Gospel Story Finder

Each of us must at times courageously and firmly stand up for what we are and what we believe. When President Joseph F. Smith was a young man, he was faced with this predicament:
“One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
“The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, ‘We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!’ The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Joseph F. stood tall and said, ‘Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!’
“The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, ‘Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.’ He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions.”

Allow me to share two experiences from my recent interactions with the young men of the Church that have taught me about leading and following.
Recently my wife and I attended a sacrament meeting away from our home ward. Just before the meeting started, a young man approached me and asked if I would help pass the sacrament. I said, “I’d be happy to.”
I took my seat with the other deacons and asked one who was sitting next to me, “What is my assignment?” He told me I was to start passing at the back of the chapel in the middle section and that he would be on the other side of the same section, and together we would work our way to the front.
I said, “I haven’t done this for a long time.”
He replied, “That’s OK. You’ll be fine. I felt the same way when I started.”
Later the youngest deacon in the quorum, ordained only weeks earlier, gave a talk in sacrament meeting. After the meeting, the other deacons rallied around him to tell him how proud they were of their fellow quorum member.
As I visited with them that day, I found out that each week, members of all the Aaronic Priesthood quorums in that ward reach out to other young men and invite them to be part of their quorums.
These young men were all great leaders. And they clearly had some wonderful behind-the-scenes Melchizedek Priesthood holders, parents, and others who mentored them in their duties. Caring adults like these see young men not just as they are but as they can become. When they talk to or about the young men, they do not dwell on their shortcomings. Instead, they emphasize the great leadership qualities they are demonstrating.

In my father’s personal history, he tells about Grandmother’s experiences growing up in Brigham City, Utah, in the late 1800s. Their family was very poor, having emigrated from Denmark with little more than the clothes on their backs. She wanted so much to have a pair of shoes she could wear on special occasions. To accomplish this worthy desire took a full summer’s work of picking berries and tending children, since money was very scarce and labor was cheap. But the joy Grandmother felt as she obtained those shoes is indescribable, for not only was she able to wear them, but her mother did also. In fact, they had it arranged so Grandmother would wear the shoes to Sunday School in the morning, and then her mother would wear them to sacrament meeting in the evening.

Elder McKay’s horse Dandy wasn’t as wise. He could escape any pen or corral by opening the latch or chewing off the lead rope.
Elder McKay: That horse has done it again.
Dandy wandered into the street and was hit by a car. He survived but did not learn his lesson.
Elder McKay: That should teach you not to go running off, Dandy!
One day Dandy escaped again. He and another horse wandered into an old house used to store grain and started eating poisoned oats—bait for gophers.
Elder McKay was very sad to lose his favorite horse. He often told Dandy’s story to show the danger of disobeying rules.
Elder McKay: Young people, you must always know where the limits are. Keep the commandments and you will be safe.

Mark Twain wrote:
“Some years ago in Hartford, Connecticut, we all went to church one hot, sweltering night to hear the annual report of Mr. Hawley, a city missionary who went around finding people who needed help and didn’t want to ask for it. He told of life in cellars, where poverty resided; he gave instances of heroism and devotion of the poor. ‘When a man with millions gives,’ he said, ‘we talk a lot about it and praise him. It’s praise in the wrong place, for it’s the widow’s mite that is significant.’
“Well, Hawley really got me excited. I could hardly wait for him to get through. I had $400 in my pocket. I wanted to give that and borrow more to give. You could see money in every eye. But instead of passing the plate to collect money then, he kept on talking and talking, and as he talked it grew hotter and hotter, and we grew sleepier and sleepier. My enthusiasm went down, down, down—$100 at a time until finally when the collection plate did come around, I stole ten cents out of it.” (Thesaurus of Anecdotes, ed. Edmund Fuller, Crown Publishers: N.Y., 1942, pp. 58~59.)

