Scared them clean out of their wits for a spell.”
He picked up one of the books. “Not worth much now,” he said.
“There’s one book not hurt at all,” I heard myself say. “You left the gold-edged Bible back at the cabin. Ma sent me to tell you.”
I could have kicked myself for saying it. I looked away, chewing my lip, knowing that Ma’s only chance to read that Bible was gone.
“A good, biscuit-bakin’ woman like your Ma should have a Bible,” he said. “Now, I could be takin’ Red there as payment for it.”
My chin dropped, and my heart plumb sank inside me. I figured I’d best get Red out of the Bible man’s sight. When the peddler stooped to load the wooden box, I started scrambling onto Red’s back.
Then I heard him laugh.
“I meant her to have that Bible—to even up some for all those good biscuits that she’s fed me. You tell her so, Ben.”
He climbed up onto the wagon, grinning at me, and I knew then that he’d been teasing me all along. That was why he hadn’t mentioned my red hair. He had sparked more fire out of me over Red than he ever could have about my hair.
As the Bible man turned his team toward the road, I waved. “I’ll tell her!” I yelled.
And I was kind of sorry to see him go.

I used to attend a school where it was hard to be a Latter-day Saint. The LDS students were a minority, and not many of the other students shared our standards. It seemed especially frustrating for me because my parents divorced during my first year of high school.
My family was divided. We fought all the time. My parents couldn’t say anything kind about each other, and they discouraged me from attending church. Our home was full of conflict.
During that time, life was pretty confusing for me. I guess that’s when I really discovered the scriptures. My family wasn’t supportive of my scripture reading. Even my mother used to tell me it was a waste of time. But in the Book of Mormon I found someone else who had to deal with family problems—and reading of his experiences gave me strength to deal with my own.
Nephi’s father, Lehi, often had to counsel Nephi’s older brothers, Laman and Lemuel, “because of [their] stiffneckedness … ; for behold they did murmur in many things against their father” (1 Ne. 2:11).
“And it came to pass that Laman was angry with me, and also with my father,” wrote Nephi; “and also was Lemuel, for he hearkened unto the words of Laman. Wherefore Laman and Lemuel did speak many hard words unto us, their younger brothers, and they did smite us even with a rod” (1 Ne. 3:28).
I tried to set a good example for my family. I went to church, attended Mutual, and prayed regularly. I even invited my mom to get active in the Church again.
Nephi also tried to set a good example and encouraged his brothers to return to the Lord: “And now I, Nephi, … spake unto them, saying, … Behold ye are mine elder brethren, and how is it that ye are so hard in your hearts, and so blind in your minds, that ye have need that I, your younger brother, should speak unto you, yea, and set an example for you?
“How is it that ye have not hearkened unto the word of the Lord?” (1 Ne. 7:8–9).
Sometimes, in private, I cried. Sometimes I prayed for my family. Always I felt lonely.
Again, I knew Nephi had experienced similar feelings: “Behold, Laman and Lemuel would not hearken unto my words; and being grieved because of the hardness of their hearts I cried unto the Lord for them” (1 Ne. 2:18).
When I was sad, I knew Nephi had known sadness. When I was discouraged, I knew Nephi had known discouragement. When I was lonely, I knew Nephi had known loneliness.
No, my story doesn’t have a nice, neat ending. I wish I could say we all lived “happily ever after,” but that hasn’t happened yet. My home is still unhappy. But Heavenly Father has given me the scriptures, and I know He understands exactly what it is like for me at home. Although the conflict hasn’t stopped, at least I have found comfort and peace and ways to cope.
Nephi said: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Just as Nephi knew the Lord would help him accomplish anything he was commanded to do, I know Heavenly Father will continue to strengthen and support me as I struggle to deal with a troubled earthly home. The scriptures are my lifeline to my heavenly home.

Carly pretended to study her long division, but her mind was on Sara. What do you do for a friend whose mother had died?
Carly and Sara had been best friends since they were in preschool. They’d learned to ride bikes together, taken tap-dance lessons together, and done almost everything together. Carly felt as welcome in Sara’s house as she felt in her own.
