Gospel Story Finder

We often hear the phrase “Trust in the Lord,” but what does that really mean when life gets complicated? For me, it was tested during my first year of nursing school at St. Paul University Dumaguete.
I was invited to serve as part of the health team for FSY 2022 in Bacolod. Though I was still a student, I felt honored and excited to help. But two weeks before the event, I discovered that FSY’s opening day fell on the same day as my final exams. I was torn. I wanted to serve, but I also needed to fulfill my academic responsibilities.
So I prayed, asking the Lord to help me find a way. The answer came quietly but clearly: Go.
I asked the FSY coordinators if I could travel solo to Bacolod after my exams. To my surprise, they said yes. That was the first miracle.
On exam day, my dad drove me to school. As we passed the FSY buses, I jokingly said, “Sana all!” He replied, “Just do your part, and God will do the rest.” Normally, I’m the last to finish tests, but that day I was done by 10 a.m.—miracle two.
Then came a twist: an announcement about additional face-to-face exams in the afternoon. I felt crushed. But after another prayer, a second announcement followed—the exams were moved online. Miracle three.
I rushed to the gate, praying for a ride. Just then, an empty bus heading toward Bacolod pulled up. Miracle four.
While traveling through the mountains of Mabinay, I received a message: the online exam would start in 30 minutes. That area had no signal. I prayed again. Suddenly, my phone showed full 5G. I joined the call, completed the exam, and submitted it. As soon as I logged off, the signal vanished. Miracle five.
I arrived in Bacolod safely and on time. Miracle six.
During FSY, seven youth developed high fevers. The health team and I stayed up all night caring for them— checking vitals, doing bed baths, and praying. By morning, all had recovered. Miracle seven.
On the way home, I checked for signal in the same mountain spot. Nothing. Brother Romil confirmed, “That place never has signal.” That moment reaffirmed everything. The Lord had truly intervened.

As I listened and read through the prophet’s talk, the personal message I found was that I needed to work on reading the scriptures and pondering and praying about them.
Every night, before I went to bed, I would read the scriptures. I would ponder and pray, asking my Father in Heaven if they were true. As I finished and climbed into bed, I felt a warm, tingly sensation through me. I knew my prayers were being answered. Through the week I found I was happier and more helpful. I did better in school. I found the time to study and remembered what I was taught. Usually my mother and I argue about things, but that week I found the patience to listen and understand her point of view, which is something that isn’t easy for me. I felt better about myself than I had in ages. I also noticed the Lord made more time for me to continue my scripture studies.
My testimony was strengthened. I felt worthier—all from reading the scriptures every night before going to bed.
I want to keep those same feelings for the rest of my life. I want to keep on getting those many blessings. And all these blessings had come to me from listening to President Hinckley. I want to have such a wonderful change come over me and become as close to Jesus and Heavenly Father as I do when I read my scriptures.

When I got back from my mission, I met a beautiful lady named Sandra Joelene Lyon at stake conference. We both attended Idaho State University in Pocatello but lived in Blackfoot. The best part about commuting was that Sandra and I carpooled in the same group. I could tell she was one of God’s precious daughters, and I knew she was the right one for me to marry. One day I sat next to her in the car and said, “You know, you really ought to write your missionary a ‘Dear John’ letter because you know you’re going to marry me anyway.” It wasn’t quite that simple, but after a couple of years we were married.
We got engaged in December, which makes Christmas especially meaningful. Being married for eternity is the greatest gift we could have given each other. My wife is a wonderful blessing as she provides gifts of love to me, our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren. Her love does much to keep our family united.

