Gospel Story Finder

I moved to a small town at the beginning of the school year. I was at lunch with a group of kids when they started talking about an inappropriate word. They were saying that if a teacher heard them say it, they would get in trouble.
Then one of them said, “Everyone says it … everyone but Sarah.” I looked up in surprise. I was glad they recognized that I do not say that type of word. And they respect that I am different.
This happened before those people really knew my standards or which church I belonged to. I know I have to watch what I say because others are listening to me, and I want to be a good example.

Was the Prophet himself faithful sufficiently that he was ever healed? Yes—repeatedly. He once was poisoned and then vomited so violently that his jaw was thrown out of joint. He was immediately administered to and healed.71 In another experience, this time with his brother Hyrum, at the end of the Zion’s Camp march, he prophesied that because the Camp was not repentant and not living as a modern Camp of Israel should, some of them would die. One account says, “like sheep with rot”—a terrifying statement.72 Thirteen died. In spite of his prophecy, Joseph yearned to heal them. He and Hyrum tried, but they had no sooner laid their hands on the sufferers than they themselves were smitten with cholera. They felt its ravages, fell down prostrate together, and prayed for deliverance. Even at that moment, Mother Smith was praying for them.73 In prayer they asked for a testimony that the Lord would relieve them and that healing would come. Within minutes they arose free of the disease which, in other cases, was fatal.

My boyhood home in California was located relatively close to large orchards of apricots, cherries, peaches, pears, and other delicious fruits. We also lived near fields of cucumbers, tomatoes, and a variety of vegetables.
As a boy I always looked forward to canning season. I did not like scrubbing the canning jars or working in our hot kitchen. But I did like working with my mom and dad. And I loved eating my work! I am sure I ate more fruit than ever made it into any of our canning jars.
My memories of time spent in the kitchen with Mom and Dad are stirred every time I see a bottle of home-canned cherries or peaches. The basic lessons I learned about temporal self-reliance and provident living while picking and canning produce have blessed me throughout my life. Interestingly, simple and ordinary experiences often provide the most important learning opportunities we ever have.

Learning basic literacy skills helped Paul Imietehe of Nigeria, a convert to the Church, to better understand and share the gospel. He recalls:

“I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Warri, Nigeria. My membership in the Church made me realize the need to learn to read and write. When my priesthood leaders extended assignments to me to give talks and say prayers, I would stay away from church. It was such a source of shame for me.

“When I moved to Abuja, I saw Church books and magazines, and I felt a strong need to know how to read and write. I desired to read these publications that other members were reading and were happy about. Most of the Church members there gladly expressed themselves, sharing their testimonies of the gospel, and I wanted to be able to express the strong feelings I have of the truthfulness of the gospel. I knew then that I had to learn to read and write.

“One Sunday I decided to attend the Sunday School gospel literacy class. On my first day in class, I saw that the other students were mainly sisters and younger boys. I was the only adult man in the class. I was tempted to leave, but my strong desire to learn kept me there. Our teacher encouraged each of us to participate in reading from the gospel literacy manual and from the scriptures.

“I put much effort into learning to read. I read the scriptures and Church magazines. My understanding improved when I was called as second counselor in the Idu Branch Sunday School presidency. Initially, I was doubtful about my abilities. But as I was set apart, the branch president pronounced a blessing that I would have the ability to magnify the calling. During the setting apart, I had a feeling of confidence.

“Two weeks later, I was given the assignment to teach adult Sunday School. Although I worried about my abilities, I prepared all week long when I returned home from work and even during my break at work. When Sunday came and it was time to teach, I said a short silent prayer and asked Heavenly Father to lead me. When I opened my mouth to speak, I was surprised that the words just flowed. I thought I would stammer but did not.

“Most of the class members are more educated than I am, but their responses and the expressions on their faces encouraged me. I felt at peace throughout the class.

“Gospel literacy has built in me a strong desire to improve my formal education. It has also helped me understand the gospel better and made me better able to serve others.

