Gospel Story Finder

As a member of our ward’s priests quorum, I had the responsibility to visit many members of our ward who were shut-ins and could not come to church. Every Sunday, another priest and I would pack up a tray, white cloths, small cups, and bread, and go to each of the members’ homes who couldn’t make it to church but still wanted to take the sacrament.
For the first few weeks I viewed this duty as me giving up precious napping hours every Sunday afternoon. But as I watched the deep reverence these elderly members displayed for the sacrament, my entire demeanor changed. I began to see myself as a servant who helped bless the lives of many who could not receive those blessings otherwise. As I blessed the sacrament each week, I felt greater gravity and peace in the words to “remember Him” and “keep His commandments.”
Many youth today see the teenage years as a time to have fun, live it up, and party. As young men of the priesthood, we can’t afford to participate in anything that inhibits us from being clean and pure. Being called upon regularly to exercise my duties as an Aaronic Priesthood holder changed my life forever and instilled in me a profound desire to always remember who I am and to live a life of worthiness and service.
Knowing that it was up to me, a 16-year-old young man, to be the vessel to provide the sacrament to many who needed help urged me to live up to my full priesthood potential.

It is difficult to turn to God when we make mistakes. One of the most touching and valuable lessons regarding turning to God after making poor decisions came from a young woman who became pregnant out of wedlock at a very young age. I worked in adoptions in LDS Family Services for years and could relate other such experiences. I served as her priesthood leader. At such a tender age, she was required to make the difficult decision of what to do with and for her unborn child. After much thought and prayer and counseling with others, she came to the conclusion that she would do what she believed was in the best interest of her child. She placed it with a young couple that could not have children of their own. After struggling with this heart wrenching decision, she went through the challenging experience of repentance. Perhaps her greatest challenge was to forgive herself.

One of the last times I spoke with her as a Church leader, I asked her, "How do you feel about the Savior?" I will never forget what she said: "I love the Savior very much. I know He lives and loves me and that He has forgiven me of my mistakes and sins." Words cannot express what she said, how she said it and how I felt that day, but I remember thinking that such a young girl would not generally have such an abiding testimony of the Savior. This kind of a testimony was more often found in older more experienced members of the Church.

It was another reminder that God is most generous, and He will bless us without measure as we turn our lives and hearts to him. Even when we make serious mistakes and have difficult problems, He is saying to us, "I'm sorry that you made a wrong choice or that you had to suffer such difficulty, but if you will turn your heart to me, I will make the blessing that comes out of it even greater than the disappointment and challenges that you faced going through it." Truly, we can have confidence that "All things work together to them that walk uprightly."

It is about two such boys and two good men that I’d like to talk tonight, for they form the central theme of my remarks.
The boys are special young men, like all of you and the men are choice leaders in church and community. I met one of these fathers and his five-year old son just a few days ago. The father told me of a recent conversation with his boy in which he explained that elections are coming soon and that he is being urged to run again for the office of mayor. “Shall I run for mayor?” he said.
“Uh-uh,” said the lad.
“Well,” said the father, “some church leaders are coming to our stake next week and they may ask me to continue to serve as stake president. Shall I say yes if they ask me?”
“Uh-uh,” said the boy.
“What do you want me to do?” the father laughed.
His son said, “I just want a regular dad.”
The other story was equally interesting and significant to me. This family has a tradition of educational accomplishment and the father was shaken a bit when his wife brought him their high school son’s report card with his first C on it. Dad brooded over the matter and when the son came home invited him into the study, sternly confronted him with the card, and said, “Son, what is this I see on your report card?”
“Well, Dad,” replied the boy, “I hope you see the five As.”

