Gospel Story Finder

Several stakes chose to serve the older members of their areas. In the Salt Lake Holladay North Stake, each Young Women class adopted a “grandmother” or “grandfather” to help throughout the year. They took turns helping with transportation and home cleaning. In addition, the girls arranged to tape record the older members’ personal histories. They transcribed the tapes and made a typewritten copy for each grandmother and grandfather to keep, with enough extra copies to give to their children.

Andy stood on the outside of the circle of bigger boys. He tried to see what they were doing. He jumped up and down until the things in his pockets almost fell out.
If only he were taller. If only he were older. Oh, how he wanted to play baseball with them!
Soon the circle of boys broke up. They ran off to the park, and Andy and his little dog, Katy, were left standing alone on the sidewalk.
Andy and Katy ran along behind the bigger boys.
“Wait for me!” Andy called. “Please wait for me!”
But the boys did not hear him. They ran on ahead.
“Their legs are longer than ours, Katy,” Andy told his dog. “We’ll have to hurry to catch up.”
Andy and Katy ran until their legs were tired, and then they slowed down.
A girl on a bike passed them.
“She goes fast because she has wheels,” Andy explained.
A tall man passed them.
“Look how long his legs are,” Andy told Katy.
A big dog ran past them.
“Wow!” exclaimed Andy. “That dog can run fast!”
Andy and Katy kept going. They saw a red box kite up in the air. High over a house, they also saw a blue kite.
Then they saw a boy about Andy’s size sitting on the curb. His kite string was in a tangle, and a torn kite lay on the sidewalk beside him.
“What happened?” Andy asked the boy.
“My kite got caught in the wires and the paper tore,” the boy answered. “I bought this kite as a present for my brother. I was just trying it out to see if it would fly all right.”
“Did it fly all right?” Andy asked.
“Until it hit the wires, it flew very well,” the boy said. “I guess I shouldn’t have tried to fly it. I should have let my brother fly it himself.”
Andy sat down next to the boy. “I have somewhere very important to go,” Andy explained, “but maybe I can help you first.”
Andy reached into his pocket and pulled out some tape and a pair of tiny scissors with rounded points.
“My name is Andy, what’s your name?” Andy asked the boy.
“Chris.”
“Okay, Chris, hold this paper on the stick right here, and I’ll tape it for you,” Andy instructed.
Together the boys taped the kite so it had no holes.
“I think the kite will be all right now,” Andy explained.
“But I don’t think I should fly it anymore,” Chris answered sadly.
“I have two kites at home,” Andy said. “One is in the shape of a fish and the other is red. I’ll go get both of them.”
Andy and Katy ran home and soon came back with the kites. Chris was waiting for them on the curb.
“Here,” Andy offered, “you can fly my red kite.”
“I’ll fly it in the park,” Chris said. “Then it won’t get caught in any wires.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Andy exclaimed, “because that’s where I am headed.”
“What are you going to do in the park?” Chris asked.
“I’m going to play outfield for my brother and his friends,” Andy replied, “if they’ll let me. Sometimes when they don’t have enough big players, they let me play.”
“That’s how my brother is,” Chris said.
When they arrived at the park, Andy looked at the ball players. “See those boys over there? That’s my brother and his friends.”
“I can see my brother playing first base,” said Chris. “You go ahead, Andy. I know you want to play ball.”
“I’ll help you get the kites set up first,” Andy answered.
As they put the strings on the kites, Katy ran through the grass sniffing at all the smells of the park. The wind was stronger now.
“You don’t have to help me anymore, Andy,” Chris told him.
“I know,” Andy replied. “I just want to see how the fish flies in this wind.”
So Andy let out the string and ran with the fish kite.
Chris let out his string and ran with the red kite.
Andy’s fish climbed up into the air. Then the fish dived and dipped back down. Andy pulled on the string and ran faster.
The giant fish went up, up, up—higher than his head, higher than the trees.
Andy let out more and more string. The fish went up until it seemed to be as high as the little white clouds that the wind was pushing across the sky.
Andy looked around for Chris. He saw him not very far away with the red kite high in the air.
Andy heard his brother call, “Hey, Andy, do you want to play right field?”
“No, thanks,” Andy called back. “I can’t now. The wind is just right for flying kites.”
Chris smiled at Andy. “It’s a good day for flying kites,” he laughed.
“It’s perfect,” Andy agreed. “Let’s do this again tomorrow.”
Andy looked at his new friend. Chris was the same size as Andy. Just the right size!

The light spoken of by our Savior shines from you this very moment. It is a light Naomi Schaefer Riley, who is now an editor for the Wall Street Journal, felt when she visited our campus the week of September 11, 2001. Naomi came to campus while writing a book on religious universities. BYU was the first she visited. Let me read to you just a few comments from her book, published this year, titled God on the Quad:

I began the first formal interviews for this book on September 10, 2001. The next day, two thousand miles from home, I sat on the edge of my hotel bed, looking out over the strip malls to the treeless mountains beyond, wondering more than anything else about how to get home. Home for me is Blue America. I have lived in four states, all in the northeast. I attended two secular colleges and grew up with a sense that religion, while socially beneficial (in that it provided people with a moral compass they might not otherwise have), was not true. In other words, I had already expected to feel distinctly out of place on these campuses. And the events of that Tuesday morning only intensified the feeling.

