Gospel Story Finder

Back in Manchester, a young man named Oliver Cowdery was staying with Joseph’s parents. Oliver was a year younger than Joseph, and in the fall of 1828 he had begun teaching school about a mile south of the Smiths’ farm.
Teachers often boarded with the families of their students, and when Oliver heard rumors about Joseph and the gold plates, he asked if he could stay with the Smiths. At first he gleaned few details from the family. The stolen manuscript and local gossip had made them wary to the point of silence.15
But during the winter of 1828–29, as Oliver taught the Smith children, he earned the trust of his hosts. Around this time, Joseph Sr. had come back from a trip to Harmony with a revelation declaring that the Lord was about to begin a marvelous work.16 By then Oliver had proven to be a sincere seeker of truth, and Joseph’s parents opened up to him about their son’s divine calling.17
What they said captivated Oliver, and he longed to help with the translation. Like Joseph, Oliver was dissatisfied with modern churches and believed in a God of miracles who still revealed His will to people.18 But Joseph and the gold plates were far away, and Oliver did not know how he could help the work if he stayed in Manchester.
One spring day, as rain was falling hard against the Smiths’ roof, Oliver told the family he wanted to go to Harmony to help Joseph when the school term was over. Lucy and Joseph Sr. urged him to ask the Lord if his desires were right.19
Retiring to his bed, Oliver prayed privately to know if what he had heard about the gold plates was true. The Lord showed him a vision of the gold plates and Joseph’s efforts to translate them. A peaceful feeling rested over him, and he knew then that he should volunteer to be Joseph’s scribe.20
Oliver told no one about his prayer. But as soon as the school term ended, he and Joseph’s brother Samuel set out on foot for Harmony, more than 100 miles (160 km) away. The road was cold and muddy from spring rain, and Oliver had a frostbitten toe by the time he and Samuel arrived at Joseph and Emma’s door. Yet he was eager to meet the couple and see for himself how the Lord worked through the young prophet.21

At the end of my ballet class, my dance teacher said, “Girls, we have a Golden Ribbon Dance to watch today.” A Golden Ribbon Dance is a dance you choreograph yourself and perform for your class. Afterward you can choose a golden ribbon. But the really exciting part is that the teachers choose 10 of these dances to be performed in the Christmas recital.
My friend Addie got into position to perform her dance, and the music started. She began dancing really gracefully and beautifully. As she flowed with the music, I started thinking about a dance I could create.
When I got home, I looked online for some music for my Golden Ribbon Dance. I searched for LDS music, and the first thing that popped up was “Have I Done Any Good?” I listened to the music and loved it, so I started making up my dance. I was so excited that when I was about half finished, I ran downstairs and showed my mom. She loved it!
My dance company’s theme this year was “Art in Motion,” so I was supposed to choose some art to inspire my dance. We looked through some LDS art about service. We found four pictures that I liked. My favorite was one called The Good Samaritan.
I practiced and practiced and practiced so I could be ready to perform. I even showed my sister and sister-in-law, and they both loved it.
When I felt ready, I brought all my pictures to class. I chose four girls to hold the pictures behind me during my performance. As I danced, I wasn’t even thinking about whether I would get chosen for the Christmas recital. I just had a really warm, peaceful feeling inside as I shared my testimony about Jesus with art, music, and my very own dance!

Michael Oja, 18, of the Astoria (Oregon) Ward, Longview Washington Stake, met Mission President John A. Larsen following a fireside.

“Son,” President Larsen said, “I think you’d make a great minimissionary.”

By mid-July, Mike was in Oregon City, working with the missionaries assigned to the Cambodian branch. “With the help of a translator, the missionaries taught them lessons on the plan of salvation. I met a lot of wonderful converts and helped share the gospel with their families and friends.

“It’s not like an eight-hour job, where you go home when your time’s up. Sometimes it’s a real long day. But after a while, you start to see that you’re helping people. Their lives start to change, and you get to see it happen.”

