Gospel Story Finder

A few years later at a devotional held following a visit to Adam-ondi-Ahman, the supervisor of service missionaries in the area asked me to share the story of my conversion. I did so and then thanked the couples attending the devotional for preparing their children to serve missions and for figuratively sending them to my door.
As I shook hands and prepared to leave, the supervisor spoke up. “Before we dismiss this meeting,” he said, “I have a personal confession to make.” I don’t remember his exact words, but in essence he said:
“As you know, I served my country as a U.S. Marine while I was a young man. While serving, I killed many Japanese soldiers. I thought I had served my country faithfully, but for many years, whenever I saw Orientals, particularly Japanese people, I experienced great depression. Sometimes I could not even function. I visited with Church authorities and discussed my feelings with professional counselors.
“Today, when I faced Elder and Sister Kikuchi and their son, a flash of memory returned. But then I listened to Elder Kikuchi share his testimony and conversion story, his love for the Lord and the gospel, and his love for each of us. He said he had hated Americans and American soldiers but that the gospel had changed his life through the Lord’s healing power. When I heard this, I also seemed to hear a voice from the Lord saying, ‘It is finished. It is OK.’”
He put his hands outward, raised them, and said, with tears in his eyes, “All of my guilt has been taken away. My burden is lifted!”
He came to me and hugged me. Then our wives approached, and we all hugged each other and wept.

The crisp, unmistakable clopping of horse hooves echoed in the still morning air, and I stopped weeding to listen. “Kirby!” I yelled toward the elm tree. “A horse is coming!” His face appeared amid the budding leaves for a second; then I heard the wild rustling of branches as he scrambled downward.
I sprang to my feet and ran to stand on the flat brown rock. Craning my neck to see around the long-stemmed hollyhocks, I watched the bend in the lane. Soon I saw sunlight shine on silken red hair and glisten on a polished leather bridle. My heart pounded against my chest as I skipped to the middle of the lane to get a closer look.
The horse’s mane was rusty brown, and his eyes shone like lustrous coals. His hooves hardly seemed to touch the ground as it pranced toward me. Then I felt Kirby’s hand on my arm as he jumped up and down excitedly. “Settle down,” I cautioned. “You’ll scare him.”
“Do you think Marilyn will stop and let us pet him, Cathy?”
“I doubt it,” I said as horse and rider drew closer, “but you never know.”
Kirby danced to the side of the lane and fidgeted on the flat brown rock. I kept my eyes on the approaching horse as I moved out of his path. As horse and rider passed, the horse bobbed his head and looked at us out of the corner of his eyes. Marilyn nodded and smiled but did not stop, even though we tagged along until they reached the next bend in the road.
As we walked back home, Kirby scuffed the dust with his worn shoes. “She could have stopped!”
“It certainly wouldn’t have killed her!” I agreed.
When Dad pulled into the driveway at noon, he slowed enough for me to jump onto the running board of the car and ride it to the side of the house. Climbing out of the car, he gave me a quick hug. “Have you been helping your mother this morning?” he asked as we walked hand in hand toward the house.
“I weeded the flowers and thinned the radishes.”
“And Grandma?”
“I’m going to help her stretch curtains this afternoon.”
“Good girl.” He held the screen door open for me, then entered the kitchen and gave Mom and Grandma each a hug and a kiss. Kirby raced in, and Dad picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, laughing.
During lunch, I cleared my throat. “Mom, Dad?” I hesitated, then blurted out, “Marilyn went by on her horse again today. Why can’t I … we have one?”
Mother smiled patiently. “Cathy, your father has explained that we can’t afford—”
“We could keep it in the garage,” I interrupted. “And it could eat grass. Kirby and I would comb it and keep the garage clean, honest!”
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin and frowned. “Your mother is right, honey. It’s too big an expense and a responsibility. But beyond that, horses are sensitive animals. There’s a lot more to having one than just keeping it in the garage and feeding it.”
After lunch I helped Grandma. The sharp needles of the curtain stretcher pricked my finger, and I rammed it into my mouth and scowled.
“You’ll feel like a pincushion if you’re not careful, child,” Grandma cautioned.
I examined my finger, then attached another loop of curtain. “Did you ever want anything really bad, Grandma?”
“Oh, my, yes!”
“What’d you do when your parents said no?”
“I prayed about it,” Grandma told me, “and I always got an answer—one way or another.”
That night as I said my prayers, I added, “Heavenly Father, I am grateful for all Your blessings. Mom and Dad say we can’t afford a horse, but if there is any way, please make it possible for me to have one. Thank you. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.”
The next several days were filled with chores, tree climbing, berry picking, and hiking in the woods with Kirby. Each night I repeated my plea for a horse as I tried to wait patiently for an answer.
Then one bright sunny afternoon I heard a welcome sound and looked up to see a horse galloping through the fields toward our place. His mane flowed wildly, and his tail waved proudly. I sprang to my feet and raced through the high weeds to meet it. My prayer was being answered!
“Cathy,” Kirby shouted from behind me, “I brought a rope!”
I grabbed the rope he offered and smiled. “Good thinking,” I said breathlessly. “We’ll lead him to the garage. Mom and Dad will have to let us keep him because they’ll see that Heavenly Father sent him to us.”
When the horse was really close, he suddenly stopped and pawed the ground. His head bobbed up and down, and he snorted loudly. Then, slowly, he moved toward us, stretched his neck toward my trembling hand, and let me stroke his velvet nose. A long strap hung from his bridle, and I clicked my tongue as I slowly grasped the strap and looped the rope through a metal ring. I was filled with joy as he watched trustingly.
“Yahoo! You got him!” Kirby shouted.
Instantly the huge horse shied and raced off, with me still holding the rope. I bumped along the crop-stubbled field for a few yards, then lost my grip and clutched desperately to regain the rope.
“Are you OK?” Kirby hurried over and sank beside me in the dust, his face furrowed with concern as he looked at my skinned knees and rope-burned hands. “I scared him, didn’t I? I’m awfully sorry.”
“It’s OK,” I told him. “For a little while we had a horse, didn’t we?”
Kirby’s face lit up instantly. “Yeah,” he agreed happily.
We watched two men catch the horse and lead him away. He could never have been ours, I thought.
I stopped praying for a horse—not because I no longer wanted one, but because I finally knew what Mom and Dad had known all along. A horse would be too big a responsibility for us—now, anyway. Heavenly Father had known it, too, and He let me find out for myself. I had my answer, and I was content.
Kirby and I still rush to the side of the lane each time we hear a horse coming. And sometimes Marilyn stops and lets us pet her horse or give him a carrot. For now, that’s enough.

