Gospel Story Finder

Another challenge came several years ago when my husband and I divorced. This came as a shock to me. I didn’t know how to react. I thought I had a perfect little family. I was also going to dental school at the time. I left school to focus on my children. I feel that this was the best choice. I don’t regret it at all. But I had a lot of anger. How does someone just leave a marriage and four amazing children?
I was also terrified about what was going to happen to me and my kids. I cried and felt a sense of panic, wondering if they were still sealed to me. I talked to my bishop, and he said that Heavenly Father has promised that we are sealed for all eternity, but our agency will determine if we will be together forever. It gave me such relief to know that my kids were still sealed to me.
But I still felt anger and felt that I was not worthy to go to the temple. How can you go to the temple with so much anger? I also didn’t want to go to the temple because I am divorced. I felt like I didn’t deserve it because I was supposed to be in a marriage still.
I talked with my bishop again, and he told me that Satan doesn’t want me to go back to the temple. He wants to make me miserable and to feel that I’m not worthy. It was amazing when I entered the temple again. Going to the temple makes me feel better and stronger. Knowing that Heavenly Father is helping me be a mom, that I’m not alone, and that He is never going to abandon me or my family gives me so much strength. Now I make sure that my temple recommend is always current.
“I know I just need to keep moving forward and get closer to Heavenly Father each day. This is the way I’m going to be with my children forever.”
Even though their dad is not in the picture, I always tell my kids that I am here for them. We’re going to church, we’re doing our scripture study, and we’re praying. We have an understanding of how important family is and that we need to forgive each other, support each other, and cheer each other on.
People have asked me what I would do if I had an extra hour each day. Would I sleep? Would I eat? What would I do? I would have 15 minutes of quality time with each of my children.
I love my children so much that in spite of the great heartache from the relationship with their father, it was worth it to have them. That’s how much they mean to me. I have hilarious, amazing, and kind-hearted children. Even with their struggles, they always think of ways to help others.
Making sure our faith is strong keeps us going as a family. If we do our part, the Lord comes through on His blessings and promises. That’s something that I live by, and I am very blessed.

After I joined the Church, my brother talked about missionary work almost every day. He always encouraged me to go on a mission. With his help, I filled out my mission application. I will never forget how happy my older brother and I were then.
One evening my brother called me to come and meet with him after work. He wanted to talk with me about some things relating to my mission. We set a time to meet at the central square.
Around this time parliamentary elections were happening in Mongolia. When we met at the central square, citizens were holding a demonstration because of the election. Police were there, but the demonstration was getting violent and scary, escalating into a riot. A big building and several cars were on fire, and people were screaming. It was frightening.
My brother and I had met far away from the demonstration, but he was worried. He gave me money for a taxi and told me to go straight home. He told me that I would see him the next day. He planned to go back to his home, which was close to where he worked. The taxi arrived, and we said a quick good-bye before I drove away.
I soon found out that the government had closed all the roads because of the rioting. Unable to get to my home, which was in the outskirts of the city, I spent the night at work instead. Armored cars and armed soldiers were everywhere. The fighting worsened, and that night a state of emergency was called. It lasted for four days.
When the state of emergency ended, my brother-in-law came to pick me up. We got to his home to find all our relatives waiting there. They were all crying. I learned that my older brother had been shot as he was walking home.
My heart felt like it was going to burst. My brother died when he was 24 because of that demonstration. The days following my brother’s death were among the most horrible of my life.
It was during this difficult time that I received my mission call. After having been through my conversion, baptism, and mission paper preparation with my brother, I was left to open my mission call alone. To my surprise, I was called to serve in my own country.
Since I was alone, I knelt down right there and thanked my Heavenly Father in prayer. And I prayed for my brother. I cried and cried while I prayed. At this time, when there was so much hurt and loneliness in my heart, I felt the Spirit witness of the plan of salvation more deeply to me, and my faith was strengthened.
Left to right: Amarsanaa and his brothers, Dorjsuren and Amarsaikhan
Even though my brother was not there to open my mission call with me, I will always be grateful to him. I am also very grateful that God has given us the plan of salvation through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It is the most amazing plan. If we follow this plan, we will feel peace in our hearts.
The scriptures tell us: “O how great the plan of our God! For … the paradise of God must deliver up the spirits of the righteous, and the grave deliver up the body of the righteous; and the spirit and the body is restored to itself again, and all men become incorruptible, and immortal, and they are living souls” (2 Nephi 9:13).
I know that my brother is alive in the spirit world. This knowledge gives me the confidence I need to do well on my mission. I know he will be with me during the difficult times—and so will the Lord.

