Gospel Story Finder

I was attending a religious conference with my sister when she asked me to climb a tree and get a bunch of coconuts for the conference. As I was collecting the coconuts at the top of the tree, I suddenly blacked out and fell. I landed hard on my back and could no longer feel my legs.
I was taken to the hospital, where the doctors stabilized the bones in my back. For three months, I lay on my back in the hospital, unable to even sit up. It was an emotional and depressing time. I would just lie there and wonder what was going to happen to me and what I was going to do next.
After the three months, I was told to go to New Zealand for an operation for my back. The operation made it so that I could sit instead of only lie down. While in the hospital in New Zealand, I met a girl who was working there. She asked me, “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
We started chatting. She shared the gospel of Jesus Christ and gave me a Book of Mormon. At first, I didn’t read it. I left it untouched beside my bed. One day, however, I was alone and there was nothing interesting to watch on television. Then I saw the Book of Mormon on my table. I opened it and began to read and read.
As I read, I had the feeling that there was something different about the Book of Mormon and that it must contain the true gospel of Jesus Christ. The girl in the hospital had marked several verses, one of which was Alma 37:37: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good.”
Those words jumped out at me and made me think. To know if The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church, I knew I needed to counsel with the Lord. I also wanted to go see this church for myself.
When I got home from New Zealand, I invited the missionaries to teach me. As I learned, I gained a testimony that this is Christ’s Church. I am grateful to the missionaries who taught me. At my baptism, they had the strength to carry me into the water—one holding me in his arms while the other performed my baptism.
With my baptism, all the feelings of depression and hopelessness I had endured were washed away. I knew I had a purpose in life and that God loved me.

During a recent virtual mission reunion. Stuart and Sheryl McReynolds invited their returned missionaries to continue one of their mission traditions—their annual ‘EMM-athon’. During their time presiding over the England Manchester Mission, the McReynolds had established this custom when they challenged their missionaries to get up on time for the three days over Christmas, getting out of their accommodation each day to run or walk for exercise. They also invited them to record and share a short video greeting for the other missionaries while they were out.
The McReynolds thought it would be fun to continue the EMM-athon tradition in some form with returned-missionary colleagues from around the world. This year’s invitation was to get out sometime over the Christmas period to run, walk or cycle and share a photo or short video on their mission alumni Facebook group, thereby hoping to connect with missionaries during this special time of year. They also issued a challenge to donate for every mile covered to Barnabus, a Manchester Charity caring for the city’s homeless. They thought this was a good way for them to stay connected to their mission area and continue giving in some small way.
They established a fundraising page with Barnabus and pushed ahead with the challenge. More than seventy returned missionaries, young and senior, from 13 countries covered 562 miles during the Christmas week, including one young returned missionary running 27 miles on Christmas Eve! Their combined fundraising efforts resulted in a £879 donation for the charity, providing much-needed help and support to Manchester’s homeless.
Alex Simpson, a representative of the Barnabus Charity contacted the McReynolds to thank them and all who were involved with the fundraising efforts, and in recognition of those efforts a certificate of thanks was sent by the charity. Alex added that the charity was grateful for the money that had been raised to help change the lives of people experiencing homelessness.
This was a wonderful idea and act by Stuart and Sheryl McReynolds and their returned-missionary colleagues. They plan to do the same thing annually as they look to identify other charities within the England Manchester Mission boundary that they could support.

