Gospel Story Finder

When I heard that Mama, Papa, and I were going to California with a whole shipload of Latter-day Saints, I was excited and couldn’t wait for the trip to begin. The minute I saw the Brooklyn anchored in the East River, my heart started banging in my chest. Everything a company could possibly need in a new settlement was lugged on board and stowed in the hold.
On Wednesday, February 4, 1846, after several delays, the ship was finally ready to leave New York. We waved good-bye to the friends and relatives who had gathered on the dock, and were soon on our way on the cold, gray, rough Atlantic Ocean.
No one had warned me that I might be seasick, and I never imagined that someone could die at sea! A raging storm was the farthest thing from my mind—but the terrors of the trip started right away.
One morning, Papa and I watched from the deck as the sky darkened and a strong gust of wind whipped by. Seamen suddenly appeared on the run, shouting instructions to each other. They scrambled up the masts and began taking down the sails. The captain came out of his cabin and told all passengers to go below. “We might be in for a bit of a blow,” he said. “You’ll be safer in your rooms.”
We lurched along, fighting to stay upright. I’d just eaten breakfast, and my stomach felt squeamish.
When we got to the cabin, Mama had already climbed into the bunk and was hanging on so tightly that her knuckles were white. Our belongings had been tossed into a tangled heap on the floor. The furniture slid in one direction, then another, mashing things together as the ship tipped back and forth in the rough water.
Something was banging up on the deck.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“They’re battening down the hatches,” Papa said.
“Battening?”
“Fastening canvas across the stairways by nailing on narrow strips of wood called battens.”
“You mean they’re nailing us in?” I felt all smothery just thinking about it. I never could stand to be in tight places. The thudding of the hammers overhead made me feel as if I were in a coffin with the lid being nailed down. “How can we get out?” I shouted in a panic.
“We can’t,” Papa answered, pushing me into the bottom berth just before a heavy chest skidded into me, “but the water can’t get in, either. That’s the idea.”
“What if I get sick?” I felt more and more like I was going to every minute.
“There’s the chamber pot,” Mama said.
“They’ll probably leave the hatchway to the captain’s cabin open,” Papa said. “He may need to come down for some reason, and it’s not exposed to the storm like the ones on the deck.”
Even though I knew that the captain’s hatchway was not for the use of the passengers, I felt better knowing that there was a possible way to get out.
All the lamps were extinguished except two in the hall. I hated the darkness.
The dim lights flickered as the tempest blustered and roared. I heard thundering thumps as huge waves crashed over the deck. I felt each upward thrust as the Brooklyn was lifted high on the surging crests. My breath was sucked out of me just as if I’d been punched in the stomach when the ship then dropped deep into the following yawning troughs of the wild and angry sea. The tired timbers of the old ship groaned and creaked as if they were splitting apart.
Babies screamed. Children cried out. The sick groaned for help. Mothers soothed and sang or joked or scolded. Men’s voices could be heard above the others, some impatient, some comforting.
“Don’t forget,” one brother said reverently, “that Jesus Christ stilled the storm on the Sea of Galilee.” We prayed and sang hymns—louder and louder as the storm’s fury increased.
The fire in the stove had been doused, so no food could be cooked. It didn’t matter—no one on that rocking, rolling ship wanted to eat, anyway. Almost everyone was seasick.
The storm raged and roared all day. When night came, Papa tied us in our berths so that we wouldn’t be tossed about like beans in a bag. I slept little, hoping and praying for the storm to end. It didn’t. It got worse.
By morning, water was outside our door.
“How’d it get here?” I asked Papa.
“It must have come down the captain’s hatchway. It either washed through his cabin—or his cabin’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“A storm like this could shatter it or sweep it right off the deck.”
“The captain too?”
“It’s possible,” Papa said. “But I doubt it.”
“Neither my cabin nor I have been swept away yet, lad,” Captain Richardson said, appearing behind Papa, “but I’m here to speak seriously to all the passengers.”
The singing stopped immediately.
“My friends,” he began, “there is a time in every man’s life when it is fitting that he should prepare to die. That time has come to us, for unless God interposes, we shall all go to the bottom. I have done all in my power, but this is the worst gale I have ever known since I have been master of a ship.”
One man replied, “Captain Richardson, we were sent to California. We shall get there.”
Another said, “Captain, I have no more fear than though we were on solid land.”
The captain shook his head in disbelief at their calmness. As he left, he muttered, “They are either fools and fear nothing, or they know more than I do.”
The wind-driven sea continued to lash and crash against the ship for four terrifying days. The foul air below was almost unbearable. “I can’t breathe,” I gasped, and Papa braved the dangers to take me up the only open hatchway.
We met the captain on the deck and watched the spars whip dangerously as the ship rolled on the rough sea. Then a Baptist—the captain—and two Mormons—Papa and I—prayed together for the safety of the ship.
The storm ended. The Brooklyn had survived the first terrifying trial of the voyage. But the Atlantic adventures were just beginning!
(To be continued)

