Gospel Story Finder

We find one of the most touching stories of sacrifice, faith, and loving charity in the life of Jens Neilson, who was a member of the Willie Handcart Company. Jens, a relatively prosperous Danish farmer, heeded the call to bring his family to Zion. In Iowa he wrote that he had let all of his money go to the Church except enough to buy a handcart and stock it with 15 pounds of belongings per person. Jens wrote, “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” The people for whom Jens was responsible were himself; his wife, Elsie; their six-year-old son, Neils; and a nine-year-old girl, Bodil Mortensen, whom Jens offered to take to Utah. In the early Wyoming blizzard, temperatures plummeted below zero. The Neilsons had consumed their last pound of flour days before, but somehow they made it over the treacherous Rocky Ridge, urged on by their indomitable courage and unconquerable faith. Tragically, 13 of the company died at Rock Creek and were buried in shallow, snow-covered graves—among them, Jens and Elsie’s son, Neils, and young Bodil Mortensen.
President Hinckley describes this portion of the trail as “a trail of tragedy, a trail of faith, a trail of devotion, a trail of consecration, even the consecration of life itself.”
Jens arrived at Rock Creek, 11 miles beyond Rocky Ridge, with both feet frozen. He was unable to walk another step and pleaded with Elsie, “Leave me by the trail in the snow to die, and you go ahead and try to keep up with the company and save your life.” Elsie, with her unfaltering pioneer courage, replied, “Ride, I can’t leave you, I can pull the cart.” Such was the strength and the faith of many pioneer women on the trail.

Let me share a sweet story with you. A family was going through a difficult time. It was hard for them not to focus on their challenges. The mother wrote: “Our world had completely crumpled, so we turned to Heavenly Father for guidance. Almost immediately we realized that we were surrounded by goodness and were being cheered on from every side. We began as a family to express our gratitude to each other as well as to the Lord daily. A close friend pointed out to me that our family’s ‘blessing basket’ was overflowing. From that conversation came a sort of game, which my children and I grew to love. Before family prayer each night we would talk about how our day had gone and then share with each other all of the many blessings that had been added to our ‘blessing basket.’ The more we expressed gratitude, the more there was to be grateful for. We felt the love of the Lord in a significant way as opportunities for growth presented themselves.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, balancing my thick biology book as I attempted to study for the next day’s test. As I slowly turned the pages of the complicated chapter on cellular respiration, my jaw tightened as I tried to concentrate. But it was useless.
My eyes filled with tears. I had failed miserably that evening trying out for the play. It had been my first attempt at high school theater. Although untrained in the arts of dancing, acting, and singing, I had undertaken the challenging musical tryouts at the urging of my friends. I hadn’t done well. My dancing and my singing audition seemed about average. But tonight had been the final test, the portion I had counted on for success—a memorized humorous monologue, performed before the critical eyes of the director and audition board. I had prepared for my monologue days in advance, writing and memorizing the script carefully until I was certain I could perform it even in my sleep. But when I reached the school, I couldn’t think clearly. I was not only nervous but also tired and worried about my two difficult tests scheduled for the next day. I tried to remember my lines, those words I knew so well, but they slipped from me in fragments and spilled out shaky and uncertain.
Now back at home I felt a hot tear brush my lips, and I tried to muffle a sob. Nothing seemed to be going right the past few weeks. One of my closest friends was acting cold and distant. My schedule was difficult and stressful. I was feeling nagging doubts about applying to college. And now, after the embarrassment of tonight’s audition, I didn’t know how I could study or even sleep. I shut my biology book and placed it on the floor, emotion overpowering me as I buried my head in my pillow.
Then I heard my door open and my mother’s concerned voice. “Do you need a blessing?” she asked softly. I looked up, tempted to send her away. My puffy red face, streaked by tears, held the imprint of my pillow’s seams. As I pulled myself into a sitting position and saw both my parents in the doorway, I knew that a priesthood blessing was what I needed most of all. I nodded wordlessly, sniffing a bit as I stood and followed my parents across the hall into their room.
I had a testimony of the priesthood before that night. I had heard of blessings given by pioneers. And I had heard of blessings given in modern times to fire victims, children in comas, and people who are not expected to survive. I had received my patriarchal blessing two years before and knew the unique truthfulness and love it contained.
But as my father placed his hands on my head that evening, my testimony of the priesthood was strengthened. I could feel divine power in his phrases, in the gentle pressure of his hands. The blessing swept past my superficial wants into what I needed to hear most. And as my father concluded, my heart sang at the power in those words, those simple, healing words that I knew were not his. My father couldn’t remember what he had said, but I could—and my dark tangle of stress and fears had loosened into a soft and gentle peace.
I smiled at my mother, grateful for her inspired suggestion. As I turned around and hugged my father, I could feel in the warmth of his arms an echo of the love of my Heavenly Father and His Son, both watching and caring for me more than anyone else ever could. I felt so grateful for that modest blessing, those quiet, powerful, and comforting words.
That night I slept deeply for the first time in weeks, unworried and sure of my future as a beloved daughter of God.

