Gospel Story Finder

Heeding the prophet’s call at age 19, I prepared myself to serve a full-time mission. Soon, I received a call to the Mexico Hermosillo Mission.
While I was waiting to enter the missionary training center in Mexico City, I became concerned about how I would share the gospel. I wondered, “What should I do to prepare?”
One morning before leaving for work, I put a new copy of the Book of Mormon in my bag. Then I prayed, “Heavenly Father, help me know how to give this Book of Mormon to whomever Thou dost send to me.” Then I left for work.
After work, I went to the institute of religion. By then, I had forgotten about the book in my bag. When I got on the bus to return home, however, I sat next to a young woman who was reading the Bible.
I felt a strong impression that said, “This is the person.” I doubted the impression at first, but then I felt it again.
“Pardon me,” I said as I pulled out my Book of Mormon, “this book is very special to me, and I would like to give it to you.”
With a look of contempt, she responded, “No, thanks.” Pointing to her Bible, she added, “This book is enough for me.” Then she stood up and left, leaving me alone on my row of seats.
As I sat there for a minute feeling rejected and foolish, wondering about my impression, the woman in front of me turned around and said, “Excuse me, do you still want to give away that book?”
Apparently, she and her husband had overheard my conversation with the young woman.
“Of course!” I replied.
As we talked, l learned that the couple had wanted to read the Book of Mormon. They also wanted to learn about the Church. I was excited to answer their questions.
That day I learned for myself that “the field is white already to harvest” and that “if [we] have desires to serve God [we] are called to the work” (Doctrine and Covenants 6:3; 4:3).
God had made me an instrument in His hands after all. Today, doing missionary work is the most cherished thing in my life.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale but rather in a peaceful place known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler and Grant Remund have passed away. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

Some of those involved in the project were able to submit names for family members who had researched names but had not submitted them for temple work. For Amanda Gardner of the Pioneer Ward, researching names helped draw her closer to family members. She helped her grandparents, Allen and Helga Willie, submit names they had been researching for 30 years. Her other grandfather, Sterling Gardner, helped her friend research names. Amanda says, “One of my good friends had no names to submit, so she came to my grandpa and he helped her find about 175 names. At first she was like, ‘Oh, they’re just names on paper.’ But I realized they’re not just names on paper; they’re family members.”

I share the story of the Laing family of Southern California. Sister Rebecca Laing writes:

“In the summer of 2011, life for our family was seemingly perfect. We were happily married with four children—ages 9, 7, 5, and 3. …

“My pregnancies and deliveries [had been] high risk … [and] we felt [very] blessed to have four children, [thinking] that our family was complete. In October while listening to general conference, I felt an unmistakable feeling that we were to have another baby. As LeGrand and I pondered and prayed, … we knew that God had a different plan for us than we had for ourselves.

“After another difficult pregnancy and delivery, we were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. We named her Brielle. She was a miracle. Moments after her birth, while still in [the delivery room], I heard the unmistakable voice of the Spirit: ‘There is one more.’

“Three years later, another miracle, Mia. Brielle and Mia are a tremendous joy for our family.” She concludes, “Being open to the Lord’s direction and following His plan for us will always bring greater happiness than … relying on our own understanding.”

Two parallel episodes related by his eternal companion, Ruth, are especially illustrative.
The first concerns his initial call in 1972 to be a General Authority: “We had a special family home evening, including the only grandchild back then. Jim went around the circle and told the children what was unique about them and how they were special individually. Then he told them about his call, stressing that if he were not a good father, he could not succeed as a General Authority, adding, ‘I am never going to be released from my calling as a father or a grandfather.’”
In the second episode, when he was called to be in the First Presidency, President Faust did the very same thing! In 1995 the teaching involved 22 grandchildren and ended with President Faust’s saying again how very important they all were to him and that he couldn’t succeed as a member of the First Presidency if he wasn’t a good father. Sister Faust further observed, “This is the kind of person he has been all of his life. Family and loved ones have come first!”

