Gospel Story Finder

COLIN: That I really enjoyed showing Christlike love to everyone. There are a lot of hard-hearted people in the world. It’s hard for them to open up and express themselves. That’s why you’ve got to help them show love, to help them live happier lives, to help them gain that success they have always tried to find but that can come only with the eternal perspective of the gospel.
In Sydney, I was assigned to work in the immigrant areas. Every time I knocked on a door, people were a bit surprised because they thought Mormon missionaries were mostly white Americans and white Australians. They had never seen an aboriginal LDS missionary before. We told them we had an important message about Christ and tried to be polite and kind. They really liked it. They said come around again. As we came around again, those that were home invited us in and we taught them a discussion.
COLIN: I hope that for some people I did. Some of the aborigines would see me and say, “What are you doing?” I would say, “I’m a missionary for my church.” And they would say, “I want to be like you and get a good life.” I told them they should try.

When Greg returned from his mission, he finished up at Ricks, then went on to BYU. He never had satisfied his dream of becoming a student body president, but the thought of presiding over BYU’s 27,000 students seemed overly ambitious to him. His sister Kristie was convinced he could do it though. She helped him find a running mate, served as his campaign manager, and after a lot of hard work, Greg was elected by one of the biggest margins in BYU history.

“That really helped prepare me for where I am now,” Greg says. And actually, he is quite surprised to be in this position at Harvard. He’d already satisfied his goal of serving as a student body president, and knowing how many hours he’d put into the position at BYU, he didn’t think he could handle it at graduate school. After much prayer and a lot of requests from fellow students, however, Greg decided to give it a try. A lot of hard work went into that election too, and it paid off.

Even though Greg has won a multitude of other awards and titles, he feels that some of his greatest satisfaction comes when his accomplishments put him in a position to answer questions about the Church. “I’m constantly being questioned about our beliefs,” he says with a smile. “And I’m always happy to talk with anyone.”

And they’re usually happy to listen. Fellow students scrutinize Greg a little closer than they do other classmates. Not only is he their president, but he’s also one of a handful of LDS people they might know.

Tomorrow he’ll probably be walking Wall Street, but today, on the brisk Monday afternoon, his class discussions are finished and he walks over to one of the numerous meetings he has each week. Many students call out to him, greeting him by name. Some glance at him with a mischievous look in their eyes and call out, “Hi, LARRY!” That’s Greg’s first name, but he hates to be called that and they know it. On the first day of class this year, the student body gave him a standing ovation and shouted out, “Larry! Larry! Larry!” It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously with classmates like that.

Still, many of them ask him how he’s accomplished what he has. “My theory of success,” he tells them, “requires two things—that you work hard, and that you pray hard.” Greg slides into his seat at the head of a large conference table, and the other student body officers begin to file in. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2 A.M. making use of his theory of success.

