Gospel Story Finder

During World War II, President James E. Faust, then a young enlisted man in the United States Army, applied for officer candidate school. He appeared before a board of inquiry composed of what he described as “hard-bitten career soldier[s].” After a while their questions turned to matters of religion. The final questions were these:
“In times of war should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
President Faust relates:
“I recognized that here was a chance perhaps to make some points and look broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs but did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that [they] would not like the answers I had given … and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for officer’s candidate school! …
“This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”1

Most of my brothers and I were influenced by our mother and joined the Church one after another. As we attended church, our lives changed through the gospel and the help extended to us from the brothers and sisters at church. We became better sons and brothers. We started helping one another more and found life to be enjoyable. Four of us later preached the gospel as missionaries in various parts of Japan. When one of my older brothers, who had moved away from Okinawa, saw the fine stature of one of his younger brothers who was serving a mission, he said, “I can’t believe this is my younger brother who used to be so wild.” Then of his own initiative, he sought out the Church and was soon baptized and confirmed.

Using things from around the house helped Britta discover something else that is fun. Once she was experimenting with a long piece of string and a plastic baseball bat, and she made a pattern of special loops around the bat. Her mom saw that Britta had discovered how to knit. With some real knitting needles instead of the baseball bat, Britta was soon busy knitting scarves, a hat, and even a long cape that she gave to Peter for Christmas.

As I looked over my new visiting teaching assignment, I saw the name of a new member of our ward. I felt apprehensive about calling someone I didn’t know, but my companion and I made an appointment to visit Jane (names have been changed). We arrived on the appointed morning and quickly said a prayer before approaching the door. We found Jane and her three young sons waiting for us.
As we grew closer to Jane through our monthly visits, we also tried to get to know her sons. The two youngest would sit next to my companion and me, and we would read them books and play with them. But four-year-old Alex, the oldest of the three, was not so eager to warm up to his mother’s frequent visitors. He was independent and hesitated to become friends with us.
I had been Jane’s visiting teacher about a year when I received a call that Jane’s house was on fire! My husband and I felt prompted to grab crackers, bottled water, and toy cars and to hurry over to see if we could help. We found Jane standing on the sidewalk across from her smoldering home. Jane’s husband had joined the firefighters to take stock of the damage while Jane comforted their three crying children, who were clinging to her knees.
When we spoke to her, she told us she was eager to join her husband. We took her two youngest children to our car. They were hungry and thirsty, and I was grateful for the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to bring food and water. They were soon content. But Alex, still sobbing, held tightly to his mother. Jane could not take him with her, and she felt torn between going to her husband and comforting her son.
I encouraged her to go and then leaned over and asked Alex if I could hold him while his mom went to find his dad. To my surprise, he agreed. When I scooped Alex into my arms, he rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. While Jane went to find her husband, I whispered comforting words into Alex’s ear. I could feel his sobs slow and his breathing relax.
As we stood on the sidewalk, Alex said softly to me, “You’ll take good care of me ’cause you’re my mom’s teacher.”
I quietly shed tears as I realized that Alex knew we were important in his mother’s life. He recognized that he could trust and rely on me to take care of him too ’cause I was his mom’s teacher.

