Gospel Story Finder

Our vacation was ending. Over waffles that morning, we planned how to make the most of our time at the hotel before enduring the five-hour drive home. My husband decided to take our three young daughters for a final escapade in the pool. I would take advantage of a treadmill in the workout room.
The treadmill I chose faced a wall-sized window overlooking the swimming pool. Shortly I saw a family, my family, make their way to the pool. Towels, shoes, and T-shirts flew everywhere as the girls excitedly prepared to jump into the water. Normally I would be following behind them, gathering up clothes and shoes and, quite honestly, being a bit annoyed by it all. Instead, I saw this family from the outside looking in, as though the giant window before me was a movie screen. As my feet pounded a rhythm on the rotating belt beneath, I watched.
I saw how happy everyone was, laughing and playing together, and I thought about the times I had become discouraged by the petty arguments that inevitably arise in a family, by the uneasy feeling that, despite my best effort, I was failing to teach my children to love each other. But as I watched, I saw people who were happy together. I discovered that I wasn’t failing to teach them to love one another; I was just failing to notice that they could.
I watched one of the girls jumping from the pool’s edge over and over again into her daddy’s arms. I thought about all the big jumps she would make throughout her life and hoped she would trust Heavenly Father to catch her each time. I knew that with each jump she was learning to trust and that being part of our family was a safe way to learn that trust.
Another daughter sought to perfect a swimming skill. I saw how her family’s encouragement kept her trying. There would be times in her life when she would need that same support in the face of more difficult challenges.
And then I watched as our third daughter was accidentally bumped into the pool. Upset and angry, she sputtered her way out of the water and into a chair. Immediately her family noticed she was missing. I watched each one lovingly encourage her to rejoin them. She eventually did, and I thought of her future, of all the times she would be hurt and feel like giving up. I hoped she would always find in the love of her family the strength to endure.
Suddenly, the realization hit me: our families can be a key to our ability to learn, understand, and live the gospel. Nephi noted that “by small means the Lord can bring about great things” (1 Nephi 16:29). And so it is with families. Yes, parents struggle. But every effort to teach and train and love, no matter how small, matters.
My little movie drew to a close. As I turned off the treadmill and watched my family gather their clothes, I felt renewed determination to keep going, to keep doing all the little things that I sometimes worry don’t make a difference.

At the end of my junior year of high school, I was looking forward to my senior year. I believed that nothing was going to go wrong. But was I ever mistaken.
That summer I started dating a boy named Tom. We had been friends for about six years. Tom had had a few problems with the Word of Wisdom and morality, but that was in the past. I was sure I could change him.
Tom and I dated each other for a few months with no problems. He knew where and what I stood for, and he was okay with it. After four months, Tom moved 1,500 miles away to college. I thought I was so much in love that I couldn’t live without him. I knew he loved me. After all, he had told me so.
Tom called every other day, and we would talk into the night. Then Tom started coming home almost every month. That’s when the trouble started. Tom kept telling me we were going to get married after he finished his first year of college and I had graduated from high school. I wanted to believe we could get married and live happily ever after. I thought I was so in love with him that I gave in slowly to the pressure he put on me. We ended up necking and petting. Then he would go back to school and leave me for another month. I would wait by the phone every night for his call.
I started feeling guilty after a while and would take my frustrations out on others. I started fighting with my family and friends, and my grades started going down. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and I was feeling more and more alone.
One night my friends and I were sitting around my kitchen table talking about our futures. Right then it hit me. Everything I had ever wanted was being thrown away just because I knew if I didn’t give in to my boyfriend for a few minutes, he might leave me. I realized I wasn’t even worthy of a temple marriage right then.
I decided to call my bishop. I told him I would like to talk to him for a few minutes and made an appointment for the next night. I hung up the phone feeling better than I had felt in a long time. I knew this was the right thing to do.
I found myself sitting in the bishop’s office the next evening, nervous and unsure of myself. After a brief bit of small talk, the bishop asked what he could do for me. I started crying and told him I had had a few problems with Tom. I wanted to get rid of all the guilt and anguish I had building up inside of me. We talked about how to fully repent. And if I really wanted to fully repent, I would probably have to stop seeing Tom. Then the bishop explained some reasons why. I left his office feeling refreshed and more sure of myself. Now I had to tell Tom.
I went home and prayed that night in a way I had never prayed before. I really talked to Heavenly Father as if he were sitting next to me. I poured out my heart and soul that night and many nights after.
I didn’t know if I could bear breaking up with Tom. The night before he was to come home, I got down on my knees and asked the Lord to let me know that what I was supposed to do was right. Almost immediately I had such a feeling of peace and calmness come over me that I couldn’t deny I was about to do the right thing.
The next day I told Tom everything I was feeling. I told him we couldn’t see each other any more. He was upset and said some hurtful things, but I knew I was doing the right thing.
After I broke up with Tom, everything didn’t immediately fall into place as I thought it would. It actually got harder for a while. I was feeling miserable and made the people around me miserable too. But my Young Women leader gave me a quotation that says, “If a man is unworthy to take you to the temple, then he isn’t worthy of your undying love.” I think about that every time I catch myself wondering if I could still be with Tom.
I have learned through all of this that true happiness is feeling the Lord’s spirit where you are and in everything you are doing. If you can’t feel at peace doing something by yourself or with friends, then it probably isn’t the right thing to do. I have also learned if a boy really does love you, he won’t just tell you so; he will show you by treating you with respect and by helping you reach the righteous goals you have set for yourself.
Look to the Lord for his guidance and listen for his still, small voice, which will help you make the right decisions, and you will find what true happiness is.

Jung Sung Eun of Korea didn’t pass the qualification exam to become a teacher. Tina Roper of Utah, USA, lost a job that she had expected to turn into a career. Todd Schlensker of Ohio, USA, received a spiritual confirmation to marry but saw his engagement come to an end. Alessia Mazzolari (name has been changed) of Italy ended what appeared to be the perfect relationship.