After the First Presidency’s announcement that the groundbreaking for the Neiafu Tonga Temple would be held on September 11, 2021, everyone who had a part to play went to work immediately under the wise guidance of our leaders from the Pacific Area and Church headquarters. It was not smooth sailing, but we witnessed the hand of the Almighty God guide us. From working on the building permit, to negotiating the environment internal assessment fees required by law, to the final preparation of the site, and to the actual temple groundbreaking ceremony, there were challenges.
An excerpt from a report prepared by Brother Tukia and Sister Linda Havea, the temple groundbreaking organizing committee coordinators, best explains this faith-promoting and miraculous sacred event.
On the night of September 10, 2021, the members were trying to complete the preparation of the temple groundbreaking site. It was raining nonstop. Even into the wee hours of the morning, it continued. However, the Saints awoke as this was the day that their forefathers had envisioned, prayed, and sacrificed for. They hurriedly flocked to Saineha, synonymous with the sun, a source of energy and spiritual healing. This was the site of the new temple.
What a great calming feeling. It was so serene that many wept silently in humility and gratitude. The Saints were seated to the right of the royal shelter. All members, choir and church leaders in the program were exposed to the elements with no shelter. The sound of the Tabernacle Choir certainly settled all despite the menacing and cumulonimbus clouds looming above. The program proceeded as planned without rain, for the clouds had receded. The wondrous moments occurred as Elder Kupu began the dedicatory prayer for the groundbreaking; the sun shone through, bathing the site with its brilliance, enhancing the Spirit that was abundant and prevailing. All wept for joy in admiration for the Omnipotent who had wondrously and gloriously revealed to ALL present that this groundbreaking was indeed, a heaven-sent undertaking!
Glory be to the Almighty, who is a “God of miracles.”5 I testify that if we allow Him, who is without beginning of days and end of years to prevail in our lives, we will continue to witness the workmanship of His hands,6 just as I have witnessed for myself His miraculous power and intervention during the sacred groundbreaking of the Neiafu Tonga Temple.

Perhaps one of the greatest stories I have heard recently on the importance of this personal commitment to doing our best was an experience of a young man at the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. When this young man reported in at headquarters for a particularly difficult trail experience, he weighed only 85 pounds. The pack he was required to carry weighed 35 pounds. The men at the base camp doubted very much that he would be able to make the trek, which included over 280 miles of trail and the performance of specific training tasks at the numerous camps along the way. All of this was to be done within a two-week period. There would be seven other boys in the group who were to make this packing trip. They would be on their own; each man would have to fend for himself. The young man visited with the LDS chaplain, Rulon Doman, prior to going out on the trail from the base camp. He explained to Brother Doman that he just had to make it. He had to reach this goal for himself. He asked Brother Doman to pray for him and to pray that the Lord would give him the strength to carry his own pack. Brother Doman said that he prayed for him and with him, but he still had reservations as he looked at the boy’s small stature.