Maintaining your standards qualifies you for marriage in the temple. Incidentally, this is the 173rd Annual General Conference of the Church, and for just a bit of trivia, my wife and I have been married 73 years. So the year we were married, the Church would have been holding the 100th annual conference. I can remember that as I was holding Ruby’s hand across the altar of the temple—listening to the words of the sealing ceremony—I had a special feeling in my heart, not only of the sacredness of it but of the responsibility I had to live as I should live, to take care of her and our children, and then our grandchildren, and then the other generations that would come along. I was determined to set an example of living the way a person can live in honoring the priesthood and our marriage covenant.

There weren’t many Latter-day Saints in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey, where I spent my childhood. Mine was the only Latter-day Saint family in the town when I was growing up. As a result, my friends didn’t know much about the Church. Most of my classmates were Christians, however, and each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible—something that isn’t done in public schools today.
When my turn came, I always chose to read the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. And I didn’t tell my parents, either.
When I was eleven, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.
As I was growing up, there were no Church chapels in the entire state of New Jersey, and so for a time our little branch met in a hotel in a nearby town. My earliest memory of having a testimony of the gospel was when I was five or six years old and we were having a meeting in the ballroom of the hotel. An important visitor was there. I don’t remember now who he was, but he was very thin and tall, and I believe he had white hair.
I had grown restless near the end of the meeting as he was speaking, and my mother had been trying to keep me quiet, but she finally let me sit backward in my chair so that my legs were dangling from it. Although I wasn’t facing the speaker, I was listening to him. Suddenly I felt a burning in my heart, just like the burning described in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8: “And if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” [D&C 9:8] I remember turning around and seeing this tall man with the light streaming in from the large windows behind him, and I knew that he was a servant of God and that what he was saying was true. The feeling I had then was as clear and sure as anything could be.
During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when you came downstairs on Sunday, you were in church. The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than ten or fifteen people attending. The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.
It’s nice to have lots of Latter-day Saints in our meetinghouses. It’s wonderful to have the full programs of the Church. But even where there are only a very few members of the Church, the Lord is there, and He can bless people in wonderful ways. I know that God reaches out to all His children. In the scriptures it says, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, … there will I be in the midst of them” (D&C 6:32).
Some of you children may live in places where there aren’t many other members of the Church. And some of you may feel lonely even where there are many members, perhaps because you feel that no one understands you or that you aren’t a part of things. But as long as you are faithful and reach out to the true Church of Jesus Christ, and as long as there is even one holder of the priesthood and one or two faithful people to help you, you can have tremendous spiritual experiences and learn and grow in the gospel.

Years ago I became acquainted with two families in the process of dissolving a jointly owned commercial enterprise. The principals, two men who were friends and members of the same Christian congregation, had formed the company years earlier. They had a generally congenial relationship as business partners, but as they grew older and the next generation began to take part in the business, conflicts emerged. Finally, all parties decided it would be best to divide up the assets and go their separate ways. One of the two original partners devised a stratagem with his lawyers to secure for himself a significant financial advantage in the dissolution at the expense of the other partner and his sons. In a meeting of the parties, one of the sons complained about this unfair treatment and appealed to the honor and Christian beliefs of the first partner. “You know this is not right,” he said. “How could you take advantage of someone this way, especially a brother in the same church?” The first partner’s lawyer retorted, “Oh, grow up! How can you be so naive?”
Integrity is not naiveté. What is naive is to suppose that we are not accountable to God. The Savior declared, “My Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; … that as I have been lifted up by men even so should men be lifted up by the Father, to stand before me, to be judged of their works, whether they be good or whether they be evil” (3 Nephi 27:14). One who lives a consecrated life does not seek to take advantage of another but, if anything, will turn the other cheek and, if required to deliver a coat, will give the cloak also (see Matthew 5:39–40). The Savior’s sternest rebukes were to hypocrites. Hypocrisy is terribly destructive, not only to the hypocrite but also to those who observe or know of his or her conduct, especially children. It is faith destroying, whereas honor is the rich soil in which the seed of faith thrives.
A consecrated life is a beautiful thing. Its strength and serenity are “as a very fruitful tree which is planted in a goodly land, by a pure stream, that yieldeth much precious fruit” (D&C 97:9). Of particular significance is the influence of a consecrated man or woman upon others, especially those closest and dearest. The consecration of many who have gone before us and others who live among us has helped lay the foundation for our happiness. In like manner, future generations will take courage from your consecrated life, acknowledging their debt to you for the possession of all that truly matters. May we consecrate ourselves as sons and daughters of God, “that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope” (Moroni 7:48; see also 1 John 3:2), I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One day I was walking through the mall when I noticed two guys, probably still in high school, heading in my direction and pointing to girls. They would look at them for a few seconds and then state a number between 1 and 10. I realized they were ranking them by their looks! I walked a little faster so they wouldn’t have time to rank me, but when they walked by, they pointed to me and said, “Uh, zero.” Then they were off. I felt something inside me go empty. I was so hurt. I couldn’t believe that someone would actually do something like that. I hurried to my car so I wouldn’t have to cry out in the open. Once inside my car, I cried for help in a silent prayer asking, “Lord, how do I get past this?”
In that moment, a scripture came into my head—1 Samuel 16:7. “The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” I was reminded that the Lord knows who I am. Zero is just a number those young men were using as a rude label.
I was comforted, and the emptiness I felt was filled with the love of God. Heavenly Father loves each of His children. There is not any scale big enough to measure the love He has for His children; it is worth so much more than the judgments of men.