When I was eleven years old, my father was called to the bishopric of our ward in Idaho. Back then, the Church was small enough that members of bishoprics were invited to general conference at the Tabernacle in Salt Lake City, Utah. My parents decided that my father should go to general conference. They invited my younger brother and me to go with them.
My brother and I enjoyed the trip. We stayed at a hotel, ate at restaurants, and visited Temple Square. My father told me that if I went to the back door of the Tabernacle after conference on Sunday morning, I could see our prophet, President David O. McKay.
Sunday morning was a cool fall day. I went to the Tabernacle with my parents. I found my way to the place my father had told me to go, and as the minutes passed, I noticed other people gathering there. After conference was over, I kept on waiting and watching, hoping to see President McKay.
Suddenly he came out of the door. He smiled and waved to us. The small crowd of people began singing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As we stood singing the hymn, a strong, warm feeling filled my being. I knew that the Spirit was telling me that David O. McKay was God’s prophet on the earth at that time.
That was not the only time I went to the back door of the Tabernacle to see the prophet. Each time, as we sang “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” that strong, warm feeling returned to me.
I am grateful that when I was a child, Heavenly Father blessed me with a testimony of the living prophets. It has helped me to have confidence in what the living prophets teach. I have been able to feel Heavenly Father’s love for me as I have learned to have faith in the living prophets.

Two days before Christmas I was in Miller’s Department Store buying my mom’s Christmas present. I saw The Embalmer over in the sporting goods department, but I pretended not to see him and went on. When I got to the cashier to pay for Mom’s scarf, I reached into my pocket for the money. But as I pulled my hand out of my pocket, out fell the new Cub Scout knife that I had bought for my brother Jimmy the day before.

On the way home from buying it the day before I had dropped the bag in a puddle, so I had taken the knife out of the bag and put it in my pocket and forgotten all about it. It still had the red price tag on it and, of course, the sales slip had gone into the trash with the bag. Boy, did I feel dumb for a minute, and then I felt scared because I realized what the cashier was going to think and there was no way I could prove what had really happened.

The cashier called the manager and, of course, he didn’t think much of my story. I didn’t know the clerk who had waited on me the day before, and with the Christmas rush there wasn’t much chance she’d remember me. Besides, she didn’t seem to be working that day.

The manager was just calling the police when Mr. Palmer came up to the counter. Great, I thought. With him as a character witness, they’ll put me away for life.

Mr. Palmer asked the manager if he could talk to him for a few minutes first, and they went off together to the manager’s office. I must have lost five pounds in sweat while I waited. There was a stool by the counter, and I sat down on it to wait. My knees were shaking so hard I couldn’t have stood up. I thought about how Mom would cry and how Dad wouldn’t say much, but would get that funny pinched look around his mouth. I thought what kind of example this would make for Jimmy, the Cub Scout. I wondered if I would be expelled from school and if any college would accept me now. I had just resigned myself to scrubbing floors for the Foreign Legion when Mr. Palmer and the manager came out of the office, smiling. Oh, sure, I thought, you can smile. It’s not your life that’s being ruined.

The manager just looked at me and said, “You can go home now, son. After what your teacher has just told me about you, I think we can forget about this, but I hope that we won’t have any reason to regret this decision in the future.”

Well, you could have knocked me over with one of Mr. Palmer’s chemistry exams. I don’t quite remember what happened next, but I guess I paid for Mom’s gift and walked home. I was sort of in a trance all the next day. In fact, I didn’t come out of it until Christmas morning when I was watching my family enjoy Christmas and thought about what it could have been like that morning if Mr. Palmer hadn’t taken my side at the store.

I realized then that I hadn’t even thanked him for what he’d done. I just had to call Mr. Palmer to thank him and to apologize for being so late with my thanks. But there was no answer at his house. I tried all day and all the next week with the same results. I found out later that he had gone out of town for Christmas.

I didn’t see him until third period on the day school started again. He didn’t seem any different, but I couldn’t forget what he’d done for me and I kept wondering why. After school I stopped in at the chemistry room to thank him.

He was in the back of the room cleaning out the caustic chemical cupboard and didn’t see me come in. Seeing him there when he didn’t know anyone was around, I thought he didn’t look like such a bad guy. He was humming “Clementine” off key and a lock of his blond hair had fallen down over his forehead. I realized suddenly that he had freckles. You know it’s funny, but I had never noticed those freckles before. I guess I’d been too busy hating him to think of him as a real person.

“Mr. Palmer, I came to thank you.” I could hear a tremble my own voice. “I don’t know what you told that man at Miller’s, or why you would do that for me, but I wanted to thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I guess I was kind of shook up, and then when I remembered you were gone.”

