Gospel Story Finder

I like learning about other people and what they’ve been through, because I’ve been through a lot. I find a lot in common with others who struggle, because I see that I’m not the only one who goes through hard things.
I grew up in and out of foster homes. My parents weren’t there when I needed them, and some of my siblings and I were separated. When I was little, I didn’t really get to be a kid because I was busy taking care of my siblings, especially my brother who has autism. I felt like the parent when I was supposed to be a kid myself, not raising kids.
I knew about the Church, but I never really went. It was hard to believe in God when I felt like everybody else’s life was OK but He had forgotten about me and left me to go through what I was going through.
But as I got older, I started to recognize blessings in my life. I learned a lot from my mistakes and other people’s mistakes. I realized that even though it felt like everyone had broken my trust, I could always trust God. So I put my trust in Him and prayed. I knew He was there for me, even though I had no one else. I’m glad I have someone to talk to who listens to me and helps me get through hard things.
Alexis R., 14, California, USA

President Boyd K. Packer has counseled us to have a hymn memorized so that when an inappropriate thought comes into our minds, we can replace it with a hymn. In applying this instruction, a friend of mine explained: “One day I left my office for lunch. After I had walked for about two blocks, I noticed that I had been humming ‘my song’: ‘I Am a Child of God.’ As I chained my thoughts back several hundred yards, I realized that as I had crossed the street from my office, a young woman, inappropriately clothed, had crossed in front of me. Immediately, subconsciously, the words and music of ‘I Am a Child of God’ began to roll through my mind—to displace inappropriate thoughts.” That day my friend learned a great lesson about his ability to control his thoughts.

When I found out that our stake was going to produce a musical show I was filled with the desire to participate. I had been in many plays, but since becoming totally blind three years earlier, I had neglected my love of amateur acting. I was afraid that the directors would never use a blind actress, and I wondered if I would be able to handle the complex stage movements. But my desires overcame my fears, and I auditioned for a part in the show.
The audition went well, but even my very supportive husband warned me not to get too hopeful. To my surprise, I not only got the part I wanted, but one of the directors hadn’t even realized I was blind! Had I let my fears keep me from trying, I would have missed one of the most delightful experiences of my life.

I went through a rough patch my senior year in high school when I wasn’t making great choices. I remember seeing my mom crying, and I wondered if I’d disappointed her. At the time, I worried that her tears meant she’d lost hope for me, and if she didn’t feel hope for me, maybe there wasn’t a way back.

But my dad was more practiced at zooming out and taking the long view. He’d learned from experience that worry feels a lot like love, but it’s not the same. He used the eye of faith to see that everything would work out, and his hopeful approach changed me.

When I graduated from high school and went to BYU, my dad sent letters reminding me of who I was. He became my cheerleader, and everybody needs a cheerleader—someone who isn’t telling you, “You’re not running fast enough”; they’re lovingly reminding you that you can.

Dad exemplified Lehi’s dream. Like Lehi, he knew that you don’t chase after your loved ones who feel lost. “You stay where you are and call them. You go to the tree, stay at the tree, keep eating the fruit and, with a smile on your face, continue to beckon to those you love and show by example that eating the fruit is a happy thing!”

This visual image has helped me during low moments when I find myself at the tree, eating the fruit and crying because I’m worried; and really, how helpful is that? Instead, let’s choose hope—hope in our Creator and in one another, fueling our ability to be better than we are right now.

When I started meeting with the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they used a spectacular way to motivate me to read the Book of Mormon. Whenever I had a question, they opened it and read the answer from it. I wondered what kind of book it was. Finally they asked me if I wouldn’t like to read the book. I said, “Yes, I would!” They gave me a Book of Mormon as a gift, and I was extremely glad. I read it in three weeks and was very impressed with its teachings. At the end of that time, I was baptized into the Church. I have a great testimony about the influence of the scriptures in the life of a person.

