Gospel Story Finder

You are always concerned for the people you have baptized, and you always wonder how they’re doing. About seventeen years after that first mission, my wife, Carol, and I had an opportunity to travel to Brazil. When we landed in Rio de Janeiro, our taxi driver happened to be a Church member. We told him who we were, and I talked to him about being in Brazil on my mission. No sooner did we get checked into our hotel room than our telephone rang. I thought, Who could be calling us here at this hour? It was someone from the mission office, inviting us to dinner at the mission home the next evening. We arrived at the appointed time, the door opened, and there stood my ex-Protestant minister convert. He was the mission president! What a thrill!

Nancy Ashby of Draper, Utah, tells the following experience: “I was having my doubts about the Church. Was it really true? Was it really worth all the effort? Wouldn’t it be all right to marry outside of the Church (which I was seriously considering at the time)? After this life is over, is there really anything else?

“Then my mother asked me to do some typing for her. It turned out to be genealogy sheets. She also handed me an article on genealogy that included the statement:

“‘It matters not what else we have been called to do, or what position we may occupy, or how faithfully in other ways we have labored in the Church, none is exempt from this great obligation. It is required of the apostle as well as the humblest elder. Place, or distinction, or long service in the Church, in the mission field, the stakes of Zion, or where or how else it may have been, will not entitle one to disregard the salvation of one’s dead.’ (Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, vol. 2, pp. 148–49.)

“I decided to do something about all this, considering the words of the Savior: ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.’ (John 7:17.) I found that genealogy can be fascinating and fun—and for me it has resulted in a firm testimony and conviction of all the other principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It changed my life.”

Through the long hours of the night, I kept a lonely vigil by the nursery window. Inside the nursery, a tiny boy struggled for breath. The day before, we had rushed nearly 160 kilometers from our ranch to the hospital. The baby was born shortly after our arrival, six weeks premature. He looked like a fine, healthy boy, but the doctor told us that his lungs had been slow in developing and that he was fighting a desperate battle for air.
A few hours before, I had given Matthew his name and a father’s blessing. As I had blessed him, the Spirit had assured me that he would someday be a part of our family.
Little Matthew continued to cling to life until his mother was able to come to the nursery to see him. He died before we left the room. It seemed to me that he had only waited for her to have one look before he returned to his heavenly home.
The shock of our son’s death left my wife in such a daze that she could not cry. It was only after the small graveside service, when we had returned home to the ranch, that she was finally able to release her grief. She wept for a long time.
The emptiness of losing a baby after those long months of expecting him was very hard on her. She wasn’t really happy again until the next baby, a fine healthy boy, arrived.

In our family, everyone is busy. Sometimes we don’t take time to listen carefully to each other or to practice kindness or politeness. So in preparation for an upcoming general conference, we prayed to know how we could grow closer as a family.
Elder Robert D. Hales’s talk, “Our Duty to God: The Mission of Parents and Leaders to the Rising Generation” (see Liahona and Ensign, May 2010, 95), answered our prayers and our questions.
I was especially touched by the story about Elder Hales’s grandson asking, “Grandpa! Are you in there?” Elder Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, “Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too.”
We’ve worked to improve our interaction with each other. At dinner, we talk about the day. We talk about challenges we’re facing and how the things we’re learning from the scriptures help us confront and overcome those challenges.
Making time for these exchanges has taken effort. But as these good habits have become part of family life, I have felt a special love for my family. As I have followed the prophetic counsel I received at conference, answers to other questions have filled my mind, and I have seen ways I can be more like the Savior Jesus Christ. More than ever before, I feel a sense of peace instead of worry.

I received the BYU football schedule with an invitation to attend the football games, but was disappointed to find that my travel schedule prevents me from attending any of the games this fall. Still, I thought I would share with you the Ballard family’s involvement in BYU athletics.
My father, who is in his eighty-third year, was assigned here during World War I as an Army officer. While he was in Provo and assigned to this campus, he felt that Brigham Young University should have a football team. He secured permission from the University officials to organize a team but was informed that no funds were available to buy uniforms or other necessary equipment.
My father, being the enterprising young man that he was—and still is—went about raising money through the communities of Utah County and was successful in raising enough money to buy the first uniforms for the first football team at BYU. He still takes great pleasure in talking about that involvement with this great University. I hope that we have a successful season this year—playing in better uniforms.