Alessia also thought that her relationship with a certain young man was meant to be. “Our story was so beautiful that, even though we had the normal difficulties that every couple encounters, we thought the relationship would never end,” she remembers.

When Alessia’s boyfriend left on his mission, the separation was difficult but for a different reason than Alessia had expected. “While he was gone, I began to know myself better. I realized that many things in my life were not yet right and that many times I had hidden behind some silly ideas rather than humble myself and face reality,” she recounts. “I had been living in a kind of fairy tale, as if being in love were enough to make everything turn out right, and often this caused me to overlook the most important things.”

Still, Alessia expected a happy reunion and continued relationship after her boyfriend’s mission. However, upon his return, the couple dated only a short time before breaking up. “It was one of the most painful moments I can remember,” says Alessia.

In their respective experiences, Todd and Alessia both eventually recognized that even though a key relationship in their lives was altered, they couldn’t abandon their obedience and allegiance to the Lord. He became their anchor when everything else was changing and uncertain.

Alessia knew that completely pledging herself to the Lord would bring her the strength that she needed. “I understood that the moment had arrived for me to decide what kind of person I wanted to be,” she says. “Would I continue to live life halfway, or would I start on the path to becoming a true disciple of Christ? I wanted to know Him deeply, love Him truly, and try to be a better person by obeying all His commandments—not just externally but in my heart with true honesty.”

After being confronted with unanticipated setbacks, all four of these young adults struggled to find the courage to live in the present and again plan for the future. But they found that their faith in the Lord grew.

Alessia, by rededicating herself to the Lord, developed a deep and personal testimony. “The plan of salvation became real for me, and my covenants became more binding and deep. Christ’s Atonement was not theory anymore or something that I had read about, perhaps too superficially. A change of heart was happening inside, and I had a sure witness.” Today, she says, she feels like a new person.

Alma taught that the preaching of the word of God has a powerful effect (see Alma 31:5). David Elmer, a Young Men leader in Texas, USA, knew this and wanted to provide the young men he led on a high-adventure Scouting trip with a meaningful experience that would help prepare them for the future.
Brother Elmer prayerfully considered what he might share and felt directed to a talk by Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. On the trip, Brother Elmer taught from that message, including the story Elder Andersen shared of Sidney Going, a New Zealand rugby star who put a sports career on hold to serve a mission. “Your mission will be a sacred opportunity to bring others to Christ and help prepare for the Second Coming of the Savior,” Elder Andersen said.1
The experience was powerful, Brother Elmer says, because he taught from the words of a living prophet. At the end of the devotional, all of the young men and leaders signed their names on rugby balls as a pledge to serve missions and as a tangible reminder of what they had learned and felt. Many of the fathers and leaders stayed up that night talking with the young men about how their missions affected their lives.
“Ours is a personal God; He knows His youth,” Brother Elmer says. “He is aware of their lives and challenges and of what is going on with these kids. You never know how He’s been working in their lives. So we as leaders prepare and provide the atmosphere for them to feel the Spirit. You can do that through the scriptures and through the words of the prophets, but it’s the Lord, not us, who is working in their hearts.”
Brother Elmer says he wants the young men to remember something else about the trip: their gospel study was consistent.
“I felt that part of my responsibility was to give them experiences to feel the Spirit, and if I wanted that to happen, I had to do my part to plan for it,” he says. “Elder David A. Bednar has taught about creating spiritual patterns in our lives, patterns like scripture study and prayer and family home evening.2 And as we were gone that week, we maintained our spiritual patterns. We had prayer as a group. We assigned young men to share a 10-minute devotional in the morning, and their leaders and fathers prepared devotionals for the evening.
“The point was that even though we were away from home and our activities were different than they normally are, our spiritual patterns didn’t get interrupted. The young men may or may not remember specific lessons, but I hope they’ll remember the pattern we maintained of having devotionals and prayer and scripture study.”

I remember that when we went to Arizona, President Christopher Layton had been the president of the stake. He was ill and soon passed away. My father took the reins and became the president of the stake. I remember we lived in a one-room house. I guess there were about nine of us at that time, and we lived in that one room for some time. Then we moved to a little adobe building a few blocks away, where there were about three rooms. The roof leaked and many times we had to sleep out in tents.
And then we acquired a ten-acre place which was above the canal. It was covered with mesquite bushes and chaparral and other desert plants. How to get rid of them, how to clear the land—that was the question. The first thing we knew, the brethren from Central Ward had come those several miles with their picks and shovels, their axes, and they began to help us clear our ten acres. They came from Layton Ward, and then they came from Pima Ward. They came before we knew it, almost. With the help of my father, who was a very excellent worker, and two sons who were older than I was, we soon had the place ready to plant.
That was welfare work. It wasn’t under the same direction. It wasn’t stimulated in the same way. But it was real welfare work, because each helped the other.

