Gospel Story Finder

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

The military experience is like other forays into secularism that LDS youth are facing today. They are away from home with carnal options on every hand—gambling, profanity, pornography, immorality, and bug-out-ism. Such crass enticements successfully ensnare the uncommitted, but thousands of others choose to swim against the current. One young priest, during his first week away from home, confronted some returned missionaries in his barracks who appeared more sophisticated. Why weren’t they saying their prayers, he queried. His challenge encouraged them all to overcome their smoothly disguised fears of censure. They joined after lights out for a family prayer each night. Soon they discovered that their Mormon compatriots throughout the post were doing the same in small scattered groups; they even included their fellow nonmember squad members. The result was a brotherhood—blessing when sick, counseling when troubled, and bolstering each other during competition—instead of the harassing, cutting, and undermining that are so common in basic training. This higher life occurs without leaders or instructions; it emerges from being “anxiously engaged in a good cause,” from conviction, from feeling the power of God within. All over the globe, many Mormon youth seek out each other. Their spiritual adventures are legion. They often reach out to friends who have followed the carnal path into deprivation. Their example, caring, and persistence have supported many through a transformation that has led them into the Melchizedek Priesthood, the temple, sometimes mission calls—in other words, into their eternal potential.

President Faust would not tell you this himself. Perhaps I can tell it, and he can take it out on me afterward. He had a mortgage on his home drawing 4 percent interest. Many people would have told him he was foolish to pay off that mortgage when it carried so low a rate of interest. But the first opportunity he had to acquire some means, he and his wife determined they would pay off their mortgage. He has been free of debt since that day. That’s why he wears a smile on his face, and that’s why he whistles while he works.

In early Utah pioneer times, my great-grandfather Thomas Rasband and his family were some of the first settlers to enter the Heber Valley in the beautiful Wasatch Mountains of Utah.
In 1859, Thomas helped construct the Heber fort, built for their protection. It was a simple structure of cottonwood logs positioned one next to the other, forming the perimeter of the fort. Log cabins were built inside the fortress using that common wall. The structure provided both security and safety for those pioneer families as they put down roots and worshipped the Lord.
Fort Heber (like Fort Clatsop pictured here) was a place of refuge for early pioneers.
Your testimony of Jesus Christ is your personal fortress, the security for your soul. When my great-grandfather and his fellow pioneers built the Heber fort, they put up one log at a time until the fort was “fitly framed together”28 and they were protected. So it is with testimony. One by one we gain a witness from the Holy Spirit as He speaks to our own spirit, teaching “truth in the inward parts.”29 When we live the gospel of Jesus Christ, when we draw upon the Savior’s Atonement and press forward with faith, not fear, we are fortified against the wiles of the adversary. Our testimonies connect us to the heavens, and we are blessed with “the truth of all things.”30 And, like pioneers protected by a fortress, we are safely encircled in the arms of the Savior’s love.