The boy left the camp with the group at the specified time. Twelve days later, Brother Doman met him at a sacrament service up on the mountain trails away from the base camp. Two more days of hiking were to be completed before the trek would be finished. When it was time for testimonies to be borne during the meeting, the young man stepped forward with a testimony of great power. He said,

As I left the base camp, I wondered if I could make it. But I knew that if the Lord would bless me, I would have the physical strength to accomplish the task. At the end of the first day my shoulders were raw with blisters. My feet were sore. I could hardly rest that night, but I knelt in prayer and asked the Lord to please give me the physical strength for one more day, the strength to carry my own pack, to carry my own weight. The next day came. A similar experience occurred. My feet were sore and blistered. I wondered if I could make it. The other fellows were concerned because I was the last one to come up the trail that day. Again that night I prayed. I pleaded with the Lord to give me the physical strength to endure the pain and to carry my own pack, to make my own way. Somehow the next day seemed a bit better. I found that the Lord was my strength. I ate well. I cooked well. I performed all the trail requirements at each camp. I found myself having more and more strength.

Then the young man closed with these words:

I know that the greatest source of physical strength or any other strength is the strength that comes from the Lord if we can just be content to seek for the strength to go one day at a time.

He then expressed his gratitude to the Lord for blessing him and promised Brother Doman that in two days he would lead the team off the trail. He kept his word and, in fact, was the first one to return to base camp. He appeared to be in good physical condition and in great spiritual condition. Relying upon the Lord and expecting the best from himself had enabled him to reach his goal.

In his earliest childhood in Huntsville, Utah, where on his father’s farm he grew to manhood, he was taught by the example of his parents that the Lord and his work were to come first in a person’s life. When he was eight years of age, his two older sisters died, and a short time later his father was called on a two-year mission to Scotland. Sister McKay was to give birth to a baby girl in ten days, the farm had to be run, and the young family needed to be fed. But the Church came first. It was a test of faith, of commitment. As the elder McKay climbed on his horse to leave, he lifted his little son up into his arms, kissed him good-bye, and said, “David, take care of Mama and the family.” From that day onward, an exceptional sense of responsibility seemed to press on young David.

A few years later, I went on a mission! I was so happy to be serving my Savior, but lasting effects from my secret struggle showed up in my life as a missionary. I still struggled to love others and to feel love, especially from Heavenly Father.
I still hadn’t forgiven myself. I still thought that I was unlovable, even though I had worked so hard on overcoming my past habit. I was afraid to be vulnerable or to invite any love in my life out of fear of pain, disappointment, and suffering. So I often shut people out and didn’t allow them to get close to me.
One night when I was feeling desperately lonely, I was on my knees pleading to Heavenly Father for help. I expressed to Him my sorrows for being afraid to love myself, to love Him, and to love His children as much as I wanted to.
As I wept, I felt a clear and gentle impression in my mind. I felt that God was telling me that it’s OK to love deeply. That love is a gift He has given me—a talent I had hidden. I felt impressed that I needed to use it and multiply it. Just like God’s love for me never runs out, I needed to love more deeply.
This mercy from the Spirit touched me beyond anything I had felt before. I truly felt Heavenly Father’s love—what it means to be His child. It was a feeling I can’t put into words.
I wanted to do better at sharing this love with others and allowing others to share it with me. I prayed for opportunities to deepen this capacity for love and over time was blessed with so many experiences to share it with my brothers and sisters.
I had repented from pornography use, but I still needed to heal my heart. And that healing didn’t happen all at once—the Savior’s power came through seeking Him by studying truths in the scriptures and praying earnestly for help. I started to believe He and Heavenly Father did love me enough to offer me redemption. I felt my pain and self-loathing slowly peeling away.

After I returned from Argentina, missionary service remained very important to me. As I earned both a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree, I looked for chances to share the gospel. I married Jan Nielson, and we have taught our seven children the importance of missionary work.
My whole family had an opportunity to put those teachings into practice in 1994, when my wife and I received a call to preside over the Uruguay Montevideo Mission. During that time, our son Jason served in the Portland Oregon Mission and our son Andy in the Brazil Recife Mission. The rest of the family enjoyed our missionary work in Uruguay.

