Gospel Story Finder

As a young man, I thought, “Once I receive an assignment from the Lord, I will not turn to the right or to the left.” I had some good experiences as a result. For instance, one day while I was in business training, I had to go to a Church meeting, but I had a work responsibility related to the mail. Normally this responsibility would take me and the other trainees as much as an extra hour after our regular work hours. But I had to go to Hamburg on the 5:30 p.m. train to get to my Church meeting. I told the others of my dilemma, and they said to me, “Good luck. It is not going to happen.”
I said, “Sure it will, because this is an important meeting.” They shrugged their shoulders and said sarcastically, “Yeah sure—you and your faith. You think just because you are religious that everything is going to work out. That means that we would have to finish the mail by 10 minutes to 5:00. It has never happened.” I said, “Well, whatever happens will happen. But I need to be in Hamburg on time tonight.”
Now, believe it or not, for the first and only time in three years, everything was finished that day at 10 minutes to 5:00, and I made it to the train on time. This impressed my fellow trainees and opened the door for me to have some gospel conversations with them.

I’m grateful for goodly parents, who sacrificed all they have ever had to ensure that my siblings and I were rooted in the gospel of Jesus Christ. My Father was the hardest-working man that I have ever known, and my mother is the most spiritual person that I have ever known. My mother was completely transformed by the gospel of Jesus Christ. Right before I was born, she intensely studied the Doctrine and Covenants, and gained a very powerful testimony of the Church. She studies her scriptures every single day, and some days that is all that she would do. She would always be taking notes. A lot of times when I needed to know where to find a certain scripture, I would go to her. About half the time when I walk into her room, I would find her on her knees praying audibly to Heavenly Father. She was not always this way. She use to be a very tough lady to be around, most people feared her. The natural man would, at times, get the better of her. She taught at Liahona High School for 20 years. Her rage caused her to throw one of the boys in her class through the glass window one time. Luckily it was Tonga, if it happened here she would have been sued, fired and whatever else.

My brothers and I were recently in Tonga for a surprise trip to meet her. She is currently serving her second mission there in the Nukualofa Tonga Temple. One of her students approached my older brother at the airport and said to him, “ You look like one of Solia’s sons. How is she?” My brother replied, “She is here, in Tonga, serving a mission in the Temple.” She almost fainted and said to my brother, “Your mother? On a mission? How is that possible?” I love her with all my heart. Everything that I am and will become is because of her enduring faith, love and dedication to the Master.

In July 2021, I had the blessing of working as an extra in the new Book of Mormon videos, filmed in the mountains east of Springville, Utah, USA. We were filming scenes that occurred following the “great and terrible destruction” (see 3 Nephi 8:11–12) in the New World, which attested to the Savior’s Crucifixion in the Old World.
During filming, my brother Byron lay in a hospital bed in California, USA, while my newborn granddaughter lay in a hospital bed in Salt Lake City, Utah. Byron was dying of cancer, and my granddaughter, born with a serious birth defect, was not expected to live.
When my husband and I arrived at our motel after the second day of filming, my sister called me, worried about Byron.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. “Byron isn’t answering his phone or his messages.”
Of my five siblings, I was closest to Byron. He was the second child, and I was the youngest. He often took care of me when I was small. We grew up in humble surroundings in Guatemala. We had no television, but we had each other. We were poor, but we were happy.
I missed Byron when he moved to the United States, hoping to help our family financially. He found a job as a bus driver for a tourism company. Years later, I moved to the United States, married, and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After my baptism, my parents also joined the Church. When my husband and I settled in southern Utah, I saw Byron whenever he brought tourists to the visitors’ centers at the St. George Utah Temple and the Salt Lake Temple.
When I spoke to Byron about the Church, he told me, “Latter-day Saints have something very special. When I talk with people at the visitors’ centers, I can see that they are good, friendly people.” He agreed to meet with the full-time missionaries, but he was always working and almost never home.
Twice, Byron successfully underwent treatment for esophageal cancer. In 2020, however, the cancer returned. In June 2021, he was barely well enough to travel to Guatemala for a month-long family reunion. Our father had died earlier that year, and our mother had passed away in 2015, four years after they were sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. Seeing his siblings one last time was Byron’s final prayerful wish.
Two weeks after he returned to California, he was hospitalized. Now he lay in a coma.
When I arrived at the video site the day after my sister’s phone call, I was weary and sad. “Father, please help me,” I prayed. “So many difficult things are happening in my life.”
Before the actors and extras gathered to film the scene where the resurrected Savior descends from heaven (see 3 Nephi 11:8), we were told to think about Him and what He means to us. As I tried to concentrate on the Savior during the scene, my thoughts turned to my family. In my mind I saw my father, my mother, and Byron. At that very moment, I heard Byron’s voice.
“Everything is OK,” he said. “I am all right.”
I felt such hope and comfort, as if I really were in the land Bountiful when Jesus came to teach and heal the people, showing them His body. I knew that He was the answer to my trials, that He and the Father were there for me, and that things happen for a reason.
That night, I learned that God had taken Byron home. I’m grateful for the faith I have that I will see him and my parents again. I’m also grateful that God heard our prayers for Athena. After she spent 88 days recuperating in the neonatal intensive care unit, we finally brought her home.

