Gospel Story Finder

I sat in this tabernacle some years ago as President Joseph Fielding Smith stood at this pulpit. It was the general priesthood meeting, the last general conference before President Smith passed away. He said: “There is one thing which we should have exceedingly clear in our minds. Neither the President of the Church, nor the First Presidency, nor the united voice of the First Presidency and the Twelve will ever lead the Saints astray or send forth counsel to the world that is contrary to the mind and will of the Lord.”
There came to me that evening a witness of the Spirit that he spoke the truth. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and assurance that the Lord loved us and would not leave us without direction.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in the Diala ward in the Kolwezi Stake. I would like to share my testimony dating back to my years of secondary school when I admired a young couple who apparently lived in happiness. After beginning my university studies, I made the decision to get married before completing them, and today I’m blessed with a happy family.
The motivation behind this decision is based on the belief that the best place to nurture light and truth is in our home. The family is regarded as the Lord’s workshop where we learn and live the gospel. Each family member has a sacred duty to help strengthen others spiritually. Eternal families and homes filled with the Spirit don’t just happen by chance! They require substantial efforts, time, and the participation of each member.
Although each home is unique, it is essential that everyone seeks the truth to help make a difference. Today, my greatest joy is that my family and I have been sealed in the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple for time and for all eternity. We express our gratitude to God, our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ, for the blessings bestowed upon us. Our marriage is a success, and we strongly believe that anything can happen except separation. The Mutobola family remains grateful and united.

Just three months after James Boyd Martino joined the Church in 1968, a friend invited him to meet with a minister of another faith. The minister bombarded him with questions, only a few of which he could answer.
Although the experience shook him, 17-year-old James didn’t let the minister deter him—or his commitment to the Church. Rather, he says, “my testimony then was like a prescription medicine that has to be shaken to be effective. The experience motivated me to study the gospel and grow in my faith.”
Elder Martino, recently called as a member of the Second Quorum of the Seventy, says that studying the gospel has blessed him ever since that time.