In 1856, at age 13, Mary joined the Church with her family in England, traveled to America, and joined the Martin handcart company. In her personal history she recounts the difficulty of the journey—the loss of her baby brother and older brother, the freezing of her own feet, and finally the death of an infant sister and her mother. When she arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, the doctor amputated her toes, but she was promised by the prophet, Brigham Young, that she would not have to have any more of her feet cut off. She recounts: “One day I sat … crying. My feet were hurting me so—when a little old woman knocked at the door. She said she had felt someone needed her there for a number of days. … I showed her my feet. … She said, ‘Yes, and with the help of the Lord we will save them yet.’ She made a poultice and put on my feet and every day after the doctor had gone she would come and change the poultice. At the end of three months my feet were well.”

But Mary had sat in her chair so long that the cords of her legs had become stiff and she could not straighten them. When her father saw her condition, he cried. He rubbed her legs with oil and tried to straighten them, but it was of no use. One day he said, “Mary I have thought of a plan to help you. I will nail a shelf on the wall and while I am away to work you try to reach it.” She said that she tried all day for several days and at last she could reach the shelf. Then her father put the shelf a little higher. This went on for another three months, and through her daily diligence her legs were straightened and she learned to walk again.

I believe that you are learning, like Mary Goble, to reach just a little higher to the shelf our leaders have raised for us, and that if you will reach higher as those ideals are raised, you will become able to walk into the future with confidence.

I remember walking home from Primary one afternoon when I was about eleven years old. I had been deeply moved by the lesson Sister Squires had taught us about Gethsemane and the Savior’s crucifixion. I remember saying to my father that since Jesus Christ was God, this suffering would not have hurt Him as much as it would an ordinary person.

My father got the scriptures from our living room and read to me from the nineteenth section of the Doctrine and Covenants. He read several verses to me, among them verses 16–19:
“‘For behold, I, God, have suffered these things for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent;
“‘But if they would not repent they must suffer even as I;
“‘Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit—and would that I might not drink the bitter cup, and shrink—
“‘Nevertheless, glory be to the Father, and I partook and finished my preparations unto the children of men.’” [D&C 19:16–19]

After my father finished reading the scriptures, he turned to me and said, “Because Jesus Christ was God, it hurt Him more, not less.”

Don’t think that only grown-ups can understand the doctrines of the Church or learn from the scriptures. The Spirit can help you feel and know these things too. Don’t worry if you don’t understand everything you read or hear—grown-ups don’t, either. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that Sister Squires told us about the Savior’s Atonement and Crucifixion. Her lesson troubled me. It led me to ask more questions. I’m also grateful to a father who knew the scriptures and who didn’t think I was too young to learn. I’m sure Sister Squires didn’t tell us everything she knew, and I’m sure I didn’t understand everything she told us. But I felt that day what I think she felt, and it made a difference in my life.

