Gospel Story Finder

“A call is more than an invitation or a request. It is a call from the Lord through His chosen servant. Years ago, President Spencer W. Kimball, then president of a stake in Arizona, had an experience with extending a calling. There was a vacancy in the presidency of the Young Men organization in the stake. President Kimball left his desk at the bank, walked down the street a few doors into a business, and said, ‘Jack, how would you like to be president of the Young Men in the stake?’
“Jack said, ‘Oh, Spencer, you don’t mean me.’
“He said, ‘Of course I do. You’re a young man, and you get along with young people. You’d make a very good president.’
“Then there occurred what President Kimball thought was a very disagreeable conversation because Jack turned down the call. He went back to the bank and sat at his desk, smoldering over his failure. Then it came to him. He left his desk, went down the street—same door, same man—called him by his full name, and said, ‘Last Sunday the stake presidency met to consider a vacancy in the Young Men’s presidency. We prayed about it, talked about it. Finally, on our knees we inquired about it and received the inspiration from the Lord that you should be called. As a servant of the Lord, I am here to deliver that call.’
“Jack said, ‘Well, Spencer, if you’re going to put it that way.’
“And he said, ‘I’m putting it that way.’”6

Dieuveut Demosthène, 18, and Robenson Marcel Laroque Jean, 19, are the best of friends. And they intend to keep it that way. Forever.
“We were neighbors, and we played basketball together,” Robenson explains. “I joined the Church when I was 16, and after a while I suggested to Dieuveut that he should come too. I prayed a lot, and I persisted. Now look at him, a strong member of the Church. I’m proud of him.”
“Robenson invited me many times,” Dieuveut says, “and over time I accepted. He has always spoken with superb words, like he understands everything. So his invitation wasn’t worrisome; it was extraordinary. After a while I started having lessons with the missionaries, and I joined the Church when I was 17.”
That’s the ideal way for missionary work to be done—friends sharing the gospel with friends and giving referrals to the missionaries to teach them. “From me—one person in the Church—now we are two, and we continue the same work together,” Robenson says. As a result of their efforts, one of Dieuveut’s big brothers and another friend have also joined the Church. One became two, and two became four.
Robenson and Dieuveut, from the Centrale Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti North Stake, typify what is happening with missionary work in Haiti since missionaries from other countries were evacuated in 2005 because of political turmoil. The Haiti Port-au-Prince Mission has looked to itself for strength and found it. Today only Haitians serve missions in Haiti, and teens expect to serve when they come of age. Even before they’re called to full-time missions, they’re already reaching out to neighbors and friends.
Rather, Dieuveut says, as people realize the happiness the gospel brings, the Church in Haiti will keep growing. “I am truly grateful to Robenson for sharing the gospel with me,” he says, “and that’s why I want to share the gospel with others. Last week I asked myself, in the past did I know what joy was? Because today, even if I don’t have everything materially that I want, I always feel at peace with myself. I have a great hope that I will be close to my Heavenly Father.”
“I’m already trying to be a missionary,” Robenson says. “Each day I carry my backpack with several copies of the Book of Mormon in it, just to share with others. Many of them know I’m a member of the Church, and I’m eager to share my testimony. To go on a full-time mission will be a great opportunity to serve God by serving His children. It is my great desire to go.”
Dieuveut says he often talks with returned missionaries. “They have told me how the Lord was able to bless people through the missionaries, and I would like to share in such blessings. They have told me how they lived in the mission field, how much they enjoyed it. Also, after their missions, they are worthy, good examples. I want to be like that.”
What will the future bring? “Heavenly Father has His plan for Haiti,” Dieuveut says. “He is giving members here the opportunity to become strong. It is Haitians teaching Haitians, and that will bless us.”
Robenson will soon receive his mission call, and he hopes it’s to Haiti. Dieuveut won’t be far behind and also hopes to serve in his native land. But whether they’re called to Haiti or to some other country, they know that they will make many more friends in the Church and that their own friendship will continue. Because when you’re friends in the gospel, you’re friends for eternity.