My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

As a boy, I loved to run. When I was eleven years old, I won an Oregon state cross-country race and I vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness, determined to be better than anyone else, I began a training routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from five to sixteen kilometers. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to keep me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto.
I began to look ahead to running in the Junior Olympics. My plan was to prepare to race in the 1985 competition, when I would be fourteen years old, and again in 1987, when I would be sixteen. I calculated that these would be in my best years and I would be in my top running condition. What I didn’t calculate was that by 1985 I would grow from a skinny, lightweight boy, to a taller and heavier young man. My whole system had to catch up with the added dimensions of my growing body. My knees ached constantly; my feet and hips almost cried out in pain as I ran; and it was all I could do to win a state championship by a fraction of a second. I knew 1985 wasn’t the year to enter the Junior Olympics, but I would have two years to prepare myself for the 1987 event.
By the spring of 1987 I was running well. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by a local newspaper as the fastest high school freshman in the state of Oregon. My aches and pains had gone. I felt good and I knew I was ready for the Junior Olympics.
Meanwhile, three teammates and I had been invited to participate in a prestigious regional track meet. Full of confidence and in high spirits, we got into the team van with our coach for the ride to the meet.
As we drove onto the main highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously fastened my seat belt. We were all laughing and joking when I casually looked up and noticed a speeding car coming our way. Completely out of control, it began swerving back and forth in our traffic lane, barely avoiding several cars ahead. Stunned into silence, we helplessly watched the car head straight for us.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radios crackling, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a car driven by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by police in a high-speed chase. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt on, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances drove in beside our crushed van, and I was quickly, but very carefully, lifted out of our wrecked vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one ambulance man say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
As miracles go, my back wasn’t broken—just my nose! However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles, and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my training schedule for being in top condition was once again interrupted.
I continued to train, both with the high school team and with a running club my brothers and sisters and I belong to. As I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and well. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. As much as I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him.
I watched Tyler win in a state track and field championship, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A crowd of excited supporters gathered around him as I stood back. An incredible sense of pride built up inside me, and as Tyler looked past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the feeling of love was so intense between us that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. As I sensed his deep need for my approval my resentment of his success totally left me. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to the national championships prepared with all the knowledge I could share and with the assurance of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass other runners and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of exercises to improve his reflexes. We talked about racing as we did chores around the house, as we ate breakfast, as we drove into town, and as we watched sports news on television. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both placed first in our age categories in the Northwest Regional Championships, and that gave us the chance to compete in the national championships. Because of the accident and the interruption of my training, I thought I might only place in the top twenty-five runners. My race was first, and I was twenty-first out of 300 and gained a national ranking.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. I had already taken him through the cross-country course, showing him how to approach and hurdle a deep ditch, when to stride out, where to save his strength, what to avoid, and how to stay mentally tough. He wa ready! As we looked for his starting place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I just kept assuring him that he was the best. I could sense his apprehension as if it were my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy! “Be tough, Tyler. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can beat you,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a perfect race as I ran from place to place on the course to cheer him on, hoping he could feel my support reaching out to him. Could he hear? Could he sense my strength reaching out to him? He came toward the last stretch of the race in second place. “Keep going, Tyler!” I yelled. “Use your arms! Breathe deeply!” If he could just feel what I felt for him in that crowd of 5,000 wildly screaming spectators.
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters—a part of the course we had run over and over together as we planned this moment. “Now Tyler! Give it all you’ve got left! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health, striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish to become the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me that I had won something too. I realized I had given part of myself away to help Tyler succeed, and it created a feeling within me far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. As an exhausted Tyler broke away from the crowd and came to me, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way, over the noise of all the people, and I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”
What other lessons would this little champion learn from me—good or bad?
What about all our other brothers and sisters in the family of men. What messages do they hear above the crowd? Just as Tyler could hear and respond to that call to win, how many others need that voice in the crowd? How often do we get caught up in our own plans and fail to call out our encouragement, fail to cheer others on to victory?
As Tyler and I embraced, I truly knew the meaning of the words, “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him” (1 Jn. 2:10).

Elder Anderson returned from the mission field in May 1914. It didn’t take long for him to find a new companion. Norma Ettie Peterson was the daughter of Hugo D. E. Peterson, editor of a Salt Lake newspaper for Swedish immigrants, the Utah Posten. “She was blonde and I was dark, and I thought she was the prettiest girl in the city,” says Elder Anderson, who courted her, swimming and dancing, at the old Saltair resort near the Great Salt Lake. They were married 11 November 1915, in the Salt Lake Temple. Salt Lakers were impressed by the striking couple: Norma Anderson, with her brilliant platinum-blond hair and dark eyes; and Joseph, his handsome black mustache reminding people, much to his delight, of British movie star Ronald Colman.