In 1951, the branch my family belonged to started building a chapel. It was the first chapel in Uruguay. We had never met in a Church meetinghouse like many of you go to every Sunday. In fact, I did not know exactly what a chapel was, but I knew that it was something very important.
There were less than one hundred members who worked with my parents to construct the building. There were no cranes or construction crews like those that build many chapels. All of the work was done by the members of the branch. I knew that it was an honor to help because of the way my parents talked excitedly about the building and because they spent so much of their time helping to build it. I wanted to help, too.
Some members mixed cement. Some members dug holes, and some hammered nails. There were not many jobs for a five-year-old, so they gave me the job of straightening out the nails. I took a hammer and pounded old nails, trying to make them straight. I loved the clang of the hammer and the challenge of getting the bends out of the metal nails. Most of all, I loved just having a job. My parents reminded me that the chapel could not be built without nails. I felt thrilled that I could serve with my family.
After three years, the chapel was finally finished. President David O. McKay came to Uruguay to dedicate it. Having the prophet visit was a very special event for the Uruguayan members of the Church. Everyone dressed up in their nicest clothes to meet him. I remember President McKay standing in the chapel, and I was thrilled that he could see the building I had helped create. He put the cornerstone in place and dedicated the building. His white hair made him look like he had come from heaven. He went around and shook everyone’s hand. When he came to me, he bent down especially to shake my hand. It was my first experience with meeting a prophet, and when he spoke to me, I had a warm feeling in my heart. I felt glad that I had helped to build the chapel.
Twenty years later, I became the bishop and served in the very building I had helped to build. The branch had grown in those twenty years, and so had I. As a child, I had relied upon my parents’ testimonies. I later gained my own testimony as I served others.

The unseen hand of the Lord guides the efforts of those who strive to learn and live the truth of the gospel. As a mission president, I received a weekly letter from each missionary. One that pleased me greatly came from a young elder serving in Hamilton. He and his companion were working with a lovely family, a young couple with two children. The couple felt that the message was true, and they could not deny their desire to be baptized. The wife, however, worried about her mother and father in faraway western Canada, fearing she and her husband would be disowned by her parents for joining the Church. She took pen in hand and jotted a note to her parents in Vancouver. The note read something like this:
“Dear Mother and Father,
“I want to thank you with all of my heart for your kindness and for your understanding and for the teachings which you gave me in my youth. John and I have come across a great truth, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We have studied the discussions, and our baptism will take place next Saturday night. We hope you will understand. In fact, we hope that you will welcome the missionaries in your home as we welcomed them in ours.”
The letter was sealed with a tear, a stamp was affixed, and it was mailed to Vancouver. On the very day it was received in Vancouver, the couple in Hamilton received a letter from the wife’s mother and father. They wrote:
“We are far away from you, or we would surely talk to you in person. We want you to know that missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have called at our home, and we cannot deny the validity of their message. We have set a date for our baptism to take place next week. We hope you will understand and not be unduly critical of our decision. This gospel means so much to us and has brought such happiness into our lives that we pray someday you might also agree to learn more about it.”
Can you imagine what happened when the couple in Hamilton received that letter from the wife’s parents? They phoned Mother and Dad, and there were many tears of joy shed. I am sure there was a long-distance embrace, for both families became members of the Church.
You see, our Heavenly Father knows who we are, His sons and His daughters. He wants to bring into our lives the blessings for which we qualify, and He can do it. He can accomplish anything.

