Gospel Story Finder

My father was very fond of reading the Bible. He wasn’t a Catholic, but my mother was. She took us to the Catholic church from the time we were very small. Then, in 1956, when I was twelve, the LDS missionaries came to our home. My mother didn’t want to listen to them and, rather than offend them, told them to come only when my father was home. They did and began to teach us. Only two of my brothers were still at home with me—the others were all married.
The missionaries were not only competent but very inspired in getting my mother and us children involved. Each time they came, they read something to us from the scriptures—almost always from the Book of Mormon—and the next time they came, they asked us to report on what they had told us and on what we had read. The three of us and my father and mother were baptized six months later.

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

You are looking at a FIRST. I’ve never been impressed to write a letter to the editor until today. I’ve just read the little article “Wonderful Pest” by Glenn Latham in the December 1983 New Era. It made me think of Marian Jackson. Marian was the Blazer B leader in the Edgemont 8th Ward here in Provo when she decided that our son had lounged long enough at that “almost an Eagle” stage. He was about 15 when she took him under her wing. Under the guise of “helping her” with the Blazer B’s, our son began his final assault on his Eagle. And thanks to Marian, he made it!
Marian has six sons of her own, and if I’m not mistaken all are Eagles. I can’t begin to count the sons of other people who can credit her with their similar achievements. Marian was never thought of as a “wonderful pest,” but as I tried to thank her for the inspiration and motivation and hours of service to our son, she laughingly replied, “Oh, behind every Eagle there’s an old buzzard.”
It’s a “dirty job,” but aren’t we glad someone—Jeff Sessions, Marian Jackson, and many, many others—are willing to do it! God bless those wonderful pests and old buzzards everywhere! P.S. Even parents are sometimes successful as old buzzards—and it’s not really such a dirty job. It’s really lots of fun, as we learned with our second Eagle.
Ann JamisonProvo, Utah

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.

