Gospel Story Finder

I read of a young woman who exercised that kind of faith and trust. For many months her mother had been seriously ill. Finally, the faithful father called the children to her bedside and told them to say good-bye to their mother because she was dying. The twelve-year-old daughter protested:
“Papa, I do not want my mamma to die. I have been with her in the hospital … for six months; time and time again … you have administered to her, and she has been relieved of her pain and quietly gone to sleep. I want you to lay hands upon my mamma and heal her.”
The father, who was Elder Heber J. Grant, told the children that he felt in his heart that their mother’s time had arrived. The children left, and he knelt by his wife’s bedside. Later he recalled his prayer: “I told the Lord I acknowledged his hand in life [and] in death. … But I told the Lord that I lacked the strength to have my wife die and to have it affect the faith of my little children.” He pleaded with the Lord to give his daughter “a knowledge that it was his mind and his will that her mamma should die.”
Within an hour the mother died. When Elder Grant called the children back into her room and told them, his little six-year-old boy began to weep bitterly. The twelve-year-old sister took him in her arms and said: “Do not weep, Heber; since we went out of this room, the voice of the Lord from heaven has said to me, In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord shall be done” (Bryant S. Hinckley, Heber J. Grant: Highlights in the Life of a Great Leader, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1951, pp. 243–44).

Margaret was nervous because she did not know anyone at her new school.
Some girls teased her. One girl even pulled the ribbons in Margaret’s hair. Margaret didn’t think she would be happy at her new school.
After school Margaret called her grandmother and told her about the mean girls.
Margaret, you need to pray and ask Heavenly Father what to do. He will help you.
That night Margaret prayed to Heavenly Father. She told Him about her problem. Then she had an idea.
The next day at school the girls pulled her ribbons.
Can’t we be friends?
And the next day the girls started to tease her.
Can’t we be friends?
One week later Margaret was happy to tell her grandmother what had happened.
Heavenly Father gave me the idea to be nice to the girls. They don’t tease me anymore, and now they are my friends.

All this turning began when the Dalton Gardens Ward youth took Malachi’s prophecy to heart and became excited about family history work (see Mal. 4:5–6).
They did this by filling out pedigree charts, having classes on the importance of genealogy, visiting with their ward’s senior citizens, and organizing a ward activity in which they acted out episodes from the lives of the grandparents in their ward family.
And what’s been the outcome of all this excitement? For one thing, the ward’s generation gap has narrowed.
“Now when you go to church, you see a lot of the young people going up to the older people in the ward and saying hi and maybe walking them to class,” says Russell Isaacson, a 16-year-old priest. “Before we might have just walked by them because we didn’t really know them at all, but now we see them as our friends.”

After the Saturday evening session of stake conference, on my way to the hotel, I noticed people buying food along the road late at night. I asked my driver why they were doing it when it was so dark rather than during the day. He responded that they were working during the day to have the money to do it later.

“Oh, they were working today to eat tomorrow,” I said.

But he corrected me: “No, they were working during the day to eat tonight.” I had hoped our members might be in a better situation, but he confirmed that many faced similar challenges in that part of the country. The next morning, during our Sunday session and newly aware of their circumstances, I was even more moved by their smiling faces and grateful hearts.

