Gospel Story Finder

My wife and I were baptized on March 26, 1997. Three months after our baptism, our bishop called me to be Sunday School president. I resisted, saying that I could not fulfill this calling because I wasn’t prepared for it. The bishop, however, persuaded me to accept this challenge and gave me the Sunday School manual to study.
Two months later the Gospel Doctrine teacher called me during the week to tell me she could not be at church on Sunday to give her lesson on section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She named three other people who could substitute for her. I contacted them, but they all had previous engagements. As I hung up the phone after the last conversation, I felt that Heavenly Father wanted me to teach this class.
I was not familiar with the Doctrine and Covenants, but with the help of the bishop’s first counselor, the ward library, and the lesson manual, I was able to prepare the lesson.
I was nervous to teach ward members who knew more about the gospel than I did. But during my short time in the Church, I had learned that if we pray to Heavenly Father, He will help us. On Sunday before the class began, I asked for peace and strength. As I entered the classroom, the brothers and sisters were smiling and receptive, and they helped me. All participated attentively, and I felt that the Spirit of the Lord had blessed me to impart that important lesson.
Afterward I had the assurance that Heavenly Father only gives us tasks that we are able to fulfill—with His assistance and help from other members.

Patricia: My best friend, Francini, and I are some of the only members of the Church in our school in Brazil, and we often find that the small things we do make a big difference.
One such small thing occurred in a Saturday math class Francini and I had together. On this particular day, Francini was absent. During class, the tests we had taken a few days before were passed back. I wasn’t paying much attention when the teacher placed Francini’s test on my desk and asked me to give it to her.
Since Francini and I had already discussed how we thought we had done, I was surprised that her grade was higher than we had expected. I looked at her test and saw that the teacher had failed to mark one incorrect answer as wrong. Without even considering, I told the teacher that Francini’s grade was too high.
What I didn’t realize was that the whole class was watching. As soon as I spoke, the class began to criticize me, saying that I was wrong to do that to a friend and that I only wanted my grade to be higher than hers.
I was confused and upset by the response. I was sure I had done what Francini would have done. But someone said it was impossible for anyone to be honest to the point of lowering his or her own grade. Everyone saw me as a traitor to my friend. I tried to tell them that Francini would have been honest about her grade and that truly honest people still exist in the world.
After much debate, the teacher and class decided that they would test us. The teacher said he would keep Francini’s grade wrong and that we would wait and see her reaction on Monday.
I didn’t like the idea. I felt that testing Francini was not fair. But the teacher had made his decision, and I couldn’t change it.
That weekend I was anxious about what would happen, even though I had confidence that Francini would do what was right. I fervently prayed that she would notice the error on her test.
In math class on Monday, the whole class was alert as they watched Francini pick up her test.
Francini: Shortly after class started on Monday, the teacher handed me back my math test. I was about to put it away without really looking at it, but then I noticed that my grade was higher than I had expected. I raised my hand and went to the teacher’s desk. I asked if he had graded the test correctly, and he answered that he had. I then pointed to my test and said, “But I made a mistake.” At that moment Patricia also came up to the teacher’s desk and told him that he had also left a wrong answer unmarked on her test and with all the confusion on Saturday, she had not noticed it.
The classroom immediately erupted. Some people began to murmur about Patricia telling me, but others gave embarrassed smiles. I was confused by all the different reactions to these events.
Later, Patricia explained what had happened on Saturday. I was surprised to know that I had been through a test unrelated to math and that my classmates had responded to my friend in that way. However, I was happy that I had been honest and that Patricia’s prayers had helped me be prompted to notice the mistake on my test. I am also grateful that my friend believed in me.
Patricia and Francini: Both of us learned a great lesson from this experience. Our testimonies have grown about the important role Latter-day Saints have in being witnesses of Jesus Christ and examples of His principles. We are grateful to the Lord for His gospel, which gives us the opportunity to make a difference.

Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

After 34 years in the Church Educational System, my wife and I decided about three years ago to retire and set our feet on some different paths in life. At that point we began to make plans. We changed our residence to be closer to children and grandchildren. I began to develop what I thought were some wonderful projects. Some were absolutely brilliant, I thought. And then one of those pivotal moments in life happened.
It was our privilege at that time to be living across the street from Elder F. Enzio Busche, now an emeritus Seventy, and his wife. One day Elder Busche taught our high priests quorum, and he cited a scripture in the book of Alma where Alma longs to have the voice of an angel. Then Alma immediately repents of those feelings, and in verse four makes a remarkable statement. He suggests that we have to be careful what we desire, for the Lord grants unto us the desires of our heart. And then came what was to me almost a stunning statement: “Whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction.” God will grant unto us, according to our will, the things which we desire (see Alma 29:1–5).
I went home that day—and it’s not that I felt any of my desires were wrong—but in that moment I realized that those desires were mine. That day I began to try to let the Lord know that what I’d like to do is fulfill His desires. Even then, I thought I really meant it, but I came to know that that’s an easy thing to say and a difficult thing to do. As Elder Maxwell said yesterday, only when we truly yield our hearts to God can He begin to accelerate the purification and the sanctification and the perfecting process (see Hel. 3:35). We have found in the three years that have come since that time that the Lord has set our feet on different paths than we expected, and this one is the latest.
Just the other day, after President Hinckley called my wife and me, I was reading in the book of Deuteronomy and found a verse in the 12th chapter that came to mean a lot to me. It’s put in the form of a commandment. The Lord says, “Thou shalt rejoice before the Lord thy God in all that thou puttest thine hands unto” (Deut. 12:18). We are grateful for this privilege to rejoice in the Lord at this new opportunity.
Since starting on those paths, we have come to learn how truly merciful God is, how deeply He loves us, and how perfectly compelling His love is for us. When I was 16 years old and not smart enough to know very much at all, the Spirit touched my heart and I realized the significance of the woman that you marry. Starting at that time I began to pray that the Lord would find for me the woman who would be my eternal companion. Those prayers were answered, and all that we now enjoy in our family with children and grandchildren is largely responsible to her.
I’ve come to know that Jesus is our Christ, that His and the Father’s mercies are infinite and never ending, even when we’re not deserving. I’ve always loved the Prophet Joseph Smith, but it was my privilege to spend about 10 years in an intensive and extensive study of his life, of his writings, of his teachings, and of those who knew and loved him, and I came to know that here is a prophet of prophets, one who was worthy to bring about the Restoration of this last great dispensation. And I’ve come to know with great power that those keys that he restored have continued unbroken to this day and now reside in our living prophet, even Gordon B. Hinckley.
Again, we rejoice in this opportunity to serve. We are deeply humbled and greatly honored, and I leave that testimony with you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

If you’ve ever taken seminary, I’m sure you remember the case studies that are included in the lessons to help us liken the scriptures unto us. And if you remember them, then no doubt you remember the one concerning what you would do if your friends asked you to cheat on an important test or you would be tempted to cheat yourself. If you’re like me, it was all black and white, and you said you would do the noble thing, the right thing.
Probably like many of us, I never really thought of these situations as something that would ever happen. It was too easy. Who wouldn’t do the right thing? Well, just a week ago, I was faced with this problem. It was the week for nine-week exams. Being a senior, I knew these tests were important; not only do they decide who passes and graduates but they are also recorded on our transcripts, the same transcripts that are sent to colleges. The night before the two tests that were going to give me problems—Advanced Chemistry and Economics—a friend called on the phone. She told me that two classmates had stolen copies of both of the tests. She had copies and would give me some early the next morning. Because she was in a hurry, my friend didn’t give me a chance to answer, which was just as well since I didn’t know what to say.
What a dilemma! Even though I was considered the best student in my class, I knew those tests would be tough. Oh, I knew I would pass even if I failed the tests, but I wanted so badly to keep that prestigious 4.0 average. I also knew I was the only LDS student in my school. It had been a worthwhile struggle to let everyone know what Mormons really believe. In fact, whenever a new person questioned me about the Church in front of my friends, it was my friends who hastened to tell my beliefs before I could answer.
All evening I thought about my problem. I tried to concentrate on how important it was for me to do well on these tests, but a thought kept nagging at me. For four years I had taken seminary and answered those case studies of how I would react in a situation exactly like this. Was I going to betray my standards after telling my friends what being a Mormon was all about? Was I now going to be a hypocrite? I decided to resist the temptation. I prayed to my Heavenly Father to make me strong and able to stand by my convictions.
At school the next morning my friend tried to give me a copy of the tests. I refused. She looked at me like I was crazy but said nothing. Later I realized that my friends had expected me to answer the questions on the stolen copies and then let a student who worked in the office run them off on the school copier for the rest of the class. I would like to say that I was looked upon as a hero, but, as it was, some of my classmates were angry with me. My true friends didn’t hold it against me. The students who had stolen the tests had my friend answer the questions and passed copies around to everyone in the class except for me and the local preacher’s son, who had also refused to get involved. I thank him for standing with me. No one ever likes to be alone. I wish I could say that I passed my tests with flying colors, but I only made an 82 on my Advanced Chemistry test. Nevertheless, I am proud of that 82.
The grades are not important when I realize that I passed an even greater test, a test of character, thanks to the gospel and seminary.