Last Easter during general conference, President Russell M. Nelson called on us to increase our faith.1 These last few months have been rather challenging for my family—physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually. Between March and May this year, a second surge of the pandemic hit Madagascar, my home country, in an unprecedented way, completely overwhelming the health system. Many people and even doctors were asking questions like, “What is happening to us?” “Where is God?” and “Are we such bad people to deserve such a calamity?”
Our family has not been spared, as my wife and I, most of my siblings and their spouses, and my parents were infected. My mother, my wife and I, having a more serious form of the disease, had to be hospitalized and were put together in a single room. After ten days of treatment and improvement, my wife and I were discharged with a recommendation to rest in bed for several more weeks.
My mother was left alone. Her feeling of loneliness turned to depression, as none of us could visit her. She then requested to be brought home and treated by me, a medical doctor. We all reasoned with her, as it was impossible to meet her oxygen needs at home. As her condition worsened, she became angry with all of us, and her desire to go home became a command. We finally were all convinced to bring her home as we miraculously found a solution to her oxygen supply needs. Once home, she slowly improved each day. But on the following Sunday morning, she suddenly went into cardiorespiratory arrest before my eyes. I immediately started, with the help of my brother, the best—and longest—resuscitation I have ever provided. We finally had to resign ourselves to the fact that she would pass away. With my eyes filled with tears, I signed the official medical death declaration for the woman who gave birth to me.
After comforting my loved ones, my mind became filled with questions and doubts. Had I, as a doctor, done something wrong in the care I had provided to my mother? Did we make the wrong decision in bringing her home? Those moments of doubts and questioning required me to work on increasing my faith to feel peace.
I received a call from Elder S. Mark Palmer, the Africa South Area President, who ministered to me with so much love. As I reported how my mother passed away for a reason I did not understand, he said: “As a doctor, you do not understand. But as a servant of the Lord, you do.”2
I have always had a strong faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, but what Elder Palmer said helped me get back on the right track.

Many years back as a young husband and father, I worked for a grocery chain. My shift was from about 5:30 A.M. to 2:00 P.M., without a lunch hour. I preferred it that way. One time during the week I had a day off. The stake president had announced a need for brethren to go out to Cedar Fort, where our stake farm was located, to get the bales of hay out of the fields before it rained.

I volunteered to go out on my day off. A member of the stake presidency, Francis Bromley, took me out to the farm. Much of the hay had been baled the preceding Saturday. I suggested to President Bromley that he drive the tractor. I would load the hay on the skids, transfer it to the flatbed truck, then haul it to a location where it was to be stacked. It was a hot summer day. There seemed to be no breeze at all, and no shade or cloud cover. I was accustomed to hard work but not in the sun. For hours we worked together retrieving the baled hay from the fields.

I can recall to this day how tired I was. Hay dust and dirt filled my nostrils and was caked on my arms and face. Sweat poured off me. My hands grew numb and my arms and legs were fatigued, but we worked on until the work was done. I remember the feelings I had at the end of the day. President Bromley somehow knew that I had worked with all my energy to save him as much work as possible. He was not a young man, and the work was heavy. He was very kind in his appraisal of the work we had done.

The greater reward came to me on the way home. I realized that I had worked for the Lord about as hard as I knew how to work. My sinuses burned from the dust and dirt, my eyes were filled with hay dust, and perspiration and alfalfa clung to my skin and clothes. I was exhausted and I think dehydrated. My head throbbed and my muscles ached, but way down deep inside of me there was a feeling of pride. For a few moments at the end of that day I drank from the living waters of Christ. I felt the cooling breeze of service, and I felt the shade of contentment to my soul.