Eight-year-old Martin Wang raced upstairs to the third floor of his apartment building. He pressed the doorbell and waited impatiently.
“Ni hao (How are you)?” his mother greeted him cheerfully when she opened the door.
Martin didn’t answer. His mother continued talking in Mandarin, asking him what he had done in school that day and if he wanted sweet rice in bamboo leaves for a snack.
“No,” answered Martin in English, “I want a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, like all the other kids have.”
“Haole (All right),” said his mother, still talking in Mandarin. “But sweet rice tastes much better.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want what all the other kids have.”
That evening at supper, as Martin’s father and mother talked about getting ready for the Chinese New Year, which would begin in a few days, Martin burst out angrily, “Speak English!”
“Martin,” said his father. “Why are you so upset?”
“I want you to speak English like everyone else,” said Martin. “And I don’t want to go to the New Year’s festival anymore. I’m tired of being different.” Martin threw down his napkin and ran to his room, crying.
Martin’s mother followed him. “Did something happen in school today?” she asked, sitting next to Martin on his bed.
“Some of the kids said I have funny eyes,” Martin sobbed.
“They’re not funny,” said his mother. “They’re just different from your classmates’. Chinese people have almond-shaped eyes. Yours are especially handsome because you have an extra fold on each eyelid.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want to be just like everyone else.”
“No one is just like everyone else,” his mother told him. “Right now it seems hard, but someday you’ll be glad for your Chinese heritage.”
The next day at school Martin’s teacher asked him if his mother could come in and tell the class about the Chinese New Year. Martin blushed with embarrassment. He was afraid that the other kids would tease him even more. But Martin did ask his mother, and she said that she would be happy to talk to his class.
A few days later, when Martin woke up, he groaned, remembering that his mother was to accompany him to school. At breakfast he said, “I have a stomachache.”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” said his mother. “I’ll tell you what; if you still don’t feel well after I’ve told your class about the Chinese New Year, you can come home with me.”
Martin tried to think of another excuse to stay home, but his mother whisked him out the door and into the car before he could think of one.
In his classroom Martin sat with his head down, staring at the floor. He thought that the other children would make fun of his mother’s broken English. Instead, the children watched with great interest as she held up a bright red sheet of paper with gold characters painted on it and explained that the characters meant “Happy New Year.”
Then she showed the children how Chinese written characters are sometimes like pictures. She wrote: (mù), which means “tree.” Then she wrote (lin), which means “forest.” Then she held up some small red envelopes covered with gold characters.
“What do you think these are for?” she asked.
One of the children raised his hand and guessed that they were for sending letters.
“No,” said Martin’s mother with a smile, “but that’s a good guess. These are special envelopes that we put money into and give to the children as New Year’s presents—right Martin?”
Martin nodded his head reluctantly.
Out of a large plastic bag, his mother pulled a scary-looking dragon head with a long colorful sheet attached to it. The children all oohed and aahed.
Martin looked around in surprise. Everyone seemed excited and genuinely interested. And no one, he realized, had snickered at anything that his mom had said.
“This is a Chinese dragon,” said his mother. “We use it for the dragon dance during the New Year’s celebration. The person chosen for the dragon’s head has to practice for many months. If you would like me to, I will show you a little of the dance. Who would like to be part of the dragon today?”
All the children—even Billy, who had teased Martin about his eyes—eagerly waved their hands and begged to be part of the dragon.
After all the children had a chance to try the dragon dance, Martin’s mother said that she had one more thing to show them. “You must be very careful with these,” she continued. “Adults are the ones that usually light them for our celebrations.” From a sack she pulled a long string with small rolls of red paper attached to it.
“Firecrackers!” yelled one of the boys.
Everyone in the class pushed to the front of the room to have a closer look.
“Boy, you guys are lucky!” Billy told Martin. “You get to set off firecrackers for New Year’s.”
Martin looked at him and smiled. Maybe being Chinese wasn’t so bad after all.
When everyone had sat down, Martin’s mother asked him in Mandarin if his stomach still hurt. Without thinking, he answered her in Mandarin.
“You mean that you can speak Chinese, too?” asked Billy.
Martin nodded.
“Wow!” Billy exclaimed. “Maybe you can teach me some?”
Later, as they lined up together for recess, Martin smiled. “Pengyou,“ he said to Billy as they ran across the blacktop. “That means ‘friend.’”

I was asked a lot of questions by friends and family when I decided to receive my temple endowment:
Are things getting serious in your relationship?
Is this a wedding announcement?
Are you even allowed to receive your endowment if you’re not getting married or serving a mission?
Although I did have a boyfriend at the time and I’d seriously considered a mission, my decision to go to the temple had nothing to do with those things and everything to do with the fact that I felt inspired to more fully accept the Lord’s invitation to “take hold of my covenant” (Isaiah 56:4). It was a sacred, personal decision, and one that I truly felt was right.
Soon after receiving my endowment, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and temples shut down. I was so grateful for the covenants I’d made and the greater understanding I’d gained in the temple, and I knew that my desire to go was inspired. Although your prompting might not have anything to do with a worldwide disaster, the Lord knows when you will need the sustaining power of covenants. He knows when He will need you in His “holy mountain,” so that He can “make [you] joyful in [His] house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:7).

