Gospel Story Finder

Once again, Relief Society can help. Sister Elsa Bluhm, who is 102, knew the gospel was true. She loved the Lord. She met a good man and married him. He was from Germany, and he was not a member of the Church. Her husband had never been taught to pray. When Elsa knelt beside the bed each night, she would take his hand in hers and pray. After many years he joined the Church, and they were sealed in the temple. Before his passing, Brother Bluhm became an instrument in the hands of God by researching his German ancestors.

This happy ending began with one woman’s insistent, loving, righteous example. Elsa invited the Spirit into their home and marriage by loving her husband and loving the Lord. She was both faithful and filled with faith, even when at times she felt alone. She was an instrument in the hands of God in her own home.

“My mother helped us learn the value of work. We all had responsibilities every Saturday, and we always did our work before we ever went out to play. We’d scrub, clean, dust, and vacuum because Mother believed that we should learn how to do such tasks when we were young. She made games out of nearly everything we did; we’d play that the dishes were drowning people and that we were trying to save them. It was fun to be with her, for she taught us to enjoy whatever we did.”

Susan wandered into the kitchen, where Mother was busy fixing dinner.
“Would you go get the baby for me, please?” asked Mother. “He just woke up, and this afternoon’s fun has put me way behind in everything.”
Susan’s younger brother Mark had spent a lot of time during the week sanding and painting his car for his first Pinewood Derby race. The derby had lasted longer than expected, so the baby had been taking a late nap while Mother tried to get supper ready.
Susan brought little Jonathan into the kitchen, pulled out a chair from the table, and held the baby on her lap. She sat there so quietly that her mother looked over at her and asked, “Why so sad?”
Susan was staring at Mark’s trophy on the kitchen counter. Mark hadn’t had a very fast car, but it had won the prize for “best looking car.”
“I’ll never get a trophy,” Susan said, sounding very discouraged. “When I went to Lynn’s birthday party last week, I saw her trophies for baton twirling. Claudia has a trophy from her dancing class, and when we visited Grandma last summer, I saw all of Uncle Robert’s racquetball trophies. The only thing that I’m in is the stamp club, and nobody gives trophies for that!”
“You know what?” Mother asked slowly. “I think that you already have some trophies.”
“I do?” Susan thought for a minute. “No, I don’t. Not even one.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about that kind of trophy.” Mother flicked her hand at the trophy sitting on the counter as if that kind of trophy wasn’t special at all. “The kind of trophy that I’m talking about is an invisible one.”
Susan looked puzzled. “An invisible trophy?”
“Well, right now you’re tending your baby brother, and he’s learning to love you, just the way Mark and your little sister do. Remember how you played house with Beth yesterday after school, even though you had other things that you wanted to do? Love is a wonderful kind of trophy, but it’s not the kind that you can see on a shelf.”
Susan looked doubtful as she gave baby Jonathan a squeeze.
Mother smiled and said, “I know of another trophy that you’ve earned. You practice the piano before school every morning, and I never have to remind you. Nobody hands out trophies for practicing without being nagged, but learning to do things on your own is an invisible trophy that will last forever.”
“What good is a trophy,” Susan wanted to know, “if nobody can see it?”
“Remember last fall,” her mother answered, “when a new girl came into your class and some of the kids weren’t very nice to her? You were the first one to be her friend and make her feel wanted. You certainly deserve a trophy for that, but friendship is its own reward, and a plaque on the wall announcing the fact would only spoil it.”
Susan was quiet as Mother put the meat loaf into the oven, but as she looked one more time at the Pinewood Derby trophy on the counter, she said wistfully, “I still think it would be fun to have a trophy to put on my bedroom shelf.”
“Oh, you still have plenty of life ahead of you to collect some of those,” Mother told her. “Just remember that you will probably never get one for the things that really count.”
“Why doesn’t anybody give out trophies like that?” Susan asked.
“I guess that the things that matter most are hard to measure. But when you do good things, you feel good, and that’s better than a whole roomful of this kind of trophy.” Mother kissed Susan on the forehead as she picked up the baby from her lap. “Besides,” she continued, “Heavenly Father can see the real you inside, and He knows that you’re worth a lot! Now, want to help me change a wet baby?”
“Sure thing.” Susan jumped up and followed her mother out of the kitchen without a backward glance at the brown and gold trophy on the counter.