When Australians Robert and Darice Dudfield arrived in Ethiopia in August 2020, they arrived in a country of about 120 million people—and not one missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the ground. Ethiopia’s four fledgling congregations had not met since the pandemic hit, and although the Book of Mormon was available in their language, Amharic, few other Church materials were. The Dudfields knew that opening the new Ethiopia Addis Ababa Mission would be a great learning opportunity. They immediately got to work.
Soon after their arrival, eight Ethiopian elders and sisters were called to serve missions in their home country and received training via Zoom from Ghana. Only two months later, however, President Dudfield contracted a severe case of COVID-19.
Covered with vein-searching-bruises, he required oxygen and a month of hospitalization, and at times, Robert thought he wouldn’t make it. Darice put all such thoughts aside, “The Lord didn’t bring you to Ethiopia to die this early on!” she assured her husband. “You’ll get through this.”
It took another month of quarantining at home before he fully recovered. The Dudfields first setback taught them “there are tremendous lessons to be learned through trials. It’s all about our approach in dealing with our circumstances.”
In December 2020, Church services resumed, and the missionary force started growing, but so did political unrest, and President Russell M. Nelson ultimately decided the missionaries needed to move out of the country.
Miraculously, some of the missionaries serving in remote areas were able to fly to the nation’s capital before access to Addis Ababa was cut off. “On our mission, we learned that you’re never alone. The Lord is at the helm” recalled Darice. Missionaries who had been tested for COVID-19 were put on a plane to Kenya, where the Ethiopia mission was relocated.
They operated from Kenya, although most of their missionaries were reassigned temporarily to the Kenya Nairobi Mission. Those who remained in the Ethiopia mission used telephones and limited technology to connect with members and friends of the Church in Ethiopia, where local leaders took over the responsibility of missionary work.
Of the Kenya experience, senior missionaries, Elder and Sister Moyers said, “We experienced that unexpected and drastic change presses on our emotions, intellect, and especially our faith in our purpose . . . Being relocated is either a blessing or a challenge, and each missionary has the agency to choose which it will be for him or her.”
The Moyers served as member-leader support missionaries and helped to build the Church from within. President Dudfield said, “We learned the significant value of missionary service and the great value of senior couples. This is a call for those willing and able to serve. It changes your life.”
As things began to settle in Ethiopia, missionaries returned in stages. “Greeting the last of our missionaries back into Ethiopia at the end of June 2021 was an emotional and sacred experience,” the Dudfields recalled. The Church began to grow again, and the number of those consistently attending worship services increased from around 80 to over 400.
Reflecting on their three-year tenure in Ethiopia, the Dudfields’ saw the hand of the Lord bring great miracles to pass, including:
Relationships built with the ministry of peace, resulting in a $250,000 donation of funds for COVID-19 equipment plus ongoing support for important initiatives
Conferences and more frequent activities for youth, children, women, and young adults
Training to increase the quality of leadership and teaching
Seminary, institute, and the launch of the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program
Preparing 40 members to attend the temple for the first time
The translation of hymns and Church materials into local languages
A Light the World musical presentation, and a music video created for a Church global music festival
“What we learned from the people of Ethiopia . . . is that the things that are most important bring the greatest joy. Ethiopians are people of faith, with a great love of family and community.
“We see the countenance of Christ in images of Ethiopians and joy in their faces.”
On their decision to leave the Australia they love to help pioneer a path for future generations to the blessings of the gospel, the Dudfields testify, “We learned that we are all called where the Lord needs us. We absolutely felt His direction and guidance. We learned that faith precedes miracles. If we endure well, we will see many miracles.”

When I turned 12, I started to really think about how I could be involved in the gospel.
I was living in my hometown of Taranto, Italy. It had been only a few years since my brother and I had met the missionaries and become members of the Church, but I started feeling eager to participate more. I began to feel a desire to pass the sacrament. I remember walking to church each Sunday with a prayer in my heart that I would be called to pass the sacrament.
One Sunday morning, my branch president called me into his office. He said, “Massimo, the Lord wants you to receive the priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
When I heard those words—“the Lord wants you”—something struck me. I felt that it wasn’t a human asking me to do something, but that it really was the Lord personally extending a responsibility. When my branch president looked at me, I felt that the Lord was reaching out to me.
As I began to pass the sacrament every Sunday, I could feel the power of godliness in my life. I felt responsible, I felt involved, and I knew that I was doing the Lord’s work. I felt closer to Him by serving Him.
This experience of feeling the Lord’s hand both through my leaders and in my responsibilities helped me develop a deeper personal relationship with Him. I wanted to be more involved in the gospel; as I lived that way, I felt the presence of God in my life. Developing this kind of relationship with Him is one of the most important things you can do in your youth.
As I met with my branch president, it made a deep spiritual impression on me when I felt that it was the Lord, not just my branch president, giving me a responsibility. By recognizing the Lord in my leader, I felt closer to Him, and my relationship with Him deepened.
We can also develop a personal relationship with the Lord by recognizing His presence as we participate in the ordinances of the gospel. When we are involved in the ordinances—like the sacrament—we know that “the power of godliness is manifest” (D&C 84:20). When I passed the sacrament, even at the age of 12 or 13, I really felt that I was an instrument in His hands. I felt the presence and power of God in those ordinances and the power of godliness in my life. Having that sacred experience each week by recognizing the Lord in this ordinance helped me deepen my personal relationship with the Lord.

