Gospel Story Finder

This story began in 1987 with the Bennion First Ward’s youth conference trip to the Manti Utah Temple and the time capsule that the youth buried afterward.
Hold on—1987? Isn’t this article 16 years late for publication? Well, yes, if you’re writing a story about burying a time capsule. But this one’s about digging it up.
After three days of service and activities near the temple grounds, the teens and leaders from Taylorsville, Utah, drove home to wrap up the conference. Then in a corner of leader Brenda Jeppson’s yard, they stood quietly in the warm July twilight and watched as a long, black time capsule was buried about three feet deep in the crumbly soil.
Sixteen-year-old Stacie Hankins wrote in her journal that night, “After we buried the time capsule, we promised we would return with our spouses and children in 15 years.” Then she vowed, “I will return.” Along with most of the youth and leaders at the conference, Stacie kept her promise.
The crowd that gathered in the same corner of that yard 15 years later not only looks very different, it is three or four times bigger than the original gathering. Children run around on the soft grass in the Jeppsons’ backyard while their parents—the grown-up Bennion Ward teens—chat about what they included in the capsule.
The capsule is sealed so tightly they have to saw the ends off. Inside is quite a collection of 1980s memorabilia. Banana hair clips, tape recordings of popular music, newspaper articles, postage stamps, clothing ads, microwave popcorn, letters to themselves with their testimonies, and a New Era are all packed into the smooth black tube.
Sorting through the mementos gives a sense of how much time has passed. But a lot more than wardrobes, world news, and waistlines has changed.
Imagine your life in 15 years. What will change? Where do you want to be?
Fifteen-year-old Jennifer Openshaw then, now 30-year-old Jennifer Bowden, thought about where she wanted to be in 15 years when the time capsule was buried.
“I was hoping I’d be married and be a mom,” she says.
Check. Her husband sends her a smile from a nearby table as her children, Samuel and Emma, giggle on the Jeppsons’ swing set.
“I also knew I wanted an education,” she continues.
Double check. Jennifer has a master’s degree in dietetics from Utah State University.
What has stayed the same is her strong testimony of the gospel. She pauses thoughtfully to consider where the last 15 years have taken her. “If my younger self could see me, I think she’d be pleased,” she says.
But Jennifer isn’t the only one smiling. Nathan Cantonwine, now 29, whose 100-watt grin hasn’t dimmed at all in 15 years, is happy with where he ended up too. More than serving a mission, going to college, and starting his own family, Nathan wanted to have a stronger testimony by the time the capsule was opened.
“Growing up, I had a tendency to rely on other people’s testimonies,” he says. “I knew the gospel was true because I could feel it when I was with my leaders and friends. But now, I have experienced things, in particular with prayer, tithing, and fasting, that have borne a strong witness to me that I cannot deny.”
Fifteen years scattered the teens of the 1987 Bennion ward across 12 states, from Florida to Washington. They served missions in places as close as California and as far away as Italy. The more time goes by, the more they realize what’s truly important. They say they don’t worry about superficial things like popularity and fashion anymore.
Heidi Tuttle, now Heidi Kim, says her perspective has changed tremendously in 15 years.
“When I was 17, I didn’t see the whole picture,” she says as her toddler son, Kennan, dashes by in red overalls. She scoops him up and kisses the top of his head as he squirms away.
“After my mission to Korea and getting married, I realized the gospel and my family are what’s most important,” Heidi says, as she looks proudly at her husband who is singing Kennan a special song in Korean.
Stacie Hankins says the most important thing in her life is the scriptures. She remembers burying a letter in the time capsule that contains her feelings about the Book of Mormon. She says if she were to include something in a time capsule today, it would be a list of scriptures that have changed her life. She wants to use the scriptures to strengthen her future family.
It’s fun to see the crazy things they buried all those years ago. But the real treasure of the 1987 Bennion youth conference wasn’t buried in the corner of the Jeppsons’ yard. It’s testimonies, families, friendships, and dreams—all things you can’t bury in a time capsule. The ones in the group who seem the happiest now are those who envisioned what they wanted to be when they were young and then worked toward those goals, rather than simply going wherever life took them.
When the warm summer evening slips into night, the group of reunited friends is still talking under the light of a few bright lamps. They each read the testimonies they wrote and put in the time capsule—their testimonies are the only things that outlasted the constantly changing popular culture. “Today I recommit myself to the gospel of Jesus Christ,” Brenda Jeppson reads from her tattered piece of paper. Tonight, through her tears, she repeats her commitment to Christ as she looks forward to a future with the people she loves.