For an appropriate example, I look to my own grandchildren. Occasionally they quarrel or speak harshly one to another. But I am amazed and pleased when I observe how quickly the victim of a harsh word or action forgives and forgets. I am delighted that the offender is soon welcomed back into the fold of love by his brothers and sisters. Mother and father teach the offending child not to give offense again. So the family grows in affection.

It was only a shadow moving under water near a sunken rowboat in a small pond near our home in Rome, Georgia. I had been fishing for bass, bream, and crappie when the shadow caught my eye. It was moving under the boat when a quick jerk on my line shifted my attention. Pulling in my line, I could see something was stealing my bait.
“The shadow?” I asked myself out loud. In the next hour, I offered my underwater friend crickets, worms, and pieces of a chicken sandwich. Each time I pulled the bait closer to the surface. The shadow turned out to be a turtle—a very smart and very large snapping turtle.
I was fascinated watching my reptilian neighbor use its beaklike jaws to dine on the cuisine being served, without ever touching the hook. How easily and gracefully it moved; how safe and in total control this leathery looking aquatic creature appeared. Nothing could ever harm the turtle or lure it from the pond.
One day the shadow was gone, and I wondered why. “I reckon it’s pretty easy,” Mr. Owens, the resident sage of Little Sand Mountain, told me when I asked him what happened to the turtle. “My dogs won’t touch them if they ever catch one on land, and you shouldn’t either. They are terribly mean, but you can catch them and make great turtle soup.”
He smiled as he told me how. “Take a 2-by-12 piece of wood and pound 16 penny nails through it, beginning one foot from the end. Bend the nails over about a quarter of an inch until the nails are parallel to the wood and facing the same way. Lay the finished plank down into the water on a small bank with the nails pointing up.
“Place chicken parts or hamburger on the top quarter of the wood and make as much meat juice as possible run down the wood into the water. Just sit down and wait. It’s just too tempting,” he added. “The turtle will follow the smell right out of the water and up the wooden plank.
“When you see the turtle climb out of the water and reach the bait, move quickly towards the turtle. As the turtle pulls into its shell and starts sliding down to the safety of the water, its bottom shell will catch on one of the nails, and it’s trapped. Unable to get back to the water or defend itself, it is at the mercy of man. And the Georgia snapping turtle becomes turtle soup.”

The second example is from the life of Willard Bean, a remarkable man who became known as the “fighting parson.” In the spring of 1915, Willard and his new bride, Rebecca, were called by President Joseph F. Smith to serve a mission for “five years or longer” in Palmyra, New York (Vicki Bean Topliff, Willard Bean: “The Fighting Parson” [Huntington Beach, Calif.: n.p., 1989], p. 87; for the account of their life in Palmyra, see pp. 86–131). Their task was to occupy the recently acquired Joseph Smith home and farm and to reestablish the Church in the hostile environment which still existed at the time in Palmyra.
The Beans were rebuffed on every front as they settled into the Smith home. The townspeople would not speak to them or wait on them in their stores. Passersby would pause in front of the home and shout obscenities. Their children were assigned to sit in the back corners of the schoolroom and were shunned by the other children in class.
Willard, who was an accomplished athlete and had been a prize-winning boxer, decided to improve public relations by putting on a boxing exhibition in Palmyra. A ring was set up in an old opera house, and the “fighting parson” challenged all comers to a boxing match.
When the night of the exhibition arrived, the toughest men in Palmyra sat in the first few rows. One by one they entered the ring, only to be carried out again in a matter of seconds! This continued until the seventh challenger was similarly disposed.
Brother Bean’s fighting abilities were more spontaneously employed on another occasion as he walked along the unfriendly streets of Palmyra. A man watering his front lawn one afternoon suddenly turned the hose on Willard and taunted, “I understand you people believe in baptism by immersion.” The spry, athletic Willard reportedly vaulted over the fence separating them and replied, “Yes, and we also believe in the laying on of hands” (Willard Bean: “The Fighting Parson,” p. 14).
Although Brother Bean’s methods were a little unorthodox and definitely not compatible with the current approved missionary program of the Church, they were nonetheless effective. The people of Palmyra began begrudgingly to yield and to accept the Beans as the good people they were. In time, they were invited to participate in local churches and to join the civic organizations of the day. They established a branch of the Church and helped acquire the Hill Cumorah and the Martin Harris and Peter Whitmer farms. The “five years or longer” mission to which the prophet had called them stretched to nearly twenty-five years before it concluded. During that time, the attitude of the people of Palmyra had changed from hostility toward the Beans to toleration, then admiration, and finally to love. The power of good lives is truly great.