Every year my parents took me to visit Aunt Ruby and Uncle George, who lived on a dairy farm. I enjoyed visiting them because there were so many different things for me to see and do. I played in the barn, helped feed the animals, rode on the tractor, and explored the big red shed.
One year, a few days after we had arrived, I was helping Uncle George feed the animals in the barn. “You sure are quiet this morning, Justin,” he said.
“I was thinking about something my Primary teacher said in class last week.”
“Oh—what did she say?” Uncle George asked as he pitched a forkful of hay to one of the cows.
“She said that making right choices will help me keep the promises I made to Heavenly Father when I was baptized. The problem is, it’s hard to always make the right choice.”
Leaning on his pitchfork, Uncle George nodded. “It is hard to always make correct choices, Justin. But when we live the gospel standards and follow the strait and narrow path, like the scriptures tell us to, the Lord will help us.”
I thought about the “strait and narrow path,” for the rest of the morning. When we finished feeding all the animals, Uncle George said, “Thanks for your help, Justin. I surely appreciate it. What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to go over to my friend Jeff’s and play, but Mom and Dad usually drive me to his house.”
Tilting his hat back on his head, Uncle George said, “And they’ve gone into town to help Ruby with the shopping. I’d like to take you over there, but I have to fix the tractor.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me to a big dry ditch. “If you get in this ditch, you can follow it all the way to Jeff’s house. Do you think you can do that?”
I told him that I was sure I could do it. Before he sent me on my way, he gave me two warnings. One, I was to stay in the ditch. If I got out, I could get hurt or lost. Two, I was to keep going, even if I got tired. Then he assured me that if I followed his instructions, I would have no trouble reaching my friend’s house.
At first I was nervous. The grass on both sides of the ditch was so tall that I couldn’t see over it. But soon I began to see interesting things all around me and being in the ditch didn’t bother me. I found a small, white-colored snail shell, a lot of joint grass I could pull apart, and milkweed pods filled with silk and seeds. Then I found a round, clear pebble that I shined up and put into my pocket.
After a while, the newness of my adventure began to wear off. I’d seen everything twice, and my legs were beginning to hurt. I felt like I’d been walking for miles and miles. My faith in Uncle George’s words began to waver. Maybe I’d already passed Jeff’s house. I wasn’t even sure if I was still going in the right direction. My uncle’s warnings were still clear in my mind, but I carefully climbed to the top of the ditch so that I could see over the tall grass and find out where I was.
Happily, I saw that only a fence and a large, green pasture stood between me and my goal. All I had to do was walk through the pasture, and I’d be there. The day took on a new excitement. My goal was in sight; my uncle’s warnings were forgotten.
Finding a hole in the fence, I slipped through. All I thought about was the fun Jeff and I were going to have once I reached his house. I paid no attention to what might be going on around me, until I heard a loud snort and the snapping of breaking sticks. Turning, I saw a large bull charging toward me out of the tall willow patch at the edge of the pasture.
Running wasn’t my greatest talent unless I was scared. And I was really scared. I ran like the wind. It felt like I was running a hundred miles an hour. I could hear the air whistling around my ears. Everything around me was a blur. I had a new goal in life—to reach the fence before the bull reached me. All the time, I was silently praying that Heavenly Father would bless me to run faster than the bull.
The fence was getting closer, but so was the bull. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, because I was afraid it might slow me down. Although I was only nine years old, I already knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. So I ran, as straight as an arrow, back to the hole in the fence I had climbed through earlier.
I was sure I felt the bull’s hot breath on my neck as I dove through the fence to safety. The bull snorted loudly as his nose pushed through the hole and he realized he couldn’t reach me.
My life had been spared. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. My heart was full of gratitude to Him. I would see the sun come up in the morning. I would see my family again. I could still play with my friend. Life was good!
Now all I wanted to do was return to the “strait and narrow path” and follow my uncle’s instructions. I knew that there were no bulls in the ditch. It was a safe place. I also knew that I would never forget the words my uncle told me that morning. “Go down the ditch in the direction that I’ll show you. Stay in the ditch, because if you get out, you could get hurt or lost. And you need to keep going, even if you get tired.”
I had learned that my Primary teacher and Uncle George were right. There is great safety when choosing the right and following the correct path. I was sure that the Lord had helped me run faster than the charging bull. He had saved my life, and I was grateful. I was glad to have a chance to be back on the right path, and I knew that Heavenly Father would always help me stay on the “strait and narrow path” if I would listen and obey.

May I conclude my remarks on fast offerings with portions of a letter I received several years ago from Elder John H. Groberg, who at that time was president of the Tongan Mission.
“Enclosed find a check for $1,000 for excess fast offerings from the Tongan Mission. Normally this letter would end here, but because of an experience I recently had I would like to add a little more.
“As you may or may not be aware, Tonga is one of the poorest countries financially in the world. The average wage rate is only around 12¢ per hour if you are lucky enough to have a job. …
“Recently, while visiting one of the far distant islands that is very difficult to get to, I went late in the day to the home of one of the good widow sisters there.
“When I first approached her hut the sun was still quite bright and I could not help but notice the stark poverty of her surroundings. It had been raining earlier. The mud and decay and the ever-present smell of drying fish were at first repulsive. But the warmth of meeting with a fellow Church member—especially after years of separation—together with tears of appreciation for the long-awaited visit, soon pushed the unpleasantness of the surroundings temporarily into the background.
“As we conversed in her fluid native tongue and she told of her love for and faith in the Church and of all the blessings she had received, I could not help but think about her apparently miserable circumstances. … All sorts of ideas went through my mind, and I must have let my thoughts wander as I suddenly became aware that somewhere between phrases about blessings and poverty and service she had gone to her hut and was now returning with a small knotted rag.
“Suddenly my mind seemed to fill with light, and the words ‘fast offerings’ flooded in. I was so excited with the idea that had come so suddenly and so clearly, that you can imagine my utter amazement and unpreparedness when she took a threepence (a coin worth about 3¢) from her rag and said softly, ‘Here is my fast offering … to help the poor.’
“I wanted to explain that fast offering was to help her, not for her to help others. The explanation never came, for as I looked through misty eyes, first at the threepence then back at the good sister, the whole scene changed.
“The hut was a glowing mansion and the mud was gold. … The world seemed to stand still for a moment. All of nature seemed to stop and listen as from the heavens the whole universe seemed filled with the reassuring words: ‘Blessed are the poor … for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ (Matt. 5:3.)
“As the setting sun signaled the end of the day, so it also told of the approaching end of her beautiful life of service.
“I took the threepence, and as I write this check the whole experience once again fills my mind and I wonder, ‘How many threepences to make a thousand dollars?’”