Sitting on the stand of the St. George (Utah) Tabernacle, waiting for her performance to begin, Sheena Rosander couldn’t help remembering the year before when she had been waiting to perform at a high school talent show.
“It was one of the only times I really had the jitters before a performance,” says Sheena. “I followed a rock group and knew immediately that the classical song I loved to play on the piano wasn’t really what kids wanted to hear. I depend so much on the Spirit to help me play, and that Spirit just wasn’t there.”
But this night, things were different. Thankfully, the Spirit was in abundance as her six functioning fingers flew over the keyboard of the grand piano creating music, the kind that brings a lump to the throat.
Sheena Rosander, 18, from Hurricane, Utah, was born with what some people consider a disability. But to Sheena, having only a partial thumb and no fingers on her left hand is a gift. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have all 10 fingers, like how much easier keyboarding would be,” says Sheena. “But I usually just find a way to go around it. My mom wanted me to peel potatoes, and I was really struggling with that potato peeler. So I decided when I have my own family I’ll just have baked potatoes. There’s always a way to do things.”
And that’s pretty much how Sheena has been able to enjoy her favorite activities, like playing and teaching tennis, playing the violin, teaching piano lessons, and competing at performing-arts festivals.
In fact, she’s used her good attitude as a springboard to propel her into positive social situations. On her first day of kindergarten, when Sheena proudly displayed her hand at “show and tell,” one child told her it looked like a Cabbage Patch doll’s hand. Delighted, she added several Cabbage Patch dolls to her already thriving collection. Her favorite had red hair and blue eyes, just like Sheena.
That kind of confidence comes naturally. Even before she was born, her mother, Toni, decided all her children would learn to play piano. Sheena began lessons at age five.
“She was determined to play the piano,” recalls her teacher, Tammy Drake. “Her hand was never an obstacle. She would compensate with her right hand to achieve a full sound. Then one day, she began playing with her left hand, using her thumb and pinky stub. Sheena has shown all of us a new kind of courage and determination. Some listeners never even know about her hand. She plays beautifully.”

One Friday, he and Sister Benson followed their usual practice of attending a session at the Jordan River Temple. While there, President Benson was approached by a young man who greeted him with joy in his heart and announced that he had been called to fill a full-time mission. President Benson took the newly called missionary by the hand and, with a smile on his lips, declared, “Take me with you! Take me with you!” That missionary testified that, in a way, he took President Benson with him on his mission, since this greeting demonstrated President Benson’s abiding love, his devotion to missionary work, and his desire to ever be found in the service of the Lord.

Katya carried a large box as she walked out of her apartment building into the sunshine. It was summer, and for a few months, the weather was warm in her city in Russia. She set the box down on a bench where her friends Dima and Sonya were waiting.
“Here’s everything we need for our play!” Katya said. She opened the box and pulled out a plastic crown and pieces of purple, blue, and red cloth. With some creativity, these would make great costumes.
“What play are we doing?” Dima asked.
Katya smiled. “I think we should do ‘The Frog Princess’!” It was her favorite fairy tale. Katya smiled as she imagined herself playing the beautiful Vasilisa.
Sonya grabbed the blue cloth from the box and draped it around herself. “I want to be Vasilisa!” she said.
“Wait,” said Katya. “It was my idea. That means I should be Vasilisa.”
“You can be her,” said Sonya. But then she giggled. “When she’s a frog!”
Katya frowned and pulled the blue cloth away from Sonya. “But it’s my play!”
Sonya put her hands on her hips. “Nobody wants to play with you if you’re bossy. You’re a better frog than a princess.”
Katya felt tears in her eyes. She grabbed her box and ran inside, all the way up the stairs into her family’s apartment. She slammed the door behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Mama said. Katya burst into tears.
“Sonya is ruining everything!” Katya told Mama the whole story. “She said I was a frog!”
“Oh, Katyusha,” Mama said. Katyusha was Mama’s nickname for Katya. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of her.”
Just then there was a knock at the door. Mama went to answer it, but Katya ran to her room. She heard voices, and then Mama called to her. “Would you like to talk to Sonya? She has something to say to you.”
“No!” Katya yelled.
She could hear voices again, and then she heard the door close.
“I think Sonya is sorry,” Mama said.
“I don’t care,” Katya said. She pushed her face deeper into her pillow.
Mama stood by the door for a minute. “You know, sometimes when I’m really angry, I don’t want to forgive other people. Sometimes I need to ask Heavenly Father to help me want to forgive.” Then she walked away.
Katya was too angry to forgive. Sonya had hurt her feelings! But … being angry didn’t feel very good either.
She sighed and knelt by the side of her bed. Katya knew Heavenly Father wanted her to forgive Sonya. It was the right thing to do. But maybe Heavenly Father wanted Katya to forgive because it would help Katya feel better too.
“Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Sonya,” she said. “I really don’t want to, but I also don’t want to stay angry.”
She finished her prayer and took a deep breath. Katya felt her anger start to melt away, just a little. She could do this. She could forgive. She walked to Sonya’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Sonya opened it and started talking right away. “Katya, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I forgive you,” said Katya. “And I’m sorry I took all my costumes back. You would be a good Vasilisa too. We can take turns.”
Sonya smiled. “OK. Can we go practice now? I’ll get Dima!”
Katya smiled back. “I’ll get the costumes!”