Consider the experience of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. When he graduated as an ensign, he was given an old, decrepit destroyer as his first command. It was named the Decatur. It was all he could do to put the old destroyer in shape, and on one of its maiden voyages, Ensign Nimitz ran the ship aground. It resulted in a summary court martial. Had Chester Nimitz not been made of the stuff he was, that defeat could have ruined his career. But what did he do? He put that defeat behind him and went on to become the commanding admiral of the greatest sea force ever assembled in this world—the Pacific Fleet. He showed one and all that one defeat could not keep a good man down.

Several years ago I visited a large automobile dealership and looked at many new automobiles. One in particular caught my eye—a convertible sports model with all of the fancy equipment you could imagine. It had push-button everything and more horsepower than a division of cavalry. How I would have enjoyed a car like that when I was in high school! It occurred to me that you of high school age may be interested in owning such a car.
Will you imagine something with me? Imagine that I have decided to present to a typical teenager a car such as this, and you are the one who has been chosen. On the evening of the presentation, I see that you are not quite financially able to run such a car, so I generously include free gas, oil, maintenance, tires, anything your car will use. I’ll give you all of this, and the bills will come to me.
How you will enjoy that car! Think of driving it to school tomorrow. Think of all the new friends you will suddenly acquire.
Your parents may be hesitant to let you use this car freely, so I will visit with them. I am sure they will be reluctant, but because of my position as one of the leaders of the Church, they will consent.
Let us imagine, then, that you have your car, everything to run it, and freedom to use it.
Suppose that one evening you are invited to attend a Church social. “There are just enough of you to ride in my station wagon,” your teacher says. “You may leave your car home.” When they come to take you to the party, you suddenly remember your new convertible, with the top down, parked at the curb. You run back in the house and give the car keys to your father, asking that he put it in the garage, for it looks as if it may rain. Your father, of course, obediently agrees.
Later you come home and notice your car is not at the curb. “Dear old Dad,” you muse, “always willing to help out.” But as the station wagon pulls into the driveway and the lights flash into the garage, you see it stands empty.
You rush into the house, find Father, and ask where your car is.
“Oh, I loaned it to someone,” he responds.
Then imagine a conversation such as this.
“Well, who was it?” you ask.
“Oh, that boy who comes by here regularly,” Dad says.
“What boy?”
“Oh, that … well, I have seen him pass here several times on his bicycle.”
“What is his name?”
“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find out.”
“Where did he take the car?”
“That really wasn’t made clear.”
“When will he bring it back?”
“Well, there really wasn’t any agreement on that.”
Then suppose that your father should say to you, with some impatience, “Now you calm down. He rushed in here. He needed a car. You weren’t using it. He seemed to be in a frantic hurry over something, and he looked like an honest boy, so I gave him the keys. Now relax. Go to bed. Calm down.”
I suppose under the circumstances you would look at your father with a puzzled expression and wonder if some important connection had slipped loose in his thinking mechanism.
It would take a foolish father to lend such an expensive piece of equipment on an arrangement such as that—particularly a car that belonged to you.

