Gospel Story Finder

“This is the last time,” Jacob thought. “Then I’ll go to sleep.” He pulled the blankets over his body—from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes. Jacob held his breath and counted—“one, two, three”—then poked his head out like a turtle. He had been practicing for a whole week, getting ready for his big day.
“Jacob, are you still awake?” Mom whispered.
Jacob grinned. “Yes, I was just practicing again.”
Mom bent over his bed and tucked the blankets around him. “Good night,” she said with a smile.
The next morning at breakfast Jacob rested his chin in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
“Well, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be baptized,” Jacob said. “What if I make a mistake?”
“Jacob, everyone makes mistakes. What’s important is that we keep trying to do our best. Do you have a testimony of the Savior?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll forget everything. I want everything to be perfect for my special day.”
“I’m happy that you’re taking this seriously, Jacob. Getting baptized is an important step.”
Jacob sighed. “I want to be good, but how can I be good all the time? How can I be like Jesus? He was perfect.”
“Remember the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost?” Dad asked. “It can speak to our hearts and help us in a very direct way.”
Jacob nodded. “It gives you a warm feeling inside, like when Mom covers me with my blankets.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Did you know that when you are baptized you can have the influence of the Holy Ghost with you all the time?”
Jacob sat up straight. “Really?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “But remember, it’s important that you try and do what is right, and the Holy Ghost can help you.”
“I can do that!” Jacob said. He jumped up from the table and wrapped his arms around Dad’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
That day at school Jacob tried to do his best. He helped his teacher erase the chalkboard, but he accidentally knocked a whole box of chalk onto the floor. He ate lunch with a boy who always sat alone, but Jacob accidentally tripped and slopped his spaghetti onto the boy’s lap. He even said hi to Max, a boy who wasn’t very nice to him. There was no doubt about it—doing his best was hard work!
After school Jacob dragged himself into the house and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Hi, Mom,” he said with a groan.
“Hi! How was school today?”
Jacob hung his head. “Well, I tried my best, but I guess my best isn’t good enough,” he said sadly. He explained about the dropped chalk and the spaghetti spill. “I want to be the best I can before I’m baptized, but it’s hard sometimes!”
Mom wrapped her arms around Jacob and gave him a squeeze. “Jacob, accidentally spilling or dropping something isn’t a sin. You do need to be careful, but what’s important is that you’re trying to do what’s right. Heavenly Father loves you and is happy when His children try their best to live righteously.”
Before going to bed that night, Jacob knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father, I’m worried,” he said. “I want to get baptized, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough. Please help me to know when the time is right.”
Jacob felt his body tingle. He felt warm inside. Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried anymore. He felt calm and peaceful.
The next day at school Jacob heard a voice bellow, “Hey, Jacob!”
Jacob knew that voice. He tried to hide, but it was no use; he had already been spotted. Suddenly he was standing face to face with Max.
Max stared at Jacob and crossed his arms. “What do you want from me? No one ever says hi to me. Did someone dare you?”
Jacob shrugged. “I was just trying to be nice. I’m getting baptized.”
“Baptized?” Max asked.
Jacob shuffled his feet nervously. He wasn’t sure how to explain baptism. He said a silent prayer in his mind. “Baptism is when we make special promises to Heavenly Father. We promise to try and keep the commandments. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good.”
“How do you know?” Max asked.
“I know because He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for our sins.”
Max shot out a bunch of questions. “Can anyone be baptized? Where is Jesus now? When—”
Jacob laughed. “Slow down. I can’t answer all your questions, but I know some missionaries who can.” Jacob took a deep breath. A thought whispered in his heart and he asked, “Max, would you like to come to my baptism?”
Two weeks later the day of Jacob’s baptism arrived. He changed into white clothing at the church and neatly combed his hair. Dad dressed in white too. Jacob’s family, friends, and Max sat waiting. Jacob stepped down into the warm water. He looked at his new friend Max and smiled. He held Dad’s hand, closed his eyes, and listened to the baptismal prayer. Once again he held his breath, but this time it was for real. The water rushed over his body, and then he rose up from the water. He took his first breath and smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy with him for trying his best.