Alta Loma, California—The following report tells what it was like to be in the middle of one of the biggest West Coast fires of recent years. It is from the students of the Alta Loma (California) Institute of Religion:
“The recent September–October 1970 Meyer or Lytle Creek fire in San Bernardino County, the worst fire to date in the history of our region, has proven to be an unforgettable experience for many of us. Fanned by the Santa Ana winds, the spark from a carelessly thrown firecracker produced a devastating blaze that refused to be quieted for over three weeks. The fire consumed 33,920 acres of forest, caused over $15 million of watershed damage, and destroyed five private homes.
“Assistance in fighting the fire was required from forty-one local city fire departments as well as forestry personnel from California, Wyoming, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and Oregon. Help also came from Indian firefighters in those areas.
“With a detached attitude, we watched the fire burn for several days on the mountain range that lies north of our Chaffey Community College. We thought it would never get to us. In the words of Brent Bliss, one of eight institute students who stayed to help protect our new elev-en-month-old institute building, ‘I thought it was a big joke. But then we watched the fire run down across the foothills. It came faster than anything I had ever seen.’
“On Thursday, October 1, the days of ‘spectator’ fascination were over. A fifty-to sixty-foot wall of flame raced unmercifully toward us. We were in the center of its path. Some officials estimated the fire’s speed at fifty to seventy miles per hour. Duff Snider, another institute student, said, ‘In the instant it took me to turn around, the fire was blown across the four-lane highway and had engulfed the entire north side of a building. It must have traveled 350 yards in a matter of seconds.’
“Almost instantaneously the fire surrounded the institute building, licking up the dry brush that encompassed our property. Suddenly we were alone; moments before, CBS, NBC, and ABC television newsmen had been in and out of our building, using phones, taking pictures, and asking questions. Now the Alta Loma Institute of Religion building was shared by only nine—eight students and our institute director, David Garner. As Brent Bliss later related, the firemen watching us from a distance called over their bullhorn, ‘It’s no use! Leave the building! It will burn!’
“The noise was deafening, as if we were completely surrounded by great jet engines. To breathe was labor, even though we had wet clothes wrapped around our heads; and our clothing, which we had soaked with water from some hoses, became dry in a matter of minutes from the terrific heat.
“Fierce winds ripped at our bodies, making standing possible only with great effort. Flying debris of all sizes and shapes filled the air, and smoke so saturated the area that visibility beyond a few feet was impossible. We worked in the light from the blazing wall of flame surrounding us. No words can describe our feelings; no thought is so imaginative that it can capture the truth of the reality we shared.
“At this moment of peril, our whole institute building was threatened by an ominous ball of fire that seemed ready to snuff us out. Jim Thomas, who was on the roof, reported, ‘I saw a great ball of fire come down toward us from overhead, but as I started to cover up with a blanket, the fire retreated—just like a movie film being run backward.’
“We heard, at this point, an audible explosion. A great eruptive force from ‘inside our ball of fire’ burst upward and outward, driving back the fire on all four sides of the building.
“Only minutes earlier, Norm Perdue had driven his car down the street to get it away from the fire. Returning, he saw it this way: ‘As I ran back to the institute, it was completely obscured with smoke and fire. I thought that perhaps it wasn’t even standing, but suddenly the smoke cleared away and the fire burned on toward the west, and there it was, still standing! It reminded me of when Francis Scott Key wrote the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ after the British had attacked Fort McHenry—when, after a night of fighting and bombing between the two military forces, Key was thrilled to see the flag still flying.
“A custodian who had been on the roof of a building at the college told us, ‘It was fantastic! I wouldn’t have believed it! I just knew you were gone. But the fire jumped over you and went on. I can’t understand it. You sure were lucky!’ We pointed upward and said, ‘Yes, we sure were.’
“We who had remained to help were deeply impressed with the answer to a prayer voiced by one of our students earlier, while many of us knelt together in one of the classrooms. What was amazing to everyone was that surrounding our institute was a ten- to twenty-five-foot ring of brush and undergrowth that did not burn! The explosive force within the ball of fire had simply stopped the fire in its tracks.
“Some of our nonmember friends who had been taking institute classes with us said they couldn’t believe it. For some of them, it was the only faith-and-prayer type experience they had ever had in their lives.
“We had a testimony meeting afterward with our students. Everyone’s expression was different, but the testimony was the same: Heavenly Father had heard our prayers and answered them in such a way that all of us could see the result. The memory of the fire seems to most of us just like a vivid dream or a dramatic experience of nightmare proportion. But the feelings of testimony and conviction linger on, building trust and love in our Heavenly Father.”

It just took a little imagination and a good idea and Patricia Louderback ended up a winner. A member of the Moanalua Ward, Honolulu Hawaii West Stake, Pat was a top contributor to her state health fair. Pat won trophies for her poster urging drinking parents to “Go Home to Your Family” and another emphasizing “Alcohol Doesn’t Make Your Problems Go Away. It Adds to Them.” George R. Ariyoshi, Governor of Hawaii, presented the awards to Pat.
After graduating from Moanalua High School next year, Pat hopes to enroll as a sociology major at Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho.

Two boys in the Olathe Second Ward, Olathe Kansas Stake, recently completed unusual projects in order to earn their Eagle Scout Awards.
After visiting the Haun’s Mill Massacre Site in Caldwell County, Missouri, David Shumway wanted to do something to honor and remember the 17 Church members who were killed there in 1838. He hung signs so that visitors could find the site, and he organized the Scouts in his ward in beautifying the area around the historical marker.