“The Way to a Missionary’s Mailbox” in the December New Era was an excellent article. I hope that the many girls who are writing to missionaries will read it and apply the wonderful and appropriate suggestions given therein. I have a strong personal testimony of what the right kind of letters can do for a missionary because I received many such letters during my recently completed mission to France and Switzerland. I cannot remember a single instance in which my friend wrote a letter that was in any way selfish or distracting. There was, of course, news from home, but the majority of the space was used to write thoughts, feelings, insights, and testimony that could only encourage and uplift me. Instead of feeling homesick or full of self-pity after reading her letters, I felt grateful and desirous to work all the more diligently for the Savior. The article spoke of building self-esteem in elders. The friend who wrote to me understood this well and often expressed her respect, her confidence, and her belief in me as a servant of the Lord. This can work miracles and was especially important to me during a very difficult period of my mission. I know that her support played a large part in helping me overcome the difficulties I faced during those months. My friend even earned, at one point, the “Most Edifying Letters to a Missionary Award” presented by the special awards committee of the Switzerland Geneva Mission. I was the committee. I will never cease to be grateful to the Lord for the blessing this sister was to me during my mission.
Walter LenelPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania

Missionaries taught my family the gospel in our home in Singapore. My father did not join the Church, but my mother did. She taught us of Jesus Christ and of His gospel. Even as a child, I proudly told my friends that I was a Latter-day Saint.
I always trusted my mother’s teachings. But when I became a young adult, a missionary asked me how many times I had read the Book of Mormon. I had been asked this question before, but this time I realized that because I had not read the Book of Mormon, I did not know whether it was true.
I could no longer dodge an undeniable fact: the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon are intertwined. If the gospel is true, then the Book of Mormon is true. Since I didn’t know whether the Book of Mormon was true, I now felt uncertain of everything I had grown to believe in. Confusion filled my mind, and the question—“Is the Book of Mormon true?”—remained in my heart.
My growing relationship with the Savior, Jesus Christ, also led me to a desire for the truth. The day I realized that I could not learn enough about Jesus Christ without seriously reading the Book of Mormon was the day I profoundly desired to know whether it was true.
I prayed for guidance. During this time, my branch president called me to teach about the Book of Mormon in the Gospel Doctrine class. I accepted the calling because I felt it might be the Lord’s answer to help me know the truth of the Book of Mormon and to draw closer to the Savior.
Teaching was hard. After the first few Sundays, I knew that I would never be effective until I believed in the Book of Mormon.
I began studying the Book of Mormon each week and soon found joy in my reading. The stories in the Book of Mormon unfolded chapter by chapter and drew me closer to Jesus Christ.
I read of Christ’s birth, which Nephi saw in a vision:
“And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. …
“And [the angel] said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh” (1 Nephi 11:13, 18).
I read of the plan of happiness and learned that faith in Jesus Christ is necessary for our salvation. Amulek taught:
“I do know that Christ shall come among the children of men, to take upon him the transgressions of his people, and that he shall atone for the sins of the world; for the Lord God hath spoken it.
“… For according to the great plan of the Eternal God there must be an atonement made, or else all mankind must unavoidably perish” (Alma 34:8, 9).
I read of Jesus Christ ministering to His other sheep in ancient America, and I knew that He is the God of all nations. He told the Nephites: “Ye are they of whom I said: Other sheep I have which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd” (3 Nephi 15:21).
As I read the Book of Mormon, my faith in Jesus Christ brightened and my understanding of His plan expanded (see Alma 32:28).
I testify that the Book of Mormon is the keystone of our religion. The Holy Ghost has revealed to me that Joseph Smith is a true prophet who restored the Church of God upon the earth and who translated the Book of Mormon from the gold plates. The Book of Mormon testifies of Jesus Christ and works hand in hand with the Bible. Together they testify that Jesus Christ is truly the Son of God and that He is the God of all nations, not just one.

One day I witnessed that great joy while casually sitting beside a friend. He had recently been called as a mission president, and I thought, “What could I share with him at this important time in his life? I endeavored to see in this friend what I thought the Lord might see in him. I desired to say something that would be of importance to him at this time. I had a wonderful feeling of love for my longtime friend and felt prompted to share the thoughts that came into my mind.
“I guess at a time like this,” I said to him, “one feels an increased urgency to be a pure vessel through which the Spirit can work unrestrained. Yet isn’t it a marvelous thing to know that you will have access to that great power, that inspiration, and even revelation every day while you and your missionaries are still striving for perfection?”
Almost immediately his eyes were moist. His chin quivered and he said, “You must have known I needed to hear that.”