My younger sister Judith was an author, composer, and educator. She loved many things, including the gospel, music, and archaeology. Judith’s birthday was a few days before mine. Every year I would give her a crisp one-dollar bill as my birthday present to her. Three days later she would give me 50 cents as her birthday present to me.
Judith passed away a few years ago. I miss her and think of her often.

Upon his honorable discharge from the Mormon Battalion, John sold his horse and bought passage on a ship to San Francisco, California. Arriving there, he found a small community of Saints who helped him find work as a laborer for two dollars per day. After several months, John started east to join the main body of the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley. Near Sacramento he learned that some of the other members of the battalion were working at a place called Sutter’s Mill when gold was discovered there. Thus John became a prospector. He recorded in his journal that he was washing between $25 and $60 of gold each day—a real fortune compared to his wage as a laborer.
Yet, when the call came from Brigham Young for battalion members to proceed directly to Salt Lake City, John and his partners immediately abandoned their lucrative careers as prospectors and started the arduous trek through the Sierra Nevada mountain range to the Salt Lake Valley. Once there, John was given a piece of land outside the city, which he energetically began to improve into a beautiful irrigated farm.

After our first date, we both knew we wanted to go on a second date. Ben wanted to go on another date because Rachel was friendly and fun to talk to. Rachel wanted to go on another date because Ben was a gentleman and was still smiling after all of his well-laid plans fell through. After the second date, plus many more dates and prayers after that, we fell in love and decided to get married in the Sacramento California Temple.
The wedding day was absolutely perfect, and we have loved being married ever since. The world may see marriage differently, but we know that “no other relationship of any kind can bring as much joy, generate as much good, or produce as much personal refinement.”1Marriage is awesome, and here’s why.

I want to share an experience where I personally grew in understanding of the scripture I shared at the beginning – John 1:12 – “ But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.” In order to fulfill our purpose on earth and meet the challenges of life by rising to the highest in us, we will need to draw upon the powers of heaven to strengthen us, lift us, and sanctify us. In the experience I will share, I hope you can see how my dad utilized the Atonement to become more than his naturally wonderful self could be.

On November 19, 2010, my parents were traveling from Colorado to Idaho to spend Thanksgiving with my family. While driving, they were involved in a serious accident when a 17-year-old drove across the median causing a head-on collision with my parent’s car. My mother was killed and my father badly injured. The 17-year-old and my father were airlifted to the nearest hospital where we gathered as a family to support each other.

It was hard to believe that our wonderful mother of eleven children and beloved wife was gone. It was the first time we had ever faced the loss of a loved one, and in deep sorrow, we turned to the Savior for understanding. I testify that in times of need, we can be blessed with the peace that “ passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7). Our mother had taught us the gospel and lived firmly in the faith that families could be together forever. We clung to that hope and her example.

As a family, we exercised faith in the power of priesthood blessings for our dad and witnessed many miracles. Each day after the accident, our father amazed the doctors by no longer having the life-threatening injuries that were apparent when he arrived at the hospital. On Sunday, a few of my brothers and sisters and I gathered in my dad’s hospital room, filled with thanks for the tender mercies we’d received in my dad’s recovery. When my father closed his eyes to rest, I left the room for a moment. As I walked down the hallway, I met a father and his teenage son dressed in white shirts and ties carrying some bread and water. Evidently, they were taking the sacrament to someone they knew in the hospital. I asked them if they would mind administering the sacrament to my father and family. They agreed, and we experienced what might be the most spiritual sacrament meeting I've ever attended.