I have several daughters who are an example to me in taking full advantage of the privilege of sweet, spiritual communication with their children, with God as their partner. They tuck their children in bed at night and have one-on-one talking time with each child. These children are not just babies or toddlers. They range in age from 2 to 18 years old. Sometimes they sing or laugh; often they cry and pray together. Then when they are all settled down, my child, their mother, drops to her knees and talks to Heavenly Father about each child very specifically. The answers that come are sometimes very direct and individual, and sometimes they are more general, such as a feeling of overarching peace. Because they have been doing this since each child was an infant, they have open and real communication with the child. There is no such thing as a generation gap between mother and child. There is also very real communication with our Father in Heaven who loves and guides them specifically through the tumultuous child-rearing process. The Spirit is ever present in these communications.

In October 2021 the Book of Mormon musical began its performances in The Millenium Centre in Cardiff. On the opening evening, I had the privilege of going to the Millennium Centre, along with Stake President Jason Spragg and Bishop Stefan Liassides of Cardiff Ward. We had all attended training in preparation for questions from the media or audience members.

We waited as the audience made their way out after seeing the show, where they were met by 40 missionaries in bright white shirts and missionary tags clearly in view. These young men and women stood firm in their beliefs and were a shining example to us who stood by. They were polite, friendly, and answered all questions. Some people stopped to listen and then while walking away would exclaim, “They are the real ones”. I remember seeing one young missionary run to his mission president in excitement proclaiming, “We need more, we need more!” He was referring to the pass-along cards, and leaflets with more information about the Church.

Due to COVID restrictions these missionaries had spent most of their mission working with social media to share the gospel and to contact people. Now they had the opportunity to meet face-to-face and to share their beliefs.

These young men and women were wonderful examples. Even though some people rushed past, or said they weren’t interested, the missionaries were not disheartened and carried on sharing what they knew to be true. How lucky we are to have real missionaries in each of our wards and stakes.

My mom was driving the school bus one morning. When we drove up to one of the bus stops, a little boy named Adam was standing there crying. He didn’t want to get on the bus. His dad tried everything he could think of to help him be less afraid, and Adam finally got on. But he sat down and kept right on crying. I asked my mom if I could change seats, and she said yes. I sat by Adam and sang happy songs to him. He stopped crying. I felt very happy.