But two months ago, Sara’s mother had died. Carly knew her friend was still hurting because Sara had a funny kind of look on her face all the time—the kind that made Carly want to cry.
She wanted to buy Sara a special gift, but she didn’t have very much money. Maybe she could do some extra chores and earn some money that way.
Carly hurried home after school, eager to ask her mother.
“I know you want to help,” Mother said after Carly explained her plan. “But the kind of hurt Sara has won’t go away by buying her a present.”
“I know,” Carly said. “I just wanted to remind her that I love her.”
Carly thought more about that. How could she best show Sara that she cared? She recalled the blessing her father had given her when he confirmed her a member of the Church: “I bless you with the power of understanding. Use it to bless the lives of others.”
Understanding. Carly understood some things that Sara should know.
The next day, Carly wrote her testimony on the inside cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon. She tucked it inside her backpack.
As usual, Carly and Sara sat next to each other in the cafeteria at lunch. “I have something for you,” Carly said. She handed Sara the Book of Mormon.
Sara gave Carly a strange look. “What’s this?”
“It’s one of the scriptures we have in our church. We use it along with the Bible.”
Sara opened the book to the page where Carly had written her testimony. She read it, then looked up at her friend. “You never talked about your church before.”
Embarrassed, Carly nodded. “I know.”
“Why are you giving this to me now?” Sara asked. “Because of Mom dying?”
Carly nodded again. “Reading the Book of Mormon makes me feel good inside. I want you to have that feeling too.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Carly hesitated. She had never tried to explain the feelings she had when she read the scriptures. “The kind that makes you feel good right here.” She placed a hand over her heart.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period.
The next day, Sara asked Carly more questions about the Book of Mormon. A soft happiness enfolded Carly. She knew she had given Sara the right gift.

by Deborah J. Lingle
The Young Women of the Battleground Ward, Vancouver Washington West Stake, responded to a challenge. Their advisers encouraged each girl to purchase a Book of Mormon or A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, write her testimony inside, and give it to a nonmember.
Catching the spirit of the challenge of missionary work, the 13 girls managed to give away 22 books in eight months.
After prayerful consideration, Jennifer Goodner, a Mia Maid, felt inspired to place her book with a friend at school. The friend thanked her and said she’d been waiting for Jennifer to approach her because she had so many questions about the Church.
Each girl had experiences that were unique. Alyce Clark, a Mia Maid, managed to place seven books by herself, one to a man who had rejected the Book of Mormon for many years.
The project was an overwhelming success. The process of writing their testimonies helped the girls to examine their beliefs and grow closer to their Heavenly Father. The experience also gave the girls the self-confidence to speak out about the gospel.

Dear brothers and sisters, we have received wonderful teachings from our leaders during these last two days. I testify to you that if we strive to apply these inspired and timely teachings in our lives, the Lord, through His grace, will help each of us carry our cross and make our burdens light.1
While in the vicinity of Caesarea Philippi, the Savior revealed to His disciples what He would suffer at the hands of the elders, chief priests, and scribes in Jerusalem. He specifically taught them about His death and glorious Resurrection.2 At that point in time, His disciples did not completely understand His divine mission on earth. Peter himself, when he heard what the Savior had said, took Him aside and rebuked Him, saying, “Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee.”3
To help His disciples to understand that devotion to His work includes submission and suffering, the Savior emphatically declared:
“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.
“For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.