The first sacrament meeting I attended in Russia was at a small branch in the city of Kaluga. Only about 12 members attended the meeting. As I looked into the audience, I saw Sister Lydia Denisova. She was 83 years old. Though all her teeth were gone, she had a big smile on her face. She sang the hymns with gusto and enthusiasm. I thought about how Sister Lydia was just as old and wrinkly as every other babushka I saw on the streets, but unlike almost every babushka I had seen, her countenance shone with joy, shone with the happiness of the gospel and the fruits of righteousness and service. Brother Denisova, her husband, had been the branch president, but at ninety years old and almost blind, he was too old to carry out that calling. And yet, there he was still serving. I felt humbled as he served me the sacrament.

Near the end of our three years in Russia, the Denisovas were no longer able to come to church because they weren’t able to walk well enough to leave their apartment. Sister Woolley and I visited them. We found them living on the fifth floor of a walk-up, one-room apartment. The walls were decorated with pictures of the prophets and of the temple. On the tables were copies of the scriptures and the Liahona magazine. We had a wonderful visit. I asked Sister Denisova if she was happy. She told me that she was very happy. She told me of her many blessings: how she had been blessed to receive the gospel 15 years earlier, how she and her husband had been married in the temple. She was thankful to the Lord that she had enough to eat and a warm apartment. She didn’t moan or complain about the fact that she couldn’t walk or leave the apartment. Her gratitude, despite the opposition in her life, made Sister Lydia a happy person. She truly exhibited a state of joy. Her commitment to keeping the commandments and her deep-seated humility had given her the peace that the Savior offers despite what many of us might say was a difficult existence. Some of us might keep the commandments but not feel very happy if we were cooped up in an apartment with no way to leave for many months. Like Lydia, we need to be grateful and positive. We need to chose to be happy.

