Gospel Story Finder

As a new member of the Church, I was taught the importance of gathering family records. I began immediately to keep a journal and research my genealogy. I was surprised and pleased that my parents supported my efforts and showed interest in their heritage. I began to ask them questions about their parents and grandparents.
My father was 71 years old at the time, and his memory of dates and ages wasn’t always accurate. But I learned a lot about his childhood and life experiences. When he passed away two years later, I was so grateful that I had asked him about his life! The little bit of information I received from him was so precious because I was able to research his family’s information and prepare their names for temple work.
With the help of other family members, I also searched for family records. My mother seemed pleased to hear about our heritage, and I believe it softened her heart toward me following my baptism.

Sometimes we need strength because life is hard for us. Christy wanted to memorize the Articles of Faith and earn her Gospel in Action award. It was extra hard for her because she has a disease called cerebral palsy. But Christy had faith the Lord would help her. She listened to the tapes of the Articles of Faith songs over and over. She practiced hard, learned to sing all the songs, and earned her award. Her family and friends were blessed by her good example.

In our home, when the bells first rang, we would sit at our brightly covered table and listen as Father read about the birth of our Lord. Then, as Mother had taught us, we three children laid our small, homemade gifts under the Christmas tree. Everyone was remembered—grandparents, uncles, and aunts. Even the birds got better food, and the dog got sausage.
As the bells rang on Christmas Eve, we would go for a walk. The snow glistened from the Christmas lights; it seemed as though we were walking in a sea of stars. The pine trees in front of all the homes were covered with candles. Carved wooden miners and angels, each holding a candle, peered at us from windows. Christmas displays depicted scenes surrounding the birth of the Christ child: shepherds in the fields, Wise Men coming to worship Him, Jesus resting in the manger, Mary bending over Him, Joseph protecting the small family, donkeys and sheep and shepherds kneeling.
After our walk, we would come home with eyes lit up by the winter night. Inside, we would be greeted by the smell of pine boughs. Cookies Mother had baked would be waiting for us.

In 1897, Elders David O. McKay and Peter G. Johnson were laboring in the town of Stirling, Scotland. They were discouraged because the people were not listening to their message. As they walked along, Elder McKay noticed an inscription above the door of a new building. “Whate’er thou art, act well thy part.” This so impressed these two young men, they decided right then to do their best.
Many years later the building was demolished, but because it had meant so much to President David O. McKay, the stone with the inscription was placed on the grounds of the mission home in Edinburgh. It is affectionately referred to as the “David O. McKay Stone.”

To be honest about it, the seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. More than a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, 15, put their fears into words. “I thought if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, 15, said, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” And Farris Bukhatwa, 17, and Louise Byrne, 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried about the early-morning class. Jenna Gallagher, 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. Of course, her dad is the stake president. But it went beyond supporting dad. This was going to be her first year of seminary. She said, “I used to hear about early-morning seminary in America. I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased when we were told we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then it happened. Things started to work out. Farris got the car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela even agreed to getting up extra early to be ready to leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said that she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett, 18, and Brandt Crowther, 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church members their same ages every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.

Ellen’s friend Lara broke her leg, and it hurt. Ellen and her mom went to the store and bought a coloring book for Lara. Thinking that Jesus Christ would do something more to cheer up her friend, Ellen asked if they could buy some fingernail polish for Lara, too. Ellen was sure that if she painted Lara’s toenails, it would cheer her up while she had to wear the clunky cast. It did. Lara said it tickled when her toenails were painted, and she thinks that Ellen is the best friend she could have.

We had an orchard where all kinds of fruit trees provided much of our living, but it also meant much hard work for little boys. The peaches were large and luscious, and when Ma had filled our pantry with bottles of fruit for the winter, Pa decided we could sell some. I was about twelve and Alice ten, and again we were in business.
I climbed to the tops of the trees and picked the largest, most colorful peaches; Alice put them in the boxes, I piled them neatly in the buggy and drove the long journey of about six miles to Pima, where many of the good women bought the fruit, and we soon headed home. As we counted our nickels and dimes and quarters, we found we had five dollars. It would be Christmas soon, so we excitedly talked about gifts for our large family.
When we got home and gleefully laid our money on the table, Pa reminded us again, “Have you counted out your tithing?” So, of course, we had to skimp a little on some of our planned Christmas gifts. As soon as the sweating mare was back in the pasture, the buggy in the shed, and the boxes stowed away, we went through the orchard and through the fence to the bishop again.
When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

Hans’s family is made up of Hans and his mother. When he was born, his mother was not a member of the Church. But the family she worked for as a housemaid were Latter-day Saints. They asked if they could take the baby to church to receive a blessing.

