Gospel Story Finder

Even if you’re nearing graduation and feel sure about the answers to those questions, it may be wise to think again. I say that from personal experience. As a senior in high school, I knew exactly the path I would take through college. My goal was to attend the Harvard Business School, just like my father. In answer to my questions about what that would require, he had informed me that the Harvard Business School admissions officers appreciate students with degrees in fields other than business, particularly science and engineering majors. That sounded good to me, because I love geology. For that I am indebted to Ricks College professors who taught me to appreciate the mountains and unique geologic features around Rexburg.

With this clear graduate school goal in mind, I declared geology as my major when I filled out my college application. Everything went according to plan. I enjoyed the geology classes and made rapid progress toward graduation. I also got a summer internship with a large oil company exploring the possibilities of geothermal energy. But I never went on any field trip that wasn’t required for a class, nor did I attempt to get to know my professors outside of the classroom. My grades were good, and I felt confident that the admissions officers at Harvard would be sufficiently impressed with me, notwithstanding my lack of practical experience or enthusiastically supportive faculty mentors.

In fact, I felt so confident that I didn’t apply to any other graduate school. I was thus completely unprepared to receive a “thin letter” from Harvard. For your future reference, acceptance letters often include not only the good news of application success, but also information and enticements designed to win your quick acceptance of the admission offer. These “thick letters” are fat and heavy. By contrast, a statement of rejection is relatively brief, making for a very thin letter. My Harvard thin letter, which weighed less than one ounce, crushed me, as it brought an end to a lifetime of dreaming.

In fairness, my thin letter encouraged me to reapply after gaining at least two years of full-time work experience, as nearly all successful Harvard Business School applicants do. But my devastation wasn’t just a matter of wanting to be admitted quickly. I seriously doubted my ability to get meaningful work experience. The price of oil had fallen by half during my time in college, on its way to falling by half again in the next two years. [2]

In other circumstances, I might have had the patience and optimism to take the Harvard counsel to get work experience and reapply. But experienced, graduate degree-holding professional geologists were being laid off in droves. The woeful joke at the time was that the best natural resource department in Denver, a leading energy hub, was also the shoe department at Sears, the Walmart of that time. Jobs in geology, especially for bachelor’s degree holders, were all but impossible to find.

Now, you may be wondering two things. One is how I could have been so foolish and unlucky in my educational plans. The other is why I am telling you this frightening story. The answer to the first question, about my foolishness and apparent bad luck, is that I can now look back and see that heaven was blessing me in spite of my vain ambitions and overconfidence. We’ll talk more about that later.

For now, let’s focus on the things you can learn from my scary story of bad college and career planning. In my defense, I did one important thing partly well. That thing was choosing a long-range goal to guide my choice of a college major. Rather than just picking a subject that I really liked, geology, I also picked it based on a post-graduation goal: getting into the Harvard Business School.

But I should have been looking past graduate school and on to the life’s work for which my degree would prepare me. I should have been making my best guess about what the life’s work would be. Was it to be a professor and academic administrator, like my father; a research scientist, like his father; or perhaps a real estate developer, like my maternal grandfather? Unfortunately, I wasn’t asking any of those questions.

