Gospel Story Finder

It took Ann and Walter Huish a long time and a lot of determination to make it to the Salt Lake Valley. Their pioneer journey started in England, where the missionaries taught and baptized them. But Walter and Ann wanted to live close to other members of the Church. They decided to leave their home in England and sail across the ocean to America. Their voyage took 50 days!
Next they had to take a boat up the Mississippi River. They stopped in St. Louis, where Walter worked hard to earn money for the trek to the Salt Lake Valley. He worked for many years so they could have money to make the trip. Finally they were able to travel the final 1,300 miles (2,090 km) across the plains. At last their trek was over!

Priscila prepared for her temple trip by studying general conference talks about the temple with her mother, reading Church magazines, and studying the scriptures. She also gathered the names of four generations on her father’s side of the family so she could perform vicarious baptisms for them. Priscila’s mom compiled the family history information for four generations of her side of the family.
Once the 185 members departed Manaus by boat, Priscila and the five other young women in the caravan helped tend the Primary-age children and fixed meals. At night they slept in hammocks on the boat deck to try to stay cool in the hot jungle temperatures.
“Being on the caravan was so spiritual because everyone was so excited and anxious to go to the temple,” Priscila comments. “Most people had never been to the temple, so almost no one knew exactly what to expect. Everyone sang songs and read scriptures together. We were so united.”
The bus ride was the most difficult part of the journey because the buses traveled both day and night for three days, and the members were unable to move around much. As a result, many of the members had severe pain and swelling in their legs.
When they arrived at the temple, Priscila immediately went to the baptistry to do baptisms for the dead, while her mother went to a different part of the temple to receive her endowment. Priscila spent every day in São Paulo in the temple, even though it was the first time she had been to the large metropolis.
“I spent my 15th birthday in the temple. When the baptismal font coordinator discovered it was my birthday, he told me he had a present for me,” Priscila explains. “So many people come to the temple that most patrons can do the baptisms for only five people. He gave me a large stack of names of people who needed their baptismal work done for them. He couldn’t have given me a better present.”
Priscila’s mother comments about other changes that happened in Priscila’s life: “The caravan spiritually influenced her. She was a light for all of the other members. Everyone came back different. On the bus ride home, we felt that our appearances and faces had changed; we were all so happy.”

They remind me of the characters in a parable written a few years ago by Dr. Hugh Nibley. And I would like to quote part of his parable:
“A young man once long ago claimed he had found a large diamond in his field as he was ploughing. He put the stone on display to the public free of charge, and everyone took sides. A psychologist showed, by citing some famous case studies, that the young man was suffering from a well-known form of delusion. An historian showed that other men have also claimed to have found diamonds in fields and have been deceived. A geologist proved that there were no diamonds in the area but only quartz: The young man had been fooled by a quartz. When asked to inspect the stone itself, the geologist declined with a weary, tolerant smile, and a kindly shake of the head. An English professor showed that the young man in describing his stone used the very same language that others had used in describing uncut diamonds: He was, therefore, simply speaking the common language of his time. A sociologist showed that only three out of 177 florists’ assistants in four major cities believed the stone was genuine. A clergyman wrote a book to show that it was not the young man but someone else who had found the stone.
“Finally an indigent jeweler … pointed out that since the stone was still available for examination the answer to the question of whether it was a diamond or not had absolutely nothing to do with who found it, or whether the finder was honest or sane, or who believed him, or whether he would know a diamond from a brick, or whether diamonds had ever been found in fields, or whether people had ever been fooled by quartz or glass, but was to be answered simply and solely by putting the stone to certain well-known tests for diamonds. Experts on diamonds were called in. Some of them declared it genuine. The others made nervous jokes about it and declared that they could not very well jeopardize their dignity and reputations by appearing to take the thing too seriously. To hide the bad impression thus made, someone came out with the theory that the stone was really a synthetic diamond, very skillfully made, but a fake just the same. The objection to this is that the production of a good synthetic diamond, for the farm boy, would have been an even more remarkable feat than the finding of a real one.” (Lehi in the Desert and the World of the Jaredites, Bookcraft, 1952, pp. 136–37.)