For the first few weeks the handcart company enjoyed good weather, but in October early snowstorms and bitter cold slowed down the pioneers.
Nellie’s family suffered along with the rest. Her mother became ill and had to be pulled for some distance in their cart. Nellie’s father slipped into the waters of one of the rivers they crossed, and because there was no dry clothing or warm shelter, he was bitterly cold. The family’s food supply grew scarce, and the snow hid any fuel that they might have gathered for a fire.
Nellie’s father died on October 22, 1856, from hunger and exposure to the cold. Five days later her mother died too. Graves could be dug only in the snow because the early winter had frozen the ground. Nellie and Maggie wearily and sadly walked on alone. They watched as more of the company died and the weather’s cold fierceness strengthened.
One day as Nellie and her sister made their way at the head of the group, two men appeared and motioned for them to come closer. At first the girls refused but soon decided that the men meant no harm. The men gave Nellie some money and instructed her to buy something to put on her feet at the trappers’ trading post they were nearing. Nellie gratefully accepted the money and the chance to cover her bare feet, which had long since grown numb with cold.
In Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young had called for volunteers to meet the handcart company on the plains. When the volunteers finally reached the company, near Laramie, Wyoming, they found the pitiful group nearly buried by the snow. Nellie’s feet were badly frozen. The rescue party gathered her and the remaining members of the company into their wagons and returned to Salt Lake, arriving on November 30.
Nearly everyone in the handcart company had endured painfully frozen feet, hands, and ears and had witnessed the deaths of family members and friends. The doctor had to amputate Nellie’s feet. There was no skin to cushion the bone, so she was left with throbbing sores that never healed.
Nellie and her sister eventually moved south from the Salt Lake Valley to Cedar City. Here Nellie married William Unthank and reared their six children. With a leather apron slid under her damaged legs, Nellie crawled about their small home on her knees, keeping it spotless.
Nellie willingly worked at whatever she could to help provide for her family. Along with other jobs, she took in other people’s clothes to wash, and made articles to sell to add to the family income. If anyone offered food or assistance, she insisted on repaying the favor. As a way of showing gratitude, she gathered her children once a year to clean the church meetinghouse. While the boys carried water, the girls washed windows, and Nellie scrubbed the floors.
William carved wooden “cup feet” for Nellie, but they only irritated her never-healing stumps. Later, through donations, wooden legs were given to Nellie, but these she only wore on special occasions, because they added to her constant pain.
Despite poverty and pain, Nellie rarely complained. She had come to know her Heavenly Father in her sufferings. From the shoes provided for her bare feet, the carriage sent when she couldn’t go on, help given to her through a lifetime of affliction, Nellie Pucell Unthank knew she could count on the Lord.

Many years ago, while working as a street vendor in a little town in Poland, I met a man named Nikolai Shaveko. We discovered that we both came from Chernigov, Ukraine, and quickly became friends.
Eventually I learned that Nikolai had no place to stay, so my wife and I invited him to stay with us. Our apartment wasn’t very warm or comfortable, but we had an extra room. He gratefully agreed and stayed with us for a time. He began to see how we lived.
Like most vendors selling household goods, we needed to work long and hard to have enough money to live. But unlike most people, my wife and I didn’t work Sundays. One day, Nikolai asked why. Why would we skip working and making money for an entire day?
“Sundays do not exist for working or making money,” I told him. “They were made for a different purpose.”
“But how can you afford to pay for food and rent if you don’t work seven days a week?” he asked.
To answer his question, we invited him to come worship with us. That was his first experience hearing about the Church, and he didn’t take to it right away. He still thought we were incredibly odd for choosing going to meetings over making money. But from that moment on, we frequently talked to him about our beliefs, and little by little, he became more and more interested.
Nikolai saw us living what we knew to be true. He saw the blessings that came into our lives. Yes, it was hard to earn enough money to live, but we knew that it was right to keep the Sabbath day holy. And the Lord blessed us. We always had enough money for the things we needed. That strengthened our testimony of the principle and helped us be better witnesses to Nikolai. We had the conviction to invite him, “Try it, and you will see!”
One week, he did.
Instead of going to work, he came to church with us. He didn’t think it was possible to work only six days a week, but because of the hope and blessings he saw in our lives, he tried it.
That week, when he counted his money, he was surprised. He had made more money that week than he normally made by working seven days a week!
The same thing happened when we talked about tithing. At first, Nikolai couldn’t understand how we could give up 10 percent of our income.
“I will never have enough to do that!” he insisted.
We just shrugged. “If you try it, you will see.”
He was incredulous, but then slowly smiled. “So it’s like not working on Sundays,” he said. “If you pay your tithing, you will have enough money for yourself and what you need.”
That was a big revelation for Nikolai. He learned for himself that if we follow God’s commandments, God will bless us and things will work out for our benefit.
When Nikolai returned home to Chernigov, he invited the missionaries to teach him and his family. Soon he and his family joined the Church. Later, Nikolai served as a branch president, and his daughter served a mission in Russia.
We loved talking to Nikolai about the Church, but in the end, inviting him to live the principles of the gospel was more powerful than simply telling him about them. He and his family gained testimonies and changed their lives because they chose to live gospel truths.