I learned about the power of such a vision when I joined my 12- and 13-year-old sons for a 50/20 competition. A 50/20 consists of walking 50 miles (80 km) in less than 20 hours. We started at 9:00 p.m. and walked all that night and most of the next day. It was an excruciating 19 hours, but we succeeded.
Upon returning home, we literally crawled into the house, where a wonderful wife and mother had prepared a lovely dinner, which we didn’t touch. My younger son collapsed, totally exhausted, on the couch, while my older son crawled downstairs to his bedroom.
After some painful rest of my own, I went to my younger son to make sure he was still alive.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Dad, that was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I never want to do it again.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that I would never do it again either. Instead, I told him how proud I was that he had accomplished such a hard thing. I knew it would prepare him for other hard things he would face in his future. With that thought, I said, “Son, let me make you this promise. When you go on your mission, you will never have to walk 50 miles in one day.”
“Good, Dad! Then I’m going.”
Those simple words filled my soul with gratitude and joy.
I then went downstairs to my oldest son. I lay by him—then touched him. “Son, are you all right?”
“Dad, that was the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life, and I will never, ever do it again.” His eyes closed—then opened—and he said, “Unless my son wants me to.”
Tears came as I expressed how grateful I was for him. I told him I knew he was going to be a much better father than I was. My heart was full because at his young and tender age he already recognized that one of his most sacred priesthood duties was to be a father. He had no fear of that role and title—the very title that God Himself wants us to use when we speak to Him. I knew I had the responsibility to nurture the embers of fatherhood that were burning within my son.
These words of the Savior took on a much deeper meaning to me as a father:
“The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for [whatsoever things He] doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise” (John 5:19).
“I do nothing of myself; but as my Father hath taught me” (John 8:28).
I love being a husband and father—married to a chosen daughter of heavenly parents. I love her. It is one of the most fulfilling parts of my life. My hope that night was that my five sons and their sister would always see in me the joy that comes from eternal marriage, fatherhood, and family.

George Staples (pictured as an adult)

George Staples left his home and family in England to travel to Utah. When he was 16, he joined a company of Saints in the United States, but as they crossed the plains, George was separated from the group. The company had to keep moving or risk running into warring Sioux Indians. As the story goes, he stayed behind.

George later joined a Sioux tribe and lived as an honorary Sioux for years.

People in the Salt Lake Valley heard about a white boy living as a Sioux. Eventually, a group came looking for him. As the group neared the tribe, George recognized someone. With a wild whoop, he ran to his father. They were thrilled to see each other, but George’s Sioux mother was devastated to lose her adopted son. So, before leaving with his father, George promised to return and visit his Sioux family. He kept his promise.2

One hundred forty-eight years later, in June 1977, again in a print shop, another step in the coming together of these two sticks occurred.

James Mortimer, long experienced in publishing scriptures, and Dr. Ellis T. Rasmussen, recently dean of Religious Instruction at Brigham Young University, called at the Cambridge University Press in Cambridge, England. Bibles had been printed at this prestigious press for 293 years before Egbert Grandin opened his print shop in Palmyra.

They met with Mr. Roger Coleman, director of religious publishing, to discuss the publication of a most unusual edition of the King James Bible. The printers were quite as skeptical about this proposal as Egbert Grandin had been nearly 150 years before.

The Cambridge Press had been publishing the King James Bible since the first edition in 1611, but they had never been asked to do anything like this. The text was to remain exactly as it was, no changes, not one. But all footnoting, cross-references, chapter introductions, indexes, and so on, were to be replaced. Only the chapter and verse numbering for the sixty-six books would be retained.

And that was just the beginning. This edition of the Bible would be cross-referenced with three other books of scripture: the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. The printers had barely heard of them.

But there was more. A new, innovative system of footnoting was to be used. Instead of progressing from A to Z in each chapter, the letters would start over in every verse, for innumerable verses would have many footnotes in them.

The technical problems seemed insurmountable. Computers could help, but there was always the human factor. How could you cross-reference the Bible with any other book? To cross-reference it with the three volumes was to require tens of thousands of footnotes. Thereafter there would be hundreds of thousands of possible combinations of information. It was too big even to think about. The technical challenge alone was staggering, to say nothing of maintaining accuracy, harmony, and consistency with the biblical text itself. It could not be done!

But in that meeting also was Mr. Derek Bowen, editor, a most remarkable man. A World War II injury had left him unable to hear. Thereafter he devoted his remarkable compensating abilities to the editing, typesetting, and printing of Bibles. He was, perhaps, the one man in the world who could direct such a printing project.

All of the problems mentioned so far related only to the printing part of the project. The actual compiling and organizing of the tens of thousands of footnotes would require many hundreds of workers. This work had already been underway for several years. Without the computer it would be manifestly impossible!

