Gospel Story Finder

I was born and reared in China and served as a soldier there. Later, while living in Taiwan, I learned about Jesus Christ and was baptized by a Protestant missionary from northern Europe. For the next 42 years, I was an active advocate of Christianity and a leader in my church.
Although I held to my Christian beliefs, over time I became disenchanted with my church and began searching elsewhere for the truth. So when two Latter-day Saint missionaries knocked on my door in September 1993, I was happy to let them in. Sister Nelson and Sister Shao explained the message of the Book of Mormon, and I accepted a copy of the book. But my mind was in turmoil because I had heard many attacks against this “Mormon” Church. The sisters spent two hours resolving my concerns.
On their next visit they invited me to attend services with them. I entered their rented building in Lungtan Taoyuan for the first time in late September. Among other things, I learned that they also believed in the Bible! This discovery sent me hurrying home between meetings to retrieve my scriptures.
The following Sunday the sisters came again, accompanied by two young men named Elder Roser and Elder Bearman. One of the first topics the elders discussed with me was that the Father and the Son had appeared to Joseph Smith in answer to his prayer about which church to join. We read much of the account aloud, including this verse:
“I was answered that I must join none of [the existing churches], for they were all wrong; and the Personage who addressed me said that all their creeds were an abomination in his sight; that those professors were all corrupt; that: ‘they draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me, they teach for doctrines the commandments of men, having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof’” (JS—H 1:19).
These words resonated deep inside me, and the Spirit was very strong. I looked up from reading the passage and said simply, “It is true.”
The elders next taught me about the Apostasy, the Restoration of the Church, and the restoration of priesthood authority. But when they invited me to be baptized, I was shocked. I had been baptized many years before, also by immersion. Being baptized again seemed unnecessary; it felt like a betrayal of my former beliefs.
The elders made me promise to pray about the importance of being baptized by someone with authority. Then they left. Without my knowledge, they began to fast for me that very day, praying for me to understand the importance of being baptized by proper authority.
The elders were surprised and delighted when I announced at one of our next discussions that I wanted to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My soul was filled with joy on that day. “God has answered my prayers,” I told them, “and I know it is God’s will for me to be baptized.” They excitedly began to plan for the ordinance to take place on 14 November 1993.
Going into the waters of baptism and being confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were beautiful and sublime experiences. When the events of the day were over, I tried to express to the elders how I felt. “I have walked with the Lord for more than 40 years,” I told them, “and now, today, I am finally a member of his Church!”

Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.

Many years ago I was called to the bedside of Robert Williams, a young man who lay dying. His wife and their two children stood nearby. We were all trying to be brave, but tears were in our eyes. Robert asked me, “Where does my spirit go when I die?” I offered a silent prayer. I noticed on his bedside table a copy of the triple combination. I reached for the book and fanned the pages.
Suddenly I discovered that I had, with no effort on my part, stopped at the 40th chapter of Alma in the Book of Mormon. I read these words to Robert: “Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And … the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
As I continued to read about the Resurrection, a glow came to Robert’s face, a smile graced his lips, and his tired and ill body slept. I said good-bye to his wife and children. I next saw them at Robert Williams’s funeral. In those precious corridors of memory, I think back to that night when a young man pleaded for truth and, from the Book of Mormon, heard the answer to his question.
I read the words, but God turned the pages.