Angelina stood straight and tall as she sang the Christmas carols. She wore a new white dress that Mama had made especially for her.
Angelina glanced at the tall evergreen tree reaching almost to the ceiling of the big school hall. The colored lights glowed softly over the chorus.
Everyone had brought ornaments and garlands of sparkling tinsel from home, and the tree was full and beautiful. The children in the fifth grade had built a fireplace with red cellophane inside to look like flames. Hanging from the mantel were stockings—knitted ones and felt ones with sequins and holly on the tops and the toes. Packages wrapped with beautiful papers and huge ribbon bows surrounded the tree.
As Angelina looked down at the audience, she could see Mama’s big brown eyes looking up at her. Now Mama will see, she thought. Now she’ll understand that this is the way we should celebrate Christmas in America. We live here now, and we should do things the way they do.
The final carol was “Silent Night.” The audience was asked to join in on the last verse. Angelina was embarrassed. She knew Mama didn’t know the words, and if anyone else looked at her, they would know it too. She hoped her friend Jane wouldn’t notice.
When the concert was over, Jane hurried over to Angelina and asked, “Is that your mother with the brown coat? Are those your little brothers sitting next to her?”
Angelina looked at her family. She saw them as she though Jane must be seeing them. They were different from everyone else—you could tell that right away.
Mama smiled and beckoned to her daughter. Angelina knew that Jane wanted to meet her family, but she left her standing alone in the hall with only a hurried goodbye. “I have to run. See you later!”
Angelina put her thin coat on over her new white dress and took each of her little brothers by the hand. Together they crunched over the snow and pushed through the brown slush at the curbs, breaking a path for Mama.
Little José shivered as Angelina picked him up. “Well,” she said, “how did you like the Christmas program?”
“Pretty,” he said. “Pretty.”
She hugged him and he let his head drop to her shoulder. “I liked it,” he said shyly.
“I’m glad you did,” said Angelina, “and I’ll bet Roy did too.”
“I liked it,” Roy said, “but I also like our Christmas.”
“Oh, but that’s so old fashioned,” Angelina snapped. “It’s not the same in this country. Putting straw in your shoes for the wise men’s camels is just plain silly! And why don’t we have Christmas on Christmas Day? Why wait twelve days? I couldn’t stand our old Christmas anymore now that I know what a real Christmas is.”
She turned to help Mama over a large puddle of slush. Mama’s face looked a little sad, and for a minute Angelina felt unhappy about what she’d said. But, after all, they were in America now and they might just as well live like their neighbors.
By the time Christmas Eve finally arrived, Angelina made sure everyone had a stocking to hang up. They pinned their stockings to the back of Papa’s chair.
Papa had brought home a tree, and Angelina decorated it with a string of lights she bought with her baby-sitting money. The boys helped hang ribbons and a bird from one of Mama’s hats on the tree.
“We need something with sparkle!” Papa said as he tied silver spoons all over the tree. When he turned off the ceiling light and plugged in the tree lights, it was lovely.
Angelina looked at her brothers. “How do you like an American Christmas now?”
Little José clapped his hands and said, “Pretty. Pretty.”
But Roy called, “Mama! Where is the straw for our shoes? What will the camels do for straw? And where are the luminarias (lamps) and the candles to go in them?”
Angelina felt hot anger rise in her throat and soar up into her cheeks. “Roy! We don’t do that anymore,” she scolded.
“That’s for Mexico. This is America! Don’t you understand?”
“Why, Angelina!” Mama said.
“Well, why don’t they try to understand?” Angelina asked.
“They are trying,” her mother said. “But it’s hard for them to learn the new ways. It’s hard for all of us—even for you.”
Angelina ran to her room. Her throat ached as she held back the tears. Why couldn’t her family see what she was trying to do? If Jane ever came over to the house and saw luminarias and straw in their shoes, she would think it very strange.
Baby Linda made a little sound and Angelina bent to look at her in the cradle Papa had made. Linda looked like the baby in the manger scene at Las Posadas, when everyone in town, carrying candles, joins a procession looking for shelter for Joseph and Mary. Linda looked just like that baby. Angelina lightly ran a finger over Linda’s smooth soft cheek. Then she walked out of the bedroom and stood looking at her family.
She suddenly realized that Papa had always played the part of Martolo, the lazy shepherd, in the Christmas play in Mexico. He had accepted the part from Grandfather with tears in his eyes. “I’ll do it well, Papa,” he had said. “Then I’ll give the part to Roy when he is old enough.”
Angelina looked at Mama and remembered how in Mexico she always had a supply of bizcochitos (rolls) and candy for the children who went from door to door singing songs.
But most of all, she thought of Roy and little Jose. How much they would miss if they never put out shoes of straw for the camels, joined a Las Posadas procession, or hit a pinata with a stick until all the candy and toys showered out over them!
“Mama!” Angelina burst out. “Mama, I was wrong.”
Everyone turned to look at her. Mama held out her arms and Angelina ran into them.
“I can hardly wait for January sixth, the Day of the Wise Men,” she cried. “Then we can do all the things we have always done—the lovely old things.”
“The new is good, Angelina,” Mama said, “but the old ways are good too. Many people here do not know about our customs. Maybe we could show them. You could invite a friend.”
“Jane would come,” Angelina said.
“She might like to see how we celebrate Christmas,” Mama said.
“I’ll go get the straw for the shoes,” said Roy.
Angelina laughed. “No, Roy,” she said. “That isn’t until the Day of the Wise Men on January sixth. Remember?”
“We all remember,” said Mama very quietly.
Angelina smiled. “I remember too, Mama,” she said. “And it’s good to remember.”

For a few months before my mission, I lived with my brother and his family in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. After moving in with them, I found a job working with a crew framing houses.
My first day on the job, my boss dropped me off at the work site and introduced me to my supervisor. Soon I was on the roof of the garage learning how to “sheet” that part of the roof. As I looked on, I noticed that my supervisor might be in danger. He had placed a piece of sheeting down on the framework and had fastened one side. The other side was to be cut off with a Skil saw so the sheeting would fit in place.
As he was cutting, I noticed he was standing on the side that wasn’t fastened. If he continued to cut, he would end up “surfing” off the roof on a piece of sheeting. I kept silent, rationalizing to myself. Since this was my first day, what did I know? He probably knew what he was doing.
It turned out that my supervisor did slide off the roof on the piece of loose sheeting. I watched him, with the saw, fly through the air, landing on the ground on both feet. He looked back up to where he had been with a funny look on his face. I managed to control my laughter when it became clear he wasn’t hurt.
Since that time, I’ve thought more about that experience. Although it seemed funny, I’ve realized how dangerous that situation was. I’ve thought about how I would have felt if my supervisor had been badly hurt, crippled, or killed. I would have felt responsible. I knew something that could have helped him avoid a dangerous situation. I was afraid of what his reaction might be if I told him what he was doing wrong. I felt I didn’t have enough knowledge. But, in truth, I had the knowledge, the power to help save him, and I failed to use it.

Richard used to go to parties a lot. But after the last one, he says, “I saw things there, and I didn’t feel right. For some reason I knew I didn’t belong.”
He left the party and vowed to become more involved in service, schoolwork, studying the scriptures, and listening to good music—and to not watch so much television.
“It was hard,” he says. “I wanted to keep up with things going on outside. I didn’t want to be a social hermit. But I felt that if I was going to go on a mission, and if I was going to get married in the temple, and if I was going to receive callings, I had to be worthy.”