Akoni is 12 years old. He lives in New Mexico, USA, in the Navajo Nation. This is an area of the United States governed by the Navajo people. More than 250,000 people live there.
When Akoni was younger, he watched his older siblings go to Young Women and Young Men.
He also saw how happy they were when they went to the temple. Akoni was excited to visit the temple too.
Akoni prepared for Young Men by going to church and talking with his family.
He asked questions about the temple so he would be ready to go inside.
“I was nervous to go to the temple for the first time,” says Akoni. “But when I’m in the temple, I feel safe.”
The closest temple to Akoni is the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple. It is a four-hour drive away. Akoni is excited that soon a new temple will be built closer.
Akoni hopes to serve a mission one day, just like his older siblings.
He has started sharing the gospel by inviting his friend to church. He wants to be an example to his younger brother and others too!

While in college, I was blessed with a challenging internship in a city far away from home. An old friend of mine was living nearby, and though we didn’t share the same faith, our differences had not stopped us from being casual friends.
When I first met Madeline (name has been changed), we were both working with another young woman who was a great example of a Latter-day Saint. I remember the Spirit pointing out subtle differences between each young woman, explaining how even small choices can set a course for later in life. I have actually remembered these spiritual impressions for years.
Now back in contact after a few years, Madeline and I planned a time to get together. When the evening arrived, I became surprisingly nervous. I took a train to her city, and as I got closer, a voice inside my mind and heart said, “You’re supposed to date only people who have high standards.”
“This isn’t a date,” I thought. “I’m just getting together with an old friend.” The Spirit repeated the warning, pushing until I realized it was indeed a date and I began to wonder about my friend’s current standards and lifestyle. “She knows I’m LDS,” I rationalized. “She’s familiar with my standards, and there won’t be a problem.”
I did, however, begin to wonder if the “subtle differences” I had noted before had caused our paths to diverge more than I expected. So I followed the prompting of the Spirit, and I called my friend to cancel. I was so afraid of offending her. How could I explain spiritual impressions to a friend who doesn’t appreciate the mission of the Holy Ghost?
I explained that I wasn’t comfortable with one of the activities we had planned and hoped this would give me an acceptable reason for getting out of the evening. She was disappointed and offered to change our plans. I was relieved and agreed to the change because I thought, “Maybe the activity was why the Spirit was warning me.” But the anxiety I was feeling would not go away.
We were having a fun time that night, but from time to time, the Spirit told me the earlier warning was important. At first nothing seemed concerning, but as the evening progressed, it became clearer that while we may have come from similar backgrounds, we were headed in completely different directions. Our standards were not the same—even in small things. When she ordered wine, I explained that I would rather not pay for alcohol. She respected my wishes and paid for it herself.
My spiritual anxiety continued to grow as the evening wore on. As dinner wrapped up, I was on the edge of my chair, ready to go, because I knew the evening’s last train was leaving soon and I lived too far away to take a taxi. Aware of my worry, my friend said I could sleep at her place. Now the Spirit would not leave me alone, confirming what I already knew: staying was not an option.
As I walked her home, I worked hard to look calm. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” she asked. I was sure. She wasn’t forward or offensive, but the Spirit quietly spoke more clearly than the sound of thunder. I could not miss my train!
I waited until I knew she was inside, then ran as fast as I could to reach the train station in time. I couldn’t help thinking of Joseph in Egypt when he ran from temptation (see Genesis 39:7–12).
As I think back over the happenings of that night, I feel both fear and gratitude: fear for what might have been and gratitude for the companionship of the Holy Ghost. The Spirit spoke, and even though I should have done so sooner, I’m glad I finally listened.