In 1989, Markus, Karen, and their three-year-old son were granted permission to leave their home in East Germany to go on a holiday to Hungary. While they were there, Hungary opened its border to Austria, providing thousands of East German refugees a way to freedom. Markus and Karen recognized their unique opportunity. They could also leave.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
I said, “Let’s leave for Austria.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” Karen said. “Your parents are left in Germany and my parents as well.”
“They will understand,” I replied.
“We’ve already started to build a house,” Karen told me. “Let’s finish that.”
“No, let’s start again,” I said, “somewhere else, in western Germany.”
Again I tried to tell her we should leave. She said, “No, because you have just been called as bishop and you said yes, you would serve.”
This is why we did not leave Germany. Some weeks later the Berlin Wall was falling. We were blessed for staying. This was Heavenly Father’s way for us.

The Provo Utah Sharon East Stake often goes camping or holds outdoor activities for part of its youth conference. But last year, the youth stayed in town and helped in the revitalization project of one of the pioneer neighborhoods in Provo.

Mark Stringham, 16, was on the youth planning committee. They were tossing around the idea of doing a service-oriented project. One of their leaders is involved in city government. He said there was a neighborhood that needed some help. Mark said, “The minute he said it, everybody’s mind just went, Boom. That’s what we need to do.”

The teens worked with an organization already involved in helping the residents improve their land and keep their homes in good repair. To make the project even more enjoyable, the stake invited the teens who live in the neighborhood to come to their youth conference. The young people didn’t know each other because they attended different high schools, so giving service together also became a time to gain new friends.

Brendan Wright, 17, said, “The theme of our youth conference was by helping others you can raise yourself. When you get here, it just explodes. It’s fun. You get to know people. You take pride in what you’re doing. This is my little section of the house. I’m going to paint it the best I can.”

The group not only painted houses, they helped cut down the high, dry weeds running along the railroad tracks. One spark from a passing train could start a fire, and the growth was so tall and dry, it could have caused major problems if it spread to nearby homes. Looking a little like they had been rolling in haystacks, because of the bits of dry grass sticking to their clothes and hair, one group had the weedeaters going full blast. Then passing motorists began to stop and tell them it looked good and how much they appreciated them helping out. The word was spreading with the good works.

Giving service is like dropping stones in a pond of water. From one small act, the ripples start to spread. One act of service creates ripples of hope and encouragement that spread through neighborhoods, communities, and towns.

The ripples are not just on the outside. The teens who made themselves get up early and participate found out that being of service did something for them as well. There is satisfaction in working hard, in joining your friends involved in good works, in making something better. Now if it were only a little easier to get out of bed.

Call the mayor’s office or city government. Ask if there is a person who coordinates volunteer efforts, and set up a meeting with them to come up with ideas.
Create a planning committee. Include both young people and leaders.
Identify everyone that needs to be contacted and what permissions will be required.
Select a day and time. Make sure there are no major conflicts with other church or school activities. Make sure everyone receives notification of the event at least two or three weeks in advance.
Plan in some fun breaks in the work schedule.
Make realistic plans. Make sure you can finish what you start.
Enjoy the good feelings that go with being of service.

Years ago when we moved from one ward to another, I was given a class of Primary boys to teach. As I asked about each boy on my roll card, my adviser answered about one, “Oh, you can’t interest that family. They have never been active!”
Young, full of hope, and idealistic, I made personal visits to each home on the list prior to the first class. Upon visiting the home of the “inactive” boy, I discovered two other children of Primary age. After explaining the activities I had planned for the summer, I said that I would be happy to pick him up each week since my children wouldn’t fill up the car. In fact there would be room for all of them if they would like to go with me.
I was treated very kindly and made to feel that they were happy I had come, regardless of the boy’s decision. “You give it some thought,” I said, “and I’ll drive by, just in case you decide to join us, okay?”
The following week when I drove hopefully into their yard, my happiness knew no bounds, for not only was he all dressed up and ready to go, but the other two children as well!
Many months later, during a cold winter when I found myself too ill to teach my Young Women class, in fact too ill to even take my children, my daughter’s new teacher offered to take them all with her for several weeks.
This thoughtful teacher was the mother of my little Primary boy. She was not only active now, but one of my children’s teachers and a wonderful blessing to me and my family.

