Gospel Story Finder

In 1909 he suffered a severe illness and was disabled for over two years. One night during the period of his recovery, he had a dream in which his grandfather Smith appeared to him and asked, “I would like to know what you have done with my name.” George Albert replied, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”

One Sunday we decided to visit a ward in La Romana. It happened to be Mother’s Day. I shared my story with the sisters in Relief Society with hopes that someone could help. A kind sister who happened to work in the civil registry of the town said she would research the archives for me. A few weeks later she said she could not find anything. An official registry was not kept, by law, until the 1930s. Some records were destroyed by floods or fire or just stored under poor conditions causing them to deteriorate. I gave her my sisters’ names and birth dates and the towns in which they were born. No records found. I was devastated. What do I do now?

The project wasn’t strictly limited to our family, either. Neighbors and friends were caught up in the spirit of the King of the Road. Ted, with his welding torch, a perfect diversion from his chemistry lecturing at the university, put smooth metalwork in place of rusted-out panels. Rebuilding the engine and drive train with new bearings and piston rings would not have been possible without Tony’s skilled hands. Compliments received for the beautifully restored body lines gleaming with a dozen hand-rubbed coats of black lacquer were the result of Richard’s creative ability. It was during hundreds of hours of working together that Richard fell in love with our Auburn, and more important, he and his family learned more of the gospel and were baptized into the Church.

Annette Rowbury, 17, of the Provo Eighth Ward, also helped make the plates. She says, “It helped build my testimony about how much work and love was put into the plates by the prophets who made them and also by Joseph Smith who translated them.”

The Saints in Puerto Rico took this perspective when, a year ago, many members joined event coordinators, Hector Alvarez and his wife, Amarilis Santiago, to prepare the events leading up to the open house of the San Juan Puerto Rico Temple. Many conversations focused on the preparations for that anticipated day. Volunteers stepped up to serve in whatever capacity the coordinators needed. Through this service many seeds of faith were planted, and diligence and hope sprang forth.
Did everyone understand all the benefits of their actions? They were there to serve others, but did they realize the benefits they gained?
The members surrounding the San Juan Puerto Rico Temple exercised their faith, and like those people of Alma’s time, they were uplifted. Their actions allowed them a glimpse of the Lord’s perspective during their service at the open house. Now their passion for the temple fuels them to continue to be close to the temple. They recognized the blessings they were receiving and prepared themselves to be ordinance workers in the temple. It is important to know that our prayers, daily scripture reading, diligently attending our meetings, serving others, and working in the temple create relationships with our Heavenly Father and Jesus and prepare us for better things yet to come. This is Their plan for all of us.

However, during my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. My new friends and I thought it was better to drink and fight instead of going to school, and I failed a lot of my classes. At the end of my sophomore year, the high school principal told me it would be best if I didn’t come back to school.
I called Spencer and told him what had happened. Without missing a beat, he said to come to his high school. He lived in a town about 35 miles away. After talking it over with my mom, I accepted Spencer’s family’s invitation and moved in with them. That turned out great, because I was able to make up all the classes I had failed and graduate on time. And we were able to continue doing rodeo!

“Hurry faster!” Mary Jane’s friends cried as they ran down the street.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Mary Jane yelled back, bending to put one more rock into the bulging pockets of her light blue apron.
For a nine-year-old girl in Wales in 1846, Latter-day Saint missionaries coming to town meant excitement. She and her friends had heard many terrible stories about the “Mormons.” Surely such people deserved to be pelted with stones.
As the three girls rounded a corner, they heard music. A small crowd was singing a familiar hymn. Mary Jane was a good singer, so she joined in after she caught her breath. She didn’t know all the words, but she enjoyed humming the melodies.
As the singing ended, Mary Jane followed the elders’ example and knelt to pray. One by one, the rocks fell from the pockets of her apron. When the prayer ended, Mary Jane’s friend picked up the rocks. “Let’s get them!” she said.
“No,” Mary Jane said quietly. “I want to listen to what they’re saying.”
She turned her eyes toward the missionaries and listened carefully. One of the elders said that a prophet named Joseph Smith had seen Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, in a grove of trees. Another explained why we are born on this earth. As Mary Jane listened, her friends slipped through the crowd and ran off to play. When the elders finished preaching, Mary Jane walked slowly home, thinking about all she had heard.
As the days passed, Mary Jane kept listening to the elders. She loved what she was learning about Heavenly Father. Her mother did not. She was so opposed to what the missionaries taught that she sometimes hid Mary Jane’s clothes or denied her food so she would stop going to church.
But Mary Jane loved the gospel more than ever. She had learned to pray, and her prayers for a testimony were answered. She wanted to be baptized. Finally on a cold December night, she was baptized in a frozen river. The elders had to use an ax to cut a hole in the ice. Even though Mary Jane’s body was very cold that night, her heart was warm. She knew that she had made the right decision.
But she was sad because her mother could not understand the true gospel. Every day, Mary Jane knelt to pray. “Heavenly Father, I am so glad to be a member of the Church, but I want my mother to be baptized, too,” she said. “Please help her to understand the message. Please let something happen to help her accept the gospel.” For three years Mary Jane prayed for her mother. She never gave up hope.
When Mary Jane was 13 years old, her mother became seriously ill with a disease that settled in her foot. It was very painful.
One day Mary Jane said to her mother, “Why don’t I ask the elders to come and give you a priesthood blessing?” Because her foot was hurting so much, Mary Jane’s mother finally agreed. The elders gave Mary Jane’s mother a blessing, and to her amazement, her foot immediately stopped hurting. Mary Jane knew her prayers had been answered.
Soon afterward her mother started going to Church meetings. It wasn’t long before she also joined the Church. Mary Jane was happier than she had ever been.
When Mary Jane was 17 years old, she and her mother sailed to America on the ship Jersey and then traveled on to Utah. For the rest of her life, Mary Jane followed the Savior as she had been taught on a street corner in Wales. She was always grateful that she had listened to the elders that day. She was especially glad that when she was nine years old she had decided not to throw the rocks that had fallen from the pockets of her light blue apron.