“Another recollection I have from childhood is memorable to me because it became a powerful lesson in my life. Pioneer Day is a time of great celebration in Salt Lake City. It is climaxed with a long parade on the morning of July 24th. When I was a preschooler, I was asked to be on the Primary Children’s Hospital float. Of course, this was very exciting to me. Mother bought me a new nightgown and fixed my hair with a ribbon. Father walked me down to where the parade was forming—and there was the float! The woman in charge of this float turned and looked at me. She said, ‘Look at her! We chose her because she looked sick and was skinny.’ She took hold of my hair ribbon and pulled it out of my hair. Then she took one of those big powder puffs and put white powder all over my face. I was crushed. I’d had visions of riding as a queen on the float.
“Before the parade began, my father took me into the hospital, which was then right across the street from the north gate of Temple Square, to talk to the children—wisely, I know now, because I was heart-broken. I was introduced to all the children as the one who was going to represent them in the hospital bed on the float. They banged their crutches and shook their metal cribs as their way of saying, ‘Hurray!’ I went back outside and quickly got up onto the float. The cover on the bed hid my new nightgown, and the hair ribbon was gone. All you could see was my little white face. But I was happy now. I was representing all the children in the hospital. I was just pretending to be sick—for them. It was a wonderful lesson to me, one that I shall never forget.

Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.

My dad was in the army, so we moved a lot when I was young. One of the hardest things about moving was leaving my friends behind. I had trouble making new friends because I was shy. Thankfully, people were always friendly at school and Primary. At church it didn’t matter how we were different. We were just all friends.
One way I overcame my shyness was by helping at church. It started with Primary. I shared a scripture in sharing time. I read out loud in class. Little by little, I felt more confident. This helped me to stand up for my beliefs.

This helpfulness seems to be an inherited trait. Chad’s father, who maintains and drives the school’s buses, is known as a kind and generous man, always ready to share with those in need. Though a member of the Church, Brother O’Watch has not attended for many years. That’s why it’s so amazing that he did what he did one afternoon in April when Chad was 11.
Brother O’Watch and Chad were returning in an empty bus from the last run of the day. Instead of turning down his own lane as usual, Brother O’Watch made a surprise right turn into the parking lot of the Carry-The-Kettle Branch of the Regina Saskatchewan Stake. “The missionaries are waiting for you,” he said.
Chad was not a member of the Church and had no wish to be one. He refused to get off the bus. His dad, uncharacteristically, insisted. “There are other kids here,” he said. “You’ll have fun, and it will be good for you.”
So Chad obeyed, steaming and fuming. “I thought my dad was the worst guy alive,” he recalls. He met the missionaries and attended his first Primary meeting. He was astonished to find that he kind of liked it, and he went again the next week.
“After going a few times, I found that I just loved being there. There was a feeling of the Spirit. The missionaries lived next to the chapel, and before long I was there almost every day helping them and being taught.”
In November Chad was baptized and confirmed. “I had a warm, good feeling, like coming home to a place where I belonged.”

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”

In the parable of the lost coin, the coin was lost because of the neglect of the owner, and it is almost the total responsibility of the owner when he recognizes what he has done to “light a candle” (go right away) and search diligently until he finds that which was lost. I know of an instance where a young Latter-day Saint father, after the birth of his first child, bought a box of cigars to announce the happy event. Surely he was following the traditions of the world. Naively and with some innocence he offered a cigar to the bishop. The bishop accepted the cigar, and then realizing what it was, crumbled it up and threw it into the trash in front of the once happy father. This thoughtless act so offended the new father that he never came back to church. In fact, he has raised his entire family of children and grandchildren outside the Church.

In my opinion the bishop was partially responsible for the loss of this soul and had the responsibility to search until he had found this “coin” and returned it. It probably would not have been difficult if the bishop had done it right away. If he had “lighted a candle” (went immediately) and apologized for his thoughtless act, explaining what his feelings were when handed a cigar by a member of the Church, the new father probably would have returned and could have even been made stronger than before. From this parable we get the message that those who offend have the responsibility to make it right or search until they find that which was lost.

