Gospel Story Finder

My faith impacted my work life as well. One time, a supplier of goods to my employer walked into my office and told me he had brought a “small gift” for me in appreciation for the purchases his company had received that year. I was then in charge of the purchasing department for all consumable supplies. I asked him if any of my staff had solicited the “small gift” from him. He said no one had done so but it was standard practice in other companies he dealt with. I asked him to convert the value of his “small gift” into additional goods and deliver them free of charge to the company store the following day. He was visibly shocked by this response but went away and complied.

Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service. Some years ago I visited what was then called the California Mission, where I interviewed a young missionary from Georgia. I recall saying to him, “Do you send a letter home to your parents every week?”
He replied, “Yes, Brother Monson.”
Then I asked, “Do you enjoy receiving letters from home?”
He didn’t answer. At length I inquired, “When was the last time you had a letter from home?”
With a quavering voice, he responded, “I’ve never had a letter from home. Father’s just a deacon, and Mother’s not a member of the Church. They pleaded with me not to come. They said that if I left on a mission, they would not be writing to me. What shall I do, Brother Monson?”
I offered a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father: “What should I tell this young servant of Thine, who has sacrificed everything to serve Thee?” And the inspiration came. I said, “Elder, you send a letter home to your mother and father every week of your mission. Tell them what you are doing. Tell them how much you love them and then bear your testimony to them.”
He asked, “Will they then write to me?”
I responded, “Then they will write to you.”
We parted and I went on my way. Months later I was attending a stake conference in Southern California, when a young missionary came up to me and said, “Brother Monson, do you remember me? I’m the missionary who had not received a letter from my mother or my father during my first nine months in the mission field. You told me, ‘Send a letter home every week, Elder, and your parents will write to you.’” Then he asked, “Do you remember that promise, Elder Monson?”
I remembered. I inquired, “Have you heard from your parents?”
He reached into his pocket and took out a sheaf of letters with an elastic band around them, took a letter from the top of the stack, and said, “Have I heard from my parents! Listen to this letter from my mother: ‘Son, we so much enjoy your letters. We’re proud of you, our missionary. Guess what? Dad has been ordained a priest. He’s preparing to baptize me. I’m meeting with the missionaries; and one year from now we want to come to California as you complete your mission, for we, with you, would like to become a forever family by entering the temple of the Lord.’” This young missionary asked, “Brother Monson, does Heavenly Father always answer prayers and fulfill Apostles’ promises?”
I replied, “When one has faith as you have demonstrated, our Heavenly Father hears such prayers and answers in His own way.”
Clean hands, a pure heart, and a willing mind had touched heaven. A blessing, heaven-sent, had answered the fervent prayer of a missionary’s humble heart.

August evenings are usually warm in Rexburg, Idaho. I knelt by my bed on such a night, the buzz of my fan chasing away the heat and drowning out the world. Two weeks of college had barely gone by. Each day I learned more about the other five girls I was living with, but my heart ached to be home with my family.
At home my family was having problems. I told my Heavenly Father how heavy my heart was. I did not ask for help; I just knew that He would listen. I finished my prayer and climbed into bed. I tried not to cry, but a few silent tears trickled down my face and onto my pillow. There was a knock at my door.
I quickly wiped away my tears.
“Come in,” I said.
One of my roommates opened the door. The hall light showed her silhouette. I looked at her, waiting for her to ask to borrow my phone or a shirt. Instead, she made her way over to my bed and said, “No one should cry themselves to sleep.”
The tears I had been trying to hold back came rushing out. She wrapped her arms around me. I do not remember exactly what she said to me, but I remember how I felt. She reminded me that Heavenly Father was aware of my problems and that He loves me. She stayed by my side until I finished crying. She left, and I lay in bed thinking about the things I had learned.
I knew that my roommate had heard and followed the promptings of the Holy Ghost. I was grateful for her willingness to obey. I realized how much my Father in Heaven loves me. He knew I was sad and needed someone to comfort me. I know that He would have held me in His arms if He could. Instead, He sent someone close by to share His love with me. And I know that it is my job to reach out to others and share our Father’s love with them.