On Pierrefond Avenue, Eddy Shackelford had what we called a hockey player’s name.
I told him that if he ever got to the National Hockey League I’d pick him right out on the ice because there’d be no room for a number on his sweater, just the letters of his last name.
But we all agreed, it was a hockey player’s name if there ever was one.
And we all agreed Eddy was bound for great things. Of the dozen kids my age who met daily to play ice or street hockey, Eddy was without doubt the best player. He was taller and stronger than the rest of us, but it was more than that—he was a leader. And he was my best friend.
During one game Eddy told me he would not go if another team, other than the “Habs,” drafted him out of junior hockey. (The “Habs” was a nickname for the Montreal Canadiens, a French abbreviation for “Inhabitants.”) If we had grown up in Philadelphia, or in New York, or anyplace else in the world, it would have been different, but when you’re 12 and living in Montreal, your dream is to play for the “Habs.”
“I wouldn’t go to Buffalo,” I replied one day. “Or Chicago. I might go to Toronto or Detroit though. They need help and I’d get to play a lot.”
I knew Eddy thought I was a traitor to even suggest such a thing, but he muttered only, “Not me.”
Each day, before sides were picked, we knew Eddy’s team would be the “Habs.”
“You can be Boston,” Eddy might say if the Bruins were having a good season. And he got away with it. On a street in the heart of Montreal, with an inbred passion burning in each of us for the “home” team, there was never an argument.
In winter Eddy’s dad would flood a vacant lot and let us play until it was too dark to see the black puck against the ice. The games would last through bitter cold and through heavy snow that teemed by the streetlights and built up in piles outside our playing area. In summer we moved our games to the middle of the street, batting a tennis ball into flimsy nylon netting. Windows would break and ankles would twist, but otherwise little changed the flow of events on Pierrefond Avenue.
What did eventually happen left most of us wondering for some time. Only lately have I come to fully understand what Eddy went through the summer he turned 13.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not going to be no Mormon,” Eddy said to me one Saturday as we sat on the bank of the St. Lawrence River.
“Why would you have to be a Mormon?” I was stunned. We all knew about the Mormons—I had seen them knocking on doors in our neighborhood. My vicar told us they were an abomination and to not answer the door. My dad said they had many wives and were simply misled. On Pierrefond Avenue, we all knew about the Mormons.
“I thought everyone had heard. My Mum let them in the other day,” said Eddy. “Now she wants me and my dad to go to their church. I told her no way. My dad said no and he said if he sees those Mormon guys he’ll run them off. My mum still says she’s going tomorrow though.”
“You think she’ll go?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just know I’m not going.”
Eddy’s dad was as strong willed as his son. Mr. Shackelford served in the military for many years before going to work for the Canadian Pacific Railroad as a brakeman. Most adults on our avenue looked up to the senior Shackelford, a tall, dark man with high, heavy shoulders and not a trace of a belly. I didn’t know him very well, but I feared him.
I didn’t know a lot about Eddy’s mum either. She was just a regular mum. She was born into a French family and married Eddy’s dad when she was still quite young. His mum liked to sing a lot and was nice to me when I went around.
“Bonjour Monsieur,” she would sing to me as I came in the door of their house.
“Bonjour Madam,” I would say back, grinning from ear to ear with embarrassment.
“Just tell her to stop it,” Eddy would say. “She’s teasing us because she thinks we act too old for our ages.”
After Eddy’s news I left him on the banks of the river. Later, my dad told me he saw two guys in suits going up the Shackelford’s walk that day. “Those Mormons are in for a rude surprise,” he said, adding that Mr. Shackelford was home.
I didn’t see Eddy on Sunday. But, being summer break, he was out again for street hockey on Monday morning. Within minutes our sticks were clicking on the concrete road as we battled out the previous years’ Stanley Cup matchup. But something was wrong. No one would pass to Eddy.
“Can Mormons still play hockey?” one of the boys playing goal finally called out. Eddy took it, even though the others laughed and added comments of their own. “Sure they can,” the boy called again. “They just have to pray before every period.” Eddy threw down his stick and charged the goalie.
We let them fight it out, but it was no contest. Eddy was the toughest kid on the street.
After a few moments I pulled Eddy off the sprawling goalie. I don’t know if the others had been jealous of Eddy all along, or if Eddy had hurt them by doing something that was against the grain of our quiet street. All that was clear to me at the time was Eddy would never again hold as high a place on Pierrefond.
“You went to their church, didn’t you?” I asked Eddy.
He didn’t answer. For a long time he looked around the group, then without speaking walked off toward his house.
I visited Eddy that night and Mr. Shackelford answered the door. He looked down at me and smiled. “I’m glad you came,” he said letting me in.
“Glad to be here,” I said. A dumb thing to say. My nerves got the best of me. He just laughed.
“Ed, one of those kids is here,” he called upstairs. “Want me to beat him up for you?” He looked at me menacingly for what seemed like an hour. My eyes widened and I began to sweat. Then he laughed again, winked at me, and went into the other room.
“I thought your dad was mad at me,” I said to Eddy as he came down the stairs. “He was just kidding though. He’s all right.”
“Yeah, he’s okay sometimes.” There was an awkward silence, and I watched as Eddy rocked from leg to leg. “You come to give me a hard time?”
“No.” Then I started rocking with Eddy. “So you a Mormon now?”
“No,” said Eddy. “We just went to church, that’s all.”
“We still gonna be friends?”
“Sure. I’d be your friend even if I was a Mormon. That’s for good.”
“We were sure your dad would scare those guys off yesterday,” I said.
“He was going to, but since my mum let them in my dad gave them five minutes to talk. It was a lot longer than five minutes, but Dad just sat there not saying a word until they were done. Then this one missionary, that’s what they’re called, asked if there were any questions and my dad started to get up but he couldn’t or something.” Eddy fell quiet for a time, looking down at his feet.
“Well, what happened?” I asked.
“My dad cried.”
“He cried?”
“Yep. You won’t tell anyone will you?”
“No way. Who’d believe me?” I said.
“Then my dad asked if he could go to church too, just to see what it was like. So I asked if I could go as well.
“And the missionaries started to cry, but it’s not like they’re wimps though. Then one of them said a prayer and it was real … you know, peaceful. And they said that was the Spirit.”
Eddy and I talked for some a time about the missionaries and his time at church. I could feel the excitement in his voice, an excitement that in the following years led me and many others to investigate the LDS faith. Like Eddy, I felt the Spirit testify of its truth and was baptized.
But outside, on the street, Eddy had become “The Mormon kid,” a title he could not seem to shake. The boys on the avenue no longer looked up to Eddy as their hero. Even though he was still a leader and a great hockey player, he had taken a path they did not understand.
It’s been six years since Eddy’s mum first invited the missionaries into their home. A few nights ago Eddy and I sat together as a bus carried us from a game in Sherbrooke. It was the last game of our junior hockey season. For Eddy it was the last game for two years. This morning he left on a mission.
As I sat on the bus I thought about the choice Eddy had made when he was 13 and the choice he just made. In the weeks following his baptism he endured the scorn and ridicule of the Pierrefond gang, but he never faltered in his conviction to the truth. One day this spring our coach said Eddy had a chance to be invited to the “Habs” camp, but Eddy just smiled and said a polite, “Not me.”
As we traveled in the darkness I looked over at Eddy. He was lost in thought. Though I did not know what to say to him, I knew we were friends. Outside the world was waiting for Eddy, but at that moment I was happy he was next to me—I was sitting beside Eddy Shackelford, and he was still my hero.