“I am a sculptor by vocation and am working with a construction company, where I use my woodworking skills. In Nigeria, we have a proverb that says, ‘The axe we use in tearing wood is so important we carry it with two hands and rest it on our shoulder.’ The axe is too important to set down. That’s how I feel about the Church and gospel literacy. I carry them with my two hands and my shoulder and cannot put them down.

“I am thankful for my branch leaders who encouraged me to learn, especially Brother Lawrence Monyei, my gospel literacy teacher.”

Brother Imietehe learned to read and write in his gospel literacy class, and as a result his confidence grew and his testimony of the gospel became stronger. He has since blessed the lives of many members of his branch.

Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.

He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.

His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.

He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.

This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.

On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.

He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.

He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.

The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.

Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.

Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.

My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.

As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.

Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”

“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.

The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”

My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.

How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.

He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.

Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.

He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.

Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.

“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.

“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”

Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

Samuel and Anna-Maria Koivisto showed both commitment and willingness. Soon after their marriage, the Koivistos moved from Jyväskylä, Finland, to Göteborg, Sweden, to pursue career opportunities. After arriving, Brother Koivisto was invited to visit with President Leif G. Mattsson, a counselor in the Göteborg Sweden Stake presidency. Because Samuel did not speak Swedish, the interview was conducted in English.

Following a brief visit, President Mattsson asked Samuel to serve as the ward mission leader in the Utby Ward. Samuel pointed out the obvious: “But I don’t speak Swedish.”

President Mattsson leaned over his desk and pointedly asked, “Did I ask if you could speak Swedish, or are you willing to serve the Lord?”

Samuel answered, “You asked if I was willing to serve the Lord. And I am.”

Samuel accepted the calling. Anna-Maria also accepted callings. Both served faithfully and learned to speak beautiful Swedish along the way.

Commitment and willingness to serve the Lord have characterized the lives of Samuel and Anna-Maria. They are ordinary heroes in the Church. They have faithfully served every time they have been asked. They have taught me that when we serve, we use the talents we have (see Doctrine and Covenants 60:13), and the Lord then helps us accomplish His purposes.

When I was a mission president in northern Germany, I had a very difficult problem. I had searched in vain for an answer for many weeks. One morning I was reading in the Book of Mormon where Nephi was commanded to build a ship: “And I, Nephi, did go into the mount oft, and I did pray oft unto the Lord; wherefore the Lord showed unto me great things” (1 Nephi 18:3). As I read that small passage, the impression came to me, “That is what I need to do.” I pondered and prayed, and finally the answer came, and I knew what I needed to do. I am grateful for that little window of inspiration that came—as I was searching the scriptures. As I received my answer, I felt that I was “standing in a holy place.” I know that you too can have similar experiences as you search, ponder, and pray about the scriptures.

Many years ago, our family was driving home to São Paulo, Brazil, after visiting relatives. Just as we drove up a steep road, our car broke down.
We tried to restart the car for several minutes. But it wouldn’t start. Car after car passed us. No one stopped to help.
Finally I told my family that we should pray. My six-year-old son, Moroni, said, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I already prayed.”
“What did you pray for?” I asked.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father that the right person would come by to help us,” he said.
Soon two bright lights appeared behind our car. It was a tow truck. The driver was a mechanic.
“You’re very lucky,” he said. “I finished my work for the day and was heading home.”
He fixed our car. Then he followed us to make sure we got home safely.
I asked Moroni if he knew how special this experience was. “Of course,” he said. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer. So now I have my own testimony! I don’t have to borrow it from you anymore, Dad.” My heart was touched by Moroni’s faithful example.
Moroni is grown now, but I still remember his good example from when he was small. Even as a child, you can be an example to your family and friends.