Luis also shares an experience that shows how service and missionary work are combined in the minds of Chilean youth: “I was working with my brother on the construction of our chapel when a young man came by and stopped and watched us. Finally he approached and asked us why we weren’t out somewhere having a good time. He pointed out that it was a beautiful summer day and we could have gone to the beach or just rested somewhere in the shade. We told him that our spirits were very joyous to have this opportunity to work for the Lord and that we would have been ashamed to think that our brothers and sisters were having to do our work for us. We explained that this was a chapel for the Lord, a house of worship, and that we were eager to see it completed. That young man is now an active member of the Church.”

The second message that I feel I should follow up on was delivered just last general conference, when I encouraged members to pray to be led to at least one person to whom they could extend an invitation to learn about the restored gospel before Christmas. Many Church members have shared with me some special experiences as a consequence of their asking the Lord for missionary opportunities.
One returned missionary, for example, specifically prayed to be led to “the one” he could reach. The name of a former college classmate came into his mind. He reached out to her over Facebook, and he learned that she had been praying for purpose and meaning in her life. He followed up just at the time she was searching for the truth, and in December she was baptized.
Many similar invitations were reported to me, but only a few people have followed up like this brother did.

Victoria, British Columbia—
Sometimes before you share the gospel, you have to share your dreams.
That’s how it started for Gillian Hitchmough, a Laurel in the Victoria Third Ward, Victoria British Columbia Stake, and Reta Stevenson, her friend from school. Because they had classes together, they had plenty of time to talk about what was on their minds.
“At first, we didn’t really talk about religion, we just talked about what was going on in our lives,” says Gillian. “But then there was a boy at our school who was another religion, and I remember him really harping on me about being a Mormon. It was hard for me, and I told Reta how bad it made me feel.”
Reta says she could tell from those conversations how strongly Gillian felt about her religion. Pretty soon she was asking questions, and Gillian extended the invitation for Reta to come to youth conference. Reta readily accepted.
“At youth conference I learned a lot of stuff that I could really use in my life. I felt the Spirit so strongly at the testimony meeting. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I knew there was something really real there.”
Enter another LDS friend, Matt Hall—whose mom happens to be the seminary teacher—and Gillian got just the backup support she was looking for.
“My family and I had Reta over for family home evening one night and showed her a [Church] video. The missionaries were here, but so was Gillian, so it was just kind of business as usual. One of the missionaries bore his testimony. It was really great,” says Matt.
Pretty soon Reta was attending seminary, week-night activities, and church on Sunday. Reta knew the Church was true, but she was having a hard time overcoming a few things, especially the idea of being the only member in her family. She knew that if she joined the Church her family couldn’t come in the temple with her when she got married. And since she was so young in the gospel herself, it was sometimes hard for her to explain her new beliefs to her mom.
“My decision to be baptized came when the questions I had were answered. This big feeling of relief came over me, and I knew I was doing the right thing. It was a big step, but it was a good big step,” says Reta.
And so, on a beautiful summer day, Matt baptized Reta. She says she’s never been happier.
Matt and Gillian were happy too. They now know firsthand the joy that comes from extending the gospel message to their friends and seeing them accept. And both of them are eager to receive mission calls when they’re old enough.
“My life has really changed since I joined the Church. It’s made me a better person, and it’s filled some empty spots in my life. It gives me hope for the future,” says Reta.

When I was a stake president, a young woman I will call Helen, came to me for counsel. She was professionally successful, well-read, and involved in many excellent projects, but she was not finding a special friendship leading to marriage in our stake and community. She told me that well-meaning friends advised her that many men might be intimidated by her intellect and the strength of her personality. They suggested that she try to be less aggressive in her activities, and present an image that would be seen as less threatening to men so that she would have a better opportunity to be married. She explained that she had been offered an excellent new executive position in the eastern United States that would increase her strong image. She wanted my opinion on her friends’ suggestion.
I told Helen that I felt she should continue to be her usual dynamic and active self so that she would fit in well with the person she would eventually marry. I told her that the decision was hers to make, but that my spiritual inclinations were favorable about her new opportunity. I advised her to fulfill her full potential.
Helen accepted the new position and moved east. There she met a man and married him in the temple. They are both continuing to make a tremendous contribution to the Church and to their community.