“For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”4
Through this declaration, the Savior emphasized that all those who are willing to follow Him need to deny themselves and control their desires, appetites, and passions, sacrificing everything, even life itself if necessary, being entirely submissive to the will of the Father—just as He did.5 This is, in fact, the price to be paid for the salvation of a soul. Jesus purposely and metaphorically used the symbol of a cross to help His disciples better understand what sacrifice and devotion to the Lord’s cause would truly mean. The image of a cross was well known among His disciples and the inhabitants of the Roman Empire because Romans forced victims of crucifixion to publicly carry their own cross or crossbeam to the place where their execution would occur.6
It was only after the Savior’s Resurrection that the disciples’ minds were opened to understand all that had been written about Him7 and what would be required of them from that time on.8
In the same fashion, all of us, brothers and sisters, need to open our minds and our hearts in order to more fully understand the relevance of taking upon ourselves our crosses and following Him. We learn through the scriptures that those who wish to take their cross upon themselves love Jesus Christ in such a way that they deny themselves of all ungodliness and of every worldly lust and keep His commandments.9
Our determination to cast off all that is contrary to God’s will and to sacrifice all we are asked to give and to strive to follow His teachings will help us to endure in the path of Jesus Christ’s gospel—even in the face of tribulation, the weakness of our souls, or the social pressure and worldly philosophies that oppose His teachings.
For example, for those who have not yet found an eternal companion and may be feeling lonely and hopeless, or for those who have been divorced and feel abandoned and forgotten, I assure you that accepting the Savior’s invitation of taking upon yourselves your crosses and following Him means continuing with faith on the Lord’s path, maintaining a pattern of dignity, and not indulging in worldly habits that will eventually take away our hope in God’s love and mercy.
The same principles apply to those of you who are experiencing same-gender attraction and feel discouraged and helpless. And maybe for this reason some of you are feeling that the gospel of Jesus Christ is not for you anymore. If that is the case, I want to assure you that there is always hope in God the Father and in His plan of happiness, in Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice, and in living Their loving commandments. In His perfect wisdom, power, justice, and mercy, the Lord may seal us His, that we may be brought to His presence and have everlasting salvation, if we are steadfast and immovable in keeping the commandments10 and are always abounding in good works.11
To those who have committed serious sins, accepting this same invitation means, among other things, to humble yourself before God, to counsel with appropriate Church leaders, and to repent and forsake your sins. This process will also bless all who are fighting against debilitating addictions, including opioids, drugs, alcohol, and pornography. Taking these steps brings you closer to the Savior, who can ultimately free you from guilt, sorrow, and spiritual and physical slavery. Additionally, you may also desire to seek the support of your family, friends, and competent medical and counseling professionals.
Please never give up after subsequent failures and consider yourself incapable of abandoning sins and overcoming addiction. You cannot afford to stop trying and thereafter continue in weakness and sin! Always strive to do your best, manifesting through your works the desire to cleanse the inner vessel, as taught by the Savior.12 Sometimes solutions to certain challenges come after months and months of continuous effort. The promise found in the Book of Mormon that “it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do,”13 is applicable in these circumstances. Please remember that the Savior’s gift of grace “is not necessarily limited in time to ‘after’ all we can do. We may receive His grace before, during, and after the time when we expend our own efforts.”14
I testify that as we continually strive to overcome our challenges, God will bless us with the gifts of faith to be healed and of the working of miracles.15 He will do for us what we are not capable of doing for ourselves.
Additionally, for those who feel bitter, angry, offended, or chained to sorrows for something you feel is undeserved, to take up one’s cross and follow the Savior means to strive to lay aside these feelings and turn to the Lord so He can free us from this state of mind and help us to find peace. Unfortunately, if we hold on to these negative feelings and emotions, we may find ourselves living without the influence of the Lord’s Spirit in our lives. We cannot repent for other people, but we can forgive them—by refusing to be held hostages by those who have harmed us.16
The scriptures teach that there is a way out of these situations—by inviting our Savior to help us to replace our stony hearts with new hearts.17 For this to happen, we need to come before the Lord with our weaknesses18 and implore His help and forgiveness,19 especially during the sacred moment when we partake of the sacrament each Sunday. May we choose to seek His help and take an important and difficult step by forgiving those who have hurt us so that our wounds may begin to heal. I promise you that in your doing so, your nights will be full of the relief that comes from a mind at peace with the Lord.