Sixteen-year-old Kevin S. listened from his hospital bed as a letter from his stake president was read to him.
The Spirit filled the room and his pain seemed to fade away as he received a call to help with family history. His age and circumstances made the calling unusual, but he knew the Lord would help him do it.
Ever since Kevin was a child, he had learned that no matter how impossible the task seemed, he could accomplish it. As long as he focused on what he could do, the Lord would provide a way. This calling would be no different.
At one year old, Kevin struggled to do many things that other babies do naturally. By age two, he started walking, but his parents noticed that he was very weak. Shortly after Kevin’s second birthday, he was diagnosed with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (DMD), which causes intense exhaustion and progressively weakens muscles.
Growing up with DMD has been hard for Kevin, but he never lets that get in the way of doing what the Lord wants him to do. A tray on his wheelchair helps him pass the sacrament, and he home teaches outside people’s homes if his wheelchair can’t go inside. He lives by this motto: “If you have the desire to do something, you can do it.” Kevin does this by focusing on the things he can do rather than the things he can’t.
You might be surprised to hear all the things Kevin does. For one thing, anyone who knows him would say he’s incredibly shy. But just as with many other obstacles in Kevin’s life, the Lord gave Kevin opportunities to work around his shyness and reach out to others.
Just after Kevin turned 15, one of his close friends started falling away from the gospel. Kevin wanted to help his friend come back. But he had never even borne his testimony out loud before—how was he supposed to do it now? “Facebook,” he thought. Kevin hadn’t used social media before, but if there was a good reason to start, this was it.
So Kevin began recording his testimony, typing out messages, and sending uplifting videos to this friend and others through social media. This was something he could do.
He started wondering if he could influence more people for good. He created a Facebook page to inspire others to live the Articles of Faith. His courage to bear his testimony also increased, and he began to reach out to others over the phone.
As Kevin’s desire to share the gospel grew, so did his testimony of missionary work. Kevin wanted more than anything to serve a mission, but he knew that as his condition worsened, it was more and more unlikely.
The next year a member of Kevin’s stake spoke on the importance of family history indexing. That day Kevin went straight home, created an LDS Account, and began to index. Because of his illness, Kevin had a hard time in school, and reading was a challenge. He spent hours at his computer searching for letters he could recognize. Yet, one by one, he matched the letters on the screen with the letters on the computer keyboard. He soon began to understand the importance and impact of family history work, so he made a Duty to God goal to index a number of names.
Halfway to the goal, however, his disease began to spread even more rapidly. He lost much of the mobility in his arms and couldn’t reach the computer keyboard. A hard trial? Yes. But impossible to overcome? No.
Kevin knew that if the Lord wanted him to accomplish his goal, He would again provide a way. And that’s what happened.
In December 2014, Kevin invited the youth from his stake to help him reach his goal. About 40 youth responded. Most of them had never indexed before, yet they too felt the importance of family history work and the desire to help their friend in need. So they planned a day when they could get together, bring computers, and bring in a few indexing gurus to help them take on the challenge.
When the day came to begin indexing names for Kevin’s goal, the youth from the stake video-conferenced Kevin so that he and his family could watch them from his hospital room. Kevin had never realized he had so many friends—even friends he thought he’d been unsuccessful in reaching out to joined in the effort to help.
That day the young men and young women of Kevin’s stake indexed hundreds of names. By the end of the year, they had met Kevin’s goal—and then some.
That day in the hospital, as Kevin sat in his bed and listened to his calling from the stake president being read to him, he thought again about how the Lord provides a way to accomplish His purposes. Though Kevin’s health prevented him from serving a full-time proselyting mission, Kevin still knew that the Lord would allow him the opportunity to serve and bless others in some way.
Kevin hasn’t led an easy life. He has endured many challenges, and his prayers certainly haven’t always been answered in the way he expected. But through all of his experiences, Kevin has learned what it means to put his trust in the Savior and to be trusted by the Savior. Whatever the Lord wants him to do, the Lord knows he can do it—and so does Kevin.
Kevin knows that as long as he puts forth his whole effort, the Lord will bless him and also make up the difference for whatever he isn’t able to do. As Kevin’s favorite scripture says, “The Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). “It’s not about what I can do,” Kevin says. “It’s about what we can do.”

