Gospel Story Finder

While we were living in California, one of our sons was seriously injured in an automobile accident. His skull was badly fractured, and doctors gave us very little encouragement that he would survive. Three days after he was admitted to the hospital, he contracted meningitis and his condition worsened. Our family doctor and neighbor came to our home and said, “All we can do now is pray.”

And pray we did. For several weeks our neighbors, friends, and business associates joined us in praying for our son and for our own strength. After almost a month, our son’s condition finally stabilized and then improved, and we were blessed to see him eventually recovered and smiling again.

I would not wish a similar experience on anyone, but that terrible, difficult period taught us the principle that President Thomas S. Monson has taught the Church. Said he, “Prayer is the passport to spiritual power.” During our son’s illness, we saw and felt the spiritual power of prayer! Our ward had never prayed harder than it did then, and I don’t think that the members had ever been closer to each other. Our family was sustained by the collective faith and prayers of our friends. And even as our hearts were breaking in fear that we might lose our son, we felt closer to Heavenly Father and more aware of our dependency on Him than at almost any other time in our lives.

My name is Tyler, and I am eight years old. One day at camp I was walking with my dad, and we saw a newborn fawn lying under a car in the shade. I was worried about it because it seemed tired. I started petting it.
After a while I saw a mother doe with another baby fawn. I knew that the doe was abandoning the first baby under the car. A doctor came and helped me carry the fawn across the street to where the mother was. The doe was leaving, but we put the fawn on the grass and walked away, hoping that the mother would come back.
I was so worried about the baby deer all night, and I prayed three times to Heavenly Father that He would help the fawn. In the morning we checked where we had left the fawn and saw that it was gone. Then we saw the doe lying in some grass with her two babies.
I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

It seemed like the bell would never ring. Why does the day that Grandpa comes always seem like the longest day of the year? Alma wondered. And when will—
The clanging school bell interrupted Alma’s thoughts, and he bolted out the door.
“Alma Cutler, slow down!” Miss Young called after him.
Alma barely heard her. He just had to get home in a hurry today. Grandpa was coming all the way from Kanosh, Utah, to visit!
Alma tripped over a rock in the dirt road and went sprawling head over heels. His books and papers were scattered everywhere. He jumped up and crumpled the papers into a bunch, gathered his books, and continued running. “Why does everything have to slow me down the day Grandpa comes?” he muttered.
Alma didn’t even stop at the corral to see whether Papa’s white stallion was back. When he raced into the kitchen where Mama was baking bread, he couldn’t stop, and he crashed into the table, knocking flour everywhere.
“Alma Cutler! What on earth’s gotten into you?” Mama scolded, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’m just excited to see Grandpa,” Alma replied. “Where is he?”
“He and your father haven’t come from the depot yet. Now get yourself out of my kitchen and do your chores.”
Alma hurried to the chicken coop to gather the eggs. He was proud that he didn’t break any, since everything else had gone wrong. Then when he went to get some feed, he leaned too hard on the grain barrel, and it fell over. Alma tried to scoop the feed up, but the chickens were scrabbling all over him and the spilled feed. He had a terrible time.
Once out of the coop, Alma ran back to the house and yelled, “Is Grandpa here yet?”
“Not yet,” Mama answered.
Alma sat down on an old tree stump outside the open kitchen window and picked some feathers off his pants. “How come Grandpa’s not on time?” he grumbled.
“Land sakes, child! Finish your chores and stop worrying about it. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
Alma got up and kicked at some weeds. He couldn’t understand why he was the only one who got excited when Grandpa came.
At the side of the house Alma picked up a bucketful of potato peelings and vegetable tops to feed to the hogs. When he got to the hogpen, Alma hefted the heavy bucket up onto the fence, but he wasn’t careful where he put his feet. Suddenly he slipped and fell against the fence, and some of the slop spilled on him. Alma was sure the hogs were laughing at him.
Alma put the bucket away and walked into the house. Before he could ask again about Grandpa, Mama groaned, “Alma, did you have to play with the hogs? Now get upstairs and clean yourself up before Grandpa comes.”
Alma went upstairs and took off his dirty clothes. The water in the washbasin was cold, and he shivered when he splashed it on his face. He was still scrubbing his face when he heard voices downstairs. “Grandpa’s here!” he shouted, letting the soapy water run into his eyes. “Ow!” he yelled, and he quickly rinsed the soap out of his eyes.
As soon as he had put on clean clothes, Alma ran downstairs to the kitchen. Just before he got there, he heard Mama say, “I’m telling you, Dad, I just don’t know what comes over that boy when he knows you’re coming. He complains all day long, wondering when you’ll get here, and he can’t do anything without it going wrong.”
Alma’s face flushed red, and he wanted to hide, but just then Grandpa came out of the kitchen. “There you are, Alma! How’s my favorite grandson?”
“I didn’t mean to complain, Grandpa,” Alma blurted out. “I just wanted you to get here faster.”
“You heard what your mother said, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Alma told him, “but—”
“Now, don’t you worry,” Grandpa said. “Come and sit down next to me and let me tell you a story that taught me a lesson about complaining.
“Several years ago, when I was the county assessor, I had to ride over the desert in central Utah and count all the sheep. One day when my Indian friend Hunkup and I went out to count a flock, we forgot to take along some water. Now, the desert gets mighty hot. If you don’t take along any water, you have to know where the water holes are or you can die.”
“Did you know where they were, Grandpa?” Alma asked.
“I knew where some of them were, but the closest one was about a three hours’ ride away. On our way to the water hole, I started to get mighty thirsty. I turned to Hunkup and asked, ‘Hunkup, aren’t you thirsty?’ He turned to me and answered, ‘No, I’m not thirsty.’
“We rode on a little farther, and my lips began to crack, they were so dry. I turned to Hunkup again and asked, ‘Hunkup, aren’t you thirsty?’ Again he replied, ‘No, I’m not thirsty.’
“I couldn’t talk anymore. My only thought was to get some water. Even our horses were so thirsty that they could hardly walk. Finally we went over a ridge, and about forty feet in front of us was the water hole.
“Before you could say lickety-split, Hunkup was facedown in that water hole, drinking like he was going to drink it dry. I staggered over, plopped down beside him, and gasped, ‘Hunkup, I thought you said you weren’t thirsty.’ Hunkup lifted his head out of the water, looked at me, and said, ‘Now I’m thirsty.’
“You see, Alma, complaining about being thirsty didn’t get us to the water hole any sooner.”
Alma looked up at Grandpa and saw a twinkle in the old man’s eyes. The next time Grandpa comes, Alma thought, I’ll be just like Hunkup. I won’t want Grandpa to be here until he comes.