Although Hans’s mother didn’t want to go, she allowed them to take her baby for the blessing. Hans has attended church ever since. Wherever he and his mother have lived, she has found members to take him to church.

Hans was baptized when he was eight years old and is now preparing to become a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Why didn’t Hans’s mother ever go to church with him? “Because my past was very sad and dark,” she says. “I didn’t understand that Heavenly Father’s love for me was so great. I didn’t know He could forgive me for my mistakes. But Hans was a light leading me to the truth.”

Recently I attended a funeral service for a faithful member of the Church on the remote island of Vava’u in Tonga. This good brother had been loved by the people of his village, and he had the respect of nonmembers as well as Church members.
As the funeral procession left his home and proceeded to the grave site, the whole village followed and finally gathered on a knoll overlooking a peaceful bay. The people clustered around the grave site while the bishop and those participating stood facing the family. I couldn’t help but notice that while many were overcome with sadness and wept during the service, the widow sat peacefully by her beloved husband.
I knew that she had the knowledge of the resurrection and plan of salvation. I later learned that she and her husband had journeyed to the New Zealand Temple and had been sealed together for time and all eternity. In her life, this was not a total calamity but rather a part of God’s plan. There was about her an air of peace and appreciation for the gospel.

In January 1988 I was called as the Relief Society education counselor in my ward in Takapuna, New Zealand. I soon learned that I had much to offer my Relief Society sisters—and even more to gain.
It was so stimulating to teach adults and to feel the spirit of these women, who were struggling in their various circumstances. I realized that the Relief Society lessons were pertinent to every member. Even lessons on marriage and family were based on essential gospel principles that I needed in my life as a single sister. Relief Society was becoming more relevant to me than I had imagined.
However, this calling was only a stepping-stone to what was to come. Eighteen months later, I was listening to the blessing setting me apart as a Relief Society president. I knew there was much work to do to help uplift and strengthen the sisters, many of whom came from cultural and economic backgrounds different from my own. I especially wanted to encourage those sisters who didn’t attend church regularly to come back into full activity and enjoy the fulness of the gospel.
Almost overnight after my setting apart, I felt a confidence I had never possessed before. My compassion increased noticeably. The Lord was truly magnifying my abilities, and I felt that with his help I could accomplish anything he required of me. As I started visiting sisters in their homes, my love for them grew.
I learned patience as I sat beside the elderly and infirm, listening to them talk of their challenges. With tears streaming down her face, one dear sister in her 80s told me how she no longer felt like knitting or crocheting. Every part of her body hurt, and the days and nights were long and sad.
A year later I sat by her hospital bed, holding her withered hand and stroking her thin arm. As she labored for every breath, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to release her from her terrible suffering if that was his will. Many sisters in the ward had helped her feel loved as cancer ravaged her body; we all longed for her to be at peace.
Forty-eight hours later, she breathed her last breath, and we all wept together. We could envision her joy as she entered into a new life of freedom from earthly cares.
As I sat with her that last night, I knew that even in her terrible physical condition, there was still purpose in her life—not only for her personally but also for us. How could we learn to give of our time and love if there were no needy souls?
There were dear sisters in our ward who could no longer see and who relied on others to read to them and keep them informed. There were sisters with hearing loss who couldn’t benefit fully from the lessons and talks given during Sunday meetings. Yet many of them continued to attend, eager for the fellowship and love found within the walls of the meetinghouse.
I learned to give of my time and to feel it was not a sacrifice. Many Saturdays I woke up feeling burdened. How I wanted to take the day off, to stay home and wallow in my own worries and cares! Sometimes the heaviness of heart almost overwhelmed me. But in every case, when I drove up to a hospital or home to visit someone in need, my own worries subsided and the feeling of peace returned. Once again, I was reminded that the Lord greatly blesses us when we sacrifice to reach out to another soul.
I loved the unity I felt among the sisters in my ward. Amid our differences in backgrounds, interests, and cultures, we felt close and united in our love for one another.
I am grateful for the inspiration I received as I sought to meet the needs of others. Ideas flowed, and as I attempted to implement those ideas and prayed for guidance, more light and knowledge came to me. It was a most humbling experience. I felt myself being spiritually stretched and filled.
The greatest experience I had as a Relief Society president was receiving an increase of love beyond anything I had previously experienced. I know that the Lord increased my capacity to love and care, and this feeling has not left me. Never before have I worked so hard and found so much joy in any calling. Relief Society changed my life.