Every Saturday, it’s my responsibility to service one of the vending routes my dad owns in the Phoenix, Arizona, area. I drive on the sparsely populated freeway, listen to ’70s music, and enjoy the rare time alone. I love the long distances between the various locations of family entertainment centers and pizza restaurants. My first time making the rounds, however, proved to be more than just a way to earn some extra money and enjoy my time alone.
I had serviced all the booths without incident and felt pretty confident about my skills as a driver and my knowledge of the extensive freeway system in the valley. However, as I drove toward home, I soon found myself in unfamiliar territory and had no idea where I was. Frustrated more than worried, I picked up my dad’s cellular phone, swallowed my pride, and dialed home. No answer.
Getting a little anxious and noticing that I had wandered into a rougher part of town, I locked my doors and dialed again. No answer. I had no idea how to get home, and looking at my directions gave little help. I knew I needed my Heavenly Father and paused to pray. I thanked Him for the opportunity to earn extra money and humbly asked for His assistance to end my predicament. I closed my prayer and paused for a moment to listen. About a minute later, the phone sounded its computerized ring.
“Hello,” I answered.
My dad’s voice crackled through, “Raquel, how are things going? I’m out with your mom, and I felt I needed to call.”
Gratefully, I explained my situation, and he told me where I was and what I needed to do to get home. We disconnected, and I said a simple prayer of thanks, with unbidden tears streaming down my cheeks.
Most likely, I would have found my way home eventually. I doubt even that my situation was very dangerous, but the experience gave me firsthand knowledge that my Heavenly Father listened to my prayers. Now, when serious decisions are thrown my way or when heartfelt questions must be asked, I know He’s near, giving me faith and confidence. Whether I’m lost in an unfamiliar section of town, or lost in an unfamiliar section of life, I know without a doubt He cares and listens.

One year my family and I went trick-or-treating* on Halloween with our cousins. We knocked on one door and the man said he was out of candy, but that he would give each of us a dollar instead. As we walked to the next house, I looked at my dollar and realized that it was actually a $100 bill. I told my dad, and we looked in everyone’s bags. They all had $100 bills. The man had given us a total of $800. We decided to go back and tell him. He was thankful that we had returned his money because that was his house payment. I felt happy because if we had not given him back his money, he could have lost his home. I’m glad that Jesus teaches us to be honest.

Because of that example from my father, years later I was able to make a similar decision. I had just been hired by a consulting company, and they flew six of us employees from the Philippines to Sydney, Australia, to join with 400 managers from all over the world for training. We flew first class. A limousine picked us up at the airport and whisked us away to a five-star hotel, where each room had a big basket of goodies. The company wanted to show us that this was a good company to work for, and it wanted its new hires to stay.
After the first day of meetings, we had a gala dinner, a formal affair. We sat about 12 to a table, each with 10 managers and 2 managing partners who were to be our role models in the company. They told us stories about how they started in the company and grew in their careers with it. They told us of multimillion dollar deals they had closed, important businesspeople they had worked with, and major projects they had directed. I heard the names of Fortune 500 CEOs mentioned frequently and was in awe of these men because of the work they did.
We were all feeling great about our opportunities until one of the people at the table asked, “How does your wife handle all of your traveling? You’re constantly gone.” And one of the partners answered, “I was just divorced two years ago.” And the other partner at our table said, “I’ve been divorced for five years.”
I remember my thoughts: “These are not the men I want to be. I don’t think I want to work for this company because I don’t care much about worldly accomplishments if my family is in disarray.” The example of my father made it easy for me to decide to put my family first, and I found another job that allowed me to do so.

Another great example from the scriptures is Nephi. From him, I learned to trust the Lord rather than complain. Let me explain. When I left the Philippines to get a master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I promised that I would come back. When the time came for my family and me to return, the decision was not easy because I thought that opportunities in my home country were not as promising or rewarding as those in the United States. But because I had given my word, my wife and I decided to exercise faith as Nephi and do what the Lord would have us do.
Even though I had already worked before, I had to start over financially. Money was scarce, and opportunities took time to bear fruit. Then all three of our children got sick, and our savings disappeared. It was one of the toughest times of our lives.
Our youngest son developed a type of tuberculosis. He had to have medicine that was expensive, and he had to take it for nine months. I remember looking in my wallet, and there was no money. My wife asked me how we would be able to feed the children.
During those times, you ask questions. And if you’re not careful, you can become like Laman and Lemuel and start murmuring and become bitter. You feel like life is unfair. It would have been easy for me to think: “I’m a returned missionary. I served the Lord. We pay our tithing. We serve in the Church. Where are the blessings?” But we remained active, we served in our callings, and we got by. My brother and his wife helped us financially, and I finally found a job. It was barely enough, and it paid less than what I had earned before I left for school. I felt I was a failure.
Finally, after several years, my wife and I decided that wondering and worrying weren’t helping. We said, “Let’s stop murmuring, trust in the Lord, and be happy with what we have.” And right after that, things turned around. I got several job offers and was able to choose the best one. I was called as the bishop of our ward. It seemed the blessings just flowed.

