Gospel Story Finder

I can remember as a young boy hearing my mother and father in our daily family prayers asking for the kind and protecting care of our Heavenly Father to be with us during that day, or on a particular trip, or during any special activity in which we might be engaged. I was so impressed by those pleadings with the Lord by my dear parents that I incorporated them into my personal prayers as well, and later into our own family prayers.

Many years ago, 11-year-old Cori sat in front of the television listening to general conference. When she was younger, she drew pictures, but today she was listening closely for the things the prophet wanted her to do. President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) asked everyone to read the scriptures, go to the temple, spend more time with their families on Sunday, and have family home evening. Cori knew that if she followed the prophet, she could help make her family stronger. Today Cori knows that following the prophet’s counsel increased her family’s love for one another and for Jesus Christ.

We also need a wide-angle lens to look beyond the obvious when is comes to apologies. With a zoom lens, an apology looks like something you offer to someone you have wronged. However, one man found that it was his apology TO someone who had wronged HIM, that was his key to freedom.
The man was President George Albert Smith. He offered what many would call a high level apology-some would even call it, "an impossible apology" -to a man who had spread false rumors about him. He was in anguish over this, and filled with such an abundance of negative feelings toward his perpetrator, that he felt unworthy to partake of the Sacrament.
George Albert Smith finally found freedom from his suffering, when he went to his perpetrator and said, "I'm here to ask forgiveness for the hateful feelings I've had toward you." The man became immediately apologetic himself, and the two became lifelong friends.[6]

After a few years of conducting meetings in and around Kotpad, I moved to northern India, where I began to sell books from the Evangelical Christian literature society. I came across a book called Is Mormonism Christian? Something about the book intrigued me, and I decided to read it.
The book had a lot of criticism toward the Mormons and their beliefs. Even so, many parts of the book intrigued me, especially their concept of the Godhead, the components of their worship, and the history of polygamy. However, what interested me the most was that their church was named after Jesus Christ. I was curious to know more.
One day while praying, I felt inspired to investigate the Mormon Church. I learned that Salt Lake City, Utah, was the Church’s headquarters. I decided to write a letter and addressed it to “Men in charge of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, Utah, USA.”
In 1959, in response to my letter, Brother Lamar Williams from the Church Missionary Department sent me Joseph Smith’s testimony, the Articles of Faith, and the Book of Mormon. I studied them all and was convinced of their truthfulness. However, there were no missionaries or members to teach me in India.
Then in January 1961, Elder Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Delhi. I spent three days traveling with him to the Taj Mahal at Agra and to Dharamsala. I was like a sponge soaking up all the gospel lessons he taught. On the final day of his visit, I was ready for baptism. On January 7, 1961, I was baptized by Elder Kimball in the Yamuna River; Sister Kimball was the official witness, though there were many curious onlookers. I was confirmed that evening.
Those three days when the Lord’s Apostle taught me without any interruptions have been some of the best days of my life. Parting was sad because he had become my special Mormon friend.

Even the youngest children weren’t bored. The little Batemans of Trumansburg, New York, all bore their testimonies. The fourteen Batemans were special to everyone because one or another of them was always there. Coming down in two Volkswagens loaded with fifteen people, fourteen suitcases, and a hundred dresses, they were the epitome of the always-laugh-at hardships genre. It was one of their littlest ones that brushed by me in testimony meeting as I was looking a bit dejected from only three hours sleep the night before. With a sweet smile on her face she said, “Smile—Heavenly Father loves you!” and the day was once again mine.

Melissa White has loved dance ever since she was two, when she saw her first ballet on television. But she had no idea what that love would lead to. While dancing in a local dance group’s production of West Side Story, Melissa made friends with newly baptized Monica Hall, who introduced Melissa to the gospel. Melissa began attending the Biloxi Second Ward, Gulfport Mississippi Stake, reading the Book of Mormon, and taking missionary discussions. It wasn’t long before she was baptized.
Since then many good things have happened to Melissa. She was selected to compete in the prestigious International Ballet Competition, held in Jackson, Mississippi, and her mother has gained enough interest from Melissa’s example to take the missionary discussions. Melissa’s life hasn’t been easy—her parents are divorced, and she’s lived with both, but she’s grateful for the guidance and encouragement the gospel has brought her.