Perry was riding his bicycle past the old Bennett place when he saw a sign that read: RANGEVIEW KENNELS.
On a small board underneath it he read: SUMMER HELP WANTED. Parking his bike beside the driveway, Perry walked past the white frame house and down a dirt path to the kennel.
All the dogs were golden retrievers. They had long, silky hair that ranged from cream color to honey blond. They raced up and down their pens, wagging their tails.
“Good morning,” a man greeted Perry. The man was on his knees, brushing a dog’s wavy coat. “I’m Roy Luther.”
“I’m Perry Marshall. I’d like to help you this summer, sir.”
“You’re kind of young, aren’t you?”
“I’m ten.” Perry stood up straighter. “I can clean the runs, groom and exercise the dogs, or do whatever you need done.”
The man seemed to be thinking it over. “Why do you want to help me? I can’t hire you as a regular worker, you know, because you’re too young.”
“Yes sir, I understand. But I’m going to be a veterinarian when I grow up,” Perry explained, “so I’d like to learn as much as I can now.”
“I see.” Mr. Luther stopped brushing the dog and stood up. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a little test to see how you do with one of our dogs.”
“That sounds fair,” said Perry. “What’s the test?”
Mr. Luther lifted a pup from one of the pens and placed it at Perry’s feet. “This is Amber. She hasn’t had any training. Take her over there behind the kennels and see what you can teach her. Here’s a leash.”
“Thanks, Mr. Luther.” Perry snapped the leash onto Amber’s collar. The pup began to jump up and down against his knees like a yoyo.
“Take it easy, girl.” Perry led her into the field and up a hill behind the kennels’ buildings. For a while he just stroked Amber and played with her. The books that he had read explained that a trainer must win the dog’s trust and affection before he could begin to teach it obedience.
When Amber had calmed down, Perry unhooked the leash and said, “Sit.” He spoke firmly, pushing at the same time on the puppy’s hindquarters. “Sit.”
Over and over Perry repeated the word as he gently pushed. Amber sniffed the grass and then sniffed the boy. “Sit.” Amber cocked her head and stared at Perry. Suddenly she lunged at his face, licking it all over.
“No,” Perry said sternly. “Sit.”
Amber soon grew bored with the “game” and trotted off across the field to explore. Perry let her go. When he finally called, she came bounding back to him like a tumbleweed propelled by the wind.
“Sit.” Amber just wagged her tail. So Perry decided to try a different command. “Shake.” Taking Amber’s right paw in his right hand, he slowly moved it up and down. “Shake.” Again and again he repeated the word and the motion.
Once, when Perry held her paw too long, Amber lost her balance and toppled over. Perry collapsed in the tall grass and laughed. When he sat up, he saw Mr. Luther watching from a distance. It was time to teach this pup something. Anything.
“Shake.”
It was no use. Each time Perry lifted her paw, Amber licked his hand. He went back to “Sit.”
The sun was straight overhead when Mr. Luther strode up the hill. “How’s it coming, son?”
“Fine, sir. Just fine.”
As soon as Mr. Luther had gone away, Perry said, “Let’s take a break, Amber.” This was hard work, much harder than he had expected.
After a short rest, Perry moved to a spot farther from the other dogs. Perhaps their barking was distracting the puppy.
“Amber! Come here, girl! Let’s get back to work.”
Perry’s shirt was starting to cling to his back in the heat. Still, he persisted. “Sit,” he said, pushing gently but firmly on Amber’s hindquarters.
The pup rolled over in the grass, waving her paws in the air. When she got up and started to chase her tail, Perry knew that it was time to end the lesson. Sighing, he stood up and hooked the leash back onto her collar. “Come on, girl.”
While the dog frisked about him, Perry walked slowly toward the kennel office, trying to figure out what to say to Mr. Luther. It had seemed like such a simple test. How could he ever hope to be a vet if he couldn’t even teach a dog to sit?
“How’d you do, Perry?”
“I didn’t have any luck at all, Mr. Luther. I tried, but I couldn’t teach this pup anything. Not one thing.”
“You know, Perry, some dogs learn fast, but others need more time. I can show you a few pointers that might help with Amber. Can you come tomorrow morning at nine?”
“Sure I can! But I don’t understand, sir. I failed the test.”
Mr. Luther smiled. “You didn’t fail the test, Perry. I saw how you handled Amber. You never hit her. You never even raised your voice. That shows a lot of patience, and patience always wins in the end. I reckon you’ll be a big help to me this summer.”

On my first date with Nate, I was surprised to learn that he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint. He was very polite, but when I got home, I wasn’t sure if I would go on another date with him.
The next week, Nate called to see if I’d like to go out on New Year’s Eve. “I’m sorry, Nate,” I said. “That’s a Sunday night, and my family and I are watching a broadcast from the First Presidency.” I felt the spark of a prompting and added, “You are welcome to watch it with us if you’d like.” I was shocked when he said yes.
I felt the Spirit so strongly as the prophet encouraged us to set resolutions that would enable us to draw closer to Christ. Nate listened to every word. After he went home, I felt calm and peaceful. The next morning, he called me.
“I wanted to thank you for inviting me over last night,” he said. “All my friends were having a party, and I didn’t want to go because I knew there would be some bad stuff going on. I’m glad you invited me. I feel great.”
I felt the Spirit telling me that I had done the right thing. Being friendly helped Nate feel the blessings of righteous living. I know that God cares about all of us and that He will always enable us to choose the right.
Rachel H., Texas, USA

Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”

Two of the blessings that a senior priesthood companion can give are trust and an example of caring. I saw that when my son was given a home teaching companion who had vastly more priesthood experience than he did. His senior companion had been a mission president twice and had served in other leadership positions.