Over the next week, the students at Brigham Young tried to welcome me into their lives. While national tragedies tend to bring out the best in many people, the first representatives of the “missionary generation” I encountered could not have made a greater impression upon me. Their kindness and compassion, their civic-mindedness, their understanding and interest in national and international affairs, the quiet comfort they were able to find in their faith, and their ability to relate to this stranger in their midst gave me cause for optimism. [Naomi Schaefer Riley, God on the Quad: How Religious Colleges and the Missionary Generation Are Changing America (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005), 12]

Since she visited us, Naomi has gone on to be a powerful defender of religious diversity in American higher education. In a USA Today article this summer, Naomi wrote:

Schools with strong faith identities with strict behavioral codes—such as the evangelical Wheaton College outside of Chicago, Brigham Young University and the Catholic Thomas Aquinas College near Los Angeles—are not succeeding despite their religious mission, but because of it. [Naomi Schaefer Riley, “Higher, Higher Education,” USA Today, 22 June 2005, A15]

Naomi’s positive words are the direct result of her association with you.

One of the greatest privileges for me and my wife, Renee, is to meet with the Saints where we serve. We hear their stories, we witness their losses, we share their grief, and we rejoice with their success. We have witnessed many of the blessings and miracles that the Savior has bestowed upon the faithful. We have met people who have gone through the impossible, who have suffered the unthinkable.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.
What gives them the power to go through hard things? What gives an extra layer of strength to go on when everything seems lost?
I have found that the source of that strength is faith in Jesus Christ as we intentionally seek to come unto Him each and every day.
The prophet Jacob taught, “And he cometh into the world that he may save all men if they will hearken unto his voice; for behold, he suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children, who belong to the family of Adam.”
At times, having faith in Jesus Christ may seem like something impossible, almost unattainable. We may think that coming unto Christ requires a strength, power, and perfection we don’t have, and we just can’t find the energy to do it all. But what I have learned from all these people is that faith in Jesus Christ is what gives us the energy to begin the journey. Sometimes we may think, “I need to fix my life before I come to Jesus,” but the truth is that we come to Jesus to fix our lives through Him.
We don’t come to Jesus because we are perfect. We come to Him because we are flawed and in Him we can “be perfected.”
How do we begin exercising a little bit of faith every day? For me it begins in the morning: When I wake up, instead of looking at my phone, I say a prayer. Even a simple prayer. Then I read a scripture. This helps me with my weekly covenant that I make as I partake of the sacrament to “always remember him.” When I begin my day with a prayer and a scripture, I can “remember Him” when I do look at my phone. I can “remember Him” when I face problems and conflicts, and I try to face them like Jesus would.
When I “remember Him,” I feel a desire to change, to repent. I find the source of energy to keep my covenants, and I feel the influence of the Holy Ghost in my life “and keep his commandments which he has given [me]; that [I] may always have his Spirit.” It helps me to endure to the end. Or at least to the end of the day! And in those days that I fail to remember Him all day, He is still there, loving me and telling me, “It’s OK; you can try again tomorrow.”
Although we are imperfect at remembering Him, our loving Heavenly Father never fails to remember us.
One of the mistakes we often make is to think that keeping covenants, or the promises we make to God, is somehow a transaction we make with Him: I obey, and He protects me from anything bad ever happening to me. I pay my tithing, and I will never lose my job or the fire will not burn my house. But then when things don’t go as we expected, we cry unto the Lord, “Carest thou not that I perish?”
Our covenants are not merely transactional; they are transformational. Through my covenants I receive sanctifying, strengthening power of Jesus Christ, which allows me to become a new person, to forgive what seems unforgivable, to overcome the impossible. Intentionally remembering Jesus Christ always is powerful; it gives me added strength to “keep his commandments which he has given [me].” It helps me to be nicer, to smile for no reason, to be a peacemaker, to avoid conflict, to let God prevail in my life.
When our pain or the pain of someone we love is so much that we can’t bear it, remembering Jesus Christ and coming unto Him can lighten the burden, soften the heart, and ease the pain. This is the power that enabled a father beyond his natural capacity to sustain his daughter through the physical and emotional pain of losing her leg.
When Elder Soares visited Argentina last June and asked Flavia about her tragic accident, she faithfully replied, “I experienced turmoil, bitterness, anger, and hate when [this happened]. Something that helped me was not to ask, ‘why me?’ but ‘what for?’ … This was something that brought me closer to others and the Lord. … Instead of distancing myself from Him, I had to cling to Him.”
President Nelson taught: “The reward for keeping covenants with God is heavenly power—power that strengthens us to withstand our trials, temptations, and heartaches better. … Thus, covenant keepers are entitled to a special kind of rest.” This is the kind of rest and peace I saw in the eyes of the widow, despite the heartache she felt of missing her husband every day.
The New Testament tells of a time when Jesus and His disciples were on a ship:
“And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship. …
“And he was … asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?
“And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. …
“And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?”
I have always been intrigued by this story. Did the Lord expect them to use their faith to calm the storm? To rebuke the winds? Faith in Jesus Christ is the feeling of peace to withstand the storm, knowing that we will not perish because He is in the ship with us.
This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.
I am grateful for the opportunity that Renee and I had to meet some of these extraordinary Saints, for their many examples of faith, strength, and perseverance. For stories of heartbreak and disappointment that will never make the front page of a newspaper or ever go viral. For the pictures that are not taken of tears shed and prayers offered after a loss or a traumatic divorce; for the posts that are never made of the fear, the sorrow, and the pain that become bearable thanks to faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. These people strengthen my own faith, and for that I am deeply grateful.
I know this is the Church of Jesus Christ. I know that He stands ready to endow us with His power if we come to Him each and every day. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My first impression of Edith Hooper was of white hair framing a wrinkled face. Her wide eyes looked as though she’d drawn a screen just behind them to keep people from seeing deeper inside.
Sister Hooper was an elderly widow, and a recent convert to the Church. My visit to her was my first experience with visiting teaching. I had been asked to go that month with a visiting teacher whose regular companion was ill.
Once inside Sister Hooper’s home, we noticed several glass cabinets containing a large collection of interesting seashells. Sister Hooper brightened noticeably when we asked her about them. But she kept a sense of distance and her television remained on during our entire visit. It was also apparent that she still struggled with a smoking problem.
I thought I felt her breathe a sigh of relief as we stood up to go, and I left wondering what good, if any, our visit had done. I had no way of knowing what a profound effect this woman was to have on my life.
It was eight years before our paths crossed again. I had forgotten all about Edith Hooper until I was assigned to be her visiting teacher. Our first visit to her home confirmed that she had not yet conquered her smoking habit. We soon learned that she no longer drove her car and didn’t get out much. She had few visitors, though she often spoke of two neighbors who checked in on her occasionally. Her main companion was her dog, Cindy.
During the next few months my companion, Virginia Lavender, and I discussed ways we could best help her. We decided to invite Sister Hooper out to lunch—and, since this was just before Christmas, we also bought her a small gift.
As we walked back to the car following the meal, Edith asked “Why are you doing this for me? No one else ever has.” The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me answer. That lunch date was the beginning of many to come.
As we made our monthly visits, we found Edith to be well informed on world and community news; she even had a favorite baseball team. What she didn’t see on television she read about. On several occasions, however, her speech seemed slow and her responses dulled. We would check back on her often after such visits.
One of her interests was genealogy. Sister Hooper had collected a lot of information that she needed help compiling, so I offered to help her type it up. We decided that both of us would benefit from attending the genealogy class in Sunday School. Saturday evenings I would telephone and remind Edith, then call for her the next morning.
We really came to know each other during those Sundays together. I learned that Edith’s mother had died when she was two, and Edith was raised in a convent for the next eleven years. Edith’s father remarried, and at age thirteen Edith was brought home from school to live and do housework. She had little opportunity to spend time with her father because her stepmother would send her from the room after her household tasks were done.
Edith attended high school and then met Gilbert, her husband-to-be. Gilbert was in the Navy fulltime, and when possible, Edith traveled with him. It was in Guam and the Philippines that she dived for her beloved shells. She had catalogued each shell in her collection with origin, specie, and the depth and place she had found it. Often she would dive all day.
She loved her husband’s family as the family she never really had and was pleased when in our genealogy work we were able to get clearance for baptism and temple work for her father, husband (who had died years before), and several members of her husband’s family. She was disappointed, though, that we were never able to get enough information to have her mother’s work completed.
One day I received a phone call from her neighbor saying that Edith had fallen and had been unable to get up. The neighbors had taken her to the emergency room at the local hospital and then to a rest home, where Edith was to live for the next several months. I went to see her, taking several things she wanted, and could see that, under their constant care, she was doing much better.
While she was gone, several women in our ward thoroughly cleaned her home and repainted her kitchen as a surprise. When she returned home, the sisters were organized to check on her daily, reporting any problems to me.
I learned that the difficulty she had been having with her speech was because she was not eating properly and had become weak. We talked about her diet and arranged to have a balanced meal brought in daily by a public service organization. We also discussed her smoking problem. She knew what was best for her, but she also knew that I loved her whether she smoked or not.
As Edith’s health worsened and she became more helpless, she often cried with frustration and embarrassment. I would put my arms around her thin shoulders and reassure her of my love and concern. Gradually this woman, who had never accepted or given affection, except perhaps to her husband, began to respond to my hugs and friendship.
One day another call came from Edith’s neighbor: Edith would not respond to knocks on her door. I arrived and, seeing how sick she was, called my doctor. He came quickly, diagnosed pneumonia, and we took her to the hospital. I visited Edith daily during her hospital stay.
Edith consented to rent her home to help pay expenses. I had begun writing out her checks, which she would sign, to pay her bills, and was eventually appointed conservator of her estate.
Edith had decided to donate her cherished seashell collection to Chico State University, with the understanding that she could choose a few to keep with her. Two university representatives, my husband, and I spent hours carefully packing the shells so none would be broken.
“How much money do I have in my bank account? What has become of my shells?” Edith asked me one day as I entered her hospital room. After I answered her questions, she gratefully replied, “I knew you would take care of them.”
Many days Edith was incoherent when I visited. But other times she would look at me with love in her eyes, protesting that I shouldn’t do so much for her. “Maybe I can be the daughter you never had,” I would reply.
One Saturday when the pneumonia had worsened and Edith was seriously ill, she was unable to respond to me. The next day my husband visited her and said she had recognized him and suggested that I go again the next day.
When I got there, I took Edith in my arms, as I had many times before, and asked if she knew who I was. She nodded that she did. I told her she was doing a good job and that I was proud of her. “You know I love you, don’t you?” I added. She nodded again.
That was our last meeting in this life. Edith passed away the next morning.
As we had agreed, I made the arrangements for her funeral. As I sat there at the services, noticing that there were no family members present, I wondered how often this sweet lady had heard the words, “I love you.”
“Impossible,” I would have said to anyone who had told me eight years ago that I would learn to love this withdrawn, stubborn woman. But she has touched my life in a way I can’t express.
I promised Edith that I would complete her temple endowment, and I have. The chapter is complete.