Brother and Sister Rozsa were living in Greenville, Texas, in 1961 when the boys were born. Already the parents of four daughters, the couple were convinced they were never going to have any sons, so they had selected only girls’ names for the twins they thought were coming. A few days before the birth, the doctor called the Rozsas in and told them to get ready for triplets. So, with the addition of one more girl’s name, the couple thought they were prepared.
When the big day came, Brother Rozsa had his ear up against the delivery room door and heard just what he expected—“It’s a girl.” But before that had a chance to register the doctor broke in with “No, wait a minute; it’s a boy,” soon followed by exclamations of “Another boy,” “And another one.”
Practically having to pick himself up off the floor, Brother Rozsa’s first thoughts were “Scouting, fishing, and little league—at last!” An avid athlete and sportsman, Brother Rozsa says he had tried unsuccessfully to turn his very feminine daughters into tomboys. Thus he was overjoyed at the thoughts of not one but three fishing and football companions.

It had been a great day at school. Jeff had spent all recess playing tetherball with his friend, Ben. After two years at his new school, Jeff was glad to finally have a best friend. Ben liked the same things as Jeff did, and they always had lots to talk about.
When Jeff got home, he saw Mom waiting for him. She didn’t look happy at all. His smile faded away. “Jeff,” Mom said, “I got a call from the principal today. She said you’ve been bullying a boy in your class.”
“I have not!” said Jeff. He knew that bullying was wrong. A bully made people sad and afraid. Jeff had never done anything like that.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked. She made room on the couch for Jeff. “The principal said you and Ben tell Sam to go away, that he’s not in your club, and that he can’t join unless he jumps off the top of the slide.”
Jeff looked down. Sam asked to play with them almost every day. But Ben was his best friend, and they liked playing by themselves. That didn’t mean he had been a bully, did it?
“Is it wrong for Ben and me to play alone?” Jeff asked. It didn’t seem fair that someone called him a bully just for playing with his best friend.
“You two can still spend lots of time together. But when Sam is around, it’s wrong to make him feel left out and alone. The principal said you called Sam names for not jumping off the slide.”
“I did not!” Jeff said. But Ben had. And he had laughed.
“Remember how you felt when we first moved?” Mom asked.
Jeff nodded. School had been really lonely at first. He had prayed a lot to find a good friend.
“What do you wish people had done?” Mom asked.
“I wished they’d invited me to play games at recess. Or sit with them at lunch.”
“Isn’t it amazing that you have such a good friend now?” Mom said. “You can be someone who helps people who are lonely, like you used to be. I’m going to give you a challenge. Tomorrow I want you to find out three cool things about Sam. Then tell me after school.”
“I can probably do that,” Jeff said, staring at his shoes. He hadn’t meant to bully Sam. He wanted to be kind like Jesus. Tomorrow he could tell Sam he was sorry. And he could tell Ben that he wanted Sam to play too.
“Hey,” said Mom. She tipped Jeff’s chin up. “You are a good, kind boy. Sam would be lucky to have you as a friend. And guess what? I bet you’ll find out you’re lucky to have Sam as a friend too.”
Jeff smiled a little. Ben could still be his best friend. It wouldn’t hurt to have another friend too.

On a cold winter day several years ago, I visited one of the branches in Dnipropetrovsk, Ukraine. It was fast Sunday, and we warmed ourselves in the glow of the testimonies borne in the poorly heated, rented space where we were meeting.
I especially recall the testimony of one sister whose inspired face I can still see in my mind. She was a single mother. She and her one-year-old child lived in the dormitory of the factory where she worked. Economic conditions were not good. Her wages were low and paid irregularly. Despair and then eventual hope in God brought her to the gospel.
Not long after her baptism, she was preparing food for herself and her child when a young woman who lived in the same building said: “I know things are difficult for you. Like me, you are a single mother, earning low wages, with no place of your own to live. There is little hope of a good future for yourself and your child. Like me, you have a gray, dull life. Like me, you fear for your child and the uncertainty of tomorrow. But why are you always smiling and your eyes always shining? Why does joy light up your face?”
The questions made this sister stop and think about the changes that had occurred since her baptism. As she gained faith in Jesus Christ, the fear that had corroded her life had disappeared. The path back to the Father that opened before her had permitted her to have hope, which had led her to baptism and developed within her a certainty of a tranquil and happy future for her small family. By receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, she had received a firm testimony. The false values of the world gradually gave way to the higher values of the gospel, and these higher values became a firm foundation for both thought and deed. She realized that it was precisely these changes that had given her a new outlook on the world. Long-awaited joy and peace had come into her life.

