Gospel Story Finder

Growing up, I loved watching how Grandmother’s hens would gather their chickens under their wings during storms to keep them safe and protected. This image became more important to me after reading about it in the Book of Mormon (see 3 Nephi 10:4–6). As a young adult, my bishop and his wife, who traveled a lot for their business, told me that they shared a Book of Mormon with someone on every trip they took.
That inspired me. I admired them, and their examples touched my heart. I decided that if I ever got the chance to travel outside of Utah, USA, I would follow their example and share a Book of Mormon each time.
As a cheerleader for Brigham Young University, I traveled frequently with the cheerleading team. Before my first trip, I bought a Book of Mormon and wrote my testimony in it. I wanted to develop the courage to share what I valued most with others: my testimony and the Book of Mormon. I wanted to be like my bishop and his wife. I wanted to be like Jesus Christ. I wanted to help gather others and help them to come unto Him.
I quickly learned that if I prayed before each trip to be led to the one who needed it, a person would show up at the right time and the right place for me to make sharing the Book of Mormon natural and easy. The more I practiced, the easier my sharing became. My journeys became more meaningful for me. I was always thrilled to find Heavenly Father’s blessed recipient of this sacred testament of Christ.
When I traveled, I pondered, “Where should I go to find the one whom Heavenly Father is sending me to this time? What can I say to him or her to convey how precious the Book of Mormon is to me?” My thoughts and actions became focused outside of my own needs and entertainment, and I felt increased love for everyone I met. I tried to look at them through the Savior’s eyes. I prayed for them to accept the divine gift that Heavenly Father had sent me to offer them.
I was sad when my senior year came to an end. Being a cheerleader for BYU was a lifelong dream for me. I would have enjoyed the incredible experience to cheer no matter what, but the opportunity to share a copy of the Book of Mormon on each cheerleading trip enriched my life in beautiful, unexpected ways.
Sharing the Book of Mormon was a valuable and easy way to add an extra layer of meaning to my university experience. I know that the people with whom I shared the Book of Mormon were specifically guided to receive it. I also know that into the incredible tapestry of my life, Heavenly Father wove a loving and sweet tender mercy: He allowed me to feel His love for His children in a special way every trip I took.
After I graduated, I decided to always continue looking for someone with whom I can share my testimony. Over time, I developed greater ability and comfort with sharing my testimony. I learned to no longer fear sharing it. I believe everyone can become more comfortable sharing their testimony with practice and by asking for divine help.
Choosing to follow the examples of my good bishop and his wife made my life more meaningful in many ways. It taught me to see that the Lord is aware of every single one of His children. He loves us and is eager to gather us all under His wing. What a blessing to understand the beautiful imagery that He uses when He describes His gathering. He gathers us as a hen gathers and tenderly protects her chickens.

Shortly after the 1985 April general conference, a guest band and chorus were to perform with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. This event was being recorded, so there was a great deal of equipment set up in the Tabernacle.
The department I managed was responsible for tuning the great pipe organ. Fluctuation of the building’s temperature greatly affects the sound of this fine instrument. The performance had occurred on an especially warm night, so afterward we had left the Tabernacle doors open to allow the fresh evening air into the building. The organ could then cool down and be tuned for the next evening’s concert.
Unknown to us, a sparrow had flown into the Tabernacle while the doors were open. The building was later closed, and the bird was not discovered until the next morning.
When I arrived at work, I received a phone call from my employees, who had spent several hours trying to remove this bird from the Tabernacle. The Salt Lake City animal control people had been called, and they came with long-handled nets to capture the sparrow.
When I entered the building I found my employees racing back and forth through the Tabernacle, waving the long nets at the frightened bird. As they would run to one end with the nets, the frantic sparrow would fly to the other end of the building.
It flew from the top of the facade of the great pipe organ to the back of the building, where it would perch atop a bench. The only thing the nets accomplished was to terrify an already frightened bird. It couldn’t recognize that all the doors in the building were open for its escape.
The animal control people brought some pellet guns. Although they were not allowed to fire them on private property, they pointed out that our employees could borrow them to shoot the sparrow.
I immediately stopped that idea. The ceiling in the 118-year-old building was the original—made from plaster combined with fine animal hair to give it stability and its beautiful acoustic—and I didn’t want it damaged by pellets. There were other practical reasons not to shoot at the bird, including the risk of damaging the delicate recording equipment and musical instruments still on the stand. But more important, I did not feel it would be appropriate to kill this tiny creature. I remembered a talk by President Spencer W. Kimball about not shooting little birds.
The animal control people then suggested setting poisoned food out for the bird. I didn’t feel right about that, either. But the bird needed to be removed from the Tabernacle as quickly as possible. That night there would be a full house with several General Authorities and other dignitaries in attendance.
As the bird continued to fly back and forth, chirping loudly, the thought came to me that if this bird was important to Heavenly Father, perhaps I should ask him how to get it out of the building. I turned my back to the others, bowed my head, and said a simple prayer: “Heavenly Father, if this sparrow is important to you, could you please let us know how to safely remove it?”
I immediately had a strong impression of what to do. Closing the prayer, I turned and gave instructions to the workers. They turned off all the lights in the building, shut the window blinds, and closed all but one of the doors.
At that moment, the bird was perched on top of the organ’s facade. Suddenly he left his high perch, swooped down low, and flew out the open door to freedom.