Joseph Smith was the only prophet of this dispensation to labor as a full-time missionary while presiding over the Church. During the first years after the Restoration, as the infant Church began its amazing growth, Joseph undertook preaching missions on various occasions.
One small treasure in the archives of the Church Historical Department is a worn leather journal, 14 pages of which tell of Joseph’s missionary trip into Canada in late 1833.* Joseph’s entries in the journal appear almost daily; half are in his own handwriting and the others he dictated. This is the earliest diary account we have of any mission of the Prophet. Prodded by “Father” Freeman Nickerson, a convert from western New York, Joseph, along with Sidney Rigdon, his first counselor, set out to preach to Brother Nickerson’s relatives and others along a 250-mile crescent stretching north and east from Kirtland, around Lake Erie, and west into Canada.
Let us follow the Prophet’s four-week journey by examining the entries in his private diary.
With team and conveyance provided by Brother Nickerson the three started eastward from Kirtland on October 5. The next day at Springfield, Ohio, they attended a meeting of the Saints, where, as Joseph recorded, “Brother Sidney spoke to the people, etc., and in the evening held a meeting at Brother [John] Reed’s. Had a great congregation, paid good attention. Oh God, seal our testimony to their hearts. Amen.”
Journeying along the shores of Lake Erie they visited with various Church members, holding similar meetings. One week from Kirtland the missionaries stopped at Brother Nickerson’s home in Catteraugus County, New York. Here the Prophet noted: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but have much anxiety about my family.” Did Joseph, like most missionaries, feel here a tinge of homesickness? Evidently so, for that night he received a revelation (D&C 100) wherein the Lord assured him and Sidney that their families were well and in his care, adding that there were many people in the region of their mission awaiting their testimonies. “Continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice” were their instructions.
On Sunday, October 13, a large congregation listened to Elder Rigdon preach, followed by the Prophet. “I bear record to the people,” Joseph wrote. “The Lord gave His spirit in marvelous manner for which I am thankful to the God of Abraham. Lord bless my family and preserve them.” When starting for Canada the next day, Joseph recorded a quick plea: “Lord, be with us on our journey. Amen.” He tells of one disappointment on October 15 when a meeting scheduled for a Presbyterian meetinghouse was canceled because the man who kept the keys refused to open the door. From there the missionaries turned westward, arriving three days later at the home of Eleazer F. Nickerson, the second son of Freeman Nickerson, at Mount Pleasant, Upper Canada.
The following Sunday they preached to an attentive congregation in the morning and a large gathering that evening, which “gave good heed to the things which were spoken. What may be the result we cannot tell but the prospect is flattering.” During a Tuesday evening meeting, while it was “snowing vehemently,” the missionaries were verbally attacked and then denied the right to speak by a Wesleyan Methodist. This caused Joseph to write: “We find that conviction is resting on the minds of some. We hope that great good may yet be done in Canada, which O Lord grant for thy name’s sake.”
During that week the missionaries’ preaching brought success. On Wednesday they interviewed a Mr. Wilkeson, who was a leader in the Mount Pleasant Methodist group. “He could not stand our words,” the diary reads. “Whether he will receive the truth the Lord only knows. He seemed honest.” Thursday, a wet day, their preaching at Weathersford drew only a small congregation. But at Mount Pleasant that evening a fine meeting developed: “One man, [Eleazer] Nickerson declared his full belief in the truth of the work. Is with his wife who is also convinced to be baptized on Sunday. Great excitement prevails in every place where we have been. The result we leave in the hand of God.”
But their excitement about the pending baptisms diminished somewhat during a negative Friday discussion with a Mr. Patrick, which caused Joseph to lament: “People very superstitious. Oh God, establish thy word among this people.” But later that evening, before an attentive audience, “the Spirit gave utterance” to the Latter-day Saint preachers.
As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”
Because others at the Sunday meetings felt deeply impressed, another service was held Monday morning. Here two more souls were baptized and then confirmed at the water’s edge. At candlelight, to provide a leader for this new cluster of converts, the missionaries ordained Eleazer Nickerson an elder. “Had a good meeting,” Joseph noted. “One of the sisters got the gift of tongues which made the Saints rejoice. May God increase the gifts among them for his Son’s sake.”
The mission was accomplished and affairs at Kirtland needed their attention after a month’s absence. The missionaries spent the next five autumn days on the road. Upon reaching Kirtland, Joseph added a final comment to the missionary journal: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessing I feel to thank his holy name. Amen.”
In his own words Joseph Smith not only provides details regarding a successful mission but also conveys his strong conviction about the truthfulness of his work. His hopes, worries, concerns for loved ones, disappointments, and successes all revolved around the Lord. Deep and genuine dependence upon Him in his daily affairs characterized this little-mentioned mission of the Prophet.

They split the ward, and I feel like part of me has been amputated. I still can’t believe this is happening. Things at home and at school have been so crazy lately, and now I have to face being in the new Tierra Bonita Ward instead of the Lancaster Third Ward.
Doesn’t the Lord know how hard this is going to be? Doesn’t he understand that all my friends will be in a different ward? I’ve grown up with them. I can’t imagine going to church and not being with them. How could anyone take their place? This just isn’t fair.
The new ward is so small. There are no girls my age, and no young men. I don’t know any of the people, and it’s not going to be easy to make new friends. I miss my ward and all my old friends already. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wish things were back the way they were. I can’t handle this!
Two years ago today I wrote that entry in my journal. I remember how devastated I was when the ward split and I found myself in a ward full of strangers. I thought my life was over. I wanted God to intervene and change things back to the way they were, but he didn’t. And now I’m glad.
At the time, I was too upset to realize that the Lord wasn’t doing this to hurt me. He knows what’s best for me even if I can’t always see things his way. Now I’m really thankful that I’m in this ward. The leaders and teachers are wonderful and have helped me in many ways. What would I do without Diane, my Laurel adviser, and all the other young women? With them behind me, I know I can do anything. I was meant to be in this ward!
Most of all, I’ve grown to appreciate the Lord and the decisions his leaders make. Next time, I’ll have more faith in their judgment. Happy birthday, Tierra Bonita Ward!

