Gospel Story Finder

When I joined the Church at age nine, I already believed that the Church was true, so I thought it was unnecessary to ask God if it is true. After being a member for several years, I began to doubt. Then during a sacrament meeting, as I listened to the hymn “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26), I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if the Church is true and if Joseph Smith had really seen Him and Jesus Christ. The thought came to my mind that yes, the Church of Jesus Christ is true, and yes, Joseph saw God the Father and Jesus Christ. My eyes filled with tears, and I felt the Holy Ghost burn in my heart.
Today I can affirm that the Holy Ghost testified to me of the truthfulness of this Church. I know that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and I cannot deny it. This testimony gave me the courage to share my testimony with others.

Some years ago I read an article in the Era of Youth section of our Improvement Era magazine entitled “Bind on Thy Sandals.” It told of the less-than-spectacular career of a quarterback on the football team of a small, rural high school. This young man managed to make the team, but it was clear he was not going to be all-state or all-American. Indeed, it didn’t look like he was going to be all-anything, except perhaps all battered and bruised. He was the fourth of the four quarterbacks.
By season’s end he had never been called into a game and had given up hope. During the final game of the year he pulled off his shoes, wrapped himself in a blanket, and settled down on the bench to watch his buddies play.
Midway through the game he heard the coach shout his name. He was startled and wondered if he had been mistaken. Then it came again, right from the coach’s lips, “Hey, you! Get in there and move the ball!”
What should he do? His first impulse was to lapse into a coma. His second was to pretend he didn’t hear. His third was to say, “Wait, coach. Wait while I put on my shoes.” He did the only manly thing. Strapping on his helmet as he ran, he made straight for the huddle; his white-stockinged feet were conspicuous to the players on both teams, as well as to the spectators and the coach, who also must have been ready to lapse into a coma.
He called the play, but the shock of his first game was obviously a little disconcerting. By the time he took the snap from center he had forgotten the play he had called. His teammates moved to the right, but he gamely went left. There, alone against the world, he met the opposition head-on and was swallowed up in the snarl of the onrushing linemen.
He said later, “No one expected me to make a touchdown. Even running the wrong way was understandable. But there was no excuse for a quarterback without shoes.” (See Improvement Era, Sept. 1969, p. 44.)

On his way home from Russia, this friend of animals stopped in England, where he observed the work of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. From that time on, Bergh was determined to form a similar organization in America to protect animals there. He began to talk to people about animals’ rights, he sought support for his views among his influential friends, he used his money as well as his diplomacy, and eventually he got some animal protection laws passed. In 1866 he and his supporters formed the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, generally known as the SPCA.

Illustration by Phil, i2iArt.com
During my freshman year of high school, my parents got divorced. For years, I had watched my dad not take the sacrament. I knew he struggled to keep the commandments, but I did not understand the extent or length of those struggles. It was only when my parents told me about his excommunication that my sister and I finally learned the details.
“I hate you!” I yelled over and over, sobbing. I was furious. How could he do this to our family? I thought. How could he lie to us for so long?
The initial shock and anger didn’t last long. Within a couple of weeks, my anger gave way to numbness. At first, numbness was a relief from the anger and pain I felt, but eventually my relief changed to desperation. I felt my life crashing down around me. More than ever before, I needed to feel connected to heaven. I needed to feel God’s love, guidance, peace, and healing.
Soon, general conference came. During one session, I listened and waited to feel God’s comfort. But it didn’t come. There in the dark chapel, I thought, I cannot feel the Holy Ghost, but I’m sure He’s here. He has to be here. As I thought this, I started remembering the many small witnesses I had received that the scriptures were true, that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that Heavenly Father had blessed my family, and that keeping the commandments brought peace. It was as if I had a reservoir of testimony.
The more I reflected on my past spiritual witnesses, the more I realized that even though I desperately wanted to feel the Spirit, it really didn’t matter that I could not feel His influence at that exact moment. I already had a store of quiet, constant witnesses that the gospel was true.
That knowledge sustained me and gave me the desire to continue keeping the commandments even when there seemed to be no immediate payoff. Gradually, I felt Heavenly Father’s and the Savior’s love more in my life. Staying close to Them, even when I couldn’t always feel Them near, brought me an undeniable peace and a stronger testimony of the Savior’s gospel. This continues to influence me now when I face uncertainty or heartache. I know I can trust Heavenly Father and the Savior, and that They will heal, uplift, and strengthen me and each one of us.

