Gospel Story Finder

Justin, next week is your turn to be Student of the Week!” Mrs. Mills announced. She handed him a paper explaining what he needed to do. “Can you make sure to bring your ‘About Me’ poster on Monday?”
Justin nodded and held the paper tight. Part of him felt excited. Being student of the week meant he could take Buddy, the teacher’s stuffed toy rabbit, on an adventure and bring his mom to lunch on Friday.
But part of him felt really nervous too. He did not want to stand in front of the class. Whenever Mrs. Mills called on him, he looked down at his desk while he answered so no one would pay attention to him. But next week he’d have to stand in front of the whole class and talk about himself. He’d even have to call on people and answer questions. Everyone would be looking right at him!
That weekend was full of fun. Justin took Buddy on a sleepover at his cousin’s house and drew a picture of them all together. Then he designed the “About Me” poster just right. He added a drawing of his favorite treat (brownies) and a map of places he’d visited (like California and Texas). And of course there was a picture of Justin’s family. On Sunday, Justin even set up a stuffed-animal Primary for Buddy!
But in the back of his mind, Justin kept worrying about talking to the class on Monday. What should I say? he wondered. What if I can’t talk when everyone is looking at me? What if I can’t talk loud enough?
Finally Monday morning came, and Justin said a prayer for help before heading to school with Buddy and his poster. When it was Justin’s turn to speak, his stomach was doing flips. He took a deep breath and stood up.
Please help me do this, he prayed as he walked to the front of the class. Please help me be brave.
Justin told the class all about the favorite things on his poster. When it was time to answer questions, he made sure to call on both boys and girls. Before he knew it, it was time to sit down! Justin felt great about how he’d done.
After school Mom asked Justin how it had gone.
“I was brave enough to talk a lot in class today. You know why? I prayed twice.”
On Tuesday, Justin was supposed to bring a bag with something he loved inside. He walked to the front of the class and pulled out his favorite book, about a snake who wanted to play ball with his friends. Then he flipped open the cover and cleared his throat. He read as loud as he could.
“Remember that you are a child of Heavenly Father.
Pray for help.
Smile, take a deep breath, and try to relax.
Try new things.
Think how you could help others.
Don’t give up!
Include everyone.
Give sincere compliments.
Find out about what talents your friends have.
Listen without interrupting.
Let your shy friends speak for themselves.
Don’t force others into uncomfortable situations.
Follow Jesus’s example and treat people with love and respect!

Take for instance, Orson Hyde. Brother Hyde was a sales clerk in the village of Kirtland when he met Joseph Smith, the youthful prophet. It was to this unknown, unpromising young seller of buttons and thread and calico that Joseph, speaking in the name of the Lord, would say that he, Orson Hyde, was ordained “to proclaim the everlasting gospel, by the Spirit of the living God, from people to people, and from land to land, in the congregations of the wicked, in their synagogues, reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto them.” (D&C 68:1.)

This young man, this clerk in a village store, under the inspiration of that prophetic call, walked two thousand miles on foot through Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, and New York, “reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto” all he met.

I recall being in Orson Hyde’s home in Nauvoo, the comfortable home he left to travel to England and Germany and to visit Constantinople, [now Istanbul], Cairo, and Alexandria en route to Jerusalem where on 24 October 1841, he stood on the Mount of Olives and dedicated by the authority of the holy priesthood the land of Palestine for the return of the Jews. That was a quarter of a century before Theodor Herzl [1860–1904] undertook the work of gathering the Jews to their homeland.

The students in this seminary class enjoy being together. And now every weekday morning isn’t enough. They get together every Saturday night, too.
It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. “We decided to get the whole class together and go out and have some fun,” says Brett. “We’ve been getting together every Saturday night. It’s good fun.”
What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk.”
For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has strengthened her resolve to stay strong in the Church. “It’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work every weekend,” she explains. “Sometimes I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but just being there didn’t feel good. It eventually wears out your spirit. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. But when I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. I feel accepted.”
And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “My other friends’ standards are completely different from mine. I feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”
Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary and our activities on Saturday evenings have brought us closer, and we’re better friends. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. I wouldn’t even consider going out and getting drunk and breaking the Word of Wisdom.”

In October of 1986, I turned on the television and leisurely switched from channel to channel. General conference from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City was on one station. I heard the speaker say, “And the gospel will be taken to the gentiles of the earth.” That really interested me—I was of Jewish origin, and had never been called a gentile before. I listened intently as the speaker said things I felt I had heard before and had always believed.
When the speaker referred to a living prophet, my eyes filled with tears. All my life I had wondered, “Where are the prophets?” After listening carefully to the conference broadcast for twenty-five or thirty minutes, I ran next door to share my excitement with my mother-in-law. She was shocked when I told her I had been watching the Mormon conference. I was surprised when she said, “You don’t want to listen to that.” Back home, I turned on the television and watched the rest of the broadcast.
Afterwards, I was so excited that I wrote a letter to my mother to tell her that the Mormons had a prophet. Then I visited my friends, Will and Petera Powell, who were members of the Church. My first question was, “How could that speaker call me a gentile?” Luckily for me, Will and Petera were both returned missionaries; they answered all of my questions. They also gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon. By the time I finished reading First and Second Nephi, I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I read it from cover to cover in two weeks.
A few days later, I began the missionary discussions in the Powell’s home with the full-time missionaries. During this time, the Spirit of the Lord bore testimony to me of the truthfulness of the words the missionaries spoke, just as recorded in 2 Nephi 33:1 [2 Ne. 33:1]: “For when a man speaketh by the power of the Holy Ghost the power of the Holy Ghost carrieth it unto the hearts of the children of men.” The doctrines I learned seemed familiar. I had believed in the principles of family history, family tradition, and unity all my life. However, what impressed me the most was that there was a living prophet on the earth today.
When the missionaries asked me if I was ready for baptism, I said, “Yes!” I was baptized on 8 February 1987 by Will Powell. For me, a person with Jewish heritage, the news of a living prophet has truly changed my life.