That also was but a beginning. There would be a combined concordance and topical guide, listing hundreds of subjects; a Bible dictionary; maps; and a new format. New chapter headings would be written. All in harmony with the sacred message of the Old and the New Testaments.

Several years into the project we asked for a report. How were they progressing with the tedious, laborious listing of topics in alphabetical order? They responded, “We have been through Heaven and Hell, past Love and Lust, and now we’re working toward Repentance.”

The 750 headings for the Topical Guide were painfully rendered down from a list nearly twice that long. For there was a practical consideration: the book had to be of a size for everyday use.

There was a spirit of inspiration brooding over their work, and those working with the project talked often of how it was blessed. There were humbling spiritual experiences.

After more than seven years of quiet, intensive work, the Latter-day Saint edition of the King James Bible came off the press. Already work was well under way on the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. Over the years manuscripts had come into our hands which made possible the correction of printers’ errors which had crept into early editions.

The work would be seen by more than the sympathetic students and the devoted members of the Church. The cold, impartial eyes of the research scholars would study it, and the angry eyes of enemies and detractors would pore over it. It must be correct in every detail.

Finally, after two more years, the books came from the press, the most accurate we have ever had.

Three months later, Derek Bowen, master editor of Bibles, passed away in England.

While deaths at any time are heartbreaking, the timings of deaths during the crisis of 1918-1920 were sometimes tragic in themselves. In February 1919, John Diston, a native of Sunderland, was faithfully discharged from the British Royal Navy and rushed home to be with his young wife, Beatrice, in Portsmouth. The couple had only been married six months and many of the family were sick with influenza and pneumonia. John finally made it home to Beatrice’s bedside, but he only had five hours with her before she passed away. As they prepared for the funeral, other family members continued to struggle with illness. On the day of Beatrice’s funeral, her adopted brother, George, also passed away. The double tragedy was hard to bear. Of Beatrice’s seven siblings, only one survived to old age.17

In Nauvoo, Illinois, she helped care for the Saints who were sick with malaria. She nursed the family of Stephen and Hannah Markham, who insisted that Cyrena stay with them. While living in the Markhams’ home, she met her future husband, Philemon C. Merrill. They were married in September 1840. They had two children, a daughter and a son, before they were forced to leave Nauvoo in 1846. Although the couple experienced much together, including participating in plural marriage, Cyrena wrote that she had “lived in perfect harmony” with her husband for 57 years.10

Sister Busche says that her husband has an unusual ability to respond to people, especially to his children. “The most important thing is that he has a good feeling for people—that he can love them and understand them and help them.” She tells of a time when one son faced the difficult choice of marriage or a mission. The Busches were in the mission home in Munich at the time, and their son and his girlfriend came to visit them. Elder Busche told his son, “We love you, and you are totally free. If you feel you should marry, we will still love you. But before you decide, go in your room and ask Heavenly Father.” The son came from his room with tears in his eyes and the commitment that he would go on a mission.

I once listened to the experience of an engineer who recently had joined the Church. The missionaries had called at his home, and his wife had invited them in. She had eagerly responded to their message, while he felt himself being pulled in against his will. One evening she indicated that she wished to be baptized. He flew into a fit of anger. Didn’t she know what this would mean? This would mean time. This would mean the payment of tithing. This would mean giving up their friends. This would mean no more smoking. He threw on his coat and walked out into the night, slamming the door behind him. He walked the streets, swearing at his wife, swearing at the missionaries, swearing at himself for ever permitting them to teach them. As he grew tired his anger cooled, and a spirit of prayer somehow came into his heart. He prayed as he walked. He pleaded with God for an answer to his questions. And then an impression, clear and unequivocal, came almost as if a voice had spoken with words that said, “It’s true.”
“It’s true,” he said to himself again and again. “It’s true.” A peace came into his heart. As he walked toward home, the restrictions, the demands, the requirements over which he had been so incensed began to appear as opportunities. When he opened the door, he found his wife on her knees praying.
Then before the congregation to whom he told this, he spoke of the gladness that had come into their lives. Tithing was not a problem. The sharing of their substance with God, who had given them everything, seemed little enough. Time for service was not a problem. This only required a little careful budgeting of the hours of the week. Responsibility was not a problem. Out of it came growth and a new outlook on life. And then this man of intellect and training, this engineer accustomed to dealing with the facts of the physical world in which we live, bore solemn testimony with moistened eyes of the miracle that had come into his life.