I was at the lowest point in my life. My wife had asked for a divorce after leaving me for another man. I was 30 years old and living with my mother. I was also close to losing my job.
The senior editor of the newspaper where I worked warned me, “If you come to work intoxicated again, you will be immediately dismissed.” On my way home, I wondered how I could stop drinking.
Just then, two missionaries stopped and talked to me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I told them I was not interested. But being a journalist, I felt compelled to give them my card.
Several days later, my mother told me that two Americans were there to see me.
“They have one of your cards,” she said.
They were the same missionaries from a few days before. One of them handed me a pamphlet and talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith. Then his companion handed me a Book of Mormon. He asked if I would read several chapters from it. When I agreed to do so, he looked at me closely and asked if I would read 150 pages.
“Impossible!” I said.
“Well, we’ll come back on Thursday,” he said. That was several days away. I didn’t think I could read those pages in that time.
After work the next day, I felt a strong urge to find my friends and go drinking. Then I remembered the senior editor’s warning and the 150 pages I had been asked to read. I went home and began reading the Book of Mormon. I also read the pamphlet about Joseph Smith.
The Spirit touched my heart as I read about Joseph Smith. I also felt the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon as I read and learned more about the Savior. Soon I had read 150 pages. On Thursday, the missionaries returned and asked if I had read.
“Yes!” I said. “All 150 pages!”
I wanted to know more. When they taught me about the Word of Wisdom, I told them I was ready to give up alcohol.
The next Sunday, I went to my first fast and testimony meeting. I shared my newfound testimony of Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. A short time later, I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church.
In the 48 years since my baptism, I have tried to keep the commandments and stay close to the Church. I remarried and served a mission with my wife. Over the years, I accepted many callings. I now serve in the temple. Every time I’m there, I thank the Lord for pulling me from the darkness and bringing me into the light.

Not long ago a young American woman living in Taiwan felt that her taxi driver was taking her the long way around in order to increase the fare. She was in the process of venting her feelings in unmistakable terms when the young Chinese driver, obviously hurt by the accusation, stopped the cab, turned off the ignition, then turned around and said simply, “I would not do that. I am a Mormon.” Calmed down and totally disarmed by the sincerity of his statement, she then asked what a Mormon was. She obviously found out, as she joined the Church just three weeks later. It all happens so simply when the honest in heart are involved.

I once visited a mission in southern Europe. I arrived on the day a new missionary was preparing to return home at his own insistence. He had his ticket to leave the next day.
We sat together in the mission president’s home. The missionary told me about his challenging childhood, of learning disorders, of moving from one family to another. He spoke sincerely of his inability to learn a new language and adapt to a new culture. Then he added, “Brother Andersen, I don’t even know if God loves me.” As he said those words, I felt a sure and forceful feeling come into my spirit: “He does know I love him. He knows it.”
I let him continue for a few more minutes, and then I said, “Elder, I’m sympathetic to much of what you’ve said, but I must correct you on one thing: you do know God loves you. You know He does.”
As I said those words to him, the same Spirit that had spoken to me spoke to him. He bowed his head and began to cry. He apologized. “Brother Andersen,” he said, “I do know God loves me; I do know it.” He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. He knew God loved him. That priceless piece of spiritual knowledge was sufficient for his doubt to be replaced with faith. He found the strength to stay on his mission.

Two enthusiastic young women of the Modbury Ward, Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, entered the Junior Miss South Australia Quest and achieved great results. The Quest is an annual affair held to raise money for research for the Epilepsy Association of South Australia.
Debbie Johnson, 14, and Sandra Moore, 15, put in many long hours in raising funds. Their families and friends were supportive and helpful.
Debbie placed third in her age-group and Sandra took first place.

I read about Shannon in the New Era. Her high school speech teacher assigned a group project to the students. They were to select a scene from a play to perform for the class. One group chose a questionable scene dealing with morality issues. The teacher allowed them to keep their selection “for the sake of art.” But knowing that it might be offensive, the teacher gave permission for those who felt uncomfortable to leave the room.
As the students’ scene began, Shannon felt a little bit nervous. Several of her classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but no one left. She looked at a few of her Latter-day Saint friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for them all to walk out together. But none of them did. Shannon remained at her desk with her head down so no one could see her crimson cheeks. She felt very uncomfortable, but she was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right? Shannon states:
“At [that] moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: ‘We will “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”’ (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what [I was going to] do. ‘All places’ meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
“Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing” (Shannon D. Jensen, “Stand as a Witness,” New Era, Nov. 1998, 10; see Liahona, Aug. 1999, 8).

In September of 1840, Joseph Smith, Sr. gathered his family around him. This venerable patriarch was dying and wanted to leave his blessing on his beloved wife and children. Hyrum, the eldest living son, asked his father to intercede with heaven when he arrived there so the enemies of the Church “may not have so much power” over the Latter-day Saints. Father Smith then laid his hands upon Hyrum’s head and blessed him to have “peace … sufficient … to accomplish the work which God has given you to do.” Knowing of Hyrum’s lifelong faithfulness, he concluded this last blessing with the promise that Hyrum would “be as firm as the pillars of heaven unto the end of [his] days.”