Mike learned something about his wardrobe, too. “I hadn’t thought much about it before, but if I’m going on a mission, I ought to be buying clothing now that I can use then. I’m saving up for suits and white shirts.”

The day before he was to return home, Mike was interviewed again by President Larsen.

“One of the neat things about going on a minimission is that you get to know the mission president. You can tell he’s with you all the way,” Mike said.

Let me give you an example.
After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office.”1
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. He and his companion went to the Arkansas Territory.
They struggled through 100 miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness.2
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

The last week with Stevo in our house passed quickly. The Saturday morning it was time for him to leave you’d have thought someone died. Tim said he was losing his best friend, and Mom dabbed her eyes and said it felt just like when Rodney went away to college, even though he was going only a few miles to his next host family.

As I drove Stevo to his new home, I realized there was something I wanted to say to him. I had been a jerk. Selfish. My own little room, my kingdom, where I could shut the world out and indulge in self-pity, had been so important. So important I almost shut out something that on some level seemed more important than I knew how to explain. I glanced over at Stevo. His large nose pointed straight ahead, serene, knowing exactly where he was going as he continued his journey through life.

I made my decision. I pulled over to the curb and parked under the bough of a large chestnut tree.

“Something is wrong, Matt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t like you at all when you came to live with us. And the first time I saw you I didn’t know what I was going to do with you for the next month. You seemed like trouble and a bother. I didn’t even try to hide it. I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I’m going to miss you and our talks.”

“I will miss our talks too, Matt.”

“Stevo, you have something. People always seem to want to be around you. Why? What is your secret?”

“I don’t know any secret, Matt. All I know is from the time I was tiny my mother told me often that if I treated other people as important as I wanted to be treated, then things would always work out. When we found the Church and discovered Christ, it was easy to see that all children of God deserve to be loved.”

“Even people who are trying to kill you?” I asked.

“Them especially. Easy to love those who treat us nice, my father says. Best part is to love those who hate us. That doesn’t mean we try to put ourselves in a place where they can hurt us. We try to understand so we don’t hate them back.”

Then I said, “I wish I had something to remember you by, Stevo. When I am with you, you make me want to be better. I want to change.”

“Matt, can I give you a gift?”

“I guess so.”

Stevo reached into his flight bag and pulled out the Book of Mormon he read nearly every night. He opened it and wrote in it.

I took the book and read what it said. To my best American friend, Matt: To want to change is the first step to be better. This book makes me want change to every day. Perhaps it can do the same for you. Your friend, Stevo.

I set the book down on the seat, put the car in gear, and headed down the street. We drove in silence. When we arrived at our destination, Stevo’s new host family was out front waiting. I helped him with his bags and then did something I had never done before in my life. I gave a guy a hug. Stevo was out of my room, but I knew he would never be out of my life.

I keep Stevo’s book by my bed and read from it often. Mom and Dad wonder why I treat everyone around here better. I even invited Tim to move in with me.

What shocked everyone most, though, was one Sunday several weeks ago I told them I wanted to go to church with Stevo before he returned to his home. That was, however, only part of the truth. The place Stevo goes every Sunday has a spirit of change, and that’s what I want to do. When I grow up, I want to be like Stevo.