Dan wasn’t always as helpful as he is now. The “old” Dan didn’t like to work. He was sometimes disobedient and impolite, and he didn’t study very hard. Then one day his father, Jones, met two Latter-day Saint missionaries on the street. In time, the whole family joined the Church. Learning that he was a child of God who could grow up to be like his Father in Heaven gave Dan a new point of view. His baptism and confirmation helped it grow. “I felt forgiven and clean and good, and since then, the Holy Ghost has helped me do what I should. And when I repent, He helps me know that I’m forgiven.”
Seeing himself differently, Dan began seeing others that way as well. “I love my brothers and sisters like I love myself. I would do anything for them.” Dan changed in other ways, too. Barely able to read, he studied hard and became a good reader and a good student.
Brother Balyejusa has noticed a change in all his children. “Since we joined the Church, I don’t have as many problems with my family. We are now like one person. Before we were divided.”

Tomorrow was Christmas, and Kaiya was worried. He wasn’t worried about getting a present or what the present would be. He was worried about his friend Minato.
Kaiya and Minato played for the same soccer club. And they went to the same school. But then Minato did not come to school for three days. He missed soccer practice too. The teacher said Minato’s father was sick. To make sure others would not get sick, Minato’s whole family would have to stay at home for two weeks.
Kaiya was worried that Minato might get sick too. He asked Mama if they could check on him. They called Minato’s mother.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “We are fine. But we haven’t been able to get our kurisumasu k?ki (Christmas cake).”
Christmas cake was Kaiya’s favorite. It had fancy white frosting and colorful decorations on top. It was a special treat in Japan. He thought Minato must feel sad to miss out.
After the phone call, Kaiya said, “Mama, let’s take them our Christmas cake. And can we take them pizza too?” He knew that saba (fish) pizza was Minato’s favorite.
Mama agreed. First they ordered the pizza. Then Mama put the Christmas cake in a box. Next they gathered some snacks and juice.
“This will help them get through the next few days,” Mama said.
Papa and Kaiya went to pick up the pizza. Then they went to Minato’s house to deliver everything. They couldn’t go inside, so they set it all at the door, rang the bell, and left.
When Kaiya got home, Mama showed him a text message from Minato’s mother. “I can’t believe you brought us a cake!” it read. “The kids are really happy. Thank you very much.”
A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. It was Brother and Sister Takahashi. They were members of the Church who lived nearby.
“We brought you some higashi (rice cookies) for Christmas,” Sister Takahashi said. She held out a plate of cookies with beautiful designs.
After dinner, Kaiya and his parents ate the cookies. “Are you sad we don’t have Christmas cake?” Mom asked.
Kaiya thought about how he had helped Minato and his family. “Not really,” he said. “After all, Christmas is about giving!”