Kristin bounced gently on her toes, bending forward, eyes narrowed. She jerked a little as Shannon, the tall, dark-haired girl on the other side of the net, tossed the tennis ball high and hit it with all her might. The ball went into the net, and Kristin relaxed, but only for an instant. She had to be ready for the second serve.
Kristin was moving as soon as Shannon’s racket hit the ball. This serve was good. It bounced just inside the outside corner of the service line. Stretching as she ran, Kristin managed to reach it with her backhand and return it low across the net.
Shannon, not expecting Kristin to return the serve, had relaxed. The ball passed her and landed on the baseline. Kristin smiled with satisfaction.
“Out,” Shannon called.
There was a murmur from the spectators lounging on the grassy slope under the shade of a cottonwood tree.
Kristin stared at her. “What?” she questioned, her satisfaction turning to disbelief. It was an important point because if Kristin lost it, Shannon would win the second set.
“It was out,” Shannon repeated. “My game and set.”
The girls went to benches on opposite sides of the court for a short break before the third set.
Kristin reached for her water jug and took several cool swallows before sloshing some water onto a towel. She pushed back her damp brown curls and wiped her face and neck, then glanced toward the small group of spectators. Her mom and dad waved.
“Hang in there!” Dad called.
She waved back and smiled, closed her eyes, and tried to relax. But her thoughts weren’t restful. She and Shannon were playing the final match in the Pineview Junior Championship for twelve year olds. The winner would receive a new tennis racket, and Shannon had told all her friends that her mom had promised her a new tennis outfit, too, if she won.
Kristin’s dad had just smiled and shaken his head when she’d suggested that he might do the same for her. “No, Kris,” he had said seriously. “We wouldn’t want to make the stakes so high that you lose sight of the game. You just do the best that you can, as you always do, and have a good time, as you always do.”
“But, Dad—”
He had interrupted her protest with a hug. “If you don’t enjoy the game, don’t play it. I’m not going to bribe you.”
“Oh, Dad!” She had been annoyed and a little angry. Why can’t my parents be more like Shannon’s? she wondered.
Kristin loved playing tennis, and she enjoyed playing against someone good, like Shannon, because she knew that it brought out the best in her own game. But she wanted it to be a fair contest. Earlier in the match, she’d thought that Shannon had made a bad call, but it was hard to tell from across the court, so she had shrugged it off. This last point, though, she knew was good, and the spectators knew it too! Still, it’s a player’s responsibility to make the calls unless there are linesmen at courtside. But that had really been an important point—especially for Shannon. Since Kristin had won the first set, if she had won the second, the match would have been over. This way, Shannon still had a chance.
Instead of relaxing, Kristin was getting angrier just thinking about that last point.
“Ready?” Shannon called.
Kristin nodded, and they returned to the court.
As with the first two sets, the third one was close. The girls fought for every point, and neither could get a comfortable lead. With the game score at 3–3, Kristin hit a hard drive toward the baseline that looked good to her. Shannon called it out. The anger that had been building up since the rest break made Kristin so careless that she muffed the next two points, giving Shannon a comfortable lead on that game.
As she bounced the ball and prepared to serve for the next point, Kristin looked at Shannon. Shannon was looking nervous but pleased.
Kristin thought about Shannon’s expression as she bounced the ball one last time before serving. It was another hard-fought point. But the game ended when Shannon skimmed one over the net at a difficult-to-retrieve angle. Kristin scrambled for the ball but couldn’t get to it. The ball landed right on the line at a place where it was difficult for Shannon to see. Kristin, still angry, had raised her hand to signal it out, when suddenly she understood what her dad had meant about losing sight of the game. She also understood that look on Shannon’s face.
Tennis rules state that if a ball touches a line, the shot is good. If there’s a question about the shot, the players’ code of sportsmanlike behavior says to let the questioning opponent have the point.
“Your point,” Kristin called. The point made it Shannon’s game for a score of 4–3.
Surprisingly relaxed now, as though some important crisis were over, Kristin enjoyed the rest of the match, even though Shannon made another questionable call.
It was close all the way, but after three long sets, Shannon drove home the match point with a beautiful passing shot. She had won the championship. And the new racket. And the new tennis outfit.
The girls met at the net to shake hands.
“Good match,” Shannon said automatically.
“Yes. I always learn a lot when I play against you,” Kristin told her. “I hope you enjoy your new stuff. See you later.”
“Thanks.” Shannon looked a little embarrassed.
Kristin turned away to see her parents waiting at the edge of the court.
“You played very well,” her mother said.
“Tough loss, Kris,” said her dad, “but you played like a champ.”
They walked away arm in arm. Kristin looked back at Shannon, who was walking to the tournament desk to report her win.
“You know, I feel like a champ,” Kristin said. “Thanks, Dad.”

When Sydney was three, her parents noticed changes in her behavior. Among other things, she was extremely thirsty, moody, and fatigued. One day she slept for 22 hours, waking up only for moments before falling back asleep. Her parents knew something was wrong and took her to a doctor the next morning. The doctor said she was on the verge of a diabetic coma and was lucky she came in that day. Sydney and her parents now recognize that the timing was more than luck; it was a blessing.