Thwap, screeee!
Christine froze in her bed. Her heart beat so hard she could feel it squeezing in her chest. What was that noise?
Very slowly, she turned to look at the window. The blinds were closed, so she couldn’t see what was making the sound.
She kept hearing the scraping noise, and she kept imagining scarier and scarier things.
Her heart beat even faster.
She could just go into Mom and Dad’s room again. She knew they wouldn’t mind. But she was always so embarrassed the next day when she did that. I’m too old to be scared at night.
But she was scared. It could be anything, she thought. It wasn’t very loud, but she kept hearing it.
She closed her eyes and said what seemed like her hundredth prayer for the night. Heavenly Father, I can’t go to sleep. I’m too scared. But I don’t want to go to Mom and Dad’s room. I want to be brave. Please help me not be afraid.
She finished her prayer and took a deep, slow breath. It’s OK, she thought. I can do this.
Thwap, screeee!
Yeah, she was pretty sure it was something trying to get through her window. She was so scared she didn’t dare move a muscle. She didn’t know what to do.
I could ask David, she thought. That isn’t as embarrassing as sleeping in Mom and Dad’s room.
Carefully she peeled off the covers and jumped off the bed, landing as far as possible from the window. Without looking back, she tiptoed quickly to her brother’s room.
“David,” she whispered, shaking his shoulder.
“Gmmmblll.” David slowly turned over and opened one eye. “Hmmm. What?”
“Uh, there’s a noise outside my window. Will you check what it is?” she asked.
“Sure.” David got up and shuffled to her room.
When they reached the window, he pulled up the blinds and looked outside. It was too dark to see.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
“Just wait a minute,” Christine said.
Sure enough, there it was again. Thwap, screeee!
David opened the window and reached out. Snap! He pulled a small branch back in.
“It’s just the tree outside. This was scraping against your window,” he said, handing her the branch.
I was scared of a stick? She felt really silly. “Thanks for looking,” she said. “Sorry I woke you up.”
David smiled. “You can always ask me for help.”
“Thanks.”
“I can stay for a little while if you want,” he said.
Christine nodded. She jumped into bed and pulled her feet away from the edges. David sat on the end of her bed and scooted back to the wall.
“I wish I could be braver at night,” Christine said.
“You know what’s brave?” said David. “Asking for help.”
“No it’s not,” she said. “I was scared.”
David laughed. “Everyone gets scared—even me! But being scared doesn’t mean you aren’t brave. It takes courage to ask for help when you’re afraid.”
Christine smiled. It was still dark, but she didn’t feel as anxious anymore.
“I’m OK now. You can go back to sleep,” she said.
David gave her a hug and walked out. He stopped in her doorway. “Night. Sleep well,” he said.
“Night, David,” she said back.
Christine closed her eyes. There were no more scary sounds. Heavenly Father, she prayed silently, Thank Thee that David could help me. I’m glad I was brave enough to ask.

I remember when, as a young deacon, I would cover a portion of the ward on fast Sunday morning, giving the small envelope to each family, waiting while a contribution was placed in it, and then returning it to the bishop. On one such occasion, an elderly member, Brother Wright, welcomed me at the door and, with aged hands, fumbled at the tie of the envelope and placed within it a quarter. His eyes fairly twinkled as he made his contribution. He told me of a time years before when the Relief Society president, Sister Balmforth, with food collected from those who had given, carried to his home in a small red wagon food for his cupboard and provided gratitude for his soul. He described her as “an angel sent from heaven.” I have not forgotten Eddie Wright.

Before President Hugh B. Brown was a General Authority, he served in England as an officer in the Canadian army and had great power. Men stood at attention before him and called him “sir.” One day Brother Brown received a message that he was wanted in the hospital. When he got there, someone directed him to a little room where a sick young man lay. Brother Brown remembered that he had once been that young man’s Sunday School teacher. “Brother Brown,” said the young man, “would you use your authority in my behalf? The doctors say I cannot live. Will you give me a blessing?” All the pride Brother Brown felt in wearing the uniform of the king disappeared as he laid his hands upon the boy’s head and gave him a blessing. The help that the boy needed was not from any authority of an officer in the king’s army but from the authority of the priesthood.

One day, Wilford was feeding pumpkins to his father’s cattle in a pasture.
He noticed that one large bull was eating more than his fair share, so Wilford decided to take one of his pumpkins away.
Wilford: He ate one of that cow’s pumpkins! I’ll show him who’s boss.
The bull was so mad at Wilford that he started chasing him down the pasture hill.
Luckily, Wilford tripped and fell to the ground, and the pumpkin went flying out of his hands. The bull jumped right over Wilford and tore the pumpkin to pieces with his horns.
Wilford: If I hadn’t tripped, that would’ve been me getting torn to pieces!
Years later Wilford became the fourth President of the Church. He said he believed Heavenly Father had protected him during those childhood adventures.
President Woodruff: I ascribe my preservation on earth to the watch-care of a merciful Providence, whose hand has been stretched out to rescue me from death when I was in the presence of the most threatening dangers.