Although many of our activities are the same as those of other boys around the world, we get to see and do different things because of the unique land we live in. For example, a few weeks ago the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts hiked through Wadi Kelt. A wadi is a riverbed at the bottom of a valley that is usually dry except during the rainy season. This wadi winds through part of the Judean wilderness, and is it hot! All you can see for miles around are bare, rocky hills and clear blue sky.
Many people believe that Wadi Kelt is the place where Elijah, an Old Testament prophet, was fed by ravens when he sealed the heavens so that no rain would fall.
After hiking through this wadi, I can see why Heavenly Father had to provide food for Elijah—there is nothing out there to keep a person alive! So before we started, we made sure that we packed a lunch and filled our canteens full of water. Our Cub Scout leaders kept reminding us to drink lots of water so that we wouldn’t get sick from the heat.
Our hike began fifteen miles away from Jericho and took us about four hours. We had lots of fun as we followed the wadi through the desert. Some of the boys spotted ibex on the steep cliffs. They look like wild goats, with huge horns that they butt with.
My friends and I also saw a bedouin shepherd with a herd of goats. Bedouins are desert people who live in tents and wander from place to place. Many of them still wear long robes and veils to protect them from the scorching sun.
About an hour after we had started, we came to a small waterfall that tumbled into a green pool below. Swimming in it was my favorite part of the hike, because that’s my best sport, besides basketball. The cool water felt good after our climb down the hillside, and before long we were all in the pool, splashing around and sliding down mossy rocks.
Ryan and Shaun Dennett, two friends in my den, found some dead crabs in the water. They scared some of the boys when they threw the crab legs at them. We also found some frogs, only they weren’t dead.
We sat on big rocks in the sun and dried off while we ate our lunches. Boy, did the cheese sandwich my mom packed taste good! I was starving! Just as I finished my last mouthful, Joel Galbraith, one of the older Scouts, called out, “Time to go. We still have a lot of hiking to do.”
As we climbed deeper into the dry valley, Shaun, Aaron, and I pretended that we were in the army. Aaron was a general, Shaun was a sergeant, and I was a colonel. We ran ahead and hid and dropped off cliffs, scaring the others as they came by.
Sometimes we would march along in the wadi, which was full of water from desert springs. The bottom and sides of it were slippery, and we pretended that we were ice-skating. At times the water was flowing so fast that it would push us along. The moss along the bottom was great to throw, and we had the best water and moss fight. We called it slime fighting.
Some parts of the hike were really steep, and a lot of us slipped on the loose rocks on the path. Joshua Rona, another Cub Scout, fell and hurt his foot. But Ian Boyd and Steve Rona, two older Scouts, made a foot brace for him out of a bandanna. It was pretty tricky.
The last part of the hike was the hardest. The sun beat down on us, and my feet hurt. But I continued to run ahead and look for the place that marked the end of our hike—St. George’s Monastery.
On my way I saw a man and two donkeys by the side of the wadi. The wadi is the only place where desert people can obtain water, and donkeys and camels are the only means by which water can be carried from the wadi to their tents.
At last I saw the great monastery, built on the side of the cliff. It sure looked neat, but I was just as interested in getting to the top, where a stand with cold drinks and ice cream was waiting.