Karen Graham, who now serves as a stake Young Women president, writes of the importance of homemaking skills in her life:
“In my senior year in high school, when I was a 17-year-old Laurel, I arrived home from school one day to find that my mother had died very suddenly and unexpectedly of a cerebral hemorrhage. My two older sisters were married and living away from home. This left me the oldest at home to take care of the house, my grieving father, and two younger brothers ages 12 and 13.
“For the next two and a half years, I took care of the house, did all the laundry, bought groceries and fixed the meals. … Can you imagine letting a 17-year-old be in charge of the grocery budget? This sweet father of mine never said an unkind word. He never complained when I turned all his white shirts pink in the laundry or when dinner miserably failed. All my friends in high school were planning for their after-graduation lives. Some were going to Utah State University. … I had considered going to Ricks College, but in light of the family circumstances I chose to stay at home and continue to help.
“Two years after Mother’s passing, I started dating a return[ed] missionary, Garry. On our second date, he asked me what I had done with my Saturday. … He was a little surprised when I told him that I’d dusted and vacuumed and grocery shopped and done laundry all day. He thought I was just a real homebody. Six months later, this wonderful man took me to the temple and we started our life together. He was thrilled to have a wife that knew how to cook and handle the budget.
“One evening, the first year we were married, we had some newlywed friends over for dinner. Several of the couples started talking about what a hard time they had had adjusting to marriage. Garry and I looked at each other in disbelief. … Adjusting to marriage? What was that? Our first year had gone so smoothly! As we talked about it later, we determined that the reason was that I had come into the marriage with homemaking skills. … I didn’t have the stress of experimenting with and/or burning dinner, ruining laundry, or budgeting grocery money. I’d done all that experimenting on a sensitive, patient, wise father. Now Garry and I could concentrate on just our relationship, and it was wonderful. Putting my interests aside and thinking about the needs of my family had truly been a blessing for me later.”
Her service to her father during this difficult time was a part of the angelic cause of doing good, that great preparation you are making to become great women.

When I went to Russia as a volunteer English teacher, I knew very little Russian. But as I lived among the Russian people, I began to have the desire to serve them and share the gospel with them. So I started working harder to learn the language.
I started by reading a children’s version of the Book of Mormon in Russian. Armed with a Russian/English dictionary, I struggled through a chapter a day, looking up nearly every word. Then I taught myself to pray in Russian, feeling foolish as the foreign words stumbled off my tongue. Finally, I started learning to bear my testimony. To practice, I would write it in Russian in my journal. It didn’t take long for me to decide that it was hard to learn Russian.
Nearly three months into my stay in Ufa, Russia, another English teacher and I planned a trip to a faraway city called Saratov. We were met at the train station by a wonderful Latter-day Saint family who opened their hearts and their home to us. Our time there was soon over, and we were once again on the train, ready for the 20-hour train ride back to Ufa.
We shared our small compartment with two businessmen who made us a little nervous. They were extremely polite though, so we soon felt safe. When we had left Saratov, the family we had stayed with had explained the importance of being an example: “Don’t forget that everyone is watching you. Everyone.” They gave us a few missionary pamphlets and challenged us to give them away before we got home.
Dubiously, I eyed the two men across from us. I sighed and decided they probably wouldn’t be interested.
But when I got out my scriptures to read, the men were curious and started asking questions. We gave them the pamphlets, which they read.
Later on the trip I started writing in my journal. The men asked why I wasn’t writing in Russian, so I showed them that I often did. The pages I happened to show them contained my testimony. They asked to read it, and I willingly obliged. They also eagerly started reading the Russian copy of the Book of Mormon I gave to them. As they asked questions, I felt as if the room would burst from the Spirit that filled it. One of the men asked if I could feel in my heart “the fire” that was in his and asked if I knew what it was. In my broken Russian I explained it was the Holy Ghost.
I had him read 3 Nephi 11. As we read of the Savior’s ministry among the people on the American continent, tears came to his eyes. He stopped reading and quietly asked, “Does Jesus Christ love me like He loved those people?”
With tears in my eyes I answered, “Yes, He knows you, and He loves you. That is why He wants you to know the truth about His gospel.” He looked at me for another moment and then dropped his eyes to read further. When we arrived in Ufa, we gave him the missionaries’ phone number.
It took a special 20-hour train ride to teach me that I don’t need to be on a full-time mission to serve the Lord and share the gospel. I don’t know if the little seeds that were planted that night have grown. But I do know that miracles occurred. I was converted, even if those men were not.