I know all these things, but sometimes I still feel “concealed,” and I think it is not the adulation of the world that would change that feeling. I remember the time when, as the young mother of four very small children and the wife of a very busy husband, I felt not just concealed, but buried by my home. I vividly remember standing at the ironing board in a room cluttered with toys and children, watching general conference on television. As President Harold B. Lee spoke, he seemed to be talking directly to me, and the Spirit entered my heart that day to remind me that I was a daughter of God and beloved of Him. Tears splashed on the iron as I felt His love surround me—a feeling I had forgotten.
Later I realized that I had become too busy with my little family for scripture study and going to the temple. Most of my time at church was spent in the hall with fussy babies, rather than worshiping. I had thought that reading the scriptures years earlier as a missionary would carry me through the rest of my life. I felt “concealed”—cut off from the Lord, but I was not. He was there, but I had failed to look up and see Him and receive His help and blessing. Now I know that no matter how small and insignificant my life may appear to the world, it doesn’t matter—as long as I am not concealed from the Lord.

My dream of attending the Air Force Academy was deep-rooted. My father was a career man in the air force, and those summers I spent with him, learning to fly, and becoming familiar with everything about air force life, were some of the greatest experiences I’ve had. My parents divorced when I was quite young, so I didn’t get to see my father very often, and those times when we were together were very important to me.
During my junior year in high school, I made my official application for the Academy appointment. School was going well for me; I was getting good grades; I was active in my priests quorum; and in the spring of that year, I was elected student-body president. The possibility of receiving an Academy appointment looked better and better. As much as I wanted it, though, one thought kept repeating itself in my mind: “You should go on a mission.” I knew President Kimball had counseled that every young man in the Church should fulfill a mission, but I felt my case was an exception. If I accepted a mission call, my chances of ever entering the Academy would be very poor, since most cadets went in immediately after high school graduation. I also felt that living a good LDS life while at the Academy would, in a sense, be a mission in itself. Despite my reasoning, however, the prompting continued, and so did my efforts to squelch it.
After school was out, I flew to Virginia to spend the summer with my dad, who is not a member of the Church. Discussing with him the likelihood of winning an appointment made the prospect even more exciting. Dad’s encouragement was motivating, and I returned to Lewiston even more determined to make him proud of me, his son, the future Air Force Academy cadet! The summer had done a fairly good job of deadening my thoughts of serving a mission, but almost the first Sunday I was home, those old, unwelcome feelings began to stir. I realize now that the Holy Ghost was working overtime on me, and since then I have gained a strong testimony of the power of his influence. Every single day my thoughts were occupied with thoughts of the Academy versus a mission. I began reading my patriarchal blessing frequently; it said that when the time came, I would serve a mission. Still, my desires were with the Academy, and I was becoming more and more confused.
During these months I spent a lot of time talking to my former bishop, Bishop Tolman, trying to sort out my feelings and decide what I should do. He didn’t try to influence my decision, but told me he would support me in whatever I decided. His confidence in me was a great support. As I prayed for guidance in making the right decision, I felt assurance that I would.
Then on October 10, 1976, as I was sitting in testimony meeting, I suddenly knew that I had to go on a mission and that the Academy would have to wait. I had in my jacket pocket a missionary handbook that had been distributed in priests quorum meetings months and months before. I took it out and wrote in Spanish (so no one else would know what I was writing), “When I’m 19, I’ll go on a mission.” I recorded the date, and then I put it away. I didn’t think about it again for a couple of weeks. I’d made my decision, and my conscience wasn’t working quite as hard.
It was just about this time that the nominations to the Academy were being announced. I was named. It was a little hard to explain to some of my friends and teachers that what I had worked for for years, now a reality, was going to be turned down. I talked to Bishop Tolman for about an hour and a half. He said, “Chris, I really think you’ll be happy with this decision. I believe you’ve made the right one.” As we talked I began to have a desire to serve a mission rather than just a feeling of obligation.
Then the time came to tell my dad. I didn’t know what to do. I felt sure that he would never be able to understand or accept my decision. To him the air force was everything, and I knew that when I told him, it would be the last time I’d ever talk to him. I prayed constantly for the courage to tell him, that somehow he would be able to accept it.
When I heard his voice on the other end of the line, I nearly hung up the telephone. Somehow, though, the words came out. After I told him, there was at least a full 30 seconds of total silence. I had expected anger and disappointment, but the silence was even more unnerving. Finally he spoke: “Well, Chris, just what is a mission?” He asked me what I would be required to do, how long it would be, where I was going. After listening to my explanation he said firmly, “If that’s what you really want, then I’ll support your decision.” It completely surprised me; I couldn’t talk. I gave the phone to my mother and went downstairs to my room.
Since that time my dad and I have kept a regular correspondence going, and he has even offered to help support me financially. My gratitude to him has increased tremendously as I have come to realize more than ever before his great love for me.
I’ve had times since our conversation when I’ve thought, “I had the Academy in my grasp, and I let it go, and now I’ll never get it again.” Those times, though, aren’t very long-lasting and are few and far between. I realize that I won’t die if I don’t get to go to the Academy and that serving a mission is what the Lord wants me to do. I’m excited about it, and nothing will keep me from serving the best that I can!
Editor’s Note: This story was written prior to Elder Henderson’s departure for the mission field. He is now serving in the Korea Seoul Mission.