I had been taught by my parents and Church leaders to believe in the truthfulness of the gospel. I had been active in Church and seminary. But the real hour of my conversion didn’t come until I was a young man traveling to serve in the West German Mission. In those days, we traveled by train and by boat. After four days on the train, we arrived in New York City and got on a large steamship called the America.
It was very stormy on the North Atlantic Ocean that November, and my traveling companions and I were seasick. We sang hymns, studied the scriptures, and tried to stay cheerful.
As I was out on that ocean where I could see nothing but water in all directions, it dawned on me, “I have always felt the Church is true.” But suddenly the question came into my mind, “Can I look into the eyes of strangers and say without any question that I know?”
Alone in our little room aboard that ship, I got down on my knees. The ship trembled because of the big propeller driving it forward through the storms, but in that moment I couldn’t tell if it was me or the ship trembling! I poured out my heart to the Lord and said, “I have to know, because if I don’t know I can’t testify.”
Over the remaining two or three days on the ship, my prayer was answered. Peace came over me and I knew. Not only did I know that the Church was true, but I also knew that I could stand up to anyone who might challenge the doctrine. I knew that I wouldn’t buckle or weaken or be frightened, and I never was. From that moment on, I never felt any hesitation to share my testimony.

This tenderness of heart allowed Brother Quasie to be touched by the Spirit when he first heard about the Church. In 1986, when he was 16 years old, the Church was new in the Cape Coast area. One night, a friend invited him to see a movie in the town open market. It was a movie about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the Book of Mormon. After watching the movie, he felt that it was true and wanted to learn more but wasn’t sure how to get more information. Then he met Elder and Sister Nelson from the United States. They taught him the gospel by having Anthony proselyte with them and after a week, they asked him if would like to be baptized. “I decided to be baptized without consulting my parents, who were Catholic. I took that decision independently”, he said.
In those days, baptisms in Cape Coast were done in the ocean. On 30 April 1986, Brother Quasie was baptized on the same beach that the first Ghanaian members had been baptized a few years earlier.