On 10 January 1969, my life abruptly changed. I certainly hadn’t intended to make any changes. I was not active in the Church and was a heavy smoker and drinker; in fact, I had reached the point where I felt unable to function without alcohol. I enjoyed the companionship of my drinking buddies, and the alcohol numbed my senses, making it seem easier to deal with life’s challenges.
But on that January day I did some quick reevaluation of my life. At work I was removing the rind from slabs of bacon with a five-inch boring knife and accidentally sliced a deep cut in my thigh. I started for the door, trying to remove my belt and cutting tools, and fainted before doing either. Co-workers carried me out to the loading dock, placed me in the company truck, and sped off to the hospital. I was losing a great deal of blood, and one man rode in back with me, applying constant pressure to the cut.
Midway to the hospital, we passed over a rough section of railroad tracks, and he was thrown down. By the time he regained his footing and could assist me again, we were both sure I was going to die. Although I was alert, I became extremely cold. I felt and saw a blackness settle over me, and I became very frightened.
I’m dying, I realized. I thought of my wife and children. I can’t die now. I have too much to do.
Right then I determined that if I were spared, I would repent and set my life in order. Immediately the cold I felt was replaced by a satisfying warmth in my body. The darkness fled, and I drifted into sleep. I later learned that more than once I came close to dying on the operation table, yet the doctors were able to save me and my leg.
When I awoke that night, I saw the moon shining through the window. I wept as I thought of my second chance. I felt a strong desire to pray—a foreign feeling to me. I couldn’t kneel, but I poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I thanked him for all he had given me and for his patience and mercy.
With the help of a supportive wife and an outstanding bishop, I began making changes I’d never imagined I would make. After being released from the hospital, I attended church with my family. I studied the scriptures and read other Church books as well.
I was ordained a priest and then an elder. Eventually our family went to the temple, where we were sealed for time and eternity.
Other blessings followed. My wife, who had battled with cancer, rheumatic fever, and several other debilitating health problems, felt better than she had felt in years. I had suffered from a hearing loss for most of my life. After much fasting and prayer, I underwent surgery that restored most of my hearing.
My whole life became more peaceful, more enjoyable, more worthwhile. The more I learned and grew, the more I prayed, thanking God for the most fortunate accident of my life.

I was thankful and comforted to know that the full-time missionaries were called to give my son a priesthood blessing
My empathy for those parents greatly increased a few years later when I received a phone call informing me that my own son, living 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away, had been hit by a car while riding his bicycle to the university where he was working and studying. Though I felt powerless to help him, I was thankful and comforted to know that the full-time missionaries were called to give him a priesthood blessing and that a ward in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA, had responded to his family’s needs. Ward members brought meals to his home and helped his wife, who had given birth just the day before the accident, care for their other three children.
Imagine how my gratitude increased when I learned that the missionary who had blessed my son was the same young man who had received a blessing from my husband five years before. I was amazed that the service given had returned in full measure!
My faith in and prayers of gratitude to my loving Heavenly Father have continued to increase as I contemplate that He knows all of us and what we will need. I believe that this young missionary was there so we could see the foreknowledge of God in a very personal way.

One day, a friend and I were eating at a restaurant when we overheard some people nearby talking about religion. A girl mentioned that she’d met two men on bikes who offered to talk to her about God. After meeting with them for a few weeks, she accepted their invitation to be baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One friend started asking complicated questions and urged her to change her mind. She looked uncomfortable, admitted that she didn’t know all the answers, but said it still felt right to be baptized. She told them that all she wanted was their support.
My friend and I could tell that she was now concerned. We couldn’t ignore the prompting to speak up.
Before we left, we walked over and said, “We hate to interrupt, but we overheard that you’ve decided to be baptized! We are members of the Church and want you to know that you are making the best decision of your life. Keep reading and praying about the Book of Mormon.”
A year later, I was listening to a lesson at church and the teacher shared a story about his fiancée. One day, she had been praying to know if she should be baptized. That same night, she went to a restaurant with some friends. They started talking about religion and her decision to be baptized. Her friends told her to avoid the missionaries and to not be baptized.
She felt frustrated at their lack of support. Then two people approached her and said that they were members of the Church. They encouraged her to be baptized and to continue reading and praying. The teacher’s fiancée told him that having those two strangers come up and boldly share their testimonies was an answer to her prayers.
I am so grateful that my friend and I listened to the prompting to speak up and to stand for what’s right.