A little over a year ago, I was released from my assignment in the Presidency of the Seventy, a change announced here at general conference. Because my name was read near those of General Authorities becoming emeritus, many assumed I was also finishing my time of service. After the conference, I received numerous messages of gratitude and good wishes for my next phase in life. Some even offered to buy my house in North Salt Lake. It was nice to see that I would be missed and also to know we will not have trouble selling our home when I am done. But I am not there yet.
My new assignment took Monica and me to beautiful Africa, where the Church is flourishing. It has been a blessing to serve among the faithful Saints in the Africa South Area and witness the Lord’s love for them. It’s inspiring to see generational families of all backgrounds, including many successful and well-educated Church members, dedicating their time and talents to serve others.
At the same time, given the region’s demographics, many people of modest means are joining the Church and transforming their lives through the blessings of tithing faithfulness and the educational opportunities offered by the Church. Programs such as Succeed in School, EnglishConnect, BYU–Pathway Worldwide, and the Perpetual Education Fund bless many lives, especially those of the rising generation.
President James E. Faust once stated, “It has been said that this church does not necessarily attract great people but more often makes ordinary people great.”
The greatness of our Saints in Africa becomes even more evident as they face life’s challenges and the demands of a growing Church. They always approach it with a positive attitude. They embody well the well-known teaching from President Russell M. Nelson:
“The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.
“When the focus of our lives is on God’s plan of salvation … and Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can feel joy regardless of what is happening—or not happening—in our lives.”
They find joy despite their challenges. They have learned that our relationship with the Savior enables us to approach difficulties with smiling faces and grateful hearts.
Let me share some of my experiences with these faithful Saints who illustrate this principle, starting with Mozambique.
A few months ago, I presided over a stake conference for a one-year-old stake that already had 10 units. More than 2,000 people filled the small chapel and three tents that were set outside. The stake president is 31 years old, his wife is 26, and they have two small children. He leads this growing and challenging stake with no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.
In an interview with the patriarch, I learned that his wife was seriously ill, and he struggled to provide for her care. After addressing the issue with the stake president, we gave her a priesthood blessing. I inquired of the patriarch how many patriarchal blessings he gives on average.
“Eight to ten,” he said.
I asked, “Per month?”
He replied, “Per week!” I counseled him that doing that many per weekend was not wise.
“Elder Godoy,” he said, “they keep coming every week, including new members and many youths.” Again, no complaints—only a smiling face and a grateful heart.
After the Saturday evening session of stake conference, on my way to the hotel, I noticed people buying food along the road late at night. I asked my driver why they were doing it when it was so dark rather than during the day. He responded that they were working during the day to have the money to do it later.
“Oh, they were working today to eat tomorrow,” I said.
But he corrected me: “No, they were working during the day to eat tonight.” I had hoped our members might be in a better situation, but he confirmed that many faced similar challenges in that part of the country. The next morning, during our Sunday session and newly aware of their circumstances, I was even more moved by their smiling faces and grateful hearts.
On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
One Sunday before a stake conference, I visited two branches using public schools as meetinghouses. I was shocked by the humble and modest conditions of the buildings, which lacked even some basic amenities. As I met a few members there, I was ready to apologize for the inadequate conditions of their meetinghouse, but they were happy to have a nearby place to gather, avoiding the usual long walk. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
Following a Saturday of leadership training, the stake president took me to Sunday services held in a rented house. There were 240 people in attendance. Then the bishop introduced 10 new members baptized that week. The congregation was spread across two small rooms, with some members also sitting outside the building, watching the meeting through windows and doors. There were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
I visited this beautiful small country, also known as “the mountain kingdom,” to see a Church district preparing to become a stake. Following a Saturday of meetings, I attended Sunday services in one of their branches in a rented house. The sacramental room was overflowing, with people standing outside the door to participate. I told the branch president that he needed a bigger house. To my surprise, he informed me that this was only half of his membership. The other half would attend a second sacrament meeting after the second hour. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.
I returned to Lesotho later due to a fatal traffic accident involving several of our youth, already mentioned by Elder D. Todd Christofferson earlier. When I visited the families and leaders, I expected a somber atmosphere. Instead, I encountered strong and resilient Saints who were coping with the situation in an uplifting and inspiring way.
Mpho Aniciah Nku, 14, a surviving accident victim in this picture, illustrated it well in her own words: “Trust in Jesus and always look unto Him, because through Him you’ll find peace, and He will help you in the healing process.”
These are just a few examples where we see their positive attitude because they center their lives in the gospel of Jesus Christ. They know where to find help and hope.