It was just a normal Sunday morning until we entered the classroom. Our new Primary teacher, Brother Smith, was waiting for us.

“We’re going on a field trip today,” he announced after Sue gave the opening prayer. He put on his coat, grabbed his cane, and walked out the classroom door. “The bishop has given us special permission.”

Brother Smith had a twinkle in his eye, but he’s old and walks with a cane, so we didn’t have a hard time keeping up with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we went out the foyer doors and started down the walk.

“To a very special library,” explained Brother Smith, the twinkle in his eye getting brighter.

Our town had just opened a new library, but I hadn’t been to it yet. This was going to be fun! Then I remembered something. “The library is closed today—it’s Sunday!”

Brother Smith smiled as we reached the parking lot. “This library is open whenever someone wants to read and learn.” We all looked at each other with surprise; nothing in our town was opened that often!

“What kind of library is it?” asked David. David’s father was a lawyer, and he knew that lawyers had their own libraries full of law books.

“It’s a sacred library,” Brother Smith answered.

“You mean the meetinghouse library?” asked Sue, looking back. Her mother was the meetinghouse librarian, and she knew that it had lots of books and pictures and tapes about gospel subjects.

“No, not the meetinghouse library.” Brother Smith took out his keys and opened his van. “Everyone in!” We all piled in, jockeying for the window seats, as Brother Smith explained more about his mysterious library. “It has two rooms—an ‘old’ room and a ‘new’ room.”

“Our new city library has two rooms just for children’s books!” Jared piped up.

“This sacred library doesn’t have many books,” Brother Smith said. “In fact, it has only sixty-six.”

“We have more books than that at home!” exclaimed Justin.

“In the old room there are thirty-nine books,” Brother Smith continued with a smile.

“What kind of books?” asked David.

“Well, the first five are often called ‘The Law.’”

“My dad uses law books,” David bragged.

“These law books teach us God’s laws. They teach us about the Creation and about Adam and Eve. They also teach us about Moses and the laws God gave to him.” Brother Smith paused, but none of us said anything, so he continued, “There are twelve history books that tell us how the people were blessed when they obeyed God and how they were punished when they didn’t obey.”

“Is there any poetry?” Michelle asked. “I like poetry.”

“Yes,” Brother Smith replied, “there are four poetry books and another of wise sayings.”

By now I’d noticed that Brother Smith hadn’t started the engine; we were just sitting in the van, talking.

“And the last collection of books in the old room of the sacred library is seventeen books written by prophets.”

“What do they say?” Justin asked.

“They teach the people to obey God, and they tell us about future events.”

By now most of the class realized we weren’t going on an ordinary field trip. But we still wanted to know about this sacred library.

“Now, in the new room of this library,” Brother Smith continued, “there are only twenty-seven books.”

“Yes,” said Sue, “and four of them are history!”

Unlike me, Sue seemed to know what Brother Smith was talking about.

“Actually, there are five history books,” he told her, “but in four of them, sometimes called the Gospels, four different authors tell the story of Jesus and his life and teachings.”

“What are the rest of the books?” I asked.

“They are letters from church leaders to church members who lived in different places,” Brother Smith explained, pleased to see that I was interested.

“Where is this library?” I asked.

“In my hand.” Brother Smith held up a book.

“The Bible!” David announced.

“The Holy Bible,” Michelle added.

“The Holy Bible,” Brother Smith agreed. “In the Greek language, bible came to mean ‘divine library.’”

“The Old Testament and the New Testament are the two ‘rooms’!” I exclaimed.

“What did you learn today in Primary?” my mom asked later that day. She always asks, and in the past, I didn’t remember very often.

“We learned that we carry a whole library to church,” I answered proudly.

Mom gave me a funny look. But then Dad whispered, “Brother Smith’s his new Primary teacher,” and her puzzled look changed to one of understanding.

I can’t wait to go to Primary next week. Brother Smith says he’s going to take us on another field trip.