“This day,” one of the greatest missionaries of the Book of Mormon is President Russell M. Nelson. When he was a newly called Apostle, he gave a lecture in Accra, Ghana. In attendance were dignitaries, including an African tribal king, with whom he spoke through an interpreter. The king was a serious student of the Bible and loved the Lord. Following President Nelson’s remarks, he was approached by that king, who asked in perfect English, “Just who are you?” President Nelson explained that he was an ordained Apostle of Jesus Christ. The king’s next question was “What can you teach me about Jesus Christ?”
President Nelson reached for the Book of Mormon and opened it to 3 Nephi 11. Together President Nelson and the king read the Savior’s sermon to the Nephites: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world. … I am the light and the life of the world.”
President Nelson presented the king with that copy of the Book of Mormon, and the king responded, “You could have given me diamonds or rubies, but nothing is more precious to me than this additional knowledge about the Lord Jesus Christ.”

In 1993, I began five years in the Nigerian Army, where I served as a peacekeeper in Liberia and Sierra Leone. I had enlisted after finishing school at age 16. I had many experiences at such a young age, but one I will always remember—it serves as a defining incident in my life—happened while I was in Liberia.
My commanding officer, a captain, learned I was a Mormon. He asked me, “Trooper Arungwa, are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, sir,” was my reply. “I am a Mormon.”
My punishment was to run five times around the camp, which was a total of about 25 kilometers. As I finished on that hot, tropical day and reported to him, he told me in stern language that I had received the punishment because I was a Mormon.
He explained his understanding that members of the Church worshiped Mormon as their God. I replied just as sternly, “No, sir!”
“Good night, trooper,” he barked back at me. “I will see you tomorrow.”
This conversation was very upsetting to me because I did not know what tomorrow would bring.
Eventually I was invited to his home and had the privilege of discussing the Church and my testimony. We discussed Adam’s transgression, the Apostasy, and the need for a restoration. At this young age, I discussed with him the coming of the Savior. I was thrilled as we talked about who Mormon was—an abridger, a prophet, and one of the writers of an ancient record.
I presented the commander a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was amazed that I was not afraid to share these things with him. He said I was the only one in the Nigerian Army he had seen preaching of Jesus Christ. He asked me if it was because I was a Mormon. I answered yes.
A year later this same commander, then a major, was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I experienced the deep joy of helping someone gain a testimony. I felt the happiness of bringing “save it be one soul” (D&C 18:15) into the fold.
This event was a great inspiration to me, and after my military service was complete, I obeyed the call of our prophet to serve a full-time mission. I answered that call in April 1998 and served with much enthusiasm in the Nigeria Enugu Mission.

One spring day, we were playing in our front yard. A very old, rusty, and dented van pulled up and parked on our street. A tiny old lady got out. She didn’t seem very strong. She opened the back of her van and gathered in her arms many heavy, new, yellow-page phone books. She began to deliver them to the houses on our street.
We watched as she delivered the few she could carry and then went back to her van to get more. It took her quite a while to do just a few. They looked heavy!
Mom thought we could let her use our red wagon to put the books in. She could pull it around our neighborhood. The four of us went over to talk to her. She said that the wagon would be helpful because the books get heavy, especially when she delivered them in office buildings.
We ended up giving her our red wagon to keep. Even though we liked playing with it, we knew that she needed it more than we did.
Several days later, as we were driving to school, we saw our tiny friend with the wagon, delivering more books. We felt really good knowing that we were trying to be like Jesus!

On Sunday my bishop challenged every member of our ward to give out a copy of the Book of Mormon during the week. On Monday my family prayed to know who each person should give their Book of Mormon to. I felt like I should give mine to my preschool teacher, Miss Stacey. She attends a church right next to my ward building and has asked me a few questions about our church. During family home evening I marked the scripture passage Moroni 10:3–5 and bookmarked it with a pass-along card. I glued my picture in the front cover and wrote my name. I was so excited to give it to her! The next morning I walked to preschool and handed her the Book of Mormon. She smiled really big and said, “Thank you so much!” I’m so glad I accepted our bishop’s challenge to share a Book of Mormon.
Jackson M., age 5, Arizona, USA

Anthony Quasie had a life-changing experience while just a boy growing up in Cape Coast Ghana. His mother told him that when he was 5 years old, he witnessed a man, who was hired to help at his home, cut the neck of a chicken just enough for the chicken to run around in pain before dying. He remembers his mother saying that “I folded my arms and cried all day”, and when it came time to eat the chicken, it made him very sick. He grew up not liking it when people mistreated animals.