In the year following that September, life had been kind of hectic for me. I told my wife, Helen, who was going to the annual meeting with me, “Let’s take the train to Chicago so that we can relax and get away from the hustle and bustle.” But no sooner had we checked into our hotel room, than the telephone rang. When I answered it, the hotel operator said, “Mr. Fyans, you have been getting telephone calls from Salt Lake City. They’ve been trying to reach you for some time, and they asked if they could make an appointment to talk with you in two hours. It was just about noon when they last called, so at two o’clock can you be available?”
“Yes, I can be available. Who’s calling, operator?”
“A Mr. Moyle.”
I said, “Thank you very much” and hung up. Helen and I sat down and said, “Mr. Moyle? Why would any Mr. Moyle want to talk with us? We only know of one Mr. Moyle—Henry D. Moyle of the First Presidency—but he doesn’t know us, and he’d have no interest in us.”
So we sat there, and at two o’clock on the dot the telephone rang and the caller was President Moyle. He said, “I’m glad that I found you at last. We’d like you to go to Uruguay and preside over the mission there. Will you go?”
I said, “Why, certainly.”
He said, “I understand that your wife is with you. May I speak with her?” When she got on the phone, he said, “Is it all right if your husband goes to Uruguay on a mission?”
“If I go with him.”
He chuckled. “That’s exactly the situation. He’d be the mission president.” Talking to me again, he said, “We want you to move as fast as you can. In fact, why don’t you make some contacts there in Chicago about getting your passports started?”
“All right. Whatever you suggest.” I hung up the receiver and thought, Oh, boy, what’ll I tell the corporation? Not only have I come here at their expense, but I’m supposed to make a presentation at the meeting tomorrow! Well, I called them and said, “You know, I really have a serious problem. I’m sorry, but I’ll not be able to stay for the meeting. I have to return to Salt Lake City immediately. And you’ll have to relieve me from this responsibility, because I’ll not be in the country for several years.”
“Well, where are you going to be?”
“I’ve been asked to go to South America and represent the Church there.”
They asked, “How did you get that information?”
“I just received a telephone call.”
“We don’t understand you. We made a special trip out to Salt Lake City to visit you, spent several days with you there, then gave you ten days to think about whether you’d come to Chicago or not. After all that, you decided against coming here. But you just got a telephone call and decided that fast to go a third of the way around the world! We don’t understand you.” Then, “Yes, we do. And when you return, get in touch with us, if you will, please.”
In life we find challenges of various kinds. Some of them are obvious, and some of them are not quite so obvious. In this case the challenge was not quite so obvious. But because I had met the challenge and had not had an alcoholic drink that night at the restaurant, I was thrice-blessed for sticking by my principles. First, I was offered a key position in an international organization. Second, even after I had turned them down, they let me know that their doors would always be open to me. Third, I was called by the Lord to spend my life in the best possible way—working full-time for Him.

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

My family, perhaps like many of yours, has tried for many years to make regular scripture study an important daily practice in our home.
As a mom, when I think of what I want family scripture study to look like, this is basically what comes to mind: Everyone fully awake, smiling, with scriptures in hand, and fully engaged in the conversation.
Unfortunately, in our family, scripture study usually looks a lot more like this: Everyone in pajamas, at least a couple of people asleep, while others are rolling around on the floor with no scriptures in sight.
But even though you can’t visually see it in this picture, something magical has taken place through the regular practice of dragging ourselves out of bed early in the morning and opening our scriptures. And through much patient effort, and a good number of impatient mom-lectures, we have created a pattern in our family that, while not perfect, has brought significant blessings into our lives.

They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”

Through this family we heard of a young couple who had become curious about the Church. They were teaching a Sunday School class in another church and had heard so much negative commentary about the Mormons that they were curious. We drove the young elders to their home to give them the missionary lessons while we worked with another family. Both families became active members of the branch, giving us a Sunday School teacher, a branch clerk, a teacher for the Relief Society, and another child for Primary.

Remember, it isn’t sufficient to assume that when you teach, the boy is listening to what you say. Let me illustrate:
In what we call the west boardroom of the Church Administration Building, there hangs a lovely painting rendered by the artist Harry Anderson. The painting depicts Jesus sitting on a small stone wall with numerous children gathered around, knowing they are the object of His love. Each time I gaze at that painting, I think of the passage of scripture, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
On one occasion I had given a priesthood blessing in that room to a small lad who was soon to undergo major surgery. I directed his attention and that of his parents to the painting of Jesus and the children. I then made a few remarks concerning the Savior and His never-failing love. I asked the boy if he had any questions. “Yes,” he replied seriously. “Brother Monson, how does a boy go about getting a little goat and a leash for it like that one in the painting?”
For a moment I was stunned by the unanticipated question, a little deflated concerning my teaching ability, but then I responded: “Jesus gives to you and me gifts far more important than a goat on a leash. He provides a road map to heaven. His teachings, His example, His love are far greater gifts than that offered by the world.”
“Come, follow me,” He invited. And we are wise when we follow Him!