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.”

Symbiosis can also be found in the sea. Many hermit crabs set up housekeeping with sea anemones. The hermit crab finds an empty shell, then seeks a sea anemone to live on the shell. The sea anemone’s stinging tentacles protect the hermit crab, and the crab’s leftovers provide food for its house guest. If the crab outgrows its shell and moves to a bigger one, it urges its anemone to move to the new quarters.

A few years ago, I decided to attend the temple weekly. At the time, we lived near a temple. This practice became a reliable source of light and power that I came to count on.
A year later, when our family moved across the country, we no longer lived close to a temple. Temple attendance was not impossible, but faced with the longer travel time and the needs of my young family, I attended only twice a month.
Once the COVID-19 pandemic started, I couldn’t attend the temple at all, which seemed like a punishment after reorganizing my life to attend frequently. I wondered how I could continue to grow spiritually, and I felt heavy with how unfair things seemed.
During a routine dental cleaning, I struggled to calm my mind. When the hygienist asked me what I wanted to listen to during my cleaning, I replied, “I would really love some relaxing meditation sounds.”
She said nobody had ever requested that, but she obliged. Fifteen minutes into our appointment, she expressed how much she was enjoying our “meditative cleaning.” Then she told me about the anxiety in her own life, which included her 13-year-old son’s recent injury. Surrounded by the hum of a busy office, she shared her burden with me, and we found peace together.
In my relaxed mental state, my thoughts went to the temple. I found myself progressing through an initiatory session, the words of my temple covenants passing seamlessly through my mind. Three distinct promptings from the Spirit then followed:
Ask the hygienist the name of her son.
Tell her you will pray for him.
Pray for both of them by name.
Through this seemingly simple exchange, I felt my burden transform into a blessing. I caught a glimpse of how my covenants helped me to love Heavenly Father and my neighbor. The Spirit taught me that attending the temple is just as much about helping others on this side of the veil as it is about spiritually empowering myself and my ancestors.
Temple closures hadn’t stunted my spiritual growth. Rather, they had allowed me to create new ways to engage in God’s work and receive heavenly love, light, and knowledge.