“Dinner will be ready in a half hour,” Brad’s mother called as he left the house.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll be back.”
Walking down a sidewalk bordered with red and pink petunias, Brad looked over his shoulder at the home he had just left, still impressed by the building of white brick and by the green majesty of trees that shaded it.
Facing forward again, Brad slid his fingers into the pockets of tight denim pants, thinking about the contrast between this house on a wide street in a medium-sized California city and the home he and his parents had lived in until two months earlier.
His father, John Brannigan, had been determined to get his family out of the third-floor railroad flat on a Brooklyn street where poverty forced him to take his bride, but his son was 15 before John Brannigan, working days and going to school nights, received his degree that resulted in a job with an electronics firm and eventually earned for him the position with his company’s California office.
The three-bedroom home they bought was so different from the dreary flat Brad had grown up in, the quietness of the suburban neighborhood such a contrast to the day-and-night uproar of the Brooklyn street, that Brad had no more than begun his adjustment to the change.
“Not that I don’t enjoy the scenery and the climate,” thought Brad, “and I envy Mom her delight in our home.” He thought, too, that he understood his father’s pride in his ability to provide so well for his wife and son. Brad wondered, with a sharp twinge of guilt, whether his parents were aware of his unsettled discontent.
Mostly he missed the camaraderie of friends in Brooklyn he’d known all his life, who understood him in a way he was sure no one in this western community ever would.
Even as he brooded over his lack of companionship, he heard a cheerful, “Hi, Brad. How’s the boy?”
He hadn’t noticed Jeff Collier’s approach, so the stocky senior had greeted him and walked on before Brad could respond. Frowning, he looked after the retreating figure.
“How’s the boy?” he mimicked in a sarcastic undertone. “A lot he cares.” At the same time, he was surprised that the other boy even knew his name. Brad had been a student at Caulfield High for barely a month. In that time he had spoken to no more than half a dozen fellow seniors, but he recognized the class president. That Jeff Collier also recognized him disturbed Brad. Walking on, he decided he must have been pointed out to Jeff as “the dude with the weird accent.”
Brad entered a corner drugstore and an agony of homesickness surged through him. No place else in the California town reminded him of his own faraway city, but pausing beside the magazine rack he looked at publications that were duplicates of those on display in the drugstore in Brooklyn. An identical odor that combined the perfume of cosmetics with the antiseptic smell of medicines deepened his nostalgia.
Seated on a stool covered in shiny orange vinyl, Brad studied, with little interest, his reflection in the mirror behind the counter—a lean, tanned face, a thatch of licorice black hair worn loose over green eyes accented by arched, black brows.
The boy behind the counter asked, “What’ll it be?”
“Fresh limeade. Heavy on the fresh.”
Placing a frosted glass in front of Brad, the boy leaned his weight on folded arms.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re in my chemistry class. Have you finished the outside experiment yet?”
With slow deliberation Brad pulled the glass close, removed paper from a straw. Even though classes in his new school were hard for Brad, he was doing well in everything but chemistry. He felt sure the boy who still waited for an answer knew this, that he was taunting him. Grimly Brad drew tart liquid through the straw, thinking, “The guys in school must joke about how tough they think the students in my Brooklyn school were. Bet they think I didn’t learn a thing.”
His voice bitter with resentment, Brad said, “I suppose you breezed right through the experiment.”
The boy straightened. “Don’t even know where to start. I thought maybe we could talk it over, and also I’d like to—”
“Fat chance, man!” Brad tossed a quarter onto the counter and stalked out of the drugstore, the metallic ring of the coin echoing in his head. Fighting the ache of hurt in his throat, he strode toward his home asking himself, “How long before these dudes stop being suspicious of my background?” Brad was sure his classmates suspected him of carrying a switchblade, that they thought his clothes outlandish, and the few times he had spoken in a classroom, he’d caught glances exchanged between several fellow students who appeared to be highly amused because his speech was so different from their own.