May I share with you another wonderful faith strengthening story. Last October, on a recruiting trip to South Korea, I met Seon Woong Hwang or Danny as he likes to be called, at the Yeongdeungpo Stake Center in Seoul. I learned that Danny and his Sister Joo Young, were recent converts to the Church. At the education fair he briefly shared with me his conversion story which began here in Laie on an unexpected visit to campus. His mother a graduate of the University of Hawaii Manoa suggested that they attend UH or another university in Hawaii. So they planned a family vacation to tour UH Manoa and other universities. Prior to their visit in February of 2018, Danny underwent two knee surgeries and ankle surgery. He was still rehabbing from these surgeries when they visited Hawaii. I’d like to now read his own account of his “Enter to Learn Go Forth to Serve” experience.

“We visited over 16 universities and I walked like a person who had a stroke because of my knee surgeries. I could get lots of good things from each school but I did not think that I would enroll in any of them. I had no more hope that I would find my ideal school. On our last day in Hawaii we decided to tour the island. Then by coincidence or luck we met two female
BYU–Hawaii students at Foodland in Laie. I started to get some information from them. My family and I thought that we should visit there. I think it was the power of the Holy Ghost or Jesus Christ. When we arrived at the front field. I will never forget the moment, the sunshine was lighting the whole school which made me feel like I was in heaven. And I felt like I found my final destination and this school was my destiny. All of a sudden my fatigue and tired body got cured without any reasons. I didn’t know where the power came from but I started to feel powerful and I really wanted to know more about BYUH. We asked people where is the admissions office or student help center but because of lack of English we started to find a Korean student. Thanks to Jesus Christ, we could meet a Korean student, Sister Sung Min Cho in the Aloha Center. She came tchere because of the Holy Ghost. It was a miracle. If she were not there we would have left without any specific information. My family felt so sad for her because we talked to her for 6 hours. She gave us lots of information about the school and the Church. My parents really liked the rules of BYUH. Especially the Honor Code. No drinking whiskey or brandy or tobacco and no smoking. We then enjoyed the PCC show and returned back to Korea. In Korea, I searched for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On May 6, 2018, I was baptized and I realized the love and sacrifice that Jesus Christ did for us and I cried a lot when I felt and knew the truth and love of Jesus Christ. I later gave baptism to my sister on July 29th.”

Danny and his sister Joo Young are now freshman here at BYU–Hawaii. His “Enter to Learn Go Forth to Serve” experience was powerful and a personal testimony for him.