This was an issue with my great-great-grandfather Phineas Wolcott Cook. He was born in 1820 in Connecticut. In his diary he notes that he had made a covenant with the Lord to serve Him if he could find the right way. He attended many churches and at one was asked to “testify [and] join the church [and] be a Christian.” His response was he “could not tell which one to join, there were so many.” He continued to investigate several churches. One doctrine was of particular significance to him. He explained: “Sometimes they found fault with me because I wanted a more liberal salvation for the family of man. I could not believe the Lord had made a part to be saved and a great part to be damned to all eternity.” Because of this doctrine, he allowed his name to be taken off the records of one Protestant religion. When the LDS missionaries taught him the true doctrine of the plan of salvation in 1844, he was baptized.
Phineas’s faith in the loving mercy of the Lord and His plan of happiness has been shared by many honorable men and women, even when the teachings of their own churches were very bleak.

Prior to leaving on our mission in June 2018, we attended the Missionary Training Center for a few days. We were blessed to be taught and inspired by the prophets, seers, and revelators. We were honored to speak with our beloved Prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He then asked Lucy and I to take a personal message to the people of Papua New Guinea. He said, "President, tell the good people of Papua New Guinea I love them."His message was simple yet very powerful, and everywhere I went, and every time I spoke, I gave his message to all. They were so touched that the Prophet of God, President Nelson, remembers and loves them, and they felt the power of his love. Oh, how I wish you could see their reaction. I testify He is the true and living prophet today.

I have a friend who grew up in a less-active Latter-day Saint family. When he was a young adult, he too “came to himself” and decided to prepare for a mission.
He became an excellent missionary. On his last day before returning home, the mission president interviewed him and asked him to bear his testimony. He did so, and after a tearful embrace, the president said, “Elder, you could forget or deny everything you have just testified of in a matter of months if you do not continue to do the things that built your testimony in the first place.”
My friend later told me that he has prayed and read the scriptures daily since he returned from his mission. Being constantly “nourished by the good word of God” has kept him “in the right way.”

At the accession of President George Albert Smith in 1945, Joseph was asked to stay on as secretary to the First Presidency. He traveled widely with President Smith and learned that he was truly a “man of love.” He recalls that President Smith laid his own overcoat on a bale of clothing to be shipped to the Saints suffering in postwar Europe. Elder Anderson remembers going with him when he called on the presidents of the United States and Mexico. They kept former U.S. President Herbert Hoover waiting in the outer office while President Smith explained the Book of Mormon and bore his testimony to President Avila Camacho of Mexico.”
For nineteen years following the death of President Smith, Joseph served in the administration of President David O. McKay. His boyhood teacher was now the leader of the Church. President and Sister Emma Ray Riggs McKay represented to Joseph the same great example of love for each other and the gospel that became legendary in the Church. “He was always loving, considerate, and courteous,” he remembers. When the prophet was near death, Elder Anderson recalls visiting him in his apartment and finding him on the couch holding hands with his sweetheart. “I asked Sister McKay how she was, and she said, ‘I am all right, but am concerned about my boy.’ I said, ‘He is still your boy, is he?’ She answered quickly, ‘He surely is.’ To this said, ‘He is the best, is he not?’ and she answered, ‘Most certainly.’”

I remember one time Elder Charles A. Callis in a Council of the Twelve meeting. There was a rather spirited discussion on some questions. One of the Brethren said, “You had better listen to Brother George Albert Smith, the President of the Twelve, because he may be the next President of the Church.”
Brother Callis smiled and said, “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure. Three times in my life I have chosen the next President of the Church, and all three of them died before they came to the presidency.” The Lord only knows, and for us to speculate or to presume is not pleasing in the sight of the Lord.

On numerous occasions as ambassador I was even asked by Cook Islanders from various other religious denominations to give sermons in their church. I could have elected not to be involved, but I recognized the missionary opportunity that I could be engaged in, without compromising my role as the ambassador of the country.

I recall one incident where I was asked to give a religious sermon. I informed him that I could only give a Mormon discourse. He replied, and I quote, "Well we've never had one of those, so let's give it a try." After completing my sermon, he gave me a thick envelope which was obviously the collection of money from the congregation during the service. After several minutes trying to refuse the offering, I finally heard and listened to the guidance of the Spirit and accepted the gift. But without letting go of his handshake, I returned him the unopened envelope as a donation for the maintenance of their building grounds. He was obviously touched, expressing great interest in more LDS teachings.