One of the many special spiritual experiences I had with my dear friend and beloved missionary companion—and later my Quorum President—President Jeffrey R. Holland, related to the prophet Elijah.

Starting in 2009, Elder Holland and I had the privilege of escorting various groups of people—including Reform, Conservative, and Orthodox Rabbi leaders, as well as secular Jewish leaders—through open-house tours in temples here in Utah.

At the baptismal font, I had the opportunity to explain to them the doctrine of baptism for our deceased ancestors. This relates directly to Malachi’s promises of turning the hearts of children to their deceased fathers. I read to them from 1 Kings 7:25, where Solomon’s temple is described. The baptismal font sits on top of the hinder parts of twelve oxen representing the twelve tribes of Israel. This brought both recognition and tears to some. They realized that they were essentially looking at certain aspects of Solomon’s temple, which has sacred significance to both Jews and Muslims.

When we entered the sealing room, Elder Holland was overcome with emotion and, with tears in his eyes, explained to them that he did not want to offend them but felt compelled to share something. Then, in a very spiritually powerful way, he explained that Elijah indeed had come and restored the sacred keys that allow the eternal sealing of husbands and wives and their families. He explained that the sealing room, where we were assembled, is a place where the restored keys are exercised. Our Jewish friends appreciated the fact that Old Testament scriptural accounts of prophets are featured so prominently in our temples and doctrine.

On March 1, 1842, Margaret Cook visited Sarah Kimball to do some sewing for her. They discussed the recent appeals for support of the temple laborers. Margaret’s means were meager, but her sewing skill could be useful to those needing clothing. If fabric could be made available, Margaret said she “would be pleased to contribute needlework.”2 Sarah said she would provide the material, and as they continued conversing, they wondered if others might want to help as well. They spoke with friends about organizing a sewing society.
This conversation, prompted by Margaret and Sarah acting on inspiration, led to further interactions with others, including the Prophet Joseph Smith. In response, the Lord told His prophet that He had “something better” for the women and inspired Joseph to organize them under “the pattern of the priesthood.”3 This laid the revelatory foundation of what we know today as Relief Society, one of the world’s oldest and largest women’s service organizations.

4. The wife, the husband, and the Lord. A verse in one of Paul’s epistles had bothered Susan for several years: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.” (Eph. 5:22.) She now felt comfortable enough with Bill to approach the subject. “How would you interpret this scripture?” she asked. “How can we liken it unto ourselves?”

Bill thought about it for a moment. “Well,” he finally responded, “in the mission field when we were confronted with a tough question, we often found it helpful to read the verses before and after the passage to put it in the proper context. Let’s see what the other verses say.”

“Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children;

“And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us. …

“Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God.

“Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord.

“For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body.

“Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in every thing.

“Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it. …

“So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself.

“For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church. …

“Let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself: and the wife see that she reverence her husband.” (Eph. 5:1–2, 21–25, 28–29, 33.)

After a discussion of this chapter, Bill and Susan agreed that the basic principle involved was to love each other in the same way the Savior loves us. That is, we should be willing to serve one another and even be prepared to die for each other. Bill remarked, “Sweetheart, Paul says that wives should submit themselves to their husbands and that the husband is the head of the wife ‘eve as Christ is the head of the church.’ I want to ask your forgiveness for the many times I’ve failed to be a Christlike husband. Too often I’ve thought only of my own needs and pleasures without giving a second thought to you and the children. I really am going to try harder to incorporate the Savior’s teachings in my life, to serve you and the children rather than commanding you and making demands on you.

“There have been times,” he continued, “when I’ve really felt like a henpecked husband. I guess I felt like I was being pushed into submission to you. But since we’ve been trying to incorporate the scriptures into our lives, I’ve come to realize that no husband who gladly loses himself in the service of his wife and family can be considered henpecked—because he is doing exactly what makes them happiest, and their happiness becomes a great source of joy in his own life.”