After partaking of the sacrament, my father, in great pain because of broken ribs and other injuries, took the opportunity to bear testimony to us of the great Atonement. With tears of gratitude, he cried as he expressed his faith in the Savior and His atoning sacrifice in our behalf. Because of the Savior’s great gift, we would be able to return to our Father in Heaven’s presence and see our mother again. He encouraged us to live our lives with gratitude for the Savior and turn to Him so that we could be forgiven of our mistakes and overcome our weaknesses. At this poignant time of great sorrow and loss, my father recognized that the hope of being together again was only possible because of the Savior’s love. Experiencing the tender message of my father was a lesson I will never forget and one that I would witness my dad teach us again.

Later in the week, as my father was being released from the hospital, he made one final request. He asked if my brother and I would take him to the room of the 17-year-old boy that caused the accident. The young man was still in the intensive care unit with severe injuries. We wheeled my father into the room where the boy was lying with his parents at his bedside. My father greeted them and introduced himself. In my father’s next words, I witnessed the enabling power of the Atonement that elevates us to become true sons and daughters of God. With emotion, my father sincerely said, “I want you to know that I hold no hard feelings toward you. I don’t want you to blame yourself for what has happened. I hope that you can go on and live a good life.” My dad then testified of his faith in Christ and that because of the Savior, our spirits continue to live after death. My dad expressed his hope that one day he would see his wife again and shared his belief that our family would be together forever.

I was overcome with what I was hearing and, more importantly, what I was feeling. The feelings in the room were incredible. There was no hurt or bitterness. We all felt the redeeming love of the Savior as my father used the power of the Atonement to overcome the effects of a tragic accident. The unconditional love and forgiveness expressed by my father was only possible because he believed in the Savior. He had faith in glorious gift of the resurrection and knew that through the sealing power in temples, he would be reunited with his beloved wife and that we would be together again. Although this was an extremely difficult time, through the grace of God, my father was given power that enabled him to act as the Savior would, to be an example of the believers (1 Timothy 4:12) and testify as a son of God.

What I experienced that day was the culmination of my dad’s sermon on the Atonement that he began on Sunday after partaking of the sacrament. I heard it with my ears, saw it with my eyes, and, most importantly, felt it burn deep within my heart. On that day, I had witnessed my earthly father use the power of the Atonement to become what his Heavenly Father knew that he could be. That experience changed me, and I know that by relying on Christ, we can all become more than we currently are.

One man I came to know in the business world truly exhibited Christ-like values. Tom Monahan. Tom was an orphan. He was raised in a Catholic orphanage in Michigan. He was admitted to the University of Michigan. After studying there for a few semesters, he found that he could no longer afford the tuition and board, even with his scholarship. So, he decided to drop out and buy a pizza shop close to campus. He put up $200 for his half of the business–that’s about $2,000 in today's dollars— and his brother sold his Volkswagen to come up with $200 for the other half. A few months later, his brother sold out and asked for his $200 back.

Tom was pretty successful. He grew his pizza shop with new locations. Today, you know his company as Domino’s Pizza. It has 21,500 shops around the world.

When he became wealthy, he began to buy some of the things he had always wanted.

He bought dozens of vintage automobiles. He built a massive new office for himself in the Domino’s office building. He even bought the Detroit Tigers baseball team. They won the World Series in the first year he acquired them.

And then it hit him. He was not living by the principles and values that he had been taught in the orphanage, by the values of his Christian faith. Tom sold his cars, sold the baseball team, and moved his office to a desk next to his secretary. He even decided to sign the Millionaire’s Vow of Poverty in which he promised he would not own a luxury car nor fly first class. Finally, he decided to sell his company.

My firm decided to buy it from him. I got to do something I had never done before or since: I made out a check for over one billion dollars and signed it.

I did not expect him to do what he did next. He turned it over and then signed all that money over to Catholic charities and to Ave Maria University in Florida, a college he founded to promote the ideals of Jesus Christ.

Tom’s was one of the most sudden transformations from worldly values to Christian values that I had ever seen, first-hand. And in a small way, it reminded me of the transformation of Paul the Apostle. Tom’s commitment to his core values inspired me to do so more fully myself.