I’m Molly McKinzie, and in most ways I’m rather ordinary. My hair is brown. My eyes are a plain sort of gray. I’m not too short or too tall.
My best friend is Brenda. We both love pets, ballet lessons, climbing trees, and strawberry ice cream with chocolate on top. In other ways, though, we’re very different.
Brenda’s hair is curly and blond, and her eyes are a sparkling blue. And, when she giggles, Chuck Thornton, the neatest boy in our class, stares at her and can’t remember what he was going to say. I often wished he’d look at me like that.
It seemed hopeless, though, because of the one thing about me that isn’t ordinary—my nose.
“Most remarkable!” said Dad’s Aunt Prudence from Philadelphia, when she came to help after Mom had Michael. She tilted my chin up with her long, skinny finger and spoke to Mom as if I weren’t there. “It certainly doesn’t look like anyone from my side of the family.”
“Maybe not too much,” said Mom with a funny look on her face, “but Molly helps take good care of baby Michael.”
Mom was right. I did such a good job that Aunt Prudence didn’t have to stay very long.
I don’t know why grownups are forever trying to figure out who looks like whom. When Michael was born, everybody said things like, “Oh, how sweet! He has his mother’s delicate nose.”
“And his father’s chin and hair.” “Yes, but aren’t those Grandpa McKinzie’s ears?”
Actually, baby Michael looked like baby Michael to me and not like anybody else. It made me start thinking, though. There must have been somebody in the family with a nose like mine.
The day Michael rolled over for the first time, Mom hurried to get out his baby book so she could write it down. I got out my baby book too. Sometimes I like to look at it just for fun.
As I turned the pages, I noticed one that I hadn’t really looked at before. It was titled “My Family Tree.” All the lines were blank. I asked Mom if she had the names and pictures of the people who belonged there. I hoped that at least one of them would have a nose like mine.
Mom smiled. “I think we could find some of them.” When she finished feeding Michael, she got down a large box. “I have a few pictures, but you’ll have to ask Dad about his side of the family. I don’t know much about them.”
We dumped everything out onto the floor. “Someday I need to organize all this,” she said. We found pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas, grandpas, birthday parties, graduations, and weddings. We filled in many of the spaces and kept working until Dad came home. He joined in the fun too. We only stopped to make some sandwiches.
Dad got out his large black photo album and filled in many spaces. There was a picture of Dad as a little boy pulling a small dog in a wagon.
I had to laugh. Dad looked so plain and ordinary, just like me, except that he had an ordinary nose. The remarkable nose just couldn’t be found. When we finished that night, all the spaces were filled except two.
“Hmmm,” said Dad, leaning back in his chair, “I wonder where we can find your great-great-grandparents.”
The next Saturday, Dad and I drove to a huge library in a nearby city. We looked through books and films and even used a computer to search for more clues. Finally, after looking for a long time, Dad found a name. “Philadelphia,” he said thoughtfully. “It looks like we need to write Aunt Prudence a letter. Will you help me, Molly?”
I wrinkled my remarkable nose. “I guess so,” I said.
I helped write the letter, then began checking the mailbox each day for an answer. “It will take many days,” Mom said. I waited and waited until I almost gave up.
Weeks later I was out walking our dog, Dixie, when the letter carrier came. He waved to me as he put a stack of mail in our box. I waved back and ran to see what was inside.
Dixie’s leash slipped through my hands as I shuffled through the letters. Just then, a big gust of wind came along and blew the mail everywhere. I ran around as fast as I could, gathering it up.
Dixie thought it was a fun game and caught the last letter in her teeth. When I tried to take it from her she growled playfully and ran away, wanting me to chase her.
“Bad dog!” I shouted, but she paid no attention, darting this way and that with the letter still in her teeth.
Chuck Thornton came around the corner just then, delivering newspapers. He stopped to watch the chase. It was so embarrassing. He whistled to Dixie, and she ran right to him and let him take the letter from her.
“Thanks, Chuck,” I said, a little out of breath. “She’s kind of silly sometimes.”
“That’s all right,” he said. “Hey! Look at this. It’s addressed to you, Molly. It’s from somebody in Philadelphia.”
“Really?” I was so excited that my hands shook when I opened it.
Inside was a five-page letter and some very old pictures. I read it carefully while Chuck looked at the pictures.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “My Great-Great-Grandmother and Grandfather McKinzie were immigrants from Ireland who helped build a town in Pennsylvania. There’s even a park named after them.”
“Wow! That’s neat!” Chuck exclaimed. He handed me the pictures. “You know, Molly, you even sort of look like your great-great-grandfather. It’s … uh … your distinguished-looking nose.”
I stared at his picture. It was true! There was my nose on my great-great-grandpa’s face. “Distinguished?” I asked Chuck nervously.
“Yes, I think it’s the perfect description of it. Lots of famous people have distinguished noses.”
“They do?”
“Sure! Even some movie stars.”
Mom opened the door. “It’s here!” I yelled, waving the letter. She invited Chuck in for hot cider and donuts. While we had our treat, she read the letter.
“Remarkable!” she said, looking at the pictures.
“Distinguished!” said Chuck.
We all laughed.

In my early childhood I lost both my parents. Aunt Gu Ma, a spinster sister of my father, kept my brother and me together. She brought us up in a little farming village where she grew vegetables for a living. Every morning she would carry the produce to the market in two big baskets, one on each end of a long pole resting on her shoulders. She then would bring home rice and meat purchased with the proceeds of her vegetable sales.
I can remember cooking rice in a huge wok on top of a reed-burning stove. I was then six years old. The wok was so big that my brother and I had to lift it together, each standing on a stool while grasping a handle on opposite sides. Our occasional dinner special was either half-cooked or burnt rice, or both.
Aunt Gu Ma was a wonderful person. Although she had no formal education, she had a noble philosophy of life. She instilled in us correct principles, stern self-reliance, and the value of hard work. We are forever grateful for her love and sacrifice in our behalf.

Be slow to judge. From a graduate school textbook I read of an account which substantiates the wisdom of this advice. In a large factory with multiple machines, the employees had to work as a team to be successful. On a particular machine the crew was handicapped by one worker frequently arriving late. The foreman reprimanded the tardy person and told him, “If you come to work late again, you’re fired!”
The very next day the recalcitrant was again late. The class was asked, “What would you do if you were the foreman?”
About half the class said, “I would keep my word and fire the person.” The balance took pity and answered, “I’d give him another chance.” The instructor then gave us the correct answer: “I would ask him why he was late. His tardiness could well be fully legitimate.”