I recently felt irritated as I scrolled through my Instagram feed and felt perfectly justified in my unkind feelings toward some of my friends. After all, they seemed to live shiny, golden lives filled with one fantastic adventure after another. I felt conflicted but rationalized my feelings. “These people!” I scoffed.
My scoffs and eye rolls evaporated one morning when I read Moroni 7:4: “And now my brethren, I judge these things of you because of your peaceable walk with the children of men.” At this time, Moroni was sharing the words of his father, Mormon, to the Church members. Mormon spoke to the “peaceable followers of Christ” about faith, hope, and charity (Moroni 7:3).
In this marvelous chapter, the Lord teaches how we can have a “peaceable walk” among men. In my negative and certainly unfair attitude toward my fellow social media users, I was not walking very peaceably. Rather, I’d been slinking along, secretly grumbling at others’ successes. I was like a “bitter fountain” not bringing forth “good water,” or not being Christlike in my thoughts and feelings toward others (Moroni 7:11).
I’ve talked to many social media users who feel irrationally bitter or depressed when scrolling through their friends’ posts and pictures. Spending a little less time on social media is one way to avoid these feelings. Of course, many of us enjoy keeping tabs on our family members, friends, and acquaintances via social media. When those unsettling feelings creep in, however, how can we maintain a “peaceable walk with the children of men”? The scripture uses the preposition with. In life, we should not be against each other—we should be with each other; we should be one.
American author Mark Twain is credited with saying, “Comparison is the death of joy.” Sometimes it’s a challenge not to make comparisons. But filling our hearts with humility enables us to delight in others’ shiny moments instead of begrudging them. The Lord asks us to “walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23).
It’s equally important to not invite comparisons. We can ask ourselves some questions before sharing a post. “What is my intent? Is it to exclude someone or cause jealousy?” If so, rethink your sharing. But if it’s just to share something you’re super excited about or to uplift others, go for it.
Mormon also spoke about serving others with “real intent” (Moroni 7:6). We can adopt this real intent when we sincerely hope for others’ happiness. This means being excited for our friend when she posts a selfie with her new outfit or for our friend who posts that he was just voted class president. Whether our social media friends are embarking on a trip we can only dream of or are sharing their academic or sporting achievements, we can celebrate with them.
Living peaceably just feels better. Eliminating the eye rolls and dropping the burden of jealousy helps us to walk with others, not away from them or against them.
One friend described social media as a “highlight reel” of life’s events. Most people aren’t inclined to share pictures of embarrassing situations, grief, or even a bad-hair day. Everyone experiences life’s ups and downs, and it’s important to remember that social media users typically share the ups.
It’s funny how much we allow social media to affect our view of our worth. President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, once asked, “Do you think your value to [Heavenly Father] changes based on how many followers you have on Instagram or Pinterest? Do you think He wants you to worry or get depressed if some un-friend or un-follow you on Facebook or Twitter? Do you think … popularity make[s] the slightest difference in your worth to the One who created the universe?”1

When Heber J. Grant was a new Apostle, he traveled with a group of brethren to Arizona to visit the Native Americans there.
Heber: Look, the path splits in two. Is the other one safe?
Companion: A rider can travel it, but it’s too muddy for wagons.
Heber: Why don’t the rest of you drive on while I take this path? I’ll meet up with you soon.
Heber wanted to be alone. He felt discouraged and unworthy.
Heber: I shouldn’t testify of the Savior. I’m not fit to be an Apostle.
As he pondered, a vision of heaven appeared in his mind. The Savior, the Prophet Joseph Smith, his own father, and other men he knew were deciding who the new Apostles should be. Heber was one of those decided on.
After that, he could bear testimony with confidence.
Heber: I know that Jesus lives.
President Grant spoke of this experience years later.
Heber: I have never doubted my testimony since. I have had only joy in bearing it. I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith is a prophet of the living God.

President Hunter was born November 14, 1907, in Boise, Idaho. He was not baptized at age eight. His father was not a member and felt that Howard should wait until he was older to decide about getting baptized.
President Hunter said, “I did have a testimony though. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask Him for the things that I wanted or needed.” When he was twelve years old, he pleaded with his father to let him be baptized and was overjoyed when his father gave him permission.