I used to wonder where that road to somewhere was and how I’d ever find it. As a young girl, I remember standing at the kitchen window of our home and looking out, down the gravel road toward the east, as far out as I could see. On each side of the road was tall grass in the summer and deep snow in the winter, and only a few houses sprinkled along the way. I used to wonder, “What is out there for me? Where do I belong?” I’m sure you must wonder that sometimes. At the end of our gravel road was the Indian reservation, and across the river a Hutterite colony. Things didn’t seem too hopeful for me at that time. School had been very difficult for me. My friends were moving on without me, and I felt dumb. Do you have any idea what that feels like? It’s awful.

When I was twelve years old and feeling very discouraged after a long, hard winter, my mom and dad had a plan they worked out at some sacrifice that they hoped would give me hope. They determined to take me with them beyond our gravel road, out across the Canadian border, through the great states of Montana and Idaho, and eventually to Salt Lake City, Utah, the headquarters of the Church, to attend general conference.

We arrived early on the first day of conference and waited in line, hoping to enter the great dome-shaped Tabernacle that I had only seen in pictures. I remember we had a seat right over there in the balcony on the left side where I could look down and actually see the prophet in real life and hear him speak, a thing I never dreamed would ever happen to me. When I heard the prophet of God speak at that time, I felt he was talking to me. The feeling I had was one of hope, and I began to understand about the real road to somewhere. I determined right then to plant my feet on that road—the strait and narrow path leading to the celestial kingdom—and never, never give up. I have come to know without any question that the gospel of Jesus Christ is the pathway to hope that leads us back to our Heavenly Father and our eternal home.

My Uncle Mons Andersen had said to us that we must go to his folks in Lehi. That same evening a fisherman was going past Lehi and said he could take two of us. So Mother and my brother Mathias went with him. Then someone would come after the rest of us. The train could not take us there for the track was then only laid to the Point of the Mountain. So the rest of us stayed in the tithing yard till the next day. All that day no one came. But the next day, July 20, 1872, a man by the name of Mathias Petersen from Lehi came for us in a brand-new wagon. Happy were we. We came as far as this of Sandy and stopped overnight. The next day, this being Sunday morning, July 21, 1872, we arrived in Lehi.
Now I must say a little about Sunday, July 21, 1872. As I said before, we camped overnight on the state road this side of Sandy. It was a beautiful morning, and time came for us to have something to eat before starting. There were five of us in all, and we had some baked wheat bread. There was a farmhouse some distance away, so Mathias Petersen, our driver, went over there to see if he could get some milk to go with the bread. He soon came back and a lady with him with a pan full of sweet milk. It was my first night camping out and my first meal of wheat bread and sweet milk. I shall never forget how good it tasted to me. I was overjoyed. Oh, how good I thought that lady was to bring us that good milk! I don’t know if she was a Mormon or not. But at that time I thought all the people in Utah were Mormons so, of course, I thought she was. So it was another step to me to gain a little better feeling for Mormonism.

Here is an example of how this played out in my gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon.

I came home to Honolulu after my freshman year at BYU, planning to work for the summer and submit my mission papers. As a way to prepare, I thought it would be a good idea to read the entire Book of Mormon before I received my mission call.

I recorded in my journal that I completed the final interviews with the bishop and stake president for my missionary application on June 3. It was an exciting time, and I anticipated receiving my call a short time later.

After two weeks, my expectations began to build. (I know a two-week wait for anything seems long nowadays). Yet, every day when I checked the mailbox, nothing came for me. After the 3rd week passed, I was slightly worried, but towards the end of the fourth week, I was getting frustrated. I was at a “how is it possible?” intersection wondering what was going on.

In my heart, I was starting to murmur, wanting reasons to blame for the delay. I had followed the process with the then required language test, done the dental check-up, medical exam, and interviews. I was working double shifts at a restaurant to earn money to help support me for two years. How could it be taking so long?