Photographs from Getty Images
Wilma Rudolph: 2-time Olympian, 3 gold medals, polio survivor.
In 1960 Wilma Rudolph became a track and field legend. She was running for the United States in the Olympics, which were being televised for the first time. In spite of the intense pressure, Wilma ran so quickly she was proclaimed “the fastest woman in the world.” By the end of the Olympics, she had won not just one gold medal but three—the first American woman ever to do so.
Wilma’s incredible victory teaches us a powerful lesson about our true potential and identity. But her story is even more inspiring when you know how it began.
Wilma was born in Tennessee in 1940. She was the 20th of 22 children in her family. She was born prematurely and weighed under five pounds. In her early childhood she suffered from a slew of illnesses—pneumonia, scarlet fever, and then polio, which left her with limited use of her left leg. She required leg braces to stand. “My doctor told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would,” Wilma said. “I believed my mother.”1
When she was nine years old, Wilma determined to prove the doctors wrong. She took off her leg braces and began to walk, one slow step at a time. She fell, she got up and tried again, and again, and again. With grit, determination, and faith, Wilma continued to practice. Eventually, she even started to run. She ran a lot. And, after years of work, she ran fast—very fast. Fast enough to run in the 1956 Olympics and win a bronze medal at age 16. Then, four years later, she ran again to win those amazing three gold medals.
Winners of the women’s 100-meter race at the 1960 Rome, Italy, Olympics. Wilma Rudolph (center) is awarded the gold medal.
Photograph from Getty Images

Illustration by Brandon Dorman
In 2012 I had completed seminary and high school, and a new world was opening in my life. The beginning of the year was great, especially the multistake youth camp. I felt blessed and protected by my Heavenly Father.
Years before, I had decided I would serve a full-time mission, so in 2012 I planned to dedicate myself to saving all the money I could. Thanks to my older sister, Sofía, I was able to quickly find a job at the company where she worked. On February 22, Sofía and I took the train to work. It was a beautiful day, but when we arrived at the destination, I heard a loud noise, and then everything went dark.
When I awoke, I was hurting and confused. Was my journey on earth coming to an end? I really wanted to be around to experience certain things, like going on a mission and having a family. So I prayed, asking Heavenly Father to give me the opportunity to live and serve a mission.
Lying in the tangled wreckage of the train, I looked around for my sister, but I couldn’t see her. Finally I heard firefighters asking everyone to stay calm, and I could feel hope in my heart. I prayed for my sister’s well-being because I didn’t know where she was. As I prayed, I felt great peace. I had to fight to endure the pain I felt, but Heavenly Father gave me the necessary strength.
After an hour I was rescued. I felt the Lord with me during that time. As I was taken to the hospital to have an operation on my leg, I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and wondering how she was. But every time I thought about her, I felt peace.
The next day my parents informed me that Sofía had not survived the accident. That news brought the greatest pain I have ever felt. But at the same time, I felt comfort and gratitude for the sacred covenants made by my parents in the temple in sealing our family together for eternity.
When I returned home from the hospital, the Lord blessed my family through our friends and relatives, who were our angels, giving us comfort. We will always be grateful for that. Thanks to the power of the priesthood, I learned how to walk again much quicker than expected. I was able to walk normally after just a few months.
The gospel is beautiful every way you look at it. I am so grateful for temples and temple ordinances. I know that the Lord has something sacred prepared for my sister. Life without her is not easy, and it never will be, but the assurance and the peace we have is stronger than the pain we feel at her absence. We miss Sofía with all our hearts and remember her every day. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said that heaven without your family just wouldn’t be heaven (see Between Heaven and Earth [DVD, 2005]), and I testify that is true.
God loves us, and He never leaves us alone. Isaiah 54:10 says, “My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.”

The first time it snowed, my best friend, Lou, came to school wearing it. I’d never seen such a crazy-looking creation. It had fat stripes of purple, orange, red, green, and pink. It wrapped around his neck three times, and the ends still reached below his knees. I’d only put that scarf on for Halloween.
“Some strange creature’s eating Lou’s face,” Bobby teased, pulling one end.
“We’ll save you,” Annie joked, tugging at the other end. Together they wrapped Lou up until he looked like a mummy that had rolled in ten different kinds of paint.
“That’s enough,” I said, chasing them off. “Go build a snowman.” I untangled Lou.
“Thanks,” he said, tucking the ends of his scarf into his pockets.
“Why don’t you take that thing off and hide it in your backpack?” I suggested. “The whole school’s going to tease you if you parade around in that.”
Lou shrugged. “They’ll get tired of bugging me. I want to wear it.”
“Whatever,” I said. The bell rang, and five minutes later we were doing fifth-grade fractions, so I couldn’t waste any more brain power wondering about Lou’s scarf.
It snowed almost every day that week, and Lou kept wearing his crazy scarf. He was wrong about the kids getting tired of teasing him. Of course, Lou did look like he’d borrowed that thing from a circus clown.
“Don’t you have another scarf?” I asked him. “One that’s a normal color, like blue, and about three feet long instead of ten?”
“Yes, but I’m wearing this one.”
“I guess you like all the attention,” I grumbled, “but I’m getting a bit tired of the crowd we keep attracting.”
“Ignore them.”
“It’d be easier if you’d just lose that scarf,” I suggested again, less hopefully.
“I can’t.”
I sighed. “Could you at least tell me why? Since I’m the one who has to keep rescuing you, I deserve to know.”
Lou looked at me for a minute. “I’ll tell you on Monday,” he said.
“Monday?”
“Monday. And ask your mom if it’s OK if you’re a little late getting home from school that day.”
All weekend I wondered about Lou’s scarf. Why did he wear that goofy thing to school? Why wouldn’t he tell me until Monday? It was a mystery to me. Lou was usually kind of fussy about his clothes, and he didn’t like stripes.
On Monday, Lou showed up wrapped in that mile-long scarf as usual. The other guys pretended it was a snake from outer space.
“OK,” I told Lou, “I waited. Now let me in on the secret.”
“After school,” he said. “I promise.”
When the last bell finally rang, Lou was waiting for me by my locker.
“Come on,” he said. “I help out in Mrs. Reed’s room for a while on Mondays. They’ll be waiting for me.”
“What about the scarf?”
“I’ll tell you afterward. Come on.”
I followed Lou into Mrs. Reed’s room. She worked with a few kids who were mentally handicapped. It was hard work for them to learn how to do everyday stuff, like telling time and tying shoes.
“Hi, Lou,” said a girl named Jen. She had big brown eyes and soft black curls. She gave him a big hug. I liked her right away. “Please read Black Beauty today.”
“Please, please!” two more kids begged.
For the next fifteen minutes, I watched Lou read to his little fan club. They sure were happy to have him there. When he finished, Jen hopped over to me.
“Are you Lou’s friend, too?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled.
“Lou’s my best friend,” she said. “I made him a beautiful scarf.”
“That must have taken a long time,” I said, wondering if it was the scarf he’d been wearing.
“I picked out my favorite colors and made the scarf all by myself,” she reported proudly. “Now Lou wears it every day.”
“I’ve seen that scarf,” I said, looking at Jen’s happy smile.
“I’ll be your friend, too,” she said, patting my hand.
“Thanks,” I said before she skipped off.
“Ready to go?” Lou asked, pulling his scarf up over his cheeks as he waved good-bye to Jen and the others.
“Ready,” I answered with a grin. Lou didn’t need to explain anything now. Jen’s feelings were more important than a little teasing. He knew how proud and happy it made her feel to see him wearing her gift. Suddenly I felt honored to have a friend like Lou.
“By the way,” I told him, “I’ve decided that I like your scarf.”