A few years ago, while I was sitting in sacrament meeting one Sunday, I felt particularly weighed down by my weaknesses and imperfections. I remembered a talk given by President Jeffrey R. Holland, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who spoke about the significance of the sacrament:
“How ‘sacred’ and how ‘holy’ is [the sacrament]? Do we see it as our passover, remembrance of our safety and deliverance and redemption?
“… (The sacrament) should be a powerful, reverent, reflective moment. It should encourage spiritual feelings and impressions. As such it should not be rushed. It is not something to ‘get over’ so that the real purpose of a sacrament meeting can be pursued. This is the real purpose of the meeting.”
But I wasn’t sure how to make my experience in sacrament meeting like this.
At this time in my life, I felt that I was not thinking about the sacrament the way I really wanted to. Instead of focusing on Jesus Christ, I was distracted by every thought that drifted in and out of my head as the bread and water were passed. But on this Sunday, I wanted to feel the Spirit.
I thought about how the Savior, before beginning His Atonement, introduced His Apostles to the sacrament at the Last Supper.
This introduction to the sacrament was an intimate experience shared between Him and His Apostles. Sometimes I wish I could have witnessed it firsthand. I wish I could have gotten to know the Savior like His Apostles did.
So, after the bread was blessed, I prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for forgiveness and to be made clean through Jesus Christ. I asked Him to help me keep my thoughts on the Savior and remember what this ordinance means for my life and for my covenants.
When I concluded my prayer, I thought about Jesus Christ’s life and all the stories about His earthly ministry, from His humble birth in Bethlehem to His glorious visit to the Americas. I thought of His Atonement and what that sacrifice means for me.
I started seeing how everything about the gospel is interconnected, with Jesus Christ being the centerpiece. After this sacrament meeting, I began to stay more focused on the Savior in my daily life. This change was gradual at first, but as the weeks passed and I continued to focus on Him, I understood what the prophet Isaiah meant when he said, “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool” (Isaiah 1:18).
Partaking of the sacrament while pondering the life of the Savior can bridge the gap between us and allow us to have an intimate experience with Him each week.
I know I can feel the Savior’s healing power and perfect love because I make time to focus on Him every day. He knows me personally! And focusing on Him has truly helped me enhance my understanding of His renewing power that I can access as I participate in the sacrament ordinance.
I know now that through Christ, we truly can be white as snow.

I think some people wait for an experience to show them that they have a true testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ when really they have had a testimony all along and just didn’t realize it. I was one of those people.
I never questioned the truthfulness of the Church, but I hadn’t had that moment—that single experience—most Church members live their whole lives to have. I didn’t know what I expected: a bolt of lightning, an angel, or a near-death experience.
Fortunately it didn’t take something like almost dying to show me I had a testimony of this gospel. For me, it was just a moment of realization while reading my scriptures. I don’t recall the passage or the book, but I remember how I felt. It was the same feeling I got while singing a hymn, or speaking to my Heavenly Father in prayer, or sitting in sacrament meeting listening to the speakers. I had never thought much of that feeling before, but now it seemed it was the only thing that mattered. Again and again, the Spirit had borne witness to me of the truthfulness of the Church.
Now, the simple knowledge that I had of the gospel has become far more to me than just a religion I am a part of. It is everything. It is who I am and what I am. It affects every decision I make. I know I am a child of God. I know my Savior, Jesus Christ, came to earth to atone for all our sins. I know Joseph Smith spoke to our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ face to face. I know this is the true gospel. I know it because I have felt it, and it is only through the Church that I can feel that gift of the Spirit.
No bolt of lightning, no heavenly angel, I just know.

Something else that helped me stay strong as a youth was the seminary program, which was introduced in Germany in 1972, when I was 14 years old. It had a great impact on my life. I can still remember my seminary teacher, because she left a great impression on me and influenced me in such a positive way.
Because of my seminary experience and my individual study of the scriptures as a youth, I learned to love the scriptures. My study strengthened my testimony, and I have never lost my love for seminary and institute classes. I taught one of the first early-morning seminary classes in Germany. It was a great class. The young people loved it, and they came every morning. Some of them traveled quite a distance. Out of that group, the young men all went on missions, and almost all of those young men and women have stayed active in the Church.

Before my mission I had never read much of the New Era, but since leaving home I haven’t missed an issue. Thank you so much for the warm and inspiring articles and thanks for the December issues that make Christmas away from home special.
Elder Mark C. BlackApia Samoa Mission

The fourteen-month-old son of a doctor became very ill. During the course of his treatment many consultants were brought in, but their contributions resulted only in a symptomatic approach to the disease. The result was that the child’s condition steadily worsened. His temperature was 104 degrees and the family had entirely given up hope for his recovery; his death was expected momentarily. At this point, a number of miraculous things happened. On their own and without a previous appointment, the bishop and his counselors came to visit the family. At the request of the family, they administered to the child. Almost immediately following the blessing, an intern, who was a friend of the family, stepped into the room and said, “Why not give him a transfusion?” The intern was a universal blood donor, and blood was taken from him immediately and given to the child. The child’s temperature dropped from 104 degrees to normal and remained at normal throughout his hospital stay. This is a case where medical aid had essentially failed; and on the basis of what medicine could offer, the child’s life had been despaired. The priesthood came into the picture, and the administration was followed by additional medical steps that previously had not been projected. The child’s life was saved. Today he has matured and has a lovely wife and family.