For a long time, my family and I were the only Mormons in this fishing outport. Then the missionaries arrived on our end of the island and the Hagens and Alberts joined. So then every week we’d all get dressed in our Sunday best and the women in their dresses, the men in their suits, and the missionaries standing on the bow—all splashing through the dark green ocean toward Basques.
I’ve been LDS all my life. But I remember wondering why the Hagens and the Alberts joined—why anyone would join the Church just to spend every Sunday boating to church and back. Sure, there were some cute girls at meeting, but the Hagens and Alberts were old and married. I didn’t get it.
But I’m getting ahead of the story.
The spring Lanny was born, the Toronto Maple Leafs were in the quarterfinals of the Stanley Cup playoffs—led by the playmaking defense of Borje Salming, the quick goaltending of Mike Palmateer, and the scoring touch of right winger Lanny McDonald.
Mr. O‘Brien was a big Maple Leafs fan. In fact, while his wife was delivering in the hospital in Basques, Mr. O‘Brien watched game 7 of the quarterfinals in the waiting room. By the time the doctor came out to say “It’s a boy,” the Maple Leafs and New York Islanders were locked in a 1–1 overtime battle.
The doctor, who liked a good game of hockey as much as the next Newfie, stayed. And finally, when the CBC [Canadian Broadcasting Corporation] announcer screamed in a breathless frenzy that Lanny McDonald had scored to advance the Leafs to the semifinals against the Montreal Canadiens, both the doctor and Mr. O‘Brien had the same idea: The kid’s name must be Lanny McDonald O‘Brien.
They signed the birth certificate before Mrs. O‘Brien had a chance to slap them both.
Lanny and I never talked about religion. He was a Catholic, but his family only went to church at Christmas and Easter. He knew I was a Mormon, but for the last few years I’d been less and less excited about it. And Lanny knew better than to bring it up.
But one Saturday, the winter when we were 16, almost 17, something changed all that.
I was walking back from the store. My little brother, Tom, was behind me. He was tired and was kicking snowballs the plow had left along the middle of the road.
“Move it,” I told him.
“I um,” Tom whined deeply, his nose full. He looked up at me and gave me a pathetic smile. I rolled my eyes but bent down, and he ran and jumped onto my back. When we turned down our road, I began to jog. Behind me, my brother laughed and covered my eyes with his wet gloves.
“Hey!”
We spun and landed in a yaffle [a jumble] in the slushy snow in front of Lanny’s house.
“Huh, huh … huh, huh, huh,” Tom laughed.
That’s when I noticed them—a couple of bikes leaning up against the side of the O‘Briens’ house. It was strange. Who would ride bikes in one of our rare snowstorms? Then I noticed two figures in the O‘Briens’ window. Two guys in dark suits. Familiar faces.
Then it hit me. The missionaries were in Lanny’s living room, standing in front of the fire to warm themselves like they belonged.
“Cum onnnn,” said Tom. He was standing a couple of yards away, flapping his arms up and down.
“Yeah, yeah.”
I pulled myself away from the window, and we trudged the last few meters home.
On Saturday nights, Lanny usually stopped at my house and we’d wander down to the town building where they’d play a movie or have a dance. That night he knocked about seven o’clock and I grabbed my coat. We dug our hands in our pockets and walked outside. Since it was too early to be seen at the dance, we headed down toward the harbor.
The wind had been blowing in snow from the island all day, and it was dumped in little drifts in front of every one of the blue and yellow houses. But as we crunched along, the wind began to die and the beginnings of a fog started moving in from the ocean.
Lanny began whistling between his teeth. He couldn’t whistle very well, and he only did it when he was nervous.
“You ever get sick? I mean really sick?” he asked me.
That’s how Lanny McDonald O‘Brien started out most conversations—with a question about something he’d been thinking up all day. He was always thinking, always wondering about something.
“You ever see me go to the hospital?” I asked him back.
“I guess not.”
“Then you know the answer.”
We walked a little more before he said, “I was just thinking I could be a doctor one day.”
“I guess. I could see you cutting people up, taking out stuff, charging them lots of money.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I could do that.”
We walked a bit more, thinking about Dr. Lanny McDonald O‘Brien, until he said, “Those Mormon guys came over today.”
“Hmph.”
Lanny took a glance at me, to size up my mood, then added, “Said your parents sent them.”
That ticked me off and he noticed my face redden. “My parents sent ’em?”
“What they said.”
“I’m gonna … Gosh, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care. Didn’t bug me.”
We rounded the fence at the bottom of Main and jumped the ballycater [an icy fringe] at the edge of the dock. Under our feet, the snow hadn’t settled on the rough boards, and we took two to a step. Farther along we walked into the cold ocean fog that hung like a veil. We were alone. No one came out on the dock on a winter night.
“They want to come back again,” said Lanny.
“Who?”
“The missionary guys.”
“They always do,” I said. “That’s their job: to come back and back until you join.”
“Join what?”
“The Church. The Mormon church.”
“Nah, they didn’t say that,” said Lanny. “They were just visiting.”
I laughed. “One of those guys is from the States. You think he came to Wolf Point to talk Maple Leafs hockey with your dad?”
Lanny shrugged.
“What part of the States?” he asked.
“I don’t know. They give you a lesson?”
“I guess. They talked a lot.”
“They teach you how to pray?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the first discussion. They want you to join,” I said.
“Hmmmm.”
We reached the end of the pier and leaned on the rail—the same rail that one winter Lanny had licked to see if his tongue would really stick to frozen metal. It did. And for a month Lanny had talked with a lisp.
We stared out at the icy water, but it was too dark and the fog was too thick to see much.
“Okay, I got a question,” said Lanny, nodding his head.
“Always.”
“The Mormon guys said the Book of Mormon is like the Bible. I know that’s not right ’cause it says at the end of the Bible that there isn’t supposed to be anything added to the Bible.”
We had talked about that in Sunday School once, but I couldn’t remember the answer. “Well … um …”
“And they told us about the guy who said he saw God and started the Mormons.”
“Joseph Smith.”
“Yeah, I thought it was Brigham Young. Anyway, how does anybody know he didn’t just write the book himself?”
“Well, there were a bunch of witnesses who saw the plates he wrote it from,” I said.
“Yeah, they were probably Mormons too. Do you guys pray to him?”
Lanny kept asking questions, most of which I couldn’t answer. My first instinct was to defend the Church. But he was my friend. I should tell him how I really felt: that I wasn’t even sure if I believed anymore, that I was kind of embarrassed to be a Mormon.
I drew in a breath, ready to tell him everything … but I couldn’t. From somewhere inside I felt the need to do something I hadn’t done in a long time—say a prayer.
I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t have the words.
Okay, I thought, I’ll pray.
So as Lanny talked I silently told Heavenly Father that I didn’t know if the Church was true or not, and I didn’t really know what to say.
I waited a few seconds. No answer.
I opened my eyes. Lanny had stopped talking and was looking out to the harbor. He was squinting, trying to focus on the dim lights of a trawler that was bobbing in and out of view in the fog.
I don’t know why, but I guess that was the moment when everything started making sense.
Lanny needed the gospel, just like I did. We were young. Our lives were confusing. The gospel would answer questions we both had about where to go, who to become.
This time, as I opened my mouth, I felt a peace that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. “At church once, some old guy told a story,” I began. “It’s about a kid who’s 18 and goes to work on a fishing boat out of St. John’s. And sometime in the summer of his first year on the boat it hits a sandbar and sinks. Most of the crew climbs aboard the lifeboat, but this guy and the captain get caught by a current and pulled away.
“They don’t have life jackets or anything, and for a long time they just tread water—hoping for someone to find ’em.”
“Wow,” from Lanny, who had been on enough fishing boats to know how big the ocean was, and how impossible it would be to find anyone swimming in it.
“Anyway, finally the captain realizes that the water’s too cold for them to last much longer, so he swims over to the kid and says ‘We’re not gonna make it.’ And he asks the kid if he’s religious. Well, the kid is just like me. He’s a Mormon, but he’s been kind of goofing off and it’s been a while since he’s been active. But he says he’ll say a prayer for ’em.”
“And what happened?”
“He and the captain close their eyes, and the kid says a prayer out loud … And when they open their eyes they see the light of a buoy. They swim over and hang on, and a few hours later they are found.”
Lanny smiled. “And the guy telling the story turns out to be the 18-year-old kid, right?”
“Uh, no. The guy telling the story was the captain. He joined the Church.”
“Hmmm.”
I pulled my hands out of my pockets and stuffed them back in again, not sure what to say next. I was feeling guilty for my years of goofing off, for not being able to answer Lanny’s questions. But somehow I knew it wasn’t too late.
“You said the missionaries told you how to pray. Did they say a prayer too?” I asked.
“Yeah, but no one was drowning.”
“Wise guy. How did it make you feel?”
“I don’t know, didn’t think about it.” He looked out to the ocean and breathed out. “Okay, maybe I thought about it.”
I turned to him, my eyes wide. “And?”
“Before I left tonight I prayed by myself.”
That night, instead of climbing in bed, I opened my desk drawer and pulled out my copy of the Book of Mormon. I flipped through the pages. They were filled with red and yellow highlighter, but I realized it had been a long time since I’d studied what was in there.
It was a story. It was a light in the darkness.
I began to read.