Many years ago, Walton, my teenage son, and I were assigned as home teachers to the Brown family (name has been changed). Brother Brown had become disaffected with the Church and turned his back on the gospel. His wife, two teenage daughters, and a young son remained active. We prayed deeply to seek inspiration on how we could help this family. Prior to losing his way, Brother Brown was a very faithful brother who held prominent Church callings. When I served in the bishopric, he was the executive secretary—and he always performed his duties with diligence.
The first few visits were a bit awkward as he would ask us “strange” gospel questions. The good thing is he allowed us in his home. We did not pressure him to return, we just persevered as we ministered with love. He knew we were genuine and deeply interested in him and his family. We eventually became good friends and he would look forward to our visits. His wife and children did not hesitate to call us when they needed any help—be it transportation or to give priesthood blessings. We promptly availed ourselves all the time. We became like family and we were happy to serve. Brother Brown did not respond immediately, but we continued to minister, trusting in the Lord’s timing. We prayed and fasted often, pleading with the Lord to soften his heart and seeking for guidance on how we could bless, strengthen, encourage, and inspire the family.
After a number of years, the miracles unraveled as he started taking his son to Church activities. It was great to see how close he became to his son in the process. Then slowly but assuredly, he started attending church again. It was sweet to witness since many had given up on him. The family was thrilled. We as home teachers quietly felt that our visits had eventually opened the door for his return. Today he is an active participant again. Perhaps more importantly, he worships in the temple every Friday for five hours. He, without fail, attends two endowment sessions and then serves as a veil worker.
A few years ago, I accompanied Elder Carl B. Cook of the Seventy to split the Pretoria Stake. After the conference, Brother Brown beckoned me to come over to him; we embraced for what felt like an eternity, then in between sobs, he uttered the words “It’s because of you that I am here today to witness this and partake of the fruits of the gospel. It’s because of you; thank you, thank you.” I sobbed with him and meekly responded, “It’s not because of me. My son and I were only instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands.” It was an unforgettable moment where we both strongly felt of His Spirit.
Walton and I were genuine friends to him and his family. We were anxiously engaged—ours was not to fulfill an assignment. It was a sacred calling where we visited at the very least once a month, meeting the needs of the family. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) said, “A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens, and a friend reaches out.”1 We tried to be all of the above and as a result the family members called us ‘home teachers’ instead of our actual names. Up to this day, whenever we meet anyone of them, the greeting is always, “Hello, my home teacher!”
While serving as a member of the Seventy, Elder James M. Paramore said, “When God’s love is known and felt and His commandments followed, the results are always the same. There is a newness of life—a spiritual awakening—that comes to man.”2 I strongly feel that this was the case with Brother Brown.
I feel this great joy every time I see Brother Brown. I can attest as President Monson promised that the blessings of eternity await us as we actively participate on the stage of service. And that as we love our God, as we love our neighbor, we can be the recipients of our Heavenly Father’s love.

When our children were younger and we would be on our way to Sunday church meetings, occasionally we would pass a car pulling a boat. My children would become silent and press their noses against the windows and ask, “Dad, why can’t we go waterskiing today instead of to church?”
Sometimes I would take the easy but cowardly way out and answer, “It’s simple; we don’t have a boat.” However, on my more conscientious days, I would muster up all the logic and spirituality available to a patriarch of a family and try to explain how much happier our family was because of our Church activity.
I first realized I wasn’t getting through when on a subsequent Sunday we saw a family laughing and excited as they loaded their snow skis onto their car. One of my teenage sons said with a sly grin, “They’re not really happy, huh, Dad?” That statement has become a family joke whenever we see someone doing something we cannot do. When I see a teenager driving a beautiful, expensive sports car, I say to my sons, “Now there’s one miserable guy.”

I recently started receiving the New Era when I turned 12. Whenever I feel sad or angry I turn to this magazine. One particular article caught my eye. The article was “Evaluate Your Style” (Jan. 2002). These young women set an example in never giving up the dreams they wanted. They came up with designs for modest dresses, a logo, and went through with a presentation to a clothing store. I respect and admire that. I learned a lesson from this article. I hope to follow their examples and take action in the things I want to happen.Meg DeYoungOgden, Utah

Such a long absence seemed impossible now that I was home. Behind me was a year spent in Brazil as an exchange student. And here was Marcia, as pretty, smart, and fun to be with as ever. A year away at college had agreed with her, and I was glad we would have a few weeks together before she returned to BYU.
“What do you have in this suitcase?” Marcia grunted as we swung the enormous case onto my bed.
“Brazilian candy and a soda called Guarana. You’ll love it. Also, I brought some goiabada. I want to cook some Brazilian foods.”
“Are you telling me this thing is full of food?”
“Hardly. I’ve got tons of pictures, and some music, and …” I snapped the locks up, “presents for my friends!” I flipped the case open and began rummaging for Marcia’s gift.
“Jessica.” Something in Marcia’s voice startled me. Looking up I saw she was holding a Book of Mormon. “Where did you get this?”
I took the book gently from her hand and rubbed my thumb over the gold-embossed title. At the airport Marcia had remarked on the changes she saw in me. I was deeply tanned—a true first for my fair and freckled skin. My hairstyle and clothes had taken on a distinctly Brazilian quality, and I was having trouble completing sentences entirely in English. But the changes she hadn’t yet detected were lasting changes. I’d kept this information close to my heart, waiting for the right moment to share it with her. This was my biggest surprise.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” I said, tears stinging my eyes. “I was baptized three weeks ago on July 10th.”
I was unprepared for her scream. She fell back on the bed and screamed a second time. She jumped up and, with tears streaming down her face, grabbed me. Hugging, laughing, and crying we spun together in circles.