I thought back to my first contact with Mormons. It was the summer of my second year in the junior high school, when President Kimball visited Sapporo. I had attended many other churches, but at that meeting, there was something new: a unity of all the members. It seemed strange at the time. At other churches, people came to meetings, sat and listened, and then returned home. At the Mormon church, they all seemed to be working at life, trying to love it and enjoy it in a way the Lord would want them to.
I thought of my second visit among the Mormons, too. That had been November 3 of the same year at the branch Thanksgiving party. My older sister invited me to tag along and told me all of the people there would seem like angels and we would be embarassed just to be in their presence. That’s exactly how they made me feel! I had never been part of such a spiritual, family atmosphere.
From then on I had attended church weekly and everyone welcomed me with outstretched arms and warm hearts. The missionaries taught me about restored gospel truths, and they taught me how to pray to know the truth for myself. No other church had taught me how to pray, but in this church even small children could pray. I read the Book of Mormon daily and prayed about it. Gradually I began to understand my purpose here on earth and what’s important in this life. But I did not feel, yet, that I had a testimony.
In April, the branch started a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject that was new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year-we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.—
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year-my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

I was in the country only two months and I already had the first chapel under construction—the Quezon City Chapel. This first project was bid November 19, 1970 during the week of Typhoon “Yoling.” But it had to be rebid due to the difficulties caused by the typhoon. Ground breaking was done January 4, 1971 and work was started by the contractor, Juanito Gutierez who was not a Church member at that time. In fact he did not know what a “Mormon” was.
But with all these construction works, the highlight of my stay in this country is seeing the baptism of two fine men who worked with me—Juanito Gutierrez, my first contractor who is now Bishop of the Marikina Ward, and Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio who is now Governor Elect of the Kiwanis of Luzon. I will cherish my association with many wonderful people and friends especially my efficient secretary, Miss Nilda Austria.

Illustration by Clayton Thompson
I sighed as I stared out the window at the freshly fallen snow, envisioning my siblings and myself building a larger-than-life snowman, laughing and tackling it to the ground moments later. But it was just wishful thinking this year—my family was not here for Christmas. My dad had to work, and my siblings, who were all older than me and married, were spending the holiday with their in-laws. It was just my mom and me that Christmas Eve.
My mom, ever the optimist, gave me an encouraging smile from across the room while she prepared our Christmas Eve dinner. Despite her efforts to make things feel normal without the rest of our family there, our house felt empty and lonely.
Shortly before dinner, a knock at our door signaled that our special guest had arrived. I opened the door to see a very shy, elderly widow hesitantly standing out in the cold. My mom had invited her over to join us for our Christmas Eve feast, and I could tell she felt as awkward as I did.
The normal clamor and jubilant conversation that usually filled the room during dinner was instead replaced by a mellow discussion. At one point, I looked around the room at the empty chairs and felt like crying. Just then the widow asked, “Do you miss your family?”
I nodded and looked into her eyes. Then I sensed it: she misses her family too!
I suddenly had an outpouring of love for this widow. She understood me. My attitude did a 180-degree turn as I realized I wasn’t alone. We shared a common bond of missing our families. This Christmas was far from normal, but sharing that moment with her brought me a new perspective—one filled with gratitude and love!
Later that evening we watched Joy to the World as part of our usual Christmas tradition. Sure, I had seen the film a dozen times, but this time it held new meaning for me. The Holy Ghost testified to me that the Savior, Jesus Christ, lived and died so that we might live again. Because of Him, I get to have my family forever. It didn’t matter so much that my family was not there that Christmas Eve—I had an eternity to spend with them!
I’m so grateful for the evening I shared with that sweet widow. We all feel lonely at times, but we can find joy knowing that our Savior will never abandon us and that He has provided a way for us to have everlasting happiness and to have our loved ones with us forever.