Everyone in the third grade would agree, including me, that Christy was queen of the monkey bars and swings. No one could climb as fast or swing as high as Christy could. And she was equally as good at playing games. But the most important thing to me about Christy was that she and I were good friends. One day at school during recess, Christy asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”
I’d never heard of Primary before. “What’s that?” I asked.
Christy explained, “Primary is something special at my church, just for children. If you go, you’ll sing songs, make new friends, learn new things, and you can meet my Primary teacher, who is really, really nice.”
“As nice as Mrs. Palmer?” I asked, certain that no teacher could be as nice as our third-grade teacher.
Christy laughed. “Yes, she’s as nice as Mrs. Palmer.”
After school I ran all the way home to ask my mom if I could go to Primary. But Mom wasn’t as thrilled about the idea as I was. “I need a little bit more information,” she said. “What’s the name of Christy’s church?”
Well, that was a tough question to start out with because, as I told Mom, “I can’t remember the name. It’s a long name I’ve never heard before.” I could tell by Mom’s worried expression that was the wrong thing to say.
“Hold on. I’m going to call Christy right now!” I ran to the phone and dialed Christy’s number before Mom could say another word.
The phone rang twice before Christy picked it up. “Hello?”
“Christy!” I exclaimed. “What’s the name of your church again?” I listened carefully and then said, “Mom, the name of Christy’s church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When the frown on Mom’s face didn’t disappear, I knew I needed help. I said into the phone, “Christy, do you think your mom could talk to my mom about Primary?”
I think Christy heard the desperation in my voice because she got her mom on the phone in five seconds flat. Our moms were soon talking and laughing like old friends. Then my mom told Christy’s mom that, yes, I could go to Primary!
When I went to Primary for the first time, it was everything Christy said it would be and more. Christy was right—our Primary teacher was really, really nice. Every bit as nice as Mrs. Palmer. She even gave me my very own booklet about faith in God.
I went home that day and showed Mom my booklet and told her all about Primary. I even sang the “Hello Song” (Children’s Songbook, 260) to her and my two brothers, which all the kids had sung to me. As Mom studied the picture of Jesus Christ on the front of my booklet and read some of the pages inside, she got a quiet, thoughtful look on her face. Then she said I could go with Christy to Primary every week if I wanted to.
I definitely wanted to, but I actually went only a few more times after that because school let out and our family went on a summer vacation. We loaded up our car and drove from California all the way to my grandmother’s farm in Illinois.
On the second day of our trip, as we drove into Utah, we saw billboards on the highway with the name of Christy’s church on them. They invited people to see something called the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City. Mom said she’d like to stop there so she could find out more about the Church.
When we walked through the door of the visitors’ center, we were greeted by a friendly man wearing a name tag. As he showed us around, Mom had a lot of questions, and the man seemed excited to answer every one of them. When the tour was over, Mom wrote her name and address in the guest book and then checked a box with the word “YES” next to it, saying she’d like to receive more information about the Church.
When we got home from our vacation, two young men who called themselves elders came to our apartment. They told us they were missionaries who got a message all the way from the visitors’ center in Salt Lake City that Mom would like more information about the Church. They said they would love to teach our family about Heavenly Father’s plan and the gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s when the missionaries started teaching our family.
The first time we went to church together, I told my family to be sure to fold their arms when we walked into the chapel. I’d learned at Primary that this was a way to show reverence. We all tried that day to keep our arms folded, but so many people came up to us to shake our hands and welcome us to church that our arms didn’t stay folded for very long.
At the end of our lessons with the missionaries, they asked Mom if she would like to be baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She said she needed to pray about it. The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Mom called the missionaries and said she had prayed all night about being baptized and the answer was yes! My brothers and I also told them we wanted to be baptized.
I still remember stepping into the water in the baptismal font. I was wearing white and feeling so happy inside that I wanted to laugh and shout at the same time. I looked up and saw Mom crying happy tears. Then I looked at Christy, who was just about as excited as I was because it really all started with her when she asked, “Do you want to go to Primary with me?”