For much of my life I have suffered from depression and OCD, so feeling the Spirit was a rare occurrence for me. So in seminary, church, and general conference, when a certain phrase stood out or I had a constant thought or feeling to do something, I wrote it down. It wasn’t until years later when I reread these entries that I realized God was talking to me when I was having a difficult time hearing Him.

When we approach general conference ready to pay attention and learn from the Spirit, we are showing God we want to hear Him, and we will receive guidance and peace for ourselves.

Elder Lynn A. Sorensen’s call to be a General Authority was something he could not have imagined as a young boy growing up in the rural area of Murray, near Salt Lake City. “I can remember the first time that I attended general conference as though it were yesterday,” he reminisced. “I was just a young boy, and my wonderful parents brought me to the Tabernacle so that I could have a spiritual experience early in my life. We sat in the balcony to the left of the podium, and I could look directly down at the General Authorities. It was a great thrill for me to see President Heber J. Grant for the first time. I particularly remember how he sang the hymns with enthusiasm and how uncomfortable the hard wooden benches were to sit on. I remember looking at the upholstered individual seats occupied by the Tabernacle Choir and deciding that some day I would sing in the choir and have a comfortable, reserved seat for conference. Sitting in the red General Authorities seats was not what I had in mind at all.”
According to Elder Sorensen, his mother was “a very sweet, humble, sensitive person, and we had a lovely home life. My father was a master cabinetmaker who took great pride in his craft. There are many monuments to his woodworking abilities. Not long after he married, he was chosen to install all the woodwork in the new Cardston Alberta Temple. Then, when I was about six, we had a chance to go with him as a family the summer that he installed the woodwork in the Mesa Arizona Temple.”
Elder Sorensen remembered that some of the happiest times that he had were the summers he spent with his cousins on his uncle’s farm in Idaho. “Three of us boys, all about the same age, slept in an old bed out in the orchard under an apple tree. It was there on the farm that I learned to milk cows, thin beets, and weed potatoes. We were allowed to help thresh the peas when the big steam threshing machine came to our farm. Some people thought that that was hard work, but I thought that it was fun—and I still like to ‘farm’ in my big garden in Salt Lake City when I can.”
The oldest of five children, Elder Sorensen remembered that “just surviving during the Depression was a challenge. We always had food on the table, but we had a minimum of clothing to wear. The very first job that I had was folding newspapers once a week. I folded papers all day for twenty-five cents.”
Elder Sorensen loved sports and excelled in football, basketball, and baseball in high school in Salt Lake City. As a younger boy, however, he played baseball with the neighborhood boys in an open field, with a black friction-taped ball, a few gloves, and one old bat. “My mother wanted me to learn to play the piano,” Elder Sorensen said, “and she persevered for about six months, but she had a hard time getting me to practice, especially when I wanted to be out playing baseball. However, I had enough musical training so that when I was in the mission field, I could play about fourteen or fifteen hymns. I wish I had practiced more!
“I remember the excitement of being chosen as a crossing guard in sixth grade and how cold it was walking in the snow all the way to the school on the hill when I was in seventh grade. My biggest challenge was applying myself in school. I was more interested in sports and other things. Then, in junior high school, I was stimulated to learn so that I gained a balance in my life. I was able to pull up my grades and earn a scholarship.
“Serving a mission in Brazil was a great turning point in my life,” declared Elder Sorensen. “When I was twenty and had just completed two years of college at the University of Chicago on an academic/athletic scholarship, I had doubts about my going on a mission. When I returned home that summer, Mom said to me, ‘Well, now you can prepare for your mission.’”
Elder Sorensen told his mother that he had changed his mind and didn’t think that he would serve a mission. “I’ll never forget the hurt look on Mom’s face,” he recalled, “after I told her my decision. She didn’t scold me, but afterward she privately cried and prayed.
“I didn’t go back to school in Chicago that fall. With the help of Mom and Dad and a wise and understanding bishop, I accepted a mission call to Brazil and left for South America in 1940.
“It wasn’t very long after I arrived in the mission field and began studying the scriptures regularly that my testimony really began to grow. Since then it has never wavered but has grown stronger. I’m grateful to the Lord and my parents for guiding me at that very important crossroad.
“Children, listen to your parents. They love you more than anyone else does, except your Father in Heaven, who has an even greater capacity to love. If you follow their good teachings and example, you will always be happy that you did. And remember to follow the counsel and guidance of Church leaders, particularly your bishop.”