I love talking to my parents and grandparents and learning stories about my ancestors. I’ve even learned how to enter their stories into FamilySearch.org. I also love searching online for my ancestors. I was so excited when my dad and I found a ship record on Ancestry.com with some of their names. I also got to visit a cemetery with my dad and grandpa to look for my relatives’ graves. I was so happy when we found the tombstone of my great-great-grandfather!

Romero had been looking forward to this day for a very long time. This was the day his mother and he had planned on going to the park. But that morning his mother had been called away to help a neighbor who was very ill. When she left, she promised Romero that they would still go to the park when she returned if he would do some of the household chores while she was gone. Romero told her that he would.
After his mother left, Romero started to do the things she had asked him to do. Then his friend José came by and wanted to play. Romero remembered what his mother had asked him to do and her promise that they would go to the park if he was obedient. He told José that he couldn’t play just then because he had work to do. José went home, and Romero hurried to finish the chores. When his mother came home, she was happy to see that he had done what she had asked. Because he had, she kept her promise and together they spent the afternoon at the park.

A good man had been given the assignment in his ward of arranging the Boy Scout banquet. He had worked hard, made his choices, and carried them through. The tables were set, the food was in the pot, and the hour was drawing nigh.
His wife came over early to check things out. Everything seemed in order, but it looked mighty colorless to her trained eye. She turned to him and said, “Okay, Honey, but what are you going to use for the centerpieces?”
Surprised, he looked at the stark setting and considered the matter gravely for a moment. Then, in the full agency of his manhood, he replied, “Butter—squares of butter!”
Now that is what you might call freedom of choice—agency. And that’s what we’re going to talk about for a few minutes, agency and accountability. I must add that should we happen to choose butter for the centerpiece, we can’t expect compliments on the decor. We have our free agency, but we also have to accept the consequences of our choices. It isn’t so serious in centerpieces, but in matters of life, and of life after death, it is critical.

The Fernández Lee family moved to the Dominican Republic in August 2022. There, they met young missionaries to learn about the teachings of Jesus Christ and His restored Church. The family consists of Joel Fernández Méndez, his wife, Yoleidy Lee Muñoz, and their two children, Eileen Alejandra (17) and Brayan Alejandro (11). Despite the trials and tribulations of being away from their homeland and loved ones, they are a family that has not been discouraged but has held onto the iron rod with faith.
They received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and were baptized on October 29, 2023. The family has firmly committed themselves to the path of covenants and to their efforts to magnify and expand the work of the Lord on earth. They enthusiastically embrace the work of the temple and family history and attend the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple to do baptisms regularly. They have already taken the temple preparation course, preparing to receive their endowment and sealing when the time comes.
The Fernandez Lee family belongs to the Mirador Ward in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic San Gerónimo Stake. Brother Fernandez was called as the first counselor in the Sunday School, and Sister Lee de Fernández as a Young Women advisor.

The best illustration is a great real-life example. Wilfried Vanie, his seven siblings, and his mother joined the Church in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, when he was six years old. He was baptized at eight. His father, the main provider in the family, died when Wilfried was eleven.
Though saddened by the family situation, Wilfried decided to continue in school, with his mother’s encouragement and with Church support. He graduated from secondary school and served a full-time mission in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission, where he learned English. After his mission, he went on to the university and obtained a diploma in accounting and finance. Though it was hard to obtain employment in this field, he found work in the tourism and hospitality industry.
He started as a waiter in a five-star hotel, but his passion to improve pushed him to learn more until he became a bilingual receptionist there. When a new hotel opened, he was hired as the night auditor. Later, he enrolled in BYU–Pathway Worldwide and is currently studying a course to obtain a certificate in hospitality and tourism management. His desire is to one day become the manager of a high-end hotel. Wilfried can provide for his eternal companion and two children, as well as help his mother and his siblings. He currently serves in the Church as a member of the stake high council.