A special guest was at the rodeo grounds in Evanston, Wyoming: Shelly Williams, Miss Rodeo America 1999, from Kuna, Idaho. Along with steer wrestling, bareback riding, and other usual events, there was a special event featuring some of the rodeo staff and the queens, including Miss Rodeo America. The participants rode stick horses and carried pies. You guessed it—it ended up being a friendly pie fight.
During the fight, Miss Rodeo America lost her ring. She had designed it herself, and it had been made by a silversmith in Oregon. Even more than for its value in dollars, it was of great sentimental value to Miss Williams. The rodeo was stopped for a few minutes while a search was made, but the ring wasn’t found and the remaining events had to take place. The announcer did ask that anyone with a metal detector come down after the rodeo and help look for the ring.
My daughter Mariah, 5, and her friend Kami wanted to help look for it, too. I was reluctant. I was also surprised, because Mariah doesn’t like to get dirty. Looking for the ring would mean digging in dirt and muck.
When they reached the arena, the girls huddled together in prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help the people find the queen’s special ring and to not let it be damaged by the horses and the bulls. Then the little girls went over to where other people had already been searching with their metal detectors. Mariah and Kami started sifting through the dirt there, and soon Mariah started hollering, “Mom, I found something!”
I thought she had found a neat rock or a worm or some other such “treasure.” But when she ran over to me and held out her hand, there was a shiny silver ring in it, undamaged. And, yes, it was Miss Rodeo America’s ring!
Queen Shelly Williams was elated, of course. She ran over and hugged and hugged Mariah, tears streaming down her face. She autographed posters for Mariah and Kami and later sent a small gift to Mariah. Mariah kept telling the rodeo queen, “I asked Heavenly Father to help, and He showed me where the ring was.”
Mariah knew exactly why and how the ring was found. When she and Kami prayed, there was not a doubt in their minds that their prayer would be answered. It taught me that the faith of a child can move mountains and that we must never be too busy to help out someone in need.
At bedtime that night, Mariah thanked Heavenly Father for answering her prayer and helping her find the ring. When she finished praying, I asked her what had made her decide to pray about the ring. She said, “Where else are you to go when you need special help?” Where, indeed!

Elder Stobbs grew up in Worcester Ward, Cheltenham Stake. He has been serving as a full-time missionary in the South Africa Johannesburg Mission since October 2021. Here he shares the story of his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ:
“Gaining a testimony was very hard for me. I grew up through Primary knowing that the Church was true because, I reasoned, my parents were always right. The first time I realised my parents didn’t know everything and that there was a possibility that the Church wasn’t true, was when I was about 10 or 11.
“I spent most of my time in Young Men sitting on the fence; I wasn’t sure if the Church was true. I had spiritual experiences and answers to my prayers, but I found, to my frustration, that I was quick to forget or discount them. In Alma 46:8, we read, ‘Thus we see how quick the children of men do forget the Lord their God, yea, how quick to do iniquity, and to be led away by the evil one.’
“As I was doing my scripture study one day, I read 3 Nephi 23, where the Saviour chastises the Nephites for not writing down sacred events. I realised that this is what the Lord wanted me to do as well. At the end of every day, I wrote down how I had seen the hand of the Lord in that day. As I did this. I recognised miracles that I had not seen during the day. I also wrote down experiences of feeling the Spirit or having my prayers answered. These experiences formed a wall of faith that I could turn to if I ever felt my testimony wavering.
“Since then, my gratitude for God has grown, and my testimony has been strengthened immensely. I am grateful for the chance to serve His children in South Africa. I know that God lives and is always mindful of us. Jesus Christ is the Saviour of the world, and this is his Church again restored to the earth. Because of him we can live with Heavenly Father and our families forever in a state of never-ending happiness.”