While in Liberty Jail in 1839, the Prophet Joseph Smith wrote an epistle to Church members containing prophecies that are so very applicable in all these circumstances and situations. He wrote, “All thrones and dominions, principalities and powers, shall be revealed and set forth upon all who have endured valiantly for the gospel of Jesus Christ.”20 Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, those who have taken upon themselves the name of the Savior, trusting in His promises and persevering to the end, will be saved21 and may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness.22
We all face adverse circumstances in our lives that make us feel sad, helpless, hopeless, and sometimes even weakened. Some of these feelings may lead us to question the Lord: “Why am I experiencing these situations?” or “Why are my expectations not met? After all, I am doing everything in my power to carry my cross and follow the Savior!”
My dear friends, we must remember that taking our cross upon ourselves includes being humble and trusting in God and in His infinite wisdom. We must acknowledge that He is aware of each of us and of our needs. It is also necessary to accept the fact that the Lord’s timing is different than ours. Sometimes we seek for a blessing and set a time limit for the Lord to fulfill it. We cannot condition our faithfulness to Him by imposing upon Him a deadline for the answers to our desires. When we do this, we resemble the skeptical Nephites from ancient times, who mocked their brothers and sisters by saying that the time was past for the fulfillment of the words spoken by Samuel the Lamanite, creating confusion among those who believed.23 We need to trust the Lord enough to be still and know that He is God, that He knows all things, and that He is aware of each of us.24
I recently had the opportunity to minister to a widowed sister named Franca Calamassi, who is suffering from a debilitating illness. Sister Calamassi was the first member of her family to join the restored Church of Jesus Christ. Although her husband was never baptized, he consented to meet with the missionaries and often attended Church meetings. Despite these circumstances, Sister Calamassi remained faithful and raised her four children in the gospel of Jesus Christ. A year following her husband’s passing, Sister Calamassi took her children to the temple, and they participated in sacred ordinances and were sealed together as a family. The promises associated with these ordinances brought her much hope, joy, and happiness that helped her carry on in life.
When the first symptoms of the disease began to appear, her bishop gave her a blessing. At that time she told her bishop that she was ready to accept the Lord’s will, expressing her faith to be healed as well as her faith to endure her illness to the end.
During my visit, while holding Sister Calamassi’s hand and looking into her eyes, I saw an angelic glow emanating from her countenance—reflecting her confidence in God’s plan and her perfect brightness of hope in the Father’s love and plan for her.25 I felt her firm determination to endure in her faith until the end by taking up her cross, despite the challenges she was facing. This sister’s life is a testimony of Christ, a statement of her faith and devotion to Him.
Brothers and sisters, I want to testify to you that taking upon us our cross and following the Savior requires us to follow His example and strive to become like Him,26 patiently facing the circumstances of life, denying and despising the appetites of the natural man, and waiting on the Lord. The Psalmist wrote:
“Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.”27
“He is our help and our shield.”28
I testify to you that following our Master’s footsteps and waiting on Him who is the ultimate healer of our lives will provide rest to our souls and make our burdens easy and light.29 Of these things I testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The new home was just about ready for the Smith family in October, 1825, when Joseph went to work in Harmony, Pennsylvania. It was there he met Emma Hale, oldest daughter of Isaac and Elizabeth Hale. The tilt of her head and her sweet singing voice entranced Joseph. Unexpectedly he found himself more lighthearted than he had been for some time.
Their friendship deepened into love. A sweet peace filled Joseph. “You know how lonely I have been since Alvin died,” he confided to his parents. “Emma has lifted that loneliness. She is my choice above all others.”
Father Smith put his arm around Joseph’s shoulder. “We are happy for you, Joseph!” he exclaimed sincerely.
“You must bring her here to live in our new home with us,” Lucy added warmly.
They were married in January, 1827, a little over a year from their first meeting, and the year in which Joseph would receive the record. Their life together was to be one of great contrasts—Emma, with her gentle dignity and bewitching dark eyes, and Joseph, tall like his father, with his compelling blue eyes enfolding her in warmth and tenderness.
It was a proud Joseph who took his bride home to his family. The pathway to the big house was swept of snow and the window panes sparkled in the bright winter sunshine. Inside, every chair and table and floor was scrubbed and shining, and savory smells hinted at delicious food prepared and waiting.