Last semester I had an especially gray day. I was sick with the flu, worried about the seemingly endless and unresolvable trials faced by my loved ones, and discouraged about my work. I sat in my office replaying the film of woe. As I reran one particularly awful scene, I got a surprise. This time through the scene included a presence standing by me, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. The surprise shook me out of my bleak mood. I was reminded in that moment that there is so much more to reality than I imagine. As one of our hymns reminds us, “O know you not that angels are near you.” (Orson Pratt Huish, “Come unto Jesus,” Hymn 117). I remembered other occasions when I felt the presence of a loved one from the spirit world. This unseen world is real. Even though we have trials, the Lord, his angels, and our loved ones are near to us and concerned. We can take strength and renewal in opening our spiritual sense to that world, remembering that that we are known, loved, and cheered on.

During my last year of junior high school, it was my privilege to be responsible for taking care of the flag at our school. Each morning just before school began, the bugle sounded and we would raise the flag on the pole out in front of the building. All of the students would then stand at attention in their classrooms and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance to our country.
We really cared for the flag—it meant something special to us! Whenever it rained, we would be excused from class to run out, lower the flag, and carefully put it away until the weather was clear to display it again. Each night before leaving school, the flag would be lowered, gently folded in a triangle with only the white stars on a blue background visible, and put away until the next day.

One morning as I finished reading from and pondering the Book of Mormon, I realized that I would again finish it by the end of the year. This realization brought back the memory of my brother, whom I cared for in my home during his final weeks with terminal cancer in 2005.
Oliver was determined to fulfill a promise to himself to follow the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) and read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.1 But by that fall, Oliver still had many pages to go. Eventually he became so weak that he could no longer read to himself.
Determined to keep his commitment, Oliver asked me if I would read the Book of Mormon to him. I was much further along in my own reading, but I was glad to begin where he had left off.
By reading to Oliver every day, I was able to help him reach his goal to finish the book by year’s end, just days before he died. By that time he could hardly speak audibly, but his mind was clear and active. With much effort, he often expressed his appreciation to me for the gift I had given him, saying he could now die in peace because he had fulfilled his promise.
I had read the Book of Mormon many times before, but I had never felt its spirit so powerfully or understood its precepts so clearly as I did during those waning months of my brother’s life. Truly, Oliver had given me the greater gift.