I thought I had done the right things and was disappointed that the situation was not going the way I expected. In reality, it was disappointing that things were not going as they should for a much different reason. It did not occur to me that my slow progress in reading the Book of Mormon might be a contributing factor.

I had been enjoying a care-free summer, and in being honest with myself, when I started reading the Book of Mormon, it was not with real intent. I had not made it a serious goal and was not committed enough in renewing my testimony of it. I had become too casual in my scripture study. I needed to repent, change my schedule as well as my heart, and be humble in my preparation to be a full-time missionary.

When I finally began to act with a “sincere heart” and “real intent,” [5] I stopped thinking about wanting a mission call and instead tried to focus on what Heavenly Father wanted me to learn. The Book of Mormon became a priority, and I found it fascinating to read. As Alma taught, when we plant and nurture a true seed in our hearts, it begins to enlarge our souls, enlighten our understanding, and becomes delicious to us. [6]

When I eventually finished the last chapter of Moroni, I closed the book and said a prayer. I felt a real thrill, a sense of accomplishment, as well as peace. I knew it was true and was excited to share it with others.

At that moment, I also felt assured that my mission call would come the next day. That would be July 23rd, and sure enough, when I went out to the mailbox, the envelope with my mission call to Hong Kong was waiting for me. In reflecting on this experience, I have learned that a seed planted with faith and purpose will grow and bear fruit, whereas a seed planted with hesitation and excuses will result in an empty pot, or in my case, an empty mailbox.

So how is it possible that the Lord would teach me so personally and directly about the importance of the Book of Mormon? The envelope from Salt Lake City had been postmarked the 20th, so the Lord knew of my progress and timed it perfectly, as he always does. It took seven weeks for me to receive my mission call, but it wasn’t just a lesson in patience. It was an investment the Lord made in me with the gift of testimony. I still marvel today how I was specifically tutored. I needed to pay the price to learn what I wanted to teach. As a result, I was able to enter the mission field with motivation and enthusiasm to share the truths of the Book of Mormon. I was able to serve with greater confidence and sincerity because I knew from God how important it was and that it was true.

Ten years earlier, I had been this sister’s visiting teacher. Back then, I was baking bread one day and felt that I should give a loaf to her. But when I drove to her house, I noticed an unfamiliar car in her driveway. I thought she must have company, and I didn’t want to intrude. So, I turned around and went home.
Half an hour later, the Relief Society president called to ask if I could go to this sister’s house and watch her children. She was in the hospital, and her mother had come to stay with the children but was eager to be with her daughter. I hurried over but felt ashamed that I had not followed the earlier prompting. Since that day, I had tried my best to follow promptings from the Spirit, but this experience still haunted me.
I am grateful I reconnected with this dear sister. That day, not only did Heavenly Father answer the prayers my family had offered to find a family to serve, but He also blessed me with an opportunity to forgive myself for a previous mistake. I had not expected this gift, but it’s one I’ll never forget.

