Gospel Story Finder

When I returned home to the Philippines after my mission, the first thing I wanted to do was meet a worthy priesthood holder whom I could marry in the temple and build a Christ-centered family with.
I thought that finding him would be easy. But now it’s been quite a few years since I returned home, and I have yet to find someone to marry.
I’ve been goal-driven all my life. In high school, I made goals for my future, specifically goals that would help me progress on the covenant path—the only path that will ultimately lead me, and all of us, back to live with Heavenly Father.
I made goals to graduate from seminary and institute, to finish my studies, to get endowed in the temple, to serve a mission, to find a job in line with my degree, and to build an eternal family.
I’ve achieved all those goals apart from one, and despite being proud of all I’ve accomplished, I’ve sometimes felt as though I’ve stopped progressing.
For years I’ve spent so much time searching and praying to find someone to be with for eternity. I’ve always obeyed the commandments, applied the teachings of the prophets and the leaders in my life, and striven to be worthy to enter the temple. So, in frustration, I’ve sometimes wondered why, after trying so hard, I am still unable to reach this one goal and often feel unable to move forward on the covenant path.
What am I lacking?
One night when I was feeling extra discouraged about my marital status and seeming lack of progression, I poured out my feelings to Heavenly Father. I felt stuck, lonely, and lost. As I prayed and pondered, a clear reminder came to me:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart. …
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).
In that moment, I realized that those “paths” included the covenant path.
I was reminded that if I “let God prevail” in my life, as President Russell M. Nelson taught,1 He would direct me toward Christ and grant me spiritual strength, promised blessings, and eternal progression.
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Set your goals. … But don’t become frustrated because there are no obvious victories. Remind yourself that striving can be more important than arriving.”2
For so long I had focused only on my hopes for marriage and my “failure” at not achieving that covenant. I had forgotten the significance of the covenants I had made and how those covenants had helped me move toward Christ.
I had forgotten how beautiful my circumstances were. Right now, because I don’t have children or many obligations at home, I have time to develop more skills for the future. I’m able to give a great amount of my time to serving others and ministering to those in my ward. I am able to meet more people and learn from them. I get to spend time improving my relationships with my parents and siblings. And most importantly, I still have plenty of opportunities to continue becoming more like the Savior.
I’ve realized that if I’m still walking on the path that leads me to Jesus Christ, then I’m right where I need to be.
I am moving forward on the covenant path.

In 1834, Polly heard about the plight of the Saints who had been driven out of Jackson County, Missouri, USA, by mob violence. Through a revelation to Joseph Smith, the Lord asked Church members to donate money to help the suffering Saints redeem Zion (see Doctrine and Covenants 103:22–23). Polly didn’t have much, but she had faith in the Lord’s promise that if the Saints would relieve the suffering of others, great blessings would follow (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:35; 39:8–9). Acting on that conviction, Polly sent $150 to Kirtland, Ohio, USA, in 1834 to help supply the Camp of Israel expedition (later known as Zion’s Camp).3
One hundred fifty dollars was a lot of money for anyone—but especially for Polly, who was now 54 years old. The highest-paid women workers in the textile industry of Lowell, Massachusetts, made only about $3 per week, so $150 may have been about a year’s worth of wages for Polly.4
The day before Joseph Smith received Polly’s money, he had told Wilford Woodruff and others that the Church did not have enough resources for the Zion’s Camp expedition. But Joseph wasn’t worried. “I am going to have some money soon,” he told the group. And sure enough, the next morning, Polly’s donation arrived. Her $150 provided the means to purchase equipment and supplies for Zion’s Camp.5

“I was excited about going on the Hole-in-the-Rock trip with our stake so I could see for myself the places that have been talked about,” said Cheyenne Johnson. “Walter Joshua and Elizabeth Kinney Stevens, my great-great-grandparents on my father’s side, were newlyweds. That trip was their honeymoon, and I think it must have been more honeymoon than they wanted since it was supposed to last six weeks and it lasted six months.
“Grandpa Stevens drove the first wagon down through the Hole. Also on my mother’s side of the family, great-great-grandparents Benjamin and Sarah Perkins were on that trip. Grandpa Perkins and his brother Hyrum had been miners in Wales and they were responsible for blasting out some of the places where they needed to build roadways down through the Hole. One place known as ‘Uncle Ben’s Dugway,’ was named after Grandpa Perkins. Platte D. Lyman, another great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side, was also on the trip. His wife Adelia stayed in Fillmore to have a baby who was born while the group was at the top of the Hole. He was carried through the Hole-in-the-Rock a few months later. That baby was my great-grandfather, Albert R. Lyman, who later married Mary Ellen Perkins, and they were the first settlers in what is now Blanding. They had 15 children, my grandmother being the 15th. Grandpa always kept a journal and wrote many stories and books. I was anxious to see the country where he had been a cowpuncher and to see his name carved in the rock at Lake Canyon. I felt a special closeness to him there.”

