Gospel Story Finder

It’s a thrill, brethren, to stand here this evening and see this great audience of priesthood filling this sacred Tabernacle. Having had the privilege of serving as the Presiding Bishop of the Church for fourteen years, and thus, the president of the Aaronic Priesthood, I am thrilled to see all of the boys of the Aaronic Priesthood here tonight, and I imagine that will be true in the other buildings where the priesthood are listening in. We are all thrilled as we go through the Church to find the wonderful attitude that the Saints have toward President Kimball and, particularly, toward the emphasis that he is giving to missionary work. You know that he has indicated that every boy should be a missionary.
I think of when I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings in the little country town where I was raised, and two missionaries reported their missions down in the Southern States. In those days they traveled without purse or scrip, and they had to sleep out many nights when they couldn’t get entertainment. I don’t know whether they said anything unusual that night or not; but if they didn’t, the Lord did something unusual for me, because when I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call. And I went home, went into my little bedroom, and got down on my knees, and asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station here in Salt Lake and I was headed for the little land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Before I left on that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, who was then a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church, talked to us missionaries, and he said, among other things, “The people will love you. Now,” he said, “don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that they love you because you are better than other people. They will love you because of what you bring to them.” I did not understand that then, but before I left the little land of Holland, where I spent nearly three years, I knew what President Lund meant. I went around saying good-bye to the Saints and the converts who I had brought into the Church, and I shed a thousand tears, as compared to what I shed when I told my loved ones good-bye.
For instance, in Amsterdam I went into a home where I had been the first missionary there, and the little mother, looking up into my face with tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago, but it’s much harder to see you go.” I had been the first missionary in that home. Then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
I went to tell a man with a little Dutch beard good-bye. He stood erect in the uniform of his country. He got down on his knees and took my hand in his and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. And then I thought I could understand what President Lund meant when he said, “They will love you.”
Now I like a little story that President Grant used to tell about the love that converts have for their missionaries. He told about a couple who came here from one of the Scandinavian countries. They hadn’t been taught much about the gospel