When I was a high councilor, I had what became a very cherished experience with private prayer. In our first meeting with our newly sustained stake president, he was stern and demanding—quite a contrast with the loving and gentle manner of his predecessor. Several of us struggled with our negative reactions to his style. During that meeting, he assigned me to speak in an upcoming priesthood session of a ward conference. As he did so, an idea for a theme flashed through my mind, and I jotted myself a note. But later, when I prepared the talk, I forgot the note and the prompting.
As I gave the talk, a depressing feeling of failure troubled me. Afterward, when I was alone, I knelt down and asked the Lord why I had failed after trying so hard. An impression came to me that I had given the wrong talk. Then I remembered the earlier impression and realized that I hadn’t followed it. I told the Lord I was sorry and, feeling downcast, went off to the sacrament meeting session of ward conference.
During the opening hymn, I felt an urge to pray again. I asked the Lord to give me another chance and told him that I would give the right talk this time. I was mystified about why I was so bold, because I knew the agenda for the conference was full and that there was no chance for me to speak. But during the intermediate hymn, I noticed the stake president lean over and whisper something to the bishop. After the hymn, the bishop announced, “The stake president would like to have Brother Bachman briefly bear his testimony.”
With considerable emotion, I explained what had just transpired and testified of the inspiration of our new stake president. The eyes of several of the other high councilors sitting in the congregation glistened with tears, as did mine. Then I related my little talk as I had promised the Lord I would and sat down, almost in shock at the events of the past two hours.
During the closing hymn, I was still basking in the spirit of it all. Suddenly, a phrase of the hymn swept out of the air above the congregation and pierced my consciousness: “God hears my secret prayer” (Hymns, 1985, number 144). My tears again flowed freely.
That was the beginning of one of the most wonderful priesthood relationships I have ever experienced in the Church. For four years, I enjoyed sitting at the feet of this great man and learning about inspiration, leadership, and Church government.

Last Christmas, my mom’s whole family came to our house. We all wrote down things that we were going to give Christ for the next year. Then we went around and said what we had decided to give.
My grandma said she was going to read the Book of Mormon in four months. My grandma has not gone to church since she was nine and has only read parts of the Bible. We were all surprised. She said she wanted to read it because all of her kids and most of her grandkids had read it. She wanted to know why it was so important to us.
All of my aunts, uncles, and most of my cousins decided to read the Book of Mormon with her. I wasn’t sure if she was going to do it, but she is now starting the book of Alma. She really likes it. I feel happy when I read the Book of Mormon and know that my grandma is reading it as well.

Next, Paula’s focus shifted to people living just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico. She heard about the desperate conditions many families were living in and she went to work. She collected clothing, food, and household items from everyone she knew. Soon the collected items were taken across the border and given to the families who so badly needed them. She is still collecting and sending on a continual basis.

Like him, many of us must learn to retain our faith in God’s justice and live worthy for blessings that do not come immediately. I remember a fine young man in Solingen, Germany, whom my companion and I taught diligently, fasted for, and prayed about. His parents originally denied him permission to be baptized, and he later lost interest in the Church. But thirteen years later, after the break-up of his marriage, he found the Church again; and when a business interview took him to Chicago he came on to Salt Lake City, and I had the immense joy of baptizing him.

I grew up in the Church in a loving home. Yet as I entered my teenage years, I started to drift away from the gospel. I still went to church nearly every Sunday. I believed what was being taught, but I just wasn’t committed enough to live the gospel.

When my older brother came home from his mission, he could see that I wasn’t going in the direction I should be. He came into my room one night and tried to talk with me. But I really wasn’t that interested. Finally he said, “All of the answers to all of your problems are in this book,” and he put a Book of Mormon on my bed. Then he left. After a few minutes, I said to myself in a mocking voice, “All of the answers to all of your problems are in this book.”