Every Sunday Jonah wanted to be reverent in church, but sometimes it was hard to remember.
One Sunday, Sister Milner was leading sharing time. “Jonah, you can choose one picture to put on the board,” she said.
Jonah ran to the front before he remembered that he should walk in the church building.
Another Sunday, Stella had trouble remembering her scripture. “As I have loved you … ,” she said.
“Love one another!” Jonah called out before she could finish.
Sometimes Sam and Miguel would start acting silly with Jonah. Sister Fox would take Jonah to sit with Mom in Relief Society.
Jonah wanted to be in Primary. He liked his friends, the stories, and his teachers. But sometimes he still forgot to be reverent.
One day after church Mom said, “Jonah, it’s important for you to be reverent at church. What do you think you could do to remember?”
Jonah shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to remember.”
“I know it can be hard,” Mom said. “Why don’t you think about it?”
That week Mom brought home a new church shirt for Jonah. “You’re growing up so fast,” she said. “Your old shirt is already too small.”
Jonah tried on the new shirt and buttoned all the buttons. He looked in the mirror. “Dad wears shirts like this,” he thought. “And Dad is always reverent in church.” Jonah smiled. “Maybe this can help me remember to be reverent,” he thought.
On Sunday, Jonah put on his new shirt. He buttoned the buttons and tucked the tails in neatly.
“You look like a missionary,” Dad said.
“The missionaries are reverent in church,” Jonah thought.
While he waited for Primary to start, Jonah sat quietly. He looked down at the buttoned cuffs of his new reverent shirt.
“That’s a nice shirt, Jonah,” Sister Milner whispered.
“It’s my reverent shirt,” Jonah whispered back.
Jonah sang the opening song in a strong, good way. He listened while Kim tried to give her first talk, even when she didn’t say anything for a long time. Sister Fox smiled at Jonah, and Jonah smiled back.
During sharing time, Miguel said something silly. Jonah stayed reverent. Then Sam poked Jonah. Jonah poked Sam and Sam poked back, but then Jonah felt his reverent shirt and remembered to sit quietly.
Pretty soon Jonah’s friends stayed reverent too. Jonah felt good, and Sister Fox let them go to class first.
“How was Primary today?” Mom asked after class.
“Can you please wash and iron my new reverent shirt for next Sunday?” Jonah asked. “I had a great time in Primary, and everyone else did too.”