As a youth, these words sunk deep into my heart and helped prepare me to become a worthy Melchizedek Priesthood holder. But for years after receiving the priesthood, I couldn’t bring myself to give priesthood blessing to others, and the biggest reason was fear.
I was afraid I was unworthy or that I might not say the right thing. This fear kept me from using the priesthood authority, with which I’d been entrusted, to call on the powers of heaven to bless others. But deep down I knew that if I wanted to magnify the priesthood, my feelings needed to change. I needed to overcome my fears and insecurities about using God’s power to bless others.
By exercising faith in the Lord and acting on the inspired counsel of His servants, I aligned my life more closely with His teachings. I took the time to pour out my soul in prayer every day, and I prayed to be spiritually strengthened as I studied the scriptures. I shared scripture verses with whoever came to mind while reading. I listened to general conference talks. I shared my testimony of the gospel with others. And I fasted when I needed extra strength.
As I followed these basic instructions with a determination to align my will with God’s, I could feel the Holy Ghost more, my spiritual capacity increased, and my connection with the powers of heaven was strengthened. At last, I had the courage to give a blessing of comfort and guidance.
I remember feeling nervous at first and worried about what to say. But as the Spirit washed over me, my fear was gone, and my worry was replaced by the very words I should say! It felt so right, like I had been missing a part of myself all along!
Since then I’ve been called on to give more blessings than I can count, and I love it! Each time I give the Lord’s blessings to His children, I’ve been blessed immensely. A priesthood blessing truly blesses everyone involved.

When I was visiting a friend once, I realized the journal’s potential for encouraging spiritual and emotional growth. After hours of discussion with a philosophy student who wanted to argue about the gospel, I wrote a long entry about my beliefs. Putting it on paper was like testifying. That night, as I wrote, I realized how open and honest I was with my journal—probably more candid than I was with any friend.
Writing out my ideas gave me a chance to analyze them. Sometimes, in writing, I realized that my attitudes were based on selfishness or faulty judgement. Other times I was glad to realize that my ideas were good.
Sometimes I found myself laughing out loud at my reactions to the traumas of each day. Once on a bad day I wrote “PHOOEY” in letters 15 spaces high. It helped.
I started titling each entry. One of my favorite titles—and favorite entries—came when I was trying to develop greater faith. That title was “Doubt Creeps in and Janet fights Back.” Some titles reflect a calmer attitude. One in Janet 3, “Days and Nights and Things I Love,” leads into a paragraph I love to reread:
“I love nights that are chilly and clear, when I can see the stars and talk aloud under them. And I love early mornings, being up, being alive, and being outside on a day that is only starting. I love new beginnings that are just getting organized. And clean sheets, clean nightgown, clean body, clean hair, and a reason to be happy. I love the world when my soul brims with hope.”
My soul doesn’t always brim with hope. Sometimes it brims with frustration. When that’s the case, I can look back to the rejuvenating entry I wrote that September night. I can find encouragement from another entry, written soon after that one: “When I can understand what I’m going through, I find that endurance becomes easier.”
Not every entry is profound or even interesting. But each, in its own way, traces my daily conversion to the gospel, my struggles with myself, and my delight with the discovery of living “… for the Lord gives unto the faithful line upon line, precept upon precept to try you and prove you herewith.” (see D&C 98:12). Each helps the others assume clearer perspective. Not only does each entry reflect my life, but it affects and becomes part of my life.
It was during Janet 4, when my best friend moved, that I wrote: “I hurt too much to write.” And it was during Janet 5, after I had written a thoughtless letter that hurt a friend, that I wrote in my journal: “Through the many confusing voices that ring through my mind, one calming voice pervades and tells me the whole matter will be of no consequence.” After writing about that “calming voice,” I listened to it more carefully. The “voice” was right; when I later asked the friend to forgive me, he said he already had.
One day, when I felt that life was cruel to me, I started what has become a tradition. I wrote an entry titled “Things I Am Thankful For.” It amazed me that day, as it still does, how varied and plentiful are my blessings, and how obscure and sometimes even humorous are my trials.
Through moves from one side of the United States to the other, through vacations, at each peak and plateau, the volumes of my journal have been a constant friend, on a bookshelf or in a suitcase along with my copies of the scriptures. They have become a vehicle for working out personal challenges of each day.
I thought, at the beginning of the journal keeping, that I would neatly record my most profound thoughts, making them more accessible when I had to give sacrament meeting talks. Once or twice I have used a journal for that, but that is only part of the full benefit. The journal isn’t a reference book about my life, nor does it map my life. It isn’t a status chart; it’s a dynamic artwork, though it is rough.
The Janet series is vigorously continuing in its 15th volume. Some volumes span a year, and others a few months. I am the only person who has read all of them, and I may keep it that way—for a few decades, at least. The volumes have graduated from inexpensive notebooks to actual hardback books with blank pages.