David dove off the boat ramp into the deep, green water, down and down, looking for the happiness he’d always found when swimming in the pond. The pond was on his grandfather’s land, and he was staying with his grandparents, at least for now. He burst through the surface and gulped down the warm June air. The cows, which had followed him to the pond, looked startled at his sudden appearance from under the water, as if they hadn’t seen him do this a thousand times before. They were lined up on the wooden ramp like a row of animal bathing beauties on a diving board.
David chuckled at them and rolled over onto his back, remembering how it was when he was only five and his mother was teaching him to swim. He had clung to her, scared but excited, until she finally went under the water and he went under with her, holding his breath for the first time. When they came up, he was laughing so hard that he couldn’t stop.
“What’s so funny?” she’d demanded. “You—your hair was going straight up!” It was the first of many days spent at the pond, giggling and splashing and laughing.
That summer his grandmother had planted yellow willows along the banks. Now they had grown up tall, just like David. On one side of the pond, his grandfather had given the willows a haircut, cutting their weeping branches off evenly six feet above the dusty path. On the other side, the willows were long and trailing, their leafy tips dipping into the green water. David caught some of these with his toes as he floated by on his back. He pulled them along with him for a little while, shaking the leaves higher up on the tree. He hadn’t found what he was looking for; he knew that he wouldn’t now. Even the combination of the warm sun and the cool water wasn’t enough to make him happy again.
Still floating, he looked straight up into the open sky and squinted at a passing bird. He could hear his grandfather working with his hoe. Even though he was eleven years old, his grandfather still stayed close by when he was swimming. He wondered how much longer he and Dad would stay with Grandpa. They had come to the farm as soon as school was out for the summer, because Dad knew it was David’s favorite place.
When his mother was still alive, the pond was the best place in the world. But Mom had died in the spring, and he missed her so much that his head ached from it. He wanted a whole family with a father and a mother. The sky suddenly blurred as if he were under water again. He desperately wanted to feel better, but he didn’t know how.
“Shoo, you moos!” He waved his arms. “Go on, move!” The cows lumbered off, settling down under the willows. He climbed onto the ramp and lay there, making a wet silhouette on the boards, and thought of his mother. She had been the only member of the Church in the family. He had gone to Primary, and Dad had listened to the missionary discussions, but neither he nor his dad had been baptized.
After she died, Dad talked with him about joining the Church. “Davy, I’ve decided to be baptized. I’d like you to be baptized with me, but you are old enough to decide for yourself.”
“I’ve already decided. I don’t want to be baptized with you.” David turned away so he wouldn’t see the disappointment in his father’s face. He didn’t know then—or now—exactly why he answered the way he did. He wasn’t sure of anything.
“All right,” Dad had said, “but will you think and pray about it while we’re at Grandpa’s? You know that if you’re baptized, we can go to the temple next summer and be sealed together as a family.”
David knew about the temple. He had learned about it in Primary, but all that he cared about now was that Mom was gone, that she wouldn’t swim and laugh with him again.
Dad was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Saturday afternoon, and the smile on his face as he came up out of the water was one of a very few that David saw anymore.
He was still thinking about that rare smile, when a bee buzzed close to his ear. He sat up. His swim trunks were nearly dry, and the planks of the boat ramp were getting hot in the sun. He remembered Grandpa telling him the story of building the boat ramp on the little pond.
“When Grandma and I were first married and bought this farm, Davy, there was no ramp, just a pond. Grandma said that she wanted to swim but that she wasn’t going to get her feet muddy getting out of the water—you know your grandma. So I went up to the lake to see how it was done, then came back and built Grandma the boat ramp.”
“Is that when the neighbors started to tease you?”
“Yes.” Grandpa laughed, remembering. “They wanted to know when I was going to bring my yacht up to our watering hole. But it didn’t matter. I loved your grandma so much that I would do anything for her. I still do.”
Now Grandpa’s words repeated themselves inside his head: “I loved your grandma so much that I would do anything for her.” Did Dad love Mom that much? He thought about his father’s plan to go to the temple next summer. Yes, he loved her enough to study and pray about the Church and then be baptized. What about me? he wondered. Do I love Mom that much?
The tune to a Primary song came into his head. Its last few words floated like a whisper into his heart: “A family is forever.”
He bowed his head and put his hands in his lap, praying for the first time since Mom died. “Heavenly Father, please help me to know what to do. Please help me to feel better. Please help me!”
Suddenly he was warm all over, with a feeling that started somewhere near his heart and spread out to his fingers and toes. He felt reassured and relieved, just as he had when he was learning to swim and felt Mom’s arms around him. There was something else too. He knew the gospel was true, and he wanted to be baptized and go to the temple the next summer with Dad. He would tell him tonight.
All at once he jumped up and took a joyful flying leap off Grandma’s boat ramp, making a gigantic splash in the pond. He rose quickly to the surface, breaking through the water with a grin on his face. The cows looked at him in surprise, as if they had never seen him do it before.