The Rockland California Stake youth choir gave two performances for their friends, families, and teachers. Jason sang in three special numbers and joined with the whole choir for the larger numbers. These performances, with 121 young people participating, were something that grew from simple beginnings.
It all started at a fireside in the Loomis Second Ward. “The fireside was at my house,” said Amanda Groth. “Everyone was taking a break. Sister Wentzel started playing the piano, and people started singing. Everyone just liked it.”
Danée Call was also at that fireside. “A couple of us girls had a song we were practicing for a sacrament meeting. A couple of the guys came over and tried to pick out their parts. Everybody just came around and was trying to sing. Sister Wentzel said, ‘I think we’ve got a youth choir on our hands.’ We said we would love to do it. Sister Wentzel talked to the bishop, and from then on it was choir practice every Sunday evening.”
The first practice was small. Eric Harms remembers, “It started with seven guys and three or four girls. We liked to sing, but none of us were that talented. We got some of the younger kids to come.”
Those younger kids are growing up and, in turn, are inviting the new Beehives and deacons to join. First the youth choir was just Loomis Second Ward. Then the Loomis First Ward joined to perform at youth conference. Then the choir expanded to take in all the wards of the stake for four months as they prepared to give a concert. Some were worried that the big choir wouldn’t be as good or as close. Anson Call tells about what it was like to take the choir from just their ward to include the stake. “It was like a family when it was our ward. I was afraid it wouldn’t be like that anymore. But it’s exactly the same. The same message and the same spirit, just with a lot more volume.”
At first the ward youth choir sang occasionally in sacrament meeting. Then they performed at missionary farewells and funerals. Expanded to the stake, they decided to give a concert, two performances, where they would invite everyone from their families to neighbors and teachers at school. With 121 singers who were pulling every note from their hearts, the choir was great. “It was so powerful,” said Heather Wentzel, “I almost started crying. I felt like the people in the audience were going to say, ‘Oh, this must be the right church,’ because they must be able to feel the Spirit.”
When the choir is together, singing a song that means something to them, the singers talk about the chills racing up and down their backbones. “Your hair feels like it’s standing up,” said Jadon Andersen. “You feel great.” And now they love that feeling and want more.

I am reminded of an experience we had earlier this summer while conducting research off the coast of Oahu. We were using an autonomous underwater vehicle to survey coral reefs. It may be the closest analog to traditional voyaging’s dead-reckoning skills that we have, because when our robot is underwater, it does not have access to GPS, Wi-Fi, or any other geolocating capabilities. Instead, the robot takes thousands of readings per second to sense its own movement and location relative to the ocean floor and to where it started.

With faith in our engineering and in our daily prayers, we launched the robot in an unfamiliar area. It dove, and our crew waited. When it hadn’t surfaced on schedule, we put our acoustic communication underwater to see where the robot was.

Our student said, “It is thirty meters (one hundred feet) down and parked. Is that normal?”

In case you are wondering, no, that is not how we planned it. When we reviewed the footage from our onboard cameras, we pieced together what had happened. As the robot was following the terrain three meters (ten feet) above the ocean floor, an outcropping formed by a long-ago lava flow loomed in front of the vehicle. It sensed the obstacle, but the robot was moving too fast to navigate over the rock and clipped the top. With that glancing blow, the sensor that helped the robot know its distance above the seafloor temporarily went offline; the robot lost the ability to sense its location, so it dove, nosed up against a rock, and parked. Fortunately our brilliant engineering colleagues had programmed in a fail-safe—literally a way to safely fail. After a full minute of trying to push through the rock, the robot backed up and surfaced, and we recovered it.

“I need to tell you something, Mom,” Melissa said, looking at the floor. She took a deep breath and started to cry.
“My teacher is really mad because someone wrote on the bathroom wall,” Melissa said. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but someone else started writing and I thought it was funny, so I did too. I feel so bad inside. What can I do?”
Mom gave Melissa a hug and pointed to a picture on the shelf. It was taken on the day Melissa was baptized. “Do remember what Uncle Brett talked about at your baptism?”
Sniffling, Melissa nodded. “That the Holy Ghost can help us know what is right and wrong,” she said. “He said if I did something wrong I would get a bad feeling. Is this what he was talking about?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “What else did he say?”
Melissa thought for a moment. “When we mess up we can repent by asking for forgiveness and fixing what we did wrong,” she said. “And promising to never do it again.”
As Melissa said those words, she knew what she needed to do.
Before the school bell rang the next morning, Melissa was at her teacher’s desk.
“Mrs. O’Dell, I wrote on the bathroom wall,” Melissa said, her heart pounding. “I’m really sorry, and I will clean it up.”
Mrs. O’Dell looked at Melissa for a moment. “You’ll have to stay after school to clean it,” she said. “And you need to tell your mother what you have done.”
“I know, I already told her. I promise to never do anything like this again,” Melissa said.
Melissa smiled as she walked to her desk. The bad feeling she had yesterday was gone.