The Lord is also giving the Saints information and comfort through miraculous means. For instance, a sister, who was having marital problems because of her husband’s authoritative attitude, told of a dream she had that helped her resolve her bad feelings. “This sweet gentle lady came to me and told me to be patient and loving, that Arnold was a good man, and that he would change his ways. The dream stayed with me for days; I couldn’t get it off my mind. I wondered who the lady was, and how she could say what she had. Then one day, not long after, we received some long-awaited photos of Arnold’s progenitors that we had sent for to put with our genealogy. Among the photos was one of Arnold’s mother. He had never really known her, since she had died when he was only seven. But apparently she knew him well. The woman who came to me in that dream was his mother.”

When Michael Hatch, who serves on the high council in the Farmington New Mexico Stake, was given the assignment to organize a stake day of service in response to President Eyring’s invitation, he wondered where they would find ideas for ministering to the poor in their community. He met in council with his committee, and they and other stake leaders encouraged stake members to share their ideas relating to needs in the community.
Roberta Rogers knew of a particular need among several organizations in the area—including the hospital where she works in community relations. While clothing drives usually generated helpful donations of used pants, shirts, shoes, and coats, what many charities still needed were things like socks, underwear, and pajamas—donations that needed to come new. Sister Rogers suggested that the stake organize a collection of such items.
On October 15, stake members distributed in their neighborhoods 1,000 cardstock door hangers that explained the project, invited the community to participate, and listed items needed. A week later stake members returned to collect the items and then brought them to the stake center for sorting and distribution among 10 local charitable organizations.
That combined effort met an urgent need in their community, Sister Rogers said. “It was something different, and it helped people. And because it was not really expensive, one family could spend a few dollars and really be able to help somebody.”

“She’s so mean!”
Emily crossed her arms and turned away from the family computer.
“Who’s so mean?” Mom asked, walking over.
“Kayla. She wrote me a really mean email. I never want to talk to her again.”
Kayla and Emily had been friends since second grade. They always used to sit together at lunch and play together after school. But this year things were different. Kayla said mean things about people a lot. It made Emily feel uncomfortable. She was still nice to Kayla, but they didn’t hang out much anymore.
“What did she say in the email?” Mom asked.
“It’s still on the screen. You can read it,” Emily said, slouching in her seat.
Mom looked at the screen. “You’re right. That isn’t very nice. I’m sorry she wrote those things to you.”
“Why would Kayla say that? I’m always nice to her.”
“Sometimes when people are upset they don’t say things in a nice way,” Mom said.
Emily sat up. “Well, I’m going to tell her how I feel!” She moved her chair back toward the computer and began typing furiously.
A few minutes later Emily said, “There, I’m done.” She hovered the mouse over the send button on the screen.
“Maybe you should wait a few minutes before you send it,” Mom said. “You can come back when you’ve cooled down a bit.”
Emily took a deep breath and reread the email. Then she leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“OK.” She got up from the computer desk and went to the living room, where her brother and sister were playing a game. They invited her to play, but Emily didn’t feel like it. She just sat on the couch and watched. Emily couldn’t stop thinking about what Kayla wrote and what she had typed to send back.
Emily saw the picture on the wall of Jesus. People were mean to Jesus a lot, but He was never mean back. He showed patience and love to everyone. As she thought about Jesus, Emily felt calm. She knew what to do.
Emily walked back to the computer and sat down. She deleted what she had written and started over. This time she typed a short, kind reply. It told how she felt, but it wasn’t mean.
Emily called Mom back to the computer. “How’s this?” she asked, pointing to the screen.
Mom read the words and smiled. “How do you feel about it?”
Emily clicked the send button. “I feel better now,” she said. “The first email I wrote wasn’t very nice. I’m glad I didn’t send it.”
“I’m glad too,” Mom said. “Do you know why you feel better?”
“Because I followed Jesus,” Emily answered. “I think the Holy Ghost is telling me I replied in the right way!”