Eleven-year-old Pedro sat quietly on the front steps of his apartment building. It was a warm summer day in Santiago. His father, a city bus driver, had left hours ago for work and would soon be home for lunch. Pedro’s mother was busily preparing arroz con pollo (chicken with rice) in the kitchen. Its aroma floating from the open window made him hungry.
He felt the warm breeze on his cheeks and watched it dance across the long grass that separated his home from the post office. Then he saw them, the two young women with white blouses and dark skirts who came this way every Monday. One resembled him with wiry dark hair and soft brown eyes. The other, blond and freckled, was obviously a North American. Mormons, he thought.
He remembered visiting his cousin Carlos on the coast a few summers ago. When the Mormons had come, his aunt invited them in to give their message.
Pedro had felt his heart burn as the young men told the story of Joseph Smith. They opened a blue book. They said that the book was called the Book of Mormon and that it told of Jesus’ coming to America. Then one of them read a promise from the book: God would tell them it was true, if they would just read it and ask Him about it.
Pedro and Carlos exchanged excited glances. Jesus had come to America! Pedro was eager to read this book. Would the missionaries offer them a Book of Mormon? They did!
“No, thank you.”
Pedro stared in disbelief at his uncle, whose words nearly choked the warmth in his heart. Carlos hung his head.
The missionaries smiled politely and, thanking them, rose from their chairs.
Pedro felt tears coming as he watched the missionaries walk away. He couldn’t let them go—he wanted so much to read the book! Feeling as though he would burst, he jumped up and ran outside. “Wait!” He caught up with the missionaries at the gate. “Please don’t leave!”
Both of them smiled, but Pedro could tell that they were sad. The tall one stooped down and spoke softly. “What is your name?”
“Pedro.”
“Well, Pedro, remember what we taught you. Pray to Father in Heaven, and be a good son. Your time will come.”
Pedro watched sorrowfully as they walked away.
Now, remembering, his eyes began to sting again. He did what the missionaries had told him. He prayed every day to Heavenly Father. And he obeyed his parents. When would his time come?
A shadow fell across the grass in front of him. Surprised, he looked up at the two young women with friendly eyes. He noticed the tags on their blouses—Hermana (Sister) Sanchez and Hermana Cartwright—and, in a canvas bag Hermana Sanchez carried, he saw the blue book.
“Buenos días (good morning),” Hermana Cartwright said, smiling. “We noticed you on our way to the post office, and we felt that we should talk to you.”
“Are your parents home?” asked Hermana Sanchez.
“Sí! (yes)” Pedro cried. He quickly opened the door and called to his mother. The missionaries were right. His prayers were answered. His time had come at last. He turned back to the sisters and smiled. “You don’t know how long I have waited!”

On Sundays my mom usually woke me up so I could get ready for church and get there before the meetings began. But one Sunday my mom didn’t wake me up. I woke up by myself and noticed that I didn’t hear the usual noise of my family getting ready for church. I nervously looked at the clock and realized I was half an hour late for church. I had missed the sacrament. I probably would miss Sunday School too.
I felt confused and abandoned. Why didn’t my mom wake me up this morning? She always woke me up. But then it hit me: It wasn’t my mom’s responsibility to wake me up so I could get to church on time—it was mine. I had made my own covenants with Heavenly Father, and it was my responsibility to keep them.
Later that day my mom commented on not waking me up for church. She said that she wouldn’t wake me up again. She told me that I should put in my own effort and gain my own testimony.
During that week, I found myself thinking about how I couldn’t live on my parents’ testimonies forever and how I should try harder to strengthen my own testimony. Since then, I have worked hard to wake up early every Sunday so that I can make it to church on time and take the sacrament. I am learning to be spiritually self-sufficient.
Lia Alves, Ceará, Brazil

While cargo was delivered and provisions replenished in Honolulu, Brooklyn passengers were free to explore the island. Hundreds of natives were waiting for us to land. They greeted us with wide smiles and twinkling black eyes.
Some of the Hawaiians came on board and were delighted when they saw the nine-month-old Kittleman twins, Hannah and Sarah, and asked to take them ashore to show them to their queen. After they had been gone for more than two hours, Sister Kittleman became alarmed, and the ship’s crew organized a posse. Just as the sailors were ready to start a search, two young girls came running toward the ship with the babies. Queen Kalama had sent many gifts for their mother.