I first learned the importance of the First Presidency as a boy growing up in western Canada. When I would go to Grandma and Grandpa Walker’s home, I was greeted in the entry by a framed photo of the First Presidency of the Church. I remember it well. It seemed that they stood as sentinels, greeting all who entered.
The beautiful color photo was of President George Albert Smith, with his counselors J. Reuben Clark Jr. and David O. McKay. The photo showed them standing together by a large world globe. I loved the picture. They were such handsome and dignified men; I knew them as the prophet of God and his counselors.
That picture hanging in the front foyer of my grandparents’ home had a powerful influence on me. I lived in the small prairie town of Raymond, where my grandparents lived. I could walk to their home, so I visited often. I remember frequently standing quietly alone in the foyer, reverently looking at that picture of the First Presidency. I remember thinking about why my grandparents thought it was so important to honor the First Presidency and have that picture prominently displayed in their home. All who entered would see it. Perhaps most importantly, for their children and grandchildren it was a constant reminder of what was deeply important in the hearts and lives of Grandma and Grandpa.
Years later I concluded that displaying the picture of the First Presidency was equivalent to Joshua’s beautiful expression: “Choose you this day whom ye will serve; … as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15).
All who entered the home of James and Fannye Walker knew that written upon their hearts were the words “As for us and our house, we will serve the Lord.” As their grandson, I knew it, and I have never forgotten it.

In my young adult years, I spent a lot of time wondering about my future. Mission, marriage, education, career—all of these were open questions, and I didn’t have many answers. I was willing to fulfill whatever mission the Lord had in mind for me, if I could only find out what it was.

My patriarchal blessing gave me the big picture of my life’s purpose. But in some ways I felt like I was trying to find my way to the grocery store using a map of the solar system. What if I made a wrong turn somewhere? Would I still be able to find and fulfill the mission the Lord had for me?

Years beyond my 20s now, I can finally recognize that my life has unfolded in the very way described in my patriarchal blessing many years ago. That certainly wasn’t because I knew exactly what I was doing and where the future would take me. I most definitely didn’t.

My life had some twists and turns and disappointments that made me wonder if it was going off track. But as it turns out, I didn’t need to worry. The Lord always knew where I was and where He wanted me to go. I kept trying my best to follow His commandments, serve Him, and listen to the Spirit. Even though I often couldn’t discern it at the time, I now recognize that His hand was always guiding my life.

When Tyler was four, he loved listening to the piano and wanted to start taking lessons. As soon as he grew tall enough for his feet to reach the pedals, he started playing the organ. He loves it!
Tyler wakes up at 5:30 every morning so he can play the organ at the Church building before school. Once Tyler got to play “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” on the Tabernacle organ on Temple Square.
Tyler also plays the prelude music for sacrament meeting. He says, “Playing music makes me happy because when I go on my mission, I’ll be able to play.”

Zipporah Garba of Jos District Nigeria
I grew up with the knowledge that I am creative, and I love it. As I grew up, I became more interested in the production of garments, but I needed to learn the skill of sewing to help me achieve my dreams. I enrolled in the self-reliance program and took the Education for Better Work course. I chose tailoring/fashion design and then applied for the PEF loan. That started my journey into the fashion world. It was a beautiful experience. I learned tailoring in one year and now I can make female garments in African styles and English wears. I made my first wedding dress in 2019 and have been able to create many beautiful designs and patterns.
Currently I teach draft garment patterns to some sisters from the Dogon Dutse Branch, and in my neighborhood, as my own way of giving back to my people. I do not only see myself as teaching but also as ministering. I hope that by the end of 2020 I will have created a style and standard for myself and the garments I make which will be a signature for my work because I hope that it becomes a global brand.
I am so grateful to our Heavenly Father for the privilege of the PEF. It has greatly blessed my life and put me on the pedestal of achieving all my dreams. I am prepared to pursue my dreams including all I learned in the self-reliance group meetings.