Dayra—a young woman from Nuevo León, Mexico—painted words of encouragement on rocks to give to neighbors.
Photograph by Melissa Sue Lara Garza

Melissa Lara from Mexico shared how her daughter, Dayra, set a goal to deliver messages of encouragement during the COVID-19 pandemic: “She decorated stones with phrases, distributed them in her block, and left them at the door.” At one house, an older woman opened the door and asked what she was doing. After Dayra explained her project, the woman asked what phrase Dayra had for her. Dayra told her, “You can keep moving forward. We are with you.”

Melissa said, “The lady with tears in her eyes says, ‘Thank you; those are the words that I needed to hear. I’m going through a challenge and prayed. Then you came to my door to bring me a message I needed.’ I’m grateful my daughter shared her testimony. She told me, ‘Mom, I didn’t know that what I was doing had that impact.’”

My husband’s brother, John*, was being transferred out of state. It was hard to accept the fact that he, his wife, Annie, and their family were leaving. We had spent a lot of time together and had grown quite close.
After John’s family had been gone a few months, my husband, Ron, called to see how they were doing. They had adjusted well and were enjoying their new area. My husband owned a small business and let his brother know the door was always open if he ever wanted to move back and work with him. At that point in the conversation John’s wife, Annie, spoke up and told Ron in no uncertain terms that they were not interested. She apparently said some unkind things about Ron as well as his business.
Ron came home and shared this conversation with me. Although he tried to appear as if it didn’t bother him, I could tell he was deeply hurt. I was enraged and wanted to call Annie immediately and set her straight.
I didn’t call, but once I had allowed myself to be offended, I opened the gates to a flood of foul thoughts. I began finding fault with Annie and gossiped about her with other family members and friends. In essence, I allowed pride to creep into my heart and take root, while charity withered away.
Just as an infection can spread and cause deterioration and pain to the physical body, pride can do the same to the spirit. Although my husband had long forgotten the incident, my heart remained infected. My thoughts were focused on how hurt I was. I was on edge with my family and quick to see the worst in every situation. I had no desire to love and serve others because I was caught up in myself.
After several months we heard that John and Annie were coming to town for a family wedding. I would finally have to face her. I dreaded seeing her, but there was no way around it. As the wedding day approached, my anxiety mounted. I didn’t like the way I had been feeling, and I knew it was wrong. I prayed often for the Savior to help me overcome my negative feelings. Eventually, good thoughts about Annie started to fill my mind.
When I saw her at the wedding, we exchanged shallow greetings. I tried to avoid her the rest of the evening, but I watched her. And as I watched her I realized how much I missed her. My heart began to ache for the peace of forgiveness, and I was overcome with love for Annie.
When the evening reception was nearly over, I found myself sitting alone with Annie. We still hadn’t spoken since our first greeting. I looked at her, and the Spirit filled my heart. I reached out and put my hands on her cheeks. With tears in my eyes, I said, “Annie, I have missed you so much.” We hugged and cried and rejoiced in the peace that comes through forgiveness.
I don’t remember if we ever said we were sorry or if we explained our earlier feelings. All that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the love we felt and our desire to forgive. I didn’t realize until afterward what a huge burden I had been carrying. Pride is a heavy load and an unnecessary one. Feeling the Savior’s perfect love, however, was a sweet and humbling joy.

One possibility for promoting modesty among young women is a panel discussion with the young men. This approach drew together the young people of our ward in serious consideration of this gospel principle.
Some of the priests we invited to participate were less than enthusiastic at first because they did not want to offend the young women who would be their audience. To help set the young men at ease, we met beforehand to talk about what they could say about modesty and how to present their ideas properly.
We felt the Spirit during the panel discussion. The young women joined in the discussion and listened closely to what the young men had to say. One of the panel members told them, “Could we start by not seeing any immodesty at Church meetings?” The young women responded very positively to the advice from their friends.
John Wilkinson, Utah, USA

My wife and I likewise wanted Jesus Christ’s miraculous compassion to heal our newborn daughter. Doctors had discovered a large mass in her abdominal cavity. They diagnosed her with infantile neuroblastoma. Because she was just two weeks old and the malignant (cancerous) mass was large, her prognosis was not hopeful.

Filled with faith in Christ’s ability to heal her, I gave her a priesthood blessing before we went to the children’s hospital. During that experience, no words came to my mind. It was blank. Seeking to muster any words possible, the only phrase I could utter was, “You are in God’s hands.”

Disheartened by that experience, we headed to the children’s hospital where the medical team would perform surgery to biopsy the mass, see how far it had spread, and determine what, if anything, they could do for our daughter. Before the surgery, I again gave my daughter a priesthood blessing and had the exact same experience as before; I could utter only the words, “you are in God’s hands.”