In 2020, my cancer unexpectedly returned! After the initial crying from us all, I felt calm. I had another wonderful blessing and could feel peace. I play the piano, and playing songs helped me get through it.
I love the April 2020 General Conference talk from President Nelson called Hear Him.1 Playing and listening to music is a way I Hear Him. I prayed to Heavenly Father and said I didn‘t mind having chemo as long as I suited being bald.
The cancer went, which was a surprise, and a nurse who was an atheist said, “You know I don‘t believe in God, but someone is watching over you”. I‘d spoken to them all during my treatment about members fasting and praying.
In June 2022, the cancer had returned for the third time in 4 places! I‘ve never been an anxious person but waiting for the result was horrible. My husband and I hugged and cried yet again. We said a prayer to ask Heavenly Father to help us get through it. Another talk from President Nelson came to mind. It was Let God Prevail.2
This time the monthly chemotherapy has affected me psychologically. I‘m a strong-willed person and I‘ve never said, “Why me?”. Instead, I ask the Lord what I need to learn. My prayers have never been as heartfelt. Yes, sometimes I cry out during the night when I‘m so fatigued with my chemo. We have a picture of Christ on our bedroom wall, and when I‘m awake during the night I ask for His help. I have the words ‘Let God Prevail‘ in my mind every day. Whenever my husband is stressed about his business, he knows I‘m going to smile and he says, “Let God Prevail.”
Although we‘re going through these trials, and I still have down days where I cry and feel hopeless, most days I Let God Prevail and feel at peace. I‘m still serving as our Ward Relief Society President, and blessed to be able to help the members with their trials in their lives.
Let us not put off praying and asking for help getting through challenges in our lives. The Lord is there, waiting for us to ask for help- “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).

I grew up in what some of you might call a boring farming community: Virden, New Mexico, population 135. One summer night when I was a boy, my cousins, some friends, and I were looking for ways to create some excitement. Someone suggested we play a harmless prank on a neighbor. My conscience whispered it was wrong, but I didn’t have the courage to resist the enthusiastic response of the group.
After performing our mischievous act, we sprinted down the dark country road to make our escape, laughing and congratulating ourselves as we ran. Suddenly, one of the group stumbled, crying out, “Oh no, I kicked a cat!” Almost instantly we felt a very fine mist settle over us. It carried a horrible odor. What my friend thought was a cat was actually a skunk. It had sprayed us in self-defense. Very few odors are as nauseating as skunk spray, and we smelled terrible.
Dejectedly, we went home in search of a little parental comfort for our pitiful plight. As we stepped inside the kitchen door, Mom took one sniff and shooed us out into the yard. We were cast out of our home. Then she launched the cleansing process. She burned our clothes. Then, it seemed that every home remedy or concoction in the community was volunteered in our behalf. Among them, we endured a variety of baths: first tomato juice, then cow’s milk, and even harsh homemade lye soap.
But the stench remained. Even my dad’s powerful aftershave lotion could not overpower the stench. For days we were condemned to eat outside under a tree, sleep outdoors in a tent, and ride in the back of the pickup truck.
After a while, naively thinking the smell was gone, we tried to approach some normal-smelling girls. They would not allow us within yards, shattering our fragile teenage egos!
If I had responded to my conscience when it first whispered that the prank was wrong, I would have avoided the whole stinking ordeal.

A number of years later, the eternal importance of having—and bringing—our family together became clear to me after I accepted the teachings of two young men who knocked on the door of my husband’s chocolate factory. They introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My husband, Gerard, had arranged to meet them at home after work, but he forgot to tell me. When I saw these two young people arrive, I had them sit in the living room and wait for Gerard. I wasn’t very nice to them.
I was religious, but my faith didn’t require much of me. I had been living blissfully with no need to study or ask questions. The thought of questioning my faith troubled me, and I didn’t feel brave enough to change my religion.
For a long time, Gerard went to church without me. The small branch he attended held meetings in a trailer while the Church’s first meetinghouse in France was being built. Gerard even helped dig the foundation.
He would come home happy and try to share his impressions with me. Finally, I took the missionary discussions, asking questions mostly intended to embarrass those two poor missionaries. With great patience and total honesty, they admitted their ignorance on certain doctrinal points, offered to research my questions, and returned the following week with unassailable answers.
When a visiting parish priest found out we were receiving the missionaries, he tried to expose Church teachings as false. His efforts, however, had the opposite effect. Even as he tried to paint Church members in the worst possible light, I decided to accept the principles taught by the missionaries and be baptized.
Gerard had been ready for baptism for a long time but did not want to be baptized without me. In May 1964, the missionaries set up a portable canvas pool in the middle of their apartment’s living room and filled it with water from a pipe running from a sink. All our Church friends were there. I was so emotional that I was afraid my tears would make the pool spill over!
One year later in the Bern Switzerland Temple, my husband and I were sealed to each other and then our two daughters were sealed to us. While we were there, we did temple work for our ancestors. I love what the Church teaches about family history and sealings and the gathering of Israel. I love the focus on bringing families together.
It wasn’t easy to do family history in France at that time, but I felt inspired to do it. No digitized records existed, so I often traveled to the hometown of an ancestor to request physical records. I felt such a special feeling when I held documents written by humble people who had been present at the birth, marriage, or death of one of my ancestors.
“I love what the Church teaches about family history and sealings and the gathering of Israel.”
I am somewhat limited now by age, but I’m so grateful I can continue to do work for my ancestors through FamilySearch, both by indexing and finding new names. With the tools available to us, I have indexed more than 35,000 names and found more than 5,000 names to take to the temple.
The happiness we find in the gospel is complete when we can enjoy it with our families. I’m grateful for the chance to bring them together—to bring them home forever.