Later in my mission, I served with an agency that provided cultural orientation and English classes for Asian refugees who were planning to settle in the United States. This experience expanded my perspective to include many people who were not of my faith.
After one lesson on how to use and clean household appliances, we had some extra time. I began to drill the students, asking questions through their translator. I would ask, “What is your address?” and they would answer. At one point, the young translator became impatient and began speaking harshly to an old Cambodian woman who could not remember the answer. The woman’s lips began to quiver, her eyes twitched a few times, and then she began to cry. Though I did not know what the translator had said, I could feel the woman’s dejection.
At that moment, I thought of what the Savior would have done if he had been there. I picked up her worn hand. As I held it, she began to tell me through the translator about some of her experiences in Cambodia. Then three other women who were sitting nearby began to cry. Together they told about their children and grandchildren who had starved, and about others who had been taken into the jungle to be killed.
Suffering was all these women had ever known. With little opportunity for education, a Cambodian woman’s sole duty is to manage the home and family. These women had seen their most precious gifts—their families—slaughtered and tortured before their very eyes.
I cried with them, and then I tried to tell them through the translator: “I want you to know how much I love you. I know I can never completely understand how much you have suffered. But with all my heart I know that someday you will have peace, and all the things you never have possessed will be given to you.”
After class, I couldn’t wait to get home to ask the Lord: “When will all the peoples of the world be able to be fully of one mind and one heart, with no poor among us?” I picked up my scriptures and found the word poor in the concordance. Two scriptures I had always loved now comforted me: “Therefore, let your hearts be comforted concerning Zion; for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God.” (D&C 101:16.) And the more well-known scripture, “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.” (Moses 7:18.)
The Spirit poured into my soul. My students and I had neither language nor faith in common. But my whole desire was to be one with those women and all the others who are poor in worldly possessions, yet so rich in purity and meekness.
I will never forget that day. It taught me what serving the Master really means—a reciprocal exchange in loving and learning from those we serve.

Vitaly Yemtsov served in the Soviet army on the East German side of the Berlin Wall in 1988. “I had a normal childhood,” Brother Yemtsov says, “but when I lived in Germany, I saw how families suffered under a foreign government. I felt bad for them. Soldiers often treated them harshly. After that experience, I wanted to have a better family life than those I saw, better even than the family in which I grew up.”
After his service in the army, Vitaly Yemtsov and a childhood friend became dissatisfied with the spiritual emptiness they felt and dedicated themselves to finding the truth. Both quickly accepted the restored gospel just months after the Church was introduced in Kharkov. “When I met the missionaries, I finally found spiritual food, especially for the family,” he says. “I found what is lacking all around us.”
However, faith does not free Brother Yemtsov and his wife, Lyudmila, from the family-threatening pressures and challenges of life. Within 18 months, both left well-paying jobs that required too much sacrifice of family time. Both found new jobs offering comparable salaries. Even so, everyday life often makes it difficult to focus on the family. Brother Yemtsov works nine hours a day, six days a week painting and repairing cars. Sister Yemtsova until recently worked as a warehouse manager. She now works at a care center for the elderly. In addition, Vitaly serves as branch president and as an institute teacher, and Lyudmila is district Young Women president.
Like others in their country, the Yemtsovs continually face challenges stemming from influences that subtly work against the family. Brother Yemtsov often feels isolated at work as the only employee who neither smokes nor drinks. “Everyone was surprised when I told them that I don’t do any of that,” he says. “Some considered me crazy in the beginning. Most respect me for it though.”
Alcoholism is a serious problem in Ukraine; some people do not know anyone who does not drink. Smoking is almost as widespread, especially among youth. Pornographic images are visible on advertisements and are for sale on almost any street corner.
“There is temptation everywhere,” says Sister Yemtsova. “Satan works diligently here. But the Spirit works diligently too. We find that it is not just how much time we spend together as a family but also what we do during that time that is important. And we make it a priority to do things that strengthen our bond.” For example, they say that family prayer and scripture study have become crucial, daily reminders of the importance of family happiness.
“The Lord said, ‘Stand ye in holy places,’” says Brother Yemtsov (D&C 87:8). “We try to make our home our own holy place so time spent together here will bring us closer.”