Some years ago I was asked to talk in the state penitentiary. We had a pretty good crowd there; there was nowhere else for them to go. And because of that meeting there was quite a group that came up to visit with me. One was a grandson of one of the Presidents of the Church, one was the grandson of one of the Presiding bishops (not related to me), one had been a ward clerk, one had been a district president in the mission field, and they were there because they had sowed to the flesh. I tell you, my heart went out to them under those conditions. When I was there, I was invited to return again to talk to the Alcoholics Anonymous group. (I made sure I got a round-trip ticket so I could get out once I got in there.) When I came I said, “I’d like to hear from you men. How do you feel? What can you tell me?”

And the man in charge of that group stood up and he said, “I thank God for the privilege of being in this institution.” Can you imagine? That’s what you get when you sow to the flesh. He thanked God for the privilege of being in that state penitentiary. He said, “Before I came here, I was no good to my family, I was no good to my country, I was no good to my church. I was just no good, period. Now, I have hopes that when I get out of here I’ll be worth something to somebody.” That’s what it means to sow to the Spirit.

A couple of months into my third season of collegiate football, during a routine five-man sled drill, my life’s plan started to unravel. As I hit the blocking dummy, I felt something snap in my neck, and a sharp pain shot down my right shoulder. I stood up and tried to move my arm but realized I had no strength.
I did not know it at the time, but in that instant all my plans and dreams would be altered, and my future would change dramatically. I had dedicated years of my life to football, but as I walked off the practice field that day, that would be the end of it. I would never put on my pads, cleats, and helmet and go out onto the football field again.
After visits with local doctors, I was referred to a neurosurgeon, who explained that I had injured the main nerves coming out of my spinal column going to my right arm. He also said there would be no football for at least a year, and that if I injured the nerves again I may lose the use of my right arm.
With this crushing news, it seemed like my world began to crumble in other areas. My grades rapidly began to go south, and I neither had interest nor ambition to turn them around. I found myself, day after day, lugging my arm in a sling on the sidelines as I watched the guys practice. I finally decided to spend time in the library instead of the football field but found it difficult to concentrate.
The academic quarter seemed to drag on forever, and one frigid, dark November afternoon, I found myself sitting in despair in the old amphitheater on campus. As I sat all alone, I felt terribly abandoned and depressed. I gazed out into the valley as the cold wind whipped wisps of leaves around my feet. Nothing was going right, and my life seemed to have little meaning or happiness. My athletic dreams and goals had crumbled, my grades were poor, I felt I had few friends at school, and I was far away from my family.
Why me? I thought. Why did this have to happen when things seemed to be going so well? What did I have to look forward to now? As I pondered these questions, I found little solace. The clouds, the cold, and my state of mind seemed to be wrapping over me in darkness as I descended into self-pity.
As I sat, reaching for anything to lighten my mind, a thought came that prayer could bring a little relief. I halfheartedly offered up a few words in a weak plea but was hesitant, as I mistakenly felt the Lord would not want to listen to me. During the past year I had become increasingly distracted by the excitement and prestige of athletics, and my church activity had become sporadic at best. My face cradled in my hands, I tried to hold some composure from my grief. I felt so alone.
After some time, I felt, ever so softly, a warm pressure on the back of my head and neck. I felt immediate relief from my despair and dared not lift my head lest the feeling would leave me. I only knew that whatever this feeling was, I wanted it to continue. After weeks of misery, I felt complete and total relief. What was this? Tears began to fall freely down my cheeks, and soon an undeniable impression came into my mind that I knew the Lord was there for me and it was time for me to go on a mission.
I had turned down my home bishop’s invitation to go on a mission 10 months earlier, explaining that my plan was to pursue my football scholarship for another two years. I told him I might think about a mission afterward. I was confident, if not proud, of my plan and was taken aback when he did not share in my enthusiasm and confidence.
I sat there on the cold bench for a while, contemplating what had just happened to me. Going on a mission had been the furthest thing from my mind that afternoon. Serving a mission right now had definitely not been in my plan. But a mission was the only thing on my mind now. I had been given a personal revelation. I could not deny it, and my heart was filled with light and happiness. Serving the Lord was now what mattered most in my life. My mission and future could again be bright and happy. I could not restrain myself as I stood up, crying out as I flung up my good arm in exuberance.
The next few weeks went by quickly, and I gained new enthusiasm for life. I made efforts in correcting my grades in order to finish out the quarter. When it was over, I closed this chapter of my life, leaving my athletic plans and dreams behind. I had no regrets or remorse over my decision. Instead, I felt excited about preparing for a mission and setting my course for a bright future. Cheers from the crowd in a football game were pale compared to the cheers I felt in my heart by going on a mission.
As I look back on this memory, I can see the importance of making the right choices at the right times. Sometimes we feel we have a solid and logical plan for ourselves. But if it’s not in accordance with gospel principles and the whisperings of the Holy Ghost, our plan seldom evolves into true happiness and joy. Nor can our own plan replicate the blessings we receive by living the gospel in faith, with a determination to live the commandments. For young men in particular, the opportunity to serve as a missionary is the right plan. I believe there is nothing that provides more growth than unselfishly serving the Lord and His children. Other self-generated plans, though appealing, will ever fall short in comparison.
This experience was sacred to me, and the chance to redesign my own plan with the Lord’s help has significantly changed what I am today. I will ever be grateful to the Lord for the experience on that cold November day that changed my life and helped me understand the Lord’s plan for my life.