BOOM! BOOM!
It was three o’clock in the morning, and the city was being bombed. One minute Grace had been asleep in her bed, and the next, Dad was telling everyone to get under cover. Now Grace was huddled under the kitchen table with her dad, mom, and younger brothers, Heber and Alvin. She could hear the rumble of explosions and glass shattering outside. It was so loud!
“What’s going to happen to us?” Grace asked Dad.
Dad stroked her hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But let’s say a prayer.”
The Vlam family held each other close.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Dad prayed, “please keep our family safe.”
After a while, the noise quieted down. There were no more explosions. They were safe!
Mom took Grace’s hand and smiled at her. “Remember when we were sealed in the temple?”
Grace nodded. When they had moved from Indonesia to Holland, they were able to stop in Utah and be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple.
“Whatever happens, God will take care of our family,” Mom said.
The next day, Grace heard air-raid sirens when she was outside on the city plaza. She looked up and saw planes above her head, with little black things falling from them. She stood there, staring, her mouth wide open.
A man started shouting at her. “Run! Those are bombs!”
Grace raced home, her heart pounding as she finally made it safely through the front door.
A few days later, the Nazis—who were the government leaders of Germany—officially took over Holland. Sometimes they took people who had been military officers as prisoners. Because Dad had been an officer in the Dutch military, the Nazi officers watched him carefully.
“But that won’t happen to Dad,” Grace thought. “We’re members of the Church, and Dad is a leader in the mission presidency. God will protect him.”
After the bombings, the Vlam family had to leave their city. One day at her new school, Grace heard other students whispering.
“Some people were taken prisoner today!”
“Will they ever come back?”
Grace was scared. Was Dad OK? She ran home as fast she could. As she burst through the door, she saw Mom in the hallway.
“Is it true?” Grace asked. “Is Dad gone?”
Mom didn’t say anything, but Grace knew from Mom’s sad eyes that Dad had been taken away. He was a prisoner of war. Grace leaned against the wall. She was too afraid to even cry.
“What do we do now?” she thought.
At that moment, Grace heard a voice say, “You will see your father again.” The voice was calm and clear. Grace knew it was the voice of the Holy Ghost. It made her feel a little better.
She didn’t know exactly what would happen, but she did know that Heavenly Father would take care of her and her family.
To be continued …

When I was little and learning to read, it was really hard. But with my mom’s and Heavenly Father’s help, I learned to read. My best friend, Renzo, was also having a hard time learning to read.
One day I told him that I would give him a secret to help him learn to read because it worked for me. We went into the schoolyard. I taught Renzo how to pray, and he said a prayer to Heavenly Father, asking for help.
At the end of the school year, both Renzo and I received a medal of honor in reading because of Heavenly Father’s help. I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

“Liz, I’m selling walnuts so you need to sell something else,” Abby said to her older sister. “And hurry. We’re meeting Hannah and Zack in five minutes!” Abby continued picking up walnuts that had fallen from the walnut trees in their yard.
Liz loved to play store with her neighbors, but today she couldn’t think of anything to sell. She grabbed her bike and headed down the street. She saw Hannah and Zack setting up their stores under some trees in front of their house. Hannah handed Liz some leaves from the trees. “We each get 20 leaves to spend,” she said.
“What are you selling?” Liz asked.
“Mom let me have some granola bars to sell, and Zack got some aloe vera leaves from our backyard,” Hannah said.
“What are you selling, Liz?” Zack asked.
Liz bit her lip. “It’s a surprise.”
Liz rode her bike around their neighborhood looking for something to sell. Her neighbors, the Bakers, had a beautiful tangerine tree in their front yard, and the tangerines looked delicious. Liz noticed that their car wasn’t in the driveway. She hurried to the tree and filled her pockets with tangerines. As she picked them she smelled their tangy-sweet scent. Liz rode back to her friends and piled the tangerines next to Abby’s walnuts.
“Those look yummy!” Abby said. “How much?”
“Five leaves each.”
“I’ll take two.”
Liz handed Abby two tangerines and added the ten leaves Abby handed her to her own. Now she had 30 leaves! She went to Hannah’s store to buy a granola bar. They cost 15 leaves each.
“I’ll take one.” Liz handed Hannah the leaves.
“Where did you get so many leaves?” Hannah asked. “Did you cheat and take them from the trees?”
“No, I sold some tangerines to Abby,” Liz said.
“Really? How much for the tangerines?”
“Five leaves each.”
“We’ll be right over,” Hannah said.
Liz sold six more tangerines to Hannah and Zack. She had never earned so many leaves when they played store! She was able to buy five walnuts from Abby, an aloe vera leaf from Zack, and another granola bar from Hannah. Plus she ate a tangerine. It was juicy and sweet.
Liz saw the Bakers drive their car into the driveway, right next to the tangerine tree. Liz tried to hide her pile of tangerines.
“Liz, did you take those tangerines without asking?” Abby asked.
“No. It’s not stealing if they don’t care, Abby. They have lots of tangerines,” Liz said. But she was scared her neighbors would see the tangerines she had picked. Would they be angry with her?
“We should give them back,” Abby said.
Liz bit her lip. “How? We already ate them.”
Abby thought for a moment. “We can give them some of the walnuts from our tree.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Liz put her hands on her hips. “And don’t tell me what to do, Abby. You’re only five.”
Tears came to Abby’s eyes, and Liz felt bad. Abby was right, but she was scared to tell her neighbors she had taken their tangerines. “Will you come with me, Abby?”
Abby nodded, and the girls gathered up some walnuts to give to the Bakers. Liz went to the front door and knocked timidly. Mrs. Baker answered the door.
“Hi,” Liz said, holding out the walnuts. “We brought these for you.”
Mrs. Baker smiled. “Thank you, girls! What nice neighbors you are!”
Liz looked at the ground. “We brought them because I took some tangerines from your tree while you were gone. I didn’t have anything to sell for our game, and they looked so good.” Liz felt her lips tremble. She didn’t want Mrs. Baker to yell at her. “I’m really sorry.”
“That’s OK,” Mrs. Baker said.
Liz looked up in surprise. Mrs. Baker didn’t even seem angry.
“We don’t eat many tangerines anyway. You can have as many as you want, as long as you ask first.” Mrs. Baker smiled at the girls.
“Thanks, Mrs. Baker!” Liz declared.
She put her arm around Abby as they walked home. “You know what, Abby? You’re a great little sister.” Liz felt good for telling the truth and giving Mrs. Baker walnuts to make up for the tangerines. She looked forward to eating more delicious tangerines from the Bakers’ tree. After asking first, of course.