There are other ways, as well, by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.

There are different shades of truth telling. When we tell little white lies, we become progressively color-blind. It is better to remain silent than to mislead. The degree to which each of us tells the whole truth and nothing but the truth depends on our conscience. David Casstevens of the Dallas Morning News tells a story about Frank Szymanski, a Notre Dame center in the 1940s, who had been called as a witness in a civil suit at South Bend [Indiana].
“‘Are you on the Notre Dame football team this year?’ the judge asked.
“‘Yes, Your Honor.’
“‘What position?’
“‘Center, Your Honor.’
“‘How good a center?’
“Szymanski squirmed in his seat, but said firmly, ‘Sir, I’m the best center Notre Dame has ever had.’
“Coach Frank Leahy, who was in the courtroom, was surprised. Szymanski always had been modest and unassuming. So when the proceedings were over, he took Szymanski aside and asked why he had made such a statement. Szymanski blushed. ‘I hated to do it, Coach,’ he said. ‘But, after all, I was under oath.’”

Matt: Mom, my throat hurts really bad!
Mom: I know, dear. I’m sorry. It will get better.
Matt: You don’t know! Nobody knows how bad it hurts!
Mom: Well, that’s not quite true. Jesus knows because when He suffered for our sins, He also suffered our pain and sorrow.
Matt: Every bit of it?
Mom: Every bit.
Matt: For everybody?
Mom: For every single person who ever lived or ever will live in the whole world.
Matt: How?
Mom: I don’t know all the hows. But I know that He did it because He loves us, and that His love is stronger than pain or even death.
Matt: I can’t love that big, but I love Him too.
Mom: So do I.

Pete Penguin had lived in the zoo all his life. It was a nice place to live. There were flat rocks warmed by the sun, a pool with a sloped back to slide on, and lots of people who came to see the penguins.
Pete liked the visitors. Every morning he groomed his black and white feathers so that he would look beautiful when the visitors came.
“Isn’t he pretty?” people said as Pete strutted by.
Pete never tired of their admiring words. He was very proud.
One day, as he was showing off for the visitors, Pete heard two children giggling. Why are they laughing? he wondered as he moved closer to the fence of his pen.
“Look at him,” a girl cried. “Doesn’t he look funny?” She pointed at Pete.
“He looks like a little old man in a suit,” a boy said, and they both broke into peals of laughter.
“All he needs is a tie,” the girl said, still giggling.
“Silly bird!”
The children moved on toward the lion’s cage, and Pete watched them go. He looked at the other penguins and studied their white breast feathers and sleek black coats. No one had ever laughed before at the way he looked.
We do look silly, he decided. Walking away from the fence, Pete sat in the shadows where no one could see him. He watched the other penguins strut past the visitors. I’ll never act like that again, he thought.
Pete wanted to hide, but even in the shade, his white breast feathers glistened. Finally he waddled to the edge of a pool where there was lots of gooey brown mud. He sat in the mud and used his short wings to splash it all over his white feathers.
“What are you doing, Pete?”
Pete looked up at his friend Paul. “I’m covering myself with mud.”
“Why?”
“Because we look like silly little old men in suits.”
Paul shook his head. “You look awful,” he said and walked away.
But no one will laugh at me now, Pete thought.
Every day, while the other penguins groomed their feathers, Pete covered himself with a new layer of mud. No one laughed at him, but Pete didn’t feel better. In fact, he felt awful. When visitors came, he huddled in a corner.
“Come on, Pete,” Paul called. “Let’s play water tag.”
Pete just shook his head, and soon even Paul left him alone.
One morning, as Pete huddled behind a rock, he heard someone say, “Look at that bird over there. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s all dirty.”
“He doesn’t even look like a penguin.”
“I guess he doesn’t like himself very much.”
The voices faded away, and Pete thought for a long time about what they’d said.
That afternoon Pete went to the pond and slid down the bank into the cool water. He splashed and swam and splashed some more until all the mud was gone. Then he climbed onto a rock and groomed himself.
“You look great,” Paul said as he passed the rock. “But aren’t you afraid you’ll look silly?”
Pete put one more feather in place, then looked at his friend and said, “I discovered that it’s not what other people think of me that makes me feel good. It’s what I think of myself.”