Before they were to visit one of their assigned families, that seasoned priesthood leader asked to visit my son in our home beforehand. They allowed me to listen. The senior companion opened with prayer, asking for help. Then he said something like this to my son: “I think we should teach a lesson that will sound to this family like a call to repentance. I think they won’t take it very well from me. I think they would take the message better from you. How do you feel about that?”

I remember the terror in my son’s eyes. I can still feel the happiness of that moment when my son accepted the trust.

It was not by accident that the bishop put that companionship together. It was by careful preparation that the senior companion had learned about the feelings of that family they were about to teach. It was by inspiration that he felt to step back, to trust an inexperienced youth to call older children of God to repentance and to safety.

I don’t know the outcome of their visit, but I do know that a bishop, a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, and the Lord were preparing a boy to be a priesthood man and someday a bishop.

Want to Help Michelle?
Michelle has inspired a lot of people with her story. And they in turn have wanted to help her. You see, sometimes Michelle has medical treatments for her unique health challenges that require her to take a break from indexing for a time.
A few people got together and decided to form an indexing group on FamilySearch so they can help index for Michelle to make up for those times when she’s unable. Anyone can join. If you want to help out, head over to FamilySearch.org and then look up the “Michelle Thornton” indexing group.

I was a missionary sent to France in 1949. Missionary work then was much different from missionary work now. There was no Missionary Training Center, so when I arrived in Paris, I had had no language training at all. There wasn’t a set of lessons to teach investigators. Different missionaries used different methods to teach the gospel.
I had been in Paris for just a few weeks when my companion received word that his mother was dying of cancer. Since his scheduled release date was only weeks away, the mission president allowed him to return home early to see his mother. If that had happened today, another elder would have been transferred to my area to be my companion. But in those days I was left to work by myself until transfers for the entire mission were made.
Before he left, my companion and I had scheduled a few lessons. I knew that I would have to take care of those appointments. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know the language, and there were no prepared discussions. I was nervous and frightened.
I began to read the Book of Mormon and to pray as hard as I could. I would pray, and then I would read, then I would pray again and read some more. This went on for several days.
Finally it was time to go to my first appointment—the Alvarez family. They were a lovely couple whom we had just begun teaching. When I went, I didn’t know what I was going to say. I had a testimony of the gospel and the restoration, but I did not know the language.
But when I went to see this family, the Lord took over. For two hours I taught them. I’m sure that it wasn’t in beautiful French, but I was able to communicate with them how I felt about the gospel. They understood the message and were touched by the Spirit.
That night when I returned to my apartment, I knew that there really was a Father in Heaven and that He had called me on a mission. I knew that Heavenly Father had watched over and helped me—had loosed my tongue—and that He watches over all His missionaries. It was the first spiritual testimony that I had received in my life of the truthfulness of this work. One of the greatest blessings that ever happened to me was serving a mission.

Every December, the youth of the Holladay 24th Ward, Holladay Utah North Stake, put on an amazing Christmas party. They decorate with beautiful lights, have a delicious dinner, make Christmas goodies, and receive hundreds of gifts.
Sound fun? It is, because none of it is for the teens themselves. They give it all away.
For nine years, the youth have put on a Christmas party at their ward building for elementary school students—about 50 children each year—from local low-income areas. The event includes a variety of themed rooms designed to make the children’s Christmas unforgettable.
In the Bethlehem room, children learn about the birth of the Savior as they dress up and act out the Nativity while reading the story from Luke.
In the Santa Claus room, they get their picture taken while receiving their own fleece blankets made by the youth. The children also choose a box full of home-baked treats to give to their families. Their teenage “buddy” for the evening also reads them their favorite Christmas story.
And then there’s a stop at the North Pole Diner for a scrumptious Christmas dinner.
As wonderful as each of these rooms is, they’re not what make this party so extraordinary. The big event happens in the cultural hall. When the children enter this area, their eyes get really big, and exclamations of “Wow!” fill the air. Some of the little ones even jump up and down with anticipation. For there before them is a “store,” just like the big stores downtown, full of hundreds of donated gifts.
But, like the youth of the ward who choose to give their Christmas party away each year, the children aren’t excited to pick these gifts for themselves. They are overjoyed because this is the first time for most of them to be able to get Christmas gifts for their family. “The best part of Christmas is giving, and this gives the kids the chance to experience the joy of giving themselves,” says Tiffany Thompson, 15.
At the end of the evening, adult volunteers from the ward drive the children home with bags full of gifts, treats, and a ham and other food items their parents can use to make a wonderful Christmas dinner. “It touches your heart to see kids who otherwise would not have anything to give to their families be able to give them so much,” says Valen Campbell, 17, who co-chaired this year’s party.