In 1988 I concluded more than 10 years of service to the Hill Cumorah Pageant as a technical director responsible for lighting. It was an experience that is hard to relate, but it had a profound effect on my life and on my family. My wife made great sacrifices as I would leave for six to seven weeks each summer and establish residence in Palmyra, New York. Frequently I would take one of our five children. During that time we would talk of the early days of the Church, visit the Sacred Grove, and speak of the Lord. Each year we would hear the story of the Book of Mormon recounted 30 to 40 times. My children became knowledgeable and enjoyed telling the stories and scenes portrayed in the pageant. At home we would discuss current events and how they related to principles and examples found within the Book of Mormon. Frequently in their early years they would act out their favorite scenes. Both my wife and I knew that such service was no sacrifice.

Let me tell you about an incident that happened a few years prior to my release. One of the members in Rochester, New York, was a chemist working with Eastman Kodak. He had taken many pictures of the pageant over the years, and one of the professional photographers at Kodak had seen some of his work. The photographer was most impressed and offered to photograph the pageant using some extremely large equipment. Arrangements were made, and the pictures were to be completed following one of the regular performances. As occasionally would happen, the local farmers were blessed with a light drizzle—actually it was more of a mist. It had been one of those days that dispel the rumor that it never rains during the pageant—a rumor that is a little wet.

Upon our arrival the next year, the picture, which spanned a wall about 6–8 feet high and 15–18 feet long, was in a room within the visitors’ center. We were ushered in for the unveiling of the print. Needless to say, it was overwhelming. The photographer had captured all of the spirit and beauty of the final yearning scene. I was most excited because my oldest daughter had been with me that year and was onstage just right of the center of the picture. As I was looking at this impressive picture, I suddenly became very quiet and somewhat withdrawn. There were approximately 600 cast members in the pageant that year. I noticed a problem with the third or fourth cast member from the end in the lower right side of the picture. One cast member wanted to be in the picture, wanted to be warm, dry, and comfortable, and did not want to stay in his wet costume. It was evident from the picture that he had changed into some jeans and a long-sleeve shirt and had slipped a light brown trash bag, in which he had torn holes for his head and arms, over his jeans. He also wanted to be seen in the picture and placed himself directly in front of a light. He wanted it all. Obedience and adherence to instructions were not as important as his emotional needs. Kodak had intended to use this picture in a publication as well as in an extremely large display. The picture was now useless—costly in both time and money. Eastman Kodak was gracious enough to repeat the process the following year.