My daughter had an exciting gospel discussion with a girl recently. At that time the girl was working with a little boy who was afflicted with a brain disease and had been given six months to live. My daughter’s friend was becoming very attached to this little boy. My daughter posed personal questions such as: “Do you believe in life after death?” “Why do you think this little boy is suffering with this?” “Do you think he will be blessed for his struggles?” “What have you learned from this?” This type of question demonstrates your sincere interest in your friend rather than just pushing doctrine at him. It’s love—and a very important ingredient in teaching of Christ in His way.

For generations it has inspired those who read it. Herbert Schreiter had read his German translation of the Book of Mormon. In it he read:
“When ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.”
Herbert Schreiter tested the promise and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In 1946, released as a prisoner of war, Herbert returned to his wife and three little daughters in Leipzig, Germany. Soon thereafter, he went as a missionary to Bernburg, Germany. Alone, without a companion, he sat cold and hungry in a room, wondering how he should begin.
He thought of what he had to offer the war-devastated people. He printed by hand a placard which read, “Will there be a further life after death?” and posted it on a wall.
About that same time, a family from a small village in Poland came to Bernburg.
Manfred Schütze was four years old. His father had been killed in the war. His mother, with his grandparents, and his mother’s sister, also a widow, and her two little girls, were forced to evacuate their village with only 30 minutes’ notice. They grabbed what they could and headed west. Manfred and his mother pulled and pushed a small cart. At times, the ailing grandfather rode in the cart. One Polish officer looked at the pathetic little Manfred and began to weep.
At the border, soldiers ransacked their belongings and threw their bedding into the river. Manfred and his mother were then separated from the family. His mother wondered if they might have gone to Bernburg, where her grandmother was born, perhaps to relatives there. After weeks of unbelievable suffering, they arrived in Bernburg and found the family.
The seven of them lived together in one small room. But their troubles were not over. The mother of the two little girls died. The grieving grandmother cried out for a preacher, and asked, “Will I see my family again?”
The preacher answered, “My dear lady, there is no such thing as the Resurrection. They who are dead are dead!”
They wrapped the body in a paper bag for burial.
On the way from the grave, the grandfather talked of taking their own lives, as many others had done. Just then they saw the placard that Elder Schreiter had posted on the building—“Is there further life after death?”—with an invitation from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At a meeting, they learned of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.
They joined the Church. Soon their lives changed. The grandfather found work as a baker and could provide bread for his family and also for Elder Schreiter, who had given them “the bread of life.”
Then help came from the Church in the United States. Manfred grew up eating grain out of little sacks with a picture of a beehive on them and peaches from California. He wore clothes from the welfare supplies of the Church.
Manfred Schütze is now a member of the Third Quorum of Seventy and supervises our seminaries in Eastern Europe. His mother, now 88, still attends the temple at Freiberg where Herbert Schreiter once served as a counselor to the president.

In what we call the west boardroom of the Church Administration Building, there hangs a lovely painting rendered by the artist Harry Anderson. The painting depicts Jesus sitting on a small stone wall with numerous children gathered around, knowing they are the object of His love. Each time I gaze at that painting, I think of the passage of scripture, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
On one occasion, I had given a priesthood blessing in that room to a small lad who was soon to undergo major surgery. I directed his attention and that of his parents to the painting of Jesus and the children. I then made a few remarks concerning the Savior and His never-failing love. I asked the boy if he had any questions. “Yes,” he replied seriously. “Brother Monson, how does a boy go about getting a little goat and a leash for it like that one in the painting?”
For a moment I was stunned by the unanticipated question, a little deflated concerning my teaching ability, but then I responded: “Jesus gives to you and me gifts far more important than a goat on a leash. He provides a road map to heaven. His teachings, His example, His love are far greater gifts than that offered by the world.”
“Come, follow me,” He invited. And we are wise when we follow Him!