One important teacher was my neighbor, Mrs. Carey. I was a young boy when World War II was raging, and every day after school she taught me about the war and the countries that were involved in it. Mrs. Carey took me through the war day by day—in Europe, city by city; in the Pacific, island by island—explaining what was happening. In the process, I learned about history and geography. My interest in other countries was sparked during the hours I spent in her home.

Growing up, I believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ with all my heart, and I did everything I could to live righteously. And I wanted and expected my family to live righteously as well. The knowledge of the gospel gave me more joy than anything else in my life, especially knowing that I could be with my family for eternity.
So you can imagine how confused and hurt I was when my older brother started growing more and more distant from the gospel and also from my family and me. Ultimately, he left the Church altogether.
For a while, it felt like my world had exploded. I had so many questions:
How could he leave?
How could he not want all the blessings that living the gospel brings?
Doesn’t he want to be with our family forever?
At the beginning, I was angry with my brother. When I would hear my friends talk about how protective their older brothers were and how close their family was, I would feel devastated that my brother and I hadn’t talked for a long time. My dream of being together with my entire family in heaven seemed to be slipping away.
I would often look at the seemingly “perfect” families at church and feel like my family was doing something wrong. If we were righteous enough, wouldn’t my brother come back to the Church? But no matter what we did, my brother still wouldn’t come back.
I prayed to Heavenly Father about my brother all the time. I felt so angry and hurt. I would ask things like, “Why is this happening?” “Can’t you help him know the truth?” “Please change something!”
I did this for a while, and nothing changed. I didn’t understand why God wasn’t doing anything. But then, one day, something finally clicked. I realized there was something I could do.
I could love.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught:
“When you truly desire to bless and lift up those around you—then the power of the pure love of Christ can work in your heart and life.
“As you become fluent in [the language of the love of Christ] and use it in your interactions with others, they will recognize something in you that may awaken in them a long-hidden feeling to search for the right way on the journey back to their heavenly home. After all, the language of love is their true native language too.”1
Things started to change when I showed my brother my love for him instead of trying to change him. I started to pray for him out of love rather than anger. I could see that his heart was beginning to soften—not necessarily toward the gospel, but toward my family and me. And I realized that my heart needed to soften toward him too (see Mosiah 5:7). I began to see his goodness again, and I started to accept and respect his decisions, even though they were different from mine. I know those changes to my heart and mind could have only been made through the healing power of Jesus Christ.
Heavenly Father really does answer our prayers for others, even if it is not always in the way we expect him to. But just as Heavenly Father heard Alma the Elder’s prayers for his son, He hears our prayers for those we love (see Mosiah 27:14). And even though we might have to have a lot of patience and hope, our continuous prayers and faith for others really do have a mighty influence on them—and us. Much more than we might ever know.
My brother hasn’t come back to the Church, and I don’t think he plans to anytime soon. But I’ve learned that he has his own agency and that even if he chooses differently than I do, I can love and respect him anyway. We have a better relationship than we’ve had in years because of the love we show each other. I don’t always agree with his choices or his opinions, but by doing my best to understand him better, I’ve been able to get a glimpse of just how much Heavenly Father loves and knows each of His children.
The key to keeping families together and reaching each other’s hearts isn’t condemning each other’s choices; ultimately it’s love—the pure love of Christ. I can never force my brother to return to the gospel, but I can love him and help him know that he is always welcome.
I still pray and fast for my brother, and yet I’ve realized that his choices are his own. Our journey back to Heavenly Father is an individual one between each of us and Him. But we can turn to Heavenly Father and the Savior for help in supporting one another on our individual journeys and loving one another all the same.
I don’t know what will happen in the end when it comes to my eternal family, and sometimes I feel a little heartbroken when I think about it. But I take comfort in the words of President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency:
“Trust in the Lord. …
“[This] applies to unanswered questions about sealings in the next life or desired readjustments because of events or transgressions in mortality. There is so much we do not know that our only sure reliance is to trust in the Lord and His love for His children.”2
And that’s what I choose to do—to trust in the Lord and to share His love—no matter what.