I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”

Just as God rejoices when we persevere, He is disappointed if we do not recognize that others are trying too. Our dear friend Thoba shared how she learned this lesson from her mother, Julia. Julia and Thoba were among the early black converts in South Africa. After the apartheid regime ended, black and white members of the Church were permitted to attend church together. For many, the equality of interaction between the races was new and challenging. One time, as Julia and Thoba attended church, they felt they were treated less than kindly by some white members. As they left, Thoba complained bitterly to her mother. Julia listened calmly until Thoba had vented her frustration. Then Julia said, “Oh, Thoba, the Church is like a big hospital, and we are all sick in our own way. We come to church to be helped.”

Julia’s comment reflects a valuable insight. We must not only be tolerant while others work on their individual illnesses; we must also be kind, patient, supportive, and understanding. As God encourages us to keep on trying, He expects us to also allow others the space to do the same, at their own pace. The Atonement will come into our lives in even greater measure. We will then recognize that regardless of perceived differences, all of us are in need of the same infinite Atonement.

Too soon the term came to an end. When I came back from vacation, Scott Anderson was gone. “Moved,” somebody told me, “back to Utah.” I clung even more to his famous one line in memory of our friendship.
It was a fresh April day at the Apothecary Outdoor Restaurant when I had a final chance to use Anderson’s line. We had just finished our salad and were beginning our soup when an acquaintance of my mother stopped to greet us. He added the usual, “And what are you going to be doing next year, Jack?”
“I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir,” I replied.
“You will?” He seemed more than astonished. “Why I didn’t know you were Mormons!”
“We’re not,” my mother smiled her let’s-get-on-to-other-things smile.
“But I am,” the man went on. “As a matter of fact, I’m bishop of the Manhattan Third Ward.”
“A bishop? I’ve heard of bishops,” I said. “You see, I had this friend at school …”
And so I met Bishop Beesely. And now I am going on a mission for the Mormon church. My father thinks that I am tomorrow’s Dr. Livingstone because I am going to South Africa.
My mother, though, is her same plural self. Just yesterday she said, “We’ll be needing some white shirts and dark suits now, won’t we, Jack?”

I remember when I was young, listening to my father’s conversion story. When the gospel of Jesus Christ was introduced to Samoa, it was not received well. Many felt threatened by this new religion and fought against it and persecuted those who chose to join. Many converts were expelled from their village homes and many fled to places of refuge. My father, being a young and curious man, sought to discover what this new religion taught. In time he was baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As news spread through the village that my father had joined the Church, a worried friend from his village warned him that there was talk of cooking him alive in an umu (an above-ground oven of hot volcanic stones), so my father fled and found refuge with Malietoa Talavou Pe’a Fitisemanu and Alisa Fitisemanu. Even though his life was threatened, he was committed to his newfound faith. As the Saviour taught, “ye shall know them by their fruits.”6 The blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ in my life with my wife and our children, and in the lives of our children’s families, are some of the fruits of my father’s faith.

I would like to share one such experience that happened while I was serving on my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My missionary companion and I were walking through a neighborhood to reach another part of the city. It was a quiet street with several homes.

At one of the houses, I noticed two young women about our age watching us and talking to each other on their front porch. We were across the street walking down the sidewalk. A thought came into my mind that we should go visit with them and I stopped walking, but I quickly dismissed it thinking that we needed to get to our other destination, and I continued on.

We were now a little farther past their home and again I felt impressed to go back and speak with them. I turned around and started walking back, but then quickly convinced myself again that we shouldn’t. So, I turned around and kept walking. At this point, my companion was so confused at what I was doing as I hadn’t said a word. I then had a very strong third impression and turned around again and told my companion that we needed to go back.

When we reached the porch, we introduced ourselves. We discussed the doctrine of eternal families for a little while, but I didn’t really feel that our conversation made much of an impact.

Then, one of the girls said she needed to grab a few things for work and quickly went inside the house. Immediately, the Spirit rushed in and told me to say several things to the sister who was still on the porch. I testified she was a daughter of our Heavenly Father and He knew and loved her so much. I also testified that she knew what she needed to do to follow Him.

I do not remember the other things, but I do remember the overwhelming love that our Heavenly Father had for her and that He knew her personally to send us that day.