Many of you have participated in treks to experience and appreciate the dramatic rescue of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. I first became aware of this rescue when I was a teenager. My mother gave me a book written by Orson F. Whitney, who would later be an Apostle. Elder Whitney’s book acquainted me with the heroic effort directed by Brigham Young to rescue the handcart companies. They had been overtaken by winter storms on the high plains of Wyoming. Some had died, and many others were on the verge of death. Brigham Young became aware of their plight, and at the October 1856 general conference he instructed the Saints to drop everything and rescue those stranded on the plains.

The response was dramatic. Elder Whitney reported, “Brave men by their heroism—for it was at the peril of their own lives that they thus braved the wintry storms on the plains—immortalized themselves, and won the undying gratitude of hundreds who were undoubtedly saved by their timely action from perishing.”

One reason my mother had given me the book was Elder Whitney had made special mention of my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who had participated in the rescue when he was 17 years old. All the rescuers battled deep snow and freezing temperatures during much of the rescue of the handcart companies. At great personal sacrifice, David and his associates helped carry many of the pioneers across the freezing, ice-filled Sweetwater.

This true account greatly impressed me. I wanted to prove my devotion to the Lord through some dramatic act. However, in a visit with my grandfather, he explained that when President Brigham Young sent his father, David, and the other young men on their rescue mission, President Young instructed them to do everything they possibly could to save the handcart companies, even at the peril of their own lives. Their acts of bravery were specifically to “follow the prophet Brigham Young” and by so doing express their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. My grandfather told me that consistent, faithful dedication to the counsel of a prophet is the real lesson I should learn from my great-grandfather’s service. As heroic as it was for David and his associates to help rescue the pioneers, it is also valiant today to follow the counsel of our prophet.

Brother José de Souza Marques was the type of leader who truly understood the principle taught by the Savior: “And if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may be edified in all meekness, that he may become strong also” (D&C 84:106).
As a member of the branch presidency in Fortaleza, Brazil, Brother Marques with the other priesthood leaders developed a plan to reactivate those who were less active in his branch. One of those who was less active was a young man by the name of Fernando Araujo. Recently I spoke to Fernando, and he told me of his experience:
“I became involved in surfing competitions on Sunday mornings and stopped going to my Church meetings. One Sunday morning Brother Marques knocked on my door and asked my nonmember mother if he could talk to me. When she told him I was sleeping, he asked permission to wake me. He said to me, ‘Fernando, you are late for church!’ Not listening to my excuses, he took me to church.
“The next Sunday the same thing happened, so on the third Sunday I decided to leave early to avoid him. As I opened the gate I found him sitting on his car, reading the scriptures. When he saw me he said, ‘Good! You are up early. Today we will go and find another young man!’ I appealed to my agency, but he said, ‘We can talk about that later.’
“After eight Sundays I could not get rid of him, so I decided to sleep at a friend’s house. I was at the beach the next morning when I saw a man dressed in a suit and tie walking towards me. When I saw that it was Brother Marques, I ran into the water. All of a sudden, I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder. It was Brother Marques, in water up to his chest! He took me by the hand and said, ‘You are late! Let’s go.’ When I argued that I didn’t have any clothes to wear, he replied, ‘They are in the car.’
“That day as we walked out of the ocean, I was touched by Brother Marques’s sincere love and worry for me. He truly understood the Savior’s words: ‘I will seek that which was lost, and bring again that which was driven away, and will bind up that which was broken, and will strengthen that which was sick’ (Ezek. 34:16). Brother Marques didn’t just give me a ride to church—the quorum made sure I remained active. They planned activities that made me feel needed and wanted, I received a calling, and the quorum members became my friends.”
Following his reactivation, Brother Araujo went on a full-time mission and has served as bishop, stake president, mission president, and regional representative. His widowed mother, three sisters, and several cousins have also entered the waters of baptism.
When speaking about the work of the Aaronic Priesthood quorums in his ward, Brother Araujo, who is once again serving as a bishop, stated:
“Our rescue work is the focus in all three quorums of the Aaronic Priesthood. We have a list of each one of our lost sheep. The quorum presidencies, advisers, and bishopric divide up and go visit them on a regular basis. We visit not only the less-active members, but we also visit the nonmembers in less-active or part-member families.
“Activities are organized to reach each young man. We discuss each young man in our quorum presidency meetings and in our monthly bishopric youth committee meetings. In 2003 we managed to rescue five priests, one teacher, and two deacons, who are now active in their quorums. We have also reactivated some families and have enjoyed the blessing of seeing some nonmembers enter the waters of baptism.”