As a member of our ward’s priests quorum, I had the responsibility to visit many members of our ward who were shut-ins and could not come to church. Every Sunday, another priest and I would pack up a tray, white cloths, small cups, and bread, and go to each of the members’ homes who couldn’t make it to church but still wanted to take the sacrament.
For the first few weeks I viewed this duty as me giving up precious napping hours every Sunday afternoon. But as I watched the deep reverence these elderly members displayed for the sacrament, my entire demeanor changed. I began to see myself as a servant who helped bless the lives of many who could not receive those blessings otherwise. As I blessed the sacrament each week, I felt greater gravity and peace in the words to “remember Him” and “keep His commandments.”
Many youth today see the teenage years as a time to have fun, live it up, and party. As young men of the priesthood, we can’t afford to participate in anything that inhibits us from being clean and pure. Being called upon regularly to exercise my duties as an Aaronic Priesthood holder changed my life forever and instilled in me a profound desire to always remember who I am and to live a life of worthiness and service.
Knowing that it was up to me, a 16-year-old young man, to be the vessel to provide the sacrament to many who needed help urged me to live up to my full priesthood potential.

Now, many years later, I begin to see more and more the wisdom of his counsel. People do easily misunderstand, like the sweet old sister I met in the ZCMI shopping mall the other day.
“Aren’t you that Dutchman who spoke in general conference a while ago?” I said, “Yes, ma’am.” Then she continued, “Oh, I loved your Holland story about the boy with his finger in the dike.” I remarked, “Well, sister, that was not exactly the subject of my talk; I was talking about saving souls.” But she went on to say, “You know, I heard that story for the first time when I was still in school, and I am so pleased you told it again.”
Brothers and sisters, I have learned not to argue, especially with sisters. So I left this sister with a smile and went on my way, a sadder but wiser man. I had apparently failed to teach so that no one misunderstood.
Therefore, my challenge today is to do better.

