Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago, while attending a stake conference, I noticed that a counselor in the stake presidency was blind. He functioned beautifully, performing his duties as though he had sight. It was a stormy night as we met in the stake office situated on the second floor of the building. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The lights in the building almost immediately went out. Instinctively I reached out for our sightless leader, and I said, “Here, take my arm and I will help you down the stairway.”
I’m certain he must have had a smile on his face as he responded, “No, Brother Monson, give me your arm, that I might help you.” And he added, “You are now in my territory.”
The storm abated, the lights returned, but I shall never forget the trek down those stairs, guided by the man who was sightless yet filled with light.

I feel like whenever I hear testimonies about paying tithing, they always include miraculous, earth-shattering experiences.
I’m grateful for these testimonies, but I’ve never had this kind of experience before.
But then again, I’ve never had the Spirit knock me on the head, either—it has always been more subtle.
I’ve always paid tithing. I’ve never really considered not paying it, originally because my parents expected it, then as I went to college because I felt inspired to. And as I got married and started having kids, I continued because I had faith in Jesus Christ and a firm testimony of the blessings that can come from paying a full tithe.
When I pay my tithing, things just kind of work out. We always have enough food. Things end up being a little cheaper than I thought they would be, or I’m able to find sales or coupons. Granted, I have to work for it—it takes effort and faith. We save and we are frugal and we budget. But when all is said and done, at the end of the day, I always know things will be OK because I’ve paid my tithing and done the best I could and put the rest in God’s hands.
As I was thinking back on my experiences and why I have such a strong testimony of tithing, I thought of something interesting. At least for me, the blessings of tithing are not like the manna from heaven. I don’t just get random checks of money in the mail or random meals from someone who was inspired to bring me something. It’s more like when Jesus fed the 5,000 (see Matthew 14:14–21). A young man offered all the food he had. The Savior gave thanks to God and then fed everyone, with only five loaves of bread and two fishes. And miraculously everyone was filled, and there was food to spare.
There have been some weeks when I have not been sure what I would eat because I needed to feed my family. But somehow there is always enough. Food doesn’t just appear. But I feel satisfied with a smaller portion and so does my husband. I don’t get extra cash, but I am able to stretch what we do have farther.
It’s amazing how Heavenly Father works with us and with what we need. Everyone is different. Everyone’s needs are different. And so our blessings are different. It’s amazing how aware of our needs He is, both physical and spiritual. I’ve been blessed by paying my tithing. I want you to know that.

Stewardship—A Sacred Trust
When I was a small boy, I would visit my grandparents at their ranch during the summer. There was no electrical power, running water, or plumbing in the house. There was, however, a spring of water next to their small ranch house. The spring created a little pond of clear, pure water, where several times a day I would help my grandmother carry water to the house for drinking, cooking, bathing, and washing clothes. My grandparents loved this life-giving spring and took special precautions to protect it.
Many years later my grandfather was in his early 90s and did not live on the property; he was unable to maintain or oversee it. I drove him to see the ranch which he loved. His high expectations at seeing the ranch turned to disappointment when he realized the fences that protected the spring had fallen into disrepair and cows had damaged the spring and the precious, pure springwater had been significantly polluted. … He felt somehow he had not protected that life-sustaining spring which had meant so much to him.
Just as the pure spring was polluted when not protected, we live in a time when virtue and chastity are not safeguarded. The eternal significance of personal morality is not respected. A loving Father in Heaven has provided us with the means to bring His spirit children into this world to fulfill the full measure of their creation. He has instructed us that the wellsprings of life are to be kept pure, just as the beautiful spring on the ranch required protection in order to sustain life. This is one of the reasons why virtue and chastity are so important in our Father in Heaven’s plan.
Because of my grandfather’s reaction to the polluted spring, improvements and protections were undertaken which returned the spring to its original beauty and purity. …
… We are aware that there are those who have already engaged in conduct inconsistent with this sacred standard of morality. Please understand that through the Savior’s Atonement, all can repent and return, like the spring of water, to a clean and pure state.

Also, when you listen to children’s questions and comments, you can give feedback to clarify their understanding. A child visited a dairy farm with his school class and observed the cows being milked with the use of machinery. As the group was leaving, he tugged at the farmer’s arm and asked, “How can you tell when the cow is full?” The wise farmer turned around and took the machinery off one of the cows; then he milked the cow by hand so the children could see that milk was coming from the cow.