Zebedee Coltrin shared the following sacred experience: “At one of these meetings after the organization of the school, (the school being organized on the 23rd of January, 1833), when we were all together, Joseph having given instructions, and while engaged in silent prayer, kneeling, with our hands uplifted each one praying in silence, no one whispered above his breath, a personage walked through the room from east to west, and Joseph asked if we saw him. I saw him and suppose the others did and Joseph answered that is Jesus, the Son of God, our elder brother. Afterward Joseph told us to resume our former position in prayer, which we did. Another person came through; he was surrounded as with a flame of fire. … The Prophet Joseph said this was the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. I saw Him” (minutes, Salt Lake City School of Prophets, 3 October 1883, pages 56–57).

A Modern-Day Example
I received a letter from a returned missionary whom I shall call Elder Carnalus Luciferno, for no one in his right mind would have such a name, and my correspondent was certainly out of his mind.
His letter told me of his own conversion, of his service as a zone leader in the mission field, and of making many converts. But after returning home, as he expressed it, “I returned to my old Gentile ways.”
After thus ceasing to be a true Saint, and becoming a genuine Gentile, he met some representatives of another church who taught him that we are saved by grace, without works, simply by believing in the Lord Jesus.
Thereupon he was saved, and his letter, which he sent to many people, was an invitation to these others to believe in Christ and be saved as he was saved.
Later I said to his mission president, “Tell me about Elder Carnalus Luciferno.”
“Oh,” he said, “Elder Carnalus Luciferno was a good missionary who made many converts. But since returning home he has been excommunicated.”
“Oh,” I said. “What was his problem?”
The mission president replied, “Before he joined the Church, he was a homosexual, and we understood that since his release he has reverted to his old ways.”

May 15
Dear Sarah,
This is it! I’m really excited. Do you remember Mr. and Mrs. Trujillo over on Cottonwood Lane? I haven’t seen them at church, so I guess they’re not members. But remember how Mr. Trujillo always had that enormous garden in the field next to his house? He sells his vegetables at the farmer’s market.
Well, I went by there and saw him working and stopped and talked to him. He said he was having some trouble with his arthritis and couldn’t handle such a big garden this year. I told him I was looking for a way to earn money, and he said I could have some of the space there and raise some vegetables to sell. In return, I’ll help him irrigate and things like that. I should have some money for your mission by August.
Lindsay’s pretty scared about her operation, but if it’ll mean she can eat regular food, it’ll be worth it.
I loved your letter. Do you only teach Spanish-speaking people?
Love,Angela the Gardener

SISTER JAGGI: A few years ago, my mother had some difficult health challenges. She had also been navigating the distressing ebb and flow of heartbreak over the unexpected passing of her beloved husband, my father, nearly 10 years earlier. For our family, this mountain of a challenge seemed like an impossible peak. On-going counseling as siblings, individual and collective prayer, study, and fasting brought forth the guidance to a support team of healthcare professionals. While they were very helpful, we could feel that more help was still needed.

One night, feeling broken, I remember a desperate, tearful, and pleading prayer on her behalf: “Heavenly Father, I don’t know how I can best help her. Please help me; teach me. I will do anything.” The Spirit simply whispered, “Bring her to me so I can heal her.” Over the next few days and weeks, I studied many of the ways that I could help her better access the healing power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement. Some of the ways she appeared to be accessing His power were through scripture study, prayer, the ordinance of the sacrament, and attending church. I was led to understand with clarity that this season of illness had eclipsed her once-regular temple attendance and interest and participation in family history work.

During that time, we had been enjoying a weekly Thursday ski date together. We decided to begin rotating our outing together with “temple Tuesday” dates. In time, this became our cherished weekly appointment together with the Lord. We protected this special time.

I will never forget our visit to the Ogden, Utah FamilySearch Center where we made an appointment to receive help as mom wanted to find ancestors on her father’s line. The very capable Sister Linda Dursteler serving there helped my mom find Minnie Coleman. We could feel her joy of being found. We cheered, and Mom thanked Sister Dursteler for helping her get back in the saddle. We took a picture to remember this experience. On that sweet day, we felt a parting of the veil. My mom took her angel ancestor Minnie to the temple that week with many more ancestors’ names to follow.

We cannot refute the healing that resulted by degrees, week after week, for both of us in mind, body, and spirit as we spent cherished time in the temple participating in the initiatory, endowment, and sealing ordinances in proxy for our ancestors. The Spirit prompted me each week to take a temple selfie with Mom along the way. This will be cherished one day. I had no idea that several months later, at the end of March 2020, our weekly temples dates would end as temples temporarily close due to the worldwide pandemic. My mother shared that weekly attendance at the temple helped her memorize the doctrine, beautiful words, and promises from the Lord given in each covenant and ordinance. The temple was truly going through her, bringing the Savior’s healing that is ongoing from the inside out. The temple selfies became happy memories we would turn to during the pandemic for remembering until we could once again be in the house of the Lord together.