I don’t know your name, how old you are, or anything else about you. All I know is that you are Joann’s visiting teacher, and I appreciate your conscientious service with all my heart.

I know that visiting a less-active sister like Joann (name has been changed), my daughter-in-law, is not easy, especially when she probably isn’t very welcoming. I doubt she even wanted you to come at first. But Joann has told me you have been a real friend to her, stopping by to see how she’s doing and accepting her as she is.

In the 19 years since Joann married my son, this is the first time she has ever mentioned having a visiting teacher. Recently she told me how regularly you visit and how thoughtful and kind you always are. She said you have helped her several times when she was sick and have even offered to take my granddaughter to Young Women.

For the past 10 years, she, my son, and their family have lived hundreds of miles from us. I have prayed that others would love and care for them as I do, and I have pleaded tearfully with Heavenly Father that others would reach out to them as I would if they lived close by. From what Joann says, you are the answer to my prayers.

Even if Joann and my son don’t obey the Word of Wisdom and don’t attend church, they are still good people and they love their children. Somehow your eyes were not clouded by Joann’s cigarette smoke. You did not define her by whether she attended church. You got to know her and learned that she is a loving mother who wants her daughter to attend church and gain a testimony. And when Joann had surgery, you brought in dinner instead of wondering if she had brought some of her health problems upon herself.

How grateful I am that you are an example for my granddaughter. She can look up to you as someone who cares about everyone and goes out of her way to show loving concern. She told me that one day when you didn’t have a car, you walked more than a mile to her house with your small children to bring cookies.

“I was thinking of you and your mom and wanted to do something nice for you—just because,” you told her.

I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate your dedication to your calling as a visiting teacher. You epitomize those women who, since the days of Nauvoo, have served each other through loving and inspired visiting teaching. You have demonstrated that service and love through the way you have affectionately visited my less-active daughter-in-law.

Thank you.

“Good morning, birthday boy!” Mama said. “Come and get some birthday breakfast.”
Marcus jumped out of bed and hurried to the kitchen to eat his sweet oatmeal and berries. “Thanks, Mama!”
After breakfast, Marcus ran to his room and reached under his bed for his box of drawing things. Marcus loved oatmeal, he loved soccer, and he loved race cars. But most of all, he loved drawing.
Marcus pulled out his notebook and markers. He started drawing a race track with a bright orange race car zooming around.
Pretty soon his race car was almost perfect. All it needed was some cool red stripes. He pulled the lid off his red marker. But it was all dried up!
Oh no! Marcus thought. I wanted to make the stripes red!
He grabbed the blue marker. Oh well. I guess blue stripes will be OK, he thought. But the blue marker was all dried up too.
Marcus frowned. He definitely needed new markers. Usually he got a new set of markers for his birthday, but Dad had just lost his job. His family didn’t have a lot of money right now. So Marcus would just have to wait. At least he would still get a birthday cake tonight.
With a sigh, Marcus put his drawing things back in the box and slid it under his bed. Soon his friend Peter would be over to play.
When the doorbell rang, Marcus ran to the door.
“Happy birthday!” Peter said. “We’re the same age again!” Peter was exactly one week older than Marcus and lived nearby. Marcus loved having a birthday in the same month as his friend.
Marcus and Peter played soccer in the backyard. Then they built rocket ships out of boxes. Marcus had so much fun that he almost forgot about the markers.
Then there was a knock at the door. “Marcus,” Mama called. “Auntie is here to see you!”
“Happy birthday, Marcus!” Auntie said. She handed him a present wrapped in bright paper.
Marcus tore off the paper and couldn’t believe what he saw inside. A new set of markers! And even better, there were two of each color.
“Thanks, Auntie!” Marcus gave her a big hug. Then he ran to his bedroom to finish his race-car picture. Peter watched him add the last red stripe. It was perfect!
When the day was over, Marcus lay in bed and thought about his fun day. He got to play with his best friend, and he got new markers!
But a thought kept bothering him. Peter was really quiet when Marcus opened his birthday present from Auntie. Did my present make him sad? Marcus wondered.
Then Marcus remembered something. Peter’s dad had lost his job too. What if Peter didn’t get any presents on his birthday? That thought made Marcus sad. But maybe there was a way he could help.
The next morning, Marcus woke up early. He found the crumpled wrapping paper from his present. He pulled out his markers and wrapped one of each color in the paper. Then he put the present by Peter’s front door and hurried away before anyone could see him.
When Marcus got home, he looked at his set of markers. There was only one of each color now. Marcus sighed. Then he pictured Peter unwrapping his surprise and smiled. Maybe Peter would come over to play after he found his present. Then they could draw race cars together!