“Why, David, I didn’t hear you come in. Sit down.” I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. Mr. Palmer’s eyes were wet.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I just told Ernie what kind of student you are and that I had never known you to be dishonest in any way. I told him about that time when you had been absent for the chemistry exam and I forgot to have you leave when I started to hand back the papers. Remember? You reminded me so that you wouldn’t hear the answers. I know that some of your friends have tried to get you to help them cheat by leaving your answers uncovered during the exams, but you won’t do it.”

I swear, I don’t know how he knew about that, but he did. Suddenly I felt a little braver. “Mr. Palmer,” I asked, “Why did you do it? I mean, I never thought you cared …” That wasn’t the right thing to say. I stopped, embarrassed.

“Oh, David.” There were those wet eyes again. “You’ll never know how much I care about all of you. It’s hard for me to show it, but I do. I really want what’s best for you. That’s why I’m so hard on you sometimes. I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I guess I do, but please believe me, most of the time I don’t even know what I’ve done unless someone tells me.”

When I left Mr. Palmer’s room that afternoon the sun was going down and the halls were deserted. I had learned a lot in that time. I found out that when he was a kid Mr. Palmer stuttered because he was so scared of everything. I found out that one of the ways people hide their feelings is to act like they know everything. I found out that Palmer the Embalmer had gone to Danny Lewis and apologized last September, because he hadn’t known until he saw him walk across the room to his desk that Danny had a problem. Danny doesn’t talk about his triumphs any more than he does about his problems.

Mr. Palmer is still called The Embalmer by the kids at Central High. And I guess a lot of them still hate him. I know better now. I’m in the honors chemistry class at the university and doing well, thanks to Mr. Palmer’s chemistry class.

A small plane flew low over the trees and buzzed the camp. It was a signal, and several campers knew who the message was for. “Hey, your dad’s here. He just flew over.” One girl needed a warmer sleeping bag, so her father was going to drop it by, literally. Several girls ran out into an open area waiting for the plane to reappear. It came in low and slow. As the plane reached the playing field, a black plastic bag was pushed out a window and landed with a soft plop. No one seemed particularly amazed by this unusual way of delivering a forgotten sleeping bag. After all, this was Alaska, and many families own small planes. It’s almost a necessity if your work or home is away from a city.

The youth of the Ammon Fifth Ward, Idaho Falls Idaho Ammon Stake, planned and prepared for a single day of service that made a big difference to one member in their ward. They chose as their project to repair, paint, and landscape the home of a single mother in their ward. Three months of planning and preparation went into the project before the big Saturday arrived. Committees were organized to take care of painting, landscaping, pouring cement, carpentry, and food for the work crews. Before the youth arrived, the home was prepared by having old paint scraped off and primer put on, building new cupboards and getting them ready to install, and pouring the garage floor.

By seven on the morning of the super Saturday of service, over 100 youth and leaders arrived on the scene. The street was alive with activity. Painting went quickly with ten young people to each side of the house. Other groups were loading rocks and pulling weeds from the yard. Under the supervision of adult leaders, some trees were cut down and others pruned. Another group of boys were on the roof putting new tar paper down.

After a 30-minute lunch break with food prepared by the Laurels, they were back at work. Top soil was hauled in, smoothed, and prepared for planting. Then the landscape committee planted the new lawn, trees, evergreens, and flowers. Wood chips were added as a finishing touch. After all that hard work, the irrigation canal nearby was too much of a temptation, and the work crews took a quick dip. A few more hours completed the installation of new carpet and counter tops before the cleanup crew removed all traces of debris. The group had time for a swim before dinner was prepared by the Laurels. They had fun and learned the sweetness of service when it comes from the heart.

Members who follow President Hunter’s counsel sometimes find temple doors open to them in surprising ways. One such member was Kuteka Kamulete of Zaire. Although he lived thousands of kilometers from the nearest temple, President Hunter’s words touched his heart. He met with his branch president and received a recommend. Later, through an opportunity at work to travel to North Korea, in unexpected and unusual ways he was able to arrange a stopover in Switzerland and attend the Swiss Temple.
He later wrote: “How humble and grateful I felt! … I received my endowment that day, and it has been the greatest gift in my life” (“From Zaire to the Lord’s House,” Liahona, August 1997, 9).

Over the nineteen years of our marriage, nine beautiful children have blessed our home, along with many financial and occupational disappointments for my husband Craig, failing health for me, and increasing responsibilities outside the home competing for our limited time. During the years, as the stress increased, I found myself saying or thinking, “Maybe we aren’t really right for each other.”
I had also noticed that when Craig and I got a night out together, we really didn’t have much in common. For instance, he’d want to see a movie, and I’d want to go to the temple. He’d want to watch a soccer game or something like that, and I’d want to go to a dance or a concert.
I must have expressed my frustration, because one day Craig found himself repeating my statement, “Maybe we aren’t really right for each other.” Hearing himself say this out loud bothered him, for he spent the next few days praying and fasting about our marriage relationship and the frustrations we were feeling.
Then one evening he said, “You and I are like the basic colors—red, yellow, and blue. Between the two of us we have everything necessary to make a successful marriage and an eternal family. Together, we lack nothing. Just as it takes all three basic colors to make all the other colors, you and I, with Heavenly Father’s help, have the ability to blend our qualities to make a happy, eternal marriage.”
As I thought about that, I saw our differences from a new perspective. In our family, Craig is the one who radiates love. I’ve sometimes been jealous of that ability because I wanted to do that, too. I have a lot of love in me, but my love doesn’t always seem to come out graciously. Once, when I told Craig that I felt sad about not being able to express my love well, he replied, “But you bring spirituality into our family. You love to read the scriptures and listen to general conference, and you’re always eager to share what you have learned.” Suddenly I realized that Craig and I were helping each other and our children: he showed me how to give love, and I shared with him what I had learned from the scriptures and prophets.
Now, when I get caught up in my daily work, I appreciate Craig’s encouragement to stop and relax with him. And when I find him doing more than he should when he helps our children with their chores, he appreciates my encouragement to become a better delegator and let them do more. We are also learning how much joy there is in taking turns: sometimes watching television together for him, and sometimes reading books aloud together for me.
We have discovered that we really do have a lot in common. We both dislike grocery shopping, for instance. But, more important, we have found that we both like long walks, our children, church, a clean house, fresh bread, and—each other! I like to talk; he likes to listen. I am consistent, persistent, dependable, and determined; he is kind, tolerant, patient, and unwavering. We are both honest, loyal, committed, and united in our eternal goal of reaching exaltation.
As I sat in the celestial room of the temple early one morning, I thought that he and I are like the crystal prisms hanging from the chandelier in that room, receiving the light and transforming it into all the sparkling colors of the rainbow. The love we share blends all of our differences into a beautiful, unfolding eternal relationship.
We have found that when we don’t give in to self-pity, anger, and selfishness, we become united. As long as neither of us ever gives up—he helps me when I begin to fail at something, I help him when he is down—we will continue to create a wonderful marriage.
Together, we have the resources to realize that dream. We have the joint responsibility to make and shape our marriage and family. When we are finished, the masterpiece that we have created will be our prize. We decide how beautiful that masterpiece will be.