Every time they saw Mehitabel, Grandpa’s friends challenged her with “Riddle me this!” and “Riddle me that!” But Mehitabel always came up with a clever answer. It began to look as though the whole summer would pass without Grandpa’s buying his friends a treat.
Then one day Mrs. Gray had a riddle poem for Mehitabel. “Riddle me this, Hitty, if you can,” she said. “Who are the people, and what is the poem the tale of?” Then she recited:
“One was in the dungeon;
One was in the street.
The lost one and the searcher—
How could they ever meet?”
Mehitabel knew at once that she was stumped. Oh, she knew that she had heard the story somewhere, But what was it about? she asked herself. And who was in the dungeon? The Little Lame Prince? No, he was in a tower, not a dungeon, and he wasn’t really lost. Robinson Crusoe? No, he was on an island, and no one was searching for him. The princess in Rumpelstiltskin? She wasn’t locked in a dungeon, and no one was searching for her, either.
Maybe it wasn’t a person, Mehitabel continued in her thoughts. Maybe it was an animal—or a thing. Yes! A thing! What does one search for? Gold? She sighed with relief. She may not have Mrs. Gray’s answer, but at least she had one. She turned to Grandpa’s friend and said. “The lost one in the dungeon was gold in a mine. The searcher was the miner who was trying to pan the gold from a stream.”
Grandpa chuckled. He had been worried for a minute, but Mehitabel had done it again.
However, Mrs. Gray said, “You’ve given a very good answer, Hitty, but I think even your grandpa will admit that the better answer comes from history.” She smiled at Mehitabel and said, “The one in the dungeon was King Richard the Lionhearted. The searcher was his minstrel, Blondel.”
Grandpa nodded. “Yes, that’s right. I know the story—King Richard was captured by the duke of Austria and locked in a castle on the Danube River. I’d forgotten that old story. You stumped her fair and square, Mrs. Gray. And I’m happy to pay up.”
Grandpa called to the ice-cream vendor and motioned for him to come over. “Let each of my friends choose the flavor of ice-cream cone he wants. The treat’s on me today!”
Carlos Sanchez wanted blueberry. Mrs. Gray asked for vanilla. Mr. Loomis’s favorite was cherry marshmallow. Grandpa said, “I’ll have peppermint. What about you, Mehitabel?”
Mehitabel looked hard at the ice-cream vendor. “I’ll have black mud,” she said.
“Mud!” shouted Grandpa.
“Mud?” yelled Grandpa’s friends.
The ice-cream vendor didn’t bat an eye. He took an empty cone and filled it with something that looked exactly like mud. Handing it to Mehitabel, he grinned and said, “I guessed your riddle, young lady. That’s licorice ice cream!”
Grandpa shook his head, chuckling. “That Mehitabel!”

The first time we took our three-year-old daughter to Temple Square in Salt Lake City, Utah, she showed me what it means to come unto Christ. As we were going up the ramp in the North Visitors’ Center, she looked up and saw the statue of Jesus. She let go of my hand, looked into my face, and with an expression of unutterable love and eagerness said, “Oh, Daddy! It’s Jesus!” She then ran as fast as she could to meet him.