I was driving a herd of sheep across the desert near the Nevada-Utah border. Several ranchers had put their herds together for the drive. It was summer, and there is a stretch of trail we were taking of nearly a hundred miles where there was no water. My father had not been able to make the trip with us, but he had given instructions on where to find a spring about halfway across. “It’s ten miles out of your way, but if you spend a day there you can make the crossing no problem. Don’t let them talk you into trying to push straight through.”
It was hot, and the sheep were already hanging their tongues when we reached the place that my father had told us was the turnoff point to the spring.
Tom Larson, a tall thin man, pulled his horse up next to me.
“We’d better push on through,” he said. “Your father’s a good man, but I never heard of a spring, and if there is it’s gotta’ be dry as a horned toad’s back.”
He looked out toward gray, lifeless hills to emphasize his point.
“You’ll be losin’ your entire herd. If you push through, maybe a lamb or two.”
But there was no choice. Back up a canyon a few miles from where we were, my father said there would be water, and I believed him.
“You’ll be lucky if you get yourselves out alive,” Tom yelled as we turned my herd out from the rest.
I thought about my father up there in Montana, 700 miles from home, sending his last few dollars to Bishop Anderson. There really was no choice then either. I thought about it as we moved silently up the terribly dry wash of canyon with only the sound of sheep’s hooves on the stones and the cicada hum. Bedbugs with green paint on their back—the people in that hotel, instead of keeping the place up, had tried to just paint over things. It looked good on the outside, but when you got inside it wasn’t. My father knew who he was and what he believed in, and he wasn’t about to become anything less. From him I learned to decipher the light from the shadows. The summer we’d spent in Montana had been a hard summer, but it had also been a good one.
The sheep were too thirsty to make much noise, and the herders with me weren’t talking. I knew they thought I was crazy. They didn’t know my father like I did.
We found the spring late in the afternoon about two miles up the canyon. It came from under a great granite ledge, cold and pure, and flowed down for a hundred feet and then disappeared into the gravel of the dry wash. My father had called it the spring in the shadows.

That was the way he looked when I reached the summit of Snowdon for the first time. As the highest mountain in England or Wales, Snowdon, for a six-year-old, seemed as inconquerable as Everest does to me now. The old miner’s track was surfaced with rough shingle that shifted unnervingly as we walked. The craggy gray rocks and scattered boulders were a stark contrast to the sailor-blue sky and white scudding clouds above. Occasionally, we would pass a stray sheep searching for an area to graze. These hardy animals were so used to human invaders that they barely noticed us passing.
It wasn’t long before my short legs were failing, and with them my spirits. The gray path seemed endless. “Come on, Sian. You can do it,” Dad coaxed as he heaved me onto his back. It made the climb more difficult for him but helped revive me. We trudged past crumbling stonewalls that had been built by a now forgotten shepherd long before the era of cement. From a distance they looked like huge scars on the face of the mountain.
At last we reached the final scree. Dad held my hand tightly as we scrambled up. When we reached the plateau on the top, we sat down breathlessly. I looked around. Far below I could see moving people like multicolored ants. As far as the eye could see there were mountain ridges, deep valleys, and in the distance the glint of blue from the North Sea. I gazed around in wonder, then laughed excitedly. “We made it, Dad. We reached the very top!” I looked up to see that the expression in my father’s eyes at that moment was a reflection of my own. It said, I love you, I have faith in you, and I know that you can do what you set your mind to do.