Another five years passed, and I came to stay at my parents’ home while I was changing employment. My father was the ward mission leader, and every afternoon the missionaries would visit him briefly to update and coordinate plans. One day they asked him, “Who is that young man there?”
He said, “That’s my older son.”
“Is he a member?”
“No.”
“We need to talk with him.”
But I said, “No, I’m not interested.”
Then one day my father agreed to let the missionaries teach a lady in our home. They came around 5:00 in the afternoon and began teaching her—and they knew that I was in the next room making a sandwich before leaving to see my friends. They taught about a boy prophet—Joseph Smith—and the First Vision. And from the other room, I listened.
When I eventually left the house, the Spirit started to work in my heart and some questions came into my mind: “Why don’t you do what the sisters taught this lady? Why don’t you study the history of Joseph Smith and ask the Lord if he was a prophet?” And I said to myself, “I’m happy. I’m doing good things. I don’t need it.” But the Spirit started to wrestle with me, and I decided not to see my friends that night. I went back home.
I asked my mom, “Where can I read the history of Joseph Smith?” She gave me her scriptures and showed me the Joseph Smith—History, and I read and prayed. I read the first paragraph, pondered, and asked Heavenly Father if what’s there is true. I did this with every paragraph until I completed the whole thing. My heart was anxious for an answer. I read and prayed all night, until 9:20 the next morning.
The Lord revealed to me that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I had a very sacred experience. As I finished praying, I promised that I would find the missionaries and be baptized because I had this sure knowledge.
I told the sisters, “I need to be baptized now.” They explained the lessons I needed to have and commitments I needed to make. But I said, “I don’t want to lose a single day with the knowledge that the Lord has given me that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
The sisters called their zone leader. He agreed to an accelerated schedule for the lessons. He scheduled the baptismal interview and told me he’d also need to talk to the ward mission leader, and I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk with the ward mission leader. He’s my daddy. He’s been praying for years for me to be baptized.”
My baptism was an experience I will remember forever. What a sweet and wonderful feeling. I felt that I was a new man. I was clean. I felt so close to God, and I was very happy.

When I attended stake conference that morning in March 1993, I had no idea how much my life—and the lives of my ancestors—would be affected.
Along with other members of the Brazil Santos Stake, I was enjoying the conference. Then, near the end of the meeting, a sister’s talk especially stirred something within me. She spoke about family history work.
My friend, Silmara Peres, was also strongly moved by the Spirit. At the end of the meeting, we approached one of the people responsible for family history work in our stake and volunteered to help with the family records extraction program.
The following Tuesday, the two of us went to the stake building to begin our new assignment. After we received our training, we began the work of extracting names and dates from microfilmed records so that the saving ordinances of the gospel could be performed in the temple for the people listed in the records.
Someone else was there working on a roll of microfilm. He graciously let us continue the roll he was working on, so that we could get started immediately.
We had just begun—we had extracted only two names—when I found myself reading the names of my great-grandparents! At first I was doubtful. Could this be a coincidence? We asked the supervisor what city these microfilmed records had come from. Noticing our excitement, she returned the microfilm to the beginning, where it showed the name of the town: Itirapina.
Silmara and I looked at each other in amazement. During a recent vacation with our bishop and his family, we had visited Itirapina. I had wanted to see the town because it was the place my father had come from. Now, as we looked at the names and dates on the microfilm, we knew that we really had found my ancestors! I was overcome with emotion, gratitude, and testimony. Now temple work could be done for them.
Since then, Silmara and I have continued to make this work a part of our lives, and our testimonies have increased. Every week we go to the stake building and give this service. As we extract names from the microfilms, we know that we are serving the Lord, for now these people can also be baptized and receive temple ordinances.
We are finding that this is not only a service—it is a blessing.

Katelyn B., 16, from Missouri, USA, was working on her Personal Progress when she noticed some of the projects she had set felt a little too easy to accomplish. So she decided she needed to challenge herself to do something greater and perhaps a little more meaningful. Little did she know she would also have to face one of her fears: speaking in public. Maybe not such a scary thing for some people, but for Katelyn it certainly was.