Once, when I was twelve, my parents allowed my friends and me to spend a few days in a cabin in the mountains not far from my home. We spent time hiking and exploring the forest, and we even cooked our own food.
After a few days, we got tired of our own cooking and decided to go to the store, which was about three miles away. With several dollars between us, we hiked there under the hot sun, dreaming of the frozen fudge bars and other treats that we would buy.
Finally we arrived at the store. What a welcome sight it was! Inside was a pinball machine that cost one nickel to play. After playing a game, a person might get his nickel back, or he might not. Soon my friends and I had spent all our money on the pinball machine, and we had to go back to the cabin with nothing but growling stomachs and tired legs to show for our trip. I learned from that experience to never gamble again. I also learned that sometimes we have to put off what we want right now for what is really more important.

I edged my way into the back row, taking a long look round. I would miss this crowd, especially Sharon, third row from the front. Her smile always seemed sweeter for me than for anyone else. Pity I wouldn’t be getting to know her better.
The lesson didn’t start too exciting—you know, all that talk about reaching the highest degree of glory. My mind kind of switches off when those “Sunday” words begin, going into neutral with other thoughts creeping in, like working out a different way to milk the goat. (It’s all this growing that’s causing trouble. My head used to rest comfy on the bulge of her stomach, so I could milk with my eyes shut, dreaming a little about this and that. But now my head pokes out above her bony back, and my chin won’t rest easy on that ridgy spine.)
As I was saying, Teacher was going on a bit. Her long black hair swung, glinting in the sunlight as she moved around. I was leaning back, half following the words and enjoying the expressions crisscrossing her face. Then all of a sudden, she produced this piece of pie, oozing bubbly juice, and thick with chunky apple piled between covers of tawny, crumbling pastry. Now, if there’s anything I’m partial to, it’s apple pie—and there was a dollop of cream on top.
“Whatever is she going to do with that?” I asked myself, sniffing a sweet cinnamon smell. “There’s not enough for us all.” I glanced at the others. Everyone’s eyes had opened wide. They were definitely paying attention.
“I’m about to give this to one student,” Teacher continued. “Let me see now … Thomas? Looks like all that farm work is stretching you fast. I’m sure your stomach could manage this pie?”
Couldn’t it just? I hardly dared believe my luck. I had been sure she’d give it to James—he’s the smartest lad, the one whose hand flies up at every question and who knows every scripture the week before we’re asked to learn it. It was his Mum who sent the elders down our way a couple of years ago.
If not him, then surely Sarah? Sarah does everything right. Her work’s neatly handed in on time. Teacher has a special sort of smile for her, I’ve noticed.
But me! I didn’t need asking twice. Did I eat that pie fast? Every crumb tasted like it knew exactly where it should be. And I could feel 22 eyes watching every mouthful. I sat back, rubbing my stomach. She’s right—it has stretched lately.
Then she asked a kind of weird question. “How do the rest of you feel at this moment?”
I mean, how would anyone be expected to feel? Slightly sick, I should think—like they’d been cheated out of something worth having. At least, that’s what James said, and the others nodded. They weren’t too cheerful.
“Good,” said Teacher. “Remember that feeling every time you’re tempted to go astray, because it’s the kind of sensation you might get, only worse, if you don’t make it past the terrestrial kingdom.”
You know, that pulled me up short, making prickles creep up and down my spine. The feelings I’d enjoyed, munching that pie, were great. No way would I have wanted to be the one missing out. Maybe there’s something to all this.
I never did leave home. Weeks went by, and the apple pie memory faded, slipping into a corner somewhere in my mind. Something like my drawing collection—the best ones are treasured and stared at now and again but lie shut in my cupboard most of the time.