Fear of such criticism kept Letitia Rule, a member in England, away from the gospel for 20 years. She often wanted to return, but she “was afraid of just walking through the door, feeling judged and like I hadn’t been living right.” Only a life-threatening diagnosis gave her the courage to make that difficult step. Members met her with warmth and love, helping her want to participate in the gospel again.

My wife, Harriet, and I love riding our bicycles. It is wonderful to get out and enjoy the beauties of nature. We have certain routes we like to bike, but we don’t pay too much attention to how far we go or how fast we travel in comparison with other riders.
However, occasionally I think we should be a bit more competitive. I even think we could get a better time or ride at a higher speed if only we pushed ourselves a little more. And then sometimes I even make the big mistake of mentioning this idea to my wonderful wife.
Her typical reaction to my suggestions of this nature is always very kind, very clear, and very direct. She smiles and says, “Dieter, it’s not a race; it’s a journey. Enjoy the moment.”
How right she is!

A story from my own family history illustrates this principle. My great-grandfather Joseph Watson Maynes was born in 1856 in Hull, Yorkshire, England. His family joined the Church in England and then made their way to Salt Lake City. He married Emily Keep in 1883, and they became the parents of eight children. Joseph was called to serve a full-time mission in June of 1910, when he was 53 years old. With the support of his wife and eight children, he returned to his native England to serve his mission.

After serving faithfully for approximately two years, he was riding his bicycle along with his companion to Sunday School services in Gloucester, England, when his tire burst. He got off his bicycle to assess the damage. When he saw that it was serious and would take a while to fix, he told his companion to go ahead and begin the Sunday service and he would be there shortly. Just as he finished saying this, he collapsed to the ground. He had died suddenly of a heart attack.

Joseph Watson Maynes never saw his wife and eight children again in this life. They were able to transport his body back to Salt Lake City and have his funeral service at the old Waterloo Assembly Hall. A statement made at his funeral service by Elder Anthony W. Ivins of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles teaches us an important lesson about life, death, and endurance: “This is what the gospel gives us—not immunity from death, but victory over it through the hope we have in a glorious resurrection. … It applies to [Joseph Maynes]. … It is a pleasure, and it is a satisfaction and joy to know that men lay down their lives in righteousness, in the faith, true to the faith.”

This family story inspires me to try my very best to follow the example of endurance and spiritual stamina illustrated by my great-grandfather. I am equally inspired by the faith of his wife, Emily, whose life after Joseph’s death was certainly a heavy burden to bear. Her testimony was strong and her conversion complete as she spent the rest of her life true to the faith while supporting her eight children on her own.

For example, Víctor and Norma Soardo and their children, Lilian, age 12, and Marcos, age 15, were baptized in 1997. The Soardos are grateful for both the warm welcome and the lessons they received in how to be good Latter-day Saints. “From the time I came to know the Church, my life has had surprise after surprise,” says Brother Soardo. “Good surprises!” he adds, referring to his amazement at being called to serve in the branch presidency.

Shortly after the family’s baptism, the car Víctor used to make a living was demolished in an accident. It left the family without means of support, and soon Víctor became desperate. He had little money with which to buy a car.

One Monday evening it was his turn to plan family home evening. He gathered his wife and children around him and said: “Instead of our regular lesson, let’s pray tonight. Let’s put this problem before the Lord.” They took turns in petitioning the Lord.

“A few days later I heard about someone with a car for sale,” Víctor recalls. “As I drove down a street looking for the address, I passed an old truck parked by the side of the road, and the idea came to me to stop and ask the owner if he would be interested in selling it.” The owner was interested, and the two bargained unsuccessfully for several minutes before the owner finally asked Víctor how much money he had. The owner agreed to sell his truck to the Soardos for half his original price.

“With this vehicle, I support my family. I pay my tithing. The truck is so much better for my needs,” says a grateful Víctor. “I never thought I could own a truck. The Lord knew better what I needed.” Learning the specifics of how to live as a Latter-day Saint helped the Soardos face this and other challenges.