“OK,” I thought, “let’s see.”

I opened the Book of Mormon and the first verse I saw was Alma 29:13, which says, “Yea, and that same God did establish his church among them; yea, and that same God hath called me by a holy calling, to preach the word unto this people, and hath given me much success, in the which my joy is full.” I felt similar to Joseph Smith when he said, “Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine” (Joseph Smith—History 1:12).

The Spirit was very strong, and I knew that I had been directed by the Lord. I immediately looked for a red pencil, fearing that I might lose this scripture and never find it again. I reviewed it again, trying to understand what it meant for me. I came to understand that I should go on a mission, that I would be successful, and that I would be happy doing it.

Fearing perhaps that I might change my mind or doubt the prompting, I jumped in my car and went to my dad’s pizza shop to ask for his support, which he immediately gave. I then went to my bishop’s house and asked him what I had to do to go on a mission. Before long, I received a call to serve in the Philippines Manila Mission. As it turned out, I was happy and successful.

Since that time, my life has never been the same. I’m not sure where I would be or what I would be doing if my brother hadn’t come into my room that night, but I’m sure my life was going in the wrong direction. The Book of Mormon really did save my life. I know that the Lord is aware of us and wants to help us if we will put forth effort and show we are interested in Him.

Among the new members in Canada were many with relatives and friends in England. They wrote letters explaining their conversion and became anxious to bear their testimonies personally to their friends. The groundwork was already being laid for the spread of the gospel. Several months before Joseph Smith had fled from Kirtland, he had called Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Willard Richards, and four Canadian converts to open the British mission. They arrived at the port of Liverpool, England on July 20, 1837.
These missionaries contacted friends and relatives and then began to work generally among the people of England. After nine months of preaching—in churches whenever they could, in rented halls, or door to door—they counted nearly two thousand converts. Most of the elders returned home that spring,. leaving Canadian Joseph Fielding to preside over the mission, with Willard Richards (not yet an apostle) and William Clayton, a British convert, as counselors.

Hastily, John Salinger wrote down the details of the assignment on the back of the list of materials to read: three-page paper due on the fifth, about world hunger, use the list of materials to be read.
The bell rang, and John walked down the hall toward the cafeteria.
When the Mormon students who ate lunch together were seated in their usual places in the cafeteria, John asked the question: “Did Mr. Perkins give your class an assignment on population and hunger today?”
Soon it was established that not only had John’s government class received the assignment, but also Kamio Kamura’s economics class, as well as Julie’s history class.
“It seems as though I’ve received a similar assignment at least once each semester from one teacher or another for the last three years. If it isn’t overpopulation, it’s abortion or world hunger,” added Lisa.
“And the material in the reading list makes it pretty clear what your conclusions are supposed to be: The world is overcrowded. No one should have a large family. Abortions are needed to control population growth. We don’t have enough food! But, I don’t believe all that!” protested Julie.
“Maybe we’re being unfair to the teachers,” said John. I think Mr. Perkins and the other teachers give assignments on these subjects because they are really concerned about them. And many of them agree with what the Church teaches.”
“Maybe so, John,” answered Lisa, “but how do we do the assignment when the teacher’s opinions don’t seem to agree with what the Church teaches?”
These young people have asked some interesting questions. Frequently, the opinions of teachers will differ from Church policies, the statements of Church leaders, and the scriptures.
“Let’s go talk to Mr. Morgan,” said John. “He has taught at this school for a long time and he has been a bishop and a seminary teacher even longer.”
“I can understand that you have a problem,” said Bishop Morgan, “but it’s not the problem you mentioned. You are assuming that you may use only the sources on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and that you must reach the same conclusions as the authors on that list. I have no doubt,” continued the bishop, “that you are welcome to use other sources, and to state other points of view, and to reach different conclusions if that is what your research leads you to.”
“But are there books and articles that support what the Church teaches?” asked Lisa.
“Certainly,” replied Bishop Morgan. “There are few fields of study without controversy. Honest, sincere researchers, working with the same data, may come to widely different conclusions and then publish documented articles and books in support of their conclusions.
“Some scientists are sure the world is overcrowded with four billion people. Others feel that the earth is capable of providing well for 40 or 50 or even 100 billion people.
“And among social scientists the differences of opinion are probably even greater because they work with the most complex subject of all: people. That’s why you get strong conflicting opinions like these. There are no easy answers.
“As Latter-day Saints, we are fortunate to have revealed truth to guide us in these controversial subjects, and we should be grateful for that. And there are many researchers, both LDS and otherwise, whose writings agree with what the Lord has revealed. Your problem is simply to find these writings and then decide which of them will be useful in your assignments.”
In the next three weeks John, Julie, and Kamio did a lot of hard work. Working together, they carefully read everything on Mr. Perkin’s reading list and then began doing research in both the school and public libraries.
They contacted various social service and government agencies and obtained some useful materials, references and statistics. Other teachers were consulted.
John and Julie and Kamio received top grades for their work in presenting the Church’s position. They were invited to present their findings to their respective classes and to answer questions from other students. They were well prepared with information to support their beliefs.
Best of all, they learned that there really are good and valid reasons for the Church’s position concerning difficult moral issues. They discovered that some teachers with strong opinions respect students who do good, thorough research, even when they disagree with them. And they learned that the gospel of Jesus Christ is always in harmony with the truth from whatever source.