In his preoccupation Brad nearly collided with a girl who suddenly appeared around a corner. Mumbling, “Sorry,” he would have hurried on, but she spoke his name.
“Brad Brannigan! Do you always walk right past people you know?”
Recognizing Jill Fenton he wished he could know her. Since his first day in English literature class he had been very much aware of the tall girl with the ash-blonde hair, had admired the friendliness of a smile that seemed to include everyone.
“Even me,” thought Brad. “A doll like Jill wouldn’t cut anybody.” Convinced she spoke to him only because she pitied him, resenting that pity so intensely he could barely speak, Brad muttered, “Gotta go, Jill. See you around.”
As he brushed past her, Brad’s quick sideways glimpse of the girl’s face left him with the uneasy feeling that his abruptness had marred her bright mood. Steps faltering he paused, then turned, but she was walking rapidly away, and Brad told himself, “What makes me think a snub from a guy she couldn’t really give a hang about would bother a popular girl like Jill?”
Dismissing his uneasiness, Brad was soon in an area of the town where he had been several times because a building on the corner of Vine and First streets attracted him. Rich green lawns, trimmed shrubs, and brightly grouped flowers surrounded a large structure of tan brick topped by a tapered, heaven-pointing spire. Brad thought the building was probably a church, but he couldn’t understand why there should be so much activity inside it. Every time he had walked by, people seemed to be going in or coming out.
Leaning against a tree Brad thought about his own religious background. His parents were good, honest people who had explained to him as much about God and the plan of life as they understood themselves, and although aware of the many shadings between right and wrong, Brad still felt a yearning to understand the reason for his existence, and he sensed, from the expressions of purposeful contentment on the faces of both adults and children who went in and out of the building that they knew the reason for theirs.
With a shrug, assuring himself that contentment and self-assurance were moods that could hardly be influenced by anything that took place inside a structure of brick and wood, Brad started home again, hoping he would meet no more of his classmates, not sure he could cope with another condescending greeting, but as he turned to go up the walk toward his house, four girls, walking together, called, “Hi, Brad!” not seeming to notice his surly lack of response.
After a night made restless by loneliness and a wretched sense of displacement, Brad left for school, wondering wearily whether he could ever hurdle the barrier of his strangeness, ever feel himself a part of the California community.
He was so emotionally off-balance all day that when Jeff Collier caught up with him in the hall after the last period, he walked along, unresisting, as Jeff propelled him down the hall with a hand under his elbow.
“Brad, we require another warm body on the decorating committee for the Senior Hop,” Jeff said. “You’ll be glad to know you just volunteered.”
Brad, irritated, wondered why he should help with a dance he hadn’t even considered attending, but before he could voice his refusal, Jeff spoke again.
“I’ll let you know in a couple of days where and when we’ll meet. Okay?”
To his surprise Brad heard himself answer, “Okay,” and felt the muscles in his cheeks relax in a grin, a response to the cheerful smile Jeff gave him.
Still off guard, Brad stopped to wait for Jill Fenton when she called to him outside the school.
She looked up at him with a smile that was hesitant, Brad suspected, because of his abruptness with her the evening before, but she said, “Brad, I wondered whether you’d like to come to activity night tonight.”
“To what?”
Jill laughed. “Oh, it’s an auxiliary of the church a lot of us in this high school belong to. We’re Latter-day Saints.”
“That’s one I never heard of.”
“Some people call us Mormons,” Jill continued, and before Brad could say that he had, indeed, heard of that church, but nothing he’d care to repeat, she added, “We have a chapel on the corner of Vine and First streets. If you’ll be there at 7:30 tonight, I’ll meet you at the door.”
Never could Brad remember living through such an endless evening. He couldn’t eat his dinner; then he had to spend the next hour assuring his mother that no, he wasn’t sick and yes, everything was fine at school. By 7:15 he had definitely decided he wouldn’t go anywhere near the Mormon chapel, and at 7:20 he called, “I’m going out, Mom. I won’t be late,” as he raced out of the house. What if Jill had given up on him? What if he couldn’t find her when he got to the chapel? But as he stepped onto the wide porch, Jill came through the door.