Throughout my life, I have struggled to feel like I fit in. Growing up, I was labeled as “overly sensitive,” and my big emotions affected every aspect of my life. I felt like I was always too loud and too emotional.
As I got older, this insecurity about my personality began to affect my mental health. But I also noticed something else—the way my body looked depended on how I felt mentally. Sometimes, when I was in a cycle of depression, I lost weight quickly. In other times of my life, I gained weight quickly. For me, it felt like my emotions and body were tied closely together, and that made it hard to love what I saw in the mirror.
As I dealt with these struggles, my insecurity deepened. It made me wonder:
How could I find my place in God’s plan if I couldn’t find my place in this world?
When I was in college, I received my endowment. As I attended the temple for the first time, I was filled with a lot of peace, but I wasn’t entirely clear on what I had learned.
So, I decided to worship in the temple regularly to better understand. I also prayed to Heavenly Father with specific questions so I could understand what He was trying to teach me.
When I did this, the Spirit taught me that I could draw strength from my divine identity—even if I felt insecure about my personality or how I looked. The endowment ceremony in the temple showed me that a loving Father in Heaven created our unique bodies and spirits for a specific purpose—to come to this earth and become like Him.
Over time, the more often I worshipped in the temple, the better I felt about myself. This didn’t come instantly or perfectly, but for me, a combination of therapy, medication, and prayer was what I needed to create a healthy sense of self-image.
I now understand that my body and emotions are not a burden—they’re a blessing from Heavenly Father! And I’ve found that when we continually stand in holy places, even when we are going through a hard time, we will be blessed.
While the temple gives me a better understanding and perspective, there are still times when I struggle with a deep sadness about my mind and body. And I know there are others who may feel the same way I do.
For those who battle mental or physical challenges, I have found that standing in holy places anchors me to Jesus Christ and helps me endure those bad days. Now I love who I am and strive to improve every day—because I have found my identity as a daughter of God.
I promise that knowing your divine nature will change how you see yourself, and this knowledge will give you peace when you need it most.

Among the early converts in Kenya were two brothers, Benson and Nickson Kasue. When Benson was about eighteen years old, he was introduced to the gospel by the Dennis Childs family of the United States. Brother Childs was a veterinarian on a research project in Kenya and hired Benson to work for him. A warm friendship ensued, and Benson became interested in the Church. He then introduced his brother to the gospel. When the first missionaries came to Kenya, the brothers studied with them and requested baptism. But “it looked like that was never going to happen,” he says, “because the Church had been denied registration in our country. I waited for about four years. I did everything I could do, but I wasn’t baptized. I thought maybe God was testing me. I prayed and fasted, and prayed and fasted.”

Because the Church was denied official recognition, special permission was required from government authorities before anyone could be baptized. In 1985, approval was given for private baptisms in homes, and the Kasue brothers were finally baptized. In 1986 Benson and Nickson became the first Kenyans to serve full-time missions—Benson in California and Nickson in Washington, D.C.

After their missions, both Benson and Nickson married in the temple and continued sharing the gospel. Among those they introduced to the Church was their older brother, Julius. After four years of investigation, Julius joined the Church and moved back to his village of Chyulu, a rural area about 250 kilometers southeast of Nairobi, Kenya. Julius and his wife, Sabina, became the nucleus of a branch there. The experience of the Chyulu Saints is representative of the faith found among the new congregations being established throughout Africa.

Lynn didn’t chatter through breakfast, she didn’t kiss her mother good-bye, and she didn’t bounce out the door and clatter down the front steps. When she saw her friends waiting, she didn’t toss her black curls and smile.
“You have it, don’t you, Lynn?” Mary asked.
“Yeah, I have it.”
“It’ll be great to see Anne’s face when she realizes she’s the only one who wasn’t at the party!” Mary laughed.
Lynn smiled outside, but inside she winced. You’re new in town, she told herself. Don’t blow it!
Lynn, Mary, and Betty walked to school, carrying their show-and-tell items—prizes they’d won at Betty’s birthday party. Everyone in class was bringing one. Anne was the only person in third grade who hadn’t been invited—and she didn’t even know it!
At school, Anne leaned across the aisle to Lynn.
“Hey, Lynn, what did you bring for show and tell?”
Lynn’s heart sank. “Nothing much, just some doll clothes.”
“I’m so excited—I found a cocoon! I’m going to put it in a jar and watch the butterfly come out!”
“That’s great.” Lynn’s voice sounded hollow. She felt awful. But Mary and Betty were the prettiest, most popular girls in class. Anne was, well … different. Not a snob, as Betty’d said—just shy. She was really smart and read a lot of books. And even though her family had money, Anne didn’t even dress in expensive clothes. She cared about books, and nature, and other people. Maybe Betty and Mary are jealous, Lynn thought now.
Jealous? Of Anne? But it kind of made sense. They probably wished that they had all that money—they’d spend it on clothes and stuff. And they probably wished that they were as good in school as Anne.
“Show-and-tell time,” announced Mrs. Sears. Books slapped shut, desk tops squeaked, and kids got out their treasures.
“Tina?” called Mrs. Sears.
Tina rose and went to the front. She looked straight ahead. “I brought this horse, which I won at Betty’s birthday party for pinning the tail on the donkey.”
“How nice,” said Mrs. Sears. “Tim?”
Tim showed his prize from Betty’s party. Lynn glanced sideways at Anne. She looked a little sad. She probably doesn’t really mind, Lynn thought. But her hands started to feel cold and clammy.
One by one, the children showed off their prizes. Now Anne’s chin trembled and her face started to crumple. She bowed her head a little, to hide her face with her blond hair.
Finally it was Anne’s turn.
Anne tossed her head and stood up. The class was completely silent. Lynn thought that Anne was going to be OK, but tears formed in Anne’s eyes. She took a deep breath and said shakily, “Mrs. Sears, I’m sorry—I don’t want to share anything today,” then slumped into her seat.
“Lynn?”
Lynn looked across the aisle. Anne didn’t look at her. Lynn looked at Mary, who hissed, “Go on!” Taking a deep breath herself, Lynn stood. “Uh, I don’t have anything I want to share today, either.”
Betty glared angrily from her desk.
“Sam?”
“Me, either, Mrs. Sears,” Sam said apologetically.
A few more kids took their turns, and Anne still sat looking down. Then it was time for recess.
Outside, Anne sat alone. Lynn slowly walked up to her. “Anne, I’m really sorry.”
“You knew all about it, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I’m really sorry, though. I just wanted to be part of the group. It was dumb.”
“Yeah, well, thanks … for not showing your prize.”
“Did you notice that Sam didn’t do it, either?” Lynn asked.
They looked around the schoolyard until they spotted Sam. He looked over, smiled, and started toward them.
Lynn linked arms with Anne and thought that maybe she would be part of a group—a group she could be truly happy in—after all.