No matter what age children are, when parents or other adults really listen to them and then talk with them, offering insights to their questions and comments, children will grow in their understanding and desire to learn and seek answers.

Jackie didn’t like Mrs. Baxter very much.
When Jackie and her friend Tara played in the street, Mrs. Baxter shouted at them to be quiet. She chased Tara’s kitten away with her newspaper. And when Jackie’s Frisbee landed in the grumpy neighbor’s window box, she wouldn’t give the Frisbee back.
So when Jackie and Tara saw Mrs. Baxter come out of the grocery store and something flutter from her open purse, they didn’t run to pick it up for her.
“She’s mean,” Tara said.
“The meanest lady in town!” agreed Jackie. “She wouldn’t even listen when I said I was sorry that the Frisbee broke her flowers.”
They watched Mrs. Baxter put her sack of groceries on the hood of her car and rummage in her purse. She pulled out her keys, unlocked the car, put the groceries in the trunk, and drove away.
“She doesn’t know she dropped anything!” Tara exclaimed, watching the big black car turn the corner.
Jackie ran to see what Mrs. Baxter had dropped. “It’s a five-dollar bill!”
“Too bad for her!” Tara said. “Finders, keepers—losers, weepers!”
“We can’t keep it!” Jackie looked at her friend in surprise. “We saw her drop it. We have to give it back!”
“What about your Frisbee that she kept?” Tara said. “She owes you for a new one! It isn’t stealing!”
“Wellll …” Jackie looked at President Lincoln’s picture on the five-dollar bill. He seemed to be looking back at her. Quickly she stuffed the money into her pocket. “I guess it wouldn’t be stealing if I get a new Frisbee with it. Come on, let’s look for one.”
There was a sports store nearby. The girls squeezed past a display of gleaming bikes and headed toward the Frisbees.
“I wish she’d dropped a five-hundred-dollar bill!” whispered Tara. “Then we could both get new bikes!”
That would really be stealing, Jackie thought. Keeping five dollars is a lot different from keeping five hundred dollars! Or is it? She tried to ignore the tight feeling in her stomach. Of course it wasn’t stealing—Mrs. Baxter owed it to her.
“How about this one?” Tara held up a fluorescent pink Frisbee.
Jackie put her hand in her pocket, twisting the five-dollar bill around her fingers. She thought about President Lincoln. He was known as “Honest Abe.” What would he think of her if she spent the money?
Tara was waiting for her answer. “I’m not getting a Frisbee,” Jackie said. “It’s Mrs. Baxter’s money.”
“Wait—”
Tara tried to say something, but Jackie didn’t listen. She knew that her friend was saying that it was stupid to give the money back.
Hurrying out of the store, Jackie unlocked her bike and rode off. As she turned into her street, she saw Mrs. Baxter climbing the two front steps to her apartment building, struggling to get out her key with one hand while still clutching the grocery sack.
Jackie hesitated. She’ll probably just yell at me, she thought. Maybe Tara’s right.
Mrs. Baxter was inside by the time Jackie set her bike down and walked slowly toward the door. As she passed the window box, she noticed the broken geraniums. They had been propped up on sticks and tied in place with green yarn. Mrs. Baxter may not like children and kittens, but she loves her flowers.
Jackie stared at the doorbell. Slowly she lifted her finger and pushed. Was that thumping sound her heart pounding, or was it Mrs. Baxter’s footsteps? It was Tara running up the path to stand beside her. Jackie smiled at her friend.
The door opened two inches and Mrs. Baxter peered out from behind the security chain. “What do you want?”
“You dropped this by the supermarket.” Jackie held out the five-dollar bill. As she passed it through the gap in the door, Mrs. Baxter grabbed it, then slammed the door.
She didn’t even thank me for returning the money! She’ll probably always chase the kitten and shout at us and keep our Frisbees, Jackie thought.
Jackie still didn’t like Mrs. Baxter. But she liked herself. Mrs. Baxter may not like me, but I’m glad that I returned the money. She was sure that Heavenly Father was pleased with her, too, and that was what mattered.