It had been an unusually warm day in Lüneburg, Germany, and Elder Kevin Pepper and I were tired. Our last appointment ended at 9:00 P.M., and we had a half hour more to work before returning to our apartment. It was too late for knocking on doors, so we got on our bikes and rode to Lüneburg’s central shopping district. Most of the shops had closed three hours earlier, and the busy daytime crowds were gone—leaving only a few window-shoppers enjoying the evening, in no hurry to get anywhere.
We pushed our bikes slowly, stopping now and then to ask fellow pedestrians if they would like to know something about the restored gospel. No one was interested. And this was typical. Germany was considered a “hard mission.” Few baptisms. Lots of knocking on doors and stopping pedestrians. People were usually polite, but they were cautious about anything new, for the most part unwilling to consider a change in religions.
We reached the far end of the street at about 9:25. Time to head for our apartment. But there in the evening shadows, leaning against a wall, was a man with thinning hair and a somewhat straggly beard. I looked at Elder Pepper; he looked at me. We were tired, we’d had no success that day, and I could tell we were thinking the same thought. One of us may have even spoken it aloud: “He’s probably just like the rest of the people we’ve talked to today. Let’s go home.” But something inside me said, “Go talk to him.”
We approached the man and asked if he knew anything about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He didn’t. Would he like to learn something about it? Yes, he said, and he gave us his address.
When we visited Alfred Kliche later that week, we discovered he was markedly different from most of the people we talked with. He was more reserved, more serious than most, but also more open-minded. He was searching for something. As he later put it, “I was considering becoming acquainted with other people who, like me, had not yet lost their faith in God.” He showed us a book he was reading, a book from an Eastern religion. We taught him about Joseph Smith and gave him a book of our own. He accepted it with reserved curiosity and said he’d read it.
We left after that first discussion not knowing quite what to think about Herr Kliche. Personally, I doubted he’d read the book. The first year of my mission—a year with no baptisms and plenty of disappointments—had left its mark on me. I’d seen enough “reality” to dilute my hopes with a fair dose of skepticism. But Herr Kliche invited us back, and when we came to teach him again, he told us he had read a good deal in the Book of Mormon. He said he particularly enjoyed the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi. During my 10 months in Germany, no one had ever made that claim before. In fact, I don’t recall having heard it in the 23 years since.
We taught Herr Kliche all through an unusually hot July and into August. He made slow, steady progress but seemed in no hurry to make any permanent changes in his life. Elder Pepper and I didn’t really know what was going on inside him. He was as indecipherable as the Eastern religious book he had shown us.
Then one day in early August a letter came from the mission office. I was being transferred. Elder Pepper and I had a few good investigators by this time, and it was hard to leave them. I wondered what would happen. But immersing myself in a new area and in the lives of a new group of investigators and members took all my attention and left me little time to worry about Lüneburg.
One day several weeks after the transfer, however, I received a phone call from Elder Pepper. He told me Herr Kliche was getting baptized on 16 October, and he wanted me to be there. Since my transfer had been merely to the other side of the Hamburg stake, our mission president gave me permission to attend.
Elder Pepper told me over the phone that Herr Kliche had made slow, steady progress for the most part, but in the end he completely surprised them. The missionaries had given him a baptismal challenge on 21 September, and he had accepted. But on 28 September he was concerned. He believed he had received a witness but wanted to be sure. Then, a few days later, everything seemed to fall apart. Herr Kliche informed them he wasn’t interested in meeting with them anymore. Elder Pepper and Elder Hardy were devastated. Where had they gone wrong? What could they do?
But on 3 October something unexpected happened. Elder Pepper recorded in his journal: “Herr Kliche came to church this morning. … The Spirit was so strong that everyone in the tiny chapel could feel it, especially Herr Kliche. He sat in the second row to the left all by himself. … With tears in his eyes he stood and bore his testimony. The sun shone through the large windows, and a beam of light appeared to shine directly on him as he bore a simple and beautiful testimony. It was so sincere. He said he felt fulfilled in this Church and hoped to become a member soon. Just seven weeks or so ago he was ready to give up his search for the truth; he didn’t see any reason why he should change churches, because they were all about the same. And now the Spirit of Truth has helped him see the difference, and he wants to be a member. I was so thrilled I could hardly keep the joy I felt inside. Today will always be a cherished memory.”
Ironically, four days later Elder Pepper was transferred to Kiel and was unable to attend the baptism. But on 16 October 1976, my companion and I took the subway into Hamburg, walked to the stake center, and there witnessed the baptism of Alfred Kliche, a rare and gratifying event in the course of a difficult mission. I have kept in touch with Bruder Kliche over the years. Indeed, his conversion, because it was complete and enduring, has brought me much joy.
The little Lüneburg Branch was dissolved a few years after Bruder Kliche’s baptism, and the members were absorbed into a Hamburg ward. Bruder Kliche, always solid in the gospel, has served in the bishopric and on the stake high council. He also married a fine Latter-day Saint, and after several years they served a temple mission together. “I am here to serve the Lord,” he wrote me recently, “and to make progress. We are very thankful for our time in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
As I look back to that summer evening in 1976, I am glad Elder Pepper and I were not too tired to talk to just one more son of our Heavenly Father. We almost didn’t, and it has been a lesson to me ever since. Had we quit a few minutes early, what a loss it would have been—for us, for the Church, and, most of all, for Bruder Kliche.

Now, may I close on a personal note to illustrate a dimension of discipleship. Regarding you as graduate students, not as lower-division students, in discipleship, I will speak to you about something we don’t usually speak about in the Church.
We sometimes speak of defining moments. These defining moments in our lives usually focus on single episodes that can sometimes be outwardly, as well as inwardly, quite traumatic. Yet these defining moments are usually preceded by small, subtle preparatory moments. Moreover, the defining moments are also followed by many smaller moments that are shaped by the preceding and defining moments.
Here’s an illustration. In a long ago May, in 1945, there was such a moment for me on the island of Okinawa at age eighteen. There was certainly no heroism on my part, but, rather, a blessing for me and others during the shelling of our position by Japanese artillery. After repeated shellings that overshot our position, their artillery finally zeroed in. They should have then fired for effect, but there was a divine response to at least one frightened, selfish prayer. The shelling halted. The prayer was accompanied by my pledge of a lifetime of service—a pledge that, though imperfectly, I’ve tried to keep. With this blessing and pledge, I was nudged toward discipleship without realizing what service would be required. I knew I had been blessed, and I knew that God knew that I knew. I remembered the pledge after the war when my overseas savings gladly went to finance a mission. This mission, of course, was yet another step in the direction of discipleship.

I served my mission in Finland from 1959 to 1962. I loved the service, and I loved my companions. I had wonderful mission presidents. I loved the Finnish people and their language. I loved my mission. To this day, I hold my mission experiences as sacred and wonderful, and I often refer to them.
After this wonderful mission in Finland, I returned home and my bishop called me in for an interview. I loved my bishop, and I expected him to say: “We are so proud of you! You have represented the ward well, and we are sure you represented the Lord well.”
But instead, he looked at me and said, “Well, Dennis, are you converted?” It was a question I did not expect.
While I was thinking about this, the bishop helped me understand why he had asked me that question. He told me that we had wonderful people in our ward, but some of them would not accept a calling or pay their tithing or keep the Sabbath day holy.
My bishop wanted me to answer the question about being converted because that would determine how I lived my life. I told the bishop that I was indeed converted.
This question burned itself into my mind and into my heart. We must do the little things in our lives every day. They not only bring conversion, but they keep us converted.
I’m pleased with the small things in my life. And I’m grateful for my bishop. Every time I see him, I thank him for asking me that question.