In the middle of my sophomore year, my high school drama department announced auditions for the annual Shakespearean play. “This is great!” I thought. I pictured myself in colorful Elizabethan costume, playing a rousing Shakespearean role. It was something I had wanted to do all year. So between American History and lunch I ran into the office and picked up a dittoed sheet of dialogue.
“What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distempered head so soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.”
“That sure doesn’t sound like English to me,” I thought, reading through the rest of the tryout material. I couldn’t make sense of what was going on or of how I was supposed to say one word. I’d seen Shakespearean plays before and even movies. The lines had always sounded easy and natural.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked myself. The audition line I had joined after school was getting shorter. I stood in the C-wing stairwell and reread the pages: “What early tongue …” I was growing frantic.
Matt Ricks filed into the line behind me. “Hey, Brad, it’s good to see you trying out.”
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. Matt was the best actor in the school, and I was in awe.
“Oh boy,” I thought. “Now I’ll really look like a fool when he tries out after me. Well, I don’t have to look like a fool. I’m not going to walk out on that stage and make a total idiot of myself.” I turned away from the audition line and walked quickly to my hall locker. Luckily Matt was surrounded by his usual harem of admirers and didn’t notice me leave.
I argued with myself: “Don’t be dumb. We’ve gone through all this before. Of course you might not make this play, but then, you might! You have to try.” I climbed the main hall stairs to upper B-wing. “You can’t read Shakespearean English now, but you can learn.”
Then, somehow, all the ifs and theys got to me. “Even if I learned it, what would they say if I botched it?” I crumpled the dialogue sheet and shoved it in my back pocket. It was easy to imagine the hateful names they might call me; it was easy to feel the hurt when they would laugh at me or whisper cruel things if I failed. I envisioned myself onstage—“What early tongue so sweet saluteth me”—dodging all the pencils, spitwads, shoes, rocks, and desks that they would throw.
“I’m not trying out,” I decided firmly. By now I’d missed my bus and knew I would have to walk all the way home. I snatched up my books, kicked the locker door closed, and drooped back down the B-wing stairs. Why should I worry about what they would think? But I did.
When I ate only one taco for dinner instead of my usual three, dad realized something was on my mind.
“I’m not holding myself back,” I told him. “I want to try out and do what I know is best for me, but they won’t let me. They’re intimidating me right out of my best intentions.”
“Who are they?” dad asked.
“Well, you know, they.”
“Who?” he asked again.
“The kids at school,” I answered exasperatedly.
“Who?”
“You know,” I fumbled. “Friends, peer group, the kids trying out who are better than me.” Inside I was frantic. Not a single name came to my mind except Matt Ricks, and he was the only one I was sure wouldn’t laugh.
Then, with the infallible wisdom of most fathers, dad explained that as people mature it becomes less and less important what other people think or say. It took him until 7:00 to finally convince me that “mature people are self-confident enough to live in a way that will please their Heavenly Father. They do what is best, what they know is right, regardless of what they say. Some people never reach that point of maturity, while others reach it quite early in life.”
He reminded me of when our family would go to the park to play baseball. The older family members would leave Chris, my younger brother, and me to play at the small baseball diamond while they went around the wire fence to the grown-ups’ baseball field. “Do you remember how you two would play until you were bored, and then both of you would climb to the top of the dugout to watch the grown-ups play ball? That fence always seemed a tangible measure of age and ability. Now it can be a symbolic measure of maturity as you judge in which ballpark you’d like to play. You need to commit to your goals, never caring about what they may say. It is up to you to reach the fence as early in life as you can.”
Before bed that night I rescued the wrinkled tryout sheet and read it over again. “What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distempered head.” Finally the words were beginning to make sense. I sat right in the middle of my bedroom floor laughing out loud. “Dad’s right.” I thought of where I was and imagined where I could be if I hadn’t talked myself out of so many opportunities, or let others do so, without even trying. Maybe I might not have made the team, or won the office, but maybe I might have. When I was younger I didn’t have the personal courage to try, so I shall never know. But that night dad taught me that one of the nicer things about trying is that you can never lose something you don’t have. You only take a chance on winning.
Dad told me, “Trying is like climbing a hill. If you stand with your feet firmly planted at the bottom and declare that there is no way you can climb that hill, you could stand there forever. If you dare to try, you have nowhere to go but up.”
Of course, it does matter what other people think and say since we all live together on this earth. Heavenly Father tells me I must consider others, that I am my brother’s keeper. Actually, other people are the incentives for most good things I do. Other people and their feelings toward me are often my reward. My happy balance will come as I learn to keep the opinions and actions of others in perspective. I must remember not to let others dictate my actions. In turn, I must not be the one whose remarks or actions could dominate someone else’s life. We must all play in the grown-up park by acting and not reacting.
“All right,” I told myself on the bedroom rug, “if they aren’t holding me back, then what other excuse do I have? The audition is up to me.” Despite the late hour, I practiced the passage again. As the Shakespearean sentences began to flow, my confidence returned. I berated myself for being so stupid as to have given other people that strong a vote in my election. Yes, they have a voice, and there will always be those who encourage and those who discourage, but I have free agency. I cast the deciding ballot, and I vote for what is best for me.
As I practiced, somehow Shakespeare, the man, became a reality to me. What if he had been afraid to try to write a play because of what people might think? What if he had never produced his plays because he feared being laughed at, or called names, or run out of town? I felt foolish. How infinitely poorer our world would be without William Shakespeare, or for that matter, without Thomas Edison, Abraham Lincoln, Harriet Tubman, and Thomas Jefferson. What if Joseph Smith had not prayed in the grove? Or then, what if he had never told anyone else about his marvelous vision of the Father and the Son because of what they might (and did) think?
I would never want the Lord to say of me, “But with some I am not well pleased, for they will not open their mouths, but they hide the talent which I have given unto them, because of the fear of man. Wo unto such, for mine anger is kindled against them.
“And it shall come to pass, if they are not more faithful unto me, it shall be taken away, even that which they have” (D&C 60:2–3).
“Tomorrow,” I vowed as I climbed into my waiting bed, “tomorrow I will really act—in more ways than one.”