Partly as a result of continued attention after baptism, both Salta and Jujuy, as well as other areas in Argentina, have enjoyed significant growth in the last few years. This growth has produced a number of new leaders like Víctor Soardo, now serving as president of the Guemes Branch, Salta West stake. “About 80 percent of our leadership here in the north comes from first-generation members,” explains Pedro López, an orthodontist who joined the Church at age 25 and was called as Jujuy stake president at the age of 29. Helping converts adjust to their new Latter-day Saint lifestyle has significantly strengthened the wards and stakes in Salta and Jujuy.

As I lay in bed next to my wife, Meghan (name has been changed), my thoughts ran wild. Was this the end of our marriage? She’d just told me that she was leaving the Church. It suddenly felt like we were miles apart, not just inches.
This couldn’t be happening.
We’d both grown up active in the Church; both of us had served missions. We’d been married in the temple. We had done everything that you’re “supposed to do,” and now she was telling me that she didn’t believe anymore.
I was panicked. It felt like a big wall of ice was beginning to form between us. I wondered what this would mean for us and our family.
But since that day several years ago, not only has that ice between us thawed, but our marriage has actually thrived and blossomed into something I didn’t know was possible. I’ve learned a lot about myself and my relationships with God, my Savior, and Meghan. And I have more love, faith, and hope than I ever thought possible.
For those who might feel like they’re in a similar seemingly hopeless situation, I want to share three lessons that have gotten me to this place of peace.
Finding out your spouse no longer wants to be a part of the Church can be hard. It can feel like the end of your marriage or life as you know it. I know that’s how I felt. But now that time has passed, I have started to see this situation in a different light.
One of the key facets of the gospel of Jesus Christ is connection. We go to the temple in part to be connected to our past and future families. We kneel in prayer to connect with God. We partake of the sacrament to deepen our connection to our Savior and our covenants. And when your spouse comes to you with questions or concerns about the gospel or the Church, it gives you the opportunity to strengthen your trust and connection with each other, because they obviously love you enough to tell you about whatever is weighing on them.
Instead of seeing differing beliefs as a marriage-ending problem, realize that your spouse is sharing with you feelings that are difficult not only for you but also for them. Responding with love and respect can help take what is clearly a hard situation and allow us to bring about more good than if we were to react negatively or harshly.
If your spouse is struggling with the Church, it can bring a new beginning that allows you to examine and deepen your own beliefs, faith, and connections. You can also take time to ask your spouse what they do believe and establish more understanding between you. Take time to listen to them from a place of love.
President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) once said that one of the most important words in the dictionary is remember.1 And it might be one of the most important words in marriage too. Use this circumstance as a way to reconnect—to remember why you married your spouse and what the covenants you have made mean to you. You will be reminded of the joys and experiences you’ve shared together and what sparked your connection in the first place.
As you look back on what you’ve been through, you’ll be reminded that you have a deep connection with each other that can help you get through challenges in the future, including finding your new normal as a mixed-faith couple.
When it comes to any struggles or disagreements in our marriage—whether about Church-related topics or not—Meghan and I try to evaluate our relationship using three questions:
1. What’s working?
2. What’s not working?
3. What do we want to do or think differently?
Starting with what’s working is key—it reminds our brains that our relationship and marriage is working. It establishes common ground and helps us see what we already have and what we are doing well.
When we’ve tried to talk about issues without first acknowledging what is working, our minds tend to dwell on the issues instead of finding solutions.
For example, when we first started having discussions about faith, one of Meghan’s concerns was around our children having priesthood interviews without one of us present.
We started by asking, “What’s working?” and we agreed that we both love our children and care about them. We both want what is best for them. We want them to progress and to grow. And we reestablished the fact that we are on the same team.
Then we focused on “What’s not working?” For instance, Meghan didn’t feel comfortable with some of the questions our teenage children would be asked in bishop interviews without us there.
That brought us to question 3: “What do we want to do or think differently?” Meghan and I sat down and discussed a plan. We agreed that one of us would be present with our children if they had interviews with members of the bishopric. We spoke to our bishop about this, and he was supportive. He reminded us that he had all of our growth and welfare in mind.
When we strive to be patient and humble as we work out our differences, our minds are open to understanding, compromising, and helpful discussions.
There are also great examples of this idea in the scriptures, for example in Ether 2:24–25. The Lord first reviews what will work—everything He has done and will do to make the barges cross the sea safely. And then he asks the brother of Jared, “What will ye that I should prepare for you that ye may have light?”
The Lord uses this pattern of leading us, asking us to find solutions to our struggles. That is one way He teaches us to grow and become more like Him.
I’m a videographer and producer by profession. A project early in my career required me to use a technique called “forced perspective,” which means placing an object close to the lens to distort its size. If you hold a pebble up to your eye, it appears the size of a boulder. But if you hold it at arm’s length, you see that it’s not as big as you once thought.
We sometimes do this with our problems in life.
We can focus so much on our own perspective regarding an issue that it consumes every other good thing in our life. But we can change our perspective and see hardships or challenges, like a spouse leaving the Church, as an opportunity for growth and notice the other goodness around us.
God teaches this in Isaiah 55:8–9. He explains that His perspective is different than ours. When we recognize that we don’t know the end from the beginning, it helps us realize that our journey here on earth may be different than we expected or planned for ourselves. But in His omniscience, God certainly knew all that we would go through in mortality.
We knew before we came to earth that we would face challenges, but God has affirmed that all things can work together for our good if we follow Him and keep His commandments.
Changing my perspective of this situation is what helped me focus on my own journey with Christ. And that is a personal journey we each get to embark on.
When Meghan and I first started down this path of differing beliefs, I thought this challenge would be something I would just have to tolerate. I remember one evening after a particularly tumultuous argument, I was lying in bed with tears in my eyes.
Meghan didn’t want to speak to me, and I felt devastated for both of us.
But as I prayed for help and turned to the Savior, I thought about how much I loved her. I felt a rush of love and gratitude and said, “Meghan, I want to be married to you. I love you and I choose you, but if you want to leave, I understand. I would be heartbroken, but I would understand.”
In that moment, I felt the love of God for Meghan, for me, for my family, and for all of God’s children. We all have different journeys in life, and we can learn to work together even when we believe differently.
Through my choice to follow the Savior and through the mutual respect and love between Meghan and me, this circumstance has helped me become a better husband and father. I’ve learned to become more compassionate and a better listener. And ultimately, I have become a better member of the Church of Jesus Christ as I continue to look for ways to draw close to Him and to apply His healing balm in my life. I actively seek out the Holy Ghost each day, and I have learned to look at our differences of faith as an opportunity for me to deepen my faith and to help me become who I am meant to be.
Things aren’t always completely easy, but the further along we go together, the more endearing this journey becomes. I often think of the words of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “Remember that God is on your side. He is not an angry, vicious God trying to trip you. He is for you—not against you. He is your Father. He is anxious to do everything possible to bless you. He hears your prayers and desires to make your life all that it can be.”2
I won’t ever stop praying for my family or looking for the goodness and the blessings of our circumstances. I’m grateful every day for a loving wife who, although she believes differently than I do, honors and respects both of our journeys. I don’t know if Meghan and I will ever share a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ again, but my faith in Him motivates me to keep my marriage thriving, follow His commandments, and put my trust in Him. And what I hold on to most is the knowledge that Heavenly Father has promised that “all things shall work together for your good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).