After handing our daughter to the surgeon, my wife and I wept bitterly. When our bodies were unable to produce any more tears, I sat in frustration. I began to wonder if the compassionate miracle we had sought was not given because my faith or worthiness was insufficient. Why had Christ performed so many amazing acts of compassion for others but would not do so for us?

I felt prompted to read the story of Lazarus found in John 11. The interaction between Christ and Martha stood out to me. It felt like Martha was hoping for the same thing I was hoping for, that it was not too late for my daughter to still be miraculously healed. In response to Martha’s request, Jesus Christ said, “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?” (John 11:25–26)

At this moment, it felt like Jesus Christ was talking to me. I felt that if I had eyes to see, Christ would have been sitting next to me waiting for my reply to His question. As I pondered my answer, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes, I do believe in the Son of God and all that He offers.”

Another question came to mind: “What has Jesus Christ made possible for children who die before the age of accountability?”

Again, in my mind, I replied, “That all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (Doctrine and Covenants 137:10).

“Do you believe this?” was the response. Again, conviction filled my soul, and I answered, “Yes.”

The thought came into my mind, “Then you understand that she will be with God and can still become like God. What more do you want for her? You can enjoy that life with her as well when you stay faithful to the temple covenants Jesus Christ has revealed.”

I concluded that the greatest miracle in my life would always be the Atonement of Jesus Christ. There was nothing I wanted more for my daughter than for her to receive all of the blessings Jesus Christ has made available through His atoning sacrifice and sacred temple ordinances. A compassionate miracle was given to us—the miracle that matters the most.

The Fayette group was led by Thomas B. Marsh and the Prophet Joseph’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith. Lucy had called the twenty adults and thirty children together and reminded them that they were traveling by commandment of the Lord, just as father Lehi had when he left Jerusalem. She then said that if they would remain faithful, they could expect the blessings of God just as Lehi’s people had.

The group traveled on the Cayuga and Seneca Canal to Buffalo, New York, where they planned to take a steamboat across Lake Erie to Kirtland. But when they arrived in Buffalo, ice blocked the harbor and further travel was impossible.

They experienced hardships, including hunger and sickness, while they waited for the ice to break. After several days, they put their belongings on a boat, and Lucy persuaded the group to ask the Lord to break the twenty-foot ice barriers that jammed the harbor.

No sooner had they finished praying than a thunderous noise exploded in the air. The captain cried, “Every man to his post!”

The Fayette Saints looked up to see the ice parting to make a passageway just large enough for their boat. When the boat entered the opening, the ice was so close on both sides of it that buckets were ripped from its waterwheel.

As soon as the boat passed through, the opening closed and no other boat could get through. Once again the prayers of the people had been heard! Because people on shore saw the ripping of the waterwheel, they thought that the boat would sink in the icy harbor. So when the Fayette Saints arrived in Kirtland, many people there were surprised to see them.**