I grew up in the city of Minas, Uruguay. When I was six years old, my mother and older sisters were baptized into the Church. My father never joined the Church, but he was always happy that we went to church. He even kept the Word of Wisdom and paid tithing.
Our branch was very small, and we did not have a church building. We met in a rented house. The house had a small swimming pool outside that we used for baptisms.
As my eighth birthday got closer, I was excited about being baptized. But on the day of the baptism, it was raining and very cold. My mom said that maybe I shouldn’t be baptized that day because of the cold weather. But it was my birthday, and I wanted to be baptized on that day.
I remember putting on my white clothes and getting into the pool to be baptized. I knew that the water would be cold, but I did not feel cold. I knew that I was doing the right thing, and I had a warm feeling.
A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

I was really nervous the day of the piano recital last year. I don’t know why. The music I had to play was really easy, I had been practicing so much that I think I could have played it backward, blindfolded, or with my feet! Mrs. Tonaka never gives me the hard pieces to learn. Perhaps it’s because my fingers aren’t quite as long as Morgan’s, and I can’t play the chords the way she does.
Morgan always gets the beautiful pieces by famous composers, and she never makes a mistake. The piece she was playing that day was by Mozart. I knew how to play it, sort of. I hadn’t gotten that far in my book, but when I knew Morgan was playing it, I tried to learn it too. I think I could have learned it, if I had had a million years to practice.
When it was Morgan’s turn to play, she sat straight-backed on the piano bench in her new green velvet dress with the satin bow in the back. She told me she always gets a new dress for every recital. Not me. I just wear my Sunday clothes. I guess Morgan gets nervous sometimes, too, because that time she made a mistake. Oh, she didn’t play any notes wrong, she just got kind of stuck. There’s this part in the music where you go back and repeat the beginning again until you get to the second ending. But Morgan kept missing the second ending and going back to the beginning again. She did it four times. It was like she couldn’t stop herself.
I sat closest to the piano, and I could see tears streaming down her cheeks. I felt sorry for her. Someone should do something, I thought. I looked at Mrs. Tonaka, who was sitting in the middle of the audience. She had a worried look on her face, but there wasn’t much she could do.
Finally Morgan came to a part in the music I recognized. I knew that she was coming to the place where she needed to start the second ending. Without even thinking, I went up, sat next to Morgan on the piano bench, and pointed to the place on the music where she should start the second ending. Morgan nodded, and to my relief she finally played the right notes and brought the music to its beautiful finish. I was proud of her. When she was done, she smiled at me. I slipped back into my chair while Morgan stood up and took her bows.
I don’t remember how I did on my recital piece. I probably made some mistakes. I usually do. But it didn’t seem to matter. I was happy just the same.
Some things haven’t changed since that recital last year. Morgan still gets the hard stuff while I struggle along on the easy pieces. And Morgan already has a new blue dress for the recital. But this year we get to do something really exciting. Mrs. Tonaka is letting Morgan and me play a duet. We can hardly wait!

Sister Winder A friend of mine in Salt Lake City is suffering from a debilitating disease. She rides in a wheelchair and drives a car especially equipped so that she can do her visiting teaching. She will pick up her companion, then drive to the home of a sister. The sister will come out of her house and sit in the car while my friend does her visiting teaching. She is such a bright and loving spirit that neighbors will often come and visit around the car.