“How high are we going, Dad?” Keith asked, skipping merrily along to keep up with his father’s long, quick strides.
“To the fourth floor,” said Dad with a smile when they approached the four-story bank building. Keith had been in the bank before but had never ridden its elevator.
“Elevators are magic,” Keith said.
“What do you mean?” asked Dad.
“Well, people go into them, and the doors close. Then when they come out, they are somewhere else.”
Father laughed. “I guess you’re right, son. An elevator is magic!”
Keith gripped his dad’s hand as they pushed through the big swinging double glass doors of the bank building. “How many elevators are there?” he asked.
“Only one,” Dad answered.
Keith was about to ask how people came back down if the elevator stopped working. But when he passed a door with the word STAIRS on it he decided he already knew the answer.
Dad stopped at some large shiny doors and pushed a little button that lighted up. The doors opened and some people stepped out. Keith wondered where they all came from.
Keith and his dad stepped quickly into the elevator. Dad pushed another little button stamped with a 4.
“What would happen if we didn’t stop at 4?” Keith asked, watching a row of numbers light up one at a time. Dad said that the fourth floor was as high as the elevator went. But Keith wondered if anyone had ever gone past there and had stopped on the roof or maybe even high above the clouds somewhere.
However, when the elevator slowed to a stop on the fourth floor, the door opened onto a long, narrow hallway. Then another thought came to Keith. “Dad, how far down does an elevator go?”
“It stops in the basement below the level of the ground,” Dad answered.
Keith wondered what would happen if the elevator didn’t stop when it got to the basement, but he didn’t say anything.
When his dad had finished with his business they returned to the elevator. Keith was still thinking about the basement when Dad pushed the button. Soon the elevator doors silently slid open. No one came out, so Keith stepped in.
Just then someone called to Dad and he stopped and turned to see who it was. Suddenly, the heavy doors closed, leaving Keith in the elevator all by himself. Keith yelled, “Dad!” and tried to open the doors, but they wouldn’t budge and he didn’t know about the special button that could be pushed to reopen them. Even if he had known, he was too short to reach it.
The elevator started moving, slowly at first, but then it picked up speed as down, down, down it went. Keith watched fearfully as the row of numbers lighted up again, one at a time—3, 2, 1. When the elevator didn’t slow down at 1, he was really afraid. But when the letter B lit up, the elevator finally came to a gentle stop.
Keith wondered what would happen next. He was so frightened that a big tear started to roll down his cheek. Slowly and quietly the doors slid open. Standing before him was a man in striped overalls, carrying a mop and a well-used bucket.
“Well, hello, there!” said the man, with a surprised look on his face.
“Hi,” Keith managed to say, stepping out of the elevator. “Who—who are you?”
The man’s surprised look slowly turned into a broad smile. “I’m Joe, the building custodian. Are you lost?”
“I guess I am, sort of. My dad’s up on the fourth floor and I’m down here. I want to get back to him.”
“Do you remember how your dad made the elevator take him to the fourth floor? I bet you could do the same thing,” Joe encouraged.
“But I can’t reach the buttons.”
“I see,” said Joe. “That is a problem.”
Then Joe held up the head of the mop. “Let me introduce you to this beauty. Her name is Liz, and she’s the queen of the basement.”
He put his head close to the head of his mop. “What did you say, Liz? That you want to visit the fourth floor, and that you’d like us to escort you?”
Joe bent down and whispered to Keith. “She means she wants us to go with her and help her punch elevator buttons. What do you think? Should we help her out?”
“You bet!” said Keith, grinning from ear to ear.
“OK, Your Highness. This way,” said Joe with a flourish and a bow to the mop. Joe picked up the bucket and, with Keith’s help, escorted Liz into the elevator. And up they went.
Dad was glad to see Keith. And after both of them thanked Joe for his help, Dad was introduced to Liz. He said he’d be honored to shake the queen’s hand, but since that didn’t seem possible, he’d just say, “Thanks.”
On the way down in the elevator, Dad asked, “Well, son, did you learn anything about elevators today?”
“Yep,” said Keith as he watched the numbers light up one at a time. “What goes up—comes down.”