Let me share with you the true account of one sister, Ellen Yates from Grantsville, Utah. Early in October, 10 years ago, she kissed her husband, Leon, good-bye as he left to go to work in Salt Lake City. This would be the last time she would see Leon alive. He had a collision with a young man 20 years of age who was late for his first job and had tried to pass a slower vehicle, resulting in a head-on collision that killed them both instantly. Sister Yates said that after two compassionate highway patrolmen told her the news, she plunged into shock and grief.
She records, “As I tried to look ahead in life, all I could see was darkness and pain.” It turned out that her husband’s best friend was the bishop of the young man’s ward. The bishop called Sister Yates and told her that the young man’s mother, Jolayne Willmore, wanted to talk with her. She remembers “being shocked because I was so centered on my grief and pain that I had not even thought about the young man and his family. I suddenly realized that here was a mother who was in as much or more pain than I was. I quickly gave my permission … for a visit.”
When Brother and Sister Willmore arrived, they expressed their great sorrow that their son was responsible for Leon’s death and presented her with a picture of the Savior holding a little girl in His arms. Sister Yates says, “When times become too hard to bear, I look at this picture and remember that Christ knows me personally. He knows my loneliness and my trials.” One scripture that comforts Sister Yates is “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.”
Each October, Sister Yates and Sister Willmore (both of whom are here together in the Conference Center today) go to the temple together and offer thanks for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for the plan of salvation, for eternal families, and for the covenants that bind together husbands and wives and families on both sides of the veil. Sister Yates concludes, “Through this trial, I have felt the love of my Father in Heaven and my Savior in greater abundance than I had ever felt before.” She testifies that “there is no grief, no pain, no sickness so great that the Atonement of Christ and the love of Christ cannot heal.” What a wonderful example of love and forgiveness these two sisters have demonstrated. It has allowed the Atonement of Jesus Christ to be efficacious in their lives.

But then cracks began to appear. As the children grew older and left the family nest, the cracks grew wider and deeper. I became unloving and deceitful. I was in deep misery. After awhile, I started to reflect on the days at university in Hawaii, those days when I was in heaven on earth. I so desperately wanted to have that again, but I didn’t know how to get it. (I probably knew but didn’t want to go down that path.)

During one of my trips back to Hawaii to see my mother, I related my early heaven on earth experience to the brother who had introduced me to the gospel many years ago. He simply said, “It was the Holy Ghost.” It shocked me! It had never crossed my mind. His response helped me to put two and two together, but I was stubborn as a mule and would not turn to the Lord. I sought the counsel of man to help me deal with my problems, but soon realised that I was going around in circles. At least, it was a starting point to regaining a sense of self-worth. But it was not enough. I yearned to experience that heaven-on-earth happiness.

It was plain to me what I needed to do, but I still hesitated to do the right thing—to turn my life over to God. I was hesitating because in my mind, returning to Church had some negatives. The Lord would require a commitment that I wasn’t ready to give. So, a few more years were lived in misery.

Finally, I was ready to change, to commit myself to God; I just couldn’t continue as I was. I went to church, talked with my bishop, and took the painful step of repentance. I was afraid of going through this process. I didn’t want to go through it again. It was too painful. It would be too easy to turn away from the Lord—I’d done it once before. Would my commitment stand firm?

But since making this momentous decision, I have learnt to love God and have gained a stronger testimony of the gospel of Christ. My conversion didn’t end there, it was just a starting point, albeit a momentous one. As I’ve attended church, studied the scriptures, and repented continually, I have become a happier person. I have learnt that accepting callings in the Church helps me grow stronger and become more faithful. It helps me develop character, but more importantly my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, bringing me closer to them. Conversion is an ongoing process, continually trying to live in accordance with the love of God.