I have never forgotten how I felt about President Bromley. Serving him and trying to do an extra measure of work to protect him filled my soul with a deep love for him. I knew that he could see into my heart and that he knew what I was trying to do for him. I think he loved me also. I believe, however, the greater love will come to those who serve someone else. If you want to love someone, serve that person. Service is work. It takes effort.

Tourists inundate the center of Philadelphia during July, particularly on Independence Day.
What better place, then, for missionaries to contact people who would be interested in knowing more about the Church? And one ideal location would surely be the Independence National Historic Park, across the street from the Liberty Bell display and near Independence Hall, site of the Constitutional Convention.
Using heavy cardboard backing obtained from a local art club display, missionaries and members of the North Philadelphia Branch built a three-sided display, eight feet high and nine and one half feet wide, and obtained Park Service permission to display it near a large fountain in the park.
The triangular display featured displays on genealogy, America’s 200-year history, and America’s 2,000-year history. It featured a screen on which films could be shown.
But on the fourth day, a wind-and-rain storm snapped the frame.
Instead of abandoning the project, the missionaries were encouraged by members’ efforts to keep the display alive. A new display, including an additional presentation on family home evening, was built, this time with plywood. Brother Arthur Abraham, a counselor in the branch presidency, donated a trailer so the proselyting aid could be moved.
While using the new display on the first day, the elders taught 17 discussions. On July 4, they served as an information booth for Independence Day visitors. Their records show they talked to more than 1,000 people, and at least one person will be baptized as a result.
“The project caught the members’ attention when they saw that the missionaries were sincere in doing a good job,” Cheryl Ann Murdock, a young adult in the branch, said. “They became excited about missionary work, and the Church received a great deal of exposure to the public. We were proud to see the Church represented in the park.”

On another occasion, as Sister Monson and I were driving home after visiting friends, I felt impressed that we should go into town—a drive of many miles—to pay a visit to an elderly widow who had once lived in our ward. Her name was Zella Thomas. At the time, she was a resident in a care center. That early afternoon we found her to be extremely frail but lying peacefully on her bed.

Zella had long been blind, but she recognized our voices immediately. She asked if I might give her a blessing, adding that she was prepared to die if the Lord wanted her to return home. There was a sweet, peaceful spirit in the room, and all of us knew that her remaining time in mortality would be brief. Zella took me by the hand and said that she had prayed fervently that I would come to see her and provide her a blessing. I told her that we had come because of direct inspiration from our Heavenly Father. I kissed her on the forehead, knowing that I perhaps would not again see her in mortality. Such proved to be the case, for she passed away the following day. To have been able to provide some comfort and peace to our sweet Zella was a blessing to her and to me.

My parents made family time a priority when my two sisters and I were children. Now that we’re adults, this continues as part of our family culture. The time we spend together is fun and filled with traditions such as races and games, with events including a tortilla toss and bubble-blowing competition.
Growing up, I gained confidence spending time with my family and felt I was vital. I felt my contributions were wanted and needed. However, shortly after I returned from my mission, spending time together changed. The reason: my older sister married a few months before I returned home.
I was happy for her and excited to have a brother for the first time. But I noticed my parents started to treat my younger sister and me differently. I felt that because I was not married, I was pushed aside and treated like a child. Eventually, I spoke with my parents about the changes in our family. We concluded that our individual situations have nothing to do with our worth. Everyone is essential in our family, regardless of age, gender, financial situation, talents, or marital status.
My mind opened to the idea that our Heavenly Father loves and appreciates us as individuals. Heavenly Father wants us to establish and nurture strong family relationships, but our individual worth does not come from our family. Because we are beloved children of God and part of His family, our worth is infinite and eternal. Jesus Christ demonstrated this by giving His life for each of us. (See Doctrine and Covenants 18:10–11.)

Elder Ojediran and Elder Morrison of the Seventy, the first and second counselors in the Africa West Area Presidency, visited Sister Doan’s quilting class at the Accra Ghana Christiansborg Stake center. They were genuinely impressed by the variety of quilt patterns on display, highlighting the creative possibilities available to every participant.