The bell rang, and the boys of the teachers quorum left. But Tommy and Richard hung back. It was their responsibility to return the hymnbooks this week. Tommy was still thinking about the lesson, his face creased in a pensive frown.
“Do you teach any inactives, Richard?” he asked tentatively.
“Yeah, we’ve got Brother and Sister Dunbar, but I don’t know what we’re going to do about them. Brother Dunbar is even smoking in front of us now. Not much chance with him, I’d say.”
“What do you think about what Brother Wolff just said?”
“Oh yeah, that was good, but sometimes I guess it just doesn’t work out that way. Some people just don’t want to come back again, so you’re wasting your time, I guess.”
“Do you really think that?” Tommy’s worried frown had deepened, and he searched Richard’s face. “Really?”
“Well, you have to, don’t you? It’s no use thinking it’s all going to be marvellous when it isn’t.” Richard shrugged philosophically. “Have you finished with those books? I’ll take them back to the library.”
Tommy looked at the pile of books in his hands. “Oh, yes. Here you are,” he said, handing them over. He picked up his own scriptures, but his mind was still on Brother Tregaron. He was a problem with a capital P.
Tommy was going with Brother Carson to home teach Brother Tregaron this afternoon, but it was always the same whenever they went. All he did was knock back everything they said to him. If they greeted him with, “Nice day, isn’t it?” He would reply, “I don’t think it will last—probably have a storm later, I’d say.”
If they complimented him on his garden, he would only talk about the weeds, or the slugs and snails. If they asked him about his family, he would remark that he never heard from them, and why should he when they didn’t care about him anyway. He really was hard to talk to. Tommy always felt depressed when he came away from Brother Tregaron’s, depressed and useless. There didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do with him.
But Brother Wolff had said, “Never give up!” And when he heard him, Tommy felt as if Brother Wolff was begging and pleading on his own behalf again, reliving the alienation he had gone through for so many years, and pleading for someone to care enough, as his home teacher had done, to “never give up.”
Tommy shrugged. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe it was a waste of time. What could he, a mere teacher, do when grown men, even the elders quorum president himself, had failed? There didn’t seem to be much point. He would just go there this afternoon, go through the motions, and leave as usual. Only this time, he wouldn’t feel depressed about it, for now he understood that Brother Tregaron didn’t really want to come back. Yes, that’s what he would do.
And that’s what he would have done, if only Brother Wolff hadn’t come back into the room just then. He smiled at Tommy and gripped his hand. Maybe Tommy just imagined it, but a funny sort of feeling was in his stomach and a prickly sort of feeling around his eyes as he looked into Brother Wolff’s face. No words had been said, yet there seemed to be an understanding, as if Brother Wolff knew exactly what had passed through Tommy’s mind those few short minutes ago.
Later that afternoon, he found himself outside Brother Tregaron’s place. Brother Carson was taking the keys out of the ignition, and Tommy heard him say, “Well, come on, let’s get this one over with first.” Suddenly Tommy felt an overwhelming feeling come over him.
“Brother Carson,” he heard himself say, “could we have a word of prayer before we go in, please?”
“Eh?” Brother Carson seemed puzzled, and Tommy knew it was because he had never been asked that before. Usually they had the prayer inside with the family they were teaching—all except Brother Tregaron, of course. But Tommy felt an urgent need for a prayer and repeated his request, “A word of prayer, please.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Brother Carson leaned back in his seat and nodded at Tommy. “Perhaps you’d like to offer it?”
Tommy felt strangely nervous, and his palms were sweaty, but he started the prayer, not knowing quite what to say or why he had even asked for it. Afterwards, he couldn’t quite remember what he actually said, but he did remember the look on Brother Carson’s face when he had finished. It reminded him of Brother Wolff.
Albert Tregaron opened the door to them with his habitual scowl and invited them in with his usual terseness. They followed him down the passageway into the small living room, and Tommy saw that nothing had changed much since the last time they had been there. It was a large, untidy room with a forlorn air about it. Tommy could almost feel the usual depression settle about his shoulders like a heavy cloak, and it took a great effort on his part to shrug it off. Never give up, he reminded himself.
Brother Tregaron was saying, “You’d better sit down, I suppose.” Brother Carson chose a big, faded armchair and perched gingerly on the edge of it, saying, with a hearty smile, “And how are you this month, Albert?”
“Okay, I guess,” came the reply. Brother Carson shifted uncomfortably and caught Tommy’s eye. Tommy could sense the hint of despair in his attitude, but it didn’t prepare him for Brother Carson’s next words.
“By the way, Albert, Tommy has something he’d like to say to you, wouldn’t you, Tommy?” Tommy felt his jaw drop as he met Brother Carson’s strained, jovial smile.
Hey, come on, Brother Carson, don’t leave it all up to me, thought Tommy desperately. His gaze swung from Brother Carson to Brother Tregaron’s face, which now had a speculative look on it.
“Well?” Brother Tregaron asked, mildly curious.
“Well, er …” Tommy fought desperately for the right words to say. Help me, Heavenly Father, he pleaded within himself. What shall I say? Then he heard himself saying, “Well, there’s an elders quorum activity this Saturday. It’s a picnic, and there’s going to be some rafting and games and so on, and we, that is my family and I, thought you might like to come with us?” I must remember to tell Mom and Dad, he thought to himself.
“Ah, no, that’s not my idea of spending a Saturday …” started Brother Tregaron, but Tommy was already brushing aside his refusal.
“Oh, please, Brother Tregaron. See, Dad and I wanted to be in the tug-of-war against the Williamses, but we haven’t got quite enough for our team. Wouldn’t you make up the numbers for us?”
Again the shake of the head came, but still Tommy persisted.” And the deacons reckon you were really good with the rafting competitions at one time.” Brother Tregaron’s head slowed its shaking and tilted to one side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Tommy.
“Why are you doing this, boy, eh? Why do you want me?”
Tommy stopped in mid-sentence, dumbstruck. Why was he doing it? What answer could he give? What should he say? Then he said something he immediately felt was the stupidest thing of all to say, “Because you’re my brother.”
He flushed crimson. What a stupid thing to say! He began to think of all the things he could have said, should have said, but his mind had gone blank. He was about to apologize when he noticed that Brother Tregaron’s face had softened and there was a hint of a tear in his eye. The silence stretched into infinity as they looked into each other’s eyes.
At last, Brother Tregaron broke the silence with a mumbled, “Well, I guess I could see if I’m free.” It was more a question than a statement. Tommy felt his heart swell.
“Sure, Brother Tregaron! What time shall we pick you up?”
“Hang on, young man. Not so fast. I only said I’d see if I was free.” But there was a smile in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and the stern lines of his face were relaxed. Tommy grinned and looked across to where Brother Carson was sitting, but in his mind, he saw only Brother Wolff looking at him. He heard him say again, “Never, ever, give up on anyone.” And as he turned back to Brother Tregaron, he knew that despite the heartaches that might lie ahead, he never, ever, would.