About 11 o’clock we drove up to the home of Mons Andersen, and out came Sister Christine Andersen to bid us welcome and put her arms around us one by one and kiss the rest of them. When my turn came, that was something I was not used to, so I didn’t know what to do. For some reason I didn’t run away. A host of neighbor children and aged folks came around us and shook hands with us. I guess they bid us welcome, for I could not understand a word of English. The children were at Sunday School but soon arrived home. They also kissed us welcome, and by that time I was kind of getting used to it. But they surely made us feel at home.
There was another striking thing that helped me on my way toward investigation. It was just when lots of fruit was ripe, such as strawberries, gooseberries, and early apples. Those who have met Sister Andersen know what a loving disposition she had. She said, “Go out and help yourselves.” If it had not been for her loving way, I could barely have thought she meant it. But she surely did. It was something different to what it was in Norway. I was getting closer to joining the church.
Now I hadn’t had time to think of what to do to earn a living in a strange land with a strange language. On Friday morning, July 26, 1872, there came a man to the house of Mons Andersen who wanted a boy to help him in the field. His name was Peter Petersen. My wages were $8.00 a month. I worked with him 20 months. I must now tell a little that happened in that time. It was customary at that time that newcomers should be rebaptized. So Peter Petersen’s wife, Karen Larsen Petersen, told me, “There will be baptisms today. So you must hitch up the horses and take these people down to the mill pond to be baptized. And you must be baptized too.” I told her I would be glad to take them down, but I was not ready for baptism yet.
That coming winter I started to go to school so I could learn a little English. I had also gone with Mons Andersen’s boys to Sunday School. Eischa Pack was the teacher at that time. They were reading in turns out of the Bible; but when it came my turn to read, Brother Pack would read my verse, and there was not even a moment wasted. I was glad although I could not understand what they said. Yet I got to enjoying Sunday School. Sister Karen Larsen Petersen became sick and died on February 7, 1873, and that ended my schooling at that time. But I learned enough so I got into the Third Reader.
Now I had been studying the gospel and praying about it. I knew Jesus’s answer to Nicodemus as we find recorded in the third chapter of John: “Except a man is born of water and of the Spirit he cannot enter into the kingdom of Heaven.” [John 3:5] So on August 30, 1873, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Mons Andersen and confirmed by Abraham Lossee in Lehi.

Janarthn liked going to church each week. He didn’t want to miss a single Sunday! He was the only child in his family, so his friends in Primary were like his siblings. He liked learning about Jesus with them and singing with them. His mom went to church with him, but his dad never did. Dad wasn’t a member of the Church.
One night at dinner, Janarthn asked, “Dad, why don’t you come to church with us?”
Dad looked up from his plate. “I’m pretty busy on Sundays.”
“But, Dad, it’s important to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Janarthn said. “It says so in the scriptures.”
Mom looked surprised. “You really listened during your lessons at church. But it’s OK that your dad doesn’t come with us. He helps us in many other ways.”
While Janarthn got ready for bed, he thought about what it would be like if Dad came to church. He sometimes felt a little sad when he saw his friends sitting with their parents. He wished Dad could be there with him and Mom.
Before bed, Janarthn knelt to pray. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he said, “please let my dad have time on Sundays so he can come with Mom and me. I’d really like to sit with him at church.”
One Sunday a few weeks later, Mom called Janarthn to her room.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t go to church today,” she said. “I’m not feeling well.”
Janarthn frowned. “But I will miss my friends and the lesson today. I really want to go to church.”
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “It’s just one Sunday. And if you want, we can call your Primary teacher so you know what the lesson is about.”
Janarthn kissed Mom’s forehead. “It’s OK. Just rest, Mom. I know Heavenly Father will know why I can’t come to church today.”
Janarthn went to his room and grabbed a copy the Friend magazine. Even if he couldn’t go to church, he could still read the stories to keep the Sabbath holy.
“Janarthn!” Dad called.
Janarthn came out of his room. “What is it, Dad?”
Dad was smiling. “Get dressed. I know how much you like church, and I don’t want you to miss it. I’ll go with you.”
Janarthn’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it! He had a big smile while he hurried to get ready.
At church Janarthn introduced Dad to his friends. Dad sat beside him during sacrament meeting. Janarthn felt so happy to be with his dad at church!
After the meeting, Dad said, “I need to go somewhere. I will pick you up after your Primary class, OK?”
“OK,” Janarthn said. He wished Dad would stay, but he was glad he had come. It really was a great Sunday surprise!
Illustrations by Nadiyah Suyatna