Near the end of my junior year of high school, it was time to decide which classes to take my senior year. After signing up for all of the required classes, I still had one open space. Deciding how to fill it was an important decision to me, so I knelt and prayed for guidance. As I pondered what to do, the Spirit suggested that I study another foreign language. I’d already studied several years of Spanish, so I began to browse our school’s language courses. German, French, Italian, and others seemed interesting, but none seemed right. I finally reached the bottom of the list and read “Mandarin Chinese.” I didn’t know any Chinese people or even anyone who spoke Chinese, yet I felt the Spirit confirm that this was the right choice.
Despite my misgivings, I signed up for the course. I’ve felt and expressed gratitude to God for that decision almost every day of my life since. Choosing to learn an unfamiliar and difficult language—even when it wasn’t required—helped me when I was called to serve a Chinese-speaking mission in Taiwan. And that experience has led me to every internship, job, and opportunity I’ve had until now as a young adult. This experience taught me that Father in Heaven cares deeply about our education and that He expects us to pursue the best education possible, even when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or challenging. When we follow Him by making that sacrifice, He always blesses us.
Brandon C., Utah, USA

As a bishop a few years ago l held a temple recommend interview with one good brother; a really fine member of the ward. All went well until we got to the question, “do you pay your tithes?” Then he began to stammer; words could not come out clearly. I looked him straight in the eye and asked a second time, “Do you pay your tithes?”

The answer then came out rather quietly, “l am not consistent in paying my tithes, because many times when I get my pay, l have a lot of pressing needs and the money seems not to be enough to cover all the expenses or commitments.” I knew that this was an opportunity to teach him about the principle of paying an honest and full tithe, as commanded by the Lord. He then asked for time to go and make good on his promise to become a full tithe payer. It took six months before l could have another interview with him to ascertain his worthiness. Indeed, he had begun to take baby steps in the right direction.

Elder James E. Talmage, who authored Jesus the Christ, stated:
“I was called and ordained one Sunday morning, … and that afternoon was placed as a sentinel at the door of the house in which the Saints had met for worship. As soon as I had been ordained, a feeling came to me such as I have never been able to fully describe. It seemed scarcely possible, that I, a little boy, could be so honored of God as to be called to the priesthood. I had read of the sons of Aaron and Levi who were chosen for the sacred labors of the Lesser Priesthood, but that I should be called to do part of the service that had been required of them was more than my little mind could grasp. I was both frightened and happy. Then, when I was placed on duty at the door, I forgot that I was but [a] … lad; I felt strong in the thought that I belonged to the Lord, and that he would assist me in whatever was required of me. I could not resist the conviction that other sentinels, stronger by far than I, stood by me though invisible to human eyes.
“The effect of my ordination to the deaconship entered into all the affairs of my boyish life. I am afraid that sometimes I forgot what I was, but I have ever been thankful that ofttimes I did remember, and the recollection always served to make me better. When at play on the school grounds, and perhaps tempted to take unfair advantage in the game, when in the midst of a dispute with a playmate, I would remember, and the thought would be as effective as though spoken aloud—‘I am a deacon; and it is not right that a deacon should act in this way.’ On examination days, when it seemed easy for me to copy some other boys’ work or to ‘crib’ from the book, I would remember again,—‘I am a deacon, and must be honest and true.’ When I saw other boys cheating in play or in school, I would say in my mind, ‘It would be more wicked for me to do that than it is for them because I am a deacon’” (Incidents from the Lives of Our Church Leaders: Course of Studyfor the Quorums of the Priesthood: Deacons, 1914, pp. 135–36).

Months ago, I was watching our grandchildren while their parents and my wife were preparing dinner. I turned on a “how to” ski video. There in the middle of the living room, a line of grandchildren and I practiced leaning, making pizzas with our imaginary skis, and planting our imaginary poles. When our grandchildren left the warm comfort of our living room and headed out onto the slopes, it was time for them to apply what we had practiced. They felt the cold biting their noses and the wind rushing in their faces as they raced down a glistening hill. They experienced planting their poles in the stiff, crunchy snow. They felt the snow resisting their skis as they “pizza-ed” their way down the mountain. They now know the exhilaration of gliding effortlessly across the slopes and what it feels like to fall and have their momentum suddenly checked. They had to put their determination and resilience to the test by facing the choice to get up again and again, as they tried to master this new skill. At the end of a day on the cold, snowy slopes, they felt the contrast of returning to their warm homes. Now they had experience and could decide if they enjoyed following the laws associated with skiing down a snow-covered mountain.