My boyhood home was surrounded by alfalfa fields. When I was nine years old, I cleared a small plot on the edge of the fields to plant a garden. In early spring, I planted a single pumpkin seed and cared for it each day, eager for it to sprout. Within days, to my delight, small green leaves pushed through the soil. Over the days and weeks that followed, I marveled at the rapid rate of growth of my small, single pumpkin seed. With divine components of seed, soil, sunlight, and water, my small seed miraculously transformed into multiple vines stretching out in all directions.
A short time later, green bulbs appeared where orange and yellow flowers had just bloomed. And over the course of the summer, the bulbs transformed into large, orange pumpkins. When the harvest arrived, I cut open my pumpkins. I was astonished! Each pumpkin had produced hundreds and hundreds of seeds.
You might be thinking to yourself, “That’s great, but what does this pumpkin seed have to do with me as a young adult?” Well, in observing the seemingly endless supply of seeds from my harvest, I suddenly understood how, with God’s help, the finite (one seed) could be transformed into the infinite and eternal. I saw that “with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37). I experienced the truth of the scriptural words “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
Those who know me well know that I still often carry a pumpkin seed in my pocket to remind me of the important life lesson learned: Heavenly Father can take something as small as a seed of love in our lives and transform it into powerful, never-ending, and eternal love and service of God, neighbors, and self.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t join the Church at that time. My parents strongly objected, especially my father. But I could understand him. His parents never took him to church; he was brought up when the country was under communist rule. Nevertheless, I knew the Lord had prepared a way for me to join the Church someday. I already knew that way would be very hard. But I had learned from the scriptures that tribulations can be for our good.
I went to seminary and later to institute, I attended Church activities, and I even started my own Personal Progress. I couldn’t wait to go to Young Women activities. I will never forget the hours we spent cooking, making postcards or bookmarks, decorating our classroom, or playing games, as well as the wonderful spirit of friendship between us. Each activity helped me understand my divine nature and role in life.
As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

My family and I recently had a simple but impressive experience with one of God’s creations. I gave my wife, Barbara, a dozen rosebuds for a valentine. They were a delicate shade of peach and had a rich scent. Barbara put them into a vase and placed them on the table in our family room. As the days passed, the family watched the blossoms unfold from buds to full flowers.
As I watched this miracle, I became curious about roses. I was amazed to learn from a botanist friend that there are thousands of varieties of roses. Inside each rose is a storehouse of genetic coding that develops a seed or a slip into roots, stems, thorns, leaves, colors, and blooms.
This experience led me to consider the myriad forms of plant and animal life that thrive in astounding balance upon the earth. My esteem for our little roses took on an element of wonder and reverence. I pondered the power of the Creative Genius who lovingly provided such marvels for His children. I thought about how important it is for every human soul to see and appreciate the glory and grandeur of God in everything about us.