I met Natalie on the first day of sixth grade. I noticed that she wouldn’t hang out on Sundays and that she carried her scriptures around at school. One day I was at a carnival with Natalie, and I said, “I want to join your Church.” I’m not sure what Natalie was thinking at the time, because it came out of nowhere. But from that point on she began sharing more of her faith with me.
Later that year, I went with Natalie to a youth conference. One of the last activities at the youth conference was a testimony meeting. Natalie shared a special testimony that motivated me to want to learn more.
As I studied the gospel, I prayed to Heavenly Father to gain a testimony. Soon, I knew what I had been learning was true. That summer, I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“Grannie Smith’s coming for supper tonight,” Mom said as Carrie scurried around, getting everything ready for the meeting of the Super Scooper News staff.
“Oh no!” Carrie moaned. “Everybody’s coming over!”
“That’s fine,” Mom said. “Go ahead with your newspaper meeting. I’m sure that Grannie won’t mind.”
“No! Not now. Maybe I’ll call the others to tell them to come some other time,” Carrie said. Then she remembered that last week Shauna hadn’t been able to come, and the week before, Adam couldn’t make it. It had been several weeks since they’d printed their newspaper, and now everybody had plenty of news for another issue.
“It’s up to you,” Mom said. “It’s been ten days since we’ve had Grannie over, and she must be feeling pretty lonely.”
Carrie stomped into the living room to watch TV. Why can’t Grannie be like other grandmothers? she wondered. Adam’s grandma was always baking cookies and giving them to the kids in the neighborhood. One of Shauna’s grandmothers was a writer who published lots of books about all the places she’d traveled. Shauna had an autographed copy of each book that she had written. Carrie’s other grandmother had moved to Arizona, far from the cold prairie winters.
But Grannie Smith was different and something of a problem. Most of the time she stayed in a nursing home, but whenever she came over for dinner, all she did was embarrass Carrie. Sometimes she’d ask Dad what his name was, and she’d call Carrie “Penelope.” Aunt Penelope was Grannie’s sister, but she had died a long time ago. Sometimes Grannie spilled her food, and one time she had even started eating her mashed potatoes with her fingers! When that happened, even Mom had looked as if she were about to cry, though they all realized that Grannie couldn’t help it. She did things like that, the doctors had explained, because she has Alzheimer’s disease.
Carrie heard the doorbell ring and went to open the door.
“Hi, Carrie!” It was Adam, one of the newspaper’s best reporters. “Boy, do I have news! Let’s get it typed up.”
“Great!” Carrie went over to her corner of the living room and sat down at an old beat-up desk. She rolled a sheet of paper into her rickety typewriter. Some of the machine’s letters didn’t print right, and Mom kept saying that she was surprised that the typewriter hadn’t broken down long ago.
Soon Shauna came in, and the three of them sat on the floor, trying to decide which news items to put on the front page.
“Come on in and sit down, Mother.”
Carrie cringed at the sound of Dad’s voice. She wished that she could pretend that she hadn’t heard, but she knew that she had to go give a kiss to the wobbly little lady with the cane and white hair. “Hi, Grannie,” she said.
Grannie stroked a wrinkled hand over Carrie’s hair. “You’re growing like a weed, lass,” she said with a smile. “Run along and play with your friends now; they’ll be waiting for you.”
Carrie gave a sigh of relief and went back to her desk. Maybe, just this once, Grannie won’t do anything awful.
Shauna’s eyes were wide. “How old is she, Carrie?” she whispered.
“Eighty-one,” Carrie said quickly. “Now, about the front page, …”
They decided to use three pieces: Mrs. Currie’s fall off her stepladder, Bryan Wilson’s plans to become a hockey pro, and the mysterious footprints in the dirt around the Adam’s family’s garbage can.
As they worked, Carrie could hear Grannie talking. At first she thought that Grannie was talking to her father, but when she looked around, Dad was in the easy chair, reading the newspaper.
“Look at the clowns!” Grannie was saying. “Oh my—see how many elephants there are!”
Nervously Carrie looked at her friends. Their heads were bent over the dummy sheet that they were putting together. Maybe Grannie’s watching TV. Carrie glanced over at the television set, but the screen was blank. Grannie was staring out the front window.
Elephants on McDonald Street? That’s impossible! Grannie’s seeing things again. Carrie felt her face getting red. Why did Mom have to invite Grannie for the same night that Shauna and Adam were coming?
“Oh! There’s the lion tamer!”
Adam looked up and began to stare.
Carrie quickly turned back to her typewriter and said, “Super Scooper News,” loudly as she picked out the letters.
“Bonnie, come here. I have some treats for you and your friends.”
Carrie’s face got redder. Bonnie was her mother’s name, but she was sure that Grannie was speaking to her. “Just a minute, Grannie,” she said.
But Grannie had sounded so pleased with herself that Carrie couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. She went over to Grannie’s chair, where the old woman pulled some lint-covered cough drops out of her dress pocket. “Here. And when these are gone, I have some more.”
Carrie nodded and took them.
“What’d you get?” There was an expectant look on Shauna’s face.
“Oh, nothing—just some cough drops.” Carrie tried stuffing them into her jeans pocket, but Adam stopped her.
“Can I have one?”
“Well …”
But it was too late. Adam reached and took one. It had not only lint on it but a clinging hair as well.
“Yuck!” Shauna started giggling.
“She can’t help it!” Carrie whispered, embarrassed. “She just doesn’t know any better.”
“Some people get senile,” Adam said sympathetically. “Boy, I hope I never do.”
It sounded as though Grannie were busy watching her invisible circus parade again. Tears burned in Carrie’s eyes as she turned back to the typewriter once more. “What’s the best title for this one—‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall’?”
“So you’re using that typewriter again, Penelope.”
Oh no! Grannie was coming over! Carrie wished that she could tell her grandmother to leave her alone. She poked at the r extra hard, and her finger went between the keys, jamming the r and t keys together.
Now Grannie was looking over her shoulder. “I used to be a real good typist in my day,” she said. “I could type eighty words a minute—clean copy, without a single error.”
Carrie’s head lifted. She had to admit that that sounded fast. “We’re doing our newspaper, Grannie,” she said.
“Oh yes!” Grannie beamed. “Our newspaper, Penelope! I’d almost forgotten. Be sure to tell about how Mrs. Schneider’s cat chased off those huge dogs.”
Shauna looked uncomfortable. Adam looked restless. Carrie’s finger hurt, and the letters were still jammed. “I need to type now,” she finally said in a low voice. Maybe Grannie would take the hint and go back to her chair.
Grannie reached out and unjammed the keys. “Careful, Penelope.”
“I’m Carrie,” Carrie said loudly. Shauna began to giggle.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. “Carrie. Yes, Carrie. Sometimes I get so mixed up these days.”
Does she ever! said the look in Shauna’s eyes. Adam looked puzzled. And Grannie looked very sad.
Carrie took a deep breath. Does Grannie feel bad about the way she is? It must be terrible to be so forgetful and not be able to do anything about it. “Want to help, Grannie?” she asked. “You could type, and we’ll dictate the copy to you.”
Grannie’s smile was like sunlight coming through clouds. “Why, yes, Penelope! You just tell me what to type, and I’ll be extra careful to get it right.”
Carrie held her breath. Shauna was holding her breath too. Grannie sat down at the typewriter. Adam began reading in a loud, steady voice: “‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall.’”
Nervously Carrie looked over her grandmother’s shoulder. The words were typed just as Adam had read them.
Maybe Grannie was a little strange and sometimes got all mixed up, but she really was a special person. Besides, the Super Scooper News staff didn’t need cookies or autographs right now—they needed their newspaper typed. And from the look of it, Grannie was going to give them the neatest copy they’d ever had!