I had my eyes opened to “looking beyond what I could see” while serving as a mission president. A young elder arrived with apprehension in his eyes. As we met in an interview, he said dejectedly, “I want to go home.” I thought to myself, “Well, we can fix this.” I counseled him to work hard and to pray about it for a week and then call me. A week later, almost to the minute, he called. He still wanted to go home. I again counseled him to pray, to work hard, and to call me in a week. In our next interview, things had not changed. He insisted on going home.
I just wasn’t going to let that happen. I began teaching him about the sacred nature of his call. I encouraged him to “forget [himself] and go to work.” But no matter what formula I offered, his mind did not change. It finally occurred to me that I might not have the whole picture. It was then that I felt a prompting to ask him the question: “Elder, what is hard for you?” What he said pierced my heart: “President, I can’t read.”
The wise counsel which I thought was so important for him to hear was not at all relevant to his needs. What he needed most was for me to look beyond my hasty assessment and allow the Spirit to help me understand what was really on this elder’s mind. He needed me to see him correctly and offer a reason to hope. Instead, I acted like a giant demolition wrecking ball. This valiant elder did learn to read and became a very pure disciple of Jesus Christ. He opened my eyes to the Lord’s words: “For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Elder Sipos and Elder Damiano were among the missionaries who loaded their cars with books and took them to the other cities. One of the last stops on their trip was Debrecen, a city in eastern Hungary, where they stayed for Church meetings on Sunday, 22 December. “I’ll never forget the reaction in the Debrecen Branch,” says Elder Sipos.
Elder István Berente—a Hungarian who had escaped from the country during the Communist regime, had been baptized, and had returned to his homeland as a missionary—made the announcement. Sister Carina Ragozzine, a missionary in Debrecen at the time, remembers that he started giving a talk about the importance of prophets, especially President Ezra Taft Benson. He emphasized President Benson’s message to read the Book of Mormon and said, “To help you do this, we have a little something for you.” Then the missionaries started handing out copies of the Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“The reaction was amazing,” says Elder Sipos. “Some people were crying, some people started laughing, others started clapping.”
Sister Ragozzine remembers everyone being quiet and making comments about how beautiful the book was. “So many people had joined the Church without seeing it. Finally seeing it made it an even more beautiful book to look at,” she says.
For the next couple of hours the members of the Debrecen Branch wouldn’t leave the room. They were pouring over stories they had heard about from missionaries but had never been able to read for themselves. And they were signing their names and testimonies in other people’s copies of the new Hungarian Book of Mormon.
“It is inexpressible the happiness that fills this day,” wrote Sister Králik Ida2 in Sister Ragozzine’s copy. “I’ve waited a long time for this moment.”
In Elder Sipos’ copy, Sister Fegyverneki Ágnes wrote, “I am so happy. … This was the greatest Christmas present I’ve received. Please don’t ever forget what this Christmas means for us.”
“It was definitely the best Christmas present of the season,” says Sister Ragozzine.

I was the brand-new missionary given to Elder Leavitt, who had only arrived in Sweden two months earlier. My eight weeks in the MTC had only partially prepared me for the culture transition I was experiencing. My language skills were still, you could say, developing, and my senior companion’s were not much more progressed. We had learned several door approaches and discussions by heart, but this memorized speaking was the easy part. Understanding what the people said and then responding correctly was the hard part.
Every day, as we left our apartment, we would ride our bicycles past a school where there was a group of loitering youth. Being from the farmlands in Idaho, I had only heard about “punk rockers,” their elaborate clothing, and their unpredictably wild lifestyles. There in Sweden, I was given the opportunity to gain a real firsthand experience. School was out for the summer, and a group of 10 to 15 of these punkers would gather every day and do nothing except harass the passers-by. Guess who stood out as prime targets in our white shirts and ties? Day after day, they yelled “Mormoner” (Mormons), followed by words which had not been included in our MTC Swedish vocabulary lists. I could tell that we were becoming a prime source of entertainment as we cycled past. Over my first week in the field, these foul incomprehensible phrases had become an afflicting plague, growing in length, volume, and intensity.
Being a new missionary, I thought my whole two years would follow this pattern. I was ready to resign myself to bowing down and suffering in silence. One day we were approaching the group again, and Elder Leavitt and I began again to pedal faster to help limit our exposure to the embarrassing harassment. A new set of phrases spewed forth as we rapidly passed. I, of course, did not understand what was verbally hurled, but my senior companion apparently did. We rode 30 or 40 meters farther while he hesitated and thought. “Enough!” was his response.
Elder Leavitt jumped on his brakes, abruptly slamming to a sharp stop. I swiftly swerved to keep from crashing into his bike and halted on the other side. Gathering myself, I looked over my shoulder. My companion had turned back and was heading straight for that motley band as fast as he could pedal! Only a few seconds had passed, but visions of poor Elder Leavitt being slugged, kicked, clubbed, and knifed flew threw my mind. I had to get over there to save him. I turned back and pumped furiously on my bike to catch up.
Missionaries diligently offer prayers each morning for help in bringing souls to Christ. We too prayed to be given teaching opportunities. We prayed to be led to those who were spiritually suffering, those who were searching for the light of the gospel. We prayed for humility and for the ability to hear the Spirit’s promptings. Up to that point, however, I had never thought about praying for safety. Perhaps our mothers’ prayers would be answered.
A line of black rubber was left behind Elder Leavitt’s back tire as he skidded his bike sideways right up to the center of the bewildered cluster. With wide eyes, they had fallen silent as he confidently placed his kickstand and stepped off toward them. I was right behind.
Elder Leavitt firmly stood, peered around, and said in English, “Who said ‘Mormoner’?”
I could hear my heartbeat during that eternal, silent pause. It was like the eye of a hurricane. One of them pointed his finger at one of the others, and a different one pointed to another, saying, “He did.” And yet another pointed at someone else.
“Do you really know who we are and what we do?” Elder Leavitt said with confidence, again in English.
We got various responses from these youths. The winds of the hurricane had indeed shifted; we had taken control. The mood quickly changed from aggressive to friendly as we began to answer questions about the Church, about Mormons, and especially about us and why we had come so far to their country.
We left with smiles and our traditional handshakes.
The few days remaining of that summer found the same kids still gathering at the school.
“Mormoner!” they would still call out, but they added phrases (which I did understand) such as “How are you doing?” “Where are you going today?” “Please come over here. We have another question.”
In a not-so-subtle way our prayers had been answered. Through those teens, we had been given teaching opportunities; we were bringing light to those who were searching; we were indeed being ambassadors of Christ’s Church by following the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I will always thank my first companion as he helped set the stage for the remainder of my mission.