Shortly after my mission, while a student at Brigham Young University, I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that although his chances of survival were not good, he was determined to be healed and return to his normal life activities. That phone call was a sobering moment for me. My dad had been my bishop, my friend, and my adviser. As my mother, my siblings, and I contemplated the future, it appeared bleak. My younger brother, Dave, was serving a mission in New York and participated long-distance in these difficult family events.
The medical providers of the day suggested surgery to try and curtail the spread of the cancer. Our family earnestly fasted and prayed for a miracle. I felt that we had sufficient faith that my father could be healed. Just prior to the surgery, my older brother, Norm, and I gave my dad a blessing. With all the faith we could muster, we prayed that he would be healed.
The surgery was scheduled to last many hours, but after just a short time, the doctor came to the waiting room to meet with our family. He told us that as they began the surgery, they could see that the cancer had spread throughout my father’s body. Based upon what they observed, my father had just a few months to live. We were devastated.
As my father awakened from the surgery, he was anxious to learn if the procedure had been successful. We shared with him the grim news.
We continued to fast and pray for a miracle. As my father’s health quickly declined, we began to pray that he could be free of pain. Eventually, as his condition worsened, we asked the Lord to allow him to pass quickly. Just a few months after the surgery, as predicted by the surgeon, my father did pass away.
Much love and care were poured out upon our family by ward members and family friends. We had a beautiful funeral that honored the life of my father. As time passed, however, and we experienced the pain of my father’s absence, I began to wonder why my father had not been healed. I wondered if my faith was not strong enough. Why did some families receive a miracle, but our family did not? I had learned on my mission to turn to the scriptures for answers, so I began to search the scriptures.
Moroni brings additional understanding as he shares the words of his father, Mormon. After speaking of miracles, Mormon explains, “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.” I learned that the object of my faith must be Jesus Christ and that I needed to accept what was expedient to Him as I exercised faith in Him. I understand now that my father’s passing was expedient to God’s plan. Now, as I lay my hands upon the head of another to bless him or her, my faith is in Jesus Christ, and I understand that a person can and will be physically healed if it is expedient in Christ.
But here is the greater lesson I learned. I had mistakenly believed that the Savior’s healing power had not worked for my family. As I now look back with more mature eyes and experience, I see that the Savior’s healing power was evident in the lives of each of my family members. I was so focused on a physical healing that I failed to see the miracles that had occurred. The Lord strengthened and lifted my mother beyond her capacity through this difficult trial, and she led a long and productive life. She had a remarkable positive influence on her children and grandchildren. The Lord blessed me and my siblings with love, unity, faith, and resilience that became an important part of our lives and continues today.
But what about my dad? As with all who will repent, he was spiritually healed as he sought and received the blessings available because of the Savior’s Atonement. He received a remission of his sins and now awaits the miracle of the Resurrection. The Apostle Paul taught, “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” You see, I was saying to the Savior, “We brought my dad to You to be healed,” and it is now clear to me that the Savior did heal him. The balm of Gilead worked for the Nielson family—not in the way that we had supposed, but in an even more significant way that has blessed and continues to bless our lives.

I enjoyed reading the New Era in high school, but in some ways it made me feel discouraged and inadequate. It was always telling stories about talented youth, and I thought I could never be like them.
It seemed I wasn’t talented in anything. I was uncoordinated and bad at sports. I was extremely shy and self-conscious, and I was made fun of in school, often because of my high standards. I did make pretty good grades—mainly because I worked hard at it.
I figured that maybe there was still something I could do, even if I couldn’t be a real star like the people highlighted in the magazine. I read the scriptures about loving others and decided I would try to do that.
One day as I came out of Mutual class, I saw a girl standing at the end of the hall. She was slouched over. The thought came to me that this girl needed a friend, so I walked over and started talking to her. More accurately, I started listening to her. She talked very softly, but I showed interest in what she had to say.
We were friends from then on. She was four years younger than I was, and she was not a member of the Church; her neighbors had started bringing her to Church. A few months later, I was able to go to her baptism. She was 13 years old and the only member in her family.
I made friends with other people too. Sometimes I would think that a person wouldn’t want to be friends with me, but I found that these people seemed happy to have someone who cared about them.
When it was time to graduate, our high school had an awards assembly to honor students’ achievements. My name was not called, but my friend who had gotten baptized made a little award for me and had my friends sign it. I felt I had really achieved something too.
I also realized that everyone has their place and purpose in this world. I know that those talented and popular people had an influence on others. But perhaps if I had been very talented or very popular, I might have been too busy for my new friends, and those friendships have become rich treasures to me.