One of my favorite examples of trust is contained in a story related by President N. Eldon Tanner. He was 14 years old, and his father, serving as bishop, had gone to prepare for a funeral. He had asked Eldon and his brothers to do the chores while he was gone.
“We decided to ride some calves before we did what he had told us to do. We thought we would have plenty of time, but he came home while we were still riding those calves, and he called us over to him. … he pointed his finger at me and said, ‘My boy, I thought I could depend on you.’ That hurt me very much. I can still almost recall the exact feeling I had at that time. I made up my mind that he would never have a reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on you.’ Right then I made up my mind that the Lord would never have reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on Eldon Tanner’” (New Era, Jan.–Feb. 1983, p. 14).

Dad was out of town on a business trip, so the only one to greet me when I limped off the plane from my mission was my mother. She held me and we cried.
I took as many medical tests as possible, but the doctors could not find the problem. Taking off my missionary tag nine months early was the hardest thing I have ever done. I felt like a failure for not finishing my mission.
Being a missionary had always been in my plans. When my older brother left on his mission, I dressed up with a homemade name tag to see him off. When the mission age change was announced in 2012, I had just turned 19 and knew that the announcement was an answer to my prayers. I danced around the room, filled out my paperwork that day, set up my medical appointments, and put my papers in within the week. I received my call to the California Anaheim Mission two weeks later and reported to the missionary training center two months after that.
I hit the mission field with “greenie” fire and never wanted to slow down. My trainer and I literally ran to some lessons because we were so excited to teach. For me, being a full-time missionary was the most natural thing in the world. I was awkward and struggled at times, but there was nothing more amazing to me than being a missionary.
Around eight months into my mission, my companions and I were given bikes because of a car shortage. I hadn’t ridden a bike in a long time and wasn’t entirely sure how to do so in a skirt, but I was thrilled anyway. After a few weeks, though, I developed a pain in my side that would come and go. I ignored it and kept working.
The pain became more frequent and more intense until one night my companion had to take me to the emergency room. I took many medical tests but the doctors couldn’t find the source of my pain.
In the weeks that followed, I prayed to Heavenly Father to make the pain go away and received several priesthood blessings, but it just got worse. Every possible position hurt; the pain was constant. But I decided that I could get used to it and kept going.
One day I collapsed on the side of the road, unable to move anymore. I was transported to the hospital to do tests with yet again no results. I tried to take it easy and sit on bus-stop benches with my companions and teach people as they waited for their buses. I sat through lessons, biting my lip through the pain. I eventually pushed myself too far and ended up in the hospital again. I realized that I might permanently damage myself if I stayed on my mission. After a lot of prayer, I received the answer that I should go home to sort out my health issues.
When I realized I was home for good, I was devastated. But I tried my best to maintain my faith and scripture study. My family handled it well, but the other people around me weren’t sure how to react to my situation. They kept asking me questions, and I barely kept it together. One man, however, called me unexpectedly and told me that his son had come home early from a mission a long time ago. He told me that this trial had the potential to destroy my faith and happiness and that it frequently did with many early-returned missionaries. “What you have to remember,” he said, “is that as long as you are trying as hard as you can to live your life righteously, it’s always a step forward no matter what happens outside of your control.”
That became my motto, and I relied on it heavily for the next year. For eight months I could barely walk, but people would still judge me when they found out that I had come home early. They said that there were people with worse medical conditions who had finished serving. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t have finished, even with medical difficulties. It was agonizing to hear this when I had loved my mission so much, but I had faith that Heavenly Father had a purpose for my trial and that it would be a step forward.
I began school again and started dating. I could see that I was progressing, but I felt that I would always view my mission with a little bitterness. Then a friend of mine reminded me that the Savior’s Atonement can heal all pain and bitterness. With His help I could be happy when thinking about my mission.
I knelt down and prayed to my Heavenly Father. I told Him about my pain and my efforts to be healed and comforted. I asked if He would take away the bitterness I felt. After my prayer, the Lord opened my eyes to see my mission from His perspective. Both my service and early return were a part of the Lord’s plan to help make me into who He wanted me to be. I could see the miracles that He had provided since I came home. It has been a hard path, but now I can look back on my early return home with peace, knowing that God has my best interests at heart.