Photographs by Shirley Brito
Felipe F. from Pará, Brazil, is not your average 18-year-old. He has competed in professional mixed martial arts (MMA), judo, and karate competitions. And he’s pretty good at what he does. He won the International Iron Man MMA competition. He’s a 2-time Pará state champion, a Brazilian vice-champion, and an international vice-champion for judo. And he is a 10-time Pará state champion, a 10-time Brazilian champion, a South American champion, a Pan-American champion, and a 3-time world champion for karate. Whoa!
Felipe has been training since he was seven years old. But he believes the biggest reason for his success is God. “I always pray for the Lord’s help,” he says.
During his last Pan-American karate championship, Felipe wasn’t feeling very confident. But then his dad gave him a priesthood blessing. “After that my mind was better, and that helped me win the championship that day. The last two matches I won, I had only one second left. Everyone thought it was impossible. I did an unexpected move that helped me win, and for me, it was all because of my dad’s blessing.”
His dad has given him many blessings over the years. Felipe knows that receiving a blessing won’t always mean he’ll win, but he believes that the Lord can help him stay focused and improve his talents. “This helps me be more confident,” Felipe says. “I know that regardless of the result, the hand of the Lord was there.”
The rest of his family has been a big support as well. At one MMA tournament, Felipe saw his family in the bleachers. “All of them were there cheering my name. I was speechless.” He adds, “I am extremely grateful for my father and mother, who showed me the right path.”
Felipe feels that following that path has helped him in his sport. His friends would often laugh at him when he wouldn’t do the things they were doing. But Felipe doesn’t regret it. “Just like the gospel brings blessings, in sports it also brings achievements! Not going to party with my friends and eating the right things both influence the result.”
Now that he’s 18, Felipe has lots of opportunities. He was recently invited to train in a prestigious MMA academy, and he has offers from managers around the world. But he wants to serve a mission first.
“For me, it’s an easy choice,” he says. “The Lord is in first place. The rest can wait, because He always blesses you for being obedient.”
Felipe’s older brother Júnior, who recently got back from a mission, was part of his motivation. He told Felipe that there is nothing better than serving a mission and that he should go even if people try to convince him not to.
And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.
Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”
Felipe did have times when he wasn’t sure about a mission himself. “I read my scriptures every day, and one night I had a lot of doubts about my choice. I started thinking, ‘Should I stay and compete a little longer?’ But then I read in the Book of Mormon about the Nephites starting to become ungrateful and prideful. Jacob taught them that they needed to put the Lord first. [See Jacob 2:12–21.] At that moment I had no doubt about my choice.”
“Today I know what I want, and I know that I will come back from my mission and be blessed in some way. It could be doing MMA or something else, but I know that God gives us what we need.”
Felipe didn’t always feel so excited and confident about a mission—or the Church. “I had a time in my life when I wasn’t as strong in the gospel, and it always felt like something was missing,” he says. “You know that person who just goes to church and doesn’t do anything else? That was me.” After talking to his brother and bishop about serving a mission, he decided to start praying and reading his scriptures every day.
“I think what helped me was daily conversion. I grew up in the Church, and for a time I didn’t search for conversion because I grew up in a home with a belief and thought that was good enough. But now I am looking for a testimony every day.”
Felipe knows that choosing the right doesn’t mean he’ll always win or have things go his way. “I remember going to a competition thinking I was prepared, and I lost in the first round. Another time I was at home injured. I remember waking up early, looking at the ceiling, wondering if it was all worth it. Sometimes I just wanted to turn around and go back to sleep, but I stood up and went to training. To be a champion goes beyond the moment of winning. It is someone who overcomes every day, overcomes failure, overcomes trials.”
The Savior is Felipe’s motivation to overcome in all aspects of life. “If we want to become like He is, we need to do what He does, always trying to stand firm, strengthen ourselves, and think what He would do. That inspires me in my actions every day, to be like Him. When I see something that I can change, I pray and ask forgiveness, trying to be better always. A true champion is the person who falls many times and even in the midst of frustration gets up and keeps going.”
“I am a champion because of the Lord,” Felipe says. “If it wasn’t for Him, I have no idea where I would be. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have all that I have today. Living the gospel has made me a champion in life and in sports.”
Note: Since this article was written, Felipe has begun his service in the Brazil São Paulo South Mission.

In a small way, I experienced this spirit of sportsmanship while attending a BYU basketball game. My son and I were attending a game in the Marriott Center in 2009. The crowd was sparse with Christmas less than a week away. The opponent was Eastern Washington University. Nothing our opponent shot went in. Every shot was off the backboard, around the rim, or in and out. Every once in a while I glanced at the scoreboard. I saw 9–0, then 21–0; in fact, our BYU basketball team went ahead 33–0. I was beginning to find myself conflicted. I was thrilled we were winning, and yet my heart sank for these poor athletes from Eastern Washington. I began privately pleading for them to make a shot. They were about 800 miles from home, it was just before Christmas, they were in an opposing arena, and the ball wouldn’t drop through the hoop for them. Then suddenly they scored, and the Marriott Center erupted in spontaneous applause. I was never happier to be a Cougar as the fans began cheering Eastern Washington on. We didn’t stop cheering our team, but we were also cheering for our struggling opponent.