Upon hearing the mission president’s message, the widowed sister desired to be sealed to her family in the temple someday. However, it was impossible for her, due to financial constraints and language barriers.
Then several innovative solutions emerged. The cost could be reduced by half if members in Japan chartered an entire plane to fly to Hawaii in the offseason. Members also recorded and sold vinyl records entitled Japanese Saints Sing. Some members even sold homes. Others quit their jobs to make the trip.
The other challenge for members was that the temple presentation was not available in Japanese. Church leaders called a Japanese brother to travel to the Hawaiian temple to translate the endowment ceremony. He was the first Japanese convert after the war, having been taught and baptized by faithful American soldiers.
When the endowed Japanese members living in Hawaii first heard the translation, they wept. One member recorded: “We’ve been to the temple many, many times. We’ve heard the ceremonies in English. [But] we have never felt the spirit of … temple work as we feel it now [hearing it] in our own native tongue.”
Later that same year, 161 adults and children embarked from Tokyo to make their way to the Hawaii Temple. One Japanese brother reflected on the journey: “As I looked out of the airplane and saw Pearl Harbor, and remembered what our country had done to these people on December 7, 1941, I feared in my heart. Will they accept us? But to my surprise they showed greater love and kindness than I had ever seen in my life.”
Upon the Japanese Saints’ arrival, the Hawaiian members welcomed them with countless strands of flower leis while exchanging hugs and kisses on the cheeks, a custom foreign to Japanese culture. After spending 10 transformative days in Hawaii, the Japanese Saints bid their farewells to the melody of “Aloha Oe” sung by the Hawaiian Saints.
The second temple trip organized for Japanese members included the widowed Okinawan sister. She made the 10,000-mile (16,000-km) journey thanks to a generous gift from missionaries who had served in her branch and had eaten many meals at her table. While in the temple, she shed tears of joy as she acted as a proxy for her mother’s baptism and was sealed to her deceased husband.
Temple excursions from Japan to Hawaii continued regularly until the Tokyo Japan Temple was dedicated in 1980, becoming the 18th temple in operation. In November of this year, the 186th temple will be dedicated in Okinawa, Japan. It is located not far from the cave in central Okinawa where this woman and her family sheltered.
Though I never met this wonderful sister from Okinawa, her legacy lives on through her faithful posterity, many of whom I know and love.

Suddenly Mark had an idea. He remembered the note his Primary teacher gave him to thank him for giving a talk in Primary last week. Her note made him feel warm and happy inside.
“I know!” Mark said. “Let’s write thank-you notes for our project this year.”
“How many would we write?” Caleb asked.
“We could all write one note a day,” Mark said.
“Let’s see.” Dad put down his fork. “Ellen’s birthday is in 23 days. If we each write one note a day from now until then, that would be … 115 notes!”
Caleb did some math in his head. “That’s 120 happy people! Because the five of us will be really happy after writing all those notes too.”
For the next 23 days, Mark and his family tried hard to notice helpful things people did for them. The first week, they wrote thank-you notes to their grandparents and school and Primary teachers.
The second week, Mark wrote to his friends, his coach, and the garbage collector. Caleb wrote to the bishop, the bus driver, the people at his favorite bakery, and the school janitor. Abby wrote to her doctor and the grocery store clerk who gave her a sticker.
One afternoon, Abby stared at her paper. “This is getting hard,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else!”
“It’s fun!” Mark said. “There are so many people to thank.”
The last week, Mark wrote to his dentist and his piano teacher.
Caleb wrote to his coach, a playground teacher who helped him when he got hurt, the librarian, and the road workers fixing holes in the street.
Abby wrote to cousins and to Mom, Dad, Mark, and Caleb.
On November 23, the family wrote thank-you notes to Ellen. Abby looked at the sky. “I said thank you to baby Ellen for helping me so much.”
“How has she helped you?” asked Mom.
“She showed me how many people do nice things,” Abby said.
“This is my favorite Ellen Project so far!” Mark bounced on his toes. “It makes me want to help people more, even if I never get a thank-you note.”