As a young boy I was out on a farm away from our home waiting for my father to finish his day’s work. I was playing about, manufacturing things to while away the time, when I saw over the fence in the neighbor’s yard some broken-down buildings with the sheds caving in and with rotting timbers. I imagined as a young boy that that might be a castle I should explore, so I went over to the fence and started to climb through.
Then I heard a voice as distinctly as you are hearing mine: “Harold, don’t go over there.” I looked in every direction to see where the speaker was. I wondered if it was my father, but he couldn’t see me; he was way up at the other end of the field. There was no one in sight. I realized that someone was warning me of an unseen danger—whether there was a nest of rattlesnakes, or whether the rotting timbers would fall on me and crush me, I don’t know. But from that time on, I accepted without question the fact that there are processes not known to man by which we can hear voices from the unseen world, by which we can have brought to us visions of eternity.

Obstacles to sharing your testimony may include uncertainty about what to say. Matthew Cowley, an early Apostle, shared this experience as he departed on a five-year mission at age 17 to New Zealand:
“I will never forget the prayers of my father the day that I left. I have never heard a more beautiful blessing in all my life. Then his last words to me at the railroad station, ‘My boy, you will go out on that mission; you will study; you will try to prepare your sermons; and sometimes when you are called upon, you will think you are wonderfully prepared, but when you stand up, your mind will go completely blank.’ I have had that experience more than once.
“I said, ‘What do you do when your mind goes blank?’
“He said, ‘You stand up there and with all the fervor of your soul, you bear witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the living God, and thoughts will flood into your mind and words to your mouth … to the heart of everyone who listens.’ And so my mind, being mostly blank during my … mission … , gave me the opportunity to bear testimony to the greatest event in the history of the world since the crucifixion of the Master. Try it sometime, fellows and girls. If you don’t have anything else to say, testify that Joseph Smith was the prophet of God, and the whole history of the Church will flood into your mind.”

Kaden was riding in the van with his mom. Mom had just bought some things at the department store. “I also got some bug tattoos,” she told him. She knew that he and his brothers liked to wear these stick-on tattoos.
“Why did you waste your money on them?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” she replied. “The store was giving them away free with anything that was bought.”
“But, Mom, the prophet said we are not supposed to have tattoos, so why would you take them?” He thought for a minute, then said, “May I use them as stickers on the front drawers of my dresser?”
And that is what he did with them. There was no question in his mind about tattoos of any kind! It was a good reminder for Mom.