Ryan liked to sprinkle his garden and watch the water spray from the hose onto the thirsty plants below. He enjoyed seeing the big squash leaves covered with the tiny droplets and the feathery carrot leaves bend under the gentle spray of water. He especially liked the pleasant yet pungent smell of wet tomato plants and damp earth.
Ryan was proud of his garden. He had done all the work himself. He had put the seeds in the warm earth, watered and thinned the plants, and pulled every tiny weed that poked its head up through the ground. Feeling that the garden was his very own was one of the best things that had ever happened to Ryan. He could hardly wait to share his carrots, tomatoes, and squash with the family.
One afternoon as he was watering, Ryan noticed his younger sister, Kris, watching him from the sidewalk. She looked rather wistful and lonesome, and Ryan felt a little sorry for her. Breaking an arm is no fun, he thought, especially in the middle of the summer, when all her friends are taking swimming lessons and having lots of fun.
“Hi, Kris,” he called.
“Hi. Is it okay if I watch?”
Ryan knew what the next question would be. He had heard it at least a hundred times already this summer.
“Do you need any help?” she asked hopefully.
“No, not right n—” Ryan stopped himself in the middle of his usual answer. Something in the way she was standing, her eyes wide and hopeful, her arm so uncomfortable looking, made him think again. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let her hold the hose a minute, he decided.
“Do you think you could hold the hose with one hand?” he asked.
“Sure I can!” she declared.
Ryan handed her the hose and showed her how to hold it so the water would spray just above the plants instead of directly on them. Kris carefully watered the tomato plants while Ryan pulled some weeds that had sprung up among the carrots.
“I’m done!” Kris announced proudly in a few minutes. Then without thinking she stepped between two tomato plants and landed right on the carrot row, completely flattening one feathery plant with her foot.
Oh no! Ryan thought disgustedly. But he said, “I guess the rows are pretty close together. It’s hard to find a safe place to stand, isn’t it?”
Kris nodded solemnly and added, “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’ll try to be more careful.”
She looked so sad that Ryan found himself saying, “Don’t worry about it, Kris, you’ll do better next time!”
Instantly her face lighted up. “Will you let me help you again?” she asked eagerly.
Ryan was silent for a moment. Until today, this garden has been mine, he thought, even all the hard work. It had given him a good feeling to know that he had done everything by himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have a partner now.
“We’ll see,” he said finally. “I’m not sure there’s enough work to keep us both busy.”
The next day after breakfast, Ryan announced, “Today is weeding day, Mom. I hope you fix lots of lunch!”
Weeding the garden was a big job. Ryan wanted to start early while the soil was still damp from yesterday’s watering. He was in the garage looking for a small hand spade when he looked up and saw Kris. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to—her questioning eyes spoke for her. Ryan fumbled around looking for the spade. As he picked up the small tool, he thought, It’s my garden and it’s not my fault she broke her arm and can’t play with her friends.
Then he turned to face her.
“Hi,” Kris said, looking excited and hopeful.
Ryan couldn’t resist that look. “Come on, partner,” he said. “Let’s weed the garden.”
When they reached the garden, Ryan dropped to his knees beside the tomato plants. Kris stood a moment, then knelt beside him and timidly asked, “Which ones are the weeds?”
I thought everyone could tell a tomato plant from a weed, Ryan thought. He had to smile, though, when he saw how eager Kris was to learn. Patiently he explained which ones were the weeds and told her to be careful to pull them up by the roots so they wouldn’t come up again. Then he showed her how to use the hand spade to dig out the tougher roots. The two worked silently side by side and Ryan was surprised to see how fast the work went. Within an hour they had finished weeding the whole garden.
“After a while I didn’t even have to ask you which ones were the weeds!” Kris said excitedly when they were through. She looked tired and her forehead was smudged with dirt, but she was smiling and seemed happier than she had been since she broke her arm.
The next morning Ryan checked the soil in his garden. As he had expected, the hot sun had baked it dry again.
“Want to help water our garden?” he asked Kris. As usual, she was eager. As they set the hose and sprinkler in between the tomato row and the squash row, Ryan thought to himself, Sharing my garden with Kris isn’t so bad after all.
“When will the tomatoes be red?” Kris asked. “Will they always be that small?”
“No,” he explained. “They will get much bigger and turn red next month, I hope.”
“When will the carrots start to grow and get ripe?” Kris asked. “I can’t even see them.”
“The packet said the carrots would ripen by mid-July and that’s about right now,” Ryan answered. “Maybe some of them are already ripe. They grow underground so we’ll have to pull one up to see.”
Ryan knelt and gently pulled the leaves of one of the carrot plants. They both watched as a carrot slowly emerged from under the ground.
“Oh, boy!” Kris exclaimed. “A real carrot! May I show Mom?”
Ryan had wanted to take the first carrot to show Mother, but Kris was already halfway to the house. She was so excited that Ryan didn’t have the heart to stop her.
Kris didn’t come out to the garden again so Ryan finished the watering by himself.
“It’s lunchtime,” Mother called from the back porch a few minutes later.
“Hurry up, Ryan,” Kris urged, smiling mysteriously when he went into the kitchen. “Wash your hands and then come and eat lunch.”
He sat down at his usual place. It looked like an ordinary lunch to him—tuna sandwiches, potato chips, milk, a plate with four carrot sticks. …
“Carrot sticks!” Ryan cried. “Is that our carrot, Kris?”
Kris laughed and nodded. She looked down shyly and added, “Look under your plate, Ryan. I made a surprise for you.”
Ryan lifted the plate and saw a card with a large orange-colored carrot on it. Inside the card Kris had printed, “Thank you for sharing your garden with me.”
Ryan looked up at his sister and smiled. Then after taking a bite of a carrot stick, he said with a grin, “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted such a delicious carrot. But then I had a pretty good partner to help me take care of it!”