I was in the ninth grade. A year in which it seemed I was halfway to nowhere. Confidence was not part of my nature. My actions were largely controlled by my feelings of inferiority. Perhaps it was the low light of self-doubt that made the following experience such a bright and guiding star.
Third hour I sat near the back of the classroom. My feet extended as far forward as I could stretch them. By sitting in this manner I was scarcely visible from where the teacher sat at her desk in the front.
Friday was the day for current events. When the roll was called, each student had two choices—he could either answer “Prepared” or “Unprepared.” If his response was “Prepared,” he had to give a talk. If his response was “Unprepared,” he didn’t have to do anything. I quickly grasped the idea that the word unprepared was the word that would get me off the hook.
As the weeks went by, each time my name was called I responded almost with dignity, “Unprepared.” My friends also mastered this word. We all, as a group, made it easier for each of us as individuals.
Once as I was visiting with the teacher, I noticed my name in the performance roll book, and behind my name was a long series of negative signs. This worried me but not enough to make me stand up in front of my friends and give a talk. Speaking to a group seemed like the most frightening of all things.
A girl that I liked very much sat in front of me. I liked her so much that on the way to school I would think of clever things to say to her, but when in her presence, my mind would go blank and I would become almost tongue-tied.
One day when the teacher called the roll and got to my name, I replied, “Unprepared.” It was then that this girl did me a great favor. She turned around, looked back at me, and said, “Why don’t you get prepared?” I was not able to listen to any of the reports that day. I kept thinking of all sorts of wonderful things like, “What does she care, unless she cares.”
I went home, found an article in the newspaper, and read it time and again until I had finally committed it to memory. I cut the article out, folded it, placed it in my wallet, and carried it with me all week.
The next Friday I was there in my usual seat in the back. The teacher started to call the roll without looking up. Finally she got to my name; she said, “George.” And very quietly I gave a great speech—I said, “Prepared.” She stopped calling the roll and looked up at me. I poked my head up as far as I could and nodded. The girl turned around and smiled. My friends looked over at me like, “Traitor.” Then I sat waiting my turn, saying to myself, “What have I done?” I was scared. Then I made a magnificent discovery. It was all right to be afraid if I didn’t let it stop me from doing what I should.
My turn came. I went to the front and started to speak. I remembered every word, and after the last word had crossed my lips, I stood there for just a second, and a priceless thought passed my mind and found its way to my heart. I said to myself, “I like you.”
I returned to my seat and sat down. I didn’t hear any of the reports, but as my heart pounded within me, I kept feeling over and over again, “This is the only way to live.”
I have since learned that the word unprepared really does take you off the hook and lead you away from pressure. By learning to say that word you really don’t have to do anything, but you never know the joy of doing something that causes you to say to yourself, “I like myself.”

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecome who came on market day to the village. While walking through the public square, his eye caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket. His actions were observed by the village harness maker with whom he had previously had a dispute.
Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecome was arrested on the accusation of the harness maker. He was taken before the mayor, to whom he protested his innocence, showing the piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.
The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecome was absolved of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the indignity he had suffered because of a false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. He neglected his farm. Everywhere he went, everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. By day and by night he brooded over it. Obsessed with his grievance, he became desperately ill and died. In the delirium of his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.” (The Works of Guy de Maupassant, Black’s Reader Service: Roslyn, New York, pp. 34–38.)