Like some of you, I know what it is to face disappointment and youthful humiliation. As a boy, I played team softball in elementary and junior high school. Two captains were chosen, and then they, in turn, selected the players they desired on their respective teams. Of course, the best players were chosen first, then second, and third. To be selected fourth or fifth was not too bad, but to be chosen last and relegated to a remote position in the outfield was downright awful. I know; I was there.
How I hoped the ball would never be hit in my direction, for surely I would drop it, runners would score, and teammates would laugh.
As though it were just yesterday, I remember the very moment when all that changed in my life. The game started out as I have described: I was chosen last. I made my sorrowful way to the deep pocket of right field and watched as the other team filled the bases with runners. Two batters then went down on strikes. Suddenly, the next batter hit a mighty drive. I even heard him say, “This will be a home run.” That was humiliating, since the ball was coming in my direction. Was it beyond my reach? I raced for the spot where I thought the ball would drop, uttered a prayer while running, and stretched forth my cupped hands. I surprised myself. I caught the ball! My team won the game.
This one experience bolstered my confidence, inspired my desire to practice, and led me from that last-to-be-chosen place to become a real contributor to the team.
We can experience that burst of confidence. We can feel that pride of performance. A three-word formula will help us: Never give up.

“My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

“During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”2

Marta dug a hole in the dirt. She put a tomato plant in the hole and patted the dirt around it. Then she planted some round onions. Next, Marta carefully put watermelon seeds in the dirt.
Marta gave the garden water every day. Finally the garden was ready. Mom picked tomatoes. Marta pulled onions out of the ground. Dad carried a watermelon into the kitchen. Mom used the tomatoes and onions to make sauce for spaghetti. Dad cut the watermelon into sweet, juicy pieces. Marta said, “My favorite foods are the ones we grow!”

Richard had worried ever since Dad first mentioned removing the training wheels from his bicycle. He’d hoped the idea had been forgotten, but on Saturday morning he found Dad kneeling beside the bicycle, with his tools spread out on the driveway.
“But Dad,” Richard said, “I like riding with the training wheels. I don’t want you to take them off yet.”
Dad picked up a wrench and loosened the bolts that held the small wheels in place. At the same time, he spoke in his sure, quiet voice. “I think that you should try riding without them. If it doesn’t work out, I can put them back on.”
“I want to wait until my birthday,” Richard said. But in the back of his mind, he knew that he was the oldest kid in the neighborhood—maybe in the whole world—riding a bicycle with training wheels.
The wheels were just off, when Richard’s younger brother, Russell, appeared. “I want to ride Richard’s bike. I can do it, Dad.”
“You have your tricycle,” Dad said. “We’re going to the park. If you want to go with us, get your trike and come along.”
Dad rolled Richard’s bicycle down the sidewalk toward the park. Richard dragged after him, and Russell followed on his tricycle. When they reached the bike path, Russell climbed onto the bicycle seat. Dad gently lifted him off and said, “You’re too little for this bicycle, Russell, and Richard needs to practice riding it. You ride your tricycle.”
Dad helped steady the bicycle while Richard got on. He wished he wasn’t scared, but he was. He pleaded, “Dad, please hang onto me. Don’t let me go all by myself.”
But Dad gave the bike a little push, and Richard wobbled down the path. The bicycle teetered and tottered more and more. Finally, it tipped over.
Dad hurried over to help him up. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but it was really scary, Dad.”
“Let me try, Dad,” Russell begged. “I’m not a bit scared. I can do it.”
“You have your own wheels,” Dad said. “Richard just needs some more practice.”
On his next ride, Richard stayed on longer, and before it was time to go home, he could ride down the path and back without falling over. He felt great!
All the time Russell kept asking, “Why can’t I have a turn, Dad? I can do it.”
Finally, before they headed home, Dad relented. “All right, Russell, get on. I’ll hold you up.”
Russell climbed onto the seat confidently and, before Dad could get a firm grip on the bike, rode off. He flew along the path, his bright hair standing straight up in the breeze.
Richard and Dad looked at each other in amazement.
“Why does it always have to be this way?” Richard moaned. “He does everything better than I do, and he’s just a little kid.”
“He is doing well for a boy who never rode a bicycle before, isn’t he?” Dad admitted.
“Remember when we went to the lake, Dad? Russell could swim better than I could, and he even dared to dive off the rocks.”
“He had a good time,” Dad said. “But you did, too, didn’t you?”
“He caught a lot of fish,” Richard reminded Dad, “and I only caught one. See what I mean?”
Dad put his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Just remember that no two people are exactly the same. You have your talents. He has his.”
Richard wasn’t sure what Dad meant. He was sure of one thing, though—Russell had stolen his joy in learning to ride without his training wheels. When they got home, Russell told everyone about his first ride on a bicycle. He repeated several times, “And I never even needed training wheels!”
Richard went to his room. He tried to read a book, but the twins were scrapping right outside his door.
“It’s mine!”
“It is not!” Joyce yelled even louder than Judy.
Richard put his book down and went into the hall. “What’s the problem?”
“This is my book bag,” Judy said.
“It is not!” Joyce argued.
Richard examined the bag. “You’re right, Judy,” he said. “It’s yours.” He turned to Joyce. “Remember when Grandmother gave you both book bags? She put a red dot on the bottom of Judy’s. Here it is—see?”
The twins agreed, and Joyce went to find her bag.
It was quiet in the house again. Richard went back to his room, slumped on the edge of his bed, and thought about Russell. He felt downright miserable. There’s nothing worse than being outdone by your little brother every time you turn around.
Dad knocked and came in and sat on the bed next to Richard. “It’s amazing how much smoother things go when you’re around.”
“Huh?”
“You’re a natural peacemaker.”
“I am?”
“Yes. I noticed how you settled the twins’ disagreement. That isn’t the first time I’ve seen you figure things out for people who were having trouble getting along.”
Richard suddenly felt good.
“I believe that one of the rarest talents in the world is that of smoothing out problems between people. You’re just amazing, Richard!”
When Dad went away, Richard lay on his bed, grinning at the ceiling. He did have a talent! He repeated the words his dad had said, “You’re a natural peacemaker.”
All the dark feelings he’d had before went away. He felt just fine!