Only two hours after I had gathered the parts, some coming from as near as the trash can and broom closet, I was aiming my homemade telescope into the night sky. At first all I saw was a bunch of smeared blotches, but by moving the eyepiece in and out I was able to focus my telescope, and what a spectacle opened before my eyes! I saw four of Jupiter’s moons, not to mention the huge planet itself, craters on the moon, and the rings of Saturn. As the year progressed, I was able to see the crescent of Venus and the white polar caps of Mars. I even saw the white oval of our nearest galaxy, Andromeda, the nebula in Orion, and the Pleiades (a cluster of stars shining through some interstellar gasses). I saw double stars, the Milky Way, and many other beautiful celestial bodies. I even tried looking at the sun, but it didn’t take long (about a millioneth of a second!) for me to find out that looking at the sun is not a safe thing to do! I managed to get around the problem, without buying a special sun filter, by projecting the sun’s image onto a piece of paper. I held a piece of white paper behind the telescope, about four inches away from the eyepiece, and much to my surprise, there was the sun. It was a very bright circle with little black dots covering its surface. I later learned that these dots were sun spots, regions on the sun’s surface where the temperature is somewhat cooler.
The telescope I built was a very simple one. It consisted of one big lens that I attached to the front of a mailing tube and two smaller lenses out of which I built an eyepiece that slid into the bigger tube. The big lens was salvaged from an old camera, while the two smaller lenses were toy magnifying glasses I bought from the drug store. I even hammered three broom sticks together and made a simple yet sturdy tripod on which I mounted my scope.

One evening, I met with my boss to discuss my situation and the goal I wanted to achieve (i.e. serving a full-time mission). After listening to me, he set a condition: If I would forgo my dream and stay with him, he would do everything for me. I knew he could do that. He had good intentions when he set this condition. He was very close to me, and I had become like a son to him. He trusted me more than some of his brothers. For me, the Savior‘s call was the most important thing. I, therefore, declined the offer. He even sent people to plead with me, but it was all in vain because I was determined to serve a mission.

Finally, I went to Abidjan to apply for my passport, during the COVID-19 pandemic. Along the way, we had to get off the bus and walk for miles to cross certain areas. We even had to walk through the forest during the trip.
There were all sorts of issues with getting a passport, but by God’s grace, I got mine.
After about a year of working on my mission application, I gave it to my bishop to submit it to the stake president. To my utter surprise, my bishop lost the file containing my passport and medical records. This was a huge ordeal for me. That night, I got on my knees and cried my heart out, pleading with God to make it possible for us to find the file. After my prayer, I told Heavenly Father that if we did not find the file, I would work on another application no matter how long it would take.
A few weeks later, a miracle happened: my file was found at the premises of my stake president’s company. The security guard had been keeping the file all this while since he did not know the owner.
This experience strengthened my faith in Christ, that He is mighty to save.
After receiving the file, we gave it to my stake president to fill it out and submit online. However, the file was not submitted online for nearly two months, and it was at this point that I felt like giving up. When I told my girlfriend that I wanted to give up, she replied with a statement that I had made at the beginning of our relationship, that nothing and no one could stop me from serving a full-time mission. I regained hope, called my stake president, and followed up with strict monitoring. When the application was submitted, I quit my job to better prepare for my mission. At one point, I ran out of food and was supported by my girlfriend.
Finally, my call came. I was called to serve in the Côte d’Ivoire Abidjan West Mission with President and Sister Lewis. I was so happy I had attained my goal. I had to go to the training center in Ghana, but due to the COVID-19 pandemic, I had to undergo my training online. There again, I paid for an internet bundle out of pocket until I ran out of money. A few days later I informed my trainer that I would have to stop taking the course for lack of money. Surprised by what he had just learned, he sent a message to my stake president, and the problem was resolved. I then proceeded with my training as planned.
I experienced adversity from the beginning of my preparation till the end. I am grateful for having kept the faith and for the hand of God that supported me during those trying times.
After my mission, I married that young girl who stood by me through it all. We now have a child who makes us so happy. I testify that as much as we shall put our trust in God even so much we shall be delivered out of our trials, and our troubles, and our afflictions, and we shall be lifted up at the last day. (See Alma 38:5.)

Many students fail to excel because they deprive themselves of academic challenges by enrolling in easy classes. I’m ashamed to admit that for two years I fell into that trap. During my freshman and sophomore years at BYU I was more concerned with finding easy classes than with learning anything. Prior to registration each semester I checked out my prospective professors with the “academic grapevine” to find out who was the easiest. I cheated myself out of many worthwhile experiences by dodging academic challenges.

Don’t you be lulled into the same trap. When everyone else is seeking the easy path, be brave enough to take on the challenging one. You’ll be glad you did.