Before I joined the Church, my life was full of unhappiness. Following my parents’ divorce when I was seven years old, my father went to prison. My mother was an alcoholic and lost everything that was important to her. I was sent to live with a foster family.
Because of these things, I grew up a lot faster than many of my peers. I never quite felt that I could find my place, and consequently I was constantly in a state of rebellion. When I was still very young, I began smoking and doing other things that I now understand are contrary to the Word of Wisdom. I was certain I was doomed to fail in life.
The one thing I did find happiness in was helping people—whether it was cleaning alongside them or listening to their life stories. I desperately wanted people to know they could depend on me. One year I went on vacation and met an elderly woman I decided to serve by listening to her. She was a Christian and started to talk to me about religion.
I had never really believed in God. At times, when I had thought that maybe He existed, I blamed Him for the troubling things I had experienced. But as this woman described the importance of faith in God, I found myself intrigued. Before I left, she said something that was particularly interesting: “The Mormons follow God’s commandments.”
I had never heard of the Mormons, so I went home, got online, and searched. I arrived at Mormon.org and ordered a free copy of the Book of Mormon. Missionaries delivered it a few days later.
I wasn’t sure I could start to believe in God, but the missionaries helped me discover that I could not only believe in Him but also know Him. As I began to pray and study the Book of Mormon, I found myself on a beautiful journey of finding happiness. I quit smoking. I stopped blaming God and started thanking Him for the good things in my life. I came to know that His Son had suffered for my sins and for all the pain I had ever felt. On October 28, 2007, I was baptized into His Church.
If I hadn’t personally experienced the change from disillusionment to happiness, I wouldn’t believe it is possible. Today I love my calling in Primary and am grateful to have had the opportunity to help organize a service project at a young single adult conference in Poland. To be able to regularly help others through Church service has added to the happiness I have found in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Everything I do now, I do with pure love because of Jesus Christ. I believe that life is beautiful and that even when we have challenges, if we follow the Savior, we won’t be lost.
The woman I met was right: having faith in God is crucial. We cannot find our place in this world if we don’t know Him. I am grateful to finally have a place where I know I belong.

September 2
Dearest Sarah,
We sold some tomatoes this week, and I got $13.00. They’re easier to pick than beans, and I like the way the vines smell. I also like to stop every now and then and eat one—all juicy and warm from the sun. I wish I could send you one in the mail.
I hope that you’ll understand this part. I was in a store last week, looking for notebooks and pencils for school, when I saw this little sweatshirt just Lindsay’s size with a penguin on it. She needs school clothes. I knew it would remind her of you; she still adores the penguin you sent her. It was $9.99, and so I bought it for her. Lindsay was thrilled. She put it on and wouldn’t take it off, even for bed. But after tithing and the notebooks … well, I hope you understand.
School starts Monday.
Love,Angela the Spendthrift
P.S. I promised the Claybourne kids some pumpkins for Halloween and a watermelon.

Reader E: When people are different from me, sometimes I don’t know how to react. When I was a child, mama used to tell me not to stare or point at people who were different. And when I grew older, if I saw someone coming toward me who had a limp, or no arm, or a purple scar or whatever, I’d look the other way. Or if I had to be close to someone who talked funny or was really old, I’d look at him and smile nervously, because that seemed to be the sophisticated thing to do. But I wouldn’t know what to say. So I’d just smile and feel dumb. Then one time, when I was serving as Laurel class president, a new family moved into the ward. They had a daughter my age, Cheri. Cheri was in a wheelchair. She’d been in a car accident and had brain damage. She wasn’t intellectually retarded, but she couldn’t talk like everyone else. When she first came to our Mutual class, I was real big about it. I practically shouted at her to make sure she understood, [loud and enunciating] “We sure are glad to have you here.” Then she answered back with what looked like a smile, and struggling for each word:
Reader C: “I … am not … deaf … or … or … dumb.”
Reader E: She kind of nodded and smiled again. And I smiled back. But I still didn’t know how to treat her or how to talk to her. A couple of weeks later, I was having a party at my house. I invited all the girls from my Laurel class, except Cheri. I didn’t invite her because I was embarrassed, I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do with a girl in a wheelchair at my party. She’d probably need a nurse I thought, or else we’d all sit around feeling sorry for her and I’d be embarrassed in front of my friends. I don’t think she ever found out she’d been left out, but when I saw Cheri the next Sunday, I smiled extra big to make up for it. Then it happened. Testimony meeting came. I saw Cheri’s mother get the microphone from the deacon. Then she handed it to Cheri whose wheelchair was in the aisle. For a moment I thought, “How can Cheri do that? Isn’t she embarrassed for herself because she can’t talk well? Won’t the whole congregation be uncomfortable for her?” Then Cheri started to talk. I felt nervous. But I listened as she spoke:
Reader C: “And … I … am … thankful … for the … kids … in Mutual. … I … was … afraid … they … would not … accept … me. But they … are … my friends.”
Reader E: I felt guilty. Because I’d been nice to Cheri, but I hadn’t really been her friend. Cheri went on to tell a little about her accident and how hard it was to change her way of life, but that Heavenly Father had blessed her with strength and she had grown to know herself. I began to imagine myself in Cheri’s place, how I would feel, how I would cope. I began to understand her. And the funny thing is, when I understood, I wasn’t embarrassed. When I understood, I wasn’t afraid.