As Katelyn thought about setting a Personal Progress project goal for divine nature, she thought a lot about creating a project that could take her out of her comfort zone and really push her. She asked her leaders for ideas and one suggested visiting little girls in hospitals. Katelyn initially wanted to forget the idea. What would she even say to them?

But as Katelyn tried to think of a different project, her mind kept going back to those little girls. They are daughters of God like me, she thought. Maybe I could help some of them. She still felt the fear, but realizing she couldn’t push the feeling off any further, she got to work planning. Just a couple months later she began dressing up like a princess on her way to uplift and inspire the girls she visits in the hospital.

“Going to the hospital for the first time was one of the hardest things I have done,” Katelyn says. “It’s hard for me to talk to people I don’t know. But after the little girls saw me and began smiling, I felt peace. I knew it was what I needed to be doing.”

The glitter from Katelyn’s dress caught the little girls’ attention as she walked into the hospital rooms. This unexpected visit from a princess brightened their day. “They need to know they are important too,” she recounts.

Her goal was to help them smile as they engaged in fun activities and to encourage them to keep going.

“You really are a princess, whether you think you look like a princess or not,” says Katelyn. With a new perspective on divine nature, Katelyn learned to see these girls as daughters of God with great potential.

Katelyn is no superhero flying across the sky. She hasn’t done anything to break world records. But visiting her little princesses in hospitals has helped her overcome her fear and realize her true worth as a daughter of God.

Noting the unwavering, absolute position of the North Star, one writer told the contrasting story of a young boy who became lost on a camping trip. When his father finally found him, his father asked if he had remembered to pick out something in the landscape that he could always see. This, his father said, would have helped him to fix a steady position. The boy said, “I did.”
“What was it?” the father asked.
“That rabbit over there,” the boy said.
Young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, fix your gaze on the unchanging standards of the gospel and not on the moving rabbit.

For some, the suffering is extraordinary. In the early days of the Church Stillman Pond was a member of the second quorum of the seventy in Nauvoo. He was an early convert to the Church, having come from Hubbardston, Massachusetts. Like others, he and his wife, Maria, and their children were harassed and driven out of Nauvoo. In September 1846 they became part of the great western migration. The early winter that year brought extreme hardships, including malaria, cholera, and consumption. The family was visited by all three of these diseases.
Maria contracted consumption, and all of the children were stricken with malaria. Three of the children died while moving through the early snows. Stillman buried them on the plains. Maria’s condition worsened because of the grief, pain, and the fever of malaria. She could no longer walk. Weakened and sickly, she gave birth to twins. They were named Joseph and Hyrum, and both died within a few days.
The Stillman Pond family arrived at Winter Quarters, and like many other families, they suffered bitterly while living in a tent. The death of the five children coming across the plains to Winter Quarters was but a beginning.
The journal of Horace K. and Helen Mar Whitney verifies the following regarding four more of the children of Stillman Pond who perished:
“On Wednesday, the 2nd of December 1846, Laura Jane Pond, age 14 years, … died of chills and fever.” Two days later on “Friday, the 4th of December 1846, Harriet M. Pond, age 11 years, … died with chills.” Three days later, “Monday, the 7th of December, 1846, Abigail A. Pond, age 18 years, … died with chills.” Just five weeks later, “Friday, the 15th of January, 1847, Lyman Pond, age 6 years, … died with chills and fever.”
Four months later, on May 17, 1847, his wife, Maria Davis Pond, also died. Crossing the plains, Stillman Pond lost nine children and a wife. He became an outstanding colonizer in Utah and later became a leader in the quorums of the seventy. Having lost these nine children and his wife in crossing the plains, Stillman Pond did not lose his faith. He did not quit. He went forward. He paid a price, as have many others before and since, to become acquainted with God.

One day while upset with his younger brother, our nine-year-old loudly complained of his brother’s faults. This had happened many times before, and it had troubled me, but this day I felt inspired to try a more positive approach to solving the problem. I sent my son to his room and told him not to come out until he had written down ten nice things about his younger brother. When he emerged with the list, his attitude had changed. Looking for the positive had crowded out his negative thoughts and feelings.
We have since used this form of discipline frequently and have found it an effective way to maintain an atmosphere of love in our home. And learning early in life to look for a person’s good qualities will make our children happier and better prepared to get along with others in the future.