I received permission from my dear friend and emeritus General Authority Seventy, Elder Robert E. Wells, now 97 years old, to share his experience of more than 60 years ago:
While living in Paraguay in 1960 and employed as an international banker, Robert Wells, then 32 years old, and his wife, Meryl, were each a pilot in two different planes, flying home from Uruguay to Paraguay. Encountering thick clouds, Robert and Meryl lost visual and radio contact with each other. Robert quickly landed, where he learned his wife’s plane had crashed. Neither his wife nor the two friends flying with her had survived. His children, at home in Asunción, were ages seven, five, and two.
Elder Wells spoke of his grief:
“Words will forever be inadequate in expressing the pain that swelled within me, consuming my emotions and numbing my senses. Profound tears of sorrow simply wouldn’t stop flowing. To make matters worse, as my mind was attempting to deal with the devastating realization of my wife’s passing, I found myself experiencing tremendous guilt for feeling I was responsible for the crash.”
Robert blamed himself for not having had the plane inspected more thoroughly and for not giving his wife better instrument flying instructions. He felt he was guilty of neglect.
Robert said:
“My mind went into a dark daze. … I simply existed—[for the sake of the children,] nothing more.”
“I … lost my desire to continue on.”
In time, Robert was blessed with a deeply spiritual experience. He recounted:
“One evening, about one year later, while on my knees in prayer, a miracle occurred. While praying and pleading to my Heavenly Father, I felt as though the Savior came to my side and I heard an audible voice speaking these words to my soul and to my ears: ‘Robert, my atoning sacrifice paid for your sins and your mistakes. Your wife forgives you. Your friends forgive you. I will lift your burden. …’
“From that moment, the burden of guilt [and despair] was amazingly lifted from me. I had been rescued! I immediately understood the encompassing power of the Savior’s Atonement and … that it applied directly to me. … I … experienced light and joy like I had never before known. … I had been given an unearned gift—the Lord’s gift of grace. … I didn’t deserve it—I had done nothing to merit it, but He gave it to me nonetheless.”

That fall, while the printers made steady progress on the Book of Mormon, a former judge named Abner Cole began publishing a newspaper on Grandin’s press. Working at night in the shop, after Grandin’s staff went home, Abner had access to printed pages from the Book of Mormon, which was not yet bound or ready for sale.
Abner soon began poking fun at the “Gold Bible” in his newspaper, and during the winter he printed excerpts from the book alongside sarcastic commentary.11
When Hyrum and Oliver learned what Abner was doing, they confronted him. “What right have you to print the Book of Mormon in this way?” Hyrum demanded. “Do you not know that we have received a copyright?”
“It is none of your business,” Abner said. “I have hired the press and I will print what I please.”
“I forbid you to print any more of that book in your paper,” Hyrum said.
“I don’t care,” Abner said.
Unsure what to do, Hyrum and Oliver sent word to Joseph in Harmony, who returned to Palmyra at once. He found Abner at the printing office, casually reading his own newspaper.
“You seem hard at work,” Joseph said.
“How do you do, Mr. Smith,” Abner replied dryly.
“Mr. Cole,” Joseph said, “the Book of Mormon and the right of publishing it belong to me, and I forbid you meddling with it.”
Abner threw off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Do you want to fight, sir?” he barked, pounding his fists together. “If you want to fight, just come on.”
Joseph smiled. “You had better keep your coat on,” he said. “It’s cold, and I am not going to fight you.” He calmly continued, “But you have got to stop printing my book.”
“If you think you are the best man,” Abner said, “just pull off your coat and try it.”
“There is law,” Joseph responded, “and you will find that out if you did not know it before. But I shall not fight you, for that will do no good.”
Abner knew he was on the wrong side of the law. He calmed down and stopped printing excerpts from the Book of Mormon in his newspaper.12