I believe the Lord gave us families so we could help strengthen and support each other. The Lord also gave us families so we wouldn’t be alone. But when my father passed away, I felt very alone. My father and I were close, and I had lost his constant example. It felt like all I could do was cry.
But one night, I decided to say a prayer. In my heart I felt the Spirit tell me that I wasn’t alone. I know the plan of salvation. Because of Jesus Christ’s Atonement, I will see my father again. The knowledge that families can be together forever is very important to me. And I know that we can be an eternal family because my parents were sealed in the temple.

Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.

I commence my message this morning with a question: Have you ever taken a vacation with your entire family? If not, you are in for some surprises when you do. My wife and I a few years ago joined our children, their companions, and the grandchildren at Disneyland in southern California. Beyond the entrance to the famous theme park, the group rushed to what was then the newest feature—Star Tours. You enter a simulated rocket, take your seat, and fasten your seat belt. All of a sudden the entire vehicle begins to vibrate violently. I think the mechanical voice which comes over the loudspeaker calls it “heavy turbulence.” (I have never returned to this featured ride. I get all the real turbulence I can handle just flying from place to place fulfilling my responsibilities.)
After recuperating for a few minutes, we journeyed to the feature with the longest line. It is called Splash Mountain. The crowd filed round and round in a serpentine pattern. The music, which was piped through the loudspeakers to the waiting throng, contained the words of the song:
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay,
My, oh my, what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine, headin’ my way,
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!
By now we were ready to board the boat which would carry us in a vertical dive that evoked screams from the passengers in the boat ahead as it roared down the waterfall and glided to a stop in the water below. Just before taking the plunge, however, I noticed on one wall a small sign declaring a profound truth: “You can’t run away from trouble; there’s no place that far!”
These few words have remained with me. They pertain not only to the theme of Splash Mountain but also to our sojourn in mortality.