After a few weeks of hard proselyting, my patience was wearing thin and I began to get angry at very small things. During a particularly discouraging day, I briefly scanned the pages of the March 1992 issue of the New Era. My eyes were drawn to the article “Flunked.” After finishing the story, I felt much better. I had been touched by the Spirit and the anger I was feeling was gone. That article has become a source of personal strength for me as I continue to share the gospel daily.
Elder Kevin HillChile Vina del Mar Mission

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, they were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

Because of the difficulties we faced, my mom wanted a better life for her children and often prayed for help.
Our circumstances didn’t change until a miracle took place in our lives. I was only a young boy when the missionaries came to our village, but I remember everything. My mom, dad, brother, and I were eating lunch in our field. I can still remember the smell of the tortillas on the fire as two white men with light hair made their way through the field. My eyes opened wide in surprise, and I held onto my mom, ready to kick the men if it became necessary to defend ourselves. However, when the men asked, “Would it be OK if we warmed up our tortillas in your fire?” peace came over me. Curiosity filled my head. Why was their accent so funny? Why did they wear white shirts and neckties? Why were they so big?
“Sure, you can warm up your tortillas in our fire,” my dad replied. I don’t know how it happened, but the next thing I knew, the missionaries were showing us illustrations of the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. My mom was shocked! She had always believed that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were beings we could talk to and ask questions of, but she had never heard anyone teach that. While listening to the story of the First Vision, my mom received confirmation from the Holy Ghost that it was true. The visit of these two missionaries was the answer to her prayers. My mom invited them to drop by our house any day.
Later when the missionaries visited us and taught us about the Word of Wisdom, my mom was the happiest I have ever seen her. My dad is a slightly different story. I remember that he was trying to smile, but his eyes were watery, his forehead was white, and the rest of his face was red.
In our tribe, you stick with the traditions—no matter what. Changing religions is viewed as an act of desertion. Friends leave you and relatives look down on you, especially if you are the first one to change.
My mom was surprised that the missionaries took so long to ask, “Will you be baptized into the Church?” She was ready. My dad felt in his heart that the message brought by the missionaries was true, but he was concerned about the consequences that would come to our family if we went against the traditions of our tribe. He needed more time to make up his mind.
In the end, my dad went against everything he had known and chose the gospel. His friends left him. Our relatives told him he was crazy and asked how much money the missionaries paid him to get baptized. No one invited us to parties anymore. My family’s social life was gone for a while. These changes were some of the hardest my family ever had to make.
The gospel of Jesus Christ brought a mighty change into my family, for which I am grateful. My dad dedicated more time to our family. My mom cooked better meals. My parents now spent our income wisely. We even had the chance to attend elementary school. My dad said something to us that I will never forget: “From this point on, you will never quit until you get a degree from school.”
We were a different family. Family home evening became a time when we set personal and family goals. My dad prepared gospel lessons and shared his life experiences with us, something he had never done before. We children knew our parents loved us. Alcohol was no longer in our home. The fights between my mom and dad turned into discussions in which they tried to understand each other. Somehow we seemed to be materially rich, although we were actually poor. We were a happy family, and eventually my dad was respected for his new way of life. People trusted him because he did not drink anymore. His friends began to come to him for advice, and somehow whoever associated with my dad started to prosper. Gospel living was contagious. My dad even organized a group of farmers to learn new and better methods of farming.
As a child, I started my religious reading with the Bible, but the Old Testament was too hard for me to read and understand at that young age. My next attempt was the Book of Mormon. After reading a couple of pages, I could not put the book away. Nephi became my new hero. Each day, after some hours of school and many hours of work on the farm, I went back to reading the Book of Mormon. As I read, I felt a special connection between the people of the Book of Mormon and my tribe. I felt the Book of Mormon explained where our Cakchiquel tribe came from and who our ancestors were.
In my reading of the Book of Mormon and learning about the true gospel of Jesus Christ, I felt that I was part of the fulfillment of the promises God made to Lehi, Nephi, and other Book of Mormon prophets about their children being preserved. I’m eternally grateful to those faithful people in the Book of Mormon and to the missionaries who introduced us to the book that changed the course of our lives.
My family eventually moved to Guatemala City. My parents have served in our ward there for many years. My two brothers and two sisters and I are all faithful Latter-day Saints. My brothers and I served full-time missions. My brother, sister, and I are studying at a university.
My family’s conversion story reflects God’s love and mercy for His children. I am thankful for the love He has for His children wherever they are—even deep in the mountains of Guatemala.

Nor is the religious theme of Joseph Smith’s life confined to his own writings; it continues in the writings of those who knew him. Charles Dana wrote that his wife became so ill in Nauvoo that he despaired of her life. In desperation, he “mustered courage to go for Brother Joseph.”
He found the Prophet very busy and concerned over an important document that had been lost. As Joseph left the house with several others to go in search of the missing item, Dana took the opportunity, “as he was passing out of the gate,” to say, “Brother Joseph will you go and administer to my wife?” The hasty answer was, “I cannot!” But, with tears in his eyes, Charles pleaded, “Brother Joseph she is sick nigh unto death; and I do not want to part with her.”
Charles’s description continues:
“He turned his head, saw my face and answered. ‘I will be there presently.’ My heart leaped for joy: I hurried home. … I had not much more than got there before Brother Joseph came. … He asked me. ‘How long has she been so sick?’ He then walked back and forth for some minutes: I began to fear that he considered her past recovery; but he finally went to the fire, warmed his hands, threw his cloak off, went to the bed, laid his hands on her, and while in the midst of his administering to her he seemed to be baffled; the disease, or evil spirit rested upon him; but he overpowered it and pronounced great blessings upon her.29

In closing may I share one of the family practices that has produced joy and memories in our family. It is a tradition that has tied us together as a nuclear and an extended family.