When I was about ten, my older brother had a serious health problem. The blood in his hands was not circulating properly, and they hurt very badly. At that time, my family lived in a small town on the border of Brazil and Argentina. The medical facilities there were not very good, so my mother and my brother traveled to the big city of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, to see the doctor. Because my father had to work during the day, my baby brother had to stay with another family. So every day I went to visit him. And every day I prayed for my older brother.
The doctors told my mother that they needed to amputate (cut off) my brother’s hands. Mother refused. “No, I know that the Lord will take care of my son,” she said. One night after my mother and brother had returned home, he was in great pain. I shared a room with him, and I remember him crying because his hands hurt so much. While he cried, Mother knelt by his bed, praying. The next morning, I saw him sleeping peacefully. Mother was also asleep, still kneeling at his bedside. We were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but Mother had great faith. Eventually my brother’s hands did get better. He lost the tips of some of his fingers, but he did not have to have his hands amputated.
Mother also had great courage. And she taught us to be of good cheer. She told my brother that even though he had lost part of some fingers, he still had everything else. So my brother did not get discouraged. When he got older, his first job was as a typist. Today he is an attorney.

The Wolfgramms took their Polynesian show on the road and traveled all over the United States and Canada. When they got a full-time offer from a Hawaiian hotel chain in Minneapolis, Minnesota, they packed their bags and moved. Minneapolis was about as far removed from Tonga as it could possibly be, but the Wolfgramms liked it there and contributed to the local ward as well as to the local entertainment industry.
They were devastated when the hotel chain they were working with went out of business. For several months the family of fifteen lived in the hotel owners’ basement. They decided that it would be more profitable to switch from Polynesian to popular music, and they began traveling in an old, uninsulated van, to whatever playing engagements they could arrange. “The van didn’t have any seats,” Leroy recalls, “and we sat in chairs against the sides. Sometimes we traveled in temperatures forty degrees below freezing, and there would be ice on the roof—on the inside.”
Finally, however, their efforts and dedication paid off. Don Powell, an entertainment industry expert who had managed some leading performing groups in the 1960s and 70s, heard them play. He had retired from entertainment because the industry had become “so bizarre,” but when he heard the Wolfgramms, he became interested again.
“The reason I reentered this business was literally because of this family,” says Don, who had had very little contact with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints before he met the Wolfgramms. “The whole family is so loving and bright, and talented, I couldn’t help getting involved. And we’ll never have problems with drugs or alcohol or anything like that, as you do with so many entertainers. It’s absolute heaven to manage them.”
With the resultant success, every minute of every day is packed full of performances, personal appearances, interviews, recording and photography sessions, but a Monday doesn’t go by without a family home evening. If they happen to be on the road on any given Monday, the stage crew is invited, and a lot of missionary work is done at these times.