In 1878, President John Taylor called Saints to settle in the San Luis Valley of southern Colorado. Early in the twentieth century, Pa moved our family to that desolate land.
Our new farm was littered with rocks. Before we could till the ground, we had to clear them away. Using a wheelbarrow, Ma and I carted away the small rocks. There was only one way to remove the boulders—blow them up with dynamite.
Pa dug under each one as far as he could and placed the dynamite underneath. He was careful to set each charge in just the right place so that the blast would tear the boulder completely apart. Finally everything was ready for Pa to light the fuse. Mama herded us children out of danger.
Boom!
The first boulder exploded into hundreds of fragments and a cloud of dust. When the dust settled, the boulder had disappeared. I now had to pick up the pieces and fill the hole with dirt.
We repeated the process, Pa lighting the dynamite and I clearing away the shattered rock. By the end of the third explosion, I was growing tired of picking up rocks and wanted to be in on the “real” work—lighting the dynamite. I took a few steps toward Pa.
“Willard, stay back!” my mother called.
I scowled. At nine, I was the oldest and believed I was a man.
As I started back to the homestead, a sense of danger ran through me. A whispering in my heart warned me that something was wrong.
I didn’t understand. I wasn’t in any danger. I was well away from the blasting. Certain that I had imagined the voice, I concentrated on what Pa was doing. Maybe he’d see that I was nearly grown and ready to work alongside him.
The feeling of danger grew.
I recalled the promise my father had made at the time of my confirmation: “I bless you with the power of discernment. Listen to the Spirit. It will guide you and protect you from harm.”
I tried to ignore the voice, but it wouldn’t be still. I could no longer pretend that I didn’t hear the insistent whisper.
I bless you with the power of discernment.
The words were as clear now as they had been when Pa pronounced the blessing more than a year earlier. If I wasn’t in danger, maybe the voice was telling me that someone else was. Ma was hanging clothes on the line, my little sister pulling at her skirts. I grinned at the picture they made. My smile faded as I realized that I couldn’t see three-year-old Hyrum.
“Hyrum!” I shouted. “Hyrum!” Shading my eyes from the sun, I squinted into the distance. Then I saw him—heading straight toward the field, chubby legs churning.
I took off after him, running and praying and shouting all at the same time. “Pa!” I screamed, waving my arms to attract his attention.
His back turned to me, Pa couldn’t see my warning or Hyrum toddling toward disaster.
I reached Hyrum at the same moment the boulder exploded. Throwing my body over his, I shielded him the best I could. Sharp rock fragments rained down on me, pummeling my head, back, and legs.
Hyrum began to squirm. “Heavy,” he said. “Let me up.”
I rolled off. My body screamed with pain, but I scarcely noticed. Gently, I ran my hands over my little brother. “Are you all right?”
He wiggled away from me and stood. His chin wobbled, but he appeared unhurt. “Scared,” he said.
“I was scared, too.” I pulled Hyrum to me and hugged him.
By then Pa had reached us. Tears tracked through the dirt and grime on his face. His big arms circled us, squeezing tight. “How did you know that your brother was in danger?”
I hesitated, not sure how to explain. “A voice told me that something was wrong. I didn’t pay attention at first, but it kept poking at me until I had to listen.” I paused, then confessed the part that stung my conscience. “If I had listened the first time, Hyrum wouldn’t have wandered away. He’d never have been in danger.”
Pa laid his big hand on my shoulder. “But you did listen. That’s the important thing.” Pa took a deep breath. “That was a mighty brave thing you did, Willard.”
“I prayed, Pa. I was praying so hard the words nearly choked me.”
“So was I, Son. So was I.”
Ma and my little sister came running. Laughing and crying at the same time, Ma hugged me and Hyrum. Soon, all of us were hugging and crying.
A sweet feeling of peace settled around my heart as I knelt by my bed that night. My prayers took longer than usual as I thanked Heavenly Father for the whisperings of the Spirit in my heart.

“President,” said another member of the branch who was a recent convert, “I guess I should move away from home. There is growing tension between Mom and me. It seems to be getting worse all the time.” A tear paused at the corner of her eye. “I’ve tried to get her to listen to the missionaries, but she just becomes angry.”
“Cyndi,” I said, “have you ever told your mother how much you love her, recently, that is? Have you put your arms around her to give her a good squeeze as you have told her how much you appreciate her and all she has done for you?”
“But I want her to come into the Church so badly, I just keep talking about it.”
I interrupted. “Did it ever occur to you that you could never have become a member of this church if it hadn’t been for your mother?”
“But she didn’t want me to join.”
“You wouldn’t even have come into this world if it hadn’t been for your mother. She and your dad gave you the body you have. Your parents brought you up to appreciate the gospel truth when you heard it. They taught you righteous principles so that when you heard the message of the restoration you accepted it. Did you ever consider how many nights your mother may have been awake when you were ill, or how many hours she may have devoted to your care? Have you ever really thanked her for all of these things? Have you ever let her know how proud you are to have her as your mother?”
“But,” she said, “why would Mom be so opposed to the Church?”
“Would you love someone,” I asked, “if you thought that person was going to take your child, or your child’s love, away from you? Your mother might be worried that the Church is doing this.”
“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” she said.
“Tell me, what does the Church teach us about our parents?”
“Honor thy father and thy mother.”
“That’s right. Let’s forget about getting your mother to join the Church for now. Think of all the ways you can express your love for her. Throw your arms around her and tell her how grateful you are for all she has done for you.
“Next, show her how much you honor her by helping her in every way. Extend little courtesies to her. As you recall the little kindnesses, the tenderness, and understanding that she has given you over the years, remind her of these and thank her for them.
“Assure her that the Church does not intend to take you away from her. Show her by your conduct that the gospel of Jesus Christ has given you a greater appreciation and love for your parents. It should draw you closer together than ever before.”
The next time I saw Cyndi she was exuberant. “Things have never been better at home. Mom and I are closer than we have ever been in our lives. I love her so much, and she feels better about the Church now.”

As with many young women in the Church, Sister Endang has faced the challenge of being single. “It’s not a challenge for me now,” she says. “You see, a few years ago, when I was about thirty, I was unhappy that I was not married. One day I said to my Heavenly Father, ‘Lord, I do everything I am supposed to do. Why am I not married to a good man, a priesthood holder?’ Deep in my heart I felt him say to me something like, ‘Endang, you have a lot of things to be thankful for.’ And then he reminded me of the many blessings that I have received, especially the knowledge of the gospel.