My friend Josh and I were preparing for our missions. We had a mutual friend named Sara, whom we went to school with. Sara attended another Christian church with her family. We had talked about religion here and there with Sara, but never in much depth.
One day Josh asked me if I would be interested in going with him to talk about the Church with Sara. I felt nervous at first but said yes. He talked to Sara and set up a time to meet to discuss our religious beliefs. I felt nervous at first and decided to study Preach My Gospel to prepare a little more. When we got together, we went through the principles of the first lesson in Preach My Gospel and expounded on what we believed. We asked questions about her religion and beliefs. We gave her a Book of Mormon. She graciously accepted it but told us that she wasn’t looking to change anything. She had her religion and held to beliefs that didn’t align with ours.
Even though she wasn’t interested in accepting more of the gospel, I still felt the Spirit that night as we bore testimony of the Savior and the Restoration of His Church. I also had my eyes opened to what others believe. I felt like this experience helped prepare me for my mission.
Brian D., Utah, USA

I’m home again. Things are not going well. The cancer is back, and Tuesday I’ll be leaving for Minnesota for a bone marrow transplant. I’m not excited about it, but it’s the only hope I have. …
I’ve been in Minnesota for a couple of days now. The doctors have killed most of my diseased bone marrow, and because of that I need blood platelets and white cells. I don’t know anyone here to ask to be a donor, so I had the doctor call the mission president. Within just a few hours—can you believe it!—there were more than eight people here waiting to be typed. My doctor was amazed, and I was just thankful. It isn’t like giving blood. They had to sit by a machine for several hours while their blood was pumped out and stripped of the materials I need.
None of them even knew me, and some of them drove as far as 60 miles to help me. The Church is like a big family for me. I know I can depend on the members for help anytime I need it. It’s a good feeling.
My brother is going to be the donor for my transplant. I’m grateful that his marrow is compatible with mine and grateful he is willing to give it to me. It’s a big sacrifice. I really love him for it.
During the operation they are going to kill the rest of my bone marrow and then give me some of my brother’s healthy marrow. If the transplant doesn’t work, I’m in a little bit of trouble. It’s a chance I have to take. I don’t have a choice, not if I want to live. There is so much I want to do, but if I don’t make it, I’m grateful for what I’ve had. I have so much to be thankful for: my family, my friends, the gospel.
I still don’t know why this has happened to me. I guess it really isn’t important. What I do know is that I must trust in and obey my Father in Heaven. I know that in the end, everything will be all right. One of the beautiful things about the gospel is that no matter what happens to us, as long as we have faith and as long as we are obedient, we have hope. I wouldn’t wish what I have experienced on anyone, but I do wish that everyone could feel what I feel about the beauty of life, about the value of living every day as completely as we can, and most of all, about the beauty and strength the gospel can bring to us.

Years ago as a missionary I looked forward to a visit of the relatively young apostle Elder Gordon B. Hinckley. He was deeply revered by the Japanese Saints and had been highly involved in the growth of the Church in post–World War II Japan. He loved all people but seemed to have a special affinity for those in this once war-torn nation.

Elder Hinckley arrived late one evening, very tired and suffering from jet lag. The following day he faced a rigorous schedule, which included much travel and several teaching opportunities. As he arose very early the next morning, he had every reason to seek privacy as he prepared for the day, but that was not what he chose to do. Elder Hinckley asked the first missionaries he encountered that morning—Elders Evans and Cox—if they would accompany him into the streets of Tokyo, where he desired to communicate with the good people of that city. Although he spoke a surprising amount of Japanese, he felt that the two missionaries might be of some value in helping him communicate with those he would meet that morning. We spent the next hour contacting people on the streets of Tokyo, recognizing them and their individual worth and informing them of our faith. President Hinckley loved all people and sought to serve them throughout his long life. He did not avoid others!

A home teaching visit is also more likely to be successful if an appointment is made in advance. To illustrate this point, let me share with you an experience I had some years ago. At that time the Missionary Executive Committee was comprised of Spencer W. Kimball, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson. One evening Brother and Sister Hinckley hosted a dinner in their home for the committee members and our wives. We had just finished a lovely meal when there was a knock at the door. President Hinckley opened the door and found one of his home teachers standing there. The home teacher said, “I know I didn’t make an appointment to come, and I don’t have with me my companion, but I felt I should come tonight. I didn’t know you would be entertaining company.”