On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

The Christmas season had just begun, and the little drugstore was almost dancing with decorations. Mom stopped to admire a porcelain nativity set on the store’s glass counter. “Isn’t it beautiful, Lindi?” Mom asked. She had wanted a nativity set for a long time, and this one gleamed softly as if someone had brushed each figure with Christmas magic.
After Mom walked away, I studied the delicate pastel pieces. Mary and Joseph gazed down at baby Jesus while shepherds, Wise Men, and angels watched. It was just what Mom had always wanted. Excited, I looked at the price tag, but a tight knot formed in my stomach. Fifty dollars! How could I ever come up with that much money?
As we walked home under a gray winter sky, I remembered the sparkle in Mom’s eye as she held the baby Jesus figure. She deserved to have that nativity set! She had been a single mom since the divorce, and she didn’t buy things for herself very often.
I kicked the snowdrifts as I formed a plan. I had steady babysitting jobs, and I could ask my older brother Ryan to help earn money. I wouldn’t even need all the money at once—I could put the set on layaway and pay for it a little at a time. Maybe Mom could get her nativity set after all!
At home, I told Ryan my idea. He agreed to help, and we eagerly gathered all the money we had: five dollars. It was just enough to put the nativity set on layaway.
The next day I sprinted to the drugstore, afraid that someone had already bought my treasure. I pulled open the door, and my eyes raced to the glass counter in search of the set. It was still there! Relief flooded over me as the clerk took the precious nativity set to the back room until Ryan and I could pay the full price.
As Christmas grew closer, all Ryan and I could think about was Mom’s special gift. Little by little, our earnings added up until we finally made our last payment. We brought the set home, wrapped it, and hid it under my bed. It would be a Christmas surprise!
On Christmas Eve, Ryan and I kept exchanging glances, hardly able to contain our secret. I went to bed more excited about our gift than I was about the presents I might get.
The next morning, I couldn’t even pay attention to my presents. I just kept looking forward to the moment when we would bring out Mom’s surprise. When all the gifts from under the tree were opened, Ryan looked at me and nodded. “Hold on, Mom,” he said. “I think we forgot one.”
I grabbed the present from my room and set it on Mom’s lap.
“Open it!” Ryan and I exclaimed.
Slowly, Mom tore off the bow and peeled back the wrapping paper. She gasped as she lifted out the baby Jesus figure and cradled it in her palm. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As I watched Mom’s face glow with joy, I realized that Ryan and I got the best gift that year. Mom’s nativity set was beautiful, but we had learned to forget ourselves and think of others—truly a gift to remember.

This terror of performing would follow me into adulthood. When I was still in the early years of my public accounting career and had two small children at home, I was called as the Relief Society pianist.

The first week was a disaster. I lurched through some prelude music from the back of the Children’s Songbook (chosen for its simplicity) and then practiced a little deep breathing to calm down during the announcements. Then it was go time. I began playing the first chords of the opening song, but before I could make it through the intro, I plunked a sour note, and, unsurprisingly, my hands rapidly retreated from the keys. Panicked for a measure or two, I desperately tried to get back into the groove. As usual, the chorister led everyone through all of the verses. The longer they sang, the worse I played, until I was reduced to picking out just the melody line for the last verse.

This little episode played out like an old rerun each week until, fatefully, someone in the presidency asked if I would like a key to the church so I could practice. I politely declined, explaining that I actually had a piano at home. I was released within the month.

To this day, even when I am home alone practicing in complete solitude, I cannot play “Sweet Hour of Prayer” (Hymns, no. 142)—the simplest of hymns—without stopping, unless I have the unlikely good fortune to get through it with no mistakes. For this reason I try not to call attention to my piano training (cat’s out of the bag now, I guess). I am so paralyzed by my mistakes that I am of no practical use at the piano.