My husband, Jason, has been working in the mining construction industry as a fly-in-fly-out worker for about 12 years. When Jason started this job, I was working full-time, and we had four young children. With Jason’s working away and my working full-time, I struggled to look after the kids, keep the house in order, and get the kids to church on my own.
We discussed if I should continue working or stay home with the kids. I worried about fulfilling my role as a wife and a mother, but I also worried about how leaving work would affect our family. Not knowing what to do, I got down on my knees and I prayed to Heavenly Father, “I actually need help because I can’t do this by myself.”
I decided to step away from work, but the Lord made sure that we were taken care of. So many people came to my aid to help around the house and with the kids. The Lord was always there in my struggles, hastening His angels who strengthened me.

Let us go back to the year 1805, on the 23rd day of December, in the town of Sharon, Vermont. Will you accompany me as we look back on those dramatic events taking place on that day? As Joseph Smith Sr. and his wife, Lucy Mack, proudly looked down upon the little baby who had come into their home, I’m certain they were pleased and most grateful. A choice spirit had come to dwell in its earthly tabernacle.
Some have asked, “Did he have an unusual childhood or boyhood?” “Was the Prophet Joseph different from me or my brothers?” I think we could gain insight into the childhood of the Prophet by reading the words of his mother. She said, “I am aware that some of my readers will be disappointed, for … it is thought by some that I shall be likely to tell many very remarkable incidents which attended his childhood; but, as nothing occurred during his early life except those trivial circumstances which are common to that state of human existence, I pass them in silence.”1 This is all we have from the boy’s mother concerning his early childhood activities.
During his early youth, however, ill health and ill fortune seemed to pursue the family. When young Joseph was seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. The others recovered readily, but Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, doing the best they could under the conditions of the time, treated him—and yet the sore persisted. Finally the doctors were afraid they were going to have to amputate his leg.
Thankfully, however, one day the doctors came unexpectedly to the home and told the family they were going to try a new operation to remove a piece of the bone, hoping this would permit the sore to heal. They had brought with them some cord and planned to tie Joseph to the bed because they had no anesthetic, nothing to dull the pain, when they cut into his leg to remove the piece of bone.
Young Joseph, however, responded, “I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have my liberty.”
The doctors then said, “Will you take some wine? … You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation.”
Again the boy prophet said, “No, … but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.”
So Joseph Smith Sr. held the boy in his arms, and the doctors opened the leg and removed the diseased piece of bone. Although he was lame for some time afterward, Joseph was healed.2 At seven years of age, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.
When Joseph was in his 11th year, his family, which now consisted of 11 souls, left Vermont and moved to Palmyra, New York. Four years later they moved to Manchester, located in the same county. It was here that Joseph described the great religious revival that seemed everywhere present and of prime concern to every heart.
These are his words: “So great were the confusion and strife among the different denominations, that it was impossible for a person young as I was, and so unacquainted with men and things, to come to any certain conclusion who was right and who was wrong. …
“While I was laboring under the extreme difficulties caused by the contests of these parties of religionists, I was one day reading the Epistle of James, first chapter and fifth verse, which reads: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him” (JS—H 1:8, 11).
The Prophet said that after reading this verse he knew for a certainty he must either put the Lord to the test and ask Him or perhaps choose to remain in darkness forever. He declared that as he retired to the grove to pray, this was the first time he had attempted to pray vocally to his Heavenly Father. But he had read the scripture, he had understood the scripture, he had trusted in God his Eternal Father; and now he knelt and prayed, knowing that God would give him the enlightenment which he so earnestly sought. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us the principle of faith—by example.
Can you imagine the ridicule, the scorn, the mocking that all of his young friends, his older friends, and his foes alike must have heaped upon him as he mentioned that he had seen a vision?
I suppose it became almost unbearable for the boy, and yet he was honest with himself, for these are his words: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it” (JS—H 1:25).
The Prophet Joseph Smith taught honesty—by example.
The Prophet Joseph was truly blessed with the ability to inspire faith. One bright morning Joseph walked up to John E. Page and said, “Brother John, the Lord is calling you on a mission to Canada.”
John E. Page was rather astonished and said, “Why, Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet Joseph took his own coat from his back, handed it to John Page, and said, “Here, John, wear this, and the Lord will bless you.” Brother Page took the coat, went to Canada, and in two years walked 5,000 miles and baptized 600 souls, because he trusted in the words of a prophet of God.3
The Prophet Joseph believed in missionary work. While he and Sidney Rigdon were proselyting at Perrysburg, New York, October 12, 1833, having been long absent from their families and feeling concerned for them, they received the following revelation:
“Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my friends Sidney and Joseph, your families are well; they are in mine hands, and I will do with them as seemeth me good; for in me there is all power. …
“Therefore, verily I say unto you, lift up your voices unto this people” (D&C 100:1, 5).
Joseph and Sidney continued their missionary labors.
Joseph Smith not only inspired men to volunteer for missions, but he also taught the importance of missionary work—by example.
I think one of the sweetest lessons taught by the Prophet, and yet one of the saddest, occurred close to the time of his death. He was required to leave his plan and vision of the Rocky Mountains and give himself up to face a court of supposed justice.
These are his words: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men” (D&C 135:4). That statement of the Prophet teaches us obedience to law and the importance of having a clear conscience toward God and toward our fellowmen. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught these principles—by example.
There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him.
And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.
I pray we may learn from his example, that we might incorporate into our lives the great principles he so beautifully taught.