Loralee Anderson was tired of watching TV. It seemed like every time she turned on the news there was another story about teenagers getting into trouble. Why don’t they ever show the good things teenagers are doing? she wondered. Do people really think we are all bad?
Flash forward a year later. High school students from all over the Salt Lake Valley are gathered one morning, helping deliver food to the homeless. A man quietly approaches, takes an apple, and tells Loralee that he wishes the world had more teens like the group assembled here. Loralee watches her friends flipping pancakes and handing out fruit, and she smiles. Service is not just changing attitudes; it’s changing lives. Thanks to Loralee, teenagers from around the Salt Lake area are answering calls for help with an SOS of their own—a storm of service.

The morning rain tapped lightly on the roof of the van, then danced into tiny rivers down a fogged windshield. I waited in the backseat with my books on the floor, trying to warm my fingers with my breath. After early-morning seminary, our teacher would usually offer to drive some of us to school if we couldn’t find a ride.
Sarah sat next to me in the backseat, filing her nails. The sweet smell of bubble gum filled the air as she unwrapped a piece and began to chew. Wendy Turner was up front, and we all sat in silence as we waited for our teacher to finish in the classroom.
Then Sarah snapped her gum loudly and started a sudden burst of words.
“You know,” she blurted, still smacking, “seminary is such a waste of time. I mean it’s just such a drag!”
I didn’t say a word as I looked in her direction. I guess it took me by surprise, and I really wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s just that we have to get up so early, and for what?” She continued, “Just to hear someone preach at us for an hour before we go to school. It’s not like church isn’t already long enough on Sundays. Why should we have to torture ourselves through the week too?”
It’s not really a torture, I thought to myself. But I still wasn’t sure of what to say. Then just when I started to get a grip on what was going on, she added something else that really threw me for a loop.
“Besides, the Church isn’t really true anyway—only a total fool would actually believe that stuff!”
For the first time in my life, I really started to think about what I believed. Did I believe that the Church was true?
My parents had been converted when I was six years old, and the Church had been part of our lives ever since. My parents had taught me that it was true, and I could tell by their actions that they really believed it. But what about me? What did I believe? I guess when it came to the Church, I was just “along for the ride.” I had been baptized when I was eight years old, I had finished Primary, I held the Aaronic Priesthood, and I went to all my meetings and Young Men activities. But what did I really believe in my heart? I didn’t know.
Wendy finally spoke from the front seat. “I believe it is all true. I believe it is because I found out for myself, and I know it is in my heart—and that’s enough for me.”
Those words really impressed me—“I believe because I found out for myself.” I remember wondering how she found out for herself, but I didn’t ask. In fact, I didn’t say one word the entire ride to school. What do I really believe? I kept asking myself.
Time moved on, and soon my family moved to New Hampshire. We were no longer part of a large ward or an overflowing stake, but now members of a tiny branch which spread over several small towns. We soon discovered that my sisters and I were the only LDS youth in our town. I really had to cling to what the Church taught. I found myself defending it many times, but in my heart the question still lingered.
Was this what I really believed? I still couldn’t come up with the answer, and the question wouldn’t leave. It just kept getting bigger and more urgent. I had to find out for myself, but I didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The years passed by, and finally graduation was around the corner. It would soon be time to take the next step—serving a mission. Going on a mission seemed to fill every conversation I had with my parents, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I should go. How could I teach people the gospel if I didn’t know for myself if it “I believe because I found out for myself.”
It was time to stop living off of “borrowed light.” I was determined to find out.
I didn’t know where to start, but I decided the Book of Mormon would be a good place. I started to study it, not just read it. I also decided to study it prayerfully. While I was doing this, I realized that I hadn’t been having personal prayers very regularly. I also realized that this was the first time I had honestly studied the scriptures. Maybe the reason I didn’t know if the Church was really true was that I had never prayerfully tried to find out.
I kept a list of questions I had about the Church in the cover of my Book of Mormon. At nights I made an effort to pray about a certain question, and quite often I would find the answer to that very question as I read. This happened too often to be just a coincidence. My prayers were actually being answered, and every time a prayer would be answered, it gave me a deeper incentive to continue in my investigation.
I finished the Book of Mormon and started on the New Testament. I had seen books like A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and Jesus the Christ sitting on my parents’ bookshelves, and now I had an intense desire to learn what they had to say. I didn’t really read anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for the first time, I understood it. As I continued in my study and prayers, a strong testimony began to grow within me, and sometimes when I prayed, a warm feeling would overcome me entirely. I soon learned that the Holy Ghost was real.
I noticed one night that every question I had written on the list had been crossed out. Although it hadn’t happened all at once, my questions had been answered—every one of them.
Then I realized I knew that the Church was true. I knew it was true, not because my parents had told me it was true, not because the leaders of the Church had told me it was true, but because I had found out for myself.
The New Era is adding a department called “How I Know.” It will include short articles from our readers about how they learned the Church was true or how they learned to recognize answers to their prayers. If you have an experience that you’d like to share with other readers, please send it to the New Era, 50 East North Temple, Salt Lake City, Utah, 84150.