My family went to Salt Lake City for a family reunion. Before we left home, we watched the “A Year on Temple Square” videos on children.lds.org, so we knew the best places to visit!
First we went to the Church Office Building to see the observation deck. After that we went to the Lion House to eat rolls. It was Brigham Young’s old house! Later we went to the Church History Museum. The artifacts were so cool! I decided I want sunglasses like Brigham Young’s. At the kid area, I saw some blocks and made two models of Temple Square. One was smaller and had the temple, Tabernacle, office building, and Conference Center. The other had more detailed buildings.
We also went to the family history center to solve a family history mystery (which we did)! Then we came back later to tour the Conference Center (which is a lot more impressive in real life!) and saw lots of the originals of my favorite paintings. We also went to see the Christus in the visitors’ center and took our picture there. And when we came back for a Mormon Tabernacle Choir Pioneer Day concert that night, the temple was all lit up and looked so beautiful!
I really felt the Spirit the entire time because it was almost Pioneer Day, and we were in the land Heavenly Father gave the pioneers. It made me think about how the desert “blossom[ed] as the rose” (Isaiah 35:1) and how the Lord blessed the pioneers tremendously through their hard work so they could live happily. Now I can cross Temple Square off my sightseeing list!

Weeks went by, and in our history class, with the same teacher, Mrs. Protschka, we began to study the ancient civilizations of America.
One night while doing my homework I felt the strongest desire to speak in class again about the Book of Mormon. For a moment I tried to put the thought aside, because I saw no way to do this. Then I knelt in prayer and asked Heavenly Father to grant me an opportunity to do so. After praying, I felt I should again prepare a discourse on the Book of Mormon.
The next day as Mrs. Protschka began class I raised my hand, planning to ask her if I could share some further comments on the Book of Mormon.
But before I could say anything, she looked at me and said, “Yes, Robert. Last night when I was preparing my lesson for today, I suddenly thought of you, and wondered if you wouldn’t have anything else to tell us about the Book of Mormon?”
I presented my speech, this time focusing mainly on Christ’s visit to the ancient Americas. I quoted from a book called Gods,Graves, and Scholars, which relates the legend of the Great White God Quetzalcoatl. The similarity between Christ and this Indian God was obvious. Again, I told my friends and teacher that Christ had indeed visited the people in the Americas; he had indeed taught them the gospel.
At the conclusion of my speech, Mrs. Protschka wrote on the blackboard: “The Book of Mormon is the best theory of how the ancient civilizations of America came to be,” and asked us to write it down in our notebooks. What a triumph! I felt like jumping for joy. God hears and answers prayers. He is indeed a God of miracles. And he knows how to soften the hearts of men for his purposes.

Not long after arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, the Latter-day Saints began building their holy temple. They felt they had finally found a place where they could worship God in peace and be free from persecution.
However, just as the temple foundation was nearing completion, an army of United States soldiers approached to forcibly install a new governor.
Because Church leaders did not know how hostile the army would be, Brigham Young ordered the Saints to evacuate and bury the temple foundation.
I’m sure some members of the Church wondered why their efforts to build God’s kingdom were constantly being frustrated.
Eventually, the danger passed, and the temple foundations were excavated and inspected. It was then that the pioneer builders discovered that some of the original sandstones had cracked, making them unsuitable as a foundation.
Consequently, Brigham had them repair the foundation so that it could adequately support the granite walls of the majestic Salt Lake Temple. Finally, the Saints could sing the hymn “How Firm a Foundation” and know their holy temple was built on a solid foundation that would last for generations.
This story can teach us how God uses adversity to bring about His purposes.

“Shortly after I was called as a General Authority, I went to Elder Harold B. Lee for counsel. He listened very carefully to my problem and suggested that I see President David O. McKay. President McKay counseled me as to the direction I should go. I was very willing to be obedient but saw no way possible for me to do as he counseled me to do.
“I returned to Elder Lee and told him that I saw no way to move in the direction I was counseled to go. He said, ‘The trouble with you is you want to see the end from the beginning.’ I replied that I would like to see at least a step or two ahead. Then came the lesson of a lifetime: ‘You must learn to walk to the edge of the light, and then a few steps into the darkness; then the light will appear and show the way before you.’ Then he quoted these 18 words from the Book of Mormon:
“‘Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith’” (Ether 12:6).
President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “The Edge of the Light,” BYU Magazine, Mar. 1991, magazine.byu.edu.