Indeed, most discoveries require lots of hard work. As a tax lawyer in Los Angeles, I repeatedly saw the value of the Mormon commitment to hard work. In one case, I represented movie star Burt Reynolds. A tax issue over whether he was a California or a Florida resident had arisen, and his case hung in the balance. People had been over the documents many times. A couple days before our hearing in Sacramento, I decided to double-check everything. I even went back over Burt’s appointment books to see if any detail might have been missed. And there it was: every year Burt was always in Florida on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Well, I walked into the hearing humming “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The legal issue of residency, after all, is all about where home is. I introduced this new fact into the record, and the state asked for a recess. When they returned, they dropped the case. The point of this little story is simply that I was glad to have gone the extra mile.

When I was about eleven years old, I gained an understanding of our Heavenly Father’s love. My parents were not then very religious, but they were good people. They loved me and taught me to be good, clean, and honest, and they helped me to develop righteous desires. Although they were always interested in questions of truth, they did not know God, so they could not tell me about Him. I had an undeveloped hope for the reality of God, but never seemed to find anyone who knew Him and could tell me about Him.
I remember seeing a person killed in an accident. Faced for the first time with death, I was so shaken that I couldn’t sleep for a couple of days and became ill. No one could tell me what happens after death. A great fear developed within me that some accident would happen to my father and nobody would be able to explain where he had gone.
Later, during World War II in my home country of Germany, I lived with my mother and four sisters far away from home in southern Germany in two very small, humble rooms. We had fled from our home because of the many air attacks that had destroyed our city and threatened our lives. My father was separated from us because he had been drafted into the army. And I was too young to understand the dramatic events happening around me during that terrible war.
Lying in bed one night in the room I shared with two of my sisters, I remember an intense feeling of loneliness. My mother and two other sisters slept in the next room, but I still felt lost in our temporary home and strange surroundings. The people even spoke a different dialect than I was used to. I had a most frightening thought: What is the purpose of my being here on this earth? I could not answer this question, and it led right into another one that was even more frightening: What is eternity?
I looked into my heart for the answers to these questions. But the more I thought about eternity, the more lost I felt. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to stand on. I had the feeling of falling, falling, falling without stopping. It scared me terribly.
I can still remember the details of that room—the pale light of the moon and the sound of the church clock bell ringing every fifteen minutes. I was awake until early in the morning, and I was so overcome with despair that I began to cry. I wept and wept.
Suddenly something changed. A comforting power enveloped me, and a small voice said to my soul, “You are My child. Have trust in Me.”
Immediately joy and happiness filled my heart. All my fear, loneliness, and despair were changed into feelings of warmth and comfort. That night I learned for the first time that there is some unseen but loving Person who is concerned about me. Especially is this true when I feel despair and need help.

Age 27
Freelance journalist
Ward Relief Society president
Before I received the gospel, my world was a dark place. I was slow to forgive and harbored ill feelings against anyone I felt had wronged me. I was disillusioned with marriage, seeing all around me husbands who were drunk and women who were battered.
Embracing the gospel of Jesus Christ changed me. It was wonderful to go to church and find families sitting together, to be taught about love, mutual respect, and understanding. I found myself abandoning traditions not in harmony with the gospel.
I felt compelled to make peace with a perceived enemy. We now keep in touch often. I met a wonderful returned missionary and will be married in the temple soon.
I am convinced that I am in the right place. The love and concern the members have for each other gives me a sense of belonging. My life has become more meaningful. I know it is absolutely essential that I remain faithful to the end by avoiding backward glances toward the darkness and remorse of the past.

Just days ago, I learned about a grandmother who rehearsed the Easter story with her four-year-old grandson by using simple replicas of the tomb, the stone that covered the sepulchre, Jesus, Mary, the disciples, and the angel. The little boy watched and listened intently as his grandma shared the burial, closing and opening of the tomb, and the garden scene of the Resurrection. He later carefully repeated the story in surprising detail to his parents as he moved the figures about himself. Following this sweet moment, he was asked if he knew why we have Easter. The boy looked up and with childlike reasoning answered, “Cuz Him’s alive.”