It was fast and testimony meeting in the ward. Several young people had stood up and testified of the goodness of the Lord and his blessings unto them. Then an elderly gentleman stood on his feet. There were lines of care on his face, and time had turned his hair to a silver color. But his voice was clear like the tones of a bell on a frosty morning:
“I know that God lives and guides our destinies. I am here today because he heard my prayers as a boy and guided my footsteps.”
To understand his words we must go back many years to the time when a 12-year-old boy became a man and went to work.
He lived in a coal-mining village in the little country of Wales, where almost all of the male inhabitants worked at the colliery (coal mine and its connected buildings). In a few weeks he would be 12, and like other boys in the village he would go down the pit to dig coal. He was a normal boy who understood that he must leave school to go to work to help support the family. But one morning as he was on his way to school, an incident occurred that was to affect his life. He was to learn the meaning of fear.
Coming up the hill toward the cottages where the miners lived was a small cortege. Two men were carrying a stretcher while one walked in front. Their faces were black with coal dust. On the stretcher was a body, a small body covered with a brown blanket.
“And who is it now?” someone asked.
“It is little Davey Edwards,” the man in front replied. “Part of a tunnel caved in on him, poor lad.”
The boy continued on to school, but his thoughts were not of schooling but of Davey Edwards. Together they had roamed the hills. They had picked chestnuts from the thicket of trees on Mynyddyslwyn Mountain and picked wild blackberries along the bank of Gwyddon Brook. They had stood together where the golden gorse ended and the woodland began and listened to the plaintive call of the cuckoo bird telling of the approach of spring.
“Yes,” he thought to himself, “those days are gone. Soon Davey will be in the graveyard in Llanvach Hill, and it will be the coal pit for me.” For the first time in his life he knew the meaning of fear. But he kept the fear inside of him.
His 12th birthday came, and his father informed him he was to start work at the colliery the following Monday. On Saturday afternoon they went down to the village where his father took him to the haberdashery and bought him a pair of moleskin trousers and a Welsh flannel shirt. He also bought him a box for food and provisions and tea can, and a pair of leather straps to buckle below his knees to prevent the coal dust from going up his trouser leg.
Monday morning was cold and wet, but not as cold as the boy’s heart. He was assigned to work as a partner to Dai Jenkins, an experienced miner. The management discouraged father and son from working together because it looked bad if two members of a family were killed in one accident.
He stood by the side of Dai Jenkins as the elevator cage descended. Through the glimmer of the miners’ lamps he looked across the cage at his father, who smiled back at him. By his father’s side was another 12-year-old boy from the village.
The cage landed on the bottom with a bump. As the gate was opened and the men stepped out, the smell of horses and donkeys assailed the boy’s nostrils. These animals were used to pull the loaded coal wagons out of the tunnels and the empty wagons back in. A man with the title of hostler took care of the animals.
The boy followed his partner along the narrow tracks until they reached the end of the tunnel where they were to work. Dai removed his jacket and hung it on the nail that protruded from a timber that supported the roof. He did the same with his lunch box and tea can. The boy did the same.
The coal bed was only a meter thick so Dai spent most of his time on his knees swinging his pick. It was the boy’s responsibility to load the coal into one wagon and the muck into other wagons. The hostler would then come and take them to the elevator cage at the bottom of the shaft where they would be hauled to the surface.
So the days went by, and each day the boy’s hatred for the darkness grew. There were times when there was a squeeze, a time when the earth settled and it seemed the timbers supporting the roof must snap and he and Dai would be crushed. It was at times like this he thought of his friend Davey and wondered if he too would be taken home on a stretcher covered over with a brown blanket.
There was, however, a time during the day that he really enjoyed. Dai would lay down his pick and say, “Come, bachen (term of endearment), it’s time for a little food and a sip of tea.”
Together they would sit in the dim light of their lamps and eat the food in their lunch boxes. Occasionally, Dai would give the boy a Welsh cake that his wife made. This seemed like heaven to him.
One day while Dai was digging with his pick, a strange and unusual thing happened. They broke through the end of the tunnel into a small cave. It was no bigger than a small room, and the roof seemed to be of solid rock. At about shoulder height a shelf ran across one side of the wall.
One can only wonder why on that same day as they sat together eating their lunch there was a sound like thunder that echoed through the mine. The earth shook. Dai jumped and grasped the boy by the arm.
“It’s an explosion, bachen (term of endearment); there may be fire. We must put the brattice cloth (temporary partition of cloth) across the opening. It could be the only chance we’ll have.”
Hurriedly they nailed the heavy cloth across the mouth of the little cave and then sat and waited. Soon they felt the heat as the flames approached.
On the surface the villagers crowded around the mine top. Rescue squads had been sent down but came back almost immediately.
“No one could live down there,” was their report. “The main is on fire. God help those who are down there.”
The mine owners met and made a quick decision. A canal that ran close by must be turned into the mine to extinguish the fire.
A woman cried out, “What about our men?”
Her anguished cry was answered with a shake of the head. In the little cave the heat was almost unbearable, but somehow a little air was coming in. Time seemed to stand still and hours went by. Then they heard the water. It came seeping into the cave, first to shoe tops, then to the knees, and it continued to rise.
Dai climbed up onto the shelf and pulled the boy up beside him. As the water rose, the heat subsided. Then came an eerie silence.
“Bachen,” whispered Dai, “can you pray?”
“Yes, I can,” replied the boy. “Before my mother died, she taught me.”
“Then pray for us. It is all we have left.”
The boy closed his eyes, and for a few moments no words would come. Then they came slowly as from a troubled heart:
“Gentle Jesus, we reach out to you in this darkness, having nothing left but your help. If it be thy will, let us see the light once more. Let our feet climb the hill to our homes. Let us hear the song of the birds and see the sun rise over Rhysog Mountain. We are alone and we need your help. Amen.”
He felt Dai’s arm around his shoulder and heard his voice. “Thanks, bachen. I am not afraid anymore.”
Hours went by and night must have come because they slept. When they awoke, their lamps had gone out. Now there was complete darkness, darkness that was black and foreboding. With the blackness came fear, cold, trembling fear. The boy saw himself being carried up the hill on a stretcher, his body covered with a brown blanket. Dai sensed his fear and put a comforting arm about his shoulder.
“Bachen,” he said, “could you sing a little bit?”
The boy hesitated for a while, and then in a fear-stricken voice, he sang: “Jesus lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, when the tempest still is nigh.” In his boyish tenor he sang the chorus: “Hide me, oh my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past.” He felt Dai shaking with emotion, so he could not continue.
It is hard to know how fast or slow time passes in the darkness, but the pangs of hunger and thirst came to them.
“Chew on a bit of leather, bachen,” Dai reminded him. “It will help the hunger.”
The boy removed the leather strip from below his knee and chewed on it. It was new leather, and the taste of the tanning was still in it. But it helped to relieve the pangs of hunger.
Sleep came again and another day passed. Dai was quiet now, as if realizing the end was close. As a result of hunger and thirst, the boy had become quiet and listless. The complete darkness had settled on him like a shroud. He only waited now for death.
Then suddenly from far away a voice was heard: “Is anyone there?” The voices came closer. Then someone threw aside the brattice cloth, and his light shone on Dai and the boy.
“It is a miracle,” he shouted to the other rescuers.” They are alive!”
Dai was able to walk, but they carried the boy to the elevator cage that transported them to daylight and life.
The boy’s father had been killed in the explosion, so Davey Edwards’ family took him in. In a few days some relatives from farther down the valley came to get him and take him to their home. They were lovely people, it was said, except they had joined some strange church that had originated in America.
Together the boy and his new family made plans, and the day came when they emigrated to America. Here they made their home in the valley of the mountains.
The old man was bringing his testimony to a close. “So, my brothers and sisters, out of fear came faith, and out of darkness came living light.”