“I used to go hunting sometimes with my father. After he died I went alone, but quickly realized that I hadn’t enjoyed hunting much—what I had really enjoyed was being with him. Dad was the kind of father who, when his two sons were hoeing weeds and knew they were going to die if they didn’t stop to get a drink, would say, ‘One more row, boys.’ And when we made ice cream he’d encourage, ‘Only ten more cranks, son.’ He taught me to be self-disciplined and to go to bed early and get up early. He always helped me ‘stretch’ my efforts.”

“It is a dream come true,” says 18-year-old Gunday Solomon Israel, who goes by his last name. “The design of the chapel itself makes me feel the Spirit. I am grateful to my Father in Heaven for answering my prayers.”
With the completion of the chapel, Church members and investigators in Hyderabad will have a beautiful building in which to meet and feel the language of the Spirit touching their hearts, just as it did Israel’s three years ago.
“When I first came to church, I was surprised to see the love among the Saints. They were so happy. I could see the glow of the gospel in their faces,” recalls Israel.
Like Israel, 17-year-old Madhu Bunga remembers the first time he attended a Church meeting and felt the Spirit.
“I was glad to see so many strangers come and sit beside me and talk to me about my life,” says Madhu, who attended his first Church meeting in December 2000. “I was amazed how people taught and approached things by the Spirit of God. I loved it, and I ran to my house, thinking all the world was in my hands.”
Madhu and other young members of the Church keep the Spirit in their lives by attending church and seminary and participating in service projects in the community.
“I am the only member of the Church in my family,” says Madhu. “To stay strong, I attend seminary regularly. We have done many service projects, like going to a charity to teach children English, fun stories, and games. I went with the young men and women to a government hospital to paint the walls, and we helped Church members when they moved.”
Joseph Cornelius, president of the Hyderabad First Branch, also recognizes the importance of service and attending Church meetings to feel the Spirit.
“Members have service projects like collecting clothes for the orphanage once a year,” says President Cornelius. “We attend all the Church meetings an dactivities. WE have family prayer and family home evening.”
Recently members from the Hyderabad First and Second Branches collected old clothing and bought rice and cereal to give to a boys’ shelter. The people who run the shelter go to a train station in the area, find boys who are living there, and bring them back so they have a place to sleep. Schooling and counseling are also provided at the shelter.
When Church members arrived at the shelter, they were warmly greeted. After much visiting and an exchange of games and laughter, members sanded down the walls of the shelter, which were in dire need of repair. Paint was donated and applied, giving the shelter a clean, cheery appearance.
Whether it is at the service projects or in friendly gospel discussions, the Spirit continues to whisper the gospel to many in Hyderabad. Though soft, the language of the Spirit is clear, uniting Saints across one of the most populous countries in the world.

Four years earlier, her family had left their home in an eastern city to join the Saints in Nauvoo, on the edge of the western frontier. The trip should have taken just a few days by river. But because many Black people were slaves in the United States at the time, Jane’s family frequently had to show papers proving their freedom. And some places had strict laws preventing people of color from traveling through the area—including charging up to $500 per person for passage.
Perhaps because of this outrageous fee or perhaps because of other prejudices, the riverboat crew refused to take Jane and her family members any farther. Undeterred, they left behind many of their possessions and set out on foot with whatever they could carry.
Jane’s family walked for more than 800 miles (1,287 km). They walked through humid days and pitch-black nights. Once they trudged through a forest, sleeping under the open sky. When they awoke, their clothes were white with frost.
“We walked until our shoes were worn out, and our feet became sore and cracked open and bled,” Jane recollected. “… We asked God the Eternal Father to heal our feet and our prayers were answered.”1
While enduring this hard journey, Jane sang hymns with her parents and siblings, praising God. Finally, after nearly three months of walking, they arrived in Nauvoo. Years later, when faithful Saints left to cross the plains, Jane was among the first pioneers to start walking the trail.