Long ago, the renowned author Charles Dickens wrote of opportunities that await. In his classic volume entitled Great Expectations, Dickens described a boy by the name of Philip Pirrip, more commonly known as “Pip.” Pip was born in unusual circumstances. He was an orphan. He never met his mother or father. He never saw a picture of them. Yet he had all the normal desires of a boy. He wished with all his heart that he were a scholar. He wished that he were a gentleman. He wished that he were less ignorant. Yet all of his ambitions and all of his hopes seemed doomed to failure. Do you young men sometimes feel that way? Do those of us who are older entertain these same thoughts?

Then one day a London lawyer by the name of Jaggers approached little Pip and told him that an unknown benefactor had bequeathed to him a fortune. The lawyer put his arm around the shoulder of Pip and said to him, “My boy, you have great expectations.”
Tonight, as I look at you young men and realize who you are and what you may become, I say to you, as that lawyer said to Pip, “My boy, you have great expectations”—not as the result of an unknown benefactor, but as the result of a known Benefactor, even our Heavenly Father, and great things are expected of you.

You are right now in the most crucial years of your life regarding the WORK of making your family dreams come true. You will be confronted this year, maybe this week, with some frank realities that will force you to decide how much your dream really matters to you. Imagine with me a young man your age whom I'll call Jared. Jared's parents had tried to teach him the gospel in their home, but as he got older they felt they hadn't reached him. They dearly wanted him to gain a testimony, go on a mission, and marry in the temple. But Jared wanted to live his own life, and it bugged him that his parents kept asking him about a mission. He enrolled as a freshman in a state college far from home, where he could be his own person and do his own thing. He was tired of seminary and what he called "cheesy Church kids."

Jared loved the freedom of doing whatever he felt like doing. He got involved with the wrong kind of movies, music, dancing and girls. His parents had taught him to make better choices, but he was on his own, and he loved it. Jared began hanging out with a very cute girl I'll call Stephanie. Their relationship got very physical, very fast, and Jared found that exciting.

One night Jared and Stephanie started to become even more intimate together. She was very playful about the whole thing, and Jared gulped as he realized how willing she was. "What if you get pregnant," he asked. She just smiled and said, "I'm on the pill. And if that doesn't work, it's no big deal. I know how to get an abortion."

"An abortion?" Jared asked. "Wait a minute." It hit him like a freight train that they were now talking, even if only hypothetically, about a baby that could be his own child. Suddenly he felt confused and uncomfortable. He was seeing a connection that had somehow escaped him before, a link between sexuality and children--what the scriptures call "posterity." He also felt hurt that what she was willing to do with him, she had probably done with other guys.

"Listen," said Jared. "When you talk about sex, you're really talking about getting married and having kids. And when you talk about families, you're talking about religion. I don't like this, Stephanie. I know where the spirits of babies come from, and I know what sex is supposed to mean. Sorry, but I'm out of here."

Stephanie was shocked. She didn't understand what he was talking about, and she asked him not to push religion on her. Jared didn't think he'd said anything about the church. He was just talking about what seemed right to him. He took her home abruptly, then drove off feeling angry, but not quite sure why. Close to tears, he kept on driving, trying to settle down and clear his head. He kept thinking about what he'd almost done.

After driving around the city for an hour in an aimless sort of way, Jared decided to call his cousin, a returned missionary who was married and attending his same college. He'd seen his cousin once on the campus, but he had passed up the cousin's invitation to come for Sunday dinner. "Look, I know it's late," said Jared, "but I need to talk to you." As they sat together in the cousin's little apartment, Jared told him about Stephanie and that he'd just broken things off with her. Then Jared gave his cousin a very serious look. "You know what," he said, "I need to date active LDS girls who really care about the whole family thing the same way I do. Why couldn't I see that before?"

A second category is enduring the individual conditions of this life—the unique set of circumstances peculiar to us at any given time. These may be small, such as why the guy you like doesn’t seem to know you exist or why you did not achieve an A in a class in spite of every diligent effort. They may be big, such as prolonged health problems or the death of a loved one. They might be financial burdens that seem insurmountable. Or, as parents, we may have to endure the often incorrect use of free agency by our children. For others it may be the inability to be a parent when the desire to be great. And some seem destined to live this life without a mate in spite of earnest desires otherwise. Finally, it may be an offense by a Church official such as a bishop or stake president or General Authority. In all these, the test comes in not denouncing our faith or blaming God for our trials. So many times strong members of the Church, when faced with such conditions, denounce God for not righting the set of conditions that brings them agony. By so doing they cease enduring and stand to risk all they have worked for spiritually to that point.