A sea journey was the only option for converts in Europe who heeded the call to gather with the Saints in America. Jane Rio Griffiths Baker revealed something of ship life during her emigration from England:
“Sometimes a few musical ones get together and have a few tunes, sometimes [we] get together and gossip, and so … the days pass along. When we have rough weather, we have enough to do to keep on our feet, and [we] laugh at those who are not so clever as ourselves.”

The days of mirth, however, were balanced by days of distress. Jane recorded her grief at the death from illness of one of her young sons. “I did not think his death was so near, though when witnessing his sufferings I prayed that the Lord would shorten them. He has done so, and my much loved child is now in the world of spirits, awaiting the morning of the Resurrection” (Diary, LDS Church Archives, 3–4, 5; spelling and punctuation modernized).

At that time in my life, I didn’t think I would ever understand why Jen would risk failing a test just so she could feel better about herself. I never admitted cheating to Mr. Harrison or to my parents. In fact, I forgot about the incident completely until three years later, when I found myself being taught by the Mormon missionaries. I remembered Jen, who I knew was a Latter-day Saint, risking so much to repent, and I finally understood. Though she may never know it, her example three years earlier helped me to understand the importance of integrity.
As I read the scripture in Matthew 7:16 [Matt. 7:16]: “Ye shall know them by their fruits,” I thought of Jen and all the other members of the Church who had set good examples for me. That’s when I decided to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Shane never did ask me out on a date or even talk to me again. But as I went into the waters of baptism, I really did feel like the happiest girl in the world.

The rooms that April morning had been beautifully decorated with flowers for it was President Snow’s eighty-seventh birthday. On the mantle stood a more beautiful arrangement of roses. Before the president was awake there came a knock at the door of the Beehive House. When it was opened, there stood two little girls behind armloads of stunning red roses for President Snow.
The girls sang two or three songs and he was deeply touched by the serenade. He said he would cherish the memory all of his life.

Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.