You are never too young to strengthen your family. Just ask Edward B., age 7, from Halifax, Canada. His testimony helped his father realize that the Church is true. Now their family is holding family home evening for the very first time and getting ready to go to the temple!
When I was born, my dad wasn’t a member of the Church. When he tucked me in at night, I always told him, “Daddy, you have to know that this really is the true Church.” Mom and I prayed and prayed that he would join the Church. Finally, one day he told me that he wanted to be baptized!
Even our cat came to family home evening!
We sang my favorite Primary song, “Nephi’s Courage,” and had chocolate brownies, which I love.
To prepare for family home evening, we visited the Halifax Nova Scotia Temple grounds. I took lots of pictures.
During our first family home evening, we talked about how our family could get ready to go to the temple. Every time we thought of a way we could prepare to go to the temple, we put one of my pictures of the temple up on a board.
We braided bracelets out of colorful string. The strands of the bracelet are tied together to remind us that our family can be sealed together forever.

Jamie covered his clothes with his father’s old shirt and started to paint a picture.
He began with a clean white sheet of paper and painted a blue swirl on it.
He added a jagged yellow line.
Then he painted a blob of black, some pink circles that looked like balloons, some orange spots resembling freckles, some red lines similar to jackstraws, and some green smudges just like the green smear on his chin.
He added a lavender patch like the one he had dropped on his dog, Sam. He painted dashes and slashes and twirls and curls.
Then his painting arm got tired. He was finished.
Jamie stood back and looked at it. “It’s beautiful,” he said.
Sam looked at it and growled.
Jamie ran all the way to the art museum where the art contest for the school was being held. He showed his picture to the director, Mr. Lundy, who scratched his head and said, “It might be a good painting and it might be a bad one. I’ll have to let the visitors decide.”
Mr. Lundy hung the painting, and under it he put a writing tablet, a pencil, and a sign. The sign read “If you like this painting, please vote for it.”
Jamie sat on a high stool beside his picture and anxiously waited for the visitors.
The first visitor was a man with a beautiful red beard. He looked at the painting and smiled.
“Do you like it?” Jamie asked, then held his breath.
The man nodded. “I’m a mountain climber and I see that this painter has painted the very mountain that I once climbed in far-off Switzerland.”
Jamie looked at his picture in surprise.
“It’s a mountain?” he asked.
“Yes, Mount Skyhook.” The man reached for the tablet. “I’ll be glad to vote for this picture.”
The next visitor was a teacher from Jamie’s school. She looked at the picture for a long time, then wiped her eyes with a lace hankie.
“Does the picture make you sad?” Jamie asked, forgetting he was always a little shy around teachers.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there.” She quickly hid her hankie in her purse. “I haven’t seen my father for a long time, and this artist has painted a picture of my father’s spectacles.”
“Your father’s spectacles!” Jamie blinked in astonishment.
The teacher nodded. “This artist must have known and loved my father. Now that summer vacation is nearly here, I’m going to take the next train home to see him.” She wrote her name on the tablet. “And I’m going to vote for this painting.”
Jamie had scarcely recovered from the reaction of the second visitor when a third appeared. The man was dressed in the clothes of a sea captain. He stared at the picture as he whispered softly to himself. Jamie couldn’t quite hear what he said.
Finally Jamie asked, “Do you have a boat?” Before Jamie had decided to become an artist, he had planned to be a sea captain.
“Ho there, boy. Didn’t see you.” The captain shook his head sadly. “Once I had a ship, the Dory-D—the sweetest little three-masted schooner afloat. We sailed the seven seas together, me and my Dory-D.” He wiped a blue sleeve across his eyes.
“Did you lose her?” Jamie asked, wanting to cry too.
“Aye, in the wickedest storm that ever lashed the African coast. So broken up I was that I settled on land and vowed never to set foot on a deck again. But after seeing my Dory-D …”
“Your Dory-D?” And Jamie stared again at his picture.
“Aye, lad, someone has painted my Dory-D to her very last jib. The picture has given me heart again. It’s off to sea I am with a deck under my feet and a sky over my head and oh, laddie, won’t that feel great!”
After that twenty-two people came to see Jamie’s picture and twenty-two people voted for it—each one for his own special reason.
When Jamie told the director about the visitors, Mr. Lundy nodded. “In your picture people could see what they wanted to see and it made them happy. Therefore, it is a good painting.” Then he added, “Of course, you and I know that it’s really a painting of the prize rosebush in my backyard.”
“No,” Jamie said, “it’s a picture of my dog, Sam. And Sam was the only one who didn’t like it!”