Entering the school yard, Ana opened the sack and took a last peek at her gift for the box. It was beautiful! She smiled, knowing how wonderful it would make someone feel. Two years ago, when her family had first moved from Mexico, someone had left a Christmas box on their doorstep. In it were oranges; a ham; hot chocolate mix; chewy caramels; and soft, white mountains of divinity, which melted into nothing on the tongue. Six homemade Christmas socks, one for each family member, were filled with surprises. And now she could share the same thrill with someone else.
“We come from Mexico. The first Christmas in our new country … , we are very sad. Then a box—a Christmas box—was left at our house. The note says, ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Country, from your secret friend.’ ‘Thank you,’ we shout to the night. ‘Thank you.’”

Anne and Kara were both new in their ward when Anne was assigned to minister to Kara and her young family. A friendship quickly developed between the two of them. Anne, a newlywed, enjoyed helping Kara with her four young daughters, who ranged in age from newborn to seven years old. One day, Kara’s baby sustained a skull fracture that required surgery.
Anne jumped in and watched the other children until their grandmother could arrive to take care of them. Once their grandmother arrived, Anne checked with her to see what help she might need, then brought dinner to the family that night. She also arranged for neighbors to bring meals for a few days.
The next day when she checked in on Kara’s family, Anne noticed that one of Kara’s daughters was worried about her baby sister, so Anne invited her to come make cookies to give her some personal attention. Anne also texted the ward council to let them know what had happened and told them she would keep them updated about the situation. During the next week, while the baby received treatment, Anne kept the ward council up to date and saw to the family’s needs. Anne’s help allowed Kara time and peace of mind as a parent in a difficult, scary situation.

My first few months of being a new member of the Church were rough ones—especially for my friends. On one hand, I was excited about what I had found, the feelings of inner peace and the joy I felt in my close relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
On the other hand, in my excitement to share my new understanding of the restored gospel and its teachings, I started to regularly tell my non-LDS friends when they did something I thought was wrong.
Of course, I was about as subtle as a bull elephant on a charge.
One evening in the early summer, I finally realized how judgmental and self-righteous I had become. About five months after my baptism, I went to an outdoor concert with a good friend. As we walked around the grounds trying to find a spot to eat our picnic before the concert began, I noticed many of the people around us had brought wine to share with their dinner. Not one to pass up an opportunity to show how much wisdom I had acquired by being a member of the Church, I hissed to my friend, “Look at all those people drinking wine—that’s disgusting!”
My kind and patient friend turned to me and said, “I’m sure that when Jewish people go into a restaurant, they don’t walk around and criticize everyone with ham on their plates.”
I finally had the good sense to be silent for a little while and ponder what he said. I realized that in all the lessons I had been taught, there had been no mention of members going forth and judging their neighbors. As a matter of fact, the terms “silent example” and “loving nature” had been used a lot.
Embarrassed, I thanked my friend for his wisdom and apologized for my lack of consideration.
I am happy to report that his message came through loud and clear. I stopped demanding changes from my friends and started demanding change from myself. I still stand strong for the things I believe in, but in a polite way—a way that, happily, has made my friends comfortable in talking to me about the Church.

When Nickie and James go for a walk, I always want to go too. But they say, “You can’t keep up. You walk too slow.”
So I get sniffly, and Mom says, “Take him along.”
But by the time I get to the mailbox, they’re already climbing the tree. When I get to the tree, they’re throwing rocks in the creek. And when I get to the creek, they’re halfway up the hill. I guess they’re right—I walk too slow.
When Mom asks who wants to take our dog, Boris, for a walk, I say, “Me! Me!” She looks worried, but hands me the leash. Then Boris drags me down the stairs, and I slip on the grass, and I stub my toes on the rocks. I guess I walk too slow.
When Daddy says, “Who wants to walk to the post office with me?” I grab his hand. But Daddy’s legs are long, and I have to take three steps every time he takes one. Daddy goes for a walk, but I go for a run. I guess I walk too slow.
But when I walk with Grandpa, he takes small steps like mine. We have time to look for rocks, watch bugs, and touch the bark and moss on trees. And when I walk with Grandpa, we talk about things. I like to walk with Grandpa. He walks too slow—just like me!