Joseph Smith counseled all the members living in Missouri to gather to either Far West or Adam-ondi-Ahman for protection. However, Jacob Haun, who was the leader of the settlement at Haun’s Mill, didn’t want to leave his property. He counseled the others living there to stay; they would defend themselves if necessary.

On 30 October, a mob of about 240 men approached Haun’s Mill with the intent of carrying out the governor’s extermination order. When they attacked, the men in the settlement sought protection in the blacksmith shop while the women and children fled into the woods. One of the Church members swung his hat at the mob and cried for peace, but the mob only shot at him. The mob also fired on the unarmed women and children. At least 17 people were killed at Haun’s Mill, and 13 others were wounded.

On 10 January 1969, my life abruptly changed. I certainly hadn’t intended to make any changes. I was not active in the Church and was a heavy smoker and drinker; in fact, I had reached the point where I felt unable to function without alcohol. I enjoyed the companionship of my drinking buddies, and the alcohol numbed my senses, making it seem easier to deal with life’s challenges.
But on that January day I did some quick reevaluation of my life. At work I was removing the rind from slabs of bacon with a five-inch boring knife and accidentally sliced a deep cut in my thigh. I started for the door, trying to remove my belt and cutting tools, and fainted before doing either. Co-workers carried me out to the loading dock, placed me in the company truck, and sped off to the hospital. I was losing a great deal of blood, and one man rode in back with me, applying constant pressure to the cut.
Midway to the hospital, we passed over a rough section of railroad tracks, and he was thrown down. By the time he regained his footing and could assist me again, we were both sure I was going to die. Although I was alert, I became extremely cold. I felt and saw a blackness settle over me, and I became very frightened.
I’m dying, I realized. I thought of my wife and children. I can’t die now. I have too much to do.
Right then I determined that if I were spared, I would repent and set my life in order. Immediately the cold I felt was replaced by a satisfying warmth in my body. The darkness fled, and I drifted into sleep. I later learned that more than once I came close to dying on the operation table, yet the doctors were able to save me and my leg.
When I awoke that night, I saw the moon shining through the window. I wept as I thought of my second chance. I felt a strong desire to pray—a foreign feeling to me. I couldn’t kneel, but I poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I thanked him for all he had given me and for his patience and mercy.
With the help of a supportive wife and an outstanding bishop, I began making changes I’d never imagined I would make. After being released from the hospital, I attended church with my family. I studied the scriptures and read other Church books as well.
I was ordained a priest and then an elder. Eventually our family went to the temple, where we were sealed for time and eternity.
Other blessings followed. My wife, who had battled with cancer, rheumatic fever, and several other debilitating health problems, felt better than she had felt in years. I had suffered from a hearing loss for most of my life. After much fasting and prayer, I underwent surgery that restored most of my hearing.
My whole life became more peaceful, more enjoyable, more worthwhile. The more I learned and grew, the more I prayed, thanking God for the most fortunate accident of my life.

First, let us demonstrate what we say we already know so that our preparation to learn even more is evident to our earthly parents, to our Heavenly Father, and to others around us in the congregation.
Why are we constantly reminded of things? Why are the basic principles repeated so frequently? Perhaps we have not demonstrated in our daily behavior our ability to do those things. Long ago, King Benjamin advised his congregation, “If you believe all these things see that ye do them.”5
If we are demonstrating what we have learned, even a reminder will be heard without offense. When I was sixteen, I backed out of our steep driveway directly into the only car parked on the other side of the street. I think that over the decades I’ve now proven I can navigate my parents’ driveway, and because of that, their reminders are not heard the same way they were the first few times after the accident when I had not yet “proved myself.”6