A friend of ours (and most of us were recent converts) was getting into the drug culture with all its wrong attitudes and acts. Some might say we shouldn’t have kept this kind of friend, but we did. (Later he said that he had felt he was losing us even so, but this was because he had been failing to keep his part of the relationship.) At any rate, we didn’t throw him out of our lives for taking drugs, or for any of the other sins, small or great, that it led him to. Then we saw him turn to paths of repentance, and when he finally asked, we helped him climb back. The day of his temple marriage was a day of deep joy to us all.
Sharon DequerMunrovia, California

“I’ve been known to spit when I speak,” he began. “So those of you in the front row are like the people at Sea World who sit in the splash zone!” I smiled at this clever attention getter given by the last speaker of the day in the “Introduction to Persuasion” speech class that I teach at Oregon State University. What I didn’t know was that the real attention getter was yet to come.
Teaching college students the art of persuasive speech is always a challenge for me. Although arguing comes easily for most students, constructing reasoned arguments is another matter. Analytical skills must be drilled and re-drilled. This, their final speech, was to be a polished culmination of the skills they had rigorously studied during the quarter. The assignment was to persuade their classmates to perform some action.
It had been a good day. The arguments had been strong and the issues relevant, and now one of the most promising persuaders in the class, Phil Sanchez, had just engaged our interest with his good humor. Phil was a newly returned missionary from my ward, and I looked forward to what he had to say.
But I was momentarily stunned by his bold delivery as he said, “One of my heroes is a man named Joseph Smith. Shortly before his death he said: ‘I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men. I shall die innocent.’”
The attention of the class was abruptly captured, as was mine. I was seized with a sense of panic. I now felt powerfully protective of the things Phil was about to cast before this crowd of self-proclaimed nonbelievers.
In an attempt to give credence to critical thinking, I often goaded the students into frank discussions about a variety of controversial topics to allow them to test the waters of opposition. Conflict was no stranger to this group. As a result, everyone’s personal values, beliefs, and attitudes had been hung out for all to see. We had a snowboarder who pushed the limits of authority, admitted to drug use, and approached life as a party he was hosting. We had our so-called punk with spiked orange hair and body piercings. We had several students who openly opposed religion and any belief in God. We had a born-again Christian, and, of course, Phil and I were both members of the Church. It was a wonderful and diverse group of students who had developed a remarkable affection for each other, despite their vast differences.
Involuntarily, I stole a glance around the room, fully expecting to see a smirk or a hint of hostility. I wondered briefly if Phil had listened to my lecture on audience analysis. I was certain he had opened a gate through which a flood of cheap shots could flow.
Just then he dipped his long arms into a big box and announced that he had a gift for everyone. He called each student in the class by name and presented each one with a copy of the Book of Mormon. On the inside cover, he had written personalized messages to each of his classmates. To one he wrote, “Check out Helaman, chapter seven. You remind me of Samuel the Lamanite because of your individualism and courage. I think you will enjoy getting to know him.”
After all of the 19 students had their books, Phil asked them to read with him about Lehi and his family. They then turned to successive scriptural passages that were already neatly marked and followed along as Phil moved them through the key components of his message. I continued my surveillance of the youthful faces and noticed a visible transformation taking place. As I watched this class reverently turn to Alma, then 3rd Nephi, then Moroni, and eagerly and respectfully read along, I felt their willing collaboration as their spirits were touched. Phil gave his personal witness to this precious gift and glowed as he told of his joy in being a missionary. He closed by having them read Moroni’s promise that they could also know the truth. He then issued a stirring and sincere challenge for them to read the book.
Our routine was for each speech to be immediately critiqued by pre-assigned peers. On this day, the two assigned to give verbal criticisms had been particularly brutal with their comments in the past. As I called for the first critique, I warily wondered what words Ty, our wise-cracking “skater dude” would choose to describe his experience. He simply said, “This is the first time in my whole life I found myself believing something just because the person who was saying it believed it so much.”
The second student, Josh, had previously told the class on several occasions about his run-ins with religion in general and with various clergymen. I nearly shuddered as I asked for his response. Without a trace of defiance, Josh offered a lopsided grin and said how great he thought it was that Phil had taken the time to personalize the books and give them as gifts. He then vowed to read his book, openly admitting that this was the first time he had ever received a religious message without any feelings of malice or disdain and without wanting to argue back.
Then the time was up. The class was over. Nineteen students stowed their new copies of the Book of Mormon in their backpacks and quietly—almost reverently—filed out of the room.
The courage, testimony, sincerity, and good will of a young returned missionary had invited the Spirit, the best kind of persuasion there is.