I have felt this same kind of fear many times. I felt it when I knocked on the door of a sullen and resentful woman who didn’t want visiting teachers, but whose unhappy life cried out for the healing power of the gospel. I felt it with a neighbor who had had such a bad experience in his family life that the joy of the gospel was hidden from him. I felt it when a member of my own family suffered prolonged physical pain.
I began to have the same kinds of experiences with other people. The lady to whom I was assigned to be a visiting teacher became comfortable enough to go with me to church. My neighbor who had had a bad family life enjoyed being with me and my friends so much that he began resisting the negative influences of his family.
My efforts to love others as the Savior loved have not always been successful. I am not strong enough alone to withstand the pressures and frustrations of my own and others’ imperfections. We cannot bless others if we rely solely on our own strength, or even if we ask God to help us use our own strength. We must allow the love of Christ to fill our souls. Then we become instruments of a power stronger and higher than anything we can become on our own.
“Abide in me,” the Savior taught, “and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine, no more can ye, except ye abide in me.
“I am the vine, ye are the branches: he that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing.” (John 15:4–5.)
When I read this passage, I like to imagine a branch being broken off of a grapevine. The branch quickly withers and dies. It is no more able to bear fruit, for it cannot live without the life-sustaining vine. In the same way, if we do not draw our life from Christ, even though we may not see anything happen immediately, we are dying spiritually as surely as the branch died physically. We are not able to bring forth the fruit of service, “for without me ye can do nothing.” But if we do abide in Christ and allow his life-giving love and strength to fill our souls, we have a great promise. Christ continued:
“If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.
“Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples.
“As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love.
“If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love.” (John 15:7–10.)
I have found that if I come humbly and faithfully before God each morning and ask him to fill my soul with his love, I am blessed abundantly. I can care more for others, serve them with less fear of my inadequacy, and bless them in ways that would be impossible without his help. In a small way, I have learned to “abide in his love.”
The realization that the best way to help others is to love them unconditionally has brought new joy and energy to my efforts to serve. As I rely more completely upon the Savior for the love that can bless others, I feel more a part of his great work of salvation. And I rejoice in the goodness I now see more clearly in all of his children.

I have always loved this poem—entitled “Your Friendship Means So Much to Me” by Jean Kyler McManus—that to me describes the kind of relationship the Lord wants among His people:
Some friends are Summer friends Fragile as flowers They are delightful in life’s milder hours. . . . I love the Winter friends. . . . Sturdy as evergreen—wind-tossed They bow, but do not break Nor lose their luster in the snow and frost.14

When I was called to serve as a mission president in Arcadia, California, we brought our youngest daughter, Jessica, with us. She turned thirteen two days after we arrived. We had left a strong community here in Provo, where Jessica had been surrounded by many good friends and extended family members, so we knew the transition would not be easy for her.

The first few weeks were the hardest. We arrived in the middle of summer, so while my wife and I were extremely busy in the mission, Jessica didn’t have much to do other than miss her friends back home. One day, only about three weeks into our mission, I pulled into the driveway of the mission home after a long, busy day, and I saw that someone had written with marker on the living room window: “I hate California. I miss Utah. I want to go home.”

I went inside to find Jessica sitting alone on the couch, watching TV, and crying. I took my daughter in my arms and said to her, “Jessica, no one in this world is as important to me right now as you are. Do you think we should go back to Utah?”

“No, Dad,” she replied. “You and Mom can stay. But I need to go home.”

Later that night, my wife and I counseled together and agreed that it was important that Jessica stay with us on our mission. But we thought it would be okay if she flew back to Utah for a weekend. So we sent her to stay with some family members there, with the plan that she would fly back to California on Monday morning.

That Sunday happened to be fast Sunday, and in the evening I received a phone call from Jessica. “Dad,” she said. “I’ve been fasting today, and I have received a revelation that I should not fly back to California tomorrow. I am supposed to stay here in Utah.”

“That’s interesting,” I replied. “I’ve been fasting too, and I have received a revelation that you need to get your tail on that plane!”

Well, she did get on the plane, and she did come back to California. Within a few weeks she was befriended by the young women in our ward and in seminary. She even made some friends who accepted her invitation to learn about the gospel and be baptized.

Three years later our mission was coming to an end. As I drove into our driveway on the last day of our mission, I saw that Jessica had written with marker on the living room window: “I love California. I don’t want to move!” Jessica learned—and so did I—about the strength that is available when we gather with fellow Saints.

Looking back on this experience, I believe the Lord was preparing Jessica for other times in her life when she would need that strength.

One of those times came just a few years ago after the birth of Jessica’s first child, a precious daughter named Annie. Annie was born two months early, and she had a rare genetic disorder that caused her muscles to violently contract. This would happen sixty to seventy times a day, inhibiting her breathing, while her parents and doctors could only watch helplessly. After fighting through a short but difficult life of only four and a half months, Annie died.