I met the angel who would become my wife at an institute party the second night I was home from my mission. Although Shelley and I grew up in Canada several hundred miles apart and had never met before, we got to know each other well over the following months. When I had proposed three times and been turned down because she was committed to serving a mission, she finally accepted my proposal after I promised her that we would serve missions together after raising a family. She accepted an engagement ring on December 22, 1976.
But in the days that followed, both of us felt unsettled—not about marrying each other but about the ring. Let me explain.
In the weeks leading up to our engagement, Shelley and I had spent significant time talking about how we wanted to raise our family and what we wanted our marriage to be like. One of the things at the center of that discussion was our determination to always follow the prophet.
Two months before we were engaged, we listened to lots of talks at the October 1976 general conference reinforcing the principles of self-reliance. This was a topic that President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) and others had been consistently teaching for several years. Both Shelley and I had grown up knowing the importance of growing a garden, having a supply of food, and being generally prepared. But in that general conference, the theme of preparation seemed especially prevalent. Some speakers made reference to the Teton Dam flood that had occurred in June. Among them was Barbara B. Smith (1922–2010), the Relief Society general president, who emphasized the importance of self-reliance—specifically, acquiring a year’s supply of food, as was counseled at the time.1 President Kimball, in the closing session of the conference, reminded Latter-day Saints of the scripture in Luke 6:46, where the Savior says, “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” President Kimball then exhorted the Saints to let the messages of conference follow them into their “homes and … future lives.”2
After our engagement, as Shelley and I contemplated the beginning of our marriage and family life, these messages were ringing in our ears. Unbeknownst to each other, both of us were thinking about how to start home storage for our family. To obey the counsel of that time, we needed to start acquiring a year’s supply of food. But how were we supposed to do it? We were students—and would be for years to come—and didn’t have a lot of money. The Holy Ghost gave both of us, separately, the same answer: we needed to sell the engagement ring.
But how was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had just given her the ring. What would she think about my asking her to sell it so we could buy some oats and flour and rice? Meanwhile, she was worrying too. What would I think, she wondered, if she were to approach me about selling the ring I had picked out for her? Would it hurt my feelings?
But the prompting each of us had felt was too strong to ignore, and the more each of us thought about it, the more glaring that diamond ring became. When Shelley raised the subject a few days after Christmas, I was relieved that she had arrived at the same conclusion I had. In many ways, it was a tremendous confirmation to both of us about the choice of whom we were going to marry. To know that our priorities and values were in sync with the other’s and with the prophet of God was tremendously reassuring. I was so grateful for her willingness to make such a sacrifice to follow the prophet.
Please don’t misunderstand me and please don’t sell your rings! Buying or wearing an engagement ring isn’t wrong. In fact, our married children all have lovely and appropriate rings. There are many ways we can follow the prophets and apostles and apply their counsel to our personal lives. But because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling our engagement ring, in our case the choice was between keeping the ring and following the prophet. This helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophet and following the personal, spiritual promptings we received.
The jewelry store where I had purchased the ring was closed for about a week following Christmas, but at the first opportunity after it reopened, I went to talk to the jeweler. I fully expected him to refuse to offer me a refund; after all, the ring had been worn and was considered used. I prepared myself for this reaction and expected to have to sell the ring secondhand at a significant loss. But to my amazement, the jeweler’s heart was softened. I walked out with cash in hand—and my mouth hanging open in astonishment at how the Lord had opened the way for us to be obedient.
Not everyone received our decision so well. When our friends—including those who were members of the Church—learned what we had done and saw the small leather band I’d fashioned for Shelley to wear, they told us we were crazy. Other women Shelley’s age couldn’t believe she’d been willing to do what she had done. Very few were encouraging or supportive.
Shelley was strong and knew that she would be OK no matter what people thought; she had confidence in knowing that she was following the prophet. And that was more important than anything else. But the Lord provided us with a tender mercy in the form of two friends who helped us feel that we weren’t alone.
My friend Bob and I had introduced Fran to the Church in high school. All three of us later served missions, and after Fran returned from her mission, she and Bob became engaged. When they came to share their good news with Shelley and me, we learned that instead of buying an engagement ring, they had also decided to use the funds to buy food storage. It was interesting to all four of us that the Spirit had directed us to do similar things. Our commitment to following the Holy Ghost and the living prophet added a new dimension to our friendship, which has lasted more than 40 years.
Shelley and I began buying basic foods for our home storage in January 1977 and continued to purchase bit by bit until we were married in April of that year. Prior to our wedding, we stored the food at my parents’ home.
Shelley wore the leather band as a wedding ring for a long time while I finished undergraduate studies and then dental school. Over the course of pursuing education, our family moved many times. We became accustomed to lugging buckets of wheat from apartment to apartment, house to house, and city to city. Our friends started to avoid us every time we moved, but in later years, we felt profound gratitude for having followed the counsel of Church leaders.
When I graduated from dental school and began a dental practice, Shelley and I had two children and literally no funds. Gratefully, we were able to live on part of what we had acquired in food storage just before our marriage. Our obedience to prophetic counsel blessed our lives again more than a decade after we were married, when I had completed more schooling and was in an orthodontic residency. We were again out of money, and instead of paying for groceries with credit cards or borrowed funds, we were blessed to be able to feed our family (which now included four children) from our supply.
In the years since, we have been blessed in many other ways by heeding the prophetic word. We have learned not to question the validity of what the prophets and apostles teach or to wonder if it makes sense. We have learned that by acting—and acting immediately—on their counsel, our lives are blessed.
Some might call our actions blind obedience. But we have the Lord’s personal promise that the prophets will never lead us astray.3 Knowing this helps us hear their voices as we would hear His own (see D&C 1:38).
We’ve also learned that living prophets typically invite us to do things; they don’t often use words like command or exhort. Their way is kind and gentle, but that doesn’t give us an excuse not to follow. When Shelley and I have taken invitations as commandments, we have always been blessed.
We have also learned to discern their direction by listening for such phrases as “I’ve been pondering …” or “Something that has been on my mind is …” or “I feel to tell you …” or “Let me offer some counsel about …” or “It would be my hope that …” These and similar phrases are clues to help us know what is on the minds and in the hearts of the Lord’s anointed servants.
One other thing that helps us hear the Lord’s voice as we listen to prophets and apostles is to pay especially close attention when they quote other prophets or apostles. The Lord has taught that He will establish His word by the mouth of two or three witnesses (see 2 Corinthians 13:1; D&C 6:28).
Because the message of self-reliance was repeated so many times in that general conference before we got engaged, my wife and I felt that the message was particularly pertinent for us at that time. We were inspired to follow that counsel in a visible way. However, following the prophet isn’t always about outward displays of devotion; often our obedience manifests itself in smaller, more personal ways. Regardless of whether others know about our obedience or not, the Lord does. And He will bless us for our obedience and open ways to make it possible.
Today Shelley wears a more traditional wedding band, but she has kept her little leather one as a keepsake all these years. To us it is a symbol of our early decision to make always following the prophet’s counsel an integral part of our family life. Now as we watch our children raise their children, we are grateful that faithfully following the Lord’s prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, is part of their family life as well. To us this obedience is a wonderful legacy and is as tangible a token of covenant keeping as an engagement ring might have been.