Joe shows up and things are, I’m happy to say, fairly routine around our house. Maybe part of the reason is that the twins are in bed and both my parents are at the grocery store. At last, Joe can glimpse the Grundy household in a nearly normal mode.
We get right down to it, going over the last details of our presentation and Greg’s recipe for kisseli, which we’ll prepare tomorrow at Joe’s, with some help from his mom. After a half-hour, I get up to grab Greg’s slides. The hallway is dark, but April whisks by me, without her glasses. There’s a trace of perfume in the air.
Perfume? Something is not right. April never wears perfume.
It can’t be! I stop dead in my tracks and do a hasty retreat to the den. But I am too late. April is already asking Joe out for the girls’ choice dance.
“… so if you’d like to, it would be fun if we could go together.”
What will Joe say? After he gets up off the floor laughing, that is. April, my sister, who is not even in Joe’s social league, asking him to the dance? Some things are just not done.
I peek in. April is looking nervously at Joe, as if her life hinges on his answer. Joe looks uncomfortable.
But not for the reason I expect. “Gosh, April. I’d like to. I think you’re cool. But I’ve already been asked, and it wouldn’t be fair to back out on a date. Maybe we can get together sometime other than the dance.”
What? Joe sounds as though he’d really like to go out with April. No sign of annoyance, not the slightest hint of put-down in his voice. The only thing I can detect is concern that April’s feelings—and fragile self-image—remain intact. I back away from the door, struggling to comprehend what I’ve just seen. What is it?
Cool, that’s what it is.

The singular beauty of that first morning was followed by a week of busy filming. By Thursday renewed bad weather set in—more clouds and more rain. By the end of the day there was still one important scene that needed to be put on film—and that scene had to be filmed in bright sunlight. It was the scene where Joseph runs toward his home on a bright sunny day. So Friday morning they set up an 18-foot scaffold for their cameras in the center of the field that lay between the grove and Joseph’s home. They offered another special prayer and waited. After what seemed like hours the clouds parted. The cameras rolled. Just before the scene ended, the clouds closed in again, and darkness prevailed. “That’s all we got,” said David Jacobs, producer-director, “but that was all we needed—it’s the scene that opens the film.”

Many years later, in 2000, the Adelaide Australia Temple was dedicated, and every month, Bill and Betty would travel four hours from Whyalla to serve and worship there. Then in 2003, they drew a circle of a 30-minute radius to the temple and were blessed to find a home which was only a ten-minute drive away. They began working two days a week at that temple and did so for 10 years, until Bill became ill.
Betty returned to regular temple visits after Bill passed away in 2015 and now, at age 91, she says, “I hope to be doing that until the day I die”.

Over 50 years ago, I had the privilege to serve as the president of Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. On the morning of June 5, 1976, my wife, Kathy, and I drove from Rexburg to the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple to attend the sealing of a close friend. Of course, with four young boys in our home at the time, our temple trip could be only accomplished with the help of a courageous babysitter! We left our precious children in her care and made the short, 30-minute drive.

Our experience in the temple that day was wonderful, as it always was. However, after the conclusion of the temple sealing—and as we were preparing to return home—we noticed many temple workers and patrons nervously conversing in the lobby of the temple. Within moments, one of the temple workers told us that the newly constructed Teton Dam in eastern Idaho had collapsed! More than 80 billion gallons (300 million cubic meters) of water were flowing through the dam and into the 300 square miles (775 square km) of neighboring valleys. Much of the city of Rexburg was underwater, with homes and vehicles carried away by floodwaters. Two-thirds of the 9,000 residents were suddenly homeless.

As you might imagine, our thoughts and concerns turned to the safety of our dear children, hundreds of college students and faculty, and a community we loved. We were less than 30 miles (50 km) from home, and yet on this day, long before cell phones and text messaging, we had no way of communicating immediately with our children, nor could we make the drive from Idaho Falls to Rexburg, as all the roads had been closed.

Our only option was to stay the night in a local motel in Idaho Falls. Kathy and I knelt together in our motel room and humbly pleaded with Heavenly Father for the safety of our dear children and the thousands of others affected by the tragic event. I recall Kathy pacing the floors into the early hours of the morning with worry about her children. Despite my own concerns, I was able to put my mind at ease and fall asleep.

It wasn’t long thereafter that my sweet eternal companion woke me and said, “Hal, how can you sleep at a time like this?”

These words then came clearly to my heart and mind. I said to my wife: “Kathy, whatever the outcome, all will be well because of the temple. We have made covenants with God and have been sealed as an eternal family.”

At that moment, it was as if the Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts and minds what we both already knew to be true: the sealing ordinances, found only in the house of the Lord and administered by proper priesthood authority, had bound us together as husband and wife, and our children had been sealed to us. There truly was no need to fear, and we were grateful later to learn that our boys were safe.