In 1832, two years after the Church was organized, two missionaries went out into the New York area to preach the gospel. A man by the name of John Tanner, who was a very influential man in that district—community-minded and religious—heard that they were coming and that they were going to hold a meeting in the schoolhouse in his town that night. He was determined that they would not preach any false doctrine in his community, so he attended this meeting to keep them straight. Because he had been crippled for many months, he had to be wheeled to the meeting in a wheelchair, and he had his son wheel him right up in front of the pulpit so that he could look the missionaries in the face and correct them if they began to teach any false doctrine.
One of the elders told about the great apostasy and how the Church was reestablished. And then the other elder got up and told about the translation of the Book of Mormon and the doctrines taught therein and then bore his testimony.
John Tanner didn’t interrupt either one of them while they were speaking, but when they finished he said to his son, “I would like to meet those young men.” His son went up, brought the young men down, and introduced his father to them.
The father asked them if they would like to come and stay with him that night. Being good missionaries, they accepted his invitation and went home to stay with him that night. They talked about the gospel, and he asked them questions until the early hours of the morning. He became so interested in the gospel that he said, “If I were able, I think I would like to apply for baptism.”
One of the elders asked, “Do you think that the Lord could heal you?” He answered, “The Lord could if he wanted to.” And the elder said, “Would you like us to administer to you, give you a blessing?” He said he would, and the elders administered to him. That very day he left his wheelchair, never to return to it, and walked four miles to be baptized.
I have often thanked my Heavenly Father that those two missionaries went out and preached the gospel to John Tanner and that he had the courage when he heard the truth to accept it, even though he knew he would be ostracized in the community if he joined the Church.
Some years later he learned that the Church was in financial difficulty. Since he was well-fixed financially, he sold everything he had and gave it to President Joseph Smith to help meet the obligations. He remained true to the faith.
I am so thankful that his son remained true to the faith, and his son remained true to the faith, and his son, who was my father, remained true to the faith. And as a result I am here as a member of the Church today in the position I hold.

The missionary said the Spirit whispered that I would help him find an answer.

I remember one time when the Lord guided several people. I was serving as mission president in the Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission. One of our missionaries had a medical condition called a cleft palate, which had never been treated. When he spoke, air would go through the top of his mouth and out his nose. It was hard for others to understand him.

This young elder told me that he had prayed about his problem. He said the Spirit whispered that I would help him find an answer. His simple, determined faith inspired me. I turned to God for help in finding a solution.

A simple surgery could correct the problem, but getting the surgery was not a simple process. If we had it done privately, it would be too expensive for this missionary’s family. On the other hand, using the public health system would require several appointments and would most likely use up the remaining months of his mission.

Every time I have a difficult mission to accomplish, I count on the faith and help of my wife. I explained this missionary’s dilemma to her and asked her to talk with those at the local public hospital. Was there any way the surgery could be done at no cost and within the time frame available?

After praying for help, my wife went to the hospital. She got in a long line of people waiting to talk to an attendant. As the line advanced, my wife was able to hear how the cases in front of her were being handled. Typically, people were told to return for an appointment in six months, sometimes more.

My wife knew this would be too long for our missionary. She felt prompted to leave the line and go through another door. There she found another hospital employee. My wife identified herself and explained the need of our missionary.

The employee instructed her to talk directly with the surgeon, who was in the hospital that day performing surgery on another floor. She explained to the surgeon what missionaries do and how this missionary would be blessed if he could have surgery to repair his cleft palate.

The surgeon asked some questions. Then he said, “Can we schedule the surgery in two weeks?” He completed a hospital form that explained this surgery was in the interest of the community and that he was interested in it personally. He handed the form to his assistant and asked him to schedule the date.

Ten days later, the surgeon operated on our missionary. Soon this elder was back in the field, cheerful and speaking in a clear voice. With renewed enthusiasm, he recognized that the Lord had led him along.

This missionary’s experience is a testimony that our Father hears our prayers and leads us by the hand.

I return to the example of my missionary. He was guided to ask for help and was blessed with a surgery that now allows him to communicate clearly. He was then guided to those who were ready to receive the gospel and its blessings, including baptism. I also look at the example of my wife. Her testimony grew stronger as the Lord guided her. He then opened the windows of heaven and poured out a blessing.

I am grateful I got to work with this young missionary, who was filled with simple, powerful faith. And I am grateful that I can live eternally with my wife, who sets an example of allowing the Lord to lead her along.