When two Latter-day Saint missionaries visited the Graybeal home in 1959, Alexandria knew their message was special. Her husband and two children were touched, too, and the Graybeals progressed toward baptism. When Brother Graybeal learned that the Air Force was transferring him to Germany, he decided to be baptized before he left. Alexandria, however, was struggling to know whether Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Some time later, after the family had moved to Germany, her husband said, “If you really want to know, go to Heavenly Father and ask him.” That night Alexandria did just that. “I don’t know what happened,” she explains, “but the next morning I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet.” Alexandria and the two children were baptized a short time later in Kerlsrue, West Germany, in June 1960.
“I just felt wonderful,” Sister Graybeal says, remembering her baptism. “My testimony was strengthened after that, and I couldn’t get enough of the gospel. I studied and studied. It was like walking through a door and finding that the light was shining. It was beautiful.”

“Let’s go,” the voice of our group counselor rang out. My week at a college program in Idaho had barely begun, and it was already the end of the first day. We walked a short distance from our campsite with the bright blue of the sun’s disappearance just fading below the horizon. Our counselor stopped us all on the dirt road in the center of a field and told us we could go off alone to try to get in touch with the Spirit. I had already chosen my spot—behind us and down a hill, in a stand of trees.
As I slipped away from the rest of my group, I sat down in the grass and began to think. I began to hear the noises of small insects in the grass around me. I then picked up a small pink flower, noticing the details and intricacies that made it. As the sky grew darker, I looked up, noticing the perfectly clear field of millions of stars hovering above me. As I sat thinking, the scriptures about God’s creations popped into my mind. God had created worlds more numerous than the sands of the sea, and yet I looked down at the flower in my hand, at how intricately formed it was. The rest of the week I felt grateful for God’s creations and His care for even the smallest of them.

I had my eyes opened to “looking beyond what I could see” while serving as a mission president. A young elder arrived with apprehension in his eyes. As we met in an interview, he said dejectedly, “I want to go home.” I thought to myself, “Well, we can fix this.” I counseled him to work hard and to pray about it for a week and then call me. A week later, almost to the minute, he called. He still wanted to go home. I again counseled him to pray, to work hard, and to call me in a week. In our next interview, things had not changed. He insisted on going home.
I just wasn’t going to let that happen. I began teaching him about the sacred nature of his call. I encouraged him to “forget [himself] and go to work.”2 But no matter what formula I offered, his mind did not change. It finally occurred to me that I might not have the whole picture. It was then that I felt a prompting to ask him the question: “Elder, what is hard for you?” What he said pierced my heart: “President, I can’t read.”
The wise counsel which I thought was so important for him to hear was not at all relevant to his needs. What he needed most was for me to look beyond my hasty assessment and allow the Spirit to help me understand what was really on this elder’s mind. He needed me to see him correctly and offer a reason to hope. Instead, I acted like a giant demolition wrecking ball. This valiant elder did learn to read and became a very pure disciple of Jesus Christ. He opened my eyes to the Lord’s words: “For man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

Many magazines that are considered main stream are using what is called "soft porn" to stimulate sales. One of these is Sports Illustrated with their swimsuit issue. I began reading SI when I was about 6 or 7 that was before they felt the need for the swim suit issue. For many years, almost out of nostalgia I have occasionally subscribed. When the swim suit issue would arrive, I would just toss it away. One time when one of these issues arrived my daughters and wife got it first. They decided to be my censor. When I arrived home, my issue of SI was waiting for me. I wish that I had saved it to show you. There were only about 6 pages left. It was a fun reminder of how inappropriate this issue was for a father and priesthood holder. We had a good laugh as a family but the lesson was not missed on me.

When I was a freshman at BYU my older sister played the violin in the orchestra. The violinist sitting next to her was Jean's older sister. These two friends thought it would be a good idea for their younger brother and sister to go on a blind date. Neither of us wanted to go because we had never met each other. However, we trusted our older sisters and finally agreed to go to a dance together. I was not that good of a dancer, nor conversationalist but slowly over the course of the evening I began to feel an attraction to Jean which I could not explain.

We ended up dating quite a bit, writing to each other during my three year mission and five years from that first date we were married in the Los Angeles Temple. It was not until I gained more experience in life that I was able to identify what attracted me so strongly and quickly to Jean. It was the power of the purity of her life, which drew me to her and still continues to do so and will forever.