It seemed like any other early school morning for the Pleasant Grove (Utah) High School security guard, until he noticed a group of boys crowded around a small car in the student parking lot. It looked awfully suspicious. They must be trying to break in, he thought. But as he neared the scene to investigate, he recognized the boys and knew they were good guys, even though they were searching for a way to break into the empty car. The owner of the car had left the radio blaring, and the boys were trying to get in to turn it off.
Why did these popular guys take the time to rescue the little car? That Volkswagen belonged to 17-year-old Shellee Lundgren, a varsity stunt cheerleader.
Why had she left her radio on? Wouldn’t the loud music have been too much to overlook? Not for Shellee—she’s deaf. But even so, sometimes she likes to feel the vibrations of the music on the radio.
It may not be common for a cheerleader to be deaf, but with hard work and the support of others, Shellee is able to accomplish most everything she wants to. And even though Shellee’s hearing loss is not typical of most teenagers, she sure is. Without talking to her, you’d never even guess she has a hearing disability. She’s usually with friends or talking on the phone, she dates, and her long hair covers the hearing aid she wears behind her left ear. She reads lips, so she can usually understand you, but it can be hard to understand her until you get used to the way she talks. But what strikes you most about her is that she hasn’t let her hearing problem slow her down. She’s outgoing and not afraid to try whatever she wants to do. Her philosophy is “Never say I can’t.”
Shellee wanted to dance, so in grade school she started dance and gymnastics classes. She has been competing and performing ever since. Someone signals Shellee when to begin, and then she counts through the rest of the piece. As a child, oftentimes she was more on beat than the rest of the children because she counted. “Most judges never even know I’m deaf,” she says.
Because Shellee is always trying, people are drawn to her. For example, in ninth grade Shellee wanted to be a cheerleader. When it came time for tryout practices, she went but struggled trying to understand all the instructions. Luckily, her bubbly personality and eagerness to learn won her the admiration of the other girls and one varsity cheerleader in particular.
Michelle Shoell, then a junior, took Shellee home with her every night that week to practice with her. Shellee could do the moves; she just needed help combining the moves with the words. “She is one of the most sparkling people I’ve ever met,” Michelle says, “and I wanted to see her make it.”
Before the final tryouts, Michelle even told the coach, “I don’t really care if I make it as long as Shellee does.” Both girls made the squad.
In no way is this kindness towards Shellee a one-way street. Shellee makes it easy to become her friend. Melissa Despain, a former fellow cheerleader, says when she first met Shellee she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to communicate. “But she was really nice about it,” she says. Shellee is more than willing to talk slower, repeat herself, and she always smiles to encourage you to continue trying.
Raychellene Jasper, Shellee’s best friend and fellow cheerleader, can hear, and the two have been known to be inseparable. Raychellene helps Shellee understand all the instructions at their practices. Raychellene says, “She makes me feel unique and special and like I’m needed and wanted. It’s a mutual dependency.”
Shellee is a friend as well as an example. “A lot of people didn’t think I could make the cheerleading team,” Shellee says. But when she did, some kids took it to heart. They thought, If she did it, maybe I could too.
It may seem like Shellee’s got it made. Being deaf hasn’t kept her from dancing, doing well in school, or making friends. However, it has made the gospel harder for her to understand than it is for most teenagers.
Only in the last year has Shellee attended a deaf ward, so until then she had to fend for herself at church. “I never knew how much she was actually getting,” says Janell Frost, one of Shellee’s Primary and Young Women teachers.
Fortunately, Pleasant Grove High School has a deaf seminary teacher whose class Shellee can attend. “Seminary has helped me a lot,” she says. “For example, I didn’t know I would live again after I die. I was so happy because then I knew I would see Grandma again.” Shellee hadn’t been able to grasp that concept until then, although she has always been an active member of the Church.
Reading the scriptures is hard for Shellee because of the vocabulary. She doesn’t recognize words from having heard them in conversation; she has to learn each word individually by looking it up. Words like nevertheless are hard enough to understand when you’ve heard other people use them. How is a deaf person to understand it without help?
Shellee’s seminary teacher is helping to solve this problem with drawings. She has her students draw pictures in their scriptures that go along with the stories so they can have a better idea of what is going on. “It helps a lot,” Shellee says.
In part, Shellee wants to go on a mission because she has had a difficult time understanding the gospel principles. “I want to go on a deaf mission so I can learn more. I want to help those who are lost.”
Whether they are obvious or not, we all have our barriers to overcome—even smart, outgoing, cheerleaders who accidentally leave their radios blaring. But when we work together and keep on trying, those barriers come crumbling down.