One year at youth conference, my ward spent a day doing service. I volunteered to help at the town’s high school (even though I didn’t have the best memories there), because a janitor needed help moving lockers. As my friend and I helped move the lockers, I thought about the school where we were serving. I remembered a sporting event there where I felt the referees had not called a fair game. For my team, that game was still a sore spot, and I realized that I had let anger and bitterness stay in my heart.
I began to feel sorrow as I thought about the grudge I held, and I prayed for forgiveness. As I prayed and kept serving, I felt the anger and bitterness melting away and began to see the high school as it was: a great school facing some tough times. I began to feel gratitude for God guiding me to where I needed to serve and work through my problems. Through my service, the Lord was able to open my eyes to the grudge I’d harbored and help me let it go. I learned that service will scrape away the blackness of anger and bitterness, help us gain a love for those we once disliked, and help us draw closer to our Heavenly Father.
Robert S., Idaho, USA

The quarterly conference of the Parowan Stake in December 1879 witnessed the call of forty-nine men and their families to a new mission. The call came from President John Taylor and the Twelve through Elder Erastus Snow. Later, others from nearby settlements joined the final company. What followed became the Hole-in-the-Rock expedition, an epic in Church history. Two hundred fifty of our people, with eighty wagons and hundreds of loose cattle and horses, cut their way through the rough, unknown country of southeastern Utah. The area traversed remains one of the least-known regions of the world today. Their objective was the San Juan country. In addition to desert cliffs and canyons, the forbidding Colorado River gorge stood in their way. No highway bridge crossed that gorge until 1934. No commercial airline flew from Utah to Arizona, near their route, until 1959.
Seeking the shortest route, Mormon explorers found a narrow slit in Glen Canyon. The river ran two thousand feet below the red cliffs. This “Hole in the Rock” seemed to offer the shortest route.
Only a slit in the sheer cliffs, the hole was too narrow for teams, or in some places even for a man. Sheer drops of as much as seventy-five feet made it impossible even for a mountain sheep, let alone loaded wagons. In December 1879, after having left the Parowan and Cedar valleys the previous April, the Saints began to cut a precipitous, primitive road with blasting powder and tools. Elder Platte D. Lyman, leading the party, found that if a road could be built, it would drop eight feet every sixteen and one-half, the first third of the way to the river. Thereafter came several sheer precipices. But the party was prepared. With faith, they were equipped not only for blasting cliffs and carving passages, but for building a raft-boat capable of carrying teams and wagons across the river.
A road was built and a boat made by January 25, 1880. Now came the effort to get families and the first forty wagons, camped at the rim, down the “Hole.” The others, back at Fifty-Mile Spring, would follow later.
Kumen Jones has left a description of the method of descent. Twenty men and boys would hold long ropes back of each wagon. The wheels were brake-locked with chains. Otherwise, rolling wheels would pitch, unchecked, into the struggling team. On January 26, 1880, a month later, Platte D. Lyman recorded in his journal: “Today we worked all the wagons in this camp down the Hole and ferried 26 of them across the river. The boat is worked by 1 pair of oars and does very well.”
The family of Joseph Stanford Smith and his wife, Arabella, was the last wagon to descend that day. A grandson, Raymond Smith Jones, has described their experience. I doubt that a modern film company, with millions of dollars and modern engineering resources, could film this epic.
Stanford Smith had helped the preceding wagons down that long day. His outfit had evidently been forgotten. Deeply disturbed, he climbed the two-thousand-foot incline. He found Arabella sitting on a quilt, holding the baby, patiently waiting. His outfit and their two other children in the wagon were hidden behind a huge, mountainous rock.
Stanford Smith moved his load to the edge. A third horse was hitched to the rear axle. Stanford and Arabella looked down the “Hole.” He said, “I am afraid we can’t make it.”
The wife replied, “We must make it.”
He said, “If we only had a few men to hold the wagon back we might make it, Belle.”
Replied his wife, “I’ll do the holding back.”
A quilt was laid on the ground. There she placed the baby between the legs of three-year-old Roy. “Hold little brother til papa comes for you,” she said. Ada, the older girl, was placed in front of them. Behind the wagon Belle Smith grasped the reins of the horse hitched to the rear. Stanford started the team down the “Hole.” The wagon lurched downward. The rear horse and Belle were thrown from their feet. Recovering, she hung back, pulling on the lines with all her strength and courage. A jagged rock cut a cruel gash in her leg from heel to hip. The horse behind the wagon fell to his haunches. The half-dead animal was dragged down most of the way. The gallant woman, clothes torn, with a grievous wound, later said, “I crow-hopped right along!”
On reaching the bottom, Stanford and Arabella heard a faint call from the children. Joseph Stanford Smith climbed to the top to get them. They were safely in place. Carrying the baby, the other children clinging to him and to each other, he led them down the rocky crack. As they approached the river’s edge, they saw five men carrying chains and ropes in the distance. The Smiths had been missed. The men were coming to help. Stanford called out, “Forget it, fellows. … My wife here is all the help a fellow needs.” (See David E. Miller, Hole-in-the-Rock: An Epic in the Colonization of the Great American West, Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1959, pp. 101–18.)