“During the spring of 1972 I found myself in the dilemma of deciding to get married or to serve a two-year mission, After much consideration, prayer, visits to the bishop, and discussions with the girl I had chosen, I decided to serve my God. We concluded that if our union was meant to be, she would be there after my mission.
“Mission life seems to quicken the process of maturity. The young man grows into manhood, acquiring such qualities as self-discipline and the ability to work hard and enjoy his work. He learns how to budget finances effectively, how to really communicate with others, being mindful of their feelings, and how to reposition himself in others’ shoes and learn to love them despite their faults. He learns how to build confidence, character, and control, and most important in the case of marriage, he learns how to get along with a companion 24 hours a day. Aren’t these qualities that any good LDS girl would want in a husband? My mission has opened my eyes to many things I never before realized in regard to preparing for marriage.
Elder Jerry HattonCalifornia Sacramento Mission

Joseph F. Smith’s mother was known as “Widow Smith.” She was the widow of Hyrum Smith, who was martyred with the Prophet Joseph. She once rebuked the tithing clerk who stated that because of her poverty, she should not have to pay her tithing. She said: “‘Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold his blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper, and to be able to provide for my family.’”
Did she prosper? Her son and grandson became Presidents of the Church, and her descendants today include a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and many notable Church leaders.
Speaking of his mother, Joseph F. Smith once said she paid “tithes of her sheep and cattle, the tenth pound of her butter, her tenth chicken, the tenth of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt—a tenth of everything she raised.”

Well, the first two or three weeks out there weren’t bad. While war was very much on our minds because of our previous training and the films we’d seen and all of the other things that train a boy to be what he ought to be in war, it still wasn’t real. Interestingly enough, during the first two weeks of our voyage, the army and navy, because they are always interested in the well-rounded personality, held a general church service every evening at 5:00 where we could come and sing a common song, whether we were Jew, Catholic, gentile, or Latter-day Saint, something that would bind us together in a religious cause. And the chaplain would talk to us for four or five minutes, and then we’d just sit and visit and talk about home and girls and all the other things that seem to be important to men at that stage of their lives, and then we’d be dismissed—about an hour of service every day at 5:00. Out of 3,000 there were 35 or 40 who used to go to this little service every day. Thirty-five or forty! That’s typical of life, isn’t it, as you look at your campus, your stake, your ward, or surrounding communities?
As we entered the third week, things started to pick up in tempo a little bit. They brought out some big rubber relief maps, and they had our target island depicted right down to the last palm tree and pill box, everything perfectly marked. Then they’d say, “Boat team 27 (that was mine), you’re going in.” And then, since it was the last hour and because they didn’t have room in the regular meeting place, we held the evening services topside on the bow. And there was one of the most interesting studies of human life I have ever watched in my life.
Do you know what happened that July 21, 1944? Three thousand men came to church! How about that? Three thousand got kind of excited about higher values in life. When the crisis is really on, watch people get religion. They sensed, as you can only when the chips are down, the need for higher aid, be they merchant, criminal, or ball player.
Well, I’ll never forget that church service conducted by a marvelous Protestant chaplain. I don’t even know what faith he represented. But bless his heart, he was honest and sincere, and he came straight to the point. I’ll never forget that calm day; the water was almost like glass, and we were sitting out there, 3,000 strong, singing that opening song, “Abide With Me, ‘Tis Eventide.” Can you imagine a chorus of 3,000 male soldiers letting their souls go, probably in many cases for the first time in their lives. Can you imagine what that sounds like? And you could even hear other ships echoing the same type of activity. There was a brief opening prayer, and then the chaplain got as serious as I’ve ever seen a man.
He said, “Men, I’m not going to kid you tonight. You’ve been training for the last year for what you’re going to do tomorrow, and you know full well what’s before you. Army statistics tell us that in an invasion like you’re going to experience tomorrow morning, a lot of you aren’t going to make it. We’ve got to pay a price to get this island.” He said, “If our records are accurate, half of you will lay your lives down sometime before 8:00 tomorrow morning. What I’m trying to say, men, is that one-half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning at 8:00. Are you ready?”
Well now, what would you say, young people? I was 18 years old at the time. If someone said, “Tomorrow morning at 8:00 you’re giving an accounting to the Savior for your life and your attitude and your activity,” how would you feel? There I was, sitting out there thinking of all my great and glorious ball days. See how insignificant they appear to be all of a sudden? Contracts and fame and fortune—a lot of nonsense, aren’t they, when you get right down to what really counts?
And for the first time I wanted to know something about the validity of religion. Does God really live? Why am I out here? Why should I take the life of a person I’ve never even seen before? Thousands of questions like that started to rush through my mind. Why? Why? Why? And it’s questions like that we ought to ask right now. Why do we do any of the things we’re doing in this existence of ours?

Mikaela S., 18, Philippines
When I was deciding whether or not to go on a mission, I went to those whom I trusted. I talked to my parents, bishop, friends, siblings, and seminary teachers and asked for their advice. I also studied my patriarchal blessing, looking for things that could relate to missionary work.
Just as we should when seeking an answer to any prayer, I made a decision first, and then I took that decision to the Lord. I selected a day, asked my family to fast for me, and went to the temple to ask for confirmation of my decision. I received an overwhelming feeling that I had made the right decision.