I first learned of the treasure on a beautiful Australian morning in October 1992. My husband, who is not a member of the Church, woke up and described a remarkable dream. He said that in his dream someone from my family had asked him for permission to let me go into mainland China to get my family’s genealogy records.
I asked my husband what his response was. He answered that he did not want to be held accountable for not letting me go.
I was amazed. I had already planned to go to Hong Kong in a few months for my daughter’s wedding. It occurred to me that, after the wedding, I could travel to my family’s ancestral village on mainland China, where our records are kept. Because of my husband’s dream, I decided to make the trip.
I was excited, yet afraid of going into China alone. But Heavenly Father provided a solution. A son-in-law was also going to Hong Kong, and he offered to accompany me into China.
On 16 December 1992, we boarded the train from Hong Kong to GuangZhou, China. From GuangZhou, we took another train eleven hours to the city of MaoMeng; then from MaoMeng we took a motor bike with sidecar three more hours to the village. When we arrived, my uncle was surprised to see us, as he had received the letter announcing my visit only the night before. I recognized him immediately, for he looked just like my father. After we all got acquainted, I asked about the records.
My uncle brought out seven volumes that traced my family back nearly seven hundred years. Not only did they contain birth and death dates, but the records also contained a bit of history on each ancestor. I was thrilled.
However, I faced a major problem. The village was so remote that it had no running water, let alone a photocopy machine. Copying the records by hand would take months. When I expressed my concern, my uncle smiled. He said he had a spare set I could take. My son-in-law and I looked at each other in wonder. These people are not well off; making that extra copy must have cost a lot of money.
For years I excused myself from doing family history work because I lacked records. Now there is no excuse. This experience has convinced me that many of my ancestors have accepted the gospel in the spirit world, and that is why the way was opened for me to secure their records—truly a treasure beyond price.

Pich Sareth, a member of the Phnom Penh 12th Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, also saw trials at a very young age. He was only five years old when he was separated from his family and forced to work in the fields. He would sometimes find crabs or frogs he could eat to quell his hunger.
Brother Pich’s wife, Seng Tha, and her family were also forced from their home. Because she was only four years old and small, she was not required to work, as other children were. She was separated from her family much of the day and was watched by elderly women who could not work.
After meeting the missionaries in 1995, Brother Pich and his wife began to learn about the love Heavenly Father has for them. “When I had problems, I could see that praying helped me get through them,” Brother Pich says. “I knew Heavenly Father cared.”
After Brother Pich decided to be baptized, his wife also gained a testimony of the gospel and was baptized.
Since their baptisms, Brother Pich and his family have recognized the joy that stems from gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ. The Pich family takes time every day to read the scriptures. As they have done this, the joy of the gospel has permeated their souls.
“We feel we are on the right path now, and we want to stay on this narrow path and continue to progress,” Sister Seng says. “I am grateful every day that we can have our children on this path with us.”

A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was getting baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as He did,” the man said, “then people will know that we believe in Him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, too, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in Him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister, and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