Ten-year-old Olivia* rolled over on her side and tried to go back to sleep, even though she knew it would be impossible. After all, it was Christmas—Christmas 1843. “Well, just barely,” Olivia thought as she counted the 12 chimes that echoed softly from her mother’s clock.
Last Christmas, she had lived far away in Leek, England. Then Grandpa had listened to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “These men speak the truth,” he had said. Three months later, Olivia and her entire family were baptized, along with Grandpa Richard and Grandma Lettice Rushton.
The decision to leave England to join the Saints in America had been a very hard one. Would Grandpa be able to sell his silk business? What kind of work would Papa find? Would baby James get sick and die, like Mama’s other baby? And what about Grandma Lettice? Because she was blind, it would be especially difficult for her to leave her home for an unfamiliar land. After a lot of prayer and asking the Lord, Papa knew they needed to follow the counsel of the Prophet Joseph Smith and join the Saints in Zion.
And now it was Christmas—and Christmas in Nauvoo was very different from Christmas back home. For one thing, Grandpa Rushton had died, and Olivia missed him terribly. For another thing, people here in Nauvoo didn’t burn yule logs, sing carols, and exchange presents, as people in England did. In fact, many people in Nauvoo didn’t celebrate the day at all. Mama said that it was because of the religious customs many of them had before they joined the Church. But that didn’t seem like a very good reason to Olivia. “If only we could celebrate Christmas as we did in England!” she thought with a sigh.
Just then, she heard muffled voices by the front door. Olivia slid out of bed and tiptoed across the cold floor. “Mama?”
Her mother and father were bundled up in warm coats and hats!
“Where are you going, Mama?”
“What are you doing up, Olivia?” Mama whispered. “You should be in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep—and then I heard you.”
“Well, go back to bed,” Mama said. “Grandma Lettice asked us to go singing with her.”
“Singing—now? May I come too?”
“It’s cold outside,” Papa said.
“I don’t mind,” Olivia replied. “Please?”
Mama and Papa exchanged glances. “Well, all right,” Papa said. “But you’ll have to dress quickly. We don’t want to be late.”
Olivia changed into her warmest clothes, then followed her parents into the chilly darkness. The cold stung her face, and her breath turned into puffy clouds. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Are we going to sing a song I know?”
“You’ll see,” Mama said.
Just as she was wondering how much farther she would have to walk, Olivia saw her aunts and uncles, Grandma Lettice, and several neighbors gathered together outside the Mansion House at the corner of Main Street and Water Street.
The Prophet’s house! Olivia caught her breath. “Are we going to sing to the Prophet?” she wondered.
“All right, everyone,” Grandma Lettice whispered. “Just as we rehearsed it.”
For a split second, Olivia wondered if it had been a mistake to come—she hadn’t rehearsed anything. But after hearing only two notes, Olivia realized that she did know the song. It was one of the songs in Sister Emma Smith’s hymnal. She took a deep breath and sang with the rest of the carolers:
“Mortals, awake! with angels join,
And chant the solemn lay;
Love, joy, and gratitude combine
To hail th’ auspicious day.”
(A Collection of Sacred Hymns for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints [1835], number 77)
Soon lights flickered to life, and windows of the Mansion House opened. The Prophet Joseph Smith, his family, and the boarders who were living at the Smith home all looked out.
“Who’s singing?” someone asked.
“How lovely,” whispered another.
“Are there angels outside?”
Although Olivia wasn’t an angel, she certainly felt like one as a wave of warmth spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “How happy the Prophet looks,” she thought.
When they finished singing, the Prophet thanked them for their beautiful serenade and blessed them in the name of the Lord.
“Merry Christmas,” Olivia called as she and the other singers left. All at once she didn’t want to be back in England anymore. She knew she belonged here with her family, the restored Church, and the Lord’s prophet. In fact, she couldn’t think of a better place to have Christmas.

It was many years before I could conscientiously feel gratitude to my father for some of the lessons he taught me. I still remember the summer day when a group of us young people living in Spring Coulee had planned to meet our friends in Cardston for a picnic. My heart was set on it; it seemed most desirable. Just before it was time to leave, Father said, “Hugh, I want you to go bring in the cows from the east slope.” That was several miles away, and obviously I could not attend the party and obey my father. Although I was inwardly angry and resentful, I knew what I had to do. As I rode out toward the east slope I philosophically confided to my horse, “Sometimes the bitter cup is our portion when the sweeter cup may have been detrimental.” Similar lessons throughout my lifetime have served to emphasize that not only our earthly fathers but our Heavenly Father might reprove betimes with sharpness (see D&C 121:43) for our eternal welfare.