Jessica later said, “My husband and I definitely couldn’t go through this hardship alone. . . . The relationships that we have with our family and friends have strengthened us through this trial.” You might say that Jessica had learned the importance of “winter friends.”

It was nighttime, and the usual noise of the Missionary Training Center was hushed now. I huddled deeper into the blanket I had wrapped around me and continued my reading.
I had to catch up. If I was going to reach my goal, I would have to finish reading the remaining two-thirds of the book by the end of the week. It was a challenge I eagerly accepted, even though I had already read the Book of Mormon before. My copy was well marked, and I recognized each story as I read. But never had the messages meant more to me than now. Perhaps that was why the MTC president issued us the challenge to read the entire Book of Mormon during our three weeks of training there.
I read for a long time. The longer I read that quiet night, the more those stories became real to me. I was almost surprised at the fascinating newfound power of the book. It had me enthralled. I felt that the Book of Mormon was speaking directly to me, and now I was able to listen as I had never done before.
I was in the book of Alma, rediscovering the story of how Alma and Amulek were delivered from their enemies as the power of God brought down the prison walls that held them captive. It was what led up to their imprisonment that had such a powerful effect on me. I read how some of the more soft-hearted people believed their words and began to pray to God for forgiveness. But most of the people rejected everything they had been taught. The hostile unbelievers bound Alma and Amulek and planned to kill them and everyone who accepted and believed their teachings. Every man who believed was chased out of the land, stoned, and spit upon. Then the wicked men took the wives and children of the believers with Alma and Amulek to a large, raging fire.
As I read, I could see and feel the whole scene. I saw the wicked tie up Alma and Amulek and make them watch what happened. They burned their scriptures, trying to destroy the word of God they had rejected. Then, with no shame or empathy, they took the crying women and children and, one by one, threw them into the deadly blaze.
I sat there with my Book of Mormon, my heart literally burning with sympathy inside me. I think I understood to some tiny degree how Alma and Amulek must have felt as they watched the repentant martyrs die, for I had witnessed the same scene as I read, and I knew that it really happened. And because I knew this account was real, I knew and finally understood that the book I was reading was true. Tears spilled from my newly-opened eyes as I realized that I had taken the truth for granted for so long. But now I had gained a testimony. Though I had believed before, now I knew.
With my face wet with tears, I looked up from my Book of Mormon and out at the falling snow. I was no longer cold. I felt indescribable warmth wrapped completely around me. Never have I felt so moved to pray as at that moment. I knelt and prayed a sincere prayer of thanks. I lost track of time as I knelt there and poured out my soul in gratitude. The tears came unashamedly now as I thanked my Heavenly Father for giving me the Book of Mormon, and for the powerful yet peaceful witness I had received that it was true.
Now each time I read the stories of young Nephi or old King Benjamin, of Samuel the Lamanite or Alma the great missionary, the familiar feelings come back strongly and unmistakably. Joy and light swell in my heart again and again as I read, and tears flow when I remember that winter night in the Missionary Training Center.

December 19, 1997, was a cold, wintery day in Rexburg. My husband, Kerry, and I were enjoying working together on a Christmas present, when suddenly he was struck with an excruciating headache. His condition deteriorated rapidly. In the emergency room, the doctors determined he was suffering from a massive brain hemorrhage. I am a registered nurse and was employed at this hospital. As the doctors and nurses, who were my colleagues, worked together to save my husband’s life, it became apparent that we were losing the battle. Kerry had slipped into a deep coma, and his pupils were fixed and dilated. As a nurse, I wanted so desperately to be able to do something for him. I was fully aware that everything medically possible was being done, but I wanted more. At that moment I felt impressed that what he needed was a priesthood blessing! I called my brother-in-law, Lane, who worked nearby and asked him to give Kerry a blessing. A beautiful, powerful, and miraculous blessing was given. In that blessing, Kerry was promised a full and complete recovery. When I heard this, I thought that Lane did not understand the severity of Kerry’s situation. I had cared for many patients over the years with conditions like this, and the outcomes were rarely positive. The looks, hugs, and words I received from the medical team made it apparent that they also felt Kerry was not going to make it. Shortly after the blessing, Kerry was taken to a waiting life-flight helicopter to be transferred to a trauma center. At that time, the attending physician gave me a hug and informed me he did not think Kerry would survive the flight. When I arrived at the trauma center, I was scared to go in for fear of what I was going to find. You can imagine my shock when I walked into his room and found him sitting up talking to the doctor! Over the next couple of months, Kerry underwent a 12-hour brain surgery at University of Utah and has since made his promised full recovery.
This miracle of healing had a profound impact on me, as I realized I had put my trust in the laws of medicine, something I had studied and practiced for many years. It is true that the doctors and nurses caring for my husband, as talented as they were, did not have the ability to save his life. Thankfully, the Lord did. My brother-in-law was able to pronounce a priesthood blessing on him that, through the power of God, was able to heal him and save his life.