“Oh, Brad, I’m glad you came, but we’ll have to hurry. Rehearsal has already started.”
He followed Jill through a red-carpeted foyer into what was, to his surprise, an enormous high-ceilinged room that looked like a gymnasium. Near a stage on one side of the oblong area at least 30 young people, who appeared to range in age from about 12 to 17 or 18, milled around. Among them were several adults, including a big man whose broad, animated face was edged by rust-shaded sideburns. He turned as Jill, with Brad behind her, walked up to him.
Jill’s hand on his arm moved Brad forward.
“Brother Hill, this is Bradley Brannigan, the new boy in school I told you about. Won’t he be perfect for the Indian chief?”
“Hey, yeah, he sure will!” The man’s examination of Brad was candid and jovial. “Perfect. How about it, Brannigan? You ready to be in our show?”
“Your what?” Brad was confused, not only by the request, but by the bustle around him and the chatter that was suddenly drowned out by a reverberating chord on the piano which seemed to be a signal for most of the young people to run onto the stage where they lined up, arms linked.
As one of the group began to rehearse the others in what appeared to be a somewhat complex dance routine, Jill said, “Brad, our church has all kinds of interesting activities for the boys and girls our age. One of the things we’re doing in this ward right now is a musical show.”
Brad’s bewilderment must have shown in his face because Jill, smiling, explained to him that a ward was an area division of the Latter-day Saint church and that the show now in rehearsal was a dance-drama-musical production put on by the young people of the ward with token help from qualified adults.
“Paul Ensign and Jeff Collier wrote the words and music for this show,” Jill went on, “but we didn’t have anyone who seemed to be right for the part of the Indian chief. Paul said he saw you in the drugstore yesterday and thought how good you’d be, but he couldn’t get you to talk to him, so he asked me to invite you here tonight.”
Intrigued by what Jill told him, but unable even to imagine himself taking part in such a production, actually performing in front of an audience, Brad said, “Oh, I couldn’t do a thing like that, Jill, and anyway I’m not a member of your church, so—”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter at all,“ she said quickly. “You live close, and we desperately need your tall, dark, and handsome presence.”
“Flattery,” said Mr. Hill who had come up to them, “should get you everywhere, Jill. Come on, young fellow, let’s see what you can do.”
Brad, walking forward when Jill did, was amazed to find his feet carrying him onto the stage where he was thrust out in front of the grouped boys and girls. He wasn’t given a chance to say he wouldn’t be an Indian chief. Dazed, he accepted the script thrust into his hands, read lines each time Paul Ensign told him to, and when the play’s finale was reached, he was one of the performers who lined up to sing, with loud enthusiasm, “Home, Home on the Range.”
He left the chapel, part of a large group, and when they reached his house, those who were still together chorused, “Goodnight, Brad!” and “See you tomorrow.”
A glow that had been lit inside him during the evening burned around Brad’s heart and was renewed every time he remembered, during the night, how casually, yet how completely, the friendly, cheerful group had accepted him as one of them.
Entering the school building next morning, Brad was filled with anxiety and anticipation. Would the wondrous sense of belonging, which had so warmed him the night before, carry into the school day, or must he continue to keep himself apart—continue to remain different and alone?
He didn’t have long to wonder. He was barely inside his first classroom when a vivacious brunette who had played the part of an Indian princess the night before smiled at him from her seat across the room, and Jeff Collier lifted a hand in greeting when he walked in.
In his own seat Brad opened his English literature textbook to the poetry assigned for the day. A poem by Edwin Markham caught his attention. He read words that seemed to hold up a mirror reflecting his own recent actions—words about a rebel who, flaunting withdrawal from others, drew a circle around himself to shut out those who would befriend him.
Jill Fenton came in and touched Brad’s shoulder as she walked past him to her own seat. Lowering his head to hide tears, Brad read the poem’s final line that told of friends who, with their love, drew a circle around the rebel’s circle and took him in.