My heart sank to the very bottom of my shoes. The words didn’t register at first, with my head pounding so hard. “What was that?” I stammered, all the while looking for an explanation.
“I said, did you cheat, Robbie?” The question came from one of my best friends, Darla. We’d grown up together and were now in our junior year of high school. Over the years we’d always talked about everything, but at this moment she was the last person in the world I wanted to talk to.
The day had started harmlessly enough. I got up, got dressed, went to school—all the usual things. Eventually it was time for French class to start. I’d forgotten it was a test day. I groaned inwardly as our teacher passed around the exams.
“Now class,” she said, “I have some things to do, but I expect you all to be finished when I get back.” With that, she left the classroom. Everyone in the class was silent as we struggled to pull knowledge from the dark recesses of our brains. It wasn’t working for me.
After some time, two friends sitting next to me glanced up from their papers and looked around. Josh and Justin, two guys I had always admired and wanted approval from, started comparing answers. They whispered back and forth, silently chuckling as they went through the questions.
Then it happened. Justin turned to me and asked, “What did you get for number six?” Almost without thinking, I started sharing my answers with them. An empty, guilty feeling lined my stomach, but I ignored it. I laughed along with them, pretending to be happy I had outsmarted the teacher and was going to get a good grade without studying.
After some time the teacher came back and collected the tests. She gave us some busy work and left the classroom again. Everyone started talking about the test they had just endured. Most of the class members weren’t very happy with how they had done, but Justin and Josh wore big smiles.
“I think we did just fine, didn’t we guys?” Josh said smugly. Justin laughed and nodded in agreement.
“What do you mean?” one of the other students asked.
“Oh, just that Justin, Rob, and I here pooled our resources. That test was a breeze with three doing it together!” The others didn’t say much but gave us dark looks and went back to their work. That is, all but one went back to it.
There I was, Darla in front of me, her question aimed right at my heart. What could I tell her? I had cheated on a lousy French exam just to please my friends. I could see the look on her face, as if she didn’t want to believe the possible answer. I respected Darla more than almost anyone. She wasn’t a member of the Church but was active in her church and had strong values. She knew I was a member of the Church and respected that. We agreed on a lot of issues and found strength in each other’s desire to do good. Usually.
“Yeah,” was all I could say, lamely.
“Oh, Robbie,” was all she said as she turned back to her work. I can’t describe how much the disappointment in her voice and on her face hurt me. I had compromised my standards just to fit in with a couple of guys and ended up disappointing someone I really admired. Guilt washed over me. I kept thinking I had hurt the image of the Church in her eyes. I apologized to her for what I’d done and talked to the teacher afterwards. She wasn’t pleased either, but we worked things out.
I’ll never forget that day. I now know it isn’t worth compromising your values just to please other people. Since then I’ve tried to be honest and am much happier with myself. Thankfully, I can say I haven’t repeated that mistake again. I’ve felt the difference in doing what’s popular and in doing what’s right, and I know what makes me happy.

Upholding the standards of the Church is a daily goal for Sister Hermin of the Djakarta Selatan Branch, who has had to support her three boys alone. She was an inactive member of a Protestant church when a Latter-day Saint relative asked her if she would like to hear the gospel message.

“Her question reminded me of something that had happened ten years earlier when I was twenty years old,” says Sister Hermin. “I had asked my mother then where I could learn of the gospel of Jesus Christ. My mother had told me to be patient because the day would come, she said, when one or two people would come to my home to teach me the gospel.

“I was baptized a member of the Church in December 1985, three months after I first met the missionaries. I was married by then and had one son, Mindo. He and my husband later joined the Church.”

Eventually, a second son, Nando, was born, who joined the Church when he was old enough. Their third child, a daughter, died when she was a year old.

Losing a struggle with alcohol, Sister Hermin’s husband was unable to support his family and fell away from the Church. Sister Hermin became the family provider by selling watermelon from a street cart—something she still does. Her husband died in 1989, while she was expecting their third son, Martin.

With her three boys, she lives in a small, two-room shack sandwiched between some dilapidated shops at the edge of a busy road. She supplements her income by renting out her small home in another part of the neighborhood.