Many years ago on a Sunday morning I opened the door and reached down to pick up the morning newspaper when I saw beside the paper a plastic bag containing a paperback book. I brought both inside and laid the newspaper aside as I browsed the paperback. The cover was a lovely picture of a mountain stream, but the title of the book revealed to me what in fact the book was all about—it was an anti-Mormon treatise. Many of the arguments in the book against The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were old and worn-out ones, dead horses that have been beaten since the days of E. D. Howe. Latter-day Saints had responded to the issues posed scores of times, but they continued to crop up. One section of the book did prove, however, to be of some interest to me. Let me paraphrase what was essentially said about 130 pages into the text. The author pointed out that eventually two Mormon missionaries would come to the reader’s door. If they do come, he pleaded, don’t let them in. If, however, you do let them in, then don’t listen to them. If they are allowed to tell you about their message, about Joseph Smith and angels and golden plates, they will ask you to kneel and pray about the truthfulness of these things. Whatever you do, don’t pray! The writer then made this unusual observation: In ascertaining the truthfulness of a religious claim, there are three things a person can never trust: (1) your thoughts; (2) your feelings; (3) your prayers. I was all ears at this point, wondering how we could ever know anything. I didn’t have to wait long, for the writer then noted that the only thing that could be trusted was the Holy Bible itself. I shook my head and felt a deep sense of sadness for the author, for I wondered how indeed a person could even know of the truthfulness of the Bible if he or she could not think, feel, or pray. I had a collage of feelings at that moment. As indicated, I felt sad for the writer, for it was obvious that he could not see the blatant inconsistency and irrationality of his own words. I tried to put myself into the place of a reader who was not a Latter-day Saint and wondered how I might feel upon reading such things. To be honest, I would feel insulted, knowing that I could not be trusted enough in my pursuit of truth to rely upon my mind, my heart, or even the most tried and true method of obtaining divine direction—prayer itself.

I saw the promise come to fruition that my doctors would be guided. When I awoke after one of my operations, the surgeon came to see me.
“I was all done,” she explained, “but something told me to go deeper, and I found additional problem areas, which I was able to remove. We’re fortunate to have found them.”
She is not a member of the Church, but the promise of the blessing I had received early on had come to pass. The Spirit had guided her.

Many centuries ago, there was a girl in China who was extremely clever, brave, and agile—but there was no way of knowing this from her beginnings.
As a baby, she was found in a basket in King Ta Lang’s garden in Shen Su.
For years, King Ta Lang’s palace had been childless. Finally a hoped-for son was born, and then soon afterward the baby girl was found in the royal gardens. Who was she? Where had she come from? Who had left her there on the royal grounds? Why?
King Ta Lang sent for his court diviners, who brought their crystal balls, sand trays, magic charts, and other such aids to the palace. After much pondering, they decided that the baby girl was the daughter of the rain god, who had sent her to eventually become the wife of the newborn prince. They advised King Ta Lang to name his son Tou Meng (meaning “Give Thanks”), and the baby girl Chai Mi (meaning “Enables Us to Live”).
The king followed their directions about naming both babies and immediately had them engaged by royal decree.
Prince Tou Meng and Princess Chai Mi grew up the very best of friends. They had great fun playing ball and other games, climbing trees, riding donkeys, flying kites, dancing, shooting arrows in archery contests, and swimming in the Lan River. Although Chai Mi was really better at everything than Tou Meng, she always let him win by a small margin.
There was at court one man whom she did not fool about her superior skills—the king’s Chief General, who watched her progress through narrow, jealous eyes. Chai Mi, he thought, was too smart and athletic. Someday she might be a threat to his power. So he plotted against her and bided his time. …
Prince Tou Meng and Chai Mi grew up, and one day when she was in the River Lan swimming alone, Chai Mi found a roll of parchment. She took it to King Ta Lang, who unrolled and read it. He was stunned to discover that it was a secret plan to attack Shen Su!
The king mustered his army and hastily led them off to try to intercept the enemy. There were many tears, not only by Chai Mi and the women, children, and few old men who had to stay behind, but also by the sky, which rained steadily, flooding the Lan River, overflowing its banks, and washing away all its boats, piers, and bridges.
A few days after the army had gone, the defenseless stay-at-homes had a shocking surprise: The fierce enemy army appeared on the opposite bank of the swollen river, ready to attack as soon as the flood subsided and they could cross! The women, children, and old men had nothing to protect them except the raging river whose tide could fall as quickly as it had risen.
Chai Mi had a daring plan. She put the women to work.
Meanwhile, the enemy chieftain had a scheme of his own. A powerful man, he swam across the river, carrying a long rope that he tied to a willow stump. Then he ordered his soldiers to use the rope to help them across. They could carry only a light bow and arrows, but five hundred men thus armed would make short work of conquering their easy prey.
But instead of cringing, weeping women, they found a thousand soldiers marching in glistening armor, wearing hideous false faces (as was the custom in Far Eastern warfare in those days)! The soldiers carried sharp chang chiang (long, heavy spears), and their leader wore the king’s gold armor. Following them marched a thousand archers.
The attacking enemy realized they didn’t have a chance—their flimsy arrows could not dent the armor of the Shen Su defenders, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and they couldn’t retreat because only the raging river was behind them! They surrendered to a fierce-talking old man who took their arms and ordered the enemy troops still across the river to throw their weapons into the river.
The would-be attackers obeyed the old man, who followed orders given by the leader dressed in the king’s golden armor—Princess Chai Mi. During the surrender and the throwing-away of weapons, the Shen Su defenders clanged their spears against the river rocks and boulders as if furious at being deprived of a battle. Their tough enemies never realized that they were surrendering to an army of girls and women!
King Ta Lang and his army were crossing the Lan River in his swan-shape sampan on their way back to Shen Su, when he learned of Chai Mi’s clever and courageous trick. As he was wondering how to reward her, the Chief General finally saw a way to destroy the girl he feared, and said, “Your Majesty seems to have forgotten the law of your honorable ancestors!”
“What law?”
“The Law of Liu Ti that says no woman may put on the king’s garments. Whoever dares to do so must lose her head by the sword! Chai Mi has put on Your Majesty’s armor—she must die!” He handed King Ta Lang a death warrant to sign.
No one knows if the king really would have signed it, because at that moment the waters of the Lan River surged angrily and swallowed the royal sampan. King Ta Lang and his Chief General were never seen or heard of again. Chai Mi was soon married to Tou Meng, and together they ruled Shen Su for many happy years.