One such experience occurred late one evening during a busy holiday season. I was hurriedly searching for a scripture to strengthen my sacrament meeting talk the following Sunday. My mind was crowded with concerns about arriving relatives, unfinished holiday preparations, and the chaotic state of my house. I wondered why I had ever said yes to the bishop at such a hectic time. After a long, fruitless search, at last I came upon the eleventh chapter of 1 Nephi, which details Nephi’s remarkable vision of the Savior’s birth and earthly mission. Somehow the full impact of this vision had escaped me in earlier readings, but tonight the meaning of those words struck me forcefully. Nephi wrote joyfully:
“And the angel said unto me: Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father! Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which thy father saw?
“And I answered him, saying: Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.
“And he spake unto me, saying: Yea, and the most joyous to the soul.” (1 Ne. 11:21–23; italics added.)
The words seemed like a newly discovered treasure. For the first time, the meaning of Lehi’s white-fruited tree was entirely clear. The fruit which tasted so exquisitely sweet represented the irresistibly sweet love of God. I had found the theme for my talk—and the strength to get through the next demanding days, as well. Pressures could mount and cash registers jingle; no matter. My heart had once again been warmed and strengthened by God’s love.
Yet the most lasting impact of that frantic late-evening search was the awakening of a precious memory: my own personal discovery of God’s love.

“Once there was and twice there wasn’t a Turkish sultan who loved to eat. …” And so the story unwinds as you read of the gluttonous sultan who eats soup and rice and yogurt and bread and who daily weighs himself. He finds that he is “finally growing to be a fine figure of a ruler.” Soon the sultan doesn’t fit into his clothing and finally can’t fit into his bathtub. He diets. As the physicians try to cure the sultan of fatness, each fails and is sent to prison. Then the hamal arrives. (A hamal in Turkey, even today, is a public porter who can carry incredible loads.) In this Turkish folk tale it is the hamal who has straightforward answers to the sultan’s problems, and these make the story delightful!

I remember the first time I met President Gordon B. Hinckley. I was attending a luncheon held at the Church Office Building. By some tender mercy I found myself seated at the same table as the prophet. During that lunch hour I observed that he rarely talked about himself; he was more interested in learning about others. He directed the conversation by asking questions of each person at our table. Somehow he knew that I had served as a mission president in Siberia, so he asked me how the Russians heat their big apartment buildings in the winter­time. He was a very gracious listener, sincerely interested in everyone and everything—much like the Master whom he served.

First of all, Shawn Bradley is tall.
Not just the ordinary kind of tall.
Shawn is literally the tallest person most people will see in their lifetimes. His height simply astounds people.
But Shawn Bradley is more than a 2.26-meter-tall freshman college basketball player. His honest concern for others and wonderful attitude about life hint at depths that match his amazing size. But first of all, before anyone can come to understand that inner person, there is Shawn’s height.
“I intimidate people,” Shawn says half apologetically, “just because I’m so tall. It’s really funny how some people react when they see me.”
“Yes,” says Justin, Shawn’s 1.87-meter-tall, thirteen-year-old brother, “When we see another 2-meter guy, we don’t think he’s so tall.”
Sitting in the front room of his parents’ home, Shawn doesn’t seem extraordinarily tall while relaxing in a comfortable chair. But as soon as he stands up, the room’s normal 2.43-meter-high ceilings shrink. “I have to duck through almost every doorway in this house. It was built ten years ago, and Mom and Dad had no idea I would be this tall.”
The doorways cause problems when Shawn forgets to duck his head. He and Justin sometimes start wrestling and chasing each other as brothers will do. “When I get chasing Justin around, once in a while I’ll forget that I’m indoors,” says Shawn. “Then, bang! My head hits the doorway, and I’m flat on the floor. I almost knock myself unconscious.”
Shawn’s mother, Theresa, lists a few other adjustments they have had to make at home. “We had to extend the height of our mirror in the bathroom so Shawn can see. We’ve had to order him a 2.43-meter-long bed. He loves to come home after he’s been traveling with the basketball team and sleeping in hotel beds.”
“I have to sleep on the floor when I’m traveling,” says Shawn.
Friends and family are completely used to Shawn’s height, but they find it entertaining to go places with him and notice other people’s reactions.
“My family treats me horribly when we go to the stores,” Shawn says, in mock complaint. Justin and sisters Tasha, 15, and Adrianne, 9, just smile because they know what he is going to say next. “We’ll all be walking together, my family and friends, and I’ll look around and no one will be there. I turn around, and they are about six or eight meters behind me, watching everyone look at me. I’ll say, ‘Thanks a lot, guys.’”
His sister, Tasha, adds, “You can’t believe the looks he gets.”