I would like to share an incident which took place during the Vietnam War. There were some who were convinced that the United States was engaged in a noble and justifiable war. However, public opinion was changing, and there was opposition which argued that the United States should pull out of Vietnam.
President Harold B. Lee was the President of the Church at the time. While at an area conference in another country, he was interviewed by reporters from the international news services. One reporter asked President Lee, “What is your church’s position on the Vietnam War?” Some recognized the question as a trap—one which could not be answered without a very real risk of being misunderstood or misinterpreted. If the prophet answered, “We are against the war,” the international media could state, “How strange—a religious leader who is against the position of the country he is obliged to sustain in his own church’s Articles of Faith.”
On the other hand, if President Lee answered, “We are in favor of the war,” the media could say, “How strange—a religious leader in favor of war.” Either way, the answer could result in serious misunderstandings both inside and outside the Church.
President Lee, with great inspiration and wisdom, answered as would a man who knows the Savior: “We, together with the whole Christian world, abhor war. But the Savior said, ‘In me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation’” (John 16:33). President Lee then explained, “The Savior was not talking about the peace that can be achieved between nations, by military force or by negotiation in the halls of parliaments. Rather, he was speaking of the peace we can each have in our own lives when we live the commandments and come unto Christ with broken hearts and contrite spirits” (see Ensign, November 1982, page 70).

The air in the gym is heavy, thick with the smell of rubber-soled shoes, of basketballs, and of sweat. In one corner, young men stretch and pull. One of them calls out, “Pasame la pelota!”
In unison, the other players repeat, “Pasame la pelota!”
“What does that mean, Kelly?”
“Pass me the ball,” Kelly answers. “Now try this, ‘a la izquierda,’ That means ‘to the left.’”
“A la izquierda!” the group answers.
And so the Spanish drill continues as the basketball players prepare for a scrimmage. You might think this is a scene from a gym class at the MTC, but guess again. It actually took place at the University of New Mexico, where the Lobos were preparing for a game against Brigham Young University. The Lobos were getting a crash course in Spanish from last year’s senior guard Kelly Graves, who served in the Chile Santiago Mission. It just so happens that the majority of the starters for BYU served Spanish-speaking missions, and sometimes they tried to confuse and intimidate the opposing teams by speaking Spanish on the court.
“Those BYU guys can’t fool me,” said Kelly. “I served a Spanish-speaking mission too. During our stretching time, we’ve been going over some Spanish phrases.”