During my first Christmas as bishop, a single mother with three small children lived in our ward. This young woman had a strong testimony of the gospel and lived it to the best of her ability. She cleaned homes and did sewing to try to make ends meet, but often she could not.
Single-handedly raising three boys under the age of eight was a real challenge. These active, energetic youngsters always seemed to be in trouble of one sort or another. I remember pulling them from more than one tussle with their classmates.
Several good people helped this struggling family. I’ll never forget the brother who came into my office one Sunday just a couple of weeks before Christmas, asking to speak with me privately. He was concerned about the young mother and her family, and he wanted to do something for them. Would I accept his contribution and use it in the best way I could to help them? As we spoke, I hardly noticed his small son who remained in the office with us.
The man explained that he did not know what the woman and her family needed. He just wanted to help and felt that I would be inspired to know what to do. He then entrusted to me quite a remarkable sum of money—not remarkable in the amount, but remarkable in terms of his modest means, of which I was well aware. I knew that this gift meant a real sacrifice of his own family’s Christmas, at least in the temporal sense. But this wise brother knew where real rewards come from.
Seeing the resolve shining in his eyes, I protested only gently. Then I cleared my tightening throat, thanked him for his unselfish gift, and promised to do my best to make Christmas a little brighter for the young mother and her sons. I also agreed to honor his request for anonymity.
The story might well end here and still be memorable. But the event that has etched this experience in my mind was yet to occur. It wasn’t the way I was able to help the family with the unselfish contribution—although that turned out to be most gratifying—but rather what took place in my office one week following that good brother’s visit.
It was just a few days before Christmas, and I was between tithing-settlement interviews. I heard a soft knock on the office door, and when I opened it, I saw, standing quite alone, the six-year-old boy who had sat quietly in my office while his dad and I had talked the Sunday before.
He asked politely if he could talk to me for just a minute. After we walked into the office—which I presume is always a bit of a frightening experience for youngsters—I invited him to sit down. He fidgeted with something in his pocket and, after some struggle, pulled out three small coins and laid them on my desk. He apologized that the coins were all the money he had, and they were a little old and dirty, since he had had them quite a while. The money, he explained, was for me to use to help his three friends, like his dad was helping their mother. As my heart swelled and my eyes became moist, he added that he felt I would know best how to divide his treasure among his friends.
What lessons culminated in that moment—a father’s unselfish example, the trust of a small boy in his bishop, and the humble, Christlike act of a child without guile. Only a few weeks before I had pulled this boy from a scuffle involving the soon-to-be recipients of his forgiving love and charity.
I hugged him, partly to hide my tears—and mostly to tell him how much I appreciated him and how much I knew his Father in Heaven loved him. I then walked him to the door, shook his hand, and assured him that I would do the best I could to help his friends this Christmas with his generous gift. As I turned to go back into my office, he whispered after me, “And remember, Bishop, don’t ever tell anyone it was me.”
Well, I never have told anyone until now, my young friend. I hope relating our special story in this way is all right so that others might feel a bit of the quiet Christmas spirit of love and charity that we felt that day.

A few years ago I heard a story that has had a profound impact on my search for truth and understanding. I can’t even remember where I heard the story, but it has haunted me for years.
During World War II a young soldier became concerned for the safety of his wife and baby as the enemy armies pressed toward his village. He put them on a night train for a nearby neutral country to spend the remainder of the war with relatives. Traveling through the night, the young mother became very sleepy. As the conductor walked by her seat, she asked how long until the train arrived at her destination. Glancing at her ticket, he explained that hers was the next stop, but that she had plenty of time to rest. He promised to wake her before arriving. With that assurance, she fell asleep, and the train rumbled on through the night.
Sometime later, the train came to a stop. A man seated across the aisle who had overheard the conversation noticed that the conductor wasn’t in their car and that the young lady was sleeping heavily. Fearing that she would miss her stop, he kindly awakened her. She thanked the man, gathered her baby and her bag, and slipped off the train just as it pulled away.
When the conductor came back into the car and found that the young lady wasn’t there, he inquired about her. The man across the aisle spoke up. “You weren’t here, so I had her get off at the last stop.” The conductor became very upset and explained that the train merely stopped to take on water. There was no shelter available! After the train finally arrived at the next village a search party was sent. The freezing weather had taken its toll, and they found the young mother and her baby dead from exposure.