In just a few moments, we will listen to our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, a man of undaunted faith in Jesus Christ, a man of hope and peace, loved by God but not spared from the wounds of the soul.
In 1995 his daughter Emily, while expecting a child, was diagnosed with cancer. There were days of hope and happiness as her healthy baby was delivered. But the cancer returned, and their beloved Emily would pass from this life just two weeks after her 37th birthday, leaving her loving husband and five young children.
In general conference, shortly after her passing, President Nelson confided: “My tears of sorrow have flowed along with wishes that I could have done more for our daughter. … If I had the power of resurrection, I would have been tempted to bring [her] back. … [But] Jesus Christ holds those keys and will use them for Emily … and for all people in the Lord’s own time.”

“Twelve times twelve is … one hundred forty-four!” I shouted.
“Great job, Chakell!” Mrs. Good said. My whole class cheered. I was the first student to pass off all my multiplication tables.
I grinned as I walked back to my desk. I’d practiced with Dad all week and was feeling proud of myself. But then I saw another student stand up—Jack.
“OK, Jack. Let’s see if you can pass off your twelves today too,” Mrs. Good said.
My friend Jack was really smart. We were always trying to beat each other at everything. Usually we just tied.
Jack passed off his twelves perfectly. “We’re still tied!” he said as he sat down.
“Yeah,” I said. “Good job.” I was happy for him, but I felt like something was squishing my heart. I frowned and stared at the prickly cactus growing by the window.
Passing off my twelves didn’t feel very special anymore.
That afternoon, Mrs. Good pulled out a a plastic circle with pegs on it. “This is a loom,” she explained. “We’re going to use it to make scarves.”
Jack grinned at me. “I bet I can finish my scarf before you.”
“Not if I beat you first!”
We both laughed. I was excited. This was something I could be the best at.
The next day, I brought pink and purple yarn to school. Mrs. Good helped us wrap our yarn around our looms. I grabbed my red hook, ready to start.
At first, making the scarf was easy. I used my hook just like Mrs. Good showed us. But soon, it got harder. I couldn’t remember what to do next.
Maybe I should ask for help, I thought.
But then I glanced at Jack. His black and red stitches already filled his loom. He was winning!
Why is this so hard for me? My yarn looked like tangled spaghetti.
That night, I told Mom about my scarf. “I don’t know why it’s so hard,” I wailed. “If I have to ask for help, that must mean I’m not very smart. Jack never has to ask for help, and now he’s going to win!” My eyes got watery.
Mom pulled me into a warm hug. “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re not smart. Everyone needs a little help sometimes.”
“Everyone?” I asked.
“Everyone,” Mom said. “We pray to ask Heavenly Father for help all the time.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
The next day, it was craft time again. I stared at my loom. I looked at Jack. His scarf was twice as long as it was yesterday. I took a deep breath and walked over to my teacher.
“Mrs. Good, can you please help me with my scarf? I’m not very good at it,” I said.
Mrs. Good smiled at me. “Of course! Learning new things takes practice. You just aren’t good at it yet.”
Soon, after Mrs. Good gave me a few pointers, my yarn was finally turning into a scarf!
Jack finished his scarf a few days later. He showed me his black and red masterpiece. I showed him my pink and purple work in progress.
“Your scarf is looking great,” Jack said.
I grinned at him. “Yours too. You’re really good at this. And you beat me!”
He laughed. “I did, but I can’t ever keep up with how many books you read.”
With a smile on my face, I picked up my hook and got back to work.