It started when I lost the Book of Mormon “my” missionary, Sister High, had given me more than five years earlier. I knew I could obtain another one, but my copy was full of my own markings and cross-references. Tucked between its pages were cherished quotes, a heartwarming note from a friend, and a copy of my patriarchal blessing. Although I looked and looked, the book was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless.
Shortly after this incident, I was let go from one of my jobs. My income was now cut in half. I had promised my parents I would pay my own way through college. How was I going to afford to keep going to school?
I had been keeping the commandments to the best of my ability; why were things going so badly? Friends at school didn’t pass on the chance to rub it in. One said, “You should cut back on how often you attend church. You can save bus fare.” Another said, “Why don’t you take a break from church for a month or two? You might find out that you don’t notice much of a difference.”
For a moment, their comments made sense. I started to wonder if my life would be better without the Church.
I went back to my dorm room, where I saw a picture of my family taken during Chinese New Year. I thought about how much I love them and how happy they make me. And I thought about my Heavenly Father, whom I love and who loves me. I realized maybe I needed to focus on what I had rather than what I lacked. Still, I wondered how I was going to get through these trials.
A short time later, I confided my feelings to my institute teacher, Sister Ou, who said, “Many members have experienced a phase when the ‘all is well’ period of being a new convert ends and you begin to face the trials of faith. The scriptures say, ‘Nevertheless the Lord seeth fit to chasten his people; yea, he trieth their patience and their faith’ (Mosiah 23:21).”
“So what should I do?” I asked.
“Study the scriptures even more diligently, and pray even more earnestly,” she said. “True faith comes when you have trials and pain. Your faith will grow, you will progress, and your testimony will be strengthened.”
I decided to follow her advice and put my faith in God. I tried to do as Alma 38:5 teaches: “As much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day.”
As it turned out, I found another job—one that was better than my previous one. Better yet, I found my copy of the Book of Mormon.
I learned that our disappointments, sorrows, and dark hours are to help us grow. They can lead us to much joy if, as Sister Ou taught me, we put our faith and trust in a loving Heavenly Father. How grateful I am to have a reaffirmed testimony that the Church and gospel are true.

In the summer of 1998, as Namie returned home from her mission, I made plans with my 16-year-old daughter to go to the Philippines. We arrived in Manila and met with Ruth. We attended the Manila Philippines Temple together. Then we flew south to her family’s home in Tiwi. It’s impossible to describe the joy of seeing Romeo and his family again. The deep bond of brotherhood was instantly renewed. We talked and hugged and reminisced; we ate together and read scriptures with his family each night we were there. They were such strong rocks of testimony in their small branch. We attended sacrament meeting in the Tiwi Branch and listened to Namie report on her mission. It was amazing. It was nearly celestial. Truly this was missionary heaven.

Once Joseph and Hyrum had been jailed, many legal efforts were made in their behalf. None of these availed. Dan Jones went and personally talked to the governor, reporting the threats to the Prophet’s life that he had heard uttered in various groups of men now in Carthage. The governor merely said, “You are unnecessarily alarmed for the safety of your friends, sir, the people are not that cruel.”

The governor was surrounded by mobocrats, and the Saints’ efforts with him failed. John Taylor, a man of great character and spine, saw the situation, was indignant, and said, “Brother Joseph, if you will permit it, and say the word, I will have you out of this prison in five hours, if the jail has to come down to do it.” He planned to go to Nauvoo and raise a sufficient force. But “Brother Joseph refused.” Stephen Markham offered to change clothes with the Prophet, to make a switch—the Prophet could then get away on his horse and all would be well. The Prophet turned that down. James W. Woods was assigned to go to Jesse Thomas, one of the circuit judges in Illinois, who had assured the Prophet that if he would send responsible Mormons to each community and explain the actions of recent days the citizens would be pacified. Woods was asked to check further into this. He found that hope too to be false, for Thomas and others said, in his presence, “Don’t you think it’s better for two or more men to die than for a whole neighborhood to be in an uproar?” Two or three of the Prophet’s non-Mormon friends, one of them a sea captain and one a dentist, were summoned to testify in his behalf. All of them tried, none of them was successful.

After all these efforts, the only real thing the Prophet had between him and the final scene was a pistol which Cyrus Wheelock had brought him. When Hyrum said, “I hate to use such things or to see them used,” the Prophet replied, “So do I, but we may have to, to defend ourselves.”

I tried that once when I was riding my horse. I grabbed the limb of a tree, and my horse kept going. But then the limb broke and I fell to the ground. I suffered the consequence of that decision with a broken arm. It was very painful.
I gained a little wisdom from that experience. Even though we see other people do something, especially if it is wrong, it doesn’t mean that we should do it. We all have friends, and sometimes they do not always follow the teachings of the gospel.
Despite what our friends are doing, it is important that we always follow the teachings of the gospel. “Follow the prophet; he knows the way” (Children’s Songbook, 110–11). He will always teach us the things we need to do to make right decisions. As we follow those principles, they will become a very important part of us.