When our oldest children were ready to begin formal schooling, Sister Bateman and I decided that a father’s blessing would be given each to child and to the mother at the beginning of the school year. The family home evening preceding the start of school would be the occasion. We began the practice when Michael, our oldest son, turned five and was about to enter kindergarten. The practice continues to this day, although there is only one son at home. He is a student at BYU. When all the children were home, eight blessings were given on that special Monday evening.

The year Michael was about to enter the third grade holds special memories for us. During the summer he had participated in Little League baseball. He was a backup catcher and an outfielder on his team. For his age he had some athletic ability and was a good player. At the time he loved baseball. When we gathered together for family home evening just before the start of school, Michael announced to the family that he was too old for a father’s blessing. After all, he had completed his first season in Little League, he had played well, and blessings were for younger children.

Marilyn and I were stunned at first. We encouraged him by suggesting that a blessing would help him with his schoolwork. It would provide him with protection. It would help him in his relationships with his brothers, sisters, parents, and friends. But our encouragement, along with considerable coaxing and cajoling, failed. He was too old. Since Marilyn and I believe in agency and were not about to force a blessing on an eight-year-old, all of the children except Michael received a blessing that year.

The school year proceeded normally. Michael and the other children did well and the family enjoyed their associations together. As the following May arrived, it was time for Little League baseball to begin. Following the last day of school, Michael’s coach called a team practice. Michael’s anticipation could not have been greater. His dream was about to be realized. He was to be the starting catcher. The baseball diamond was located in the river bottoms not far from the mouth of Provo Canyon and a few blocks from our home. The boys and the coach walked to the field. Following the practice the boys and coach started for home. Michael and a friend decided to run on ahead of the coach and the other boys. In the process they had to cross University Avenue not far from the mouth of the canyon. As they approached the highway, Michael’s friend looked each way and noticed a car coming from the north. Michael failed to look and darted onto the highway just as a 16-year-old boy, out for his first drive in his brother’s car, came speeding out of the canyon.

I can’t imagine the fear that must have struck the young driver’s heart as he saw the small boy in front of him. The driver slammed on the brakes and swerved in an attempt to miss the boy. The side of the front fender and grill hit Michael and threw him down the highway, where he landed in a heap of broken bones.

Sister Bateman and I were visiting parents in American Fork when the police reached us by telephone with the news. We were told that Michael was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital and that he was in critical condition. Before leaving American Fork, I called a friend and asked him to meet us at the hospital to assist in giving Michael a blessing. The drive from American Fork to Provo was the longest 20 minutes of our lives. During the drive Marilyn and I prayed fervently, asking the Lord to preserve the life of our son and bless me with an understanding of the Lord’s will for him. In those 20 minutes we learned what it means to pray with “real intent” (Moroni 10:4).

As we parked the car by the door of the emergency room, we saw the police and a young man leaving the hospital. He was crying. The police recognized us and introduced us to the young man as the driver of the car. We put our arms around him and told him that we knew it was not his fault. We then entered the hospital to find Michael. We found him in a room with doctors and nurses feverishly attending to his needs. He had received a concussion and was irrational and crying for his mother. His scalp was laid back on his head, and the broken bones were obvious. My friend had arrived, and we asked if we could have two or three minutes with him alone before they took him to the operating room. They agreed. Again I prayed with all the fervency of my being that his life would be preserved and that the blessing would reflect the Lord’s will. My friend anointed and I sealed. As I laid my hands upon his head, a feeling of comfort and peace came over me. Words flowed and promises were made.

For the next four weeks Michael lay in a hospital bed with his head bandaged, his arm in a cast, and his leg in traction. Each Wednesday evening following the Little League game, his teammates would file into the hospital room and give Michael a rundown. Each week tears would well up in Michael’s eyes and run down his cheeks as he saw his teammates enter the room and heard the boys relive the game. He would have given anything to be able to participate. After four weeks Michael was put in a body cast that went from his chest to his toes. On two or three occasions we took him to a game to watch his friends play. Another four weeks passed, and the body cast was replaced with a cast from his hip to his toes. Two days before school was to begin the cast was removed, and Michael began the long process of exercising his leg to obtain full use again.

As the family gathered the next night for school blessings, is there any wonder as to who wanted the first blessing? A nine-year-old boy, a little older and a lot wiser, was first in line. Michael is not the only member of our family to learn from the experience. All of the other children have talked about the protection that may come through a father’s blessing. Over the years they have come to understand that accidents are not always prevented by priesthood blessings, but they have also learned that more than one type of protection is available through the priesthood. Today our grandchildren are recipients of priesthood blessings. The tradition is in its second generation. We hope that this practice, like the family, will prevail through the eternities.

Where I live, my family and I are the only members of the Church. I am the only member at my school. I have had to stand up for my belief in Jesus Christ with my friends many times. It is not easy, but I know I need to choose the right. One way I choose the right is by passing the sacrament.
I was nervous to pass the sacrament for the first time. I didn’t want to trip and fall. My friend taught me what to do. He helped me out on my first Sunday. It was also fast Sunday, so I fasted and prayed that I would not make a mistake. I felt happy after I passed the sacrament, and I knew that I did the right thing. I felt at peace.

A story I heard years ago has helped me recognize and then act on promptings from the Holy Ghost. Sister Bonnie D. Parkin, former Relief Society General President, shared the following:

“Susan … was a wonderful seamstress. President [Spencer W.] Kimball lived in [her] ward. One Sunday, Susan noticed that he had a new suit. Her father had recently … brought her some exquisite silk fabric. Susan thought that fabric would make a handsome tie to go with President Kimball’s new suit. So on Monday she made the tie. She wrapped it in tissue paper and walked up the block to President Kimball’s home.
“On her way to the front door, she suddenly stopped and thought, ‘Who am I to make a tie for the prophet? He probably has plenty of them.’ Deciding she had made a mistake, she turned to leave.
“Just then Sister Kimball opened the front door and said, ‘Oh, Susan!’
“Stumbling all over herself, Susan said, ‘I saw President Kimball in his new suit on Sunday. Dad just brought me some silk from New York … and so I made him a tie.’
“Before Susan could continue, Sister Kimball stopped her, took hold of her shoulders, and said: ‘Susan, never suppress a generous thought.’”9
I love that! “Never suppress a generous thought.” Sometimes when I have an impression to do something for someone, I wonder if it was a prompting or just my own thoughts. But I am reminded that “that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.”10
Whether they are direct promptings or just impulses to help, a good deed is never wasted, for “charity never faileth”11—and is never the wrong response.