When I was eight I invited a friend in my class at school to a Cub Scouts activity. He is still coming now that we’re in Boy Scouts. He has been to church a few times now too. When I invited him, I didn’t know that his grandparents are members of the Church and in our ward. They had been praying a lot that he would be able to have some connection to the Church, and my invitation came as an answer to their prayer.
Michael M., age 12, California, USA

I began to evaluate my testimony in my late teens, when I enrolled at the University of Utah as a science student. I didn’t want to believe the gospel just because my mother and father said it was true. I wanted to know for myself. I needed my own light. I didn’t set out to challenge the gospel, but rather to discover its truth for myself.
I was a science student at the university, and I had heard some people say that science and religion are not compatible, that no one who is well educated can also have a testimony of the gospel. But I found out that this is not true. As a youth striving to get my own testimony and also as an aspiring scientist, I was overjoyed to find how comfortably science and religion fit together. I would like to share several insights that show how they fit.
Some people point out that science deals only with tangible, observable quantities: we can measure them on scales, or read them on ammeters, or count them electronically. These critics charge that religion is less reliable because it deals with faith and revelation, which we cannot touch or measure. But this distinction is not really accurate.
For example, I wrote my dissertation at the University of California at Berkeley on pion-nucleon interactions. I never saw a pion or a nucleon. I couldn’t touch them. And yet I published a scientific article on them.
We learn about inductance or magnetic field lines or capacitance. Has anyone seen or felt inductance or a magnetic field or capacitance? No; we can only measure their effects. So scientists sometimes also deal with the intangible, and they do this without intellectual embarrassment.
The scientific method of discovering truth is to forget one’s prejudices and make decisions in terms of the available data. This method also applies to gospel learning. The Lord gives us several examples of using this method. Concerning tithing, he said: “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, … and prove me now herewith … if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.) That is an experiment. Many people have testified that they’ve tried the experiment and that it works.
Alma also says, “Experiment upon my words.” (Alma 32:27.) He then goes on to compare the word to a seed that, if we will water and feed and nurture with faith, will let us know whether the message is good.
The Savior gave us another example. He said that if we want to know whether his doctrine is true and comes from the Father, we must “do his will.” Then, he promised, we “shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.” (John 7:17.) This is like the scientific method—simply judging on the basis of the data.
Some say that science has nothing to do with faith. But that is obviously not true. In the seventeenth century, the Italian astronomer Galileo invented telescopes that let him see farther into the heavens than man had seen before. He observed that the moon was not a smooth sphere shining by its own light. Instead, it has mountains and valleys, and its light is reflected. Galileo agreed with Copernicus that the earth moves around the sun, rather than being the center of the universe with everything turning around it.
Because these observations did not agree with the teachings of Aristotle and the Catholic Church, Galileo was subjected to a long trial and was punished for his beliefs. But he never lost faith in his discovery. His confident belief in what he had discovered was much like that confidence we call faith.
Of course, science and religion are not in perfect harmony. There is some disagreement over evolution, for example. Genesis, the Book of Moses, and the Book of Abraham tell us that God created the world, that he had a purpose in doing it, and that man is very important in that purpose. But these scriptures are not a handbook on how God created the worlds. They just say that he did it. Someday he will let us know how he did it. Science is theorizing on the how, but there need be no conflict when we remember what the Lord has told us and what he hasn’t.
I have faith that in due time the Lord will fulfill all the prophecies and predictions he has made and that these things will come about just as he has told us they will. Actually, if we have eyes to see, we have seen many of these fulfillments taking place in our day.
When I was a child, my family would put together a huge jigsaw puzzle each Christmas, one that would take a week to finish, with thousands of small, look-alike pieces. Each piece fit in only one place, and we could complete the picture only by placing each piece correctly. When the Lord allows the scientists to discover all their parts, and he sees fit to reveal his part, the “picture” of what scientists have learned and the “picture” of what God has done will be the same.
This is how I have come to look at the plan of the Lord. We need to stop worrying about each small piece and try to fit the whole picture together by keeping in mind the end result. The Lord knows where each piece goes and how it fits into his plan. Each of us should help by putting ourself, an intricate and important piece of that puzzle, in the proper place.