Even easier than the temporary apology is the written apology. A letter saying, “I’m really sorry. I do appreciate and love you.” Or just an “I’m sorry” note stuck to the medicine cabinet can give first aid to an injured family member or roommate. A friend of mine, a school teacher, received the following refreshing note from one of her students:
“I want to apologize to you for some of the things I said about you at the first of the year. I thought you were a mean witch, and I even told some other kids that. I was kind of scared of you, and being new in school and all, I thought it was a cool thing to do. Now I can’t believe I really said that. Now I wish you would be my teacher forever. You’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. Love, Mary Jane”
Words that probably would never have been spoken were written and delivered. My friend will always cherish that note.

When I was a teenager, my Young Men president invited the young men in our ward to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.
I didn’t accept that invitation. I’ve usually been someone who is ready to take on any challenge, but I was at a really low point spiritually.
Interestingly, during this time, I was “preparing” to serve a mission, but I was only going through the motions. My testimony was weak, and I told myself I would serve just to make my parents happy. I had decided that after my mission, I would figure things out for myself. I would believe what I wanted to and do my own thing.
Although I was exerting myself in my schoolwork at the time, I had fallen into a pit of spiritual idleness. I felt so distant from God that I started questioning His existence. I had doubts concerning the authenticity of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith’s call to be a prophet. I struggled with self-esteem and self-hate, and I had no strong conviction regarding the purpose of life.
“I was in the darkest abyss” (Mosiah 27:29), so I had little desire to read the Book of Mormon.
One night, I was reading a novel when an impression came to me that I believe and know with all my heart was from the Spirit. I found myself getting deeply wrapped up in the plot of this book, and then the thought came to me that I had never studied the Book of Mormon seriously—at least not as seriously as I was reading and pondering this particular book.
I had casually studied the Book of Mormon, taken notes, and prayed about it multiple times before, but I’d been missing a crucial part of Moroni’s admonition in the last chapter of the Book of Mormon: to ask “with a sincere heart, with real intent” (Moroni 10:4). I knew that it was the perfect time for me to ask my Father in Heaven again for answers. I felt spiritually hungry, and this time the answer actually mattered to me. Without realizing it, I had arrived at a spiritual crossroads, where my faith in the gospel hinged on knowing whether or not the Book of Mormon was true.
The same night I received that impression, I began to read the Book of Mormon—but this time with purpose.
Now eager to accept my Young Men leader’s invitation and finish reading by the end of the year, I read my pocket-size copy at every opportunity possible: on the train, during bus rides to school, in between classes, in between chores, before and after meals, and before bed. At every possible opportunity, I read. And every time I read, I kept praying: “I need to know. I need to know.”
One day my family and I went to the Manila Philippines Temple, but I forgot to bring my temple recommend. I did have my tiny copy of the Book of Mormon with me, though, so I sat in a waiting area and continued to read. Occasionally, I would stop to admire the beauty of the temple—the chandelier, the staircase, the stained-glass windows, and the people coming and going ever so reverently with great love for the Lord in their hearts.
At some point while I was reading, I received a very distinct impression from the Spirit in my mind. When it came, it spoke to me on many different levels. I was actually so shocked when it hit me that I sat up a little straighter. I felt such a powerful feeling that I could not dismiss it as a passing thought or a fleeting emotion.
“Totoo ‘to,” is what I heard in my mind.
A simple yet profound statement in my native tongue, Tagalog, that means, “This is true.”
I had received a confirmation that the Book of Mormon was true—that it was the word of God. I finally knew it with all my heart because I knew that impression had come from heaven.
But that’s not all that I learned.
Growing up, I had read the Book of Mormon and learned about the gospel in English. As a matter of fact, during the first few years of my life, I had a better grasp of English than Tagalog. But receiving this spiritual impression out of nowhere in Tagalog—the language native to my country—spoke truth to my heart.
I knew in that moment that God knows me in a very real and personal way.
I knew that He really is there. I knew that He speaks my language, that He loves me, and that He is aware of my struggles and weaknesses. I had that confirmation, but there was something else I needed to know for sure, so I sought out the answer immediately: “Heavenly Father, is Joseph Smith really a true prophet?” The feeling came again, this time more powerfully into my heart: “Totoo ‘to!”
I knew then that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He saw both the Father and the Son. Through Joseph Smith, the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored in its fulness.
What peace and comfort and knowledge did I receive! At that moment, I wanted to rush out on the temple grounds, waving my small copy of the Book of Mormon in the air and exclaiming, “Totoo ‘to! Totoo ‘to!” I felt like Alma when he exclaimed, “Oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (Alma 36:20).
After this experience, my reason for going on a mission immediately changed. Soon my papers were in, and I got my call to serve in Colorado, USA. I was so excited. I knew that someone out there was experiencing what I had gone through—crying out for help and longing for happiness and truth. And I knew that through the gospel of Jesus Christ, they would find that help and happiness, just as I had.
I hope that we may all come to know: “Totoo ‘to!”