In the performance of home teaching the teacher has a special opportunity to bless the lives of others and lead them to eternal life. An acquaintance of mine told me of an experience that will help to illustrate this point. “Recently,” he said, “a man and his teacher-age son were assigned to our family as home teachers. We knew of the father’s dedication to the gospel but did not know what to expect from his son, although the young man’s appearance and conduct seemed to reflect the same dedication. During their first visit with us, I kept my eye on this young man. Though reasonably quiet, everything that he did or said brought dignity to the priesthood he bore. Soon they learned that our young son had passed away a year ago and that we were expecting another child. From that moment on they were a special part of our lives as they prayed for and encouraged us. At the conclusion of that first visit I asked the young man to offer a prayer. In his prayer he asked the Lord to sustain us in the loss of our son and to bless the child that soon would be born. He specifically prayed that my wife would have no difficulty in delivering the baby. My wife and I were overcome by the sincerity and sensitivity of this young teacher. During the days and weeks that followed these brethren inquired about us regularly (more often than once a month). Following the birth of the baby, the young man, with his father, brought a gift. As we all knelt in prayer the teacher expressed his gratitude to the Lord for the safe delivery of the child.” Here is a young man who understands the importance of the assignment given him by the Lord. Other examples could be given. Home teaching is just one way in which we can use the priesthood to bless the lives of others.

When we joined the Church as a young married couple, we were inspired by the example of our Church leaders who had obviously committed themselves totally to serving the Lord. During the next ten years my wife and I each held three or four callings simultaneously while two more children joined the two we already had.
I vaguely noticed that we almost never talked about anything but family or household business. Increasingly, I left decisions about the children to her while I merely mumbled ratification or voiced an occasional objection. I even turned most of the responsibility for having family home evening over to my wife. By neglecting my responsibilities as a father, I was increasing her burden as a mother; and I was doing very little as a husband to strengthen her in her mother’s role.
What woke me up was a tape of a speech by Elder Paul H. Dunn, where he suggested among other things, that the husband should not always be the only source of information on scriptural, ecclesiastical, or academic questions; the wife should have time and encouragement to do her own research, increase her own knowledge, and sharpen her own learning skills.
I remember feeling surprised when I recalled how often I prayed that our children would reach their full potential in the gospel and in their secular pursuits, but I had never prayed for the same blessing for my wife. I also realized that I tended to arrange time for my own hobbies and entertainment because it was important for me to have a variety of activities but I wasn’t applying the same principles and guidelines for my wife’s life.
After a lot of thought about this and related matters, I went to the Lord in prayer. Part of the answer was in a new insight into Matthew 19:5–6, where it refers to the husband and wife as “no more twain, but one.” I saw the husband and wife endeavoring to achieve perfection together. If part of that body is starving, then the whole body suffers.
Humbled, I went home to share my discovery with my wife and suggest that she take time to do or study or learn or practice something she would like to do. She initially refused to consider the idea. She thought she already had so many important responsibilities that she wouldn’t have time for interests outside the home. We discussed and prayed about it. A week later she decided with some reservations to enroll in an evening institute course on the Pearl of Great Price.
Any misgivings soon changed. Often she returned from class bubbling with excitement, eager to share a newly learned principle or to discuss the stimulating lessons. We began to have something to talk about besides work and the children. Taking care of the children that one evening weekly for a few weeks gave me increased appreciation for her contribution in the home—and let me renew lost contacts with our children. They sensed the differences in her and looked forward to hearing about her class too. The happiness was contagious.
Later, from time to time, she took correspondence courses on other subjects and finally mustered up the courage for a dream she had cherished for years—art classes. I wondered that, in over two decades of marriage, I had missed this important part of her, and was proud to see her art talent develop. She blossomed in confidence and our relationship was enriched and bettered, and our awareness of each other strengthened.