One of the most beautiful stories in our heritage, an experience of President Heber J. Grant’s, bears witness that a testimony about the right relationship between life, death, and the spirit world can comfort us in times of sorrow, help us understand God’s purposes, and teach us the true nature of our existence. President Grant writes:
“I have been blessed with only two sons. One of them died at five years of age and the other at seven. My last son died of a hip disease. I had built great hopes that he would live to spread the Gospel at home and abroad and be an honor to me. About an hour before he died I had a dream that his mother, who was dead, came for him, and that she brought with her a messenger, and she told his messenger to take the boy while I was asleep; and in the dream I thought I awoke and I seized my son and fought for him and finally succeeded in getting him away from the messenger who had come to take him, and in so doing I dreamed that I stumbled and fell upon him.
“I dreamed that I fell upon his sore hip, and the terrible cries and anguish of the child drove me nearly wild. I could not stand it and I jumped up and ran out of the house so as not to hear his distress. I dreamed that after running out of the house I met Brother Joseph E. Taylor and told him of these things.
“He said: ‘Heber, do you know what I would do if my wife came for one of her children—I would not struggle to keep that child; I would not oppose her taking that child away. If a mother who had been faithful had passed beyond the veil, she would know of the suffering and the anguish her child may have to suffer; she would know whether that child might go through life as a cripple and whether it would be better or wiser for that child to be relieved from the torture of life; and when you stop to think, Brother Grant, that the mother of that boy went down into the shadow of death to give him life, she is the one who ought to have the right to take him or keep him.’
“I said, ‘I believe you are right, Brother Taylor, and if she comes again, she shall have the boy without any protest on my part.’
“After coming to that conclusion, I was waked by my brother, B. F. Grant, who was staying that night with us, helping to watch over the sick boy. He called me into the room and told me that my child was dying. I went in the front room and sat down. There was a vacant chair between me and my wife who is now living, and I felt the presence of that boy’s deceased mother, sitting in that chair. I did not tell anybody what I felt, but I turned to my living wife and said: ‘Do you feel anything strange?’ She said: ‘Yes, I feel assured that Heber’s mother is sitting between us, waiting to take him away.’
“Now, I am naturally, I believe, a sympathetic man. I was raised as an only child, with all the affection that a mother could lavish upon a boy. I believe that I am naturally affectionate and sympathetic and that I shed tears for my friends—tears of joy for their success and tears of sorrow for their misfortunes. But I sat by the deathbed of my little boy and saw him die, without shedding a tear. My living wife, my brother, and I, upon that occasion experienced a sweet, peaceful, and heavenly influence in my home, as great as I have ever experienced in my life.” (Improvement Era, June 1940, pp. 330,383.)

I don’t remember the exact words I used when I told my bishop that I had decided not to serve a mission. But I remember well his disappointment and the next question he asked me: “Do your parents know what you’ve decided?”
Of course they didn’t know; I hadn’t discussed my decision with anyone. As I left the bishop’s office that day, I thought, “Whew, I’m glad that’s over.”
It wasn’t that I hadn’t been taught the gospel. Our family was very active, I attended all my meetings, and I had graduated from seminary. I’m sure everyone assumed that I would go on a mission.
I was living at home, attending a nearby junior college, and trying to find a job. My hair was long, in the “hippie” fashion of the day, so it was difficult for me to find work. As my hair grew longer, tension grew between my father and me. When he told me to get a haircut, I left the house and spent three days with a friend. My return home without a haircut was my way of showing him that I was going to do as I pleased.
Several ward members mentioned to me that my decision not to go on a mission had broken my parents’ hearts. My church attendance slipped as I began to feel that the adults in our ward disapproved of my attitude and my hair length. (It wasn’t until much later that I learned that they had prayed numerous times for something to happen in my life that would help me find myself.)
When I did attend church, I attended elders quorum meetings, though I had not been ordained an elder. One Sunday morning the elders quorum president said, “We would like to call you to be a home teacher. Will you accept the call?”
Shocked, I said yes.
“Your companion will be Bill Brothers,” he continued.
As soon as I left the building, I began to plan how I could get out of this commitment. Just then Bill Brothers walked over to me. We were about the same age, and I had known him since our days together in Primary.
“Guess we’re going to be home-teaching companions, aren’t we?” Bill asked.
“I guess so,” I acknowledge glumly.
“Why don’t we show the guys in our ward how home teaching should really be done?” he said.
That thought struck me like a thunderbolt. Yes! We would show the men in our ward how home teaching should be done! We would do it better than any of them, and maybe that would silence the criticism about my attitude and my hair. Bill and I decided that the first thing to do was to ask the fathers in the two families assigned to us what they would like us to teach to their families.
Bill made the appointments. I assumed that each father would ask us to teach his children about getting along with each other or some other basic topic—but I was wrong.
“Well, boys,” said Brother Smith, “our family has been trying to read the Book of Mormon. Since our children are fairly young, it is sometimes hard for them to understand what we read. I think it would be great if you could tell us the basic stories from the Book of Mormon in chronological order.”
When we left the Smith home, Bill suggested that we visit the Smiths more than once a month. Bill was leaving on a mission in about three months and wanted to tell all the Book of Mormon stories before he left.
Bill also suggested that we start with the book of Ether, since it was first chronologically. He would give the story of the first half of Ether, and I would do the second half. I had thought this assignment was going to be easy, but now I knew I would have to spend some time preparing. I unenthusiastically agreed to do it.
Just before our first visit, I quickly read over the last part of Ether and hoped I would remember enough to get by. However, as we met with the Smiths, a sweet spirit of gentle anticipation filled the room. I felt embarrassed that I was not as well prepared as Bill, and I left determined to be prepared on our next visit.
Over the next two months, I read the entire Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just so I could tell the story to the Smith family. Soon, however, I began to ask myself, “What if this is really true?”
My view of the world began to change as I learned eternal principles from Nephi, Lehi, and Jacob. When I read of Alma’s prayers concerning his wayward son, Alma the Younger, I understood my parents’ anguish over me. I felt the spirit of Helaman as he wrote of his faithful stripling soldiers, and I wondered if I would have been as courageous as they had been. I read of the Savior’s visit and his teachings. I learned that the Nephites had been destroyed because of their wickedness. Finally, I read in Moroni that we would meet at the Judgment Day and that the Lord would hold us responsible for the words contained in the Book of Mormon. I felt as if Moroni had written that message specifically for me.
Suddenly, I knew the Book of Mormon was true! The seed of faith had been planted within me, and now it had grown until I could scarcely contain it. I wanted to tell everyone I met of the joy I felt in finding out that the Book of Mormon was true, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God, and that the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were true. I wept in gratitude for having received this witness.
I drove over to Bishop Toolson’s house and knocked on the door. He invited me in and asked what he could do for me. Outwardly I didn’t look any different—my hair was longer than ever; yet inwardly, I had experienced a mighty change of heart. The words burst from me: “I want to go on a mission.”
Bishop Toolson smiled and invited me into his living room. He opened his briefcase and pulled out my missionary recommendation form. He had already filled it out completely, except for one box—and that was the first question that he asked me now: “When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible,” I answered. I could hardly wait to go! Bishop Toolson instructed me that I would need to submit a picture of myself—with a proper missionary haircut. I assured him that I would take care of that immediately.
I received my mission call on 4 August 1972. During my mission, I often bore my solemn witness that I knew from my own experience that the Book of Mormon was true. I learned that if we would encourage others to study the Book of Mormon, pray about it, and try to live by its teachings, they, too, would discover the truth of the Book of Mormon.