My husband and I are serving a live-at-home mission in a tiny branch in Tuskegee, Alabama. Another wonderful young family has also been called to serve there. They have two Primary-age children—Matthew (9) and his brother Marcus (4). They travel about an hour every Sunday and Wednesday to help strengthen the branch. The father of the family is a counselor in the branch presidency, and each Sunday they all arrive at 8:00 a.m. so he can attend his presidency meeting. They stay until the tithes and offerings have been counted and recorded around 2:00 p.m. It is a very full day for the children, but they are happy and well-behaved. Before and after meetings they read scriptures with their mom and older sister or talk quietly. Often they are the only two children in Primary, where they say the prayers almost every week. On Wednesday evenings they help clean and vacuum the building or empty garbage while their mom teaches Mutual. They both plan to serve full-time missions when they are old enough.

I want to share with you a tale about going into the wilderness, which I believe applies to us today in a very real way.
One night in ancient times, three horsemen were riding across a desert. As they crossed the dry bed of a river, out of the darkness a voice called, "halt!" They obeyed. The voice then told them to dismount, to pick up handfuls of pebbles, put the pebbles in their pockets and remount. The voice then said, "If you have done as I commanded, tomorrow at sunup you will be both glad and sorry." The horsemen rode on. When the sun rose, they reached into their pockets and found that a miracle had happened. The pebbles had been transformed into diamonds and other precious stones. They remembered the warning that they would be both glad and sorry. Glad they had taken some; sorry they had not taken more.

Four years ago, during my preparation to serve a full-time mission, I went to Asi Ukpo hospital located in the city of Calabar, Nigeria for my medicals. After paying for my medical test, it was time for my X-ray. I was directed to the laboratory and there I met with the doctor. He looked at me and asked the following questions:
“Your name?”
I replied “Bassey Thomas, sir”.
He asked, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?”
I said “Yes, I am.”
He smiled and asked, “Have you been to the temple before?”
I said “Yes, I have”.
He then asked, “Have you been baptized for the dead before?”
I again replied, “Yes, I have”.
Next, he asked, “Are you going on a mission?”
I said “yes, that’s why I am here, for my medicals.”
He smiled again and asked me to wait. He then invited his colleague to join, and they began trying to prove my faith wrong and my decision as well. I was quiet while they spoke. They opened scriptures and started teaching me. They challenged me to go look for a Bible-believing church and join. They also promised to cancel my medical test and refund my payment so that I can go and look for something meaningful to do.
After their challenge I began testifying to them:
That God and His Son, Jesus Christ live.
That The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.
That the temple and temple ordinances such as baptism for the dead are ordained of Him.
My decision to serve as a full-time missionary is to help others to know this truth.
They told me that they didn’t have any option other than to obey my choice. He then proceeded to carry out the test.
After some months, I was called to serve and labor in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. There I was able to learn, teach, grow and develop a strong testimony of my Heavenly Father, my Saviour and His restored gospel. The experience I had in that hospital has strengthened my testimony, whenever I think back on it. Indeed God “will not suffer [us] to be tempted above that [we] are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that [we] may be able to bear it” (1 Corinthians 10:13).

A story in Church history tells of the rescue of future Church president Lorenzo Snow. He was called on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. After the ship’s arrival Lorenzo and his companions were going ashore in a smaller boat when suddenly an immense wave capsized their tiny craft and washed them overboard. All were accounted for except Lorenzo. A frantic search turned up his lifeless body. His companions quickly made for the shore. Upon reaching land they rolled him over an empty barrel to expel the water. Then they were impressed to take turns applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a little-known technique at the time. Lorenzo miraculously recovered.