Katie sat with her parents in the bishop’s office. The bishop, his counselors, and President Barlow talked with Daddy and Mommy. President Barlow was a member of the stake presidency. Grandma and Grandpa Chadwick, Daddy’s parents, were also there.
Daddy was being set apart as the ward elders quorum president. Five-year-old Katie didn’t understand what being set apart meant.
Mommy had told her that when someone is called to a position in the Church, Heavenly Father wants that person to receive a special blessing from those with priesthood authority.
Daddy sat in a chair in the middle of the room. “Dad, will you participate in the setting apart?” he asked Grandpa.
Tears gathered in Grandpa’s eyes. “I’d be honored,” he said.
Grandpa joined the other men in a circle around the chair where Daddy sat. They placed their hands on Daddy’s head.
Katie saw Mommy and Grandma Chadwick close their eyes and fold their arms. Katie closed her eyes and folded her arms too.
President Barlow said a prayer, but it was a different kind of prayer than Katie was used to hearing. He asked Heavenly Father to bless her daddy in performing his duties.
When the blessing was over, everyone said, “Amen.” Katie said, “Amen,” too.
Her daddy stood and wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you,” he said to the men. “I’ll do my best to help the elders in our ward.”
The men in the circle all shook his hand.
Katie sat on the chair and folded her arms. “I’m ready, Daddy.”
“What are you ready for, Sweetheart?” Daddy asked.
“I want a blessing too,” Katie said.
Her parents exchanged glances. The other people in the room smiled.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Daddy said. “You aren’t being set apart, but you can have a father’s blessing.” Then he placed his hands on Katie’s head. He blessed her that she would be able to choose the right and obey her parents. At the end of the blessing, everyone said, “Amen.”
Katie got down from the chair and held out her hand. Daddy shook her hand. Katie felt warm and happy inside.

A friend of ours was hospitalized following an accident. A neighbor remarked, “I’ve got to bake something for Sally’s family,” but she didn’t. Then she said, “I’ve got to visit Sally while she is still in bed.” But she didn’t. On another occasion she told us, “I’ve just got to get a card off to Sally,” but she never did. These are examples of wanting to be a good neighbor but kind of faking it, though there probably were extenuating circumstances and good excuses.

I hope I may be pardoned for repeating a story I heard the other day in Lausanne, Switzerland. That was a sacred occasion, and I view this as a sacred occasion.
More than sixty years ago, a small boy on an Idaho farm went with his father to the field. While the father worked through the day, the boy amused himself with one thing and another. Over the fence were some old farm buildings derelict and tumbled down. The boy with imagination saw in them castles to be entered. He climbed through the fence and approached the buildings to begin his exploration. As he drew near, a voice was heard to say, “Harold, don’t go over there.” He looked to see if his father was around. He was not. But the boy heeded the warning. He turned and ran. He never knew what danger might have been lurking there, nor did he question. Having listened and heard, he obeyed.
That boy today presides over The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through the years he has listened, and the Lord has magnified and protected and guided him by the whisperings of his Holy Spirit.

Some years ago while our family was eating dinner with another couple from our ward, we received a phone call from the emergency department of our local hospital. An official asked my husband, who was serving as stake president at the time, if someone from our Church could come see a 17-year-old youth who had suffered a serious head injury.
Upon arriving, my husband learned that the young man had fallen from a balcony onto a cement sidewalk 30 feet (9 m) below. He was unconscious and not expected to live.
My husband and the brother who ate dinner with us gave the young man a blessing. His family, who lived a thousand miles (1,610 km) away, was contacted and apprised of his condition.
Miraculously, after a few days of intensive care, the young man regained consciousness and began to heal. For four weeks his parents visited him daily in the hospital. Then they flew him home to Arizona, USA, so he could complete his recovery.
How marvelous it was to witness the healing power of the priesthood work in a way to give this young man a second chance at a healthy future. And how grateful I was for a husband and other ward members who are prepared to perform priesthood service and act with divine authority.
I felt deeply for the young man’s parents, who were so far from their son during his crisis. I was glad, however, to know that they felt somewhat reassured when they learned that their son had received a priesthood blessing and that Church members were glad to help.