I’d like to read you one other letter. This letter is from a missionary who was excommunicated in the mission field because of immorality. The letter is addressed to President McKay. At that time I was responsible for handling the excommunication and disfellowshipment cases, and the letter was referred to me. I removed his name from it. This is one of the finest letters on repentance, the seeking of forgiveness, and the desire to return to the Church that I have ever read. I would like to share it with you. The young man told about being excommunicated because of immorality, and he said:

The spirit worked upon me while I was in the mission field, and I was sorry for my sins and sickened by them. I read a great deal in the Book of Mormon, seeking somewhat to justify not going to the mission president and confessing. I read about Alma and Corianton and tried to convince myself that since I had repented (I thought) I would not need to confess to anyone but God. I did pray a great deal for many weeks. After everyone else had gone to bed, I would remain up reading and praying. Finally, one night a voice from within me said, “You know what you must do, so do it.”

A few days after that we had a conference of the missionaries in the area, and I confessed to the mission president. I knew I would be excommunicated, but I had no choice if I was ever to obtain forgiveness.

After I had confessed, even knowing I would be excommunicated, I felt an extremely sweet peace in my soul. . . . I thank God to this day that he gave me the courage to do it.

My family was extremely kind and understanding, as was the bishop when I went to see him. The bishop told me he thought it would be a good idea for me to get up in priesthood meeting in the ward and ask for their forgiveness, which I did. It was extremely difficult and caused me much sorrow, but I’m thankful I did it. Then, the bishop told me I should go out and greet and shake hands with the people as they came to Sunday School; I’m thankful I did that also, for it made things easier for me and them. They all fully forgave me and accepted me back. Their true Christianity helped me to have strength to go to church all the time, at least to the meetings I could go to.

As of late, my desire for baptism has increased, and I desire it and the other blessings attendant to righteousness more than any other thing.

I went home a short while back, and the bishop told me he had been to Salt Lake and had gotten a list of things I had to do before I could be baptized. This made me desire forgiveness more than ever. . . .

Since this weekend was fast Sunday, I started fasting Friday after supper, and Saturday I went into the mountains and spent about five hours by myself thinking and praying, and I read a little from the Book of Mormon. While praying aloud to my Father, I tasted the most bitter sorrow that I have tasted to date. I had a slight taste of what it really is to suffer godly sorrow for sin. I left my complete dependence on the Father and the Son for salvation, and I pleaded that I would be forgiven for my sins and for being such a great cause of suffering to the Lord, Jesus Christ. I understood ever so vaguely that Christ did take upon himself my sins and he suffered untold sorrow for me. I begged for forgiveness and for release from the deadening, prisonlike effects of sin and to know that I was forgiven.

I felt impressed that I should write the letters that I must write and request baptism and that I would receive forgiveness if I continued to be humble, fast, and pray. I think I will have to suffer sorrow like I did yesterday many times again before all the evil effects of sin will be lifted out of me and I will feel that freedom that my spirit craves for.

Sometimes I feel it reaching out for the more spiritual that is in life, but because of the body being prisoner to sin and its effect, it cannot reach what it and I desire.

President McKay, I ask in all humility, realizing that the responsibilities of membership are great, that I might be accepted back into the Church and back onto the path I departed from. I know God lives, that his Son Jesus Christ really did take upon himself our sins, and that he lives today. I know the Church was restored through the beloved Prophet Joseph Smith and that all the keys remain today and that you are a prophet, seer, and revelator and hold the keys of the kingdom. Please permit me to enter the waters of baptism and receive again the Holy Ghost. President McKay, I know this is only one step, but I desire with all my heart to be baptized again, and I will continue and do all that is necessary to gain that goal if it be God’s will. I submit this letter and request to you and ask to be forgiven of my sins. May God bless you and give you health to continue your work and his work. . . .

I think also I should tell you that I observe the Word of Wisdom, and I have been sending tithing to my mother. She pays it to the bishop in my father’s name. I have felt that the money was the Lord’s and I could not steal it.