Around then, the COVID-19 pandemic forced New Zealand into a lockdown, and all Church gatherings were suspended. “No one knew how long we would be required to shelter in place,” says Adele, “but the temple groundbreaking ceremony had to go on.” She needed to come up with an alternative for a live choir.
Adele researched the possibility of a virtual choir. “I put the idea to some professionals and was told that this kind of project would cost thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours.” It was disappointing news, which normally would have discouraged Adele, but this time was different. This time, “it wasn’t just anyone we were preparing for,” she said, “It was the Lord.” She persevered and reached out to a young filmmaker and musician in her stake: Brother Anthony Butters.
“What I loved about Anthony is that it didn’t occur to him that [something] couldn’t or shouldn’t be done.” Even though Anthony himself was not sure how to make a virtual choir happen, the challenge “piqued his interest,” Adele says. “He was willing to give it a go.”
They immediately got to work.
They knew that choir practices would be impossible during the lockdown, so they recorded the instrumentals and each vocal part of Adele’s musical arrangement for singers to learn at home. Then they put out a general call seeking members for their virtual choir.
Next, they had to somehow make sure—without the luxury of rehearsals—that all the singers learned their parts correctly. They also had to figure out how to record each singer’s vocal contribution, how to edit dozens of vocal recordings together so they sounded like one choir, and how to produce a performance video that could be broadcast on the day of the temple groundbreaking ceremony.
For Adele and Anthony, it was very much a matter of being “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [they] should do”1. But they pored over Google and YouTube tutorials, and courageously worked through all the obstacles that arose along the way.
The experience was difficult for the choir, too. To leave enough time for editing, the singers had only three weeks to learn the music, and then each had to make both an audio and a video recording. The challenge proved too much for some. Singing on your own is quite different from singing in a choir, and after hearing themselves recorded alone, Adele says, “I had a few messages asking if they could humbly bow out because they felt their voices weren’t good enough.” Other singers were okay with the vocal recording, but not so happy to be filmed, and several more were not comfortable at all using the technology required.
Those who persevered managed to send their audio recordings to Adele, whose next job was to begin editing them together. This required a quiet space in her house, so she had to convert a walk-in closet into a makeshift recording studio. Then, her computer and software broke down. In the middle of a nationwide lockdown, Adele couldn’t just go out and purchase new equipment.
“I became overwhelmed with the feeling that I wouldn’t be able to get my part of the job done on time,” Adele says. “I asked my husband for a priesthood blessing.”
A couple of hours later, she received an unexpected phone call from a friend in Hawaii. Adele told her friend about the difficulties she was having with the virtual choir, and he said, “I can help you.”
“I went silent, hoping I heard properly,” Adele says, “because I thought for sure he was too busy to do what would be a very tedious and time-consuming job. But he actually got excited about the challenge.”
This friend—Milton Kaka—called back the next day to announce that his boss at the Polynesian Cultural Centre, which was also in lockdown, was allowing him two weeks to work on this special project with Adele. Filled with gratitude, Adele sent a thank you message to Milton’s boss, who replied that this was the Polynesian Cultural Centre’s contribution “for our M?ori cuzzies.”
Milton joined forces with Adele and Anthony, and the audio and video recordings were finally stitched together—in enough time, even, to fix one final glitch: a singer’s footage that was missing.
Once that was sorted, the virtual choir performance video was ready to release for the temple groundbreaking celebration.

This type of ultimate concern can be seen in the example of
the young bishop who, against pressures and problems and at considerable inconvenience, traveled to another city to visit a bereaved widow on the eve of her husband’s funeral. The couple had long since moved from the bishop’s area, but he had made the effort to be with his good, wonderful old friends at this tender time. He found the elderly lady standing alone beside the body of her beloved of more than half a century. As he comforted her, she said through her tears, “Oh bishop, I knew you would come.” [Hanks, Gift of Self, 61; emphasis in original]