President Hinckley graciously invited the home teacher to come in and sit down and to instruct three Apostles and our wives concerning our duty as members. With a bit of trepidation, the home teacher did his best. President Hinckley thanked him for coming, after which he made a hurried exit.

The Warwoods accepted a call to the Auckland New Zealand Mission, where that guidance proved itself many times. In one memorable incident, a sister missionary called with allergic reaction symptoms. She had eaten mussels and was experiencing throat itching and nausea. As they talked, her symptoms escalated.
“Her tongue and face were swelling, she could hardly swallow, was drooling, coughing and developed a rash,” Sister Warwood remembers. She coordinated care, managing four phones at the same time—with the missionary, her leaders, transportation, and the urgent care centre—so they would be prepared to treat her on arrival.
“The urgent care answered right away,” she marvels, “no eternal ‘on hold’, as usual.” The missionary received immediate treatment. “Everything went so smoothly,” Sister Warwood reflects. The Lord’s hand was undeniable in this event.

“Growing up in Queens, New York, I sometimes felt lost in the crowds of people living in the inner city. At times I felt quite isolated and lonely, even though I was surrounded by so many people.
“When I was introduced to the gospel of Jesus Christ, I started to experience the Light of Christ coming into my life. As I accepted invitations to read the scriptures, to pray, and to ponder, the light inside of me started to grow. I felt very known to God, where I previously felt unknown to everyone else.
“As a teenager, I leaned into that light early, and I stay leaned in to this day. President Russell M. Nelson teaches that it’s ‘vital’ to experience the love of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—especially in our present day and age. I’m grateful for that critical experience in my youth and that Their love and light continue to propel me forward today.
“God’s love and light keep my divine identity as a beloved daughter of God in the forefront and is how I choose to present myself and navigate my way in my daily life. It has also allowed me to see the divinity of all of God’s children—my brothers and sisters. God’s love can pierce the very center of the hearts of His children. When we feel it—when we experience it for ourselves—we come to know why ‘it is the most desirable above all things … and the most joyous to the soul’ (1 Nephi 11:22–23).”