It is interesting to note that in addition to such testimonies about President Monson’s loyalty to the elderly, many unsolicited testimonials of his equally urgent concern for the youth of the Church are also offered. There is something perpetually youthful about President Monson which allows him to relate to all the members of the Church, but especially the young. He loves them, is conscious of them, and is devoted to their spiritual success.
Immediately after young Tom Monson’s discharge from the navy following the conclusion of World War II, he was called to serve as a ward clerk. One evening he sat silently taking minutes while the bishopric agonized over the obvious lack of success with the young people in their ward, including challenges within the MIA program. Apparently the young clerk took it about as long as he could and then said, “Excuse me, brethren, but may I say something about the MIA and the youth challenges in this ward?” He then launched into a rapid-fire and profound summary of not only what was wrong with their ward youth program but what could rather quickly make it right. Then, realizing he may have been too bold and too presumptuous, he said, “Forgive me. I think I have said too much,” and excused himself from the room.
He was no sooner out the door than the bishopric looked at each other and said, “What are we waiting for?” They immediately called him back into the room, released him as ward clerk, and called him to be the superintendent of the MIA. In six months the 6–7th Ward combined program, with its totally committed young superintendent, was the example to which every other leader in the Temple View Stake looked for their own youth activities.
That lifelong devotion to youth is currently reflected in President Monson’s 25 years of service on the National Executive Board of the Boy Scouts of America, a longer term of service rendered than that of any other man who has ever been seated in that distinguished circle. Jere B. Ratcliffe, Chief Scout Executive for the Boy Scouts of America, says, “I don’t know any person about whom I could say more good things than I can say about Tom Monson. For me, Tom personifies enthusiasm in its original meaning—‘God within,’ or literally ‘inspired.’ He lights up every meeting he is in. The LDS Church is blessed to have such a leader of youth.”
One associate says that President Monson relates well to youth “because he is still just a boy at heart. Have you ever seen him at a Utah Jazz or collegiate game? He follows every play with keen personal interest. Tom is a big man with big responsibilities, but he still displays the enthusiasm of youth.”
Somehow that observation rings true, especially when we realize that this is the 12-year-old boy who, when making his first visit to the Seagull Monument on famed Temple Square, spent time wondering how a person could get those nickels and dimes, which had been thrown there by the slightly more contemplative, out of the reflecting pool. Actually, Tommy Monson was very touched by that visit to Temple Square, returning to his ward to give the first talk he ever delivered—on that wonderful pioneer story of the seagulls and the crickets.