One example of this came when I was a bishop in Iowa while doing my graduate work. We had just sent out the first missionary that ward had ever had, a quality young man who was loved and admired by all who knew him. Unfortunately, the young man had leukemia, which was in remission. Six months into his mission the symptoms reappeared. He returned home for treatment, but the Lord needed him for a different mission. In spite of group fasting and adamant prayer in his behalf, he died, still a full-time, set-apart missionary. The grief and mourning were difficult. But I always remember the greater anguish I felt when one faithful ward member came to me right after the incident and stated, "I do not know how a just God could allow this to happen. It is not right. He was a good boy. Why would God take him from us?" No amount of consoling helped this person. For this person, God ceased to be a loving God when he did not give us what we desperately wanted. This person became bitter and left the Church for a season.

I knew the changes my life needed.
I should be studying my scriptures deeply. I should be exercising regularly. I should participate in hobbies I once loved. These were all things that would improve my spiritual, physical, and mental health. I knew that—that’s what I was taught from a young age.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to do them.
Why? Because the changes required a major shift in my lifestyle, and I couldn’t sustain them.
I’d try and fail. Things would go well for a week or two, and then I would fall back into old habits. So, I decided to take a more gradual approach—one step at a time, “line upon line” (2 Nephi 28:30). With that in mind, I focused on truths of slow, sustainable goal setting:
Routine is vital to me, and I noticed my mornings and nights felt rushed and unproductive. I was often tired and didn’t accomplish everything I needed to. To make a change, I started with an important, foundational habit that set up a good pattern for me to continue changing.
For me, the foundational step was my bedtime. I set a goal to read scriptures at night and to go to bed earlier. Over the course of several weeks, I shifted my bedtime by one hour per week. I made a conscious effort to stick to this plan and be consistent.
My efforts weren’t perfect every night, but over time, I began to notice a significant improvement. I shifted my bedtime by several hours, and with that, I was able to get more sleep than ever before. And once I was better rested, it was easier to incorporate scripture study.
This method of changing my habits did wonders for me, so I started using it in other areas of my life. I started working on things like my temple attendance, exercise and nutrition, and hobbies. One good habit can lead to forming more good habits. Figuring out what foundational habit you want to create can help you start on the path to healthy change.
Breaking my goals down into steps made them seem smaller and more manageable. For one week, I would focus on a small aspect of my goal and discuss my progress with my husband. The following week, I would add another small aspect. If I stopped, I knew I had added too much too quickly, so I would go back to the previous step that I had already mastered.
Repentance is change, and like all change, repentance is a process. Making these small changes every week helped me experience the joy of repentance. I felt supported and empowered by Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, which improved my quality of life drastically.
My motivation for change has increased with these principles. I have implemented many small changes, but over time, the impact of small acts has been large. Becoming better and increasing motivation will be a lifelong pursuit, not a one-time event.

Sierra Lybbert has a great story about prayer. When she was two, a horse stepped on her hand. Her thumb was severed, and several fingers split open. Her parents rushed her from one hospital to another to find a surgeon willing to take on the seemingly impossible repair. She said, “One doctor told my parents that the surgeon didn’t have a prayer of being successful. My mom told him that the surgeon didn’t have one prayer with him—he had many. My mother had called the temple to add my name to the prayer roll.”
Now, at 13, Sierra has a functioning hand. Her thumb works just fine, and she raised it for a few other girls from her ward to see. They had never really heard the story. All they could see on Sierra’s hand was a thin, hardly noticeable scar encircling the base of her thumb. The result seemed truly amazing.
Sierra said, “It makes me feel happy to know what prayer can do for me. It is a wonderful thing in my life.”