I received just the other day a letter from a dear friend. Her name is Helen, and her husband’s name is Charlie. She writes as follows, among other things:
“Today Charlie and I spoke at our sacrament meeting. In my talk I related the advice you gave me when I graduated from Idaho Falls High School and had made plans to attend Ricks College. You told me that I should attend the Church College of Hawaii, where I would have a better chance to meet and marry a young man of Chinese ancestry.
“I took your advice and went to CCH, where I met Charlie and married him. We have been married 37 years and have five children. All of our five children have served missions. … Three of our children married in the Hawaiian temple. We have two single children, and we hope they will find worthy individuals to take to the temple soon. We have six adorable grandchildren and two more on the way.
“I have been blessed to have a faithful husband who honors his priesthood and has been worthy to serve the Lord as bishop, stake president, and mission president. It has been my privilege to support him in all his Church assignments. I have served as stake Relief Society president for almost five years.
“Today, as I count my many blessings, I could not help but think of what a great influence you have been in my life. I just want you to know that I followed your counsel, and because of that my life has been blessed abundantly. I thank you for taking the time to follow my progress when I left Hong Kong to come to America.”

President Heber J. Grant once heard Bishop Millen Atwood preach a sermon in the Thirteenth Ward, “I was studying grammar at the time,” he said, “and he made some grammatical errors in his talk.
“I wrote down his first sentence, smiled to myself, and said: ‘I am going to get … enough material to last me for the entire winter in my night school grammar class.’ We had to take … four sentences a week, that were not grammatically correct, together with our corrections.
“… But I did not write anything more after that first sentence—not a word; and when Millen Atwood stopped preaching, tears were rolling down my cheeks, tears of gratitude and thanksgiving that welled up into my eyes because of the marvelous testimony which that man bore of the divine mission of Joseph Smith, the Prophet of God. …”
He continued: “Although it is now more than sixty-five years since I listened to that sermon, it is just as vivid today, and the sensations and feelings that I had are just as fixed with me, as they were the day I heard it. …
“… the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had, when proclaiming the Gospel, and not the language. … I have endeavored, from that day to this … to judge men and women by the spirit they have; for I have learned absolutely, that it is the spirit that giveth life and understanding, and not the letter—the letter killeth” (Improvement Era, Apr. 1939, p. 201).

My mom called all the children in my family together one morning. She told us that President Howard W. Hunter had been sick and had died. We were sad. President Hunter was the prophet, and we loved him.
“Who will run the Church now?” Erik, my youngest brother, asked.
“Well, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles will be in charge until another prophet is chosen,” Mom answered. “But remember, Jesus Christ is the head of this Church. We will not be left without a prophet.”
“Really?” I asked. “We’ll have a new one?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said. She explained to me that when a prophet dies, the members of the First Presidency return to their former positions in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and with the guidance of the Lord, the Apostles reorganize the First Presidency. Mom also explained that the Church follows a pattern established by the Lord. When the Lord calls a new Apostle, that Apostle gradually moves forward in seniority in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as other Apostles die. At the death of the President of the Church, the senior Apostle becomes the new President of the Church. Mom said that we can pray to know for ourselves that the new Church President has been chosen by the Lord.
A little while after President Hunter died, I got a phone call from my friend Molly, who is not a member of the Church. “Hey, Angie, that’s too bad about your prophet. My dad and I were really worried about you. Is your church going to shut down now?”
I almost dropped the phone from surprise.
“Of course not,” I said, remembering my mother’s words. “The Lord promised us that we would always have a prophet.”
“You mean, they’ll choose a new one?” Molly asked. “Don’t you need an angel to come down and declare that he’s the prophet?”
“I believe God will choose another prophet. Jesus Christ is the head of the Church,” I said with a smile because I knew it was true.
“But how do you know the new prophet is chosen by God?”
She didn’t understand that we could pray to Heavenly Father and find out. But I knew that that was exactly what I was going to do. Right after I finished my prayers that night, I knew that the Lord would take care of His Church.
A few days later an announcement was made that the new President of the Church was Gordon B. Hinckley.
I raised my hand high a few weeks later during general conference to sustain President Hinckley as the prophet. And in the years that have followed, I have continued to raise my hand to sustain him. I support him in all he says and does. I am thankful that President Hinckley has been called of God to be the prophet. Truly, the Lord does not leave us alone.