“In addition to that experience, I have been comforted by my patriarchal blessing, which tells me I will meet the man who will ask me to go to the temple to be married. I am sure that the Lord will give me that chance if I will always stay close to him. So I don’t worry about being single anymore.

“I just know the Lord will watch over me if I live according to the standards of the Church.”

Daniel Godoy, 23, radiates light and goodness, and his choices have a lot to do with that. He’s an influence for good just by his example.
As an only child from a small town outside of Santiago, Chile, he grew up seeing his parents’ dedication to service and to the gospel. Daniel was the first in his home stake to serve a mission at 18 after the mission age was lowered, inspiring many young men to prepare to serve earlier too. After his mission in Colombia, he was also the first in his hometown to leave the country to pursue higher education. His drive inspired others to get an education. “In some way I inspired them to aim high,” he says. “It was awesome to know that little step that I did helped to inspire other people.”
Getting an education in the United States is also the key for Daniel’s plans to help others and do good in the future. “My long-term goal is to go back to Chile and help people there—serve them. I came here because I know that I can have opportunities that will lead me to help people in Chile as well.”
Still, Daniel admits: “I’m not perfect. But I’m trying to do my best, and I feel like that will be inspiring for others and give them the motivation to keep going as well.”

I am the oldest of five children—four girls and one boy. In 2022 my brother, Houston, suffered a heart attack. Unfortunately he was not found right away, and his long-term lack of oxygen caused a brain injury. Over the days we spent with him in the intensive care unit, I can safely say that I have never prayed harder or exercised more faith. And yet, day by day, Houston got worse, and eventually we were told that he would not live. It was hard to accept that despite the faith and prayers of so many wonderful people, we were going to lose Houston. And yet we did. My heart was broken.

But pain and sadness and faith can coexist. I and many others fought all the anticipatory fears of losing Houston and facing life without him with as much faith as we could muster. We kept praying, kept hoping, and kept trusting that God knew Houston’s path even when we could no longer see the miracle we were hoping for.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf said:
There are so many things in life that God sees differently than we do. . . .
We tend to think of joy as the absence of sorrow.
But what if joy is not the absence of sorrow?
What if joy and sorrow can coexist?
What if they have to coexist?22
The pain of losing my brother helped me to seek peace and to solidify my faith in the covenants I had made with God and the promises that came with them. My sorrow solidified and increased my joy and belief in the Atonement and Resurrection. I could act with the hope that my brother could be restored completely. I know that in those great moments of pain, it can seem impossible that joy could coexist. It may not be the joy we hoped we could experience had the miracle we prayed for been granted, but God does not leave us alone.

The year after I was baptized, I became a volunteer firefighter. I kept the Word of Wisdom even though my friends offered me tobacco, alcohol, tea, and coffee. When they asked me why I refused these things, I told them it was because I was a Mormon. Most of them mocked me and laughed.
One day we were required to take a three-hour physical exercise test to determine who could stay on as firefighters. We each wore a heavy uniform and boots and carried breathing equipment. Before the test I saw the others smoking and laughing at me because I was only a teenager and they thought I wouldn’t be able to pass the rigorous test.
First, we had to run laps around a field, carrying extremely heavy hoses. After the first lap my legs and body ached, and my co-workers laughed at me. It was then that I remembered what it says in Doctrine and Covenants 89: “All saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in the navel and marrow to their bones; … and shall run and not be weary” (vv. 18, 20).
I knelt down and prayed to the Lord, asking Him for faith to see the promise fulfilled. Several men came over to see if I was OK, and I told them I was fine. Then we started running again. Right away the pain left my legs. I ran and ran and realized that the others had fallen to the ground with fatigue, but I didn’t even feel like stopping. I passed the test, while my co-workers had to repeat the exercise.
I know that thanks to my obedience to the Word of Wisdom, I was able to get through that test. I know that God was with me that day and that if we obey His commandments, He will bless us with His infinite mercy.
Cristian Castro Marin, Santiago, Chile