“As a young man in high school I was told that I would be better advised to be a plumber than an artist. I didn’t follow that advice, and with a lot of effort and some good teachers, I achieved my goal. My recently completed doctoral dissertation was concerned with the psychological process of learning to create art. I now work as an artist-teacher.”

Dr. Grant L. LundAssistant Professor of ArtSoutheast Missouri State University

Megan C., Ethan M., and Romy C. have something in common: They love reverent music. They love the way it lifts and inspires them, the way it makes them feel. And they love to see how it lifts and inspires others.
Megan, 18; Ethan, 19; and Romy, 17, also have something else in common: They all sing in their ward choir in Florida, USA. And recently the choir gave them an even greater opportunity to share their love for music by participating in an Interfaith Music Festival.
“Our community has an interfaith coalition that does a lot to bring people of different faiths together,” Ethan explains. For example, the group hosted a discussion around an Iftar dinner (the evening meal when Muslims end their daily fast during their holy month of Ramadan), organized a number of service projects such as preparing school backpacks for children in need, and held several potluck dinners, where people who didn’t know each other sat side by side at the same table and talked about foods, customs, and beliefs enjoyed in their cultures.
Members of the choir enjoy eating dinner and serving together with those of other faiths.
The coalition’s goal is, of course, to help people from different backgrounds to become friends.
“There’s a Turkish family that I always see at the interfaith dinners, and they run up to me and say, ‘We’re so happy to see you again!’” Romy says. “In a world where there’s so much persecution of religion and faith, it’s nice that we can all come together and just talk to each other.” During one of the service projects, “the ladies at another church were so sweet,” she says. “They didn’t care about anyone’s religion. They were just there to offer their help. It was refreshing.”
“We may believe different things,” Megan says, “but I’ve always respected other people’s beliefs and it’s been nice to connect with them in this setting where we all want to learn about each other.”
“Our church is one of the newer members of the coalition,” Ethan says. “So I was very appreciative of just how kind they were to us and how accepting they were. I know that in some places, people misunderstand the Church. So I’m always appreciative when people are able to accept each other’s differences and look for what we have in common.”
And one of the things all the faith groups have in common is music. The Interfaith Music Festival would be a great opportunity for believers to unite in praising God. The ward choir would be one of about half a dozen groups representing congregations throughout the city.
“There was a bell choir, a vocal duet, a large choir, a small choir, a flute-and-piano duet, and so forth,” Megan explains. “Every group was asked to do two numbers.”
Megan continues, “We wanted to make sure that what we sang would let people know that we believe in Jesus Christ and also that we believe in Heavenly Father. We wanted to create a feeling of worship.”
The choir decided on two numbers they had previously performed, “Great Things and Small Things,” by Steven Kapp Perry, and “Sacraments and Symbols,” by Janice Kapp Perry, Steven Kapp Perry, and Lynne Perry Christofferson.
“The first song is upbeat. It offers the assurance that through God, you can do anything, whether it’s relatively minor or very significant,” Ethan says. “The second song has a deep reverence. It’s almost like a chant, and it creates a real feeling of worship.”
As they prepared to sing, Ethan used a method he has used before. “I try to prioritize becoming immersed in the song,” he says. “I find that when I’m able to pay attention to the meaning of the song, I’m able to enjoy it better. Of course I make sure I can sing it properly, but I find that it’s easier for me to do that when I’m in tune with the message that it’s trying to convey. I like to put an emphasis on spiritual preparation.”
“We still had to sing in sacrament meeting and practice for other things, too,” Megan says. “But we knew the importance of the interfaith event, so we made sure the pieces were ready. We worked hard on them.”
For the second number, the 14-member choir shrunk down to a double quartet. “We would rehearse on Tuesdays, before Young Men and Young Women,” Megan says. “It made me think of the song for a whole week, for a whole month, really. I don’t usually do this, but I found the song on YouTube and kept playing it over and over. I wanted to improve. I wanted us to sing so well that we would touch other people.”
Ethan, Megan, and Romy agree that all the rehearsing had an added benefit. “When you repeat songs over and over,” Romy says, “the messages of the songs stay in your mind and in your heart.”
The choir performs at the Interfaith Music Festival.
That presence in their minds and hearts was clearly evident as the choir members sang. “Both songs were just beautiful,” Romy says. “The audience got real quiet and everyone felt the Spirit as those songs were being sung. We all felt united.”
“The first song has always been a happy song for me,” Megan says. “I feel like it had that impact on people at the festival. I had a fun time singing it and I hope they all enjoyed it as well. And the second song, the voices blended so well. I think everyone who listened to it felt a spirit of respect and awe for God.”
At the end of the evening, Megan continues, “We were able to talk with participants and audience members. I know people were asking our choir director about the songs we sang—’What kind of music was that?’ or ‘Where did you find that arrangement?’ We were able to interact with each other and talk about the music we all shared. I felt like I was able to understand them more through their songs, and that they understood us better because of ours. Music is like a window to your soul.”
What Music Means to Me
Megan: “There’s a reason we have hymns, and there’s a reason we have music in general. I think it’s because the Lord wants us to feel peace with Him. One of the main times I’m able to feel the Spirit is when I think about the sacrament hymn. It helps us to remember the Savior and all He has done for us.”
Ethan: “Music is about carrying the emotion behind a message. There’s a difference between saying, ‘God can help me through trials,’ which is good and true, and singing a hymn with that same message. It asks a little bit more of you, as the singer. It helps you to really understand that message and connect with it on a deeper level. Music serves to amplify whatever you want to say to whoever’s listening.”
Romy: “When I’m listening to sacred music, I feel closer to Jesus Christ. I know that Jesus Christ has put music on this earth so that we can rejoice and bring others unto Him. When I need to feel the Holy Ghost, I sing a hymn in my heart and mind. It’s one of my favorite ways to rejoice.”