Others along the way helped me on my personal journey with the Book of Mormon. My first seminary teacher shared her experience as a young missionary wanting to know if the Book of Mormon was true. She told of reading King Benjamin’s speech and in her mind’s eye seeing King Benjamin standing on his tower and hearing him deliver that great sermon. Her testimony, accompanied by the Spirit, left a deep impression upon my mind.
I remember the summer before entering college having the chance to go to Monument Valley to work on the first high school built there for the Navajo people. As I was about to leave home, my father asked me if I was going to take my Book of Mormon. I hadn’t thought to, but I paid heed to his question. I remember lying in my bunk late at night at the construction site and feeling the spirit and power of the Book of Mormon.
I remember as a young missionary in the Great Lakes Mission coming to that great knowledge and absolute testimony that the Book of Mormon was another witness of another nation that Jesus is the Christ and that this Church is true. From those experiences there burns in my heart today that divine witness of the message of the Book of Mormon, of Christ as our Savior and Redeemer, and of the Restoration of His Church in these latter days.
I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response: “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”
Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I recall an experience with a zone leader in England who came to me during the lunch break at zone conference. He said, “We are teaching a lady who is blind and nearly deaf. She wants to know if the Book of Mormon is true. What shall we do?” I did not have an answer at that moment, but I said, “I will let you know after our conference.” During the afternoon session I had the distinct impression come as to how to help her. After the meeting I said to the zone leader, “Have this sister hold her copy of the Book of Mormon and turn its pages very slowly. When she has done this, have her ask if it is true.” Though she could not read nor hear the words, she felt the spirit and power of the Book of Mormon, and it changed her life.

After listening to the missionaries, Mother and I were soon baptized. But the gospel was still very puzzling to my father, and he was not baptized. However, in the months to come, Father began to notice a change in Mother. One day he said to her, “How come you’re so kind and happy and so good to me lately?”
Mother answered, “Because I have the gospel. If you want that feeling you can have it too.” And several months after that my father was also baptized.

Being the youngest in his family (Steven has four older sisters and one older brother) means that Steven has plenty of people who are willing to help him learn. His older brother, Russell (13), has helped teach him how to use the family’s home computer. Steven’s dad works with computers, and he has helped Steven too. One night Brother Brantzeg created a program to picture flags of different countries. Steven worked with him as they put all the right colors in the right places. Later that evening, Steven changed the flags himself. All of a sudden, the red, white, and blue Norwegian flag was pink!
Many sports interest Steven. He plays basketball with his brother-in-law, Kevin. He also plays baseball, and he likes to go sleigh-riding. When Steven wanted a bike of his own, he and his dad went to a thrift store and bought one that needed a lot of work. Together they fixed it.
Steven isn’t sure what he wants to do when he grows up. Right now he thinks that being an artist and owning a ranch sound like good ways to earn a living. One thing he is sure of, however: Before he buys that ranch and becomes an artist, he wants to serve a mission. He wants to share all those stories that he loves in the scriptures with people in other parts of the world. He will even be able to share them with children who don’t yet know how to read!

One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
I had read copies of letters George Wilkie had written home to his family and letters his family had sent to him during his many absences. I had also read his journals. These letters and journals reflected the love family members had for one another, as well as their desires to be reunited.
My ancestors were not Latter-day Saints and did not have the blessings of the gospel. Now, in the middle of the night, here was my great-great-grandfather Wilkie saying to me, “Terry Lynn, please have my family sealed to me. I want to be with them through eternity. Please have our temple work done! You are now away from your husband—imagine that for eternity. It is awful! I want to be sealed to my wife.” Then, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. At first, I thought I must be imagining things, and I lay there and thought about my great-great-grandparents. I decided I should do their genealogy and would start the work when I had the time. Then I began to fall asleep again. I was startled when the voice returned and said much the same thing, only this time urging me to have the work done soon. I decided to do something about it the next day. Apparently, however, my grandfather knew I would probably be distracted the next day, because he spoke to me yet a third time, and told me to do something NOW!
I could not quite believe what was happening, but in the middle of the night I got up and began working on genealogy. I sorted through miscellaneous papers and records and found the information I needed to begin. I then wrote letters requesting birth, marriage, and death certificates. When I had done all that I could do at that time, I finally went back to bed.
I worked on genealogy a lot during the six months my husband was gone. Eventually, I was able to go to the temple with my cousin and have my great-great grandparents sealed. I can testify that I felt their presence there in the temple and knew that, at last, they could be truly happy and together eternally.
Throughout the next four years my husband was required to be away from home much of the time. I was often comforted and strengthened reading the journals of my great-great-grandparents. Knowing that they had experienced similar situations somehow helped me to put my life in the proper perspective. I felt very close to them, and even though I had never met them, I felt I knew them. The example my great-great-grandparents unknowingly set for me has been, and continues to be, an inspiration.