Illustrations by Alex Nabaum
I stretched my legs in eager anticipation as I waited for the starting gun. I had been training hard for this first cross-country invitational of the season, running up to eight miles every day but Sunday, followed by weight training. Day after day I dragged myself home, muscles aching.
“The whole team is counting on you to claim a ribbon or even a medal, Heather,” Coach told me. “Don’t let us down.”
I glanced around at the other 39 girls at the starting line and wondered who would be fastest.
At the sound of the gun, I darted forward. Choosing a spot I was comfortable with, I watched as some of the girls ran ahead. My chest began to tighten, so I slowed down, letting more girls pass. I wasn’t worried. I knew how to pace myself.
After about a mile, I could see a girl on the ground to the side of the course. Other girls called out encouraging words and then flashed by her. As I approached, I could see the girl was having difficulty breathing. Instinctively, I ran to the girl and dropped to my knees.
“Come on, you have to get up,” I gasped, trying to help the girl sit up.
She whimpered through tortured breaths. Her body was stiff and shaking; her eyes clearly frightened.
As I watched runner after runner speed past us, I knew my hopes for a winning time were slipping with every second. But I couldn’t just leave her on the side of the road, alone and sick. I spoke softly to calm her down.
After a few minutes, an official came running to help. About that same time, a woman in a red car pulled up.
The woman knelt beside the shaking girl. After a quick inspection, she said, “She’s hyperventilating. I’m a nurse. Let’s get her back to the school.”
I felt I couldn’t abandon the sick girl. With a silent prayer, I climbed into the car with her. The woman handed me a brown paper bag. “Keep it over her face,” she commanded. The girl was shaking so badly that it was difficult for me to keep the bag positioned over her face and mouth as the woman drove the twists and tight corners to the school.
I fought the tears that threatened to spill out. Here I was in a strange town helping a girl I’d never even laid eyes on before. Coach would be furious, my teammates would think I was crazy, and I had missed my chance for a medal.
I felt somewhat relieved as the car pulled into the school parking lot. We laid the girl on the couch in the teacher’s lounge. The girl’s mother came into the room and touched the girl’s forehead.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
The girl answered, weakly, “I’m better.”
The mother smiled at me. “Sisters helping sisters, I see.”
I wondered what she meant by that.
The girl’s grandfather came in. The mother whispered, “Dad, she needs a blessing.”
“Are you LDS?” I whispered, startled.
“Yes,” came the simple reply. “That’s what I meant about sisters helping sisters. I saw your CTR ring.”
After saying good-bye, I went looking for Coach. When I spotted him, I swallowed hard at the stormy look on his face.
“Coach!” I yelled, running to his side. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish the race, but there was this girl, and she needed my help.”
“I heard,” he said stiffly. “What happened?”
I hurriedly sketched in the details. The coach’s expression didn’t change.
“I commend you for what you did,” he said frostily. “But I would have preferred that you’d stayed in the race. I was counting on you to win.” I nodded and then turned away so he wouldn’t see me cry.
At home that night I told my story again. When I had finished, my dad gave me a big hug.
“We’re so proud of you,” he said. “You did the right thing.”
“But I could have won a ribbon or maybe even a medal,” I protested.
“You did something more important and longer lasting than a medal instead,” Mom said.
That night, as I prepared a sacrament meeting talk on “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” I was still troubled. Maybe I should’ve run past the girl like everyone else. The official would’ve taken care of her, right? My stomach turned as I thought about letting the team and my coach down, and about losing my medal.
When I read the proclamation, the second paragraph stood out: “All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents” (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Ensign, Nov. 2010, 129).
“That’s why I had to stop and help,” I said. A warm feeling chased away my confusion. “She’s a daughter of God. She needed help, and I was there.”
Although it had been hard, I knew Heavenly Father approved, and that was the most important thing to me.