Our ward needed a new deacons quorum president. My counselors and I knelt in our bishopric meeting, as we always do, to seek the Lord’s approval on this and other callings.
Feeling a confirmation of the Spirit, I set up an interview with Víctor Leonardo Jiménez Gonzáles, a young man who had recently turned 12 and was already serving as the deacons quorum secretary.
During the interview, I asked Víctor about his current calling and how he was feeling.
“I’m worried, Bishop,” he answered. “I’m really concerned.”
“Why are you concerned?”
“Well, I want all the deacons to be at church. So today on my way over here, I went to Nicholas and Anthony’s house and woke them up, and then I went over to Jimmy and Luis’s to get them to come. I really get worried, Bishop,” Víctor said.
I was amazed by what he was saying and that a 12-year-old deacons quorum secretary could be so concerned about the other members of his quorum.
“I’m here to serve,” he went on, “and I want to do it right, but I’m one of the lowest leaders.”
“What do you mean ‘one of the lowest leaders’?” I asked.
“Because I’m the secretary. I’m not the president or a counselor. I’m a secretary, and that makes me one of the lowest leaders. But the deacons should be here and they’re not, so I have to go get them because this is where they’re supposed to be. I don’t know why they don’t come. But I have to go get them, Bishop!”
My tears could no longer be restrained, and they spilled from my eyes. Choked with emotion, I said, “You have made me remember why I was called as the bishop. It’s to be concerned about others, to visit and serve them as King Benjamin did. We need to be in the service of others, and then we will be in the service of God. You are not the lowest leader. Everyone who serves plays a role important to our Heavenly Father and His Church.”
To this, he said, “That’s what I learned from my dad. And now when I see you crying, I remember this one time when he talked to me—-he was crying and he told me, ‘When you have a responsibility, you have to do it right.’ ”
The tears refreshed my soul, and the young man’s words refreshed my memory. I remembered the great worth of our Heavenly Father’s children when I saw the worth this young man placed on each of the members of his quorum.
I extended a calling as president of the deacons quorum to Víctor. In response he said, “Now I’m really going to work hard. I’m not going to disappoint you, Bishop.”
Even now, some time later, the tears return as I remember this unforgettable interview. I know the divine potential this young man has. He has the future firmly in sight, and his vision of what is important is clear.

Sister Zoe Campbell, 24 years old, is the first young-adult sister in Scotland to undertake a service mission for the Church. She was set apart by her stake president, Lee Mcleman, in June 2021.
Sister Campbell will be serving in Aberdeen for the next 18 months.
She will be busy working with the local nuns, cooking food each week for those in the city who struggle with poverty. She is also involved with the Care Hub in Aberdeen, which works with the homeless providing food, clothing, and cooked meals. She is also signed up to work with the British Heart Foundation in its charity shop.
Zoe is not a teaching missionary but, by her example, she is teaching how to serve as Christ served, reaching out to those who need a little help. She looks forward to the wonderful opportunities for her 18-month mission to be filled with service in the City of Aberdeen.