One Sunday during our teachers quorum meeting, we had a lesson on patriarchal blessings. I didn’t know a lot about patriarchal blessings, so I found the lesson very interesting. The next week my aunt and uncle who recently became active in the Church received their patriarchal blessings. Then that Monday I got my copy of the New Era in the mail. I saw that one of the articles in it was titled “When Should I Get My Patriarchal Blessing?” [Aug. 2009], and that is when I started to wonder if my Heavenly Father was trying to tell me to get my patriarchal blessing. I prayed about it and received my answer. Soon afterward I received my patriarchal blessing.

The day I received my call was exactly two weeks after I had sent in my papers. Before opening the envelope I knelt down to ask my Heavenly Father if this was where he wanted me to go. I begged with all my heart that he would answer me, and the answer came with the same peaceful feeling I had received when I asked about the gospel before my baptism. “Yes, this is the mission I have chosen for you,” came the answer, and I quickly opened the envelope. I was called to the California Ventura Mission.
Once on my mission, as I prepared for a transfer, I thought back to all the spiritual experiences I had had. I remembered a humble woman who asked my companion and me, with tears in her eyes, why we hadn’t come sooner. I remembered a little ten-year-old we baptized who worked long hours in his neighbor’s garden so he could first earn money to buy a Bible and then go on a mission. I also remembered one sacrament meeting when a woman I had baptized came up to me and said, “It’s all because of you,” when she received a call to serve in the Primary. She practically radiated gratitude as she thanked me for coming to her door the afternoon we met.
All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.
I am truly grateful for that family who gave so much to bring me and my family the gospel. Because of their sacrifices, we as Lamanites are fulfilling Nephi’s prophecy in 2 Nephi 30:6, where it says, “and many generations shall not pass away among them, save they shall be a pure and a delightsome people.” [2 Ne. 30:6]

Sasha was only 14 when he received a Book of Mormon from his older sisters, who had joined the Church in another city.
“They emphasized the fact that I was 14, just as Joseph Smith was when he had his First Vision. He was greatly blessed at a young age, and I could be too,” he says.
So he started reading. He read until he got to the Isaiah chapters in 2 Nephi, and then he stopped. He read the Book of Mormon again a year later, but as a historical document, not with a desire to know if it was true.
But when he read the Book of Mormon the third time, Sasha focused less on its history and more on the work of God it recorded.
“As I read it, I thought it was true, but I didn’t have a firm testimony yet,” he admits. “I wanted to talk to the missionaries.”
When the elders arrived a few years later, they answered all of his questions and helped him prepare to be baptized and confirmed.
“As I walked into the waters of baptism, all my doubts were gone, and I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and the gospel is true,” he says. “I was not afraid, even though I knew the rest of my life would be different.”
His life is different now. As a home teacher Sasha is learning how to magnify the priesthood he holds and serve in the Lord’s kingdom.
Within a year of his baptism Sasha baptized his mother and his grandfather. His entire family has now joined the Church, and Sasha is excited to bring the gospel to others.
“I am preparing to serve a mission so that I can preach the gospel and bring someone else to God,” he says. “His work must go forward.”

Finally, let’s look at maintaining gratitude in physical trials. Elder Uchtdorf said, “True gratitude . . . comes from acknowledging that we do not always understand the trials of life but trusting that one day we will.” [18] Danny Seplak is my husband’s cousin. He is an example in our family of a strong spirit. While serving as a missionary he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of bone cancer. Treatment gained him two more years, but the cancer eventually overtook him. Before he passed in June 2000, he drafted the following:

I’m not angry [and don’t] feel cheated in getting this disease. . . . I’ve realized that the important things in life [are] to enjoy my family, my friends, my time, and to find meaning and purpose in my life. . . . Some of the most pleasant and happy moments occur when we just take the time to reflect on life and be grateful. . . . I do have faith in a loving God. I have faith that He cares about our welfare and that He has a plan for us.