My mother worked in a fashion boutique in Paris and liked the Americans she met there. She grew to love the English language and encouraged me to study English even as a young child. During the summers, she sent me to England or Scotland to stay with English-speaking families. One year she encouraged me to get involved in an American summer camp exchange program. Through this program I became a camp counselor in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of Joseph Smith. Perhaps the Lord, even then, was trying to turn the wheels once more. Unfortunately, I heard nothing of Joseph Smith or the Mormons while I was there.

Several years later, however, the wheels turned again, with great power. I was studying English, with a specific focus on American culture, at Paris’s Sorbonne University. As I began thinking about a master’s thesis topic, I remembered the documentary about the Mormon pioneers. I asked my adviser if I could do something on them. No one at the Sorbonne had written a thesis about the Mormons, and so my adviser thought the subject might prove interesting. But he insisted that I pick an aspect of Mormonism that was unique.

After doing some preliminary research, I discovered that there was not enough information about the Mormons in the university library. I concluded I would have to talk to them. By then I had learned that the official name of the Mormon Church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. With that information, I located the headquarters of the Paris Mission and boldly knocked on the front door. I asked the missionary who answered, “Is there someone here who can tell me about the Mormons?”

The surprised young man managed to stutter, “Yes, yes, come in!”

As my research at the mission home progressed, I learned that Latter-day Saints believe in ordinances performed for dead ancestors. The more I read about temple work for the dead, the more I wanted to use that topic. The title I finally chose for my thesis was enough to make even long-time members of the Church pause: “Genealogy and the Mormon Church.” That’s how I became known in the Paris Mission as the “Genealogy Girl.”

It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”

But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.

A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.

During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”

One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”

I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.

A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.

Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.

As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

I had a 16-page research paper to finish. Even though my cousins also had the same assignment to finish, they still planned to go to the movies. I really wanted to go too, but I thought of the consequences of going to school the next day without my paper being finished. I chose to stay home and work on my paper. The next day I turned in my paper while my cousins were busy finishing their research by the deadline. They were stressed, but I felt good about choosing to do my homework first.