I joined the Church as a convert in 1976, just a few days after my ninth birthday. I was baptized on the same day as my parents. Together my mom, dad, younger sister and I made the transition from being non-attending Presbyterians to active members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And what a transition it was! Sundays, in the 1970s, consisted of at least two trips to the church-one for Sunday school and one for Sacrament meeting. And Primary was held after school on a weekday! While I am sure I learned quickly, I still remember feeling awkward when I didn't know the answers even to the easy questions in Primary. It was not until I had children of my own that I realized how much gospel learning could take place in the first eight or nine years of a child's life.

Perhaps due to my late start, I've often felt somewhat less spiritually mature than many of my LDS peers. Nevertheless, like David of the Old Testament, I had experiences in my youth that to me, particularly in hindsight, have allowed me to believe in a loving Heavenly Father who knows me personally.

I am certain that if each of us thinks carefully enough, we can recall an experience in which we felt--even knew--that Father in Heaven was cognizant of us as an individual.

One of the more powerful such experiences of my youth occurred in late August or early September of 1985, just a few days before I was to begin my freshman year at BYU. I had worked hard to fit my schedule together--you know how tricky it can be to get into each of the classes you need at the times you need them. Having completed this tedious task, I don't know why I was still perusing the course schedule. Nevertheless I still vividly remember sitting at the kitchen table in my parents' home, flipping through the pages, when my eyes landed on the bold-type word "Chinese"--the catalog heading for the Chinese courses offered that semester. At that moment I experienced a feeling quite unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It was almost as if I'd been shocked by some unseen electrical source--not a painful shock, but clearly some sort of physical feeling. Not simply an idea or brainstorm or a thought popping into my head. I knew--I knew--at that very instant that I must study Chinese.

Prior to this profound impression to study Chinese, I had only a small handful of remote recollections of even hearing references to China. The first was a memory of a radio news broadcast announcing the death of Mao Zedong, leader of the People's Republic of China. That would have been in September of 1976, when I was eight years old. I remember a high school classmate writing a report on Genghis Khan, whose progeny overthrew the Chinese empire in the 12th century. And finally, I remember overhearing a friend of another classmate talking about a trip to China he and his brother planned to make after they graduated. That's it. So this crazy compelling feeling to study Chinese was really "out of the blue."

Lacking confidence, I made my way to the office of Professor Gary Williams, then chair of the Department of Asian and Near Eastern Languages at BYU. Professor Williams was patient with my naïve inquiries and encouraged me to sign up for Chinese 101.

My life has been richly blessed because of my decision to follow the promptings I felt to take that first Chinese class. I was better prepared to serve the Lord in Taiwan, where I was called as a missionary a year after taking that first Chinese class--to serve under Mission President Gary Williams, coincidentally! Upon completing my mission I taught Mandarin in the MTC. And there are many other experiences that resulted from that decision to register for Chinese 101. I would not likely be a professor of Chinese at BYU-Idaho today had I not followed that initial impression.

In hindsight, I recognize that it was my belief and my faith that a loving Heavenly Father had spoken to me that gave me the courage to follow the inspiration to begin studying Chinese. But from where did that feeling come? And why was it so powerful to cause me to take such seemingly baseless action?

I know, unequivocally, that the experience I had that impelled me to begin my study of Chinese nearly twenty-five years ago, was Heavenly Father informing me, through the power of the Holy Ghost, of a path I could choose that would bring many blessings into my life. Having followed that powerful prompting and made that decision, and personally experiencing its consequences, I have come to know with certainty that we are children of a loving Heavenly Father; that he communicates with us, that our life on Earth has purpose, and that these principles I have discussed today are true.

Beginning with the end can also give us valuable perspective in the midst of temptations. When I turned 15 years old, my father taught me to drive a car. He took me to a long, straight, two-lane road on the outskirts of my hometown in Tennessee. He pulled the car over onto the shoulder and let me get in the driver’s seat. He instructed me to look in my mirrors for oncoming cars and then to ease out onto the road. I excitedly followed his coaching and drove with what I thought was great care and caution. That is until he said, “Son, pull the car over. You’re making me nauseous. You are swerving all over the road. What are you looking at?”
With some exasperation, I answered, “I’m looking at the road.”
Then he said, “I’m watching your eyes, and you are looking only at what is right in front of the hood of the car. If you look only at what is directly in front of you, you will never drive straight.” Then he emphasized, “Keep your eyes down the road, on where you want to go. That will help you drive straight.”
As we travel on the road of our lives, one reason we may swerve or veer from the straight and narrow path is that we get too myopic and just look at what is immediately in front of us. We will make better choices if we lift our eyes up regularly to ensure we are headed in the right direction. Satan often tries to distract us from what we want most (think of those eternal blessings) and trade them for things that are enticing and that we feel we must have in any given moment.