Watching your children pass from this life to the next is a unique kind of test. Emma Smith knew this pain five times over. My heart deeply aches at thinking of all that Emma experienced. I recently had the privilege of standing in two different kitchens that were once Emma’s. Both times when I stepped into those rooms, thinking of all that she went through, a deep, powerful feeling entered my heart and mind in these unanticipated words: “I was happy here.” I believe that Emma wants to be remembered as happy. Yes, there were plenty of excruciatingly difficult days, but there were also majestic moments and abiding joy.

David Eves discovered firsthand how quickly life can change when, on September 20, 1997, he and his friends went four-wheeling at Kolob Canyon in southern Utah.
“We’d been driving all day when we hit a bump and lost control,” says David. “I remember flying through the air, then waking up in excruciating pain. When I saw my friends looking down at me and told them I couldn’t feel my legs, I knew I would never be the same.”
After being life-flighted to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City and undergoing eight hours of surgery to stop internal bleeding and to secure two titanium rods in his back, David spent the next three months fighting for his life.
An avid football, basketball, and track star, David, of the LaVerkin Second Ward, LaVerkin Utah Stake, was no stranger to pain, but soon he was faced with a new challenge: he couldn’t hold his food down or speak. His body weight dropped from 170 to 100 pounds over a two-month period.
The days and nights grew longer. “I wanted to get off the morphine, but the pain was unbearable,” David recalls. “I asked my dad to read to me from the Book of Mormon, and as he did a miracle happened. The spirit of that book brought so much peace, I was able to rest.”
But David was not improving. Jill Eves became alarmed at her son’s severe weight loss and, pleading with the Lord for inspiration, knew a specialist must be called immediately. Sure enough, the doctor discovered and repaired a hole in David’s esophagus, and David came home two weeks later.
His father, Raymond, had taught him two important secrets to obtaining goals: give it your all and never quit. David was used to giving his all, so it was no surprise when he was back at school the following Monday.
“Looking like an alien with my body cast and neck brace, I could see how different I was. I had absolute faith I would get better, but soon realized I was completely unlike the other 800 kids in my school. After that first hard week, though, I knew I could do anything I wanted; I just had to find a different way.”
When his brother suggested he run for student body president a few months later, David again gave it his all. “Vote for someone with skills and wheels!” posters lined the school halls, and soon David went from jock to school leader. “That year was awesome,” he says. “I felt it was the perfect preparation for my mission.”
Nothing made David’s therapy more important than his determination to serve a mission. Although some of his friends said serving a mission wasn’t necessary, since he was in a wheelchair, David didn’t buy it. “I knew the Lord wanted me to serve, so I decided I would do everything in my power to make that possible.”
Before long, he could shower and dress himself, drive his car, and negotiate his way anywhere. In fact, after his doctor said it was impossible, David learned to strap on a brace he calls his exoskeleton and walk, using crutches extending from his hands, by moving his shoulders to push his body forward. With no sense of balance or ability to feel the ground under him, this is an incredible feat—one for which the students and parents honored him with a standing ovation at high school graduation exercises.
After graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“When I heard this, I was crushed,” remembers David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” Even though David had given it his best, he felt strongly he must continue to pursue a mission. An interview was arranged with Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve, who lovingly assured David there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George. Nothing had prepared him for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed.” But he kept hearing these words to the song, “I will go, I will do,” run through his head and knew the Lord wanted him there.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.
Not only has David been blessed, but his sense of humor and positive attitude touched each of the 250-plus people whose lives have been uplifted and changed through D.I.’s self-sufficiency and missionary programs. “Whenever we were having a bad day, we’d just come and find Elder Eves,” says Debbie Kelly, a trainee. “When we saw how happy and positive he was, even in a wheelchair, we’d ask, ‘What are we complaining about?’”