I began to look for people who had cultivated faith and made it a power in their lives, and I discovered many examples. In Cochabamba I heard a woman bear her testimony of tithing. The preceding month, after paying tithing and major expenses, she had only a hundred pesos (equivalent to $1 [U.S.]) for food for the month. She didn’t know how she would survive, but she had faith that the Lord would provide.
On the way to the market to see what she could buy, she unexpectedly met her niece, who asked her to accompany her to buy cloth. The woman went, not mentioning her embarrassing situation.
As she was waiting for her niece to make her purchase, a man walking by called to her, “Señora, your money!”
Puzzled, she turned to see the man pointing to her purse. As she looked down, she saw one thousand pesos on top of her purse! She had not seen or heard anyone walk near her. The money seemed to have come from nowhere.
That day, her niece invited her to eat lunch with her, and she gratefully accepted. One of her sisters offered her an extra bag of vegetables and potatoes, and another sister also shared generously with her. She had plenty during the month.

Ellen’s friend Lara broke her leg, and it hurt. Ellen and her mom went to the store and bought a coloring book for Lara. Thinking that Jesus Christ would do something more to cheer up her friend, Ellen asked if they could buy some fingernail polish for Lara, too. Ellen was sure that if she painted Lara’s toenails, it would cheer her up while she had to wear the clunky cast. It did. Lara said it tickled when her toenails were painted, and she thinks that Ellen is the best friend she could have.

That October conference, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared some of his experiences related to moving his young family to Connecticut for graduate school. We had also moved to Connecticut for graduate school. Then he described how he and his family had fit all of their possessions into their little car—we had done the same. He explained that when the trip began, his car had overheated and broken down not once but twice! Our vehicle also broke down twice.
Finally, he described a more recent experience of driving a reliable car by the spot where his car had broken down 30 years earlier. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself as a young father and said these words: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. … There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it. … You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”1Elder Holland’s experience helped me feel understood and loved. His example gave me the courage to seek the spiritual witness that more education for my husband was the will of the Lord for our family.