Among the attendees was Victoria Danso, a young single adult (YSA) who has a call to serve a mission in Ibadan, Nigeria. In a conversation with Elder Ojediran, she learned that Ibadan was his hometown. He mentioned that he occasionally visits Ibadan and hopes to see her adjusting well to her missionary activities. She showed him the quilted fabric she had completed. She plans to use it to make a tote bag to take with her when she enters the missionary training center shortly.

Another YSA in the class, Irene Ankrah, had been taking missionary lessons and said the quilting class’s warm and friendly atmosphere allowed her to ask questions about the Church in a comfortable setting. She explained that many of her questions were answered as she spoke with the ladies and, therefore, felt confident in her decision to be baptized.

The quilting sessions on Thursdays have cultivated a sense of community among YSAs and Relief Society sisters. Together, they learn a valuable skill and share testimonies of Jesus Christ, strengthening their bond of sisterhood.

Every attendee expressed gratitude for Sister Doan, whose exceptional tutoring and cheerful spirit make each class a treasured experience. Fun fact: In addition to being a creative quilter, Sister Doan is an enthusiastic whistler, adding an extra layer of joy to her classes!

The last rays of the sun dipped behind the mountain. I was miles from home, sitting on a cot in a faded green tent, wondering how I was going to solve the dilemma I was in.
It was the end of the first day of my summer job as a forest ranger in eastern Utah. That morning, I had met the two women I would be working and camping with. I was only 19; they were both in their 30s. But our differences were deeper than age. On the hike to base camp, I had hung back and listened to them talk about how strange they thought members of the Church were.
Now it was night, and my co-workers were both slipping into their sleeping bags. “Are you ready to turn the lantern off?” one of them asked me.
I had a decision to make. I hadn’t done my scripture reading for the day. But I also knew how the two women felt about members of the Church. I didn’t want them to laugh at me.
I silenced my conscience and nodded my assent. The light was extinguished, and soon the even breathing of my co-workers told me they were asleep.
But sleep evaded me. After tossing and turning, I grabbed a flashlight and my Book of Mormon and headed down to a meadow just below our campsite. “This is the perfect solution,” I said to myself. “I can read my scriptures without being made fun of.”
Happy with my plan, I turned to Mormon 8. The contentment I felt ended when I reached verse 38 and read, “Why are ye ashamed to take upon you the name of Christ? Why do ye not think that greater is the value of an endless happiness than that misery which never dies—because of the praise of the world?”
That night, as I sat under the brilliant stars in a mountain meadow, I knew the Lord was speaking to me. I had been too afraid of ridicule to show my co-workers what I believed, and the Lord was disappointed in me. Armed with this knowledge, I resolved I would change.
The next night, when my co-worker asked if I was ready to put out the lantern, my answer was different. I cleared my throat and said, “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’m going to read the Book of Mormon for a few minutes.”
I steeled myself for her laughter, but it never came. “Oh, that’s fine,” she said. “Just turn the light off when you’re done.”
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that night. For the first time, I understood how relentlessly Satan tries to make us feel that we won’t fit in if we do what we’re supposed to. Often, the ridicule we are so afraid of hearing never comes. We can never be examples for good unless we let the things we believe show through our actions.

Masha and her family are a great help to the missionaries. They invite friends to listen to gospel discussions. They invite the missionaries to dinner. And for missionaries needing help with the Russian language, Masha is a friendly tutor.

“She always talks with new missionaries and helps them learn to speak,” says Elder Samuel Drown. “They don’t have to worry about making mistakes around her, because she makes them feel good about themselves.” She teaches them games Russian children use to learn words and numbers. She gave one missionary a kind nickname that included a vowel sound the elder had trouble pronouncing. He appreciated the fun teaching method—and learned to say the sound correctly.

I so much enjoyed the article in the June 1981 New Era on not attending questionable movies. When my boyfriend and I started going together, we quickly decided not to go to the movies. Instead we formed an imaginary fund with the money saved. Now whenever we think someone deserves a surprise, the money is there for it. We have never regretted our decision.
Karen Dietz and Robert W. Henderson, Jr.Seattle, Washington

By the autumn of 1838, the spirit of his missionary calling began to press so heavily on his mind that he longed to engage in its labors, though he had been ill through much of the summer. His strength was depleted, but he felt if he would make the effort to embark in the Lord’s service that God would supply the needed strength. Therefore, contrary to the advice and wishes of his parents, he set out to share the gospel. At first he could only walk a short distance before he was forced to sit down and rest, but gradually his strength returned and he was completely restored to health.