It was a bright autumn day in 1850. Dan Bishop moved along the road, proud and pleased to have his friend Jerry Stone going with him on this drive. They were going to the big city of Philadelphia to sell his father’s flock of turkeys to Mr. Burns, the butcher, for city folks’ holiday dinners. Weather permitting, the birds would be delivered a week before Thanksgiving.
Dan was a little worried because he had always gone to market with his father, but now his father was home nursing an injured foot. “Turks are mighty skittish critters,” Dan told his friend.
Jerry watched the flock dodge about, snatching grasshoppers, crickets, worms. “Your pa seems to think we can manage.”
Dan swished a long, light pole to bring back a straying turkey. “We have to be back home before the cold weather sets in. That’s my worry.”
Jerry smiled confidently and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll make it.” Jerry had a long stick of his own to help herd the turkeys. His main job, though, was to lead the old packhorse, Bob. Bob carried camping gear and food, including corn for the birds and oats for himself, for the fifty-mile journey.
That night, over a small fire, the boys camped and ate salt pork and boiled potatoes. The turkeys went to roost in a nearby grove of maple trees. Bob was hobbled and given a bag of oats.
The second day was also fine. The birds liked the deep dust of the road and slowed the drive up by dust-bathing in it. Dan laughed. “That’s a pretty sight—those bronze, red, and green feathers and the big red wattles against the sunset.”
Going downhill went faster, but when a barking dog came at them, the birds scattered and had to be rounded up again. It was twilight when the boys saw old Mr. Birch’s place. “Pa knows him well,” said Dan. “We’ll camp here.” The birds filled up on fallen apples, and Jerry found a few good eating apples for himself and Dan.
The third day was mild, but a cold wind blew the next day. Insects were scarce, and corn had to be scattered for the turkeys. Then the wind came up. Turkey cocks don’t like the wind, so when the boys tried to force the flock onward up a steep hill, the birds began to mill about. One flew away, squawking. Soon they had all taken cover in the thick underbrush.
Again and again the boys tried to poke the turkeys out, but it was no use. Finally Jerry walked back onto the road and began to whistle a certain turkey call. One bird came out, then another and another.
Dan made a count. “All here! That was scary!”
Jerry grinned with relief. “Always heard turks were stubborn.”
Turkeys like to roost in trees, and that day they decided to roost before sundown. Dan and Jerry settled in an old, empty shed.
Pa had told Dan that turkeys often become alarmed at the whiteness of frost, and in the morning he found that it was true. He and Jerry scattered corn to gather the turkeys and get them moving. Cold corn bread and half-frozen buttermilk had to do for the boys’ own breakfast.
The frozen ground was hard on the birds’ feet, and more dogs barked at them as the farms became more numerous. The flock scattered easily. That day a cock and a hen flew over a board fence and disappeared.
“Can’t risk going after them,” Dan muttered. “Pa said we might lose a few.”
At sundown the turkeys weren’t ready to roost. A full moon with a white ring around it bathed the world in light. “That ring means snow for sure,” said Dan. “We’ll let them go on as long as we can. That way we’ll make up for lost time and get to Philly on schedule.”
When they halted at last, Jerry made a fire and began to strew warm mash. The birds stopped to eat, and the warm food made them drowsy enough to roost.
At dawn, the world was white with snow. Dan tied a thin strip of red flannel to his herding stick. After the birds had been fed, he stepped out and held up the lure. The lead cock gobbled and jumped to get the rag. Dan began to walk rapidly, and the herd followed. Jerry smiled and began to eat his cold corn bread. He would relieve Dan soon. Before long they reached Dan’s cousin’s house. Darkness came early, and it began to snow steadily.
When the turkeys had been fed and settled into a shed, the young herders went inside to greet Dan’s relatives. As they ate dinner, Dan said, “Pa said that a couple of these birds are for you. Take your pick.” The tired boys fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows.
Their last day dawned clear and sunny. Dan had had his moments of doubt, but now he was feeling quite good about their adventure. “We’re old hands at turkey driving now, eh, Jerry?” said Dan. “It’s time to get the job finished.”

In 1938 Hitler had his armies invade western Czechoslovakia, and he soon ruled it. All Americans were warned to leave the country. Before the mission president, Wallace Toronto, left, he set apart Josef Roubícek, a Czech and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, as the acting mission president. For the next five and a half years, Church headquarters received no word from the Saints in Czechoslovakia.

During that time President Roubícek held regular meetings. For a few months the government outlawed public meetings. When that happened, President Roubícek kept in touch with members by mail. In his letters, he encouraged them to study the Book of Mormon with their families.

When the war ended in 1945, an American soldier took a letter from President Roubícek and mailed it to President Toronto. “I wish to inform you,” President Roubícek wrote in the letter, “that after six years of war all members of the Church have remained well and alive. It has been a terrible time. … The [Saints’] … testimonies of the truthfulness of the gospel have not wavered even in the worst moments of this great conflict.”*