Now I want to share an experience from Bishop Harry Brown. Bishop Brown is probably one of the longest serving bishops on campus. He served at the time when my husband was the stake president and so we became very close friends. Bishop and Sister Brown were people with big hearts. The students loved them so much that it was very difficult when he was released after five years as a campus bishop. Anyway, a year or so after Bishop Brown was released, he took his family to Utah on a business trip. Upon arrival he called one of his former ward members to let him know they were in town and would like to make arrangements to meet him. Bishop then went out to get some food and upon his return to the hotel room, he opened the door and there were 29 people in his hotel room. This student called another student and then the phone tree started and they all came to see their beloved bishop. Next April they are meeting in St. George and the students will come from all over to this reunion with the Browns. What a wonderful feeling of Ohana and the potential for networking for this group of students.

During my freshman year of high school, I met a girl who shared something with me that has changed my life permanently.
I knew she held her family and church very close to her. She always seemed to be talking about these things and never failed to invite me to a church activity. I always had an excuse for not being able to go, but in truth, I was simply afraid of the rumors I had heard about Mormons. After 18 months of invitations, I decided to go help her father with a Cub Scout activity at her local meetinghouse. The members were a lot of fun, and even though I didn’t recognize it by name, I felt the Spirit very strongly. I went to more activities until eventually I found myself waking up at 4:30 a.m. to see what seminary was all about.
My friend invited me to read the Book of Mormon and meet with the missionaries. I agreed to meet with them in her home where I was able to feel the love and support from her family and also hear their conversion stories. The missionaries and this family encouraged me to read and to pray. Through their examples and support, I was able to gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon and the restored Church of Jesus Christ. I was baptized and later served in a branch presidency while on my mission in Lubbock, Texas. I loved to share this experience with those I taught and will be forever grateful for what a friend was willing to share with me.

I wonder if we realize the tremendous responsibility we have to the other forms of life upon earth and to the continued existence of them all, if for no other reason than the Lord made them and they are very good. They are alive; they are part of the “handiwork” of nature. Henry David Thoreau seems to have grasped the meaning of stewardship. In his book Walden he relates:
“Near the end of March, 1845, I borrowed an axe and went to the woods by Walden Pond, nearest to where I intended to build my house, and began to cut down some tall, arrowy white pines, still in their youth, for timber. It is difficult to begin without borrowing, but perhaps it is the most generous course thus to permit your fellowmen to have an interest in your enterprise. The owner of the axe, as he released his hold onto it, said that it was the apple of his eye; but I returned it sharper than I received it.”
The Lord loaned us the earth and all therein. In a very real sense we are merely borrowing it. It is the apple of his eye, for it is through this earth and our mortality here that he can bring to pass our eternal life. Because we are here we have an interest in his enterprise. Are we going to return the earth in as good a shape as we received it? Or are we carelessly destroying it and the things therein, contaminating it for our own short-term material and personal gain?
Perhaps the nature of the stewardship changes from locality to locality. Perhaps our stewardship is simply caring, having a respect for life. A simple form of stewardship is expressed in the life-styles of two men I remember who used to live along the Yukon River. George McGregor, a prospector and trapper, was already an old man when I first met him. He is dead now, but for many years he lived alone in a log cabin he had built at the foot of a falcon crag. Every year the falcons came to nest on the rocks above his cabin. They were not disturbed by him, because he was a quiet man who blended serenely and unobtrusively into his surroundings and was a part of the land just as much as the falcons, the river, and the spruce tree. Once, George saw a female falcon swoop out of the air and strike a marauding raven dead in midair over the river in front of his cabin, and his old eyes used to brighten when he told about it. He had never read Walden, but I am sure he instinctively understood the meaning of stewardship.
In recent years another man built his cabin by a falcon cliff not far downriver from George’s crumbling home. He was a loud man, exploiting nature, cutting down trees with a noisy power saw, and keeping a pack of howling sled dogs chained up at the base of the cliff. He also operated a large, creaking fish-wheel right in front of the rocks where the river runs deep and the salmon swim up. No falcons nested on the cliffs after this man built his cabin, nor have they returned now that he is gone. It will take nature some years yet to repair the scar he left.
Are we making an effort to determine what we can do to honor our stewardship? The challenge seems to be to understand our kinship with the rest of the Lord’s creation, our obligations to “keep and dress” it, and to be especially sensitive to animals such as the still proud, but vanishing peregrine falcon. Let us lengthen our vision and horizons and allow the Lord to say of us one day, “Well done, my good and faithful servants.”