During this missionary journey he labored in four states. February found him in Kentucky, preparing for his return to Ohio, a journey of five hundred miles through deep snow. He had only $1.25 in his pocket, but he had a deep faith that the Lord would provide.

This return trip was a difficult one. During most of the trip his socks were wringing wet from mud, snow, and rains, and he was fortunate if he found lodging before a fire. The trip completely emaciated the young missionary, and when he returned to his friends in Ohio, he was not recognized. Under the care of his friends he collapsed and was seized with a violent fever, lying many days prostrate in bed.

Such were the missions in the early career of Lorenzo Snow—and the beginnings of many more. The following year he went to Great Britain. He was upon the sea forty-two stormy days. Writing to his aunt he described the storms:

“Just look at me in your lively imagination, in one of these terrific storms, seated to a large hogshead of water—holding on, with both hands, to ropes near by … the ship reeling and dashing from side to side—now and then a monster wave leaping over the bulwarks, treating all present with a shower bath—see, sitting near me, a man weeping bitterly with terror on his countenance—the next moment a wave shoots over the bulwarks, dashing him from his seat and landing him … on the opposite side, from which he arises with a broken arm and dripping wet.”

Below, boxes were broken loose and were tumbling about among the groaning and crying women and children. Yet, through it all, Elder Snow was filled with peace, for he was on the Lord’s errand. This scene was much like one described by Luke, involving the Apostle Paul. In fact, there was much in Lorenzo Snow that was like Paul in terms of missionary labors. Elder Snow’s mission to Britain was followed in coming years by missionary labors in Italy, Switzerland, Malta, Hawaii, and the Holy Land. Before his missions were completed, he had crossed the ocean eight times, traveled over one hundred and fifty thousand miles, and borne his own expenses through it all.

President Snow should be remembered for many things: for his gentlemanly manner, for his deep spiritual commitment to the Lord, for his great abilities as a colonizer, for his value as an educator; but among all his other virtues, he should be especially remembered as a missionary par excellence. One of the major thrusts of his administration was that of fostering missionary efforts worldwide. He even sent out MIA missionaries to serve in other stakes for a period of five or six months. He assigned Elder Heber J. Grant to open Japan to the teaching of the gospel. He spoke of carrying the gospel to Russia and Austria. And during the first year of his administration, he called over one thousand missionaries to labor throughout the world—a number that had never been sent out before in the history of the Church, and never was again for twenty years.

One is left to wonder what might have happened if Lorenzo Snow, as a busy young college student, had decided that religion was not for him. How many thousands of individuals might not have had the chance to accept the gospel!

This photograph, taken during Lorenzo Snow’s presidency, shows him as he is most often portrayed today.

When I was five, my family traveled from Tonga to New Zealand to be sealed in the temple. First, we sailed from Tonga to Fiji. The Church members traveling with us sang the entire way. A storm came. The waves were bigger than the ship we were on! As the storm got bigger, we sang louder. Finally the storm passed.
When we got to Fiji safely, we had to ride a bus to the airport. Then we got on a plane to New Zealand.
After the plane landed in New Zealand, we had another two-hour bus ride. It was a cool morning with low clouds. Everyone on the bus was talking. It was loud! Then the temple came into view, and suddenly, the bus was totally quiet. Everybody rushed to that side of the bus to see it. I thought the bus was going to tip over!
Dad lifted me up against the bus window so I could get a good view of the temple. The temple seemed to float in the clouds. It looked heavenly.
Even though that happened many years ago, I can still feel that same special spirit today. We knew we were looking at the house of God. Before, we had only seen it in pictures. We were amazed. I remember thinking, Is God in there? And just as quickly, I thought, This is God’s house. Of course He is. We may not see Him in the temple, but we know we can feel His Spirit there.

I remember as a young man receiving in my home two young men. (Strangely enough, they had the same first name: Elder!) They showed our family the Book of Mormon, a divine evidence of the Lord’s care and love for his children. They declared to our family the message of the restoration of the gospel, the divine sonship of Christ, the divine mission of Joseph Smith, and the divinity of this church. Their message and their willingness to follow the prophet’s call changed our lives.