When I spoke on this subject once before, I received a number of letters. I get letters all the time. I read from one that I had on that occasion:
“For more than 20 years I have endured a lack of sensitivity of members of the Church with respect to my single state. As I have pursued my profession, I have moved to various areas of the country. In seeking participation in local Church activities, I have encountered a variety of levels of welcome and acceptance, ranging from a warm, friendly welcome to a very cool indifference and an air of discomfort that seems to stem from their lack of knowing what to do with me. In one ward I felt strongly that the members would prefer that I not attend. This continued for nearly six months, and I finally sensed a passive acceptance, as though I were a nuisance that wouldn’t go away, and so must be tolerated.”
If that be the case, it is a tragedy. It represents a betrayal of the spirit that should be found in all of our congregations. Men and women such as you have great talents and can add immeasurably to the quality of the teaching and leadership in almost any ward in the Church. It is a general Church responsibility to remind bishops and other Church officers to give each member a warm welcome and to make use of his or her talents.
For when all is said and done, we should not be classified as married or single but as members of the Church, each worthy of the same attention, the same care, the same opportunities to be of service.

One extremely hot afternoon I was crossing the green agricultural lands of the pampas in Argentina. The sun had scorched the highway until heat waves were visible. Nevertheless, I was confident and comfortable because I had just purchased a brand-new car with a big motor and plenty of power to conquer the elements and allow me to travel briskly in air-conditioned comfort.
Suddenly I noticed that the temperature inside my new car had begun to climb and that the engine showed signs of strain. When the dashboard heat gauge reached the danger point, I pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that, with my very limited knowledge of mechanics, I could discover what was wrong. I was disappointed to think that something could disable my new car so soon.
After I had lifted the hood, I discovered, to my amazement, that a myriad of colorful little butterflies had collected on the radiator and stopped the cooling process. I was struck with the realization that the combined effect of a few hundred tiny butterflies mashed on the radiator had the ability to make the immense horsepower of the motor useless. No, it wasn’t something as obvious as an eagle or hawk striking it or an engine malfunction that had stopped the car—it was just a lot of little butterflies!

This widespread respect for Brother Vidal became apparent to missionaries laboring in Cajamarca, Peru, in late 1970. Hoping to overcome the opposition and religious superstition that greeted them, the missionaries arranged to use a municipal building to present a week-long exposition featuring displays and explanations of the Book of Mormon and its ties to ancient inhabitants of America.

The day before the much-publicized exposition was to open, city officials told the missionaries that a local religious leader had instructed them not to allow them to proceed. Frustrated and discouraged, the missionaries chanced to meet the head of the local bank, with whom they had earlier visited about the Church. Learning of their predicament, he telephoned Brother Vidal in Lima.

“Señor Vidal, I know you are a Mormon,” he said. “I have great respect for you. Some of your missionaries are in a difficult situation. I am willing to risk my influence in this community to help them if you tell me that theirs is a good cause.”

Brother Vidal urged the bank executive to help the missionaries. As a result, the exposition was a success.

Like Nephi, I truly was “born of goodly ­parents.”21 My mom and dad were very intentional in their parenting, including creating a Darger family mission statement; insisting on early-­morning family scripture study, family prayer, and weekly family home evenings; and providing endless private moments of mentoring. One family home evening lesson I’ll never forget was taught by my mother about the importance of creating a “home-court advantage” in our home for every member of our family. We discussed things like the importance of celebrating each other’s success; how to be patient with a sibling when they were struggling; why we decorated our home with pictures of our family, the temple, and the Savior; and how to protect our home from influences that drive away the Spirit.22

The Darger family has grown over the years. While it has grown, endearing nicknames, family songs, matching outfits, and coordinated chants and cheers have all remained an important part of the Darger home-court advantage.

The strength that comes through this home-court advantage has been particularly needed and noticed during this past year. The COVID-19 pandemic caused many families, including mine, to adjust and virtually create a family-gathering atmosphere. During these weekly Zoom calls, the cheers and encouragement continued. One memorable Zoom call ended in a cheering session for my brother and his MBA graduation.

A young woman working at Morton Thiokol, just west of Brigham City, found her eternal mate in an interesting way. A nonmember had moved there from Ohio, met her at work, and had asked her out. She accepted and they went on a date. When she would not cooperate with his sexual advances, he became upset and took her home. The following Monday at work he was joking with other men in his department about how she would not cooperate with him, and how straight she had been. A recently returned missionary who worked there listened to the ribald conversation. Later he went back to the man and asked for the name of the uncooperative date. He told him. She was exactly what he had been looking for. Apparently things went quite well. Four and a half months later they knelt across the altar and were married forever.