Not long ago I had the opportunity to fly in a small plane. As we were preparing to board, one of the passengers asked the pilot at what altitude we would be flying. He indicated that we would be flying at 9,500 feet (2,900 m). He said, “That will get us just above the clouds.” Then he explained, “If we fly below the clouds, the ride will be fairly rocky. However, if we can get through the clouds and up on top, we will have a much smoother ride.”
It was a concept that proved prophetic. For us in that airplane, it took a little bit more effort, a little bit more fuel, and a little turbulence to get through the clouds. However, once we were above the turbulence, the ride was, for the most part, smooth sailing. Although there was some brief turbulence and the need for the pilot to always be mindful of the flight conditions, the flight was much more comfortable.
Later I thought about the pilot’s words: “If we can get through the clouds and up on top, we will have a much smoother ride.” I thought about how much that applies to life itself. As we live in a mortal existence, there is much of the ugly and the base and the evil that we have to move above if we are to live the life of a Latter-day Saint. Then we can have the Spirit with us and feel the peace that is there for us to enjoy. It takes effort, it takes willpower, it takes courage, and it takes making correct choices for us to get above the turbulence around us. That turbulence includes the filth that surrounds us in the media. It includes discouragement, despair, and all the challenges of the “natural man” (Mosiah 3:19).

Several years ago I heard a popular song that contained the line “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.” My immediate reaction to these words was anger. The next day I heard the song again, and I laughed at myself because I had come to understand why the line had made me so angry. It was because it appeared to be true!
When I was in elementary school, my parents made me go to church on Sunday while others went to the movies. In junior high school, I collected fast offerings while others slept till noon. In high school, I didn’t work on Sunday and earn double pay at a grocery store. Instead, I kept the Sabbath day holy. During my mission I walked down the streets on Saturday nights with my companion while others our age drove past us with their dates, laughing, pointing, and asking, “Who are those strange people?”
As a young married couple, my wife and I attended church with our restless children. On Super Bowl Sunday—the biggest championship football day of the year—while the rest of the world ate, drank, and cheered, we tried to encourage our children to listen to the words of a member of the stake high council. At other times, while traveling in our old, worn-out car we would pull up to a stop light alongside a luxurious automobile. The occupants, with their socially acceptable number of children dressed in the most fashionable clothing, would look down on my six children, dressed in their second-hand clothes purchased at a discount store.
I felt most frustrated last year when my college-age children persuaded me to attend a concert at Brigham Young University; when the singer announced the song from which this line is taken, he said, “I’m not trying to convert anyone; I just want to provide you with an alternative.” I wanted to run to the stage, grab the microphone, and give my opinion on the subject. Of course this would have horrified my children so I controlled myself.