Skull Valley, Utah—that was where I spent two summers as a youth. I lived on Long Island, New York, but my father, who had grown up on a farm in Idaho, told me, “You’re never going to learn how to work until you work on a ranch.” My uncle had a ranch in Skull Valley, and so I, a city boy, was sent to live and work there.
The first few days I spent on the ranch left me exhausted. My entire body ached, and I wondered how I could get through each day. I was discouraged and wanted to go home, but I didn’t tell this to my relatives.
One day I was moving bales of hay with my cousin, and I was having a hard time because I was so tired. My cousin gave me a little push and said, “You aren’t lazy—you just don’t know how to work.” I decided then that I’d learn how to work—and I did. And as I worked on the ranch that summer, I came to enjoy it and my body thrived on it.
I had many aunts and uncles who lived in the Utah area, and I stayed in their various homes throughout the summer months. I helped round up wild horses, bale hay, care for the animals, and do other tasks. We worked from before sunrise until sundown, and as time wore on, I became very close to my cousins. I loved the joy of just sitting and talking with them in the evenings when our chores were through.
During those two summers, I came to appreciate all the work it takes to plant and irrigate, and then, after all of that is done, how hard it is to harvest. The first summer I spent at the ranch was during a very dry year, and the fields were swarming with crickets. The farmers didn’t give up, however, and they didn’t blame God that things were not going well. They just prepared to plant the next year.
Even if conditions are perfect for farmers, there still is an incredible amount of work to do. They know that you don’t get something for nothing. My experience in Skull Valley helped me understand the law of the harvest, as described in Galatians 6:7 [Gal. 6:7]: “For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” We reach most of our important goals only after a great deal of effort and hard work.

At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”

Last year I was on a really great Little League baseball team. We all got along really well and were supportive of each other. We had a great coach, and even the parents were all positive. I was the only member of the Church on the team, but everyone used only good language and was kind to everyone else, even when someone made a mistake.
One day the coach arranged for a professional pitching coach to come and practice with us, but it was on a Sunday. When I told my coach I wouldn’t be there, he said, “Taylor, I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” He was pleased with me for doing what I knew was right.

Min-Jun stared out the window at the clouds. “It looks like it will rain tomorrow,” he said.
Grandfather looked up from his newspaper and nodded. It was late summer in Seoul, South Korea, and monsoon season had begun.
Min-Jun set an umbrella next to his clothes for Sunday. “I think we should leave early tomorrow.”
Grandfather smiled. “Good idea. We’ll have to walk the longer way, in case the lower road floods.”
“Do you think the Church building will be all right?” Min-Jun asked. Last year the basement had flooded during monsoon season.
“Yes,” said Grandfather. “But it never hurts to pray.”
“Then I’ll pray for the church tonight. And that we can make it there safely. Jal-ja-yo (good night).” Min-Jun bowed and went to bed.
In the morning they left the apartment early. Min-Jun looked up at the dark clouds that filled the sky.
“Have faith,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun followed Grandfather up the narrow staircase on the hill near their apartment. They paused at the top to catch their breath. Their white shirts were already damp from the heavy humidity in the air.
Grandfather held out his hand to feel the first raindrops. “Do you feel that? The rain is starting.”
They opened up their umbrellas. By the time they reached the next staircase, the rain was coming down fast. Min-Jun squinted to see each step through the rain. “Whoa!” he cried as he slipped and landed on his knee.
“Are you hurt?” Grandfather asked. He leaned down to look at the hole in Min-Jun’s trousers.
“It’s just a scrape,” Min-Jun said, his voice shaking.
“Let’s fix it up at the church,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun and Grandfather climbed the rest of the stairs and turned onto the upper road.
“The wind is worse up here,” said Grandfather, clutching his umbrella. Min-Jun could barely control his umbrella. Suddenly a gust of wind came and flipped it inside out, tearing the umbrella at the seams. Min-Jun’s shoulders drooped.
Grandfather held out his umbrella. “Come under mine. We’re almost there.”
Min-Jun and Grandfather shared the umbrella, but it didn’t do much to keep out the constant rain. As they came near the church, Min-Jun heard music playing.
“They’ve already started!” Min-Jun ran to the front doors. Then he saw his reflection in the glass. His hair was matted and dripping, his trousers were torn, and his shoes were muddy. He shrank away from the door and back down the steps.
“I … I can’t go in,” Min-Jun stuttered.
“You’re just fine,” said Grandfather.
“But I’m all dirty and wet!”
Grandfather looked at Min-Jun, then looked at the rain gauge tied to the fence.
“It’s easy to measure the rain, Min-Jun, but how do we measure ourselves?”
Min-Jun blinked up at Grandfather.
“You see muddy shoes, a scraped knee, and messy hair, and you think you don’t measure up to much,” Grandfather said. “But Jesus Christ has a better way of measuring. He sees your heart and knows that you’re doing what’s right. If you measure yourself His way, you’ll see that the gauge is overflowing.”
Min-Jun looked at the rain gauge. It kept rising with each raindrop. He thought of how hard he had worked to get to church and how warm and happy he felt when he was there. He thought about how much he loved the Savior and how much the Savior loved him.
Min-Jun hugged Grandfather, and together they walked into church.