A teenage girl sitting under the chairs. The rest of the story: When I was a teenager, one of the girls my age always sat under her chair in class. This young sister had grown up in many foster-care homes and only felt safe in an enclosed area. Since then, I have recognized that we cannot expect students to learn when they are in ?ght, ?ight, or freeze mode. Students must feel safe if they are to learn and, most importantly, feel the love of the Savior.

“Seven, six, five, four, three two, one—eight!” Carrie lifted her finger from her zoo-animal calendar and once more silently counted down the days before she’d be baptized. Today was Sunday, and in just seven more days she’d be eight years old and ready for baptism.
Today was really, really important, too, though, and maybe just a little bit scary because today she would have her baptism interview with the branch president. President Stevenson wasn’t unfriendly, but Carrie was worried he’d give her a test about the Articles of Faith or the Ten Commandments or something.
“Carrie,” Mom called, “it’s time to get up. Remember, your interview is right after sacrament meeting.”
Carrie slipped out of bed and onto her knees. During her prayer, a warm feeling came over her that everything would be OK. She remembered that it was the sort of calm feeling that Sister Cowan, her CTR-A teacher, had taught her could come to her through the Holy Ghost.
“Get out of my way,” Nathan growled later as he shoved past Carrie into the bathroom.
Wow! she thought, I hope he’s not going to be a real grump all day.
But Nathan was still scowling as he, Carrie, and Mom and Dad left for church.
“Good morning, Carrie. Big day coming up next week, right?” Carrie felt a familiar arm around her shoulder as Sister Cowan gave her a hug. “Your interview with President Stevenson is today, isn’t it? You’re really ready for baptism—I know you are.”
Sister Cowan always made Carrie feel special. But that warm feeling disappeared as “Nathan the Grump” came toward her.
Just then President Stevenson came out of the chapel. “I’ll be seeing you right after church, won’t I, Carrie?” he said with a big, warm smile.
Carrie nodded and smiled back. Maybe our visit will be OK, she thought.
Then President Stevenson smiled at Nathan. When Nathan didn’t smile back—as she had predicted, he was being a dedicated grump today—the branch president simply said, “Nathan, remember?”
Miracles really do happen, Carrie thought as Nathan’s face started to crinkle, then break into a full-fledged smile!
“I remember.” Nathan’s smile grew and lasted as he ambled off down the hall.
Did I see a miracle? Carrie wondered. And what did Nathan “remember”?
During sacrament meeting, Carrie glanced over at Judy, a Merrie Miss. Carrie thought that she always looked sort of sad. But now, as Judy looked up from her hymnbook, she broke into a smile! Following Judy’s gaze, Carrie saw President Stevenson smiling at Judy from the stand.
How can he make “Nathan the Grump” and “Sad Judy” smile when nobody else can? Carrie asked herself.
Soon the closing prayer had been given and everyone was milling around the foyer, visiting with each other.
“Carrie.” She felt a light hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for our interview?”
Nodding, she followed the branch president to his office.
“I’m really glad we can visit today about your baptism,” President Stevenson told her. “Would it be OK if we started with a prayer?”
When he finished the prayer, he opened his scriptures and asked, “Do you remember when the Prophet Abinadi tried to teach King Noah about God? The only one in the king’s court who believed Abinadi was Alma. Upon his conversion, he gathered others and taught them the gospel. He said that for people to be ready for baptism, they should ‘mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”*
As they talked about all that Alma had written, Carrie felt glad that Sister Cowan had discussed it all in her class.
When President Stevenson asked Carrie if she would be willing to do all that Alma said, she answered yes and really meant it.
“The next verses talk about a covenant between the people being baptized and God. Do you know what a covenant is?” President Stevenson asked.
Covenant? Oh no! This is the test, and I can’t remember what it is! “Well, uh, not really,” was all she could mumble.
“That’s OK, Carrie. Lots of people don’t really know. A covenant is an agreement, or promise, between two people. They agree, or covenant, that as long as one of them does what’s been agreed upon, the other is bound to do what he promised. Alma spoke of baptism as a covenant between us and God. If we agree to be baptized and always remember the Savior and keep His commandments, He agrees to send His spirit to always be with us. Do you understand this?”
“I guess so, sort of.”
The branch president smiled. “Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if you and I make a simple agreement, OK? Here’s our agreement: Whenever I see you, whether it’s here at church or someplace else, I promise that I will smile at you, even if I’m not feeling happy. But if I do that, then you have to promise that you’ll smile back at me, even if you’re not feeling like smiling. Do you think we can make that agreement?”
“OK. I can do that.”
“Good. Now, as a symbol of our agreement to smile, let’s shake hands.” Her small hand was smothered by his, but it felt warm and firm, not scary.
“Now just as our handshake was a symbol of our agreement, your baptism will be a symbol of the covenant—a very sacred agreement—that you are making with God. He’ll send you His Spirit if you take the name of Jesus Christ upon you by being baptized and remembering Him and obeying His commandments. The sacrament prayers will help you remember this sacred covenant that you are making with Heavenly Father. Do you understand better now?”
“Yes, President Stevenson.” Carrie beamed.
“I think that you’re prepared for your baptism, Carrie. Tell your parents I’d like to talk with them about arrangements for your baptismal service.”
She got up to leave, then turned back with a grin. “President Stevenson, have you made the smile agreement with the other kids who have been baptized?”
“Yes, I have. Everyone—even adults—who have been baptized in our branch since I’ve been branch president have made the same agreement with me. I think it helps everyone understand better what a covenant is, and every time we smile at each other, we remember just how sacred our baptism covenant is—their smiles show that they are happy to have made their covenants with Heavenly Father. Don’t you think so?”
Remembering Nathan and Judy, Carrie thought so too. She smiled as she hurried to find her parents.