As my baptism day approached, my mom and I talked about inviting a friend of mine to the service. We had been friends since preschool, but recently she had moved about 45 miles (72 km) away. I knew she didn’t go to our church, so I was nervous to ask her to come, thinking she might not want to. Finally I decided to invite her, so my mom called her mom. My friend and her mom were excited to come! My baptism day was stormy and rainy, so we thought they might not make it. They showed up right on time! They seemed to really enjoy the baptism, and asked a lot of questions. I felt good that they came and shared this special day. It was an easy and fun way to share the gospel.

Emma Swenson Hansen, another woman of great strength and endurance, regularly helped her husband in the fields when her “condition” would permit it and had the reputation for loading hay better than anyone in the community. Once the hay she was stacking slipped, and her husband saw her slide and fall to the ground. “What are you doing down there?” he asked. “I came down for more hay,” she gamely replied. Her history shows that she kept bees, milked cows, fed the calves, cared for the chickens, cut alfalfa with a scythe to give to her pigs, cured their pork, half-soled the family shoes, and made all the family’s clothing.3

Elder Ezra Taft Benson of the Council of the Twelve had come to Europe early in 1946 to assess needs and open channels for the hundreds of tons of relief supplies that the wards and stakes of the Church had been contributing. In the fall of the year, just as the need was becoming most desperate, these supplies began flowing into Germany.
And not long after welfare supplies began arriving, the Church sent another great gift to Germany—a man of faith and love and compassion. A strong, humble man who had long since outgrown his wooden shoes but who would never outgrow his love for the land of his birth. Walter Stover was called to minister to the war-torn Saints of Germany as president of the East German Mission.
Eager to do his part, he purchased with his own funds two railroad carloads of food and relief supplies and took them with him to Germany. Because of his generosity many lives were saved.
President Stover was sustained as mission president in a meeting at which Elder Benson presided. It was held in a bombed-out school in Berlin. Members of the Church approached President Stover after the meeting and told him, “We have lost our homes, our farms, and all our belongings, but we have not lost our testimonies of the gospel.”
Seven of the East German Mission’s eight districts lay within the Russian zone. President Stover launched a series of district conferences into this zone, gathering together the remnants of the Saints. Many branches had almost disappeared. Some had only women and children. The men were dead or in prison camps. The people were reduced to eating weeds to supplement their meager ration of black bread. The members thronged to the conferences, as hungry for spiritual nourishment as they were for food. Time after time President Stover crossed into the Russian zone in his green Pontiac, taking both spiritual and temporal aid, a shepherd to a scattered and ravaged flock.
There was some danger in these travels. He was arrested several times, and once he was taken at gun point to be tried by a Russian military court as an American spy. He was released unhurt. He had been promised by President George Albert Smith that the adversary would have no power over him as long as he was doing his duty, and this promise was honored many times.
And always, he fed and clothed the Saints. Time after time he staved off starvation and exposure with Church welfare supplies, and sometimes with goods he purchased himself.
His reports from those days are filled with touching stories. “I went to visit one sister whose husband was killed in action in Russia. She lived with no heat, no windows, no water. There was hardly any bedding. Two small children were in bed shivering. The mother was hard of hearing, and the oldest daughter, 11, was half-starved and frozen. The little girl had no shoes and little clothing. … We gave them warm food and clothing.
“I will never forget the thankful expression on the little girl’s face when she got underclothing, a dress, stockings, and new shoes. We also could help the mother and other little girl from the welfare supplies. We gave them a couple of blankets and a few other things. The family might well have frozen to death if they had not come to our attention.”
Another time he wrote: “I gave a little girl an orange. She eyed it with suspicion and then began to play with it. I told her it could be eaten, and before I could show her how to peel it she began to eat the peeling and all as if it were an apple. Children have no knowledge of fruits or sweets. The gaunt adults remember such items as milk, eggs, butter, fats, and meats but vaguely.”
Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.
President Stover’s own generosity to the Saints was legendary. He built and paid for at least four new chapels from his own funds. Once he rented a train to bring the members from East Germany into the American sector of Berlin for a conference.
One Christmas he and the West German Mission president purchased a chocolate bar from the U.S. army commissary for every LDS child in Germany. After that the children called him their “chocolate uncle.”
At the end of his mission, President Stover and his wife adopted two little German girls, Heidi and Brigitte.
President Stover witnessed the birth of the Cold War. He saw the Iron Curtain come down across Europe. He saw access to his beloved Saints in East Germany become more and more difficult and infrequent. But he worked on tirelessly to serve his people in every way he could.
After his release in 1951, Brother Stover continued his giving ways back in Salt Lake. He hired many impoverished immigrants at his business, and quietly helped unnumbered others, shunning publicity, but always giving. Giving was his hobby, his passion, his mission. Students living in Helaman Halls at BYU enjoy one small part of his generosity. He donated all the mattresses and box springs for the whole complex.
In the meantime, he fulfilled many Church assignments, both in his own ward and as a member of Churchwide committees. He didn’t know any other way to spend his life except in service, and he saw chances for service everywhere. President Ezra Taft Benson has said of him, “Brother Walter Stover, whom I have known and loved for over 40 years, is a man without guile and an exemplary Latter-day Saint.” President Thomas S. Monson says, “Walter Stover has contributed his all after the fashion of the Master, quietly and unceremoniously—without any fanfare or credit to himself.”
Walter Stover’s whole life has been dedicated to building Zion and taking care of the needs of his Father’s children. He could have been a very rich man by now as the world measures riches. He could have had estates and mansions and fleets of vintage autos. Instead he has invested his money and himself in the lives of his fellowmen and in the restored gospel. And so instead of being very rich in dollars and cents, he is very rich in love and joy and the Spirit of the Lord.
The Savior must surely have been thinking of people such as Walter Stover when he said,
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–40).