When I was a student here, I took a year off from my studies to tour with a USO group that entertained at military bases around the world. One trip took us to the Far East, and before we left, my father gave me a strong warning. “I am worried about this trip,” he said. “Be careful. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t go.” His words caught my attention, but, frankly, as our adventure in the Orient began, I forgot about his caution.

One day we were scheduled to perform at a base near the Demilitarized Zone that separates North and South Korea. Our escort officer asked if we would like to go into the DMZ and visit Panmunjom, where the peace treaty ending the Korean War had been signed. It was a place of great historical significance. Relations between the two Koreas were strained at the time, and we asked if it was safe. The officer assured us it was, but then promptly furnished waivers we were to sign that absolved the military of responsibility in the event of accident or death. I suddenly remembered Dad’s warning: “Be careful. Don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t go.” But not wanting to be the killjoy, and being a little curious myself, I shrugged off my worry, signed the waiver, and headed into the DMZ, where we were no longer under the protection of the U.S. armed forces.

That reality was immediately evident as we drove past rows of somber North Korean soldiers sporting machine guns. “Don’t look them in the eyes,” we were warned. “Anything can set them off.” As we joked about our bodies never being found, my stomach started to churn and my father’s warning played in my mind in digital, Dolby sound. I knew that I had indeed gone somewhere I shouldn’t have gone. The experience was nerve-racking. I felt as though I was behind enemy lines. And, as fascinating as the excursion was for a history major, I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It wasn’t until we crossed the border back into South Korea that I again felt safe. And, as it turns out, for good reason. Later that week three Americans were shot and killed in the Demilitarized Zone.

“I was telling a friend of mine that I come from a big family,” Cay said. “I told her about standing in line at the airport when my dad came back from a business trip, how people’s chins dropped when they saw five kids waiting for the same dad. My friend laughed and said, ‘They must have thought y’all were Mormons.’
“I turned to my other friend and said, ‘Should I tell her? Should I tell her?’
“And the first friend said, ‘Tell me what?’
“Then I said, ‘I am Mormon.’ I think she was bright red with embarrassment for the rest of the day.”

Stephen R. Covey relates the following experience:

At one seminar, after I'd spoken of the importance of demonstrating character within the family, a man came up and said, 'I like what you're saying, but my wife and I just don't have the same feelings for each other that we used to. I guess we don't love each other anymore. What can I do?'

'Love her,' I replied.

He looked puzzled. 'How do you love when you don't feel love?'

My friend,' I responded, 'love is a verb. The feeling of love is the fruit of love. So love your wife. You did it once, you can do it again. Listen. Empathize. Appreciate. It's your choice. Are you willing to do that?'

Of course, I was asking this man if he was willing to search within himself for the character required to make his marriage work. All our relationships follow the contours of life; they have ups and downs. This is why our families provide a critical measure of our character -- and the opportunity, again and again to nurture it.[14]

While my devotional is not on gratitude, please permit me to briefly express my gratitude to the love of my life, my wife Karrie. She is my best friend, my partner, and my better half. This past summer marked 12 years since she and I deplaned with our children in Honolulu.
With only a handful of bags and an address, which we had received only just before departing, we set out for a house that we had never seen before. We had just sold a house, most of our belongings, rehomed my beloved geriatric dog Fetch with my parents, and were all feeling the trepidation and excitement of having flown almost 4,000 miles to start a new chapter in our lives.
Many of you probably relate to this story, as each of you has made a similar journey to BYU–Hawaii. Do you remember the first view when you exited the H3 tunnel? That expansive view of Kaneohe Bay, the turquoise blue water bespeckled with patch reefs before you, and the sheer green peaks of the Ko’olau behind? Do you remember your first view of BYU–Hawaii? What about the David O. McKay building framed by flags from all the countries represented by our international student body? In front of it all, the sign exclaiming, “Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve”. This common experience unites each of us here today.