Kate Bateman, a Canadian and friend of the Church, arrived in the Dominican Republic as a visitor too, but upon losing her documents on the beach, she ended up staying longer than planned. The community cared for Kate in her time of need and the bond that was forged prompted her to return to Puerto Plata with suitcases full of school supplies. When the children saw the supplies, they naturally thought she was their teacher, so that is who she became. Joined by Sister Zobell, the Palmers, the Giles and others, her school was expanded, and more children were served.

Three weeks ago I was in New York City awaiting a flight to Europe. An employee of the airline left her place at the desk and came to where I was sitting.
“Two of my nephews have joined your Church,” she told me. “I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.” In our brief conversation I asked how her sister felt about her sons joining the Church.
“She couldn’t be happier,” she said, and explained how the family had had real reason to be worried about the young men. They were two of the wanderers that President Tanner has spoken about. “You wouldn’t believe how they’ve changed,” she said. “They’ve cut their hair and the whole bit,” as she put it.
Later, as I left to board the plane, she thanked me again and said, “I don’t know how you do it.”

This opportunity finally presented itself. We did not have a native speaker in our English class one year. I asked my classmates if it was a good idea to invite the missionaries. Then I asked the missionaries if they were allowed to come to schools. And finally I asked my English professor if they could come. I passed out a list on which everyone wrote what she would like the missionaries to talk about. I was amazed to see that the majority wanted to know why they had decided to go on missions, what kind of work they were doing, and how our Church differed from other churches.
Elder Allen and Elder Jones came to class and took most of the class period talking about the Church. It was awesome! After they left, I was bombarded with even more questions.
That year I was no longer the only member of the Church in my school. Because of two of my Latter-day Saint friends who began attending the school, the song “A Child’s Prayer” (Children’s Songbook, 12–13) is now part of the music teacher’s repertoire.
It was not as difficult as I expected to talk about the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for His Son, Jesus Christ, and for His wonderful gospel. I am also grateful for every opportunity to share my testimony by the Holy Spirit.

At age 54, before he was called as a General Authority, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting in which President Spencer W. Kimball challenged attendees to “be of service to the Chinese” and “learn their language.”
Although he was a busy heart surgeon at the time, President Nelson took this counsel to heart. He found a tutor to help him learn the Mandarin language.
It wasn’t long before President Nelson found himself sitting next to a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai, at a medical convention. Because of his Chinese language studies, President Nelson was able to have a conversation with Dr. Wu. From there, the two doctors formed a lasting friendship and even visited each other’s countries.
President Nelson’s goal to learn Mandarin led to positive exchanges with China, as President Kimball had hoped for. After he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Nelson even performed his last heart surgery on China’s most famous opera singer by special request.

My natural mother, Irene, was unknown to me; she died from a serious infection in 1946 caused by inadequately clean medical instruments. I was 8 months old at the time, so the key consequence for me was the loss of that physical bond so essential to an infant in their early years. I was the fourth child, so very fortunately there were older siblings who had some memories of Irene; and even more fortunate was the connection I made with Shirley, the dear lifetime friend of my oldest sibling, Gwen, who fondly recalled her memories of my mother.
Shirley would often visit our home in Hayes, within a stone’s throw of her own home. She always remembered the very kind lady that was my mother. This connection with Shirley was made when I was in my fifties, and fortunately well before Gwen passed away in her late 70s — this long-distance friendship between Shirley in England and Gwen in Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, was crucial to me in becoming better acquainted with my early departed mother.