On March 30, just one year ago, little two-year-old Ethan Carnesecca, from American Fork, Utah, was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia and fluid around his lungs. Two days later, his condition had become so serious that he needed to be flown by helicopter to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. His worried mother, Michele, was allowed to ride in the front seat and accompany her son. She was given a headset so she could communicate with the others in the helicopter. She could hear the medics working on her sick little boy, and being a pediatric nurse herself, Michele knew enough to understand that Ethan was in serious trouble.
In this critical moment, Michele noticed they were flying directly over the Draper Utah Temple. From the air, she looked out across the valley and could also see the Jordan River Temple, the Oquirrh Mountain Temple, and even the Salt Lake Temple in the distance. The thought came into her mind: “Do you believe it or not?”
She says of this experience:
“I had learned about the blessings of the temple and [that] ‘families are forever’ in Primary and in Young Women. I shared the message on families to the good people of Mexico on my mission. I was sealed to my eternal companion for time and all eternity in the temple. I taught lessons about families as a Young Women leader, and I shared stories about forever families with my children in family home evening. I KNEW it, but did I BELIEVE it? My answer came as quickly as the question popped into my head: the Spirit confirmed to my heart and mind the answer I already knew—I DID believe it!
“At that moment I poured out my heart in prayer to my Heavenly Father, thanking Him for the knowledge and belief I had that families truly are forever. I thanked Him for His Son, Jesus Christ, who made it all possible. I thanked Him for my son, and I let my Heavenly Father know if He needed to bring my little Ethan to His heavenly home, it was OK. I trusted in my Heavenly Father completely, and I knew I would see Ethan again. I was so grateful that in a crisis moment, I had the knowledge AND the belief that the gospel was true. I had peace.”1
Ethan spent many weeks in the hospital, receiving expert medical care. The prayers, fasting, and faith of loved ones, combined with that care, allowed him to leave the hospital and return home to be with his family. He is healthy and well today.
This defining moment for Michele confirmed to her that what she had been taught all of her life was more than just words; it is true.

Sometimes sitting in Valiant B class is about as interesting as washing woodwork for Mom. But last Sunday was a real surprise. In a way, I guess I was responsible. It all began before class started, when I put my gum on a piece of paper on my chair and went out into the hall to get a drink.

While I was still out in the hall, I heard this awful howl coming from the classroom. I raced back just in time to see Eileen Cameron pulling strings of gum off her dress.

“Who put that gum there?” demanded Sister Higgins.

The guys looked at me as I started backing out into the hall.

“Mark!” Her voice carried a warning.

Reluctantly I turned around. “It was an accident, Sister Higgins. Honest. I just put it there a minute while I went for a drink.”

“I see,” she said, unconvinced. “We’ll talk about it after class. Eileen, you may go to the rest room to see what you can do about removing that gum. The rest of you settle down so we can start.”

We tried to settle down, but it was difficult. Sister Higgins had her eye on me and the other boys. Finally she made us sit boy-girl-boy-girl so we wouldn’t giggle anymore.

“Mark,” Sister Higgins began again when the class had quieted down, “I want you to offer the opening prayer. And please ask Heavenly Father to help all of us to be reverent today.”

The prayer was going OK until I tried to say reverent. I just couldn’t seem to say it right. Someone giggled, and I ended with a quick amen and sat down fast.

I could tell that Sister Higgins wasn’t pleased with me. She pulled out some pictures and told us several stories about faith and about how you need to have faith when you pray. She had us write “Faith without works is dead” on a piece of paper, then split us into groups to make up skits showing how faith helps prayers to be answered.

Those skits were really fun! I guess we laughed every other minute. And even though Sister Higgins gave me a lecture after class, the lesson on faith was one we all enjoyed.

President Romney taught of the testimony-strengthening power of scriptures with this personal example:
“I urge you to get acquainted with [the Book of Mormon]. Read it to your children; they are not too young to understand it. I remember reading it with one of my lads when he was very young. … I lay in the lower bunk and he in the upper bunk. We were each reading aloud alternate paragraphs of those last three marvelous chapters of Second Nephi. I heard his voice breaking and thought he had a cold. … As we finished he said … , ‘Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?’
“‘Yes, Son, … Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.’
“‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is what happened to me tonight.’”