After a night of intense pain and suffering, one morning a husband stricken with a terminal illness said to his wife with great feeling, “I am so thankful today.” “For what?” she asked, knowing well his difficult and trying situation. He replied, “For God giving me the privilege of one more day with you.” A voice of gladness is so refreshing when an attitude of despair might be deemed appropriate.

The Christmas spirit knew no bounds as the Young Men and Young Women of the Huntington Beach Seventh Ward, Huntington Beach California Stake, crossed the Mexican border to celebrate Christmas with the Tecate Branch, Tijuana Mexico Stake. Christmas carols were sung in Spanish and English, and colorful piñatas made by the Mexican Saints were broken, scattering candies and fruits to everyone. A delicious homemade tamale dinner followed, treating the Californians to the tasty talents of their new friends. The Huntington Beach Ward then gave gifts of throw rugs designed by the Young Men, handmade stockings filled with treats made by the Young Women, and 16 tricycles and bicycles to the Tecate Saints. Both groups joined in a tearful rendition of “O, Little Town of Bethlehem” as they said good-bye to their newfound friends.

Best friends Daniel Dewey and Lyle W. Rogers had always planned on getting their Eagle Scout Awards together and sharing a Court of Honor, but their plans looked doubtful when, the day after he passed his Board of Review, Daniel was diagnosed with a severe type of adult leukemia.
Daniel had to undergo six weeks of chemotherapy, and his chances of coming home for his Court of Honor looked doubtful. Just about every Church member in Gooding, Idaho, prayed for Daniel, and his name was on the prayer rolls of several temples.
Finally, prayers were answered, and Daniel’s cancer went into remission. Daniel was able to make the two-hour trip from Boise, where he was being treated, to Gooding, and the friends’ Court of Honor was one of the most touching ceremonies most people who attended could remember.
After the ceremony, Daniel had to return to the hospital, but his cancer continues in remission and he has received bone marrow transplants from his little brother. He has been eager to get out and get back to Scouting.

Michael J. Williams of the Reading Pennsylvania Ward delivers more than newspapers every morning. Recently, he delivered a life.
One day, while running his normal paper route, Michael noticed an older woman hadn’t retrieved her paper the day before. He knocked on her door to see if she was all right, and when there was no response, he called the police. They found the woman had fallen down her stairs, had a concussion, and had been lying there all day. “If the boy hadn’t said something, I don’t think she would be alive today,” said a neighbor.
Michael is also willing to go the extra mile in early-morning seminary, where he works diligently on scripture-mastery memorization. He is a fine example of a young man who sincerely tries to do his best.

Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one room school house in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
“Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with 10 rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.
“A day or so later, … the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. ‘The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.’
“As Little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, Big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.
“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. ‘Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. “Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!”’”

I'll tell you a quick story about my father and President McKay. My father was called to be the Branch President of a branch of the church at the Utah State Training School. The school was a school for handicapped, mentally and physically, young adults. President Hugh B. Brown had a granddaughter there and was very interested in the progress of Dad's branch. President Brown visited the branch often.

One day, my father and neighbor who had been instrumental in the building of the church building at the school, traveled to Salt Lake with President Brown to give to President McKay a plaque made by the branch members. They took along a young man named Dary who was a mentally handicapped young man as a representative of the Branch. President McKay was aging and his health was suffering, so they went to visit President McKay in his apartment.

President McKay was in bed, yet he shook Dad's hand and welcomed the group. Dary then presented President McKay with the plaque. After which, in Dary's innocent enthusiasm, he unexpectedly threw his arms around the neck of President McKay and gave him a big hug, and told President McKay he loved him.

Well, President McKay was weak and lying in bed. And he started to cry. Not because Dary squeezed him so hard, but because he was so moved by Dary's genuine expression of love. President Brown then bore testimony of the special place in eternity God has for the mentally handicapped here on earth. To this day, my Dad still speaks reverently of that experience with a prophet of God. My father loved serving as Branch President and loved the members of his branch.

This is a story of a young girl, living in New York, who before age three lost her father when his boat sank on a large lake. She, her mother, older brother, and younger sister moved to a new city in another state to live with her aunt and uncle. Sometime after the family arrived, missionaries and members of a newly organized religion came to their town with the glorious news of the Restoration of the gospel. They told a remarkable story of an angel delivering an ancient record to a young man named Joseph Smith, a record he had translated by the power of God. Two of the visitors, Oliver Cowdery and John Whitmer, had actually seen the engraved metal pages of the ancient record with their own eyes, and Whitmer witnessed he had held the golden plates in his own hands. This record had been recently published, and Brother Whitmer brought the book with him. The name of the book, of course, was the Book of Mormon.
When 12-year-old Mary heard the missionaries speak about the book, she had a special feeling in her heart. Even though the Book of Mormon was thick with many pages, Mary yearned to read it. When Brother Whitmer departed, he gave one precious copy of the book to Brother Isaac Morley, who was a friend of Mary’s uncle and a local leader in the new church.
Mary later recorded: “I went to [Brother Morley’s] house … and asked to see the Book; [he] put it in my hand, [and] as I looked at it, I felt such a desire to read it, that I could not refrain from asking him to let me take it home and read it. … He said … he had hardly had time to read a chapter in it himself, and but few of the brethren had even seen it, but I plead so earnestly for it, he finally said, ‘child, if you will bring this book home before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.’”
Mary ran home and was so captured by the book that she stayed up nearly all night reading it. The next morning, when she returned the book, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it” and “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it.” Mary stood up straight and repeated from memory the first verse of the Book of Mormon. She then told him the story of the prophet Nephi. Mary later wrote, “He gazed at me in surprise, and said, ‘child, take this book home and finish it, I can wait.’”
A short time later, Mary finished reading the book and was the first person in her town to read the entire book. She knew it was true and that it came from Heavenly Father. As she looked to the book, she looked to the Lord.
One month later a special visitor came to her house. Here is what Mary wrote about her memorable encounter that day: “When [Joseph Smith] saw me he looked at me so earnestly. … After a moment or two he … gave me a great blessing … and made me a present of the book, and said he would give Brother Morley another [copy]. … We all felt that he was a man of God, for he spoke with power, and as one having authority.”
This young girl, Mary Elizabeth Rollins, saw many other miracles in her life and always kept her testimony of the Book of Mormon. This story has special meaning to me because she is my fourth-great-aunt. Through Mary’s example, along with other experiences in my life, I have learned that one is never too young to seek and receive a personal testimony of the Book of Mormon.