“Seven, six, five, four, three two, one—eight!” Carrie lifted her finger from her zoo-animal calendar and once more silently counted down the days before she’d be baptized. Today was Sunday, and in just seven more days she’d be eight years old and ready for baptism.
Today was really, really important, too, though, and maybe just a little bit scary because today she would have her baptism interview with the branch president. President Stevenson wasn’t unfriendly, but Carrie was worried he’d give her a test about the Articles of Faith or the Ten Commandments or something.
“Carrie,” Mom called, “it’s time to get up. Remember, your interview is right after sacrament meeting.”
Carrie slipped out of bed and onto her knees. During her prayer, a warm feeling came over her that everything would be OK. She remembered that it was the sort of calm feeling that Sister Cowan, her CTR-A teacher, had taught her could come to her through the Holy Ghost.
“Get out of my way,” Nathan growled later as he shoved past Carrie into the bathroom.
Wow! she thought, I hope he’s not going to be a real grump all day.
But Nathan was still scowling as he, Carrie, and Mom and Dad left for church.
“Good morning, Carrie. Big day coming up next week, right?” Carrie felt a familiar arm around her shoulder as Sister Cowan gave her a hug. “Your interview with President Stevenson is today, isn’t it? You’re really ready for baptism—I know you are.”
Sister Cowan always made Carrie feel special. But that warm feeling disappeared as “Nathan the Grump” came toward her.
Just then President Stevenson came out of the chapel. “I’ll be seeing you right after church, won’t I, Carrie?” he said with a big, warm smile.
Carrie nodded and smiled back. Maybe our visit will be OK, she thought.
Then President Stevenson smiled at Nathan. When Nathan didn’t smile back—as she had predicted, he was being a dedicated grump today—the branch president simply said, “Nathan, remember?”
Miracles really do happen, Carrie thought as Nathan’s face started to crinkle, then break into a full-fledged smile!
“I remember.” Nathan’s smile grew and lasted as he ambled off down the hall.
Did I see a miracle? Carrie wondered. And what did Nathan “remember”?
During sacrament meeting, Carrie glanced over at Judy, a Merrie Miss. Carrie thought that she always looked sort of sad. But now, as Judy looked up from her hymnbook, she broke into a smile! Following Judy’s gaze, Carrie saw President Stevenson smiling at Judy from the stand.
How can he make “Nathan the Grump” and “Sad Judy” smile when nobody else can? Carrie asked herself.
Soon the closing prayer had been given and everyone was milling around the foyer, visiting with each other.
“Carrie.” She felt a light hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready for our interview?”
Nodding, she followed the branch president to his office.
“I’m really glad we can visit today about your baptism,” President Stevenson told her. “Would it be OK if we started with a prayer?”
When he finished the prayer, he opened his scriptures and asked, “Do you remember when the Prophet Abinadi tried to teach King Noah about God? The only one in the king’s court who believed Abinadi was Alma. Upon his conversion, he gathered others and taught them the gospel. He said that for people to be ready for baptism, they should ‘mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’”*
As they talked about all that Alma had written, Carrie felt glad that Sister Cowan had discussed it all in her class.
When President Stevenson asked Carrie if she would be willing to do all that Alma said, she answered yes and really meant it.
“The next verses talk about a covenant between the people being baptized and God. Do you know what a covenant is?” President Stevenson asked.
Covenant? Oh no! This is the test, and I can’t remember what it is! “Well, uh, not really,” was all she could mumble.
“That’s OK, Carrie. Lots of people don’t really know. A covenant is an agreement, or promise, between two people. They agree, or covenant, that as long as one of them does what’s been agreed upon, the other is bound to do what he promised. Alma spoke of baptism as a covenant between us and God. If we agree to be baptized and always remember the Savior and keep His commandments, He agrees to send His spirit to always be with us. Do you understand this?”
“I guess so, sort of.”
The branch president smiled. “Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if you and I make a simple agreement, OK? Here’s our agreement: Whenever I see you, whether it’s here at church or someplace else, I promise that I will smile at you, even if I’m not feeling happy. But if I do that, then you have to promise that you’ll smile back at me, even if you’re not feeling like smiling. Do you think we can make that agreement?”
“OK. I can do that.”
“Good. Now, as a symbol of our agreement to smile, let’s shake hands.” Her small hand was smothered by his, but it felt warm and firm, not scary.
“Now just as our handshake was a symbol of our agreement, your baptism will be a symbol of the covenant—a very sacred agreement—that you are making with God. He’ll send you His Spirit if you take the name of Jesus Christ upon you by being baptized and remembering Him and obeying His commandments. The sacrament prayers will help you remember this sacred covenant that you are making with Heavenly Father. Do you understand better now?”
“Yes, President Stevenson.” Carrie beamed.
“I think that you’re prepared for your baptism, Carrie. Tell your parents I’d like to talk with them about arrangements for your baptismal service.”
She got up to leave, then turned back with a grin. “President Stevenson, have you made the smile agreement with the other kids who have been baptized?”
“Yes, I have. Everyone—even adults—who have been baptized in our branch since I’ve been branch president have made the same agreement with me. I think it helps everyone understand better what a covenant is, and every time we smile at each other, we remember just how sacred our baptism covenant is—their smiles show that they are happy to have made their covenants with Heavenly Father. Don’t you think so?”
Remembering Nathan and Judy, Carrie thought so too. She smiled as she hurried to find her parents.