May I share with you this afternoon an experience that happened to a young couple who were members of the Church in Japan. They wished to be married, and as is the custom in Japan, they sought permission from their nonmember parents for the marriage to be performed. The boy’s parents refused to give permission. With concern and disappointment, the young couple prayerfully sought ways to fill their lives with meaningful Church activities and trusted that permission would be forthcoming later.
At this time Church members were planning a trip to the Hawaii Temple, and much emphasis was made and was being placed on the importance of genealogical research. So the couple joined with others in seeking out their ancestors and in planning to have the temple work done for them. The girl searched diligently through shrines, cemeteries, and government record offices, and was able to gather seventy-seven names. The boy’s uncle, who was a respected and influential member of the family, heard of this and was deeply impressed with and interested in her work. He noted the intense devotion of the girl to honoring her ancestors and suggested that such a young lady would be a good wife for his nephew. Permission was granted for the young people to be married, and the marriage was performed. Later they were sealed in the Hawaii Temple.
It is a Japanese tradition that families gather together for special holidays in January and August. As this young couple joined their family members on these special occasions, they displayed their book of remembrance, and much interest was generated in their work and in the reasons for it. They discussed with those relatives assembled their ancestral lines and the importance of completing the genealogical research. It was difficult for their nonmember families to understand the reasons for a Christian church teaching principles such as “ancestral worship,” for this was a Buddhist teaching and tradition.
Today many young men and women are completing their family group sheets and are teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ to their parents and their relatives by this method. Through genealogical research and through doing temple work for their progenitors, and especially with a temple now becoming available in Tokyo, members can so live that the gospel will yet be embraced by many more in the Orient. This great work has just begun.

“Time to get up, Kristina,” Mother called. Kristina rubbed her eyes and started to grumble about the early hour until she remembered. Today was Sunday.
Ever since they were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, things had been different in her family. Kristina liked the difference.
Mother’s face had a new softness to it, as though happiness came from inside and she couldn’t keep it to herself. She had started humming around the house. Kristina found herself humming, too. Father spent more time at home, and sometimes he took long walks with Kristina and her mother. Often they sat on the front porch and talked. Kristina liked those times best.
Now her parents paid tithing and encouraged Kristina to pay it, too. She enjoyed slipping the tithing from her allowance into an envelope and handing it to one of the members of the bishopric. It was one way to show Heavenly Father and Jesus how much she loved Them.
But the biggest difference Kristina noticed was inside herself. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus loved her filled her with such happiness that she sometimes felt as if she would burst.
Kristina still remembered the look on her father’s face when he answered the door three months ago and found two missionaries on the porch. He had invited the young men inside. After introducing themselves, the elders had talked about families. “Would you like to know how your family can be together forever?” Elder Stark asked.
Kristina’s parents exchanged glances, their eyes filled with longing.
“More than anything,” Kristina’s mother said.
Father had asked the missionaries to come back. On each visit, they presented a lesson. When they challenged the family to be baptized, Kristina’s parents immediately said yes.
“You’re nine years old, Kristina,” Elder Sanderson said. “You’re old enough to be baptized, too.”
The day of her family’s baptisms was the most important day of her life. Kristina remembered every detail, especially the clean, warm feeling she had after the baptism.
Since that day, Kristina and her parents hadn’t missed a single church meeting.
Glancing at the clock, Kristina hurried to get dressed. She didn’t want to be late. She liked everything about church, especially her Primary class.
Kristina’s family arrived a few minutes early. They listened to the soft organ music. Today was fast and testimony meeting. Kristina liked listening to the testimonies. Someday, she promised herself, she would share her testimony.
At family home evening the following night, Kristina’s family took turns reading from the Book of Mormon. Kristina stumbled over some of the words, but she enjoyed reading about Nephi and his family building a boat to take them across the ocean.
When Kristina came home after school on Tuesday, she found her mother in the backyard digging neat rows of shallow ditches. “What are you doing, Mom?”
Mother looked up and smiled. “Getting ready to plant a garden.”
“A garden?” Kristina echoed. “We’ve never had a garden.”
Mother put down the spade and wiped her forehead. “We want to become as self-sufficient as we can, like the prophet told us to.”
Kristina understood now. It was part of the difference. She smiled as a warm feeling grew inside her.
Kristina’s mother handed her a packet of seeds. “You can drop these in, and I’ll cover them with dirt.”
An hour later, Kristina rocked back on her heels. Corn, beans, peas, radishes, onions—they’d planted them all. Her arms and back hurt, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that comes from working hard to accomplish a goal.
That evening during dinner, she watched her parents smile at each other. They smiled a lot lately, another difference. It made Kristina smile, too.
“How long will we have to wait before we can go to the temple?” she asked her father later as they sat on the porch. Her last Primary lesson had been about temples.
“We have to wait a year after our baptism,” he said. “Then we can be sealed together as a family for time and all eternity.”
Tears pricked Kristina’s eyes that night as she said her prayers. A peaceful feeling settled over her like a warm blanket. The baptism difference was the best thing that had ever happened to her family.

I was recently told of a woman in Idaho Falls, a widow. Over a period of 15 years she acted as proxy in giving the temple endowment to 20,000 individuals in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple. She completed her 20,000th endowment on a Friday and returned on Saturday to do five more. She passed away the following week.

Just think of what this one little woman did. She performed these vicarious endowments for as many people as are assembled in this Conference Center this morning. Think of the reception she must have received on the other side.