On a vacation, I was traveling by ship down the Volga River in Russia, far from any LDS chapel. That Sunday I had planned to read the Book of Mormon alone in my cabin.
My plans changed when I found out the ship was leased for summer tours to a Latter-day Saint family. With permission from their Church leaders, they had scheduled a worship service for LDS passengers, including several Russian Latter-day Saints traveling on the ship. I was asked to bless the sacrament. I wondered if I would bless the sacrament alone and if I would be the only teenager there. I hoped not.
Later that morning when I entered the music salon where the meeting would be held, my anxious heart quieted as I saw other young men in ties and young women in dresses. I looked around for something resembling a sacrament table. To my right, I noticed that a white tablecloth from the dining hall had been spread over the piano bench. The bread and water trays sat on the white linen. The brother who had asked me to bless the sacrament introduced me to a young man.
“This is Sergei,” he said. “He will bless with you.”
Sergei, from Moscow, had just completed his service in the militia. He had met two missionaries in the subway. That eventually led to his baptism.
“Dobray Dien!” I said, practicing what little Russian I had learned.
“Dobray Dien,” he responded with a chuckle.
“Minyah Savoot, William,” I said, introducing myself.
“Minyah Savoot, Sergei.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
“A little.”
He pulled out a sheet of paper—tattered from use—and unfolded it. It contained LDS religious terms with their definitions. He pointed to the word sacrament as if to communicate our role in the worship service. I nodded. He next pointed to the word bread and then to himself.
“Me?” he asked.
Then he pointed to the word water and then pointed to me, I understood. He would bless the bread. I would bless the water.
“Da,” I said in Russian, agreeing with his plan.
The music began, and a young man, Vladimir, led the congregation in “Come, Come, Ye Saints.” The curtains of the room had been drawn aside, and through the windows we saw a panoramic view of Russia’s countryside.
Sergei’s copy of the Book of Mormon was well used. He thumbed through its pages for the sacrament prayer.
We stood and broke the homemade Russian sourdough bread. I could hear the congregation singing “I Stand All Amazed,” half singing in Russian and the other half in English. No one had hymnbooks, so we sang from memory. I was impressed to hear the combination of Russian and English as if our voices were creating a new language.
When the hymn ended, I knelt with Sergei. As we knelt on the floor, I could feel a slight rocking of the ship. The congregation bowed their heads. Sergei began saying the prayer in Russian.
I felt the Spirit of God enter my heart and burn through my chest. Here we were, Sergei and I, on a ship far from our homes and families, two people from different continents and speaking different languages—but feeling the same Spirit. I understood the words he spoke, clearly and peacefully. I felt solemnity fill my mind.
After wiping a few tears from my eyes, I stood with Sergei. We passed the bread trays to three young priesthood holders, who then passed the bread to the congregation.
A few minutes later, I blessed the water in English, saying the prayer with more conviction than ever before. I felt as if I were actually speaking to the Lord. My heart swelled with joy as I said amen and stood to serve the water trays.
That day, Sergei and I had come together to do the Lord’s work. We had blessed the emblems Christ instituted just before his death and sacrifice. Sergei had spoken Russian. I had spoken English. But for all of us who were present, the language spoken was the Spirit.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we’d be starting with Kenny’s speech. That would give me about 15 to 20 minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. Boy, I had nerve the day I chose this topic.
Kenny was almost finished. No one had any questions about Kenny’s speech on Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. ‘He was born in …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one guy, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Billy, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Billy for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over 30 minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.