Editors’ note: This story is a reminder of what one young couple sacrificed to be sealed for time and all eternity. We hope it will inspire you to make temple marriage a priority in your own life.
In October of 1979, the day after we were married in a civil ceremony, my wife, Maria Ondina, and I left our hometown of Arequipa, Peru, near the shores of the Pacific Ocean, to travel to the São Paulo Brazil Temple, on the Atlantic coast, to be sealed. We were the first couple from Arequipa to travel by land to be sealed in the newly dedicated temple—the first built in South America. We had planned to make the round-trip journey in 10 days, but in the end, it took us almost 30 due to a dangerous political climate. I didn’t know how it would work out—all I knew was that I had made a promise to God that after my mission, I would get sealed to a worthy woman.
After a nine-hour journey by night, we arrived in Juliaca, Peru. It was Thursday, and we still needed to get stamps in our passports and exit permits so that we could leave the country. The following day was a national holiday, and government offices would be closed for the rest of the weekend, so we arrived in line at the Bank of the Nation that morning to ensure that we would have sufficient time before all offices closed at noon.
When we finally got to the counter at 11:00 a.m., the gentleman expressed concern. “Sorry,” he said. “We don’t process these kinds of documents here. You will have to go to our office in Puno.” We were both surprised and frustrated—Puno was 45 minutes away.
After struggling to find a taxi, we made it to the office in Puno by 1:30 p.m. The doors were already closed. I knocked the iron doorknockers together as hard as I could. A very upset man opened the door and asked, “What do you want?” I said a silent, fervent prayer and looked this stranger in the eyes. “Sir,” I said, “I’m a Mormon, I’m going to get married in the temple in São Paulo, Brazil, and you can help me.” His hostile attitude changed. “I’m so sorry, sir,” he said, “but everything closed over an hour ago, and almost everyone has already left.” I responded, “Let me in and let my God help me find what I’m seeking.” He let me in.
After finding the manager, Rosa, I explained our situation. She politely responded, “Those forms are processed by three different employees, and I think everyone has left.” But all three men were still there, and she enlisted them to stay late to help me.
The first man asked me for forms I didn’t have. “You’re supposed to have gone to the Ministry of Economy, bought six forms, and brought them here for processing,” he explained. “You have to wait until Monday.”
I froze—I couldn’t believe it! Again I said a silent prayer. “Sir,” I said, “I’m Mormon, and I am going to the temple in São Paulo, Brazil, to be married. And you can help me.” He no longer seemed to be in a hurry. He looked in every drawer and finally located the longed-for forms. The next clerk quickly checked them and stamped our passports.
At the next window, as I paid the exit tax in U.S. dollars, the cashier seemed to take great pleasure in saying, “I’m sorry. See this sign?” A sign on the wall read, “Dollars not accepted.” Our plan was about to fail—there was nothing I could do.
“Take the payment,” I heard Rosa say from behind us. The cashier accepted the money and gave me the documents. We were on our way!
Heading into downtown La Paz, Bolivia, it was getting dark when rocks began hitting our bus. Through the windows we could see angry people in the streets, throwing rocks and putting up barriers to stop the traffic. Our bus continued moving swiftly to the center of town. That night was the start of a revolution in Bolivia.
We got off the bus and began looking for a hotel. The only one we could find was very expensive, but after repeating my explanation to a good man who worked there, he boarded us in the hotel’s cleaning supply room very cheaply. He placed a mattress on the ?oor and gave us blankets to protect us from the cold and the sounds of gunfire that echoed outside all night.
We left early the next morning, frightened and hurried. On our way to the bus stop, we saw soldiers supported by tanks firing ri?es at those protesting the revolution.
Fuel was beginning to run scarce, and instead of three bus departures a day as usual, only one was being announced. The seats had sold out days in advance. I found the manager and said the words I had used with everyone else: “Sir, we are Mormons, and we are going to the temple to get married. And you can help us.” He asked, “Where do you need to go?” “Cochabamba, sir.” He opened a drawer and pulled out two tickets. I could see there were no more. “Hurry up,” he said, “the bus is about to leave.” Our suitcases seemed weightless, and our feet barely touched the ground—in our hands we held that day’s blessing.
We arrived in Cochabamba amidst more chaos from the revolution. We found a market filled with tents, where a kind fellow Peruvian let us wash up and then store our suitcases while we went to the bus terminal. Using our same plea, we made it standby onto another bus and arrived days later in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, near the Brazilian border. For three mornings, I went to the train station to ask if there would be any departures. The answer was always no. But on the fourth day, news spread that a train would be leaving soon for Brazil.
By this point, we were running out of money. I shared my concerns with my wife, who ?rmly replied, “Even if we have to arrive by foot or on the back of a donkey, we’re going to make it.” Her reply made me happy. I wasn’t unsettled about money for the rest of the trip because our confidence was placed in our faith.
As we talked, an old lady walked toward us. She stopped in front of my wife and said, “Young lady, wouldn’t you like two tickets for today?” My wife practically ripped the tickets out of her hand. I paid the old woman, and she vanished among the crowd. It took us a few seconds to realize that the Lord and His angels were still by our side.
When we finally arrived at the São Paulo Temple thanks to one last ride from a friend we made on the train, the temple lodging was closed. Resigned but happy, we made ourselves comfortable on a couple of benches outside the temple. There it was, just as beautiful as we had dreamed it would be. It was now midnight, and we cried as we hugged, tired and wet from the falling rain. We didn’t feel the dampness, the hunger, or the cold, just an indescribable sense of happiness for being so close to the house of the Lord. We had been obedient, and there was our reward.
While we were basking in that moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was one of my former mission companions, who had been sealed in the temple that day and was returning from dinner with his wife. He let us stay in their apartment that night, and the next day he was a witness to our sealing, performed by the temple president himself. How beautiful it was to see my wife in the celestial room, all dressed in white.
With a loan from my missionary friend and help from the temple president, we made the return trip in less than five days, without any delays—and with only $20 dollars to begin a life with my wife, Maria Ondina, as my eternal companion.