As I walked into my routine doctor appointment, I was filled with excitement and hope. By ultrasound I had already seen my tiny baby’s heartbeat, but now, several weeks later, the tiny one inside me would be even bigger. Having experienced the miracle of pregnancy three times already, I never ceased to be amazed.
Ten minutes later I was crying alone in my car—the image of a still baby with no heartbeat forever imprinted in my mind.
During the days that followed, I was in a dazed stupor. I felt empty and alone. My husband had to go back to work, and our three children ran around the house as I half-heartedly fed them and tried to keep the house clean. But I was not really there. When I came home from running errands, the first thing I would do was check to see if I had any missed calls. None. I would check my email every hour. Nothing. I started wondering if my friends and neighbors cared about me. Were they even my friends at all? I didn’t notice how Satan was working on me.
I was sharing my feelings with my husband one night, and he immediately saw what was happening. He shared 1 Nephi 21:15–16 with me:
“I [will] not forget thee, O house of Israel.
“Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.”
I had learned about and studied the Atonement before. I thought I knew what it was. But I had failed to appropriately apply it to my life. Jesus had already suffered all of my sorrows. He knew exactly how I felt.
“His most exemplary act, the Atonement, required Jesus to descend ‘below all things’ (D&C 88:6) and suffer ‘the pains of all men’ (2 Nephi 9:21). Thus we understand the Atonement has broader purpose than providing a means to overcome sin. This greatest of all earthly accomplishments gives the Savior the power to fulfill this promise: ‘If ye will turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart, … he will … deliver you’ (Mosiah 7:33).”1
What better friend could I have during this tragic time than one who could surely sympathize with me? I realized I needed my Savior to help me overcome my sorrow. As I turned to the Lord, I immediately saw His love for me. I felt calm and peaceful, and I felt that Jesus understood me as I had never thought possible. He is exactly the kind of friend I was longing for in those days after my miscarriage—the kind of friend I needed most.
I know I can always turn to my Savior, not only when I need to repent of my sins but also when I need a shoulder to cry on. He is always there. When we are searching for someone to understand our pains and sorrows, let us not forget our truest friend, Jesus Christ.

I decided I wanted to help too. I asked my parents if we could have a garage sale and donate the money we earned to the village. My mom told me she didn’t know how to send the money straight to the village, but we could donate the money to the Church Humanitarian Aid Fund. She explained that the Humanitarian Aid Fund uses the money to help places like that village.
I went to my room and looked for toys I could sell in the garage sale. My mom and other family members helped find other things we could sell. I made a goal for how much money I wanted to donate.
We had our garage sale on a Saturday morning and were able to raise most of the money. We donated the things we didn’t sell to a thrift store. I also donated some of my money from chores to help reach the goal, and my parents told me they would help too.
Finally I was able to reach my goal and donate the money for people like the villagers who had lost their homes. It might take longer for me to save up for things I want after donating some of my money, but I’m glad I was able to help them. My mom said that doing this blessed our family because we were helping others.

We later learned that Mac was a prayer cat in more ways than one. I discovered this one afternoon when I couldn’t find my list of spelling words. I needed it to study for a big test the next day, but it wasn’t in my backpack or with my schoolbooks. I was frantic. I came out from looking under my bed and saw Mac watching me.
“What do you want?” I said irritably. “It’s not time for family prayer. Go away, you silly cat.”
Mac just sat staring at me. As I looked at him, I remembered that I hadn’t prayed.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I admitted. “This is probably the perfect time for a prayer.”
I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to help me find my spelling list. When I finished, I felt Mac brushing his head against my arm. I sat down and scratched behind his ears. Then I remembered! On the way home from school I had taken my list out to practice the spelling words with my friend. Quickly I felt in my coat pocket and found the list.
“Thanks, Mac,” I said. “Thanks for reminding me that any time is a good time for prayer.” Then I knelt again and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me.