“She sure has pretty hair,” approved William as Father and Mother Smith opened their arms in welcome. The rest followed with affectionate hugs and handclasps while little Lucy, now over five years old, curtsied shyly. In response, Emma flashed a smile of appreciation to each one. The family circle widened to include Emma in its love and concern.

Photo illustration by Welden C. Andersen; background photograph by iStock/Thinkstock
When I was 17 my mother found out she had breast cancer. The shock overwhelmed my family and brought me to my knees in deep prayer. I cried for almost an hour, asking God why He would let this happen and if He would heal my mom. Relief began to come a few days later when our ward members, extended family, friends, and neighbors learned of the news. They rushed to our aid. Meals were brought in, kind words and deeds were exchanged, concern and sympathy given. The love we felt from them was deep.
But even though we received so much help, I fell into a deep depression. I didn’t care what happened to me. I stopped doing things I loved. I became lazy and careless with chores, schoolwork, and my Church calling. I saw my situation and the extra responsibility placed upon me as a great burden. I felt I could do everything myself and did not need anyone’s help.
Satan worked especially hard on me, telling me that I should feel burdened, that God wanted me to be unhappy, and that I wasn’t anything special. Sadly, for a while I believed it. I couldn’t see the bright side of anything. I did not see myself as a daughter of God. Confusion blinded me, and I couldn’t see my many blessings. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I felt pain and heartache.
Thankfully, a close friend spent a lot of time helping me, and my siblings supported me as well. I became more open with my parents, who in turn became more open with me. But still I struggled.
My mom would often comfort me when I felt down. When I felt like all hope was gone, it was nice to have someone to talk to and help me out. She would come home in between treatments and iron our clothing, prepare meals, and offer us comfort and counsel. It amazed me how she could endure such trials and yet be so selfless.
When I discussed my depression with her one day, she told me that the fact that I cried and admitted I needed help did not make me weak. I realized she was taking care of me when I should have been taking care of her.
After one of her many surgeries, my mom was in the recovery room. At the time, I couldn’t help but think I needed my own recovery room. I had no idea where to start the healing process, but I had to do something.
So I started renewing my talents and abilities as well as developing new ones. I cooked and did the laundry. I took more walks to think. I sang solos. I played the clarinet and piano more and began playing better. I read more books. I started to listen to more uplifting music. I surrounded myself with advice from Church leaders and other valuable sources. I became closer to God and my Savior through personal prayer, fasting, and scripture study.
Still I felt like my peace was fleeting. It was hard when I wanted to be at peace on some days, and instead I would feel the sadness. The mood swings became even more difficult. It seemed my journey for peace had only begun.
Then I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with my Young Women class. I thought about my problems while in the temple and while flipping through the pages of my scriptures. I found myself reading about the Savior in Isaiah 53:4, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.”
A few minutes later, the confusion that had blinded me and caused me so much pain completely vanished. The Lord broke through the darkness and the despair of my heart and left the peace of the Spirit instead. I had a sense of clarity and happiness that I hadn’t felt for a long time. I saw how many blessings I had received and how much everyone had done for me and my family. I saw how close my family, friends, and I had become. I saw myself as a truly beautiful daughter of God.
There in the temple I found my recovery room.
Looking back on this experience, I realize that I now have more empathy and compassion for those less fortunate than I am. I know where to recover. The hardest year of my life became the best year of my life.

Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

Photograph from Getty Images
After faithfully serving a mission in Mozambique, I returned home and, like many other returned missionaries, quickly turned to my studies and work.
I lived in Brazil in a city that borders Paraguay and found employment importing products for a large supermarket on the Paraguayan side. The blessing of having learned English on my mission helped me gain this position. During this time, I was married and blessed with a daughter.
When a financial crisis in Brazil culminated in the decline of Brazil’s currency, my work was directly affected. It caused a decline in the sales of the products I regularly imported. By the end of February the following year, I was left with practically nothing to do. Losing my job was almost certain, as had been the case with other colleagues. I became worried about supporting my wife and little daughter. I even started looking for another job.