The English author and medical doctor A. J. Cronin has thrilled all who have read his books. I remember reading of an experience he had before a single manuscript of his had ever been printed. He had given up writing because of discouragement and had thrown a bundled manuscript into the trash can. While walking down the lock shore a little later that day in a drizzling rain, he came upon his friend Old Angus, a farmer who was laboriously ditching a patch of the bogged and peaty heath. He reported to Angus what he had done. With disappointment in his voice, Angus said, “No doubt you’re the one that’s right, doctor, and I am the one that is wrong.” He seemed to look right to the bottom of Mr. Cronin. “My father ditched this bog all his days and never made a pasture. But pasture or no pasture I canna help but dig. For my father knew, and I know, that if you only dig enough, pasture can be made here.” Cronin understood, he tramped back to his place of abode—drenched, shamed, and furious—and retrieved the soggy bundle from the trash can. After writing furiously for three more months, he had created a book that sold more than three million copies. He had learned the importance of perseverance.

I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briançon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That got Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God, I have to explain them to other people.’”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and they had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make millions from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.

Two hundred years ago, the evenings of September 21 and 23, 1823, formed an important turning point in the unfolding Restoration. On the first evening, an angel, sent from the presence of God, visited Joseph Smith, bringing instructions that would guide him over the next several years. On the later evening, Joseph related the experiences to his family, marking the beginning of his many testimonies about his experiences. Understanding these events from the past can help us be more steadfast disciples of Jesus Christ today.
On the evening of September 21, 1823, an angel named Moroni visited 17-year-old Joseph Smith three times throughout the night. The following morning, Moroni appeared a fourth time and guided Joseph to a nearby hill. When Joseph returned home that evening, he was excited and exhausted. He started to relate his experiences, but his family noticed he was tired, so they prepared to gather the next evening when they could “all sit down, and listen to [Joseph].”1
On September 23, Joseph warned his whole family—father, mother, five brothers, and three sisters—that the time had not yet come to share the message with the world, but he could tell them “the great and glorious things which God had manifested to him.”2

After sacrament meeting the bishop called me into his office for a talk. Here is what I have been expecting, I thought. I’m going to be the new teachers quorum president, I’ll bet. I was filled with pride and excitement. Oh, the ward is really going to congratulate me. Mom will be so proud!
I sat in the big chair across from the bishop. He was a pleasant man, smiling as always, but I felt that even though he was smiling this conversation was going to be an important one.
“Steve, we have an assignment for you,” he said. My heart beat rapidly.
“This is a special ‘good neighbor’ assignment. We’re concerned about Hasty McFarlan. He’s a pretty sad old man, you know. He needs someone to befriend him. He’s not a member of the Church, but God’s love reaches to all people, and we as members of his church have the responsibility to show it. Maybe I should say we have the privilege of showing that love.”
I guess I must have looked stunned.
“You know Hasty, don’t you, Steve?” asked the bishop.
My thought went back a couple of weeks to when some friends and I had laughed at the old man by singing jingles and shouting the jokes we had made up about him.
“Yes, I know him,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment and guilt. “He’s the old hermit who lives outside of town.”
“That is right,” said the bishop. “I would like for you to go out and visit him two or three times a week.”
“Alright,” was the only answer I could manage …
The bishop must have detected my disappointment because he leaned forward in his chair and looked at me carefully.
“Now, if this assignment will be too much, don’t be afraid to say so.” I sighed. “Oh, I’ll do it, sir,” I said. “Good,” said the bishop with a smile, and immediately he went on. “You can chop wood for a fire, and get him food, blankets—whatever he needs to help him feel wanted. Be a friend. Your father is aware of the assignment, and he told me he would help you. Your Heavenly Father will be prompting you, too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was 15 years old then, and there were other things I would rather do—play football, hunt, fish, or just do the things my friends were doing. But I had told the bishop I would fulfill the assignment, and I knew it wasn’t good not to do what I said I would.
Hasty lived in a little log cabin at the foot of a mountain, just outside the Idaho farming community I grew up in. On the long hike to his cabin after school that first afternoon, it seemed to me that every pine along the trail whispered Hasty’s loneliness.
Once a year at Christmas the old got a free bath at the hotel, compliments of the sheriff. Probably, we all thought, it was the only bath he got all year. We used to say he looked like a pirate with that growth on the side on his head and his black eyepatch. Most of the kids and even some of the townspeople had the habit of making unkind remarks or trying to trick him whenever Hasty was around. Would he remember me as one of the tricksters? By the time I reached the cabin, I was genuinely frightened.
I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. I knew he had to be in there. Where else could he go?
“Hasty?” My voice faltered halfway through his name. I don’t know how long I must have stood there before I decided to go inside. The thick oaken door creaked as I pushed it open.
“Hasty?” I called again. “Hasty, are you there?”
Hearing a rustling sound, I poked my head in as far as I dared and peeked around the door. It was cold in Hasty’s cabin and very dark. I could barely see the figure of a man on the bed. Hasty was all slouched down, but not as if he’d been thinking. He looked like he was slouching because there was no reason to do anything else. I noticed that the soiled, mildewed blanket he was sitting on was full of holes.
My heart was beating very rapidly. I swallowed hard.
“Hasty, is there anything I can do for you?” I managed to say.
I told him my name and that the bishop from the LDS Church had sent me to see how he was doing and to help out. He said nothing. The silent, staring troll of a man was scaring me.
“Hasty, your fire is out.” No reply.
I went outside, found an axe and some stacked stumps, and began chopping kindling. With every strike of the axe I questioned myself. What am I doing out here? Why me? Why?
“Quit complaining,” a voice inside me said. “The old man is cold and lonely, and you can help him.”
I made a fire and tried to talk to him, but after a few minutes I decided he wasn’t really listening. He needed a new blanket, so I told him I would get a thick, clean, comfortable one, and the next day I did. After that I came every other day. Slowly, over the next several weeks, he began talking.
One day after we had talked a little he said, “Boy, why do you come? I’m sure a boy your age can find better things to do than visit a sick old man like me. But I’m glad you come.” And then he smiled.
At Thanksgiving I invited Hasty to our house for dinner. He didn’t come, but our family took part of the dinner to him. There were tears in his eyes as he tried to thank us.
I discovered as our visits continued that Hasty had been a sheepherder. Once he had had a wife and children, but they had gotten a terrible fever and died of it.
Feeling in his grief that his life had been shattered, Hasty wandered the whole country as a vagabond. A diseased growth on the side of his face made one eye blind. And the teasing and practical jokes had begun.
But to me the old man didn’t seem as ugly and frightening anymore. In fact, after school I hurried to his cabin to help him and to listen to his stories.
When Christmas arrived, we invited him to dinner once again. This time he came, and he came in a suit, all cleaned and handsome. He looked great. A smile curved his lips. Hasty was happy because we showed him he was needed.
As we finished dinner, the old man bowed his head for a second, and then raised it and said, “You people sure are wonderful. My life has been in shambles for a long time, but the love you’ve shown is making me a different person. I’m very grateful.”
As he said that, I could feel a little fire in my chest getting big. It felt good.