When they were 13 and 16 respectively, they decided they wanted to climb the steep western face of Mount Timpanogos in the winter. This is a hazardous climb, involving deep snow and treacherous ridges of ice. After they had received instruction from their neighbor James Jensen, who had climbed in Antarctica, they dressed in their warmest clothing and hiking boots, took their homemade crampons and borrowed ice axes, and started climbing one morning at 3:00 A.M.

It was an exhausting climb, but they moved fast. At one point they were confronted with about 100 feet of almost vertical ice, and they had to chop steps in order to keep climbing. When they reached the 11,750 foot summit, they became the youngest team ever to make the ascent in winter.

They’ve repeated the feat several times since then, but with a difference. On that first venture they took their “climbing dog” George with them, but he became so neurotic about going up and down the ice steps that he never climbed Timpanogos again. He earned his nickname, however, by later accompanying them on countless equally risky ventures, frightened out of his fur half the time, but faithful to the end.

George has since passed gratefully away to a more peaceful existence.

A few years ago, a Presbyterian minister moved into my community wanting to serve all her neighbors, not just her church congregation. As she reached out in our predominantly LDS neighborhood with friendliness, offers to help, and invitations to neighborhood parties, ward members began participating in her congregation’s service projects; together, she and neighbors of various faiths held a fundraiser that significantly helped an LDS family with dire medical expenses.
Apostle Orson F. Whitney (1855–1931) stated, “God is using more than one people for the accomplishment of his great and marvelous work. … It is too vast, too arduous, for any one people.”3 Great things can be accomplished when good people band together. Our neighborhood minister’s efforts led to the formation of a community interfaith committee that, along with our stake Relief Society, put on a women’s conference supplying hygiene kits and books to refugee agencies. These interfaith connections then enabled stake members to help a congregation feed a large refugee gathering and to step in when another church needed additional volunteers at a homeless shelter.

Uncle Jack had been a policeman most of his life. His job was to help people who needed help. He used his radio to hear about people in trouble, his patrol car to get there in a hurry, and his badge to tell people he was a friend. He also used his fast legs, strong arms, and smart brain to come to the rescue.
Lots of people counted on Uncle Jack.
When Uncle Jack became a grandpa, he decided to put away his radio, his police car, and his badge and do something less dangerous. He didn’t like giving up the trusty aids that had helped him, but he decided that there were other ways to help people. So he began working as a security guard, making sure that the school buses were kept safe at night. He counted each bus as it came home after its long day of carrying children to and from school. Then he parked the buses all together in a huge building. Even though he didn’t need his radio, his fast car, or his badge to keep the buses safe, he did miss his old aids. Now the only aid he really needed was his big flashlight.
Because he cared about the children who would ride the buses the next morning, he walked around the building each night with his bright light, checking every door to make sure that no one could break in and cause problems.
One wintry night after Uncle Jack finished his job and got in his car to drive home, he heard the voice of the Holy Ghost whisper in his mind, “Go back into the building.” Uncle Jack thought, I have a long ride home. I’m hungry and tired, and I’d have to turn off the alarm before I could open the giant door.
He decided to keep driving.
About two blocks farther, the voice came again. This time it wasn’t a whisper. “Go back into the building.” But Uncle Jack just kept on driving.
About three blocks farther, he heard the voice for the third time. This time it was as loud as the crack of a baseball bat hitting a home run! Uncle Jack turned the car around, drove to the giant door, and left his car headlights shining on it. Then he turned off the alarm and began raising the heavy door.
As the door went up, the car lights shone brightly on a small boy standing alone in the darkness of the building. As Uncle Jack walked closer, he could see that the child’s face was streaked with tears.
He was a kindergartner who had fallen asleep in the back of the bus where no one had noticed. “I prayed that someone would help me,” the boy said. “I prayed and prayed.”
“Heavenly Father heard your prayer,” Uncle Jack told him. “I used to get messages over the police radio in my car, but this time Heavenly Father sent me a message through the Holy Ghost.”
Uncle Jack helped the lost boy find his parents, and everyone was safe and warm at home that night.
Even though he no longer had a fast car, a badge, or a radio to receive messages on, Uncle Jack was still in the business of helping people. Messages from the Holy Ghost had become his most important aid.