When I was eight years old, Papa died. It wasn’t easy without Papa there anymore. Even with my older brothers and sisters, who helped out a lot, there were still eight children to feed and take care of. Mama worked long hours with us in the cornfield. Sometimes when the rest of us were eating supper, Mama went outside and shucked corn. We didn’t know it, but she was using that time to pray and fast. She didn’t want my older brothers to see her fast, because sometimes they made fun of her religious beliefs.
One day while Mama was outside meditating and shucking corn, she was prompted to go and visit an elderly widower who lived down the street. She found two missionaries there, and they taught her the gospel. She received answers to her concerns about the death of my father and about what happens after death. She came home very excited.
When my brothers found out about it, they were upset and began to laugh at her. And when Papa’s folks found out about it, they, too, were bitterly opposed. I couldn’t understand why they caused so much trouble about it.
Mama decided to give up the new religion. It was causing too much friction in our home. The beautiful truths just were not worth it.
Mama was never the same. She could not deny the things she had heard. She tried hard to convince my brothers, but they just wouldn’t listen. I did. And I had a warm feeling inside me when I went into the waters of baptism the same day Mama was baptized.

“But, Mom, I don’t want to go to church today!” Trevor complained. “I want to stay home and play outside. We get a vacation from school in the summer, so why can’t we take a vacation from church now too?”
Trevor’s mother smiled as she asked, “What do you think would happen if Heavenly Father took a summer vacation from watching over us and helping us? Besides, you have all the rest of the week to play outside.”
The next day Trevor did play outside. He played long and hard. Late in the afternoon, while he was racing his bike with his friends, he turned his head to see how far ahead of them he was. In that instant his bike hit a rock, and the next thing Trevor knew, he was in a hospital bed with a big cast on his left leg and a huge bandage on his head.
As Trevor lay there, his leg was held up by a chain and pulley. He couldn’t turn; he could only lie on his back. The doctors told him that he would have to lie that way for at least four weeks! His whole summer was ruined!
To just lie still in the big hospital bed was the hardest work that Trevor had ever done. His mom, dad, and sisters came to visit him every day. They brought books to read and tapes and games that he could play while lying down. This helped, but each day still seemed like forever.
When Sunday came, Trevor knew that his family would go to church and wouldn’t come to see him till late afternoon. Trevor colored in his new coloring book, then read some of his books. Nothing feels right. This is Sunday, and I would be in church if I were home. That would feel right, he told himself.
Trevor thought about his Primary class. They’re probably in Sharing Time right now, singing some of my favorite songs. Maybe they’ll play that Bible story gamethat Sister Hinton taught us last week. Trevor wondered what Sister Norman’s lesson would be about today. Last week it had been about “Forgiveness.” He really did like the lessons. Even though it was hard to sit still sometimes, Sister Norman could always tell when everyone needed to wiggle a little. She would have them play the wiggle game until they got all their wiggles out. The more Trevor thought about church, the more he wished that he could be there.
The next week wasn’t any easier for Trevor. He kept thinking about not being able to go to church on Sunday. After lying still for days and days, sitting for three hours didn’t seem quite so impossible anymore.
When Sunday came again, the morning seemed to get longer and longer. Trevor looked at the clock on the wall. Sharing Time is just getting over, and everyone will be going to their classes. I bet the lesson’s a good one, Trevor thought sadly.
About ten minutes later Sister Norman appeared in the doorway! “Hello, Trevor. May we come in?” she asked.
“Wow! Yes! Yes!” Trevor shouted happily.
Sister Norman was followed by the other four children in Trevor’s Primary class. Each child carried cards and letters that all the children in Primary had made for Trevor during Sharing Time.
After a few minutes of visiting, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, we all missed you so much that we decided that Primary wasn’t Primary without you, and we decided to bring Primary to you today.”
The children all sat down around the bed while Sister Norman gave her lesson on kindness to others.
All too soon the lesson was over, and it was time for Trevor’s class to go. Before she left, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, if it’s all right with you, till you’re well, we’d like to visit you each week and give you the Primary lesson, just like we have at the ward.”
“Oh,” Trevor said, “that would be just great! Thank you.”
After his class had left, Trevor thought, I’m glad that Primary doesn’t stop during the summer. And I’m especially glad that Heavenly Father doesn’t take a summer vacation!