There are times in our marriage that require a stellar dose of patience.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, Kathy and I were in Philadelphia speaking to missionaries. I received a call from President Boyd K. Packer of the Twelve. At the end of our conversation, I commented, “President Packer, today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Don’t you think that is a great accomplishment?” Without pausing, he responded, “It is for Kathy!” With your hope and faith in Christ, allow the Lord to expand your spiritual gifts of understanding and patience.

Two months after the above experience, the second adventure took place. I was again out in the mountains, this time with a group of Scouts, and we were 20 miles out in the back country. We were taking our annual 50-mile hike and had decided to do it a little differently; we would hike in for 15 or 20 miles and then take day hikes into the surrounding lakes and streams where the boys could do some fishing. One day we broke into three groups: The first was going to hike in three or four miles to some high beaver ponds along a stream where the fishing was alleged to be great. The second, of which I was the leader, was headed to the top of a beautiful mountain about six miles away. The third group, exhausted from several days of such activity, would stay in camp, fish in the adjacent stream, and clean up. All went well with my little group of eight young Scouts and also with those in camp, but the first group was in for quite an experience. As the boys arrived at the appointed fishing areas, they spread out along the river for about a mile, each selecting what he thought would be the best spot. As the day wore on, they collected around the proven fishing holes. However, one young Scout had started working his way downstream looking for a new spot. Suddenly he experienced what felt like an attack of appendicitis. Being nearly a quarter of a mile from the nearest boy and close to the noisy stream, his yells for help were in vain. Not being able to walk because of the pain in his side, he lay down next to the river in despair, fearing for his life.
In the second illustration, the young Scout remembered his whistle and his training. Three blasts at three minute intervals was a plea for help. His whistling was heard by two boys up the river, and they came running. It wasn’t long until he was being carried on an improvised stretcher to the base camp where medical care was available.

I first saw Hannah* at a Mutual activity. No one really talked with her. She just sat by herself looking miserable. I had already made several good friends in the ward, so at first I didn’t see any reason to talk with her. I thought it would be a burden to leave my friends and be with someone who seemed so unhappy.
Then I thought, “I used to be left out. I’ve been there before.” I remembered a time when I was watching everyone happily talking with each other but not with me. I felt bad thinking that Hannah might come away from Mutual feeling like that.
So I went up to her, smiled, and said hi.
She nodded in return.
I asked what her name was and what school she went to.
I got two one-word answers in a row.
As a naturally talkative person, I felt awkward. But I didn’t want to just get up and leave her alone, so I sat next to her until it was time to split up for our different activities. I mustered another smile and said, “It was nice to meet you. Will you come again next week?” She nodded.
She came back to Mutual over the next several weeks. Her dark hair was never combed, and she always seemed to be wearing the same black clothing. I talked with her whenever she came, even though it was hard. But, from the bits and pieces that she spoke, I got to know her better and found out that she likes drawing and art. After a while, I started to see her as one of my friends.
I soon found myself hoping she would keep coming to activities and especially to church. But I still didn’t know much about her circumstances or if she even wanted to come to church.
I went to her house a few times to drop off activity announcements. Later, I dropped off a card and a treat on her birthday. In spite of my efforts, she was never home and never answered the phone.
She only came to Mutual, so I kept on talking with her there and including her during the combined activities.
Then one Sunday it happened—she came to church! Although she only attended occasionally, I made sure to sit by her during lessons on Sundays whenever she came.
Later on that year we both took the same art class. I had never taken high school art before, and I was the one who needed help. I would ask her about how to use the different tools and for advice on creating art.
“Hey, Hannah, what does this white pencil do?” I asked.
“It’s a blending tool. It makes your pencil drawings look smoother. Cool, huh?”
“Wow! I didn’t know that. Thanks!”
She smiled.
At the end of the semester, we gave each other small sketches and drawings we had created in class.
When I graduated from high school about five months later, Hannah was wearing colorful clothes, looked happier, and had attended church several times. And she was actually smiling!
This experience confirmed to me that sometimes it’s hard to make righteous choices, but it’s those choices that make us stronger. I also learned to never underestimate the influence of small actions and decisions. Who knew that I would be the one needing Hannah’s help in the end?
I didn’t know it then, but as I look back on the experience, I also realize that being nice to Hannah and trying to be her friend was a part of keeping my covenants. Of course, at that first Mutual activity, I didn’t go up to Hannah thinking, “OK, I’m going to keep my covenants by befriending her.” I just saw that she looked lonely, and I didn’t want her to feel alone during Mutual. And that small act made a big difference in my life.