I spoke with my wife about the situation. She suggested that we fast. While we fasted, peace enveloped our hearts and we felt that all would be well, although I could not imagine how.
The following day at work, my manager called me in. I thought that the dreaded moment had come—I was about to lose my job. But to my surprise, my manager told me that he had an idea. Because I had ability with English, he proposed that I translate legal documents that normally were handed over to lawyers to arrange for translation. He told me if I succeeded in performing the translation, I would be given that task and it would result in a savings for the department. I immediately began translating the documents. When I presented my manager the successful translations, he was thrilled! I was thrilled too because I was able to remain employed.
When I went to receive my check, which could have been my last, I was surprised to see that my salary had increased. My heart was touched, and I was grateful to our Heavenly Father. Through this experience I know that fasting opens the windows of heaven.

In their ward in Winnipeg, the Primary is small. Michael and Kaylene are the only members of the Church in their school. “Michael is really missionary-minded,” says his mom, Judy. When the missionaries in his ward had an open house at the church, Michael wrote his testimony in a few copies of the Book of Mormon and did his best to give them to his friends at school. None of his friends were interested, but Michael says that he’s not going to give up.

A while ago, my parents went away for a few days and I stayed with my grandmother. When it was time for bed, she said: “Megan, come say your bedtime prayer.”
“I don’t know how,” I said.
“It’s easy,” she explained. “You start out by calling upon Heavenly Father. Then you thank Him for your blessings. After that you can ask Him for whatever you need. It’s also important to ask Him to help other people. Then you end your prayer by saying ‘in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’”
“That doesn’t sound so hard.”
“It isn’t,” she replied. “Let’s try it.”
Every night after that, I said my prayers and my grandmother helped me. The last night I was with her, she sat down on the bed beside me and put her arm around my shoulders. Her eyes were kind, and her voice sounded quiet and serious.
“Megan,” she said, “I want you to remember that your Heavenly Father loves you and that He is always near. Don’t forget to talk to Him. Since I’ve joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I know that it’s very important to stay close to Heavenly Father and Jesus. You will be much happier and have a more peaceful life. I know that your parents aren’t interested in the Church at this time, but maybe someday they will be.”
After I went home, I tried really hard to do what my grandmother said. Sometimes I couldn’t think of very much to say when I prayed, and sometimes I was awfully tired. After a while I started to forget, and many days would go by before I realized I hadn’t said my prayers. When I was away from my grandmother, it didn’t seem so important anymore.
Then something happened that made me remember what my grandmother had told me. Mom and Dad and I were traveling to visit my uncle, who was sick in the hospital. It had been snowing for a long time, and the wind sounded like a siren. It was getting harder and harder to see because of all the blowing snow in the dark night. Mom said we should turn back. Dad said we should keep going because my uncle needed us. As we went around a corner, the car didn’t turn—it went straight into a ditch! We were fine, but the car was hopelessly buried in snow.
Dad went up to the highway. He was gone a long time, and when he came back, he looked cold and tired. “I couldn’t see a yard in front of my face,” he said.
“Did any cars go by?” asked Mom.
“A few, but they didn’t seem to see me. They just kept going.”
“If we start the car,” said Mom, “at least we could keep warm.”
“We need to get the car up on the road first,” said Dad. “There’s too much snow packed around it. I’m going back up to the road to see if I can get help.”
By then the wind sounded like a person who was screaming for help. My feet throbbed with cold, and I was shivering hard. I felt afraid, more afraid than I had ever felt in my whole life. I started to cry.
“It’s all right, Megan,” Mother said, squeezing my hand. “Your father will take care of us.”
When Mom said “father,” I remembered that I had another father, a Heavenly Father, and that my grandmother had said He would always be there if I needed Him.
I slid off the car seat onto the cold hard floor. I knelt down and folded my hands in front of me and closed my eyes. I thanked Heavenly Father for Mom and Dad and for my two pet mice, Sylvester and Henry, and for Gladys, my goldfish. I told Him that I needed His help, and that my grandmother had told me He would help me. I asked Him to please get us out of the ditch. I told Him that I was sorry I had forgotten to say my prayers. Then I ended my prayer the way my grandmother had taught me, in the name of Jesus Christ.