In 1986, President Ezra Taft Benson promised the Saints that the power of the Book of Mormon would begin to flow into our lives the moment we began a serious study of the book (see Ensign, November 1986, page 7). Inspired by his promise, my wife and I decided to start reading the Book of Mormon with our family.
At the time we had four children, ages six months to six years. At first, we were able to read only one column each day. With 531 pages and twice that many columns, the book seemed like a never-ending undertaking.
Despite, or maybe because of, how slowly we read, we made every effort to read each weekday. Our children were eager to please—often waking us to start reading. Although we missed very few days, it took us more than six months to read 1 Nephi.
By this time our two oldest children were able to read a few words by themselves. As we slowly made our way through 2 Nephi, including quotations from the writings of Isaiah, we were growing as a family in spiritual as well as other ways. We added a daily devotional time and another child to the family. Dirty diapers and cries of hunger often interrupted our reading, but each day we would finish our allotted column no matter how long it seemed to take.
About the time our oldest turned 11 years old, we started reading at an accelerated pace—one page per day. As we neared the middle of that year, we received word that the Alberta Temple would be rededicated the next spring, an event our family had been looking forward to. We did some calculating and found that if we continued reading at the same pace, we would have one chapter of the Book of Mormon left to read on the day the dedication would begin. We planned to travel the 1,200 kilometers to attend this event, rise early that morning, and drive to the temple grounds to read the last chapter.
The morning of the dedication dawned bright and clear. The temple grounds were beautiful, and we sat down behind the old stone monument as we prepared to read.
The Spirit seemed to be with us more strongly than usual as we finished the chapter and concluded the volume of scripture. It had taken us about five years to complete reading it. We each took a turn praying for confirmation that the Book of Mormon was indeed the word of God. We didn’t see any angels or hear voices, but we did feel the calm, peaceful, loving presence of the Holy Ghost. Tears filled our eyes as the Spirit testified to each of us of the truthfulness and sacredness of the Book of Mormon.
We gave thanks for the opportunity we’d had to become closer to the great prophets of the Book of Mormon and for the blessings that we had received through reading their words—blessings of increased faith, strength in the face of adversity, and greater love and tranquility in our home. Indeed, we had received the blessings a prophet of God had promised us.

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, misshapen man lying on a bed. He wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati’s condition; he had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?

When they visited their new friend the next day, he was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered. … I have waited for more than 20 years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ.”

For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles (13 km) away. So they carried him to their car and drove him to the chapel. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. Atiati said, “Please, put me down. This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!” So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him.

He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.” (See “One Trembling Step at a Time,” Liahona, June 1995, 28–31; Ensign, June 1994, 56–58.) I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