When I was young, our little family lived in a one-bedroom apartment. I slept on the couch in the living room. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to be an athlete. I did everything I was told might help me. While some of the advice I received was questionable, I tried it anyway, just in case it might help. I was advised not to eat chocolate, so I didn’t eat chocolate. I remember being told not to drink soda pop because it would “cut your wind.” I never drank soda pop. I was also told to sleep with the windows wide open to get plenty of fresh air, so all year long I slept with the windows open.
My dad, a steelworker, left home for work very early each day. Every morning he would quietly close the windows I had opened in the living room; then he would tuck the covers around me and stop for a minute. Often, half-dreaming, I would sense my dad standing beside the couch, looking at me. As I pretended to sleep, he would bow his head and quietly pray with all his attention, energy, and focus—for me.
Each morning he would pray that I would have a good day, that I would be safe, that I would learn and prepare for the future. And since he could not be with me until evening, he would pray for the teachers and my friends that I would be with that day.
In junior high and high school, I reached my dream to be an athlete. I played football and baseball. Our football games were usually played on Friday evenings. My father now worked out of town during the week. But each Friday afternoon, he left work and drove six or seven hours to make it to every one of my games. He never arrived in time for the start of the game, but the coaches would leave a sideline pass at the gate for him. I knew that sometime during the first half, I would look up and there he would be on the sideline, watching me. Then after church on Sunday afternoons, he would have to turn around and drive back to work.
At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and in everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them, that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

When I was dating, I saw many scenarios where the worth of others was based on appearance. It made me sad to see how some of my friends went on fewer dates than those who seemed to fit the world’s beauty standards. And, unfortunately, in my own quest for an eternal companion, I also had my own checklist of traits—including physical ones—that I was looking for in a future husband.
Eventually, I did find someone to marry in the temple. And in the beginning, I thought we had a wonderful marriage. But I started noticing that my husband would boast to others about how he had married the prettiest girl in the room, and yet he couldn’t ever seem to say anything nice about my appearance privately. He always commented if my weight changed and told me how to do my hair and how to dress.
A few months after I had our first child, my husband unexpectedly said he wanted a divorce. I hadn’t even known something was wrong. Despite my best efforts, he couldn’t be persuaded to work on saving our marriage, and I was left a single mother.
Later, I discovered he had been involved with another woman while we were still married, and I was astounded to find that she looked just like me but was a few years younger and didn’t have any of the changes that came with carrying and delivering a baby. I began wondering why I wasn’t good enough and focusing on my physical flaws.
As I pondered the meaning of true beauty, I found a quote that contrasted with the world’s view of the matter: “Amid ‘all of the deception’ that may initially occur in dating—including always looking our best—we should remember that appearance and style ‘are essentially unessential.’”1
This helped me understand that seeing each other’s spirits, or what’s on the inside, is what is truly important in finding a spouse and is the key to loving others and ourselves. As disciples of Jesus Christ, we should be focusing on strength of character and on our identities as divine spirits.
My divorce hurt me a lot, but it also gave me a chance to reevaluate the meaning of true beauty and divine worth. If you are struggling to recognize your divine worth or that of others, consider the following tips, which helped me reframe my perspective.

Years ago, a woman named Jacqueline Langey-Johnson moved into our neighborhood. She is a caretaker for two young women with developmental disabilities. As a couple, we wondered if Jacqueline might have a difficult time taking care of her property while caring for these young women. We decided to introduce ourselves and see how we could help.
We had a wonderful conversation during which we told Jacqueline we would be delighted to help her with some yard work. She gratefully accepted our offer and told us how difficult it was for her to get outside and do yard work since she couldn’t leave the young women alone in the house.
The Lord was very aware of Jacqueline’s situation and used us to help her find joy in her new home and feel welcomed in the neighborhood. We were thrilled at the chance to serve her and develop a forever friendship.
We soon discovered that Jacqueline was a devout Christian who loved reading about the Savior. So during one of our conversations, we gave her a Come, Follow Me—For Individuals and Families: New Testament manual. Jacqueline absolutely loved the material in the manual and the creative way it was presented—it made reading the New Testament enjoyable and easy to understand.
One day about two years ago, Jacqueline asked if the full-time missionaries could come to her home and teach her more about the Church using the Come, Follow Me manual. Alongside the full-time missionaries, we started having weekly discussions with her. After four months, she wanted to be baptized. She asked me (Bob) to perform the ordinance and my wife (Judy) to be a witness.
Since her baptism in September 2020, Jacqueline has served as a sacrament meeting greeter, assisted the full-time missionaries in teaching others, counseled young adults in our ward with developmental disabilities, met with the full-time missionaries weekly to learn more about the Church, and identified several of her ancestors who need temple ordinance work performed for them. She also currently serves in the Denver Colorado Temple.