“Once, when I was about seven years old, Mother gave me a dollar bill and asked me to go to Joe Wood’s market to buy a pound of hamburger. As Joe Wood put the hamburger on the counter, I put my hand in my pocket for the money—but the dollar bill was gone! I just panicked. I said to him, ‘I’ll have to come back later,’ then ran out of the store and retraced my steps, looking for the money. I couldn’t find it. I got all the way back home without finding it.
“I couldn’t face Mother and tell her I’d lost the dollar, so I ducked under the kitchen window and went around to the coal shed. I knelt down on the ground and told Heavenly Father that I just had to find that money. Then I crawled back under the window and went down the street again. There in the parking lot I found the dollar! Gratefully, I picked it up and went into the store to pay Joe Wood his money and get the hamburger.

Around this time of loneliness, one of my friends participated in a 100-day gratitude challenge where she posted something she was grateful for on social media every day. At first it seemed ridiculous to me.
But as President Russell M. Nelson recently taught: “Counting our blessings is far better than recounting our problems. No matter our situation, showing gratitude for our privileges is a fast-acting and long-lasting spiritual prescription.”1
I have always been taught that gratitude can bring happiness, but I didn’t really believe it. But if there was a chance that it could help me feel joy, then I was going to try practicing gratitude too.
At first I focused a lot on the extravagant things in my life I was grateful for. But soon I noticed everyday blessings, like my cat, good relationships, the inspirational quotes on my social media feed, and my talents.
I’m always grateful for the moments of peace I feel, and I silently thank God when I notice His mercies that often carry me through the day, reminding me that He has great things in store for me.
I remember when President Nelson invited the sisters and youth of the Church to do social media fasts. Since accepting that first invitation, I’ve fasted from social media multiple times when I’ve felt that it’s creating the “impression that everyone except [me] is leading a fun, adventurous, and exciting life.”2
Through taking much-needed breaks from social media, I’ve learned about the importance of real-life relationships and gained a greater appreciation for finding joy through hobbies and spiritual habits.
I’ve also been able to see others from a more Christlike view instead of judging them by the life highlights they post. As President Nelson added, “Social media … creates a false reality,”3 and if we take a break from it, we can better remember the things that matter most, overcome the world,4 and focus on the Spirit.
When I felt lonely during college, I always had this thought: “If I’m feeling lonely, someone else is too.” That would motivate me to reach out to a friend or acquaintance. Our conversations would always lift both of our spirits.
I’ve realized that when I focus on helping others, I’m happy. This happens every time I listen to my friends’ struggles and offer them love and support. Just as President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said, “To find real happiness, we must seek for it in a focus outside ourselves.”5
As I continue to apply these practices to my life, I keep realizing that I do have a “best” life and I don’t have to wait on specific blessings to feel joy. Sometimes I let my unmet expectations overwhelm me, but I reorient myself to notice my blessings and remember that through trusting Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and keeping my covenants, I can find a lasting joy I can’t get any other way.
I still may not have all the blessings in life I desire right now, but I like to remember these words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “The day will come when you turn the final pages of your own glorious story ... and experience the fulfillment of those blessed and wonderful words: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”6
Until then, I will keep focusing on enjoying the best life I have with God’s help.