But I have to tell you, I had a very different life growing up. My father died when I was just a few days short of my one-year-old birthday. My mother was 30 years old at the time, and she never remarried. She lived as a widow for 64 years and just died about seven years ago. Although I trusted her and loved her and idolized her, I grew up with a real chip on my shoulder. I thought Heavenly Father must not have loved me, or why would he have taken my father when I needed him so badly? Fortunately, I had a dear friend, an older man who was serving in the military. He spent a lot of time with me. One day, I was out in his pigeon coop with him, and we were talking. Suddenly, he turned to me and said words to this effect: "Richard, when I look at you, there are times when I'd like to kick your rear end right up around your neck." I was stunned. I said, "Why would you say that to me?" He said, "Because I have watched you, and you have this big chip on your shoulder. You think the Lord has done you a big disservice. The trouble is that this is limiting your life, and until you get rid of the chip, you will never be happy. You have endless potential, and if you will shake this and get rid of this chip, there is nothing in life that you can't have." This was so hard to hear. I shed a lot of tears, but I finally began to realize he was right. It was a struggle, but when I finally overcame this, my whole life changed.

While 10-year-old Trace and his friends were watching television, a show came on that Trace knew he should not watch. After a few minutes he felt awful inside. Finally, he had the courage to say, “I can’t watch this show.” Two of his friends said that they couldn’t watch the show either. They changed the channel. Later, Trace’s mom told him that the feeling he had was the Holy Ghost telling him to choose the right. Trace and his friends were blessed with a feeling of peace because they obeyed Heavenly Father’s commandments.

In April 2019, I decided to visit a friend. He is someone my family appreciates, and we really wanted to spend time with him and his wife. While there, he decided to give me a tour of Brigham Young University to get to know the university. As we reached the climax of the tour, arriving at the university museum, I was captivated by the exhibition they had by Brian Kershisnik, especially the piece She Will Find What is Lost. I spent hours staring at the piece, in genuine amazement at what it meant.
In 1992, I began the search for the fourth generation of my family as requested by the prophet, and my effort did not stop until I found the first member of my family to arrive on the island.
Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”
Brother Elian González from Mirador Ward, recently returned from his mission, made it his goal to attend the temple with his girlfriend every Saturday: “Regular temple attendance has filled my life with countless blessings. Returning from a full-time mission, I was very concerned about how I could constantly keep myself in a holy place. As I try to have the Holy Ghost present in my home and become holy, I have made it a goal to attend the temple as regularly as possible, each week. By going to the temple, I do not escape from problems, but rather I find solutions for them. I do not hide from the world, but rather I find the spiritual forces to conquer the world and its desires. As I consistently attend the temple, I receive guidance from Heavenly Father and divine comfort from the Savior. As I perform temple work, I have seen the promise fulfilled to become a savior on Mount Zion. I was blessed to do the ordinances for my father, and I have felt peace and immense love knowing that, thanks to temple ordinances, families can be eternal. I testify that temples give us hope and peace, I know that they are the house of the Lord and that in temples we can be instruments in his hands to help gather Israel on the other side of the veil.
“As for me, I have truly found what was lost; I have found the strong women of my family, who were an active part in the struggle for national independence (1844) and who were avant-garde in wearing pants at a time when it was not usual.
“Finding them at this time in my life makes me feel more comfortable with myself and helps me understand that who I am is a precious legacy of valuable women who will now be valuable women in the gospel of the Lord.”

Calls come in the Church—to be called as a bishop, for example. You think of the honor and glory of standing up in front of all those people and having the position of command and direction. When you are called to be a bishop, you learn that the honor and glory last only about two weeks. Then you are in the harness and giving devoted service and an awful lot of sacrifice. But that is where the joy is. The glory and honor aren’t important anymore, but the things are that have happened to help you to influence the lives of other people. And now you feel the swelling within you when, five, ten, or twenty years later, someone comes up to you and says, “You blessed my life.” It is the same thing that happens to you missionaries as you hear those who have listened to you say, “Our lives were changed by the things you taught us.” To think back over the associations I have had as a stake president and as a mission president is overwhelming. We now know that we have associated with some of the greatest people on the face of the earth. To have been given the privilege of going to distant countries, knowing other people, and finding the Spirit and power of God resting upon them as they receive the gospel is an incomparable blessing.
I was approached soon after I was called to be a bishop by a man in a stake presidency in Salt Lake City. He said, “I understand you have been called to be a bishop.” As I answered that I had, he didn’t say what most people saith when they come to compliment a new bishop. The usual conversation we had was, “I feel sorry for you. You now have the most thankless job you will ever have in the Church.” But this great man of understanding said, “I don’t feel sorry for you. I congratulate you. If you ever wanted to be in a position to be on the firing line to give service to the Lord and touch people’s lives, you now have that privilege. It is one of the greatest honors that will ever come to you.”
This is true of all the callings that we receive in the gospel.

They all came to Utah and settled in Tooele County. They were just getting settled and making things go when they were called by President Brigham Young to St. George, and they went, like all good Latter-day Saints did in those days. But they had not been in St. George very long when they were called to settle in Meadow Valley. That is a place you folks probably have not heard about. It is now known as Panaca, in what they thought was southwestern Utah, but which actually later came to be Nevada. These people, obeying the call, again without question, were the first family to move to Meadow Valley, and they made a dugout house. Sister Young said that you may not know what a dugout house is. I replied that most of the folks would know: One digs a cubical hole in a hillside and covers it with a roof of wooden poles topped with clay.
Troubles of the few settlers with the Indians caused the authorities in St. George to give them permission to abandon the project, but Sister Jane Johnson Lee refused to leave. She said she was there to stay, and stay they did. Later two Indians came into her dugout home, and one of them, seeing a rifle in one corner of the room, demanded it. Sister Lee refused to give it to him. He started for the gun, but she struck him so hard with a piece of stove wood, it knocked him down. He staggered to his feet and drew his bow, aiming the arrow at her. She let him have another piece of wood, which smashed the bow and arrow. Both Indians departed.