Seth squirmed in his chair. He could hardly wait to hear what Grandma and Grandpa had to say. When everyone was quiet, Grandpa began. “For a long time, Grandma and I have prayed about serving a mission. We want to do what the prophet has asked, so we turned in our mission papers. The Lord has called us to serve a mission in Puerto Rico.”
Everyone was happy and excited for Grandma and Grandpa. Everyone except Seth. He felt sad and lonely. “It’s almost like everyone wants them to go away,” Seth thought. He went to his room, curled up on his bed, and cried.
Mom found him there. “Seth, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe that Grandma and Grandpa are leaving us. What about when my new baby sister is born? She won’t know who they are. And what about me? Don’t they care about me?”
“Seth, Grandma and Grandpa love you very much,” Mom said. “That’s one of the reasons they’re going to serve—to set a good example for you and for all of us.”
Seth didn’t understand. He had never felt more miserable.
The next morning, Grandma’s soft voice woke Seth up. “I thought maybe you and I could have breakfast together,” she said.
Seth sprang out of bed. Maybe Grandma and Grandpa had changed their minds!
After Grandma and Seth finished their waffles, she told him a story. “When Grandpa and I started thinking about going on a mission, I was concerned about you. I prayed that Heavenly Father would help you to understand our feelings. Then at general conference, Elder Robert D. Hales said if we serve a mission, our families will be blessed.
“Grandpa and I want those blessings for you, Seth. We also want to show you that it’s important to follow the prophet. We want you to share this special time with us and be happy.”
Seth knew that Grandma was right. “I am happy for you, Grandma. I just didn’t know that following the prophet meant I’d lose you.”
“You will never lose me, Seth,” Grandma said. “We are an eternal family. But we are asking you to share us with people in Puerto Rico who need us. The time will pass quickly. We’ll write letters and send you stamps for your collection. And when we get back, I’ll be an even better grandma!”
On Sunday, Seth’s Primary sang “Follow the Prophet.” It seemed like a whole new song to Seth. Now he knew that sharing Grandma and Grandpa was one way he could follow the prophet too.

“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes,” I stammered. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was sitting in front of four of my best friends and my high school biology teacher, and not one of them believed in God.
“But what about evolution?” my friends asked.
My biology teacher, who had a reputation for being stubborn and persistent, turned his head momentarily from his papers and said: “Now, let’s be logical here. Look at the facts. Where does the evidence point?”
I was tongue-tied. I have known the Church is true since I was very young. I felt it was true. However, at the same time, logic and reason were driving forces in my life.
As I sat there, trying to come up with an answer to their questions, the awkward silence gave them satisfaction. They thought I had hit a dead end in my reasoning, as they expected I would. Thinking of no arguments to counter their position, I silently said a quick prayer, pleading with God to direct my words toward these five people. Within seconds a thought crossed my mind: “It is not you who converts, but the Spirit.”
Upon hearing those simple words, I began to share my testimony with my friends. I said, “I know there is a God, and He has a Son who created the world and saved us all. Whether or not we have all the answers now doesn’t discredit the fact that there is a God. God works line upon line and precept upon precept. Until we prove our faith, God will not reveal more to us.” I finished by confirming my testimony of the Church and its leaders, forgetting to even address the original questions posed.
After I finished, they all sat in silence, staring at me. I could feel my face getting hot. Just then, the bell rang. I grabbed my bag, thankful for this escape route, and headed for the door. As I opened the door, my biology teacher swung his chair around and called my name.
I turned, anticipating a rebuttal and, to my shock, found a sincere face staring back at me. “Thank you,” he said.
My simple testimony had conveyed more convincing truth than any logical debate could have. I know that I did not dissolve their accusations and criticisms that day, but the Holy Spirit did.

Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 (though those aren’t their real names)—attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in my native southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.
Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.
In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”1

I share President Hinckley’s optimism as I have witnessed modern-day pioneers on the frontiers of the gospel as well as in its well-established stakes and wards. That same faith that emanates from early Church history I experienced firsthand in Mendoza, Argentina.

I will never forget Sister Elda Nelly Sanchez. She’s a pioneer even in her sickbed. This valiant woman has raised a righteous family and served faithfully as the Church has grown from its infancy in Argentina. But now she suffers from the ravages of cancer. As I was ushered into her bedroom, her countenance glowed with wisdom and testimony. She expressed her gratitude for the gospel of Jesus Christ and said of her illness, “I am grateful for where I am and what I am going through because I know that my Heavenly Father loves me.”