In February 1846, Elder Pratt left the branches in Anaa and Tubuai, bound for the United States. He promised to return with additional missionaries. Four and a half years later, on October 21, 1850, 21 travel-weary Latter-day Saints—seven men, five women, and nine children—arrived on the shores of Tubuai.11 Elder Pratt, called to lead a contingent of missionaries back to the islands, had returned in advance of the rest of the group but was detained by colonial officials in Tahiti who were suspicious of the missionaries. Louisa Barnes Pratt, Elder Pratt’s wife, and their four daughters, however, were with the company. Louisa immediately asked to be introduced to her husband’s “old friends” Telii and Nabota. An older man guided her and the other missionaries to Telii and Nabota’s home, where, despite having been sick for several days, Telii had prepared a feast of pork, fish, po’e (a local dish made from taro root), and fruit. The rest of the evening was spent celebrating their arrival by singing himene late into the night. “The music was delightful,” Louisa said. “Their voices are loud and clear.”12

President Hinckley’s counsel about being true impressed one young man from Arizona.

“I have always thought about this,” wrote Scott Moore. “I have pondered about my past and about how loyal and true I have been to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I can remember that there have been many times when I could have spoken up and declared that I am a Latter-day Saint. After President Hinckley’s talk, I thought about my loyalty to the Church and how I could change myself to be better in this particular aspect of my life. The answer that came to my mind is that there should be no hiding myself and who I am when the opportunity arises.”

Scott went on to describe a time soon after President Hinckley’s talk when he was able to share his beliefs with some friends even though he was nervous they might not accept him after he did. But Scott’s friends were impressed with his beliefs, and he experienced the joy that comes with being true.

I have been persuaded, almost against my better judgment, to tell a story. I ask for your indulgence and forgiveness because it involves my experience. Hopefully, the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Air Force as a private soldier. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering, and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married, and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay of $50 per month. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two, following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for officer’s school. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the Board of Inquiry looking into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were sparse, but I had had two years of College and had finished a mission for the Church in South America. I was twenty-two years of age and in good physical health. Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ Board of Inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered upon my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer propounding these last questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, “Would I give him offense if I answered how I truly believed? Should I give a non-controversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter?” I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and k.p., but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate, and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, if the occasion requires, including prayer.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In time of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make some points and be really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I tried to live by, had been taught, and myself had taught. I thought to myself, “Here go my chances to become an officer.” The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer, and responded to the question about the double standard of morality simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions, I think about whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given, and surely they would score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for officers’ school, and had to be promoted to corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we lived happily ever after.
This was one of the most critical crossroads of my life, one of very many times when I have had to stand up, search my soul, and like all of you, be identified. Not all of the experiences in my life when I have had to stand up and be counted turned out the way I wanted them to, but they have always strengthened my faith and helped me adjust to the other occasions when the result was different.
From that and many other experiences, I learned that even though others do not share your beliefs, in fact may be hostile to them, they will respect you if you are willing to stand up and be counted.

We sat in her living room—she in her nineties, I in my thirties. Her health and the snowy weather wouldn’t allow her to come to the bishop’s office for tithing settlement, so I had stopped by her home instead.
She handed me two pieces of paper. One was her own handwritten record of the contributions she had made to the Church during the year; the other was a computer printout listing the same information.
“As you can see,” she said, “my records perfectly match the ward clerk’s.” I couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a discrepancy, the error wouldn’t have been hers.
Then I asked the question bishops are supposed to ask in these situations: “Sister, is this a full tithing for the year?”
She looked at me with incredulity in her eyes. There was a brief pause. And then, with mock indignation, she chastised:
“Bishop, that’s the most ridiculous question I have ever heard!”
In her case, I couldn’t help but agree. We laughed together as I gave her a hug. I had known the answer before asking the question. But I also knew she was glad for the opportunity to give a verbal accounting of her faithfulness.

Bermi was a teenager taking the missionary discussions in Colombia. His sister was already a member of the Church, and he knew the discussions almost as well as the missionaries because he had been studying with them for so long. When asked why he had not yet been baptized, Bermi replied, “I have a desire to believe, but I don’t know that I have a testimony yet.”
One of the elders had been studying in Alma chapter 32 and asked Bermi to turn to verse 27: “But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words.”
As Bermi read those words, the Spirit confirmed to him that his desire to believe was enough for him to say that he had a testimony—a small testimony, but a testimony nonetheless. The elders reassured him that not everyone needed to have an experience like Joseph Smith or the Brother of Jared to say that they had a testimony. Even a desire to believe was the start of a testimony. Bermi prayed and expressed his desire to believe to the Lord. A short time later he was baptized and confirmed.