Since childhood, I dreamed of serving a mission. As I got older, however, my perspective on life began to change, and prioritizing my family’s well-being became the most important. With the responsibility to support us, I watched my mother shouldering the care for me, my brother, and my three other younger siblings—Winyordy, Drey, and Ros—‚without the assistance of my stepfather, who had previously filled that role. It was solely her and me, with the guidance of our Heavenly Father, providing for the family. I understood that I was an essential pillar in supporting the family. Nevertheless, despite knowing the hardship it would bring her, my mother encouraged me to pursue my mission.
Throughout my life, my mother always reminded me that God always knows what is best for me. But it wasn’t until one day at work that I really listened to her. I felt like I was wasting my time there and had a strong feeling I should go on a mission. Even though friends and Church leaders had told me before to follow my heart, I hadn’t wanted to admit it. When I got home, I told my mom, “I’m going to serve a mission.”
She was excited and surprised and completely supported my decision.
I was called to serve in the Dominican Republic Santiago Mission. Incredibly, while there, I have become reacquainted with Elder Jean Louis, the first missionary who taught us the gospel. God’s timing is perfect, and when you put God first, everything else will come as a result.

When I was a young university student, one of my classmates urgently pleaded with a group of us—his Latter-day Saint friends—to donate blood for his mother, who was bleeding profusely. We went directly to the hospital to have our blood typed and tested. I’ll never forget our shock when told that one of the prospective donors was unfit because of a positive blood test for a venereal disease. That infected blood was his own! Fortunately, his mother survived, but I’ll never forget his lingering sorrow. He bore the burden of knowing that his personal immorality had disqualified him from giving needed aid to his mother, and he had added to her grief. I learned a great lesson: if one dishonors the commandments of God, one dishonors mother, and if one dishonors mother, one dishonors the commandments of God.

I remember my missionary farewell. Being the proud young man that I was, when it was Dad’s turn to speak, I thought that he was going to say something about me—what a good missionary I’d be, what a good boy I’d been. But Dad did not say one thing about me. He stood at the pulpit and gave one of the strongest, most powerful testimonies about tithing that I have ever heard. It wasn’t until about halfway through my mission, as I was thinking about his talk, that it dawned on me: Dad had been trying to tell me, “I don’t know how we’re going to support you, Jay, because I don’t have work some seasons of the year. But I have faith that if we pay our tithing, we’ll be able to do it.” And they did. Our priesthood leaders have told us to pay our tithing and to do missionary work, and if we faithfully follow their counsel, we will be blessed.