On June 23, 2009, the Philippines experienced a typhoon. That afternoon, our area was placed under a severe storm warning. The rest of that day and into the night, we heard something banging on our rooftop. When my son asked what it was, I told him it was our santol tree being whipped by the wind.
I regretted not picking the santol’s sweet fruit a day earlier, as I had planned. But my mother had told me the fruit wasn’t ripe yet and to leave it alone.
At 5:00 a.m. I went outside to look at the tree, fearing to see all the fruit on the ground. I couldn’t see into the tree—it was still dark outside—but I did see four small fruits scattered around our backyard.
An hour later I again inspected the tree. To my delight I saw many big, yellow-green fruit still clinging to the branches. Collecting those that had fallen, I noted that two of them had brownish lesions at the bottom. Black speckles discolored the other one, and the last was misshapen and warty in appearance.
I had expected the bigger, heavier fruit to have fallen; they were twice as big as the ones I collected. But there they were: still securely hanging on to the tree.
Illustration by Allen Garns
As I thought about the experience, I concluded that we are much like the two kinds of santol fruits—the ones that fell and the ones that held on. We too could fall when buffeted by the windy trials of life if we aren’t holding firm to the tree of life, our Savior Jesus Christ (see 1 Nephi 8:10; 11:8–9, 20–23).
The fruits that fell from our santol tree were weak with disease, not able to withstand the wind. The ones that remained on the tree survived because they were healthy and strong. If we don’t keep ourselves spiritually strong and healthy—learning from the scriptures and the living prophets, keeping the commandments, serving others—we too might fall when the adversary brings his forces against us.
The moment the tender fruits stopped drawing on the strength of the santol tree, their maturation stopped. So too the moment we separate ourselves from Christ, the true vine, our spiritual progress stops (see John 15:1; 1 Nephi 15:15).
Sometimes too we need to bend with the wind. Trials are part of mortality, and a humble spirit helps us accept the will of God in hard times. Humility helps us repent of our sins, forgive others, and forget offenses.
Allied with humility is patience. If we are patient in our trials, if we hold on to our faith a little longer, the answers we seek may come. Sooner or later the Savior will calm the storm. Peace and deliverance will come. If we remain obedient and faithful, nothing can separate us from the love of God (see Romans 8:38–39).

Photographs from Getty Images
My daughter had just turned eight and was excited for me to baptize her. Her grandparents were also coming for the special occasion, which added to her excitement and anticipation. However, as the big day drew close, it looked like I might not be at the baptism.
My job as a military aircraft pilot and squadron assistant operations officer was rarely boring, but the pace became even more intense when my operations (ops) officer left on another assignment. I was dealing with wave after wave of airlift missions. To produce the required number of flight crews, I was forced to cancel training, suspend some squadron functions, and cancel vacations that had been planned for months.
Aircrews were departing on 21-day flight orders with little chance of returning home early. And when my ops officer and another assistant ops officer returned, it became difficult to justify my staying behind for a family event. How could I hang back when I had required sacrifices of so many others?
I felt torn in half. I always tried to put my family ahead of my career, but I also had a duty to serve my country. My ops officer, while not a member of the Church, understood the importance of this event to my family and allowed me to make the decision myself. After much prayer and family discussion, I did what I felt was right and scheduled myself on the next mission out.
When my crew was alerted for a mission to begin on Monday morning, it didn’t look like there was any chance I’d be back for my daughter’s baptism on Saturday. We were to fly to a cargo pickup location, then to a staging base on the East Coast of the United States, where we would be required to enter crew rest before flying again. Later we would fly to Europe and rest, then deliver cargo to a Middle East location, and on the return flight, stop for yet another crew rest, return to Europe, stop for another crew rest, and return to the United States to collect more cargo and cycle back through. It normally took at least seven days to complete this circuit just once, but I knew my family was praying to have me back. Their faith and prayers helped me to have faith, and it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t going to be a typical mission.
First, instead of stopping on the East Coast for a day or two, our mission was assigned to air-refuel and continue non-stop to Europe. Then, after the minimum legal crew rest period, we were alerted to fly a different mission out-and-back to the distant cargo delivery location. The equipment off-load and ground-refueling at our destination went uncharacteristically well, and after another bare-minimum crew rest period, we were amazed when we were alerted to return directly to our home base. We were going home for a day or so!
Calling from the plane, I was elated to tell my family I was nearly home. My wife told me the baptismal service had just been moved from 5:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. to accommodate a youth activity. I next called our airlift stage manager and explained my situation. After a pause, he replied that he could delay our alert until 5:00 p.m. on Saturday—the time the baptismal service had originally been scheduled to begin!
As we cleared the mountain range near my home, I saw that I had one more trial of faith remaining: the city lights below were blanketed in fog. This would be the worst visibility I’d ever flown an approach in. We quickly put together a plan to divert to another airfield if necessary, completed our checklists, and flew down to take a look.
As we sped toward the runway at 200 feet (60 m) above ground level, we were completely shrouded in fog. Suddenly, passing 120 feet (37 m), there was a lighted runway in front of us, and a few seconds later we were safely on the ground. Everyone exhaled in relief.
Photograph courtesy of the Bairett family
An unprecedented string of seeming coincidences had enabled my crew to make a multi-stage trip to the other side of the world and back in record time, and I was able to be home for a brief window that coincided with my daughter’s baptism. With the Lord’s help I was able to fulfill my duty to my country, my squadron, and most of all to my family. While life would have gone on if we needed to reschedule our daughter’s baptism, Heavenly Father was letting us know that He loved us and heard our prayers. He gave my daughter the memory of those miraculous events as a witness that He loves her, and my wife and I both gained a stronger witness that “whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you” (3 Nephi 18:20).

Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of this state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court, and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.

I had always seen God’s love when reading the Bible, but I could never find any church that taught it the way I understood it. When the missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I felt so vindicated and a peace like I had never felt before. Finding the restored gospel of Jesus Christ was a long-awaited answer to my prayers to better understand God’s love for me.
God sent two angels in the form of two sister missionaries, Sister Hanah Otera Kershw (USA) and Sister Shelda Wandera (Kenya). They helped me understand my Heavenly Father’s love for me and to see myself as His cherished daughter with a divine identity.
When this truth sank deep into my heart, I was ready to make an everlasting covenant with Him. I got baptised on 17 March 2019. My love for God grew. I felt my Heavenly Father’s love through the missionaries.
I realised that everyone’s relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ is personal and unique. The restored gospel led me to have a desire to learn more about Them and Their character traits. I’ve learned that my Heavenly Father is kind and loving. He loves me completely and He knows me by my name and who I can become through faith in Him. I learned of the Saviour and of His willingness to do the will of the Father. Pondering His love and willingness to give up His life for me deepened my faith, my gratitude, and my own willingness to follow Him.
I know that as I show gratitude for all that Heavenly Father has done for me, it is one great way to allow Him to do more. Counting my blessings brings me joy and helps me to know how much Heavenly Father loves me. I’m grateful for my bishop, Rodgers Makosa, for his commitment to serve God. Not only did he teach me in word and example how to be a righteous disciple of Jesus Christ, but he also helped in giving me a vision of what I can become and helped me prepare for a mission and for the temple. I felt very humbled to receive my call in 2021 to serve as full-time missionary in the Ghana Accra West Mission.
This calling is a blessing to me, and it gives me more joy to participate in the work of salvation for all of God’s children and to share to others how the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed my life. I know that when I read the Book of Mormon and pray, it helps me learn about who I am and who Heavenly Father wants me to become.
Sharing the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with others here on my mission has helped me to hear Him and has prepared me to be part of this great work and to help gather Israel as the Lord promised. Joseph Smith’s First Vision is evidence that God the Father and the Son Jesus Christ knows each and every one of us by name. When God the Father addressed and called Joseph Smith by name saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him” (Joseph Smith—History 1:17).
Oh, how grateful I am for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.