In April 1992 my family and I were living in Provo, Utah, where we had moved from Canada so I could complete a degree in engineering at Brigham Young University. My son Jase, who was 17, had become friends with a young woman named Krista.
On the Saturday evening of general conference weekend, Jase came into the living room and asked if he could borrow the car to take Krista out for a milk shake. I tossed him the keys, and he went into the kitchen to call her. I could hear one side of the conversation, which went like this:
“Hi, Krista, it’s me, Jase. I was wondering if you would like to go out for a milk shake.” Silence. “You mean after priesthood meeting? Well, OK, I’ll call you then. See ya.”
Jase hung up the phone and came back into the living room.
“So are you going out with her?” I asked.
“She said she would like to go,” he replied, “but she told me to call her back after I get home from the priesthood session.” With a dejected look on his face, he slunk off to his room.
Something hit me like a ton of bricks. I had grown up in southern Alberta, nearly 80 miles (130 km) from the stake center. No one had expected me or even my parents, who had leadership positions in our branch, to show up for conference sessions, let alone the priesthood session. Now someone was counting on it.
What would my response be to my son’s look of sadness as he went to his room? I knew that my decision would set a precedent for years to come.
I got up from my chair and called down the hall to Jase and my second son, a newly ordained deacon, “Change your clothes. We have 10 minutes to get to the priesthood session at the stake center.” I hurried to get ready, and when I came out of my bedroom, both boys were ready, and we headed for the car.
I don’t remember the talks very well, but I remember that we felt the Spirit. It felt good to be at the priesthood session with my sons. When we came home, Jase felt good about himself, which made me feel good. He called Krista, and they went to get milk shakes.
In the two decades that have passed since that day, the priesthood holders in our family have not missed a single priesthood session of general conference. Because a righteous young woman stood up for her beliefs, our family had the opportunity to change, and we continue to hear the words of latter-day prophets and feel the Spirit in the priesthood session of general conference.

I’m a convert. But it took me six years to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One of the reasons was that growing up, I didn’t have a very good opinion about the Church. If you’d read what I read about it in my school textbook when I was 12 years old, you might have been that way too. The things it said weren’t very nice. And since I’d never met a Latter-day Saint, I accepted what I read as truth.
I grew up in Kentucky, USA. Where I lived, there were very few members of the Church. So I was surprised when the Martinez family moved into our neighborhood when I was 13.
Everybody liked them. They were kind and easy to get along with. They had six kids—which seemed huge! And they had a son my age who quickly became my best friend.
Actually, I think he was everybody’s best friend. There was a light about Mateo that just drew people to him. So even though I thought his church was a little strange, pretty soon that didn’t bother me because of our friendship.
A couple of years later, Mateo and I entered high school. That’s when I met other members of the Church. There were several at our school, and others in the community. Over time, they would talk about their lives and bring up the Church naturally. Eventually I started going to Church activities, played basketball with other youth, and even went to early morning seminary for a few weeks.
I had a lot of good friends who chose to follow good standards, but there was something special about my Latter-day Saint friends. Of course, they didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs. And while some of my friends were getting involved physically with their boyfriend or girlfriend, these ones didn’t. But it was even more than that. There was a light about them that was wholesome. They never pushed the gospel on me—they just lived it. When the moment was right, they would share little things with me.
“They never pushed the gospel on me—they just lived it.”
And the Martinez family was always so open and generous. I was welcome at their house anytime. And their kitchen was always open too!
Still, I was pretty set in my religion, and I still thought some of the things Mateo believed were weird. I also had a strong personality. Even though I mostly lived the standards of the Church, I didn’t want anyone telling me what my standards ought to be.
At the same time, I felt lost spiritually. I think that can happen when you feel drawn toward the light and goodness of the gospel but push it away. Though I believed in God, I struggled to accept that God could or would be actively involved in my life. And yet I was attracted to the light of the gospel in other people.
That’s probably why I decided to join my friends at a Church school when I was 18. We attended Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, USA, where I met even more members of the Church. Good people. Kind people. Filled with light, just like back home. And I still didn’t join the Church.
After that first year in school, I ran out of money and went back to Kentucky to live with my dad. I was 19, and all my friends began to leave to serve missions or were still in Utah.
But the amazing thing was that God put other awesome people in my life. The Martinez family still lived nearby and invited me into their home whenever I wanted. And I learned that there were other Latter-day Saints my age living nearby as well. All of them stood by me as I wrestled with my beliefs.
No one pushed me. No one pressured me. They were just good to me.
Finally, after six long years, I started studying with the missionaries. It took a lot of deep questioning, but with kindness and encouragement of friends, I was finally ready to open my heart, study and pray about the Book of Mormon, recognize the Spirit, and accept baptism.
Of all the things that helped me in my journey, probably the most important was the patient, kind support of other people.
“Of all the things that helped me in my journey, probably the most important was the patient, kind support of other people.”