When I was a mission president in Australia, I once said to those of my missionaries in Tasmania: “Tomorrow we shall climb Mt. Wellington and hold our missionary meeting on the top. We shall there seek to commune with the Lord and partake of his Spirit.”
We made the climb, and while on top of the peak we visited a television broadcasting station. A bright young man explained to us in words I had never heard, and using principles I could not and do not understand, how the sounds and scenes of television were broadcast into the valley below.
That night, back in the city of Hobart, my two young sons and I sat before a television set that was tuned to the proper wave band, and we saw and heard and experienced what had been described to us in words.
Now I think this illustrates perfectly what is involved in the receipt of revelation and the seeing of visions. We can read about visions and revelations in the records of the past, we can study the inspired writings of people who had the fullness of the gospel in their day, but we cannot comprehend what is involved until we see and hear and experience for ourselves.
This Tabernacle is now full of words and music. Handel’s Messiah is being sung, and the world’s statesmen are propagandizing their people. But we do not hear any of it.
This Tabernacle is full of scenes from Vietnam and Washington. There is even a picture of men walking on the surface of the moon. But we are not seeing these things. The minute, however, in which we tune a radio to the proper wave band and tune a television receiving set on the proper channel, we begin to hear and see and experience what otherwise remains completely unknown to us.
And so it is with the revelations and visions of eternity. They are around us all the time. This Tabernacle is full of the same things which are recorded in the scriptures and much more. The vision of the degrees of glory is being broadcast before us, but we do not hear or see or experience because we have not tuned our souls to the wave band on which the Holy Ghost is broadcasting.
Joseph Smith said: “The Holy Ghost is a revelator.” And, “No man can receive the Holy Ghost without receiving revelations.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith [Deseret Book Co., 1968], p. 328.)
Moroni said: “… by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” (Moro. 10:5.)
The Comforter knoweth all things; he is commissioned to bear witness of the Father and the Son, to reveal, to teach, and to testify—and he is broadcasting all the truths of salvation, and all the knowledge and wisdom of God, out into all immensity all of the time.
How this is done we do not know. We cannot comprehend God or the laws by which he governs the universe. But that it does happen we know because here in the valley below, when we attune our souls to the Infinite, we hear and see and experience the things of God.
The laws governing radio and television have existed from the time of Adam to the present moment, but only in modern times have men heard and seen and experienced these miraculous things. And the laws have always existed whereby men can see visions, hear the voice of God, and partake of the things of the Spirit. But millions of people everywhere live and die without tasting the good word of God, because they do not obey the laws which implant the revelations of the Lord in their souls.
And may I say that the only way to gain true religion is to receive it from the Lord. True religion is revealed religion; it is not a creation of man’s devising; it comes from God.
Man did not create God, nor can he redeem himself. No man can resurrect himself or assign himself to an inheritance in a heavenly kingdom. Salvation comes from God, on his terms, and the things men must do to gain it can be known only by revelation.
God stands revealed or he remains forever unknown, and the things of God are and can be known only by and through the Spirit of God.
True religion deals with spiritual things. We do not come to a knowledge of God and his laws through intellectuality, or by research, or by reason. I have an average mind—one that is neither better nor worse than the general run of mankind. In the realm of intellectual attainment I have a doctor’s degree, and I hope my sons after me will reach a similar goal. In their sphere, education and intellectuality are devoutly to be desired.
But when contrasted with spiritual endowments, they are of but slight and passing worth. From an eternal perspective what each of us needs is a Ph.D. in faith and righteousness. The things that will profit us everlastingly are not the power to reason, but the ability to receive revelation; not the truths learned by study, but the knowledge gained by faith; not what we know about the things of the world, but our knowledge of God and his laws.
Joseph Smith said that a man could learn more about the things of God by looking into heaven for five minutes than by reading all the books ever written upon the subject of religion. Religion is something which must be experienced.
I know people who can talk endlessly about religion but who have never had a religious experience. I know people who have written books about religion but who have about as much spirituality as a cedar post. Their interest in gospel doctrine is to defend their own speculative views rather than to find out what the Lord thinks about whatever is involved. Their conversations and their writings are in the realm of reason and the intellect; the Spirit of God has not touched their souls; they have not been born again and become new creatures of the Holy Ghost; they have not received revelation.
It is the privilege and the right of every member of the Church to receive revelation and to enjoy the gifts of the Spirit. When we are confirmed members of the Church, we receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, which is the right to the constant companionship of that member of the Godhead, based on faithfulness. The actual enjoyment of this gift depends upon personal worthiness. “God shall give unto you knowledge by his Holy Spirit,” the revelation says to the Saints, “yea, by the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost. …” (D&C 121:26.)
Speaking of the revelations received by his father, Nephi said: “… he truly spake many great things … which were hard to be understood, save a man should inquire of the Lord. …”
Of these same revelations, Laman and Lemuel said: “… we cannot understand the words which our father hath spoken. …”
Nephi asked: “Have ye inquired of the Lord?”
They replied: “We have not; for the Lord maketh no such thing known unto us.”
Then Nephi came forth with this glorious pronouncement: “How is it that ye do not keep the commandments of the Lord? How is it that ye will perish, because of the hardness of your hearts?
“Do ye not remember the things which the Lord hath said?—If ye will not harden your hearts, and ask me in faith, believing that ye shall receive, with diligence in keeping my commandments, surely these things shall be made known unto you.” (1 Ne. 15:3, 7–11.)
It is the right of members of the Church to receive revelation. Joseph Smith said: “… God hath not revealed anything to Joseph, but what he will make known unto the Twelve, and even the least Saint may know all things as fast as he is able to bear them. …” (Teachings, p. 149.)
Also: “It is the privilege of every Elder to speak of the things of God; and could we all come together with one heart and one mind in perfect faith the veil might as well be rent today as next week, or any other time. …” (Teachings, p. 9.)
Religion must be felt and experienced. In the record of the ministry of the resurrected Lord among the Nephites, we find this account: Jesus “knelt upon the earth; and behold he prayed unto the Father, and the things which he prayed cannot be written, and the multitude did bear record who heard him.
“And after this manner do they bear record: The eye hath never seen, neither hath the ear heard, before, so great and marvelous things as we saw and heard Jesus speak unto the Father;
“And no tongue can speak, neither can there be written by any man, neither can the hearts of men conceive so great and marvelous things as we both saw and heard Jesus speak; and no one can conceive of the joy which filled our souls at the time we heard him pray for us unto the Father.” (3 Ne. 17:15–17.)
Then of a subsequent prayer the scriptural account says: “And tongue cannot speak the words which he prayed, neither can be written by man the words which he prayed.
“And the multitude did hear and do bear record; and their hearts were open and they did understand in their hearts the words which he prayed.
“Nevertheless, so great and marvelous were the words which he prayed that they cannot be written, neither can they be uttered by man.” (3 Ne. 19:32–34.)
Religion comes from God by revelation and deals with spiritual things; and unless and until a man has received revelation, he has not received religion, and he is not on the path leading to salvation in our Father’s kingdom.
I bear testimony of these things because I have received revelation—revelation which tells me (among other things) that Jesus Christ is the Son of God; that Joseph Smith is a prophet, through whom the knowledge of Christ and of salvation has been restored for this day; and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is in literal reality the kingdom of God on earth. And of these things I do testify, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

One day, my mother and I were driving home when a man on a bicycle came down a small hill. The biker suddenly swerved to avoid hitting an oncoming truck. In a split second that felt like an eternity, the sharp turn caused the man to lose control of his bike, fly over the handlebars, and hit his head violently on the road. We immediately pulled over. Panicked, I got out of my car and rushed to his side. His breathing was heavy, but he wasn’t conscious.
I immediately knew that this man needed a priesthood blessing, but I couldn’t help but wonder: could I do it?
In that moment, I recalled listening to the words of Elder Jefferey R. Holland when I was a young Aaronic Priesthood holder: “Young men, you will learn, if you have not already, that in frightening, even perilous moments, your faith and your priesthood will demand the very best of you and the best you can call down from heaven. . . .
“. . . The day may come—indeed, I am certain will come—when in an unexpected circumstance or a time of critical need, lightning will strike, so to speak, and the future will be in your hands. Be ready when that day comes” (“Sanctify Yourselves,” Ensign, Nov. 2000, 39, 40; Liahona, Jan. 2001, 47, 49).
Just as Elder Holland had prophesied, lightning struck that day on the road in the form of an unexpectedly injured biker. Had I not worked with the Lord over the previous years to overcome my fear of giving blessings in safer circumstances, we would’ve both been helpless in this potentially life-threatening situation. But with the Lord guiding and strengthening me, I knelt beside him and quietly whispered the words I felt impressed to say as I blessed him.
When I finished, I looked up and a sheriff’s deputy was standing next to me. He happened to be right behind us the whole time and had called for an ambulance. But the injured man quickly regained consciousness, insisted that he was fine, and rode off on his bicycle, passing the ambulance down the road. While I understand that not every priesthood blessing produces such immediate results, this was an experience I will never forget. I’m so grateful that when the time came, I was ready.