I’d like to tell you of a man that I knew well when I was in the government. He was head of one of the largest drilling companies in Canada. He began social drinking and continued until his friends were telling him he was an alcoholic and encouraging him to leave it alone. I was talking to him one day (I knew him well) after he had greater control of himself. He said, “I wouldn’t believe that I was an alcoholic until I found myself in the gutter. And then I went to Alcoholics Anonymous.”
I said, “Would you come and talk to my M-Men and Gleaner group?”
He said, “I’ll be glad to tell anybody if I can help them.”
As he talked to them, he told them how he had become an alcoholic, and then he said, “No man, no matter how well-to-do he is, can afford to take the first drink of alcohol.” He was fortunate in that Alcoholics Anonymous made it possible for him to cure himself.

Petey didn’t want to be a Sunbeam. I knew because I sat on the row behind the little chairs. At first they were empty. Then, one by one, the new Sunbeam class walked in.
I nudged my friend Ryan. “Hey, there’s your little sister Maggie!”
He shrugged, but I could tell by his smile that he was proud to be a big brother in Primary now.
I knew some other Sunbeams, too. There was Ralph’s little brother Jakey and Caitlyn’s little sister Ashley. The only one I didn’t know very well was the boy with the wild brown hair—Petey. His hair stuck out all over the place like a bird’s nest.
The bishop had introduced Petey’s family to the ward during sacrament meeting just last week. I’d turned around to see if they had a boy I could play with, but the only names he announced were the parents’ names and “Peter Alexander.” Petey didn’t have any brothers or sisters. Maybe if he’d had a brother or sister, he wouldn’t have been so scared.
As soon as the Sunbeams walked to their chairs in front of the whole Primary, Petey started to cry—loud. Sister Evans tried to make him feel better by holding him on her lap and showing him her happy/sad-face puppets, but it didn’t do any good. He sucked in big gulps of air and cried even louder. Finally, Sister Evans carried him out.
Some of the children giggled when they could still hear him bawling in the hallway, but I felt sorry for him. I remembered going to a friend’s birthday party once. There must have been 20 children there who I’d never seen before. It was scary being around a bunch of people I didn’t know, but at least I knew my friend and his parents.
Petey probably didn’t know anybody at Primary. That’s when I got an idea—what if I wrote him a letter? I could draw him some pictures and tell him that I’d be his Primary buddy if he wanted. I was so happy with my idea that I didn’t even mind when Janice kept kicking the back of my chair or when my brother took my favorite spot on the bench during sacrament meeting.
With Mom’s help, I wrote my letter that night. It was fun! I told Petey he’d learn a bunch of neat songs in Primary. And I told him about the Primary talent show that was coming up. Maybe he’d get to hear me sing with my brothers and sisters. Then I drew a picture of Nephi shooting an arrow and my remote-control monster car racing another car. I figured if I liked those things, then maybe he did, too. I signed my name and asked Mom to help me find his address. Then, at the last minute, I cut out one of my school pictures and dropped it in the envelope so he’d recognize me at church. Mom mailed it for me the next day.
I got so busy at school that week I forgot I’d even sent the letter—until Sunday! After we arrived at church, I hurried to the Primary room and waited for him to come in. That’s when my stomach started doing flip-flops. The longer I waited, the more I wondered. Had he gotten my letter? What if sending it had been a really bad idea? What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t want a Primary buddy? What if he didn’t want to come back to Primary at all?
Then I saw him! He trudged in behind Sister Evans and slid onto the little chair right in front of me.
“Hi, Petey!” I said, but he must not have heard me because he didn’t turn around or say “hi.”
I could tell he still didn’t want to be a Sunbeam because he sat really close to his teacher and stared down at his lap. “At least he’s not crying,” I thought hopefully.
Then disaster struck!
“Peter, would you please come up front so we can sing you a welcome song?” Sister Peterson asked. She hadn’t been at church last week, so she didn’t know that Petey was shy.
I held my breath.
“Come on up, Peter,” she said with a smile. “Don’t you want to hear our welcome song?”
Petey shook his head, clutching his teacher’s arm even tighter.
All the other children were waiting for Petey to burst out crying. And maybe he would have. His chin was already trembling, and his eyes were wide like a frightened rabbit’s.
That’s when I surprised myself. “I’ll go up with you, Petey,” I heard myself say.
Petey switched from looking at all the children to looking at just me. Did he recognize me from my picture? I guess he did, because a tiny smile crept across his face.
“OK,” he said quietly.
He held my hand really tight as we stood in front of the whole Primary. They sang the welcome song nice and loud like they did every time they welcomed someone new.
“Way to go!” I whispered when I took him back to his seat.
He grinned and waved at me.
And that’s when I knew—Petey was going to like being a Sunbeam after all.

Joseph Knight arose early the morning of September 22, 1827. As he went outside to check on his animals, he noticed that his horse and wagon were gone. He was a guest in the home of the Joseph Smith family in Manchester, New York, and Joseph and Emma had borrowed his horse and wagon in the predawn to go to the Hill Cumorah.
Brother Knight was a dear friend of the Prophet and was among the first to hear Joseph describe the sacred experience of being visited by the angel Moroni. The angel had appeared to Joseph Smith once a year for the three previous years, and this morning was to be the fourth and last visitation. During this visit the angel Moroni had promised to let the Prophet take the gold plates if Joseph had been faithful.
When Joseph and Emma returned from the Hill Cumorah, the Prophet told Brother Knight something of his glorious experience. He told him of the size of the plates and described the glasses, or Urim and Thummim, which he (Joseph) had been given to help translate the Book of Mormon.