But the tests did not stop there. For the next year and a half I worked hard to prepare myself to receive the priesthood. My desire for restitution had returned in full. I was glad to be a member once again, but I longed for full fellowship. My struggle finally ended when I received a call from a General Authority asking me to bring my family and meet with him. With great anticipation, fears, and joy, my family and I drove to that memorable meeting. The children were excited because they were going to see an apostle of the Lord. I was thrilled at the thought of being able to bless the child my wife was expecting.
After a thorough and loving interview, this kind man of God asked my wife to join us, and then he placed his hands on my head and made me a whole man. He “restored me wholly as I was before with all the rights and powers of the priesthood.” My wife and I wept.
Then the Apostle turned to my wife and asked her if she would like a blessing. After she said yes, he turned to me and told me that the only way I would know that my priesthood was restored would be for me to use it. He asked me to bless my wife and offered to stand with me. During the next few minutes, I learned more about the priesthood than I could ever have learned from reading volumes of books.
The battle is not over. Some of my most severe challenges have raised their heads since that day, and many more will come, but I now can call upon the Holy Ghost to guide me.
I have been able to bless my second daughter and have exercised my priesthood in many other ways. My wife and I are now preparing for one of the most important days of our lives—the day we take our children dressed in white into the holy room of the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.
My greatest regret is that I rejected these blessings years ago; the price I have paid to regain them has been a terrible one. I am so grateful to be back, but oh! how much wiser I would have been never to have strayed.

Among these reformers was the Reverend John Lathrop, vicar of the Egerton Church in Kent, England. Incidentally, the Prophet Joseph Smith was descended from John Lathrop. In 1623 the Reverend Lathrop resigned his position because he questioned the authority of the Anglican church to act in the name of God. As he read the Bible, he recognized that apostolic keys were not on the earth. In 1632 he became the minister of an illegal independent church and was put in prison. His wife died while he was in prison, and his orphaned children pleaded with the bishop for his release. The bishop agreed to release Lathrop on condition that he leave the country. This he did, and with 32 members of his congregation he sailed to America.

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered boarding a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered, and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me through the village and directly against the face of a perpendicular solid-rock cliff. That’s strange, thought I. I’ve never seen that here before, and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objection. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid-rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toehold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the ascent without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“Why has this experience come to me? I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and surmount my other problems” (Improvement Era, Aug. 1957, 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

“Listening to the Spirit becomes essential as you go home teaching or visiting teaching,” says Jack Cook, a high councilor in the College Station Texas Stake. “We have a high priests group leader and his companion who were visiting a single mother and her daughter. The family was active but talked of feeling spiritually ‘empty.’ There was just not a lot of spiritual movement.
“While visiting one day, this man felt prompted to suggest that this sister might consider attending the temple. Her eyes lit up. She’d never considered the possibility.
“With attending the temple in mind, she set goals, made progress, and grew tremendously,” Brother Cook says. “The day she attended the temple she was ecstatic. Her home teacher had listened to the Spirit and made a difference in her life.”