“This is home,” 18-year-old Marcelle Collins said, crossing her arms and looking over her shoulder. Behind her, across the stubble of a fresh-mowed field, the two-story house, the silos, barns, pens, machinery, even the windmill, all said this was farm country.
But the fields said it even more.
Here in the heart of South Dakota the plains are flat and the sky runs forever. The soil is fertile but the work is hard. Here, as on family farms everywhere, life is land and work—and a clinging hope that maybe there will be enough profit to keep things going one more year.
Marcy’s parents, Al and Tonnie, don’t actually own the farm. They rent it. But they’ve lived here long enough to raise a string of children. Debra, Connie, and Dan live in the area. David, 23, is still on the farm, along with Noah and T.J., Marcy’s four-year-old twin nephews. Al and Tonnie are their legal guardians.
Before the nephews came, Marcy was the youngest. Now they seem like little brothers, some days so noisy and into everything that Marcy thinks she’ll be glad to get away from them when, in a few weeks, she leaves for college.
College. It’s a place of changes, Marcy knows. She’s been thinking a lot lately, wondering exactly what it is she’s leaving behind:
The smallness. Gettysburg (say GET-iss-burg, not get-EES-burg), a hometown more like a cluster of farms. Gettysburg High, with a student body of 198, “if you count the junior high kids on the third floor.” The Gettysburg Branch and its Young Women program, much of which has been—you guessed it—Marcy Collins.
Chores and schedules. “You live on a farm, you work,” Marcy explains. She can drive a tractor, operate machinery, grind feed for the pigs. She helps with planting, calving, cutting, harvesting. She gets up at 5:00 A.M. to be ready for seminary, goes to school, then comes home to work at whatever Dad needs help with. Or whatever Mom needs help with. Oh yes, and there’s homework too. And sleep.
But as Marcy makes her list, it also fills with pleasant things:
An LDS neighbor. Lori Thompson, only a year younger, lives a mile down the dirt road. Lori comes up each summer from Denton, Texas, to farm with her parents. “And what a relief just to be able to talk to another Mormon girl my own age,” about things like standards and testimony and spirituality. Together Marcy and Lori were responsible for their branch’s training for girls’ camp, the two of them in charge of five others. All seven certified.
A non-LDS neighbor. Sarah is learning about the Church.
Prayer. The strength of kneeling with her family.
Privacy. The sanctuary of her room, where on her own she can let off steam or study scriptures. She hangs her picture of the Savior there.
Space. The open freedom of the fields, and the beauty of a South Dakota sunset.
It is one year later. Marcy is standing in a field again. Well, not really. She’s standing in a parking lot.
“This is home,” she says, crossing her arms and looking over her shoulder. Behind her, the Manwaring Center, the library, the dorms, the administration building, all say this is Ricks College, Rexburg, Idaho.
But her classes say it even more.
Go with Marcy to the third floor of the Spori Building and watch her draw. It isn’t just a matter of sketching. It’s two and a half hours of analyzing—structure, form, shading, foreshortening. It is listening, observing, imitating as the teacher shows examples from the masters.
Or go to the ceramics lab in the Kirkham Building, where Marcy takes a lump of clay, kneads it to remove the air, then “throws” it, centering it carefully on a wheel, opening it with her thumbs, smoothing it with her fingers, pulling with equal pressure inward, outward, upward. Then, just as it’s taking the form of a vase, Marcy groans. Her fingers have slipped, and the clay twists, ill-shapen and uneven. She cuts it free, kneads it again, and starts over.
This is learning of a fundamental kind, learning by doing. Successes outweigh failures only after hours, weeks, and months. But it’s a learning Marcy is coming to understand.
A year can make a lot of difference. As Marcy stands in the parking lot she makes a list of what she’s found here:
Growth. An understanding of new places, new people, and roommates from as far away as England. A student body of thousands, but a ward where everyone is about her age, and activities and opportunities abound. “The challenge here,” she says, “is to not take the Church for granted.”
Family. The joy of letters from home. “Noah and T. J. are growing fast,” she says. “I really miss them.”
Chores and schedules. Someone has to shop and clean and cook. Someone has to do the laundry. And the schoolwork! “Some days it seems like I live in the labs,” Marcy says. Some days she does.
But Marcy can’t help but add to her list, this time a list of lessons:
Independence. “I’ve learned to rely on myself,” she says. “In college you have to. There’s a law of the harvest in school, too. You do good work, you get good grades.”
Priorities. No matter where you are, turn your life to things that matter. If you’re not with your family, have prayer with your roommates. If you don’t have the sanctuary of a private room, study your scriptures in the hall.
Friends. People who matter will always matter. Sarah and Marcy are still in touch, Lori’s back in Texas, and Marcy’s found a new friend, fellow art student Diedra Newville from Fort Myers, Florida, whose sense of adventure keeps them both from getting overwhelmed by pressure. What’s more, the people who matter most, Marcy’s parents, her brothers, her sisters, are still in the background cheering.
Not long ago, Marcelle Collins got word from her parents that the farm had been sold. They’ve moved to another small town, Faith, South Dakota, where her dad was born. A lot of people might say Marcy can’t go home now. The home in Gettysburg belongs to someone new.
But Marcy knows how to be at home wherever she is. And that’s a lesson more profound than she may realize. Long before she left South Dakota, she left another place, a place she may have been nervous to leave. But she trusted her Father, and so began her journey.
And someday, if she continues to turn toward the things that matter most—things like faith, obedience, and honesty—she’ll return to hear her Father say, “well done.” Maybe at that moment, she’ll cross her arms, look over her shoulder, and say, “This is home.”