Washington, Utah, MIA girls had an unforgettable time when they presented handmade gifts to children at the Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. Each girl had made a gift; and five quilts, stuffed toys, and articles of clothing were presented. During the trip to Salt Lake they were guests of the Granger 13th Ward and were escorted on tours through the New Era offices, Temple Square, and other historic sites. (See photo).

Melinda was almost eight, and she was eager to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. She was ready to make a covenant—a sacred promise—with Heavenly Father.
Melinda had already practiced making and keeping promises. When her mother asked her to read to her little brother each evening, Melinda promised to do it—and she did! And each time she went to her friend’s house, she promised she would be home on time. She kept that promise, too.
Most of all, Melinda was trying to always remember Jesus. When she was tempted to pretend she didn’t hear her father call her to come home, she thought, What would Jesus want me to do? She quickly ran home.
Now she was eager to promise Heavenly Father to keep His commandments and to take upon her the name of His Son and always remember Him. She knew when she was baptized and made that promise, He would promise her that she would always have His Spirit to be with her.
In family home evening, her father taught about the Liahona, a special compass the Lord gave to Lehi’s family to guide them through the wilderness (see 1 Ne. 16). The Liahona worked only when the people were faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments (see 1 Ne. 16:28). Melinda knew she must also be faithful and diligent in keeping her baptismal covenant so she could have the Holy Ghost to guide her. She knew if she kept her promise, Heavenly Father would keep His promise.

Was the Prophet an emotional man? In all the worthy senses of that word, the answer is yes. The tears sprang easily to his eyes, and this happened in varied situations. There is, for example, the occasion on which Parley P. Pratt returned to Nauvoo by boat, having been on a long mission, and the Prophet came down to greet him and just wept. When Parley could extricate himself he said, “Why Brother Joseph, if you feel so bad about our coming, I guess we will have to go back again.”46 He wept, too, at good-byes: the tears were flowing fast on the day he said good-bye to his family before he left for Richmond Jail.

A young man returning from his mission shared his experience with faith. He acknowledged it as a miracle in his life. He said, “I was the first of six children born to my parents. My mother and father taught me when I was young the principles of the gospel. Faith was taught through the example of both my mother and father. When I was only 10 years old, my father, this great example of trusting the Lord, was killed in an accident. I was young and had many feelings to deal with that were new to me.” This young man said he realized that he had two choices available to him—“I could have become bitter towards the Lord and lost all that I now have, or I could trust the Lord. Because of the example of my parents, trust was the path I chose. Choosing faith has made all of the difference.”

I remember when I was serving as a branch president and was working on our annual tithing report. It was a beautiful winter day, and my wife was waiting to go for a walk with me. I was used to doing finances as a government officer, so this was no big task for me. But every time I tried to balance the figures, they did not add up right. I kept trying and trying, but nothing worked, and I was getting frustrated. I asked Heavenly Father to help.
After I got up from my knees, I couldn’t see that anything had changed. But I felt prompted to review a specific portion of the donation receipt file again. In those days the receipts were glued together in pads, and this time I discovered that two receipts had stuck together and looked like one receipt. The problem was solved.

As a young girl, I developed a strong imagination and sense of humor. Listening to music was one of my favorite pastimes. I often pulled out our old record player and listened to the music from popular plays and movies such as Carousel, Oklahoma, and the Music Man. I had never actually seen them, so I created my own plots and story lines based on the words from the songs. I also made up all the dances and acted out many of the roles. It didn’t take much to make me happy. A few dress-up clothes from my parents’ closet, a record, an empty room, and I was off on an adventure.
In my mind, I traveled to many faraway places and experienced many marvelous things. In fact, later in my life, when I was able to travel, I discovered that the places I visited in my imagination were almost more fun and exciting than trips I actually took.