I know those things by the only way any of us can know them. The Holy Ghost has spoken to my mind and heart that they are true—not just once but often. I have needed that continuing comfort. We all experience tragedy during which we need the reassurance of the Spirit. I felt it one day as I stood with my father in a hospital. We watched my mother take a few shallow breaths—and then no more. As we looked on her face, she was smiling as the pain left. After a few silent moments, my father spoke first. He said, “A little girl has gone home.”
He said it softly. He seemed to be at peace. He was reporting something he knew was true. He quietly began to gather Mother’s personal things. He went out into the hospital hallway to thank each of the nurses and doctors who had ministered to her for days.
My father had the companionship of the Holy Ghost at that moment to feel, to know, and to do what he did that day. He had received the promise, as many have: “That they may have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:79).

One day Rosella and I were sitting next to each other during music class. We were practicing songs for the spring program when the intercom crackled and the principal’s voice asked the music teacher to please come to the office. The teacher told everyone to behave. He said he would be back in a minute, but he was gone a long time.
Some of the boys in the class began throwing wads of paper at the trash can on the other side of the room. Soon the floor was littered with paper.
One of the boys who was throwing paper looked at a boy named Alan and said, “Alan, look at that mess you made. You’d better go pick up those papers.”
Alan hadn’t thrown any paper at all, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded, got up from his chair, and began picking up the paper. It took him a long time because he picked up one wad at a time. Alan had crooked glasses, and his hair stood up in tufts all over his head. Something happened when he was born, and he didn’t get enough oxygen. Because of that he had a hard time learning. Sometimes he tripped or made mistakes. But he wanted to be friends with everyone, and he smiled a lot.
After Alan had picked up all the paper, he walked back to his chair. The other boys were all grinning. When Alan turned to sit down, one of them reached over and yanked the chair out from under him. Alan sat down on the floor. Hard. You could see it hurt him because tears came to his eyes. But when the boys all started laughing, Alan tried to laugh too.
The next thing I knew, Rosella was standing up. She marched across the room and stood in front of those boys, glaring at them. Then she reached out her hand and helped Alan get into his chair. The whole class was silent. She asked Alan if he was hurt, and he shook his head. Then she put her hands on her hips. “Being mean to people is a really chicken way of trying to be funny,” she told the boys.
They just looked at her. She didn’t sound mean or angry, but everyone knew she meant it.
Then Rosella turned around and walked back to her chair. The class was dead quiet. I wondered what the boys would do. They usually didn’t like being told what to do, especially by a girl. I kept hoping the teacher would come back before anything else happened. Then one of the boys looked over at Alan. “Sorry we yanked your chair,” he said.
Alan folded his hands together and smiled big. “It’s OK. I have friends.” He looked over at Rosella.
Just then the teacher walked in. No one said anything about the paper, and class continued as usual. When Rosella picked up her music, I could see that her hands were shaking, but she had a quiet look on her face.
Our class began practicing. I could hear the piano playing and the class singing, but I was thinking about Rosella. I was thinking about how she stood up for Alan even though she was probably scared. I looked at Rosella singing the song and then over at Alan. Then I understood—being brave doesn’t mean you’re not scared. Being brave means doing the right thing even if you are scared.