I had some friends who turned on me between seventh and ninth grade. At first I didn’t realize they were making fun of me, but when I did, I was shocked and couldn’t understand where I’d gone wrong.
I thought that if I did what Christ would do, everything would get better. So I continued being nice, helping my classmates with their homework, and relying on God, trusting that someday I would make a good friend. At first, not much seemed to change. But after I started high school, my classmates were nicer people.
More importantly, during those years when I was looking for friends, I found that my best friend is Jesus Christ. So not only did I make new friends at school, but I also made the best Friend that I could ever have.

I was invited to attend the Strengthening Families Conference 2023, at Abuja, Nigeria by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I got the invitation, I was both skeptical and apprehensive. What has the Anglican Church got to do with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, let along attend their conference for three days? The one who invited me encouraged, persuaded, and pleaded with me to attend.
I finally attended with one eye closed and the other opened: very apprehensive and nervous.
I must confess that I was parochial in my thinking and outlook. The introductory address knocked me down as scales fell off my eyes to see and reason well with respect to my own marriage. It was evidently clear from the conference that marital issues do not have denominational and religious colors. The principles for a good marriage are almost the same in all places.
Interestingly, the chairman for the conference was a Muslim, with speakers from various religious and denominational backgrounds and professions.
Like the confession of the Queen of Sheba when she visited King Solomon, “I believed not the words, until I came, and mine eyes had seen it: and, behold, the half was not told me” (1 Kings 10:7). It was my confession, too!
I thank God for the opportunity I had to be part of the 2023 Strengthening Families Conference. I recommend the program to one and all.

Phil’s successes are all the more impressive for the fact that he’s a hemophiliac. “I’ve learned to look at it as a blessing to me,” Phil said. “It’s a mechanism the Lord uses to humble me.” Because of the illness, Phil has attended special camps for the handicapped, an experience that has helped him gain sympathy for other people’s problems. He tells of making friends with one fellow named Frank, who didn’t seem to be handicapped at all—in fact, Frank won the camp wrestling contest. Then one night as they were getting ready for bed, Phil discovered that his friend had wooden arms and wooden legs. “He had so much self-esteem that it really lifted me above my own problems,” Phil said. Phil also noted that his illness has provided him with an opportunity to witness the power of the priesthood through blessings and anointings during particularly trying times.

Joseph F. and his wife Julina welcomed their first child, Mercy Josephine, into the family.7 She was only two and a half years old when she passed away. Shortly after, Joseph F. recorded: “It is one month yesterday since my … darling Josephine died. O! that I could have saved her to grow up to womanhood. I miss her every day and I am lonely. … God forgive my weakness if it is wrong to love my little ones as I love them.”8

I have shared before my memory of the first day I set out to practice healing. It was not quite 50 years ago—but close. I could hardly sleep the night before my first day as a nurse. I remember it so vividly. The spring air was cool, and the sun seemed unusually bright. Two conflicting feelings left my heart pounding. First, I felt courage and couldn’t wait to put that first tube into the first orifice. On the other hand, I was afraid that by sheer inexperience I would violate the promise to “do no harm.” As a student nurse I did not have the blessing of the computer-simulated patient that our students now have.

That first day I carefully pulled on my support hose, little white nylon dress, and ugly prescription shoes. My crowning glory was the starched white cap that held my long hair tucked tightly beneath. I couldn’t wait to handle the instruments, titrate the fluids, and perform the treatment procedures. I wanted to cure. I wanted to care. I wanted to heal.

I have learned a lot about healing since that day. I have learned that healing is a process of restoring and becoming whole.