Josie loved her new rain boots. They were bright pink, and when she walked they said squinch, squinch. She especially liked to jump into puddles because they made a big splash all over the sidewalk.
Josie’s sister Lucy didn’t like Josie’s boots quite so much. “Stop splashing me, Josie!” she said as they walked home from school. Lucy was two years older, and she had forgotten how much fun it was to splash.
Josie wanted Lucy to have fun too. “You try it, Lucy,” she said. “See how big I can splash?” And Josie stomped extra hard into the nearest puddle. The water splashed all over them. Josie was glad she had her raincoat on.
“Josie!” Lucy yelled. Lucy was not wearing a raincoat. She was very wet. And very angry. “Look what you did! This is my new jacket! Why do you always act like such a baby!”
Lucy was no fun. Why was she always so grumpy? It served her right that she got all wet. She was silly to wear her new jacket today when she should have worn her raincoat. Suddenly, Josie was angry at Lucy.
Josie ran ahead to the next big puddle and waited by it until her sister caught up to her. Then she jumped into the puddle as hard as she could.
“Josie!” This time Lucy was really, really wet.
Josie ran the rest of the way home and went right to her bedroom. A few minutes later, Mom knocked on the door and came in.
“Josie?” she said. “Lucy says you splashed muddy water all over her new clothes on purpose. Do you want to tell me about it?”
There was a hard, cold lump in Josie’s tummy. She didn’t want to tell Mom what had happened. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” Josie said, but she didn’t look at Mom. The lump in her tummy was getting bigger.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked. “Because I don’t think Lucy would lie about this.”
“Well, she must be lying,” Josie said. But her voice was a little shaky.
Mom was quiet for a few minutes. Then she said, “Well, even if it was an accident, you should apologize. Lucy’s new jacket is very dirty now, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to get it clean. She’s sad about that.”
Josie kept her head down, picking at the little knots on her quilt. “OK, Mom,” she said.
Mom left Josie alone in her room.
Josie wandered around her room feeling yucky inside. Her new boots were in a corner, still wet. She tried to look at a book but she couldn’t keep her eyes on the pictures. She got out her paper dolls, but they weren’t any fun.
The yucky feeling inside was getting worse.
Finally, Josie sat down on her bed and cried. She knew she had told a lie. She knew she shouldn’t have splashed Lucy. She had been naughty and she felt terrible about it. But how could she fix things now?
Just then, Mom knocked on the door again. “Josie?”
“Come in,” Josie said.
“Josie, I can see you are very sad.”
“Oh, Mom,” Josie sobbed. “I did splash Lucy on purpose. I did it because I was mad. But I shouldn’t have. And I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry, Mom.”
Mom held Josie tight and patted her back. “You must feel pretty terrible right now,” she said.
Josie nodded. She felt muddy inside, like Lucy’s jacket.
“I know a way to make that awful feeling go away. And you do too. In fact, you’ve already started by telling me what happened. Now what should you do?”
“But, Mom, I don’t want to talk to Lucy.”
“You don’t want that yucky feeling to be with you forever, do you?”
“Maybe she’ll forget about it,” Josie said.
“She might, but I don’t think you will,” Mom said. “If you don’t repent of the things you do wrong, they stay inside you, and they change you into a different kind of person than you want to be. But if you take care of them as soon as you can, they don’t stay with you. They disappear so that you can be your real self.”
Josie thought about it. She didn’t want to become a mean person. Even though she had been mean to her sister, she could erase that and be her better self. That sounded pretty good, but it didn’t sound easy.
“But it’s hard,” she said.
“You’re right,” Mom agreed. “Admitting you did something wrong and asking for forgiveness is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. But I know you can do it, Josie. It’s worth it.” Then Mom went out.
Josie looked at her poster of My Gospel Standards. It said: “I will choose the right. I know I can repent when I make a mistake.” She knew she had to talk to Lucy. She knelt to ask Heavenly Father for both forgiveness and courage.
Lucy was in the kitchen eating popcorn.
“Lucy?”
“Yes.” Lucy didn’t even look at Josie. This was going to be even harder than Josie had thought.
“Lucy, I’m sorry I splashed your new jacket.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. She just looked down.
Josie took a deep breath. “I’m going to help Mom clean it. And I’m sorry that I told Mom I didn’t do it on purpose. I told her a lie. Will you forgive me?”
Lucy sat still for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath and looked at Josie. “Yes, I’ll forgive you.”
All at once the yucky, heavy feeling in Josie’s tummy went away. She felt as clean as her new rain boots had been. She felt hungry too. “Can I have some popcorn?” she asked.
“Sure, Sis,” Lucy said. She smiled as she handed Josie the bowl.

As an “active nonmember,” as everyone called me, I learned to have patience and hope that one day I would become a member of the Church. I knew it was a test of my faith and patience. I wondered how long it would take to be cleansed and start a new life.
That day came almost seven years after my friend took me to church on that cold February morning in 2000. I was baptized at 21 at the mission home in Sofia. My baptism day was one of the happiest days of my life. At that moment I felt the great redeeming love Heavenly Father has for me. I felt that even more when I partook of the sacrament the next day. I couldn’t hold back the tears. The Spirit burning inside me was telling me it was worth waiting for. I could finally enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and other blessings of being a member of the Church.

I was the youngest child, and my mother decided that she and I would walk across a mountain range separating the two countries. I remember that she packed a lunch as if we were going for a hike or a picnic in the mountains.
We took a train as far as we could and then walked for long hours, getting ever closer to the West German border. The borders were tightly controlled, but we had a map and knew of a time and a place where it might be safe to cross. I could sense my mother’s anxiety. She observed the area intensely to see if we were being followed. With each step, her legs and knees seemed to become weaker. I helped carry her heavy bag filled with food, vital documents, and family photos as we climbed up one last, long hill. Surely, she thought, we had passed the border by now. When she finally felt safe, we sat down and started to eat our picnic lunch. For the first time that day, I’m sure, she breathed more easily.
It was only then that we noticed the border sign. It was still far ahead of us! We were having our picnic on the wrong side of the border. We were still in East Germany!
Border guards could show up any moment!
My mother frantically packed up our lunch, and we hurried up the hillside as quickly as we could. This time we didn’t dare stop until we knew with certainty that we had reached the other side of the border.
Even though each member of our family had taken very different routes and experienced very different hardships along the way, eventually all of us made it to safety. We were finally reunited as a family. What a glorious day that was!