These powerful truths were life-changing for my friend Jen,12 who as a teenager caused a serious car accident. Though her physical trauma was severe, she felt exquisite pain because the other driver lost her life. “Someone lost their mom, and it was my fault,” she says. Jen, who just days before stood and recited, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us,”13 now questioned, “How could He love me?”
“The physical suffering passed,” she says, “but I didn’t think I would ever heal from the emotional and spiritual wounds.”
In order to survive, Jen hid her feelings deeply, becoming distant and numb. After a year, when she was finally able to talk about the accident, an inspired counselor invited her to write the phrase “I am a child of God” and say it 10 times daily.
“Writing the words was easy,” she recalls, “but I couldn’t speak them. … That made it real, and I didn’t really believe God wanted me as His child. I would curl up and cry.”
After several months, Jen was finally able to complete the task every day. “I poured out my whole soul,” she says, “pleading with God. … Then I began to believe the words.” This belief allowed the Savior to begin mending her wounded soul. The Book of Mormon brought comfort and courage in His Atonement.14
“Christ felt my pains, my sorrows, my guilt,” Jen concludes. “I felt God’s pure love and had never experienced anything so powerful! Knowing I am a child of God is the most powerful knowledge I possess!”

To demonstrate the kind of inner strength I am talking about, I would like to share the story of Susanna Stone Lloyd, who at the age of 26 left England in 1856 and traveled to Utah alone. The only member of her family to join the Church, Susanna was a member of the Willie handcart company. Like so many other pioneers, she endured life-threatening hunger, illness, and fatigue.
Upon arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, Susanna borrowed a mirror to make herself more presentable. Despite her best efforts, she recounts: “I shall never forget how I looked. Some of my old friends did not know me.” Having sold her own mirror to an Indian for a piece of buffalo meat, she had not spent much time looking at herself. Now she did not recognize her own image. She was a different person, both inside and out. Over the course of rocky ridges and extreme hardship came a deep conviction. Her faith had been tried, and her conversion was concrete. She had been refined in ways that the very best mirror could not reflect. Susanna had prayed for strength and found it—deep within her soul.
No matter our circumstances, who of us can afford to waste our life in front of the mirrors of self-pity and discouragement? Yes, as the Apostle Paul admonished, we all need to examine ourselves from time to time. We all need to repent, recognize our weaknesses, and more fully come unto Christ. Like Susanna, we may have to sell our looking glass in order to cross the plains of pain, sorrow, and discouragement. But as we do, we will discover God-given strengths that we may not have otherwise known.