While serving his mission, Elder Eves spent mornings tutoring trainees working on their high school and G.E.D. certificates. “He helped me so much,” says Brandy, a single mom working to learn the skills necessary for upgraded employment. “I couldn’t have passed my math section without him.”
But to David, tutoring wasn’t just about teaching educational skills. He loved his students. “They don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care,” he says. The relationships he developed with his students reached higher levels, like teaching the six missionary discussions to Rita Roberts, another trainee.
“He helped me understand the gospel step by step, because I’m a slow learner,” Rita says. “And I knew I could count on him for anything. He and his family helped me move twice. You couldn’t get a better person—not just in the classroom, but everywhere. He’s cool and unique.”
Besides tutoring staff members, David was responsible for many devotionals at the D.I.
“One day it was Elder Eves’s turn to give the devotional. Everyone was there but him. In a few minutes, in he came, walking with his braces. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as he talked to us about overcoming adversity and working with your hand in God’s to accomplish any goal,” says Sister Scott, a welfare missionary at D.I.
While David loved serving at D.I., his missionary efforts didn’t stop there. In the evenings, he went team teaching with the full-time missionaries, resulting in several baptisms, one where he was asked to perform the baptism.
“I figured if she had enough faith to ask me to baptize her, I had enough faith to find a way to do it,” remembers Elder Eves. And so on January 1, 2000, being strapped in his shower chair, Elder Eves said the baptismal prayer and lowered Robin Rasmussen into the water. No one will ever forget the spirit present that day.
David brings a feeling of hope and peace everywhere he goes. But it’s his great sense of humor that endears him to everyone he meets. “I learned early on that if others see me joking about being paralyzed, they are more comfortable around me. When they realize I’m happy because of the gospel and my many blessings, the whole wheelchair thing disappears and they see me as a person.”
And counting blessings is what Elder Eves concentrates on. “The one thing my mission taught me more than anything else is how blessed I am. When I saw the problems some of these people at work deal with, my heart went out to them and I wondered if I could do what they do. I have a family who loves me, I have the gospel, and I have had the opportunity to serve the Lord on a mission. I couldn’t ask for more,” he says.
David is currently attending Dixie State College on a full scholarship and exercising on his bike and braces. “I work out in those leg braces every day to keep my legs stretched, so that when I do walk again I’ll be ready,” he says, with the same fervor with which he bears his testimony.
“I love the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8: ‘My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.’ I know Joseph Smith was the prophet of the Restoration and that Jesus Christ is our Savior and loves each of us. Sometimes when we’re going through hard times, it seems like we’re alone, but we’re really not. He’s right there with us. And with this knowledge, everything else falls into place.”

I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

Stacy was thrilled to be with her family at the Nauvoo Illinois Temple open house. “I must remember everything I see,” she reminded herself. Grandma had not been able to come with them, but she had asked Stacy to pay close attention and tell her all about it later.
Stacy studied the beautiful paintings of Jesus Christ on the walls and the carved wooden handrails on the stairs. Even though many people were visiting the temple, she felt a deep peace, as if she were all alone. “I’ll tell Grandma about the peaceful feeling,” she thought.
After visiting the temple, Stacy and her family walked around Nauvoo, admiring some of the other buildings.
Suddenly Stacy realized that she was not with her family anymore. She searched all through a tall brick building, but they weren’t there. She felt a lump growing in her throat. She walked down the street as two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
Then she remembered that Daddy had parked their car near the temple. “If I go to the temple, my family can find me,” she realized. She looked right and left but could not find the temple. Then she heard a voice in her mind. “Look up.” She obeyed the voice and saw the tall white temple spire with the angel Moroni on top. When she reached the temple, she found her family looking for her.
As she happily hugged her mother, Stacy said, “I’ll tell Grandma about the pictures of Jesus and the peaceful feeling. But first I’ll tell her that if you get lost, you should look up so you can find your way to the temple.”