“Here’s that video I was telling you about,” Jordan said, handing his friend a plastic case. “It’s got some cool stuff on it. Guns and stuff.”
“What’s the rating?” Blaine asked, opening the case and looking inside.
“Who cares? My mom lets me watch anything.” Jordan pulled on his roller blades. “Come on—put it in your backpack and let’s get to the park.”
As Blaine laced up his own roller blades, an uneasy feeling grew inside him. His family had often talked in family home evening about choosing good music, books, and videos. He had promised to not listen to or watch anything that he wouldn’t if Jesus were beside him. But if he didn’t take the video, Jordan would think that he was a wimp and might not want to be his friend any longer.
“Jordan?” Blaine kept his eyes on his roller blades. “I don’t think I’d better take the video. I know my mom wouldn’t like me to watch it.”
“So hide it and watch it when your mom isn’t home. Or is mommy’s little boy scared?”
The feeling inside Blaine had grown very strong, telling him to not take the video. He tried to ignore it as he tucked the video case inside his pack and raced after his friend. The feeling sank to a sick ache in his stomach.
Three other boys joined Blaine and Jordan at the park to play tag, race through a maze of giant cottonwood trees, and search for minnows in tiny, scattered pools fed by a winding stream. Blaine didn’t have much fun, though. He was trying to think of a way to give the video back without being teased by the other boys.
Soon it was time to go home.
“Hey, Chris,” Jordan said, “want to watch my video after Blaine’s done with it?”
“What’s it called?”
“Deathblaster. You should see how they kill off the bad guys.”
“Hey, cool! Blaine, when will you be finished?”
Now was his chance to give back the video, but somehow Blaine couldn’t make his mouth work. He shrugged, mumbled something about being late, and roller-bladed away, the video like a load of bricks on his back.
At home, he hid the plastic case at the bottom of his closet. I’ll just keep it for a few days and then give it back, he thought. Jordan will never know I didn’t watch it. But the sick feeling didn’t go away.
After dinner, the home teachers arrived with smiles and warm handshakes. Blaine loved to visit with Brother Jensen, who always had a story to tell, and with Brother Carter, who always asked Blaine how he was doing and gave him a peppermint.
Tonight, Brother Jensen told a story from the Old Testament. It was about Daniel and his three friends who were taken from their home in Israel, along with many other children, to the palace of King Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar ordered them to be fed rich food and drink, but Daniel refused, asking instead for simple, healthy food for himself and his three friends. The king’s servant didn’t want to agree, but Daniel persuaded him to grant them a ten-day trial period. Ten days later, the servant saw that they were by far the healthiest of all the young people, and he quickly ordered the same food and drink for everyone. Because of their courage and faith, Heavenly Father blessed the four young men, and they became favorites of King Nebuchadnezzar.
“There are many around us who are trying to get us to make wrong choices,” Brother Jensen continued. “If we are as courageous as Daniel and his friends were, and stand for the right, Heavenly Father will bless us. We never have to go along with what everyone else is doing when we know it is wrong. To help us, we are given the gift of the Holy Ghost to tell us whether a choice is right or wrong.”
Brother Carter looked at Blaine. “Have you ever had to choose the right, Blaine, when all your friends wanted to choose wrong?”
Blaine felt his face get red as he thought of the video in his closet. “Y-yes,” he stammered, looking at his feet.
Brother Carter smiled. “I’m sure you made the right choice. You are the kind of person who would listen to the Holy Ghost.”
As the home teachers left, Blaine excused himself and ran to his bedroom. He knelt by his bed, asking Heavenly Father for forgiveness and courage. Then he put the video in his backpack and went to ask his mother if he could go to Jordan’s house. “I need to return something that belongs to him,” he explained.
“Hurry back home,” Mom said. “It will be dark soon.”
As Blaine skated up to Jordan’s driveway, he was dismayed to see him playing basketball with the other three boys. They saw Blaine and ran over to greet him.
“Want to shoot hoops with us?” Jordan asked.
Blaine shook his head. “I can’t. I just need to give you this.” He pulled the video from his pack and handed it to his friend.
“You saw it already? Hey, what did you think? Pretty gross, huh?”
There was silence as all eyes turned to Blaine. He looked right at Jordan. “I didn’t watch it. I don’t think it’s a family-rated video, and that’s what I watch. I’m going to rent a new video, though. Do you guys want to come watch it tomorrow? I’ll make popcorn.” He looked each in the eye, then turned back to Jordan.
There was another long silence.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jordan agreed. “Chris, you want this one?”
“Naw—my mom wouldn’t let me. I’ll watch Blaine’s with you. I’d better get going home.”
As the boys headed in separate directions, Blaine imagined Daniel beside him, a hand on his shoulder, smiling and nodding his approval. Blaine felt strong and courageous. A gentle warmth growing within told him that Heavenly Father was pleased with his choice, too.