This story happened in Ghana.
I am a child of God, and He has sent me here …
You have a loud voice, Eric.
I think it’s a nice voice.
Thanks! I want to learn to sing better.
The next week …
I have a gift for you. It’s a hymnbook so you can learn more Church songs.
Wow! Thank you.
Teach me to walk in the light of His love …
Hope of Israel, rise in might! With the sword of truth and light …
Sister Kaku just called. She asked if you two wanted to sing in the choir for stake conference.
Yes!
We’re so happy you are in our choir!
Thanks!
We love to sing about Jesus.
You did a great job.
Singing makes me happy. I think it makes Jesus happy too!
“For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12).
Illustrations by Jared Beckstrand

Max rocked back and forth in his chair. His favorite part of Primary was about to start.
“Welcome to singing time,” Sister Rose said. The piano started to play. Max sang along.
Max loved singing time. But his family wasn’t really like the happy families he sang about in Primary. Things were hard at home.
That’s why Max liked Primary so much. He always felt loved and safe when he was there. He felt peace in Primary.
“For our next song, I have a special challenge for you,” said Sister Rose. “As we sing, I want you to think about what it will be like when you are grown up and have a family of your own.”
The piano music started again. The notes were soft and peaceful. Max looked around the room. He could see pictures of Jesus and the temple hanging on the wall.
The other children began to sing. Max started singing too. Mine is a home where every hour is blessed by the strength of priesthood power.
Max closed his eyes and imagined being a dad. He thought of praying with his future family. He imagined singing songs with them, playing games together, and having home evening.
As he sang the last words, Max had a big smile on his face. I can often feel the Savior near when love is spoken here.
Someday Max could have a family like that. Someday he could have a home where he felt peaceful like he did in Primary. Thinking about it made Max feel warm all over.
He raised his hand. “Sister Rose,” Max said, “I think that song is kind of like a recipe. A recipe for a happy family.”
“You’re right,” Sister Rose said. “No family is perfect. But when we try to be like Jesus, we can help our families. We can help make our homes peaceful places.”
Max looked at the picture of the temple on the wall. He knew he could help his family now by being like Jesus. And even though it was far away, he was excited to have his own family. And it made him happy to know that he could be with them forever.
After his mission, Max got married in the temple. Now he always does his best to make his home a place where people can feel loved.

I was five years old when our grandmother died back in 1892. We children stayed upstairs while all the neighbors gathered in the parlor below for the funeral.
“My little sister and I pressed our noses against the windowpane, and we saw horses and carriages and wagons up and down the whole lane.
“Then we saw the two black velvet horses come, pulling the shiny black hearse toward the house. The horses had gold fringes on their necks, and the high-wheeled hearse had windows on the sides with gold drapes and gold fringes.
“The horses walked slowly, and they looked sad. I was sad too because we loved our grandmother and I didn’t understand, but I did know she would not be in our house anymore.
“My mama cried, and her sister, Aunt Emily, came, and she held her little baby and cried. I felt sorry for them, but I didn’t cry.
“Mama told me grandmother was old and needed to rest, so I didn’t cry.
“It was two weeks afterward that I did cry. Just a few days after the funeral, Aunt Emily’s little baby took pneumonia. Maybe because she had been moved from her own house over in Emporia. We tiptoed around the house, my little sister Becca and I. We tiptoed, and we didn’t ask for anything. But the little baby died.
“We were back upstairs, and the carriages were again up and down the lane. This time a little white hearse came, drawn by two little white ponies.
“Now,” continued our grandmother, as the tape circled around her words. “Now we have sealed them all in the temple of the Lord, and they are together again. They didn’t know while they were on this earth that they could be together. Missionaries never came to our countryside homes.”