The first role models who presented the gospel to me were the missionaries who taught my family in the Philippines. Their example had a lot of influence in our decision to join the Church. They were patient with us, and they always brought a wonderful spirit with them.
While we were still new members, we encountered a man who had left the Church. He gave us a lot of anti-Mormon literature, and I was shocked. It was my first encounter with opposition to the Church, and my testimony was still tender. While he was confronting us and attacking everything the missionaries had taught us, I was filled with fear. But when the missionaries were with us, they brought peace. Because of the missionaries, our family learned to tell the difference between faith and fear, and we chose faith.

One day my cousin Jeff came over to play. We played under the back porch. Jeff had a little dump truck and I had a windup tractor. Mom gave us an empty cereal box and we made houses and roads.
I wanted to make another road. Jeff was using the shovel, so I took Woody out of my pocket and started to dig. Woody dug nice roads. I kept making the road longer and longer until I hit a rock and then SNAP! I picked up the piece that had broken off and tried to fix Woody, but it was no use. I felt like crying, but Jeff was there.
“It’s just a dumb stick,” Jeff said. I put Woody’s broken pieces under the porch steps and kept on playing. When Jeff went home, I crawled under the porch and got the pieces.
“I’m sorry, Woody,” I whispered. He didn’t say anything. I put him in the cereal box and carried him down to where we planted the flower and made a hole. Then I put Woody in the hole and covered him up.
He was a good stick and I miss him a lot.