Perhaps his thoughts turned to his good friend Porter Rockwell, now 30, who at the last account was still languishing in the Missouri prison where he had been for seven months. Because Porter was being illegally held, it did not seem likely that efforts on the part of the Saints in Illinois would secure his release.
Apparently the 38-year-old Prophet, who had a reputation for hospitality, spent the remainder of the day with his family and associates. That evening a large group also dined at the Prophet’s house before turning to music, dancing, and other festivities in the tradition of Christmas in that day.
Latecoming guests, dressed in their best, arrived during the evening hours on that Monday. The troubles of the Saints, past and present, were temporarily forgotten as the guests enjoyed the festivities. Then the spirit of the evening was disrupted when a gaunt, seemingly drunk, unwashed Missourian, straggly and unkempt hair brushing his shoulders, forced his way into the room.
Efforts were made to throw the ruffian out, but he was too powerful. In the ensuing struggle, Joseph had a good look at the man. It was his friend, Porter!
The atmosphere cleared as friends gathered around Rockwell and welcomed him home. He explained how he had been honorably released after seven months in prison and had worked his way home through hostile territory. Because his feet were injured and men were seeking his life, it had taken him 12 days. He had just arrived in Nauvoo. The trick he’d played on the Prophet and his guests was merely his idea of fun.
Rockwell’s safe return climaxed the day for Joseph on his last Christmas, the Christmas before the summer guns at Carthage.

There are times when we can become upset at imagined hurts or perceived injustices. President Heber J. Grant, seventh President of the Church, told of a time as a young adult when he did some work for a man who then sent him a check for $500 with a letter apologizing for not being able to pay him more. Then President Grant did some work for another man—work which he said was 10 times more difficult, involving 10 times more labor and a great deal more time. This second man sent him a check for $150. Young Heber felt he had been treated most unfairly. He was at first insulted and then incensed.
He recounted the experience to an older friend, who asked, “Did that man intend to insult you?”
President Grant replied, “No. He told my friends he had rewarded me handsomely.”
To this the older friend replied, “A man’s a fool who takes an insult that isn’t intended.”

President Nelson, in his address, gave several suggestions3 to help us increase our faith. May I relate how I worked on some of them.
Study. I studied President Nelson’s address during last general conference and was reminded of Alma’s invitation to experiment upon the word and “exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if [we] can no more than desire to believe.”4
Yes, it was easy for me to choose to believe in Jesus Christ. But in order to allow the Atonement to fully apply to me I needed to work harder. This provided an opportunity for me to remember and to ponder upon the Savior’s ministry, and His infinite Atonement. I soon felt my faith growing and my hope increase. And I had an eternal perspective on the events of the last few weeks.
My heart swelled with gratitude as the Spirit helped me to recognize the hand of the Lord in so many details of these events and His perfect timing. Even behind my mother’s request to be brought back home. This allowed my mother for her last few days in her mortal life to be with her loved ones, feel more peace, and see her beloved doctor son taking care of her. Indeed, the Lord blessed me with this unique opportunity to be close to her whilst trying to provide the best medical care I could. I am so grateful for the precious moments of that Saturday afternoon I spent with her a few hours before she died, discussing nonmedical things. My siblings and I have never been as close as we were when we were all united in taking care of my mother and later, of my widowed father.
I remember that when mom was dying, and as I still felt her weak pulse during the resuscitation treatment, I laid my hands upon her head with the intention to give her a priesthood blessing to command her to stay with us, but my mouth could not utter what I intended to say. Instead, I said a silent prayer for the Lord’s will to be fulfilled and the outcome to be the best for her and for all of us.
This was indeed the best option, under the Master’s hand. As taught by Elder Neil L. Andersen, my faith grew as “a gift from heaven that comes as we choose to believe and as we seek it and hold on to it.”5
The “act in faith” part, apart from following President Nelson’s and Alma’s invitation, also consisted of writing and sharing my testimony to my relatives and through social media, and through this article I was invited to write. Yes, my increasing faith in Jesus Christ helped me feel His love and removed the mountain of doubts before me.
I know Jesus Christ loves me and each one of us. I know we can rely upon that love and that “the trial of [my] faith [is] much more precious than . . . gold,”6 as the trials we experience are there to help us increase in faith and be blessed.
May we all have that desire to work on increasing our faith in Jesus Christ to be able to remove the mountains before us, and to receive the blessings our Heavenly Father desires to bestow upon us.
Ifanomezana Rasolondraibe was named an Area Seventy in April 2019. He is married to Felambolafotsy Cardiss Keithy Suman Ratsitobaina; they are the parents of three children. Elder and Sister Rasolondraibe reside in Antananarivo, Madagascar.