Perhaps the nature of the stewardship changes from locality to locality. Perhaps our stewardship is simply caring, having a respect for life. A simple form of stewardship is expressed in the life-styles of two men I remember who used to live along the Yukon River. George McGregor, a prospector and trapper, was already an old man when I first met him. He is dead now, but for many years he lived alone in a log cabin he had built at the foot of a falcon crag. Every year the falcons came to nest on the rocks above his cabin. They were not disturbed by him, because he was a quiet man who blended serenely and unobtrusively into his surroundings and was a part of the land just as much as the falcons, the river, and the spruce tree. Once, George saw a female falcon swoop out of the air and strike a marauding raven dead in midair over the river in front of his cabin, and his old eyes used to brighten when he told about it. He had never read Walden, but I am sure he instinctively understood the meaning of stewardship.

President Nelson, in his address, gave several suggestions3 to help us increase our faith. May I relate how I worked on some of them.
Study. I studied President Nelson’s address during last general conference and was reminded of Alma’s invitation to experiment upon the word and “exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if [we] can no more than desire to believe.”4
Yes, it was easy for me to choose to believe in Jesus Christ. But in order to allow the Atonement to fully apply to me I needed to work harder. This provided an opportunity for me to remember and to ponder upon the Savior’s ministry, and His infinite Atonement. I soon felt my faith growing and my hope increase. And I had an eternal perspective on the events of the last few weeks.
My heart swelled with gratitude as the Spirit helped me to recognize the hand of the Lord in so many details of these events and His perfect timing. Even behind my mother’s request to be brought back home. This allowed my mother for her last few days in her mortal life to be with her loved ones, feel more peace, and see her beloved doctor son taking care of her. Indeed, the Lord blessed me with this unique opportunity to be close to her whilst trying to provide the best medical care I could. I am so grateful for the precious moments of that Saturday afternoon I spent with her a few hours before she died, discussing nonmedical things. My siblings and I have never been as close as we were when we were all united in taking care of my mother and later, of my widowed father.
I remember that when mom was dying, and as I still felt her weak pulse during the resuscitation treatment, I laid my hands upon her head with the intention to give her a priesthood blessing to command her to stay with us, but my mouth could not utter what I intended to say. Instead, I said a silent prayer for the Lord’s will to be fulfilled and the outcome to be the best for her and for all of us.
This was indeed the best option, under the Master’s hand. As taught by Elder Neil L. Andersen, my faith grew as “a gift from heaven that comes as we choose to believe and as we seek it and hold on to it.”5
The “act in faith” part, apart from following President Nelson’s and Alma’s invitation, also consisted of writing and sharing my testimony to my relatives and through social media, and through this article I was invited to write. Yes, my increasing faith in Jesus Christ helped me feel His love and removed the mountain of doubts before me.
I know Jesus Christ loves me and each one of us. I know we can rely upon that love and that “the trial of [my] faith [is] much more precious than . . . gold,”6 as the trials we experience are there to help us increase in faith and be blessed.
May we all have that desire to work on increasing our faith in Jesus Christ to be able to remove the mountains before us, and to receive the blessings our Heavenly Father desires to bestow upon us.
Ifanomezana Rasolondraibe was named an Area Seventy in April 2019. He is married to Felambolafotsy Cardiss Keithy Suman Ratsitobaina; they are the parents of three children. Elder and Sister Rasolondraibe reside in Antananarivo, Madagascar.

All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked in a mirror and was concerned about the way I looked. And I started to laugh.
When I was sixteen years old, I had an opportunity to go to a dance. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting. I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned. I remember that I didn’t want to be late, so I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on my bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I ran to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish. I can remember how angry I got. Why did it happen today? Why couldn’t it have happened tomorrow? Any day but today. Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
By the time I went to get my girl friend, I had to position myself so that my right side faced her and my left side faced away. All through the dance, she kept asking who I was looking at. I was so embarrassed by the way I looked. We went to the restaurant. I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t look at my blemish.
Now here I was in the hospital remembering how silly I had been. Here I was having fought for my very life and having fought for everything I had, even though it didn’t look very good. In fact, it didn’t look good at all. Yet, I knew I could see. I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer. There really had been no chance that I would see again. But I’ll never forget how silly I was about that blemish.