Juanita and Miguelito live with their parents in a small house in Guatemala. They love each other very much. Each Sunday Juanita and Miguelito go to Primary and learn about the Savior and His teachings.
The Veliz family just moved into a big house close to Juanita and Miguelito’s house. Juanita and Miguelito like to play with the Veliz children. The Veliz children have toys that are bigger and more expensive. Their toys seem to be more fun, too.
One day Juanita and Miguelito were alone in the Veliz’s playroom. Miguelito put a toy racing car he liked to play with in his pocket. “Don’t say anything,” he told Juanita. “They have so many toys. They will never know if I take just one.”
“Miguelito, one of the commandments is ‘Thou shalt not steal’ (Ex. 20:15). Don’t you remember what Sister Campiz said in Primary?” Juanita asked.
“Sister Campiz said when we keep the commandments, we show Heavenly Father that we love Him and are willing to obey Him,” Juanita continued.
Miguelito kept playing. He pretended he didn’t hear his sister. “You choose!” Juanita told him.
After a few minutes, Miguelito took the car out of his pocket and put it with the other toys. He smiled at Juanita.
Before they went to bed that night, Juanita heard Miguelito praying. “Heavenly Father,” he said, “I am thankful to have the commandments to help me choose between right and wrong.”

Jake loved Sundays! He loved learning about Jesus. He loved singing in Primary.
And he loved pizza.
Every Sunday, Jake’s family stopped at a pizza place on their way home from church. Thinking about the gooey cheese and warm tomato sauce always made his mouth water.
One Sunday, Jake’s class was talking about keeping the Sabbath day holy.
“What can we do on Sunday to show that it’s a special day?” Sister Chi asked.
“Help other people?” Raul said.
“Go to church!” Tamara said.
“Spend time with our family,” Jake said.
“Those are all great answers,” Sister Chi said, writing them on the board. “Anything else?”
“We don’t go shopping on Sunday unless it’s an emergency,” Liam said.
“That’s right,” Sister Chi said, nodding. “Then we can think about Heavenly Father instead of thinking about buying things. Also, that helps other people keep the Sabbath day holy instead of having to work.”
Sister Chi and the other kids kept talking, but suddenly Jake found it hard to listen. His family never went to the mall or the grocery store on Sunday. But they did go out for pizza. Were they keeping the Sabbath day holy?
When class ended, Jake went to find his parents. For the first time, he wasn’t very excited to eat pizza.
Mom met him in the hallway with his little brother, Daniel. She led them outside to the car, where Dad was waiting.
“How was church?” she asked once they were all buckled in.
“Great! I learned a new song in Primary,” Daniel said, singing what he could remember. Jake stayed quiet, looking down at his shoes.
“What about you, Jake?” Dad said.
“It was OK,” Jake mumbled without looking up.
“What did you learn about?” Mom asked.
“The Sabbath day,” Jake said.
“We learned about that too,” Dad said, glancing over at Mom. “Actually, we wanted to talk with you guys about—”
“Should we be buying pizza on Sunday?” Jake blurted out. He didn’t want to ruin their family tradition. But he wanted them to keep the Sabbath day holy too.
Mom looked back at him, surprised.
“That’s exactly what we wanted to talk about,” Mom said. “We realized that eating at the pizza place probably isn’t the best thing to do on the Sabbath.”
“But can we still have pizza on Sundays?” Daniel asked.
“Sure. We’ll eat something else today,” Dad said. “From now on I’ll buy a frozen pizza on Saturday. Then we can bake it at home on Sunday.”
“Can we try different toppings on it?” Jake said. “Like olives and peppers shaped in a smiley face?”
“Yeah! With a pineapple nose?” Daniel added.
“Ha! You got it,” Mom said.
Jake felt a big grin spread across his face. The warm feeling he had inside was worth all the pizza in the world.

Brian Furuya was another who used this introduction to study a little more about the Church. He admits that he started out his study of the gospel with an idea that he would prove it wrong. But that didn’t work out. Instead he found a witness of the Spirit that spoke to his soul. “I didn’t know I was racking up a debt. God told me that much. There is a debt; there is a tab, and someday there would be an accounting. Then I would find my pockets empty. After joining the Church, what made my life easier was knowing that I had a loan [through the atonement of Jesus Christ].”

After Brian joined the Church, he said, “Don’t expect me to go to seminary. I value sleep way too much.” But, as he now admits with a shrug of his shoulders, “The next day I found myself in seminary, and every day since, I’ve found myself in seminary. There has to be something good happening, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”