When I was born, my father was reading a textbook on wills and testaments in the hospital waiting room. He had decided to become a law student when he worked with lawyers at the Los Angeles Flood Control District in Southern California. Always a family man, my dad felt he could support the family better if he were a lawyer himself. With a wife, two children, and a full-time job, however, he knew school and studying would have to be at night.
Later, when I was in law school myself, I wondered how my dad had managed. I asked, “When did you sleep?” He said he studied as much as he could, and when he was so tired that he couldn’t study anymore, he would sleep for three to four hours. That went on for five years. I marveled at his grit.

When the fighting reached Bo, Mohamed was targeted as a religious leader in the community. He was forced to separate from his family and to hide from the rebels until it was possible to get back to them. Once the family was reunited, they knew they had to leave. But where? How? As they were formulating their plan, a young man approached the family and asked where they were going. “We want to escape from here,” Mohamed said. “Follow me,” the young man answered. After following the young man through the bush for some time, he suddenly disappeared. “By the time we could wink our eyes, we couldn’t see him,” said Mohamed. “That was the greatest miracle, which we will never forget.”
They continued on their journey but they knew their safety depended on being able to travel through the dangerous territory without a sound. They worried that their baby’s crying would put them at risk, but, as Mohamed later recalled, “the angels sealed his mouth; he never cried.” They continued travelling through three more villages—an arduous trek through dangerous terrain—until they arrived at safety.

As I was trying to come to terms with everything, I knew the bishop was being prompted to talk to me about my mission papers. I just knew. I had never mentioned it to anyone, but I knew he was also getting the vibes. But I still needed time to adjust and come to terms with everything, so I started dodging him.
If I saw him in the corridor at Church, I’d dive into a classroom and hide until he passed. I’d watch him and stay out of his vicinity—terrible, but I thought this would gain me more time. But one Sunday I was walking up the corridor only to find the bishop walking towards me. No one else was there. I couldn’t hide or dive away. I was nabbed, pure and simple.
The bishop simply said, “Can you come with me for a minute? I’ve got to give you something”. I was hoping the something was to do with my Primary or activities committee callings, but he walked into the clerk’s office, opened the filing cabinet, and handed me my mission papers. He said, “You need to fill these in, and send them.” I said, “I knew you knew!” When I told him that I had been deliberately dodging and hiding from him, he laughed and said he wondered why he could never find me.

When enemies of the Church saw this increase in temple activity, they renewed their determination to drive the Mormons away. They obtained a warrant for the arrest of Brigham Young and eight other Apostles. On December 23, government officials went to the temple to arrest Brigham Young. Knowing that they were coming, Brigham knelt and asked for guidance and protection so that he could “live to prove advantageous to the Saints.”
Soon afterward he noticed William Miller in the hall. He proposed a plan to Brother Miller who was about the same height as President Young.
Brother Miller put on President Young’s cloak and left the temple in his carriage. The waiting marshals thought that he was Brigham Young and arrested him. They took him to the Mansion House, where friends and relatives of Brigham went along with the masquerade. Miller was then taken to Carthage and held until someone who knew Brigham told them that they had the I wrong man. In the meantime Brigham Young and the others had gone safely into hiding.

Anna sat quietly in her Primary class. She looked at the picture of Jesus that Sister Albo held.
“Does anyone know what a testimony is?” Sister Albo asked.
Anna raised her hand. “Is it saying that we know the Church is true?”
“That’s part of it.” Sister Albo smiled. “When we share our testimony, we share what we know or believe is true about Jesus Christ and the Church. What do you know is true, Anna?”
Anna thought about it. “I know that Jesus loves me!”
“Yes, He does. You have a testimony that Jesus loves you.”
After church, Mommy asked, “What did you learn in Primary today, Anna?”
“I learned what a testimony is. When can I share my testimony?”
“Any time you want!” Daddy said. “We can have our own testimony meeting in home evening.”
Anna liked that idea. “We can even dress in our Sunday clothes!”
When it was time for home evening, Anna put on her favorite dress.
“Welcome to our family testimony meeting,” Daddy said.
Anna’s brother, Ethan, went first. “I know the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I know that Russell M. Nelson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ lives.”
Then it was Anna’s turn. She stood up. “I love Jesus very much. I know He loves me. He cares about me and makes me happy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Her heart felt warm.
Mommy gave her a hug. “Thank you, Anna. I could feel how much you love Jesus.”
Anna smiled. “Sharing my testimony makes me happy.”