Let me share with you a personal experience. After the turmoil of the Second World War, my family ended up in Russian-occupied East Germany. We had fled from Czechoslovakia before the Russian front and lost everything during this terrible war. In the town of Zwickau, East Germany, my family learned about the restored gospel and joined the Church. At that time I was only six years old and the youngest of four children. The Church made an indescribable difference in our then very difficult lives. Even in these trying times, with extreme financial hardship, we were a happy family because of the Church.
Later, as a 10-year-old boy, I attended fourth grade and had to learn Russian as my first foreign language. Initially it was quite difficult, but as time went on I seemed to manage all right.
When I turned 11, we had to leave East Germany overnight because of the political beliefs of my father. He was seen as a dissenter by the Communist government, and his life was endangered. We were refugees again and had lost everything for the second time.
Now I was going to school in West Germany, and the Russian language was not appreciated there at all. We were in the American-occupied part of Germany, and in school I had to learn English. Somehow I could not learn it. To learn Russian was difficult, but English was impossible. I even thought my mouth was not made for speaking English. My teachers had a hard time with me. My parents were desperate. And I knew English was not my language.
I agonized through those school years, helped and encouraged by kind and understanding English teachers, but I just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t my thing!
At this time, my dream in life was to become a pilot. Almost daily I rode my bicycle to the airport. I could picture myself in the cockpit of an airliner or even in a military jet fighter. This was definitely my thing!
I eventually learned that to become a pilot, I needed to speak English. Suddenly, the resisting condition of my mouth changed. I was able to learn the language. Why? Because of a strong motive!
Our motives and thoughts ultimately influence our actions. Jesus repeatedly emphasized the power of good thoughts and proper motives: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not” (D&C 6:36).
In Proverbs we read, “For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Prov. 23:7).
From young Joseph Smith we can also learn that the right motive was crucial for the success of his mission. When the angel Moroni appeared to Joseph and instructed him about the coming forth of the gold plates, Moroni repeated over and over again that Joseph’s motives must be true.
Joseph said Moroni taught that “Satan would try to tempt me. … I must have no other object in view in getting the plates but to glorify God, and must not be influenced by any other motive than that of building his kingdom; otherwise I could not get them” (JS—H 1:46).
What a great lesson in doing things for the right reason.

In Vava'u, Elder Jensen and Elder Welker met Sione Pota, a preacher in the Free Church of Tonga. At the time there were only two Protestant churches in Vava'u, the Free Church of Tonga (Siasi Tonga Tau'at?ina) and the Wesleyan Church (Siasi U?siliana). Both churches strongly opposed the work of the two LDS missionaries. It was during this time that Sione Pota developed a close friendship with the two LDS missionaries. It is not clear from the journals how a preacher of a Protestant church became close friends with the LDS elders. Somehow, Sione Pota reached across both cultural and religious divide and embraced the missionaries. In other words, Sione Pota opened a path, t? e fihi, and laid the foundation for the Lord's work in the Vava'u islands.

After serving in Vava'u for several months, Elder Jensen remained while Elder Albert Jones (from Provo, Utah) replaced Elder Welker. Shortly after Elder Jones arrived in Vava'u, the missionaries needed to find a new home. In June 1896, they began looking for a new home in Vava'u. Sione Pota, heard about the missionaries situation and he offered his home to Elder Jensen and Elder Jones. Elder Jensen recorded the event in his journal:

July 2, 1896: "I arose about 7 o'clock washed and combed then started to read my bible when a native friend [Sione Pota] came in, he having heard that we would have to move from the place where we were then living, offered us his house, [he] said he did not care for any pay, but desired that we should come and live in his house. We decided the best way to keep a friend was to treat him well...The afternoon we went to his [Sione Pota's] place and made arrangement with him for his house for six months" (Jensen, Journal #2, p. 124).

It was a great risk for preacher to invite the missionaries to live in his home. I am sure that many of the people in Vava'u were wondering why a preacher would invite LDS missionaries to live in his home.

On July 9, 1896, Elder Jensen and Elder Jones officially moved into Sione Pota's home. It was at this home that many of the people of Vava'u heard about the principles of the gospel. The missionaries reported that people came to their home and asked questions about the Gospel. It was also at this home that the missionaries ran a school (taught English) and held their Sunday services. Every Sunday, the elders called the meeting by pounding a lali, a large Tongan wood drum. In Tonga, during this period, pounding a lali was the common method for letting people know that Church was about to begin. Tongans, both young and old, flocked to Sione Pota's home to hear the message of the Restored Gospel from the missionaries. It was not always easy to get people to attend their Sunday services. Young people were more interested while older folks were not so receptive. Perhaps it was difficult because the missionaries did not have a chapel to hold their meetings. Sometimes the Sunday service had about 12 people and other times they had only four people in attendance. Sunday services consisted of each elder speaking for about 30 minutes on the principles of the Gospel, and then performing the sacrament ordinance.

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Wow! Fried chicken!
And mashed potatoes and gravy! And apple pie! When do we eat?
It’s not for us. We’re making dinner for Brother Albertson.
Why is the good stuff always for somebody else?
Yeah, aren’t you forgetting about us?
Of course not. But Sister Albertson passed away yesterday, and Brother Albertson feels terribly sad and lonely.
He may not even feel like eating, but we want him to know that we care. And maybe a hot meal will comfort him just a teeny little bit. What do you think?
I want to help cook!
Me too!
Wonderful! How about whipping up your famous Matt and Mandy salad?