Rooma didn’t really want to study the scriptures. Vaitiare didn’t really want to go to seminary. And they didn’t have to. But when they chose to, their lives changed.
At the beginning of the school year, Vaitiare Pito wasn’t even a member of the Church. So how did a new member who had never been to seminary before help her team win the Faaa stake scripture mastery championship?
“I wasn’t worried about not having a lot of experience,” she says. “I learned many of those verses during the missionary lessons.”
Most of Vaitiare’s family joined the Church after her father died unexpectedly and the ward mission leader brought the missionaries to Vaitiare’s home. They talked about family unity and being together forever. “It really brought a change to our family,” she says.
However, it didn’t necessarily change the 17-year-old’s independent streak. “After I was baptized, everyone told me I should go to seminary,” she says. “I don’t like being told what to do, so it took me a while to go.”
Eventually she decided for herself to go and found she enjoyed it. She was assigned to be part of the same scripture mastery team as Rooma.
At first she didn’t make an effort to read the scripture assignments. But when she decided she would, she soon recognized a number of blessings.
“The scriptures have been a great help,” she says. “I have learned from the scriptures many things,” including the importance of prayer and that Heavenly Father will answer those prayers.
She also learned that when she decides to commit to something, like going to seminary or reading the scriptures, keeping the commitment is easier than if she does it because she has to or is “supposed” to.
Now that the school year is over, Vaitiare is grateful she chose to go to seminary and study the scriptures: “I know when we read the scriptures, we are blessed.”

I encountered the Church a little while later when I was over at my friend Zach’s house for a movie night with some other friends. While we were choosing a movie, I noticed Zach’s family’s collection of Church materials in an adjacent bookshelf. “Pick something for me, Zach!” I pleaded jokingly.
“These are all lesson manuals,” he explained. “But here—try this instead.” He handed me a book titled Book of Mormon Stories. I took it without much thought as we all paraded into the living room. But during a lull in the movie, I decided to open it, and I began reading about Lehi and Sariah’s family. I couldn’t put it down! I felt something stirring in my mind, something I’d never experienced before—the feeling that what I was reading wasn’t just some made-up story but something more.
Zach let me take the book home, and I read the whole book in two nights. Then I read it again and took notes. When I returned the book to Zach he offered me my own copy of the Book of Mormon, full and unabridged.
The small feeling in my heart continued to grow as I read the Book of Mormon. I finished it in a little over a month. Sometimes I would read for hours at a time. I carried it with me everywhere and read it every time I got a chance.
During this time I started going to church. I cried at my first sacrament meeting—I felt the Spirit so strongly! As I listened to the testimonies of others at that first fast and testimony meeting, I remember wondering if I would ever have my own testimony. Young Women was my favorite meeting. I loved being with other girls who shared my values and some of my interests and learning about how I was a daughter of God. I felt so much love at church.
That night, I asked Heavenly Father in prayer if joining the Church was the right path for me. My mind was filled with one word: John. I had never read much in the Bible, but I knew I’d find my answer in the book of John. I found John 14:6: “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.” Christ was meant to be the way for me too.
I also prayed to know the truth when I finished reading the Book of Mormon. However, I didn’t receive an answer the first time I asked. After nearly a week of frustrated, tearful prayer, I watched The Testaments of One Fold and One Shepherd. As I watched the movie, I felt a burning in my heart, and I knew that now was the time to ask. I got down on my knees and asked in full faith and with an open heart if the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that if I received an answer, I would act upon it, regardless of the consequences. The answer I got was so powerful that I continue to feel it every day.
After I finished the Book of Mormon and received my answer, I began taking the missionary discussions. I am so thankful for the missionaries who taught me. I learned so much and began to prepare for baptism. I also began attending seminary and going to Mutual. My knowledge of and love for the Savior and His Church grew so much during those first few months.
I was baptized on April 26, 2009, by Zach’s dad, Brother Simons. I had the support of the entire ward, my family, and my friends. I have never felt so beautiful in my life as I did in my white dress and as I made that wonderful covenant with my Heavenly Father. Afterward, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost by Brother Davis, whose entire family was especially supportive of me while I was investigating the Church. I was so touched, and I knew that the words he said were from Heavenly Father.
Every day it’s difficult being the only Church member in my family, but they are incredibly supportive of my decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They aren’t investigating the Church, but they are continuing to have open minds. I have been blessed with a wonderful, loving family, and I love them very much.
Since my baptism, I’ve moved to a new ward, so I don’t get to see Zach and the other families that supported me very often. But I know that friends in the gospel are friends forever. I also know that this is Christ’s true Church, we are all Heavenly Father’s children, and He loves us very much. I know that the Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith was a prophet, and President Thomas S. Monson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that He lives. Nothing happens without a reason. When I asked Zach to pick me out a book at movie night, I had no idea it would change my life. I am so thankful that I was given the beautiful opportunity to come unto Christ. The gospel has changed me forever.