On October 3, 1918, Joseph sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. “For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead,” he read, “that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
As he pondered the scriptures, the prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding. He saw multitudes of the dead in the spirit world. Righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry were joyfully waiting for His advent there to declare their liberation from the bands of death.
The Savior appeared to the multitude, and the righteous spirits rejoiced in their redemption. They knelt before Him, acknowledging Him as their Savior and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell. Their countenances shone as light from the presence of the Lord radiated around them. They sang praises to His name.3
As Joseph marveled at the vision, he again reflected on the words of Peter. The host of disobedient spirits was far greater than the host of righteous spirits. How could the Savior, during His brief visit to the spirit world, possibly preach His gospel to all of them?4
Joseph’s eyes were then opened again, and he understood that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits, appointing messengers and commissioning them to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness. In this way, all people who died in transgression or without a knowledge of the truth could learn about faith in God, repentance, vicarious baptism for the remission of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all other essential principles of the gospel.
Gazing upon the vast congregation of righteous spirits, Joseph saw Adam and his sons Abel and Seth. He beheld Eve standing with her faithful daughters who had worshipped God throughout the ages. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were also there, along with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and other prophets from the Old Testament and Book of Mormon. So too was the prophet Malachi, who prophesied that Elijah would come to plant the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, preparing the way for temple work and the redemption of the dead in the latter days.5
Joseph F. Smith also saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and others who had laid the foundation of the Restoration. Among them was his martyred father, Hyrum Smith, whose face he had not seen in seventy-four years. They were some of the noble and great spirits who had been chosen before mortality to come forth in the latter days and labor for the salvation of all God’s children.
The prophet then perceived that the faithful elders of this dispensation would continue their labor in the next life by preaching the gospel to the spirits who were in darkness and under the bondage of sin.
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,” he observed, “and after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”6
When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith, and of determination, and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8