The palms of my hands were cold and sweaty the morning I first met Lester at the airport in Chardon, Ohio. Lester was a legend. Crusty and dusty was a good way to describe him. He was a short, stubby old guy who had run Dethloff’s Flying Service at Chardon’s Airport for—well—forever. Now he stood sizing me up, not exactly excited by the 15-year-old boy he saw. Finally, he asked, "Okay, what do you want?"
"I want to learn to fly."
"So does every other kid in the world. What should I do about it?"
I wasn’t going to back down, so I asked, "Will you teach me?"
He stared at me for some time. I felt like I was being X-rayed. "Nobody can teach anybody to fly," Lester grumbled. "Only experience can do that! But I can show ya how it’s done. But only if. …"
"If what?"
"If you’re willing to work hard enough to learn."
"I am."
"We’ll soon see, won’t we?" Lester turned and began walking away. I stayed rooted, not sure what to do.
He finally turned around and said, "Well, aren’t you coming?"
"Coming where?"
He looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he saw. "Flying for goodness’ sakes. Flying! Isn’t that why you came here?"
The next 40 minutes were crowded. We rattled and bumped across the grass and then climbed toward the clouds. Straight and level. Shallow turns. Climbing. Gliding. Then climbing and gliding turns. He guided me as we eased back toward the runway and didn’t take control until we were crossing the wires strung on poles beside the road. We climbed out. He nodded his head and said, "I guess you’ll do."
I pedaled my bicycle home that day fueled by pure elation.

Like Nephi, I was born to parents who taught me the gospel. My family had scripture study and family prayer daily. I listened as my parents testified of Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, and each principle of the gospel. Because of these experiences, I never doubted that the Church was true.
But at a certain point, despite being taught the gospel and learning from the good examples of my parents, I realized that while I did not doubt the Church was true, I also did not have a burning testimony of its truthfulness. And although I had dreamed of going on a mission my whole life, I knew I would need to know for sure that the gospel was true.
Shortly before turning 18, I started to attend a ward missionary preparation class. I also started to keep a journal.
One day in the missionary preparation class, we had a lesson I will never forget. The subject was “The Book of Mormon—the Heart of Missionary Work.” The teacher showed us a video with young people throughout the world bearing their testimonies of the Book of Mormon and the experience of one young man who was undecided about going on a mission until he asked of God.
The teacher then asked us to bear our testimonies. The Spirit could not be restrained. I realized that the Book of Mormon had blessed my life. However, I also realized I had never prayed and asked God about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon or about Joseph Smith’s First Vision.
Several days later I was reading the Book of Mormon and decided to put Moroni’s promise to the test (see Moroni 10:3–5). I knelt down and poured out my soul to God. I didn’t know how the answer would come or when I would receive it, but I trusted that He would make these things known unto me in His own time.
When I stood up, I felt a desire to write in my journal. I opened my journal and read the last entry, which was from the previous Sunday after my missionary preparation class. When I read my own words, which described how I had felt, a peaceful feeling came over me that took possession of my whole body. With great certainty I felt in my heart the words, “You already know; you already know.”
I knelt down again and thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. I had received an answer that confirmed what I had believed my whole life.
Now I can boldly testify that Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son and that the Book of Mormon is true. Knowing that I knew, I was able to serve full-time in the Peru Piura Mission. On my mission, I saw how the Lord answers the prayers of all those who humbly seek the truth. And for this I will always be grateful.

Bishop Brown’s relationship with his family is one of respect and love, of understood meanings, and of honest and helpful criticism. Joanne, Bishop Brown’s oldest daughter, remembers that when she went to BYU there was a lesson given in her student ward about loving your parents, and the counsel was given to the new students at BYU to write their parents and tell them of their love for them. Joanne said, “In our home we didn’t say I love you, we just loved each other.” But Joanne followed instructions and wrote her father and mother telling them how much she really did love them. When Bishop Brown received that letter he called his daughter immediately. Joanne says she will always remember how touched and grateful her father was for her expression of love to him.

During a drive to amass warm clothing to ship to suffering Saints, Elder Harold B. Lee and Elder Marion G. Romney took President George Albert Smith to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City. They were impressed by the generous response of the membership of the Church to the clothing drive and the preparations for sending the goods overseas. They watched President Smith observing the workers as they packaged this great volume of donated clothing and shoes. They saw tears running down his face. After a few moments, President Smith removed a new overcoat that he had on and said, “Please ship this also.”
The Brethren said to him, “No, President, no; don’t send that; it’s cold and you need your coat.”
But President Smith would not take it back.