Fifty-two years ago, in July 1964, I had an assignment in New York City during the time the World’s Fair was hosted there. Early one morning I visited the Mormon Pavilion at the fair. I arrived just prior to a showing of the Church’s film Man’s Search for Happiness, a portrayal of the plan of salvation which has since become a Church classic. I sat next to a young man who was perhaps 35 years of age. We spoke briefly. He was not a member of our Church. Then the lights dimmed, and the show commenced.
We listened to the voice of the narrator as he posed the poignant and universal questions: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where do I go when I leave this life? All ears strained to hear the answers, and all eyes were fixed on the images portrayed. A description of our premortal life was given, along with an explanation of our purpose on earth. We witnessed a touching depiction of the passing from this life of an elderly grandfather and of his glorious reunion with loved ones who had preceded him to the spirit world.
At the conclusion of this beautiful portrayal of our Heavenly Father’s plan for us, the crowd silently filed out, many visibly touched by the message of the film. The young visitor next to me did not arise. I asked if he had enjoyed the presentation. His emphatic response: “This is the truth!”
Our Father’s plan for our happiness and our salvation is shared by our missionaries throughout the world. Not all who hear this divine message accept and embrace it. However, men and women everywhere, just like my young friend at the New York World’s Fair, recognize its truths, and they plant their feet on the path that will lead them safely home. Their lives are forever changed.

After Spencer set his individual goals, he and his parents came up with a great plan. As a family, they study scriptures together, but they also wanted to review the talks given at general conference. His parents offered him the chance to be the leader in those discussions. He would choose the talk from the most recent conference, and every Sunday they would spend about 20 minutes talking about it. Spencer says, “I read the selected article in the Ensign beforehand. Then I prepare questions for people to answer. It gives me the opportunity to lead in the family, sort of practice for becoming a dad. It’s kind of cool.”
This family study fulfills his Duty to God goal for “Pray and Study the Scriptures” during the priest year. He follows the Duty to God pattern:
Learn: He arranges for a Sunday afternoon time for the presentation. He gathers information to support the talk he has chosen to present.
Act: He reads the talk from the Ensign or watches the videos of the talks online and prepares discussion questions.
Share: He presents his discussion and questions to his family.
This experience to fulfill his Duty to God goal has helped Spencer stay on track. He says, “The project has affected us a lot. Now that it is a Duty to God goal, I’m more motivated to do it. My family has been more persistent.”
For the family, Spencer’s project has strengthened them. The plan they made together while driving in the car has proven to be a move forward for them all.

Richard M. Romney, Utah, USA
When those planning our ward Christmas social asked me to visit a certain less-active member and invite him to participate in the program, I have to admit I was nervous. I had met Darren only once before, when he had participated in an earlier ward activity. He had worn a motorcycle headband across his forehead. His long white hair was tied in a ponytail, he had a full white beard, and his arms were covered with tattoos.
Now, accompanied by a committee member, I was standing on Darren’s doorstep, wondering what he might say. He asked us to step inside, and we told him why we were there. He said, “Oh, I’d love to do that!”
He did an amazing job, helping to make the activity meaningful for so many. A short time later, my ministering companion and I were asked to visit Darren regularly. He always seems glad to see us, and we’ve had some delightful conversations. I’m grateful the inspiration to invite him to participate in the program of a ward activity led to a cherished relationship.