Some things I learned by what I did, rather than from someone else’s actions. One Christmas a favorite aunt gave me a book of illustrated stories from the Old Testament. Outside, the weather was cold and the wind was howling. I couldn’t sleep. I waited until everybody else was asleep so that I wouldn’t disturb them, then gathered up my blanket and settled down near the forced-air heat vent and read that book for hours at a time. Before that I hadn’t been much of a reader, but I was entranced by that book. I really developed a love for the scriptures at that young age.

When I was seven years old, I promised the Lord that if given the opportunity, I would preach the gospel throughout the world. At that time I regularly attended the Baptist Church with my family. I did not understand many things. For example, I didn’t know why only the pastor and his assistants were allowed to speak. I felt that everyone should have the opportunity to share their feelings and beliefs about their church. However, my family and our church helped me to gain a love and appreciation for our Savior Jesus Christ and for the scriptures.
As I was growing up, my family lived less than five minutes from the Washington D.C. Temple. The temple just fascinated me as a young boy, and I always wanted to enter it, but my father assured me, “It won’t be part of your life. Don’t ever worry about that building.”
Every day I would watch my father study the Bible intensely. I knew my father was a man of God, and I began to pose many questions. He would always tell me to read the Bible and find out for myself.
A decade later, I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I came to realize that the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely upon the testimony of my father, but I still did not have the whole truth. I longed to know why I felt compelled to live my life never drinking, smoking, or swearing and remaining morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months, I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, President Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons that I received many recognitions and awards.
It was in South Africa that I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young single adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of night-shift duty. I went downstairs to the library of the embassy where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All this information came up, so I just read it for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black tags. They were sitting on the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. I woke up, but I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into an LDS ward, I knew there was something different about this church. Also, it happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant that the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries who began to teach me. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted.
Later, when we got to the principle about baptism for the dead, I thought it was so amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I just thought that was incredible, and I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which is about families, and I just always knew that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then that I had a discovery. I don’t want to call it a paradigm shift, but it felt like my soul unfolded, and I just shed this shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was three feet off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I wanted to know why I was the way that I was. No one ever had the answer to that for me, but the Lord did through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew that everything they had taught me previously was true, and everything that they would teach me would be true. I never felt the Spirit so strongly reading scriptures before, and when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21, I knew it was true. I always knew that my body was important, and I knew that it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision. The night of the sixth discussion was a very eventful night.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me that you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you, and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and that you will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know that the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t too happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees in the kitchen and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of miles away from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. It was a very clear voice that just said, “You’re to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on October 12, 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, October 12, 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving a full-time mission to the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive about my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine, and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my serving a mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before I had to leave to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started, my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and told me, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know that we owe it to the service that you gave in Spain for two years.”

Somehow, Sage hung on to life, and two days later the doctors felt she was strong enough to receive the first of what would eventually be eight skin grafts. Then she developed pneumonia.
“All we did those first ten days was cry and pray,” says Michael.
Denise learned of the accident while teaching her kindergarten class. “A deputy sheriff called me. I had to stuff my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. When I finally saw Sage, I would not have known she was my daughter if someone hadn’t told me.”
Both Michael and Denise credit Sage’s survival to the skill of the medical staff who attended her and to the faith and prayers of the members of their new church.
“We found out immediately what the Church was all about,” Michael says. “The ward held some special fasts, although we didn’t even know what a fast was at the time. And many people came to give their support. Sage received many priesthood blessings.”
One of the first blessings was given by Robert DeBuck. Robert with his wife, Ruth, had introduced the Volkmans to the Church. “When Robert blessed Sage,” Ruth recalls, “he told her to go where it was safe—into Heavenly Father’s arms. We lived for a long time on faith in that blessing. We believe that’s where she was.”