“What are you doing, Megan?” Mom asked as she peered down at me.
“I was saying a prayer,” I said.
There was a moment of silence, and I thought for sure that she would get mad, but she didn’t. I heard a small coughing sound, like she was trying to get a lump out of her throat. Then she said, “I don’t suppose a prayer will hurt.”
I didn’t feel cold anymore. I felt warm and peaceful. I climbed up into the front seat beside Mom. I sang some songs. Mom even sang a few of them with me. Quite a long time passed, but things didn’t seem so bad anymore. We were in the middle of “Jesus Loves Me” when we heard a roaring sound, and a few moments later Dad opened the car door and poked his head inside.
“Get out of the car,” he said. “A truck driver’s going to pull us out with his rig.”
“Thank goodness!” Mom exclaimed. “Someone finally saw you!”
“Well, it was kind of strange,” Dad said. “This trucker was going really slow. In fact, he was hardly moving at all. When I thanked him for stopping, he told me he did it because he kept getting this feeling that he should slow down. He said the feeling got so strong that he couldn’t ignore it, so he stopped. That’s when he saw me.”
“That is strange,” said Mom.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” I said out loud.
Mom looked at me. Dad looked at me. Then they both looked away without saying anything at all. As I scrambled through the snow toward the truck, I knew that tonight, and every night after this, I would remember to say my prayers.

I was raised on a small farm in northern Utah. We were blessed to have some land—not enough to make a living, but enough to make work for a young boy. My parents were good, hardworking people. In order to make ends meet, my father took an outside job. Each morning before he left for work, he made a list of chores I was to finish before he came home that evening.
I remember that on one occasion, one of the items on the list was to take a small, broken part of some farm equipment to the blacksmith shop to have it repaired. I was uncomfortable about going. My father hadn’t left any money, and I wondered what I should do. I put off going as long as I could. When all my other chores were finished, I knew that I couldn’t avoid it any longer. Father expected the broken part to be repaired when he came home, and it was my responsibility to see that it was done.
I can still remember walking the mile or so to the blacksmith shop. I even remember how uncomfortable I was watching the blacksmith weld the part. As he finished, I nervously told him that I had no money but that my father would pay him later. I’m sure that he saw how uneasy I was. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Son, don’t worry. Your father’s word is as good as his bond.” I remember running all the way home, relieved that the part had been repaired and grateful that my father was known as a man whose word was as good as his bond.
As a boy, I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I knew that it was good and something to be desired. It was years later when I recognized that a person whose word is as good as his bond is a person of honesty and integrity, a person to be trusted.

I have always been ambitious about education and leap at every opportunity. One year in high school, I took courses at the local community college through a program funded by my school. I really like computer science, and I was excited to take a computer programming class so I could learn more.
When I got my schedule from the college, I realized that my programming class was at the same time as my Young Women activity every week. I tried to ignore it at first and tell myself that education was encouraged by the Church and that I was doing the right thing. As the time for classes to start drew nearer, I felt more and more uncomfortable about taking the class. When the time came that I had to tell my Young Women leader that I wouldn’t be making it to any of the activities, she sounded devastated. She told me that I would be sorely missed, and she would do anything to help me.
After talking to her, I felt bad that I thought the class was more important. When I got home, I went to my room and looked at the goal board I had made for Personal Progress. I had written on it, “If you want something, you’ve got to prove it.” I read my scriptures with that in mind and came across Mosiah 2:21. I realized I had to prove that I was going to serve God and not myself by letting my desires get in the way. I cancelled the class the next day. I had a wonderful year of Young Women activities, and I was able to set a higher priority for the Church in my life. I know it was the right thing to drop that class, and I am really glad that I did.

Mission preparation should definitely include learning about the gospel, but you don’t have to know everything before you go. For example, as a young man, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was worried he wasn’t prepared to serve a mission. He said, “I remember praying, ‘Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?’ I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: ‘You don’t know everything, but you know enough!’”1