“Seemingly out of nowhere, this civilization sprang up sometime around 600 B.C.” Professor Terry’s words crackled like lightning on the girl sitting seven rows back in his History of the American Southwest class. She usually dozed during this period, but for the first time in her five weeks of junior college, Robin was totally awake. There! He was writing the date on the board—600 B.C. The figures looked like neon lights on a dark landscape. She looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. No, they all appeared completely nonchalant. I must be the only Mormon in the room, she thought. Her attention returned to Professor Terry who paced in front of his desk as he described various artifacts and their possible functions. “I wonder if he could be a member,” she thought, as the lecture drifted farther and farther from the subject of the appearance of the mysterious civilization. “Why wasn’t I paying more attention?” she continued, making a mental note to do better. When the bell announced the end of class, Robin gathered up her books and made her way to the front of the room where the instructor was marking some lecture notes.
“Professor Terry?”
He looked up, gave her a quick smile, and said, “Yes?”
“Is it just a coincidence that the date you’ve written there is the same one that figures so prominently in the Book of Mormon?” she began, gesturing toward the date still written on the board. “And the way that culture just sprang up out of nowhere. …”
The professor’s amicable expression dissolved instantly.
“Here we go again,” he said impatiently. “You Mormons try to explain all this in terms of another culture.”
“But sir, the date … I mean, it’s such a coincidence. …”
“I know, Nephites and Lamanites and all that. You people just refuse to acknowledge that the American Indians could have developed such an advanced culture without outside help, without inheriting it from somewhere else. It’s a racist notion!” He bristled with annoyance now. “Something tells me he’s not a Mormon,” Robin thought.
“Yes, uh, well, do you know of any more books I could read on the subject?” she asked in her most ingratiating tone. She knew she probably wouldn’t get around to reading them, but she thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask anyway. She was right. Professor Terry smiled condescendingly and wrote down some titles on a piece of paper.
“Here,” he said, handing the paper to her. “Now you’re a nice Mormon girl, and I certainly wouldn’t want to change that.”
“Thank you.” Robin turned and left the room. “I suppose I should have told him that I know the Church is true,” she thought, “but how could I with him going on and on like that? I think maybe I’ll look up some of those books that support the Book of Mormon with real evidence. Professor Terry doesn’t even know there is any evidence. Then the next time this happens, I’ll be prepared.”
That evening, Robin was resting in front of the television when her mother got home from Primary. “I guess I’d better go help her with supper,” she thought, when she heard pots and pans being rattled in the kitchen.
Just then her mother’s voice called above the noise, “Robbie, honey, did you have a chance to type those papers for me? I have to take them with me in the morning.”
“Oh, I forgot, Mom. I’ll do it after supper, okay?” It seemed like there was always something waiting to be done.
Later that night Robin lay down on her bed and started reading a novel for her English class. Halfway through the third chapter, her eyes began to close. She closed the book, switched off the lamp, and succumbed to her sleepiness. Then a faint tap, tap, tapping intruded on her oblivious slumber. She raised her head. There it was again. Tap, tap, tap. The typewriter! Oh no! Her mother was typing the forgotten papers. “Oh, Mom, I’m sorry,” she thought to herself. “I’ll remember next time.” She buried her head in her pillow but couldn’t escape the typewriter keys that hammered her conscience senseless.
Midterm exams came up very quickly. Professor Terry handed out the freshly mimeographed pages that still smelled faintly of ink. Robin took hers a little apprehensively and started on the first section. These questions were multiple choice, and she was sure of most of the answers, so she felt confident as she turned to the second page. At the top was an essay question that stopped her cold: Describe the possible origins of the American Indian, basing your answer on presently known facts. “Oh no,” she thought, “I forgot all about researching this.”
As she sat there, stunned, all of Professor Terry’s evidence and opinions kept running through her head. She could not think of one fact to support her own belief. The clock showed five minutes had passed, and still Robin debated. “If I don’t hurry up, I won’t get to the end of the test,” she thought. “Besides, if I show his viewpoint, Professor Terry will see that I really do know the material and that I can answer his way if necessary. After all, he knows very well what I really believe.”
Robin wrote a whole page, including everything from parallel evolution to the Bering Strait theory. With relief, she moved on to the rest of the exam, completing the last question as the bell rang. “Boy, what you have to go through to get a grade,” she thought, and she dropped her exam on the table with the rest.
Monday afternoon, a week later, Robin got to class a little early. Professor Terry had said that he would probably pass back the midterms today, and she was anxious to see how he had reacted to hers. As the other students came in and took their seats, she thought how few of them she really knew. “This isn’t like high school,” she mused. “There doesn’t seem to be much time to get to know people once you’re in college.” Just then the professor entered the room, carrying the stack of examinations.
“Good afternoon,” he said, placing the papers on the desk. “I am quite encouraged after correcting your exams because, on the whole, they’re quite good. Of course, some are better than others.” The class laughed nervously. “I would like to read a few of the better responses to the essay question.” As he began reading, Robin heard his words with disbelief. They were her own. Professor Terry’s voice resounded through the lecture hall. She wanted to stop him, but she couldn’t move. “Out of all of those papers, why mine?” she thought. She sat motionless and watched as 42 people listened to the wrong answer.