Striving to make the shack livable and a haven from the noisy world outside is a challenge. Once, a section of the shack collapsed, but her branch president helped her make repairs.

“The branch members are always available to help me if I need it,” she says. “But my greatest help comes from being active in the Church. I enjoy the lesson material, and I appreciate the spiritual education that the boys receive. My boys have been through some hard times, but their attitude toward life is good because of our activity in the Church. And family home evening isn’t just one day a week with us. We get together almost every night and read the scriptures and sing together.

“I know from experience that whenever I feel sad or troubled, if I read the scriptures and sing some hymns, my burden will be lifted, and I will be happy again.”

On 28 January 1988, I was given a Book of Mormon by missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On opening the book for the first time, I saw a scripture with the name Jehovah (2 Nephi 22:2). I knew, from a spiritual experience in 1973, that my God was Jehovah. I was passed a scripture to read about the stick of Judah and the stick of Joseph (Ezekiel 37:19) and was asked if I was familiar with it. I laughed inwardly, for I had known this scripture for ten years, but had no idea what it meant.
I had been searching for a church to belong to for ten years and was desperate to sing and worship with others. I had been a member of the Presbyterian church for most of my life. In March 1974, at the age of 32, I was baptised at an assembly of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I finally left that organisation in 1978. Before I left, I quoted the scripture in Ezekiel 37:19 to an Elder, not knowing what it meant. I felt that I was seeking another stick. I believed that the prophecies of Joel (Joel 2:28) and Malachi (Malachi 4:5) would be fulfilled, and that the gifts of the Spirit, spoken of by Joel, had not ceased. A scripture in Ezekiel 16:8, that it was the time of love, confirmed to me that the Lord had brought me to his people: a prepared people with a prophet and apostles.
On 22 February 1988, I rang the missionaries and told them that the Book of Mormon was inspired scripture. I had found a pearl. The power of the Holy Ghost was strong.

The first, Brent, grew up attending church and hearing daily sermonettes in his home on gospel subjects. In spite of this, he was deeply unhappy. He felt that he was fenced in by commandments and restrictions, supposedly imposed by God to dictate what he should not do, what he was forbidden to enjoy, and even what he must not think. Only a motivation to succeed, to have status in others’ eyes, kept him going in the Church. But “doing the right thing for the wrong reasons” brought him no happiness. He didn’t feel free.
He therefore began to seek happiness outside the Church. He discovered the “new morality” and became convinced that any suppression of or restriction upon his physical urges was wrong, that every commandment was a curse on life, that subscribing to religious and moral prescriptions was a way of hating one’s own body and the desires that affect it.
Tragically, supposing that all Church members obeyed the commandments for the same reasons he once did—out of selfishness or fear—he called them hypocritical and unloving. He told me that abandoning himself in total response to every physical desire was bringing him the first happiness he had ever known. Yet, even as he told me this, it was clear that his first exciting taste of what appeared to him to be freedom would turn bitter on his tongue. And I have learned since that, though it provided a momentary titillation of his senses, it is bringing him no peace. On the contrary, though he has tried to escape the guilt of disobeying the commandments by pretending that they are foolishness, that guilt is returning now to haunt him as never before.
What happened to Brent? Why did he leave the Church in order to find love, honesty, freedom, and happiness, the very blessings that others find in the Church? I think the answer is this: Even though Brent heard constant sermonizing in church and at home, he apparently never experienced much of the Spirit of God or tasted the joys of the gospel. Though bludgeoned all his life with words, he hadn’t felt the love and warmth that are fruits of the gospel. The words were merely meant to describe it. The words without the experiences were meaningless. Hence, when finally he encountered a way of life that promised to remove the restrictions that had condemned him and that he hoped would sweep away his guilt, his life in the Church seemed like a dingy black-and-white movie—the lamp of the projector being nearly burnt out—when compared with the technicolor of this alluring new way of life. The only version of the gospel he could compare to the luridly colorful worldliness that enticed him was pale and meaningless. Given these alternatives, how else could he have chosen?
Brent had never really tasted of the gospel; he had only heard descriptions of it. A man can learn all there is to know about water, that it is composed of molecules made up of two atoms of hydrogen and one of oxygen bonded together by a certain kind of chemical bond, and so on; but no matter how much he knows about it, unless he drinks of it he will die. So with Brent: he has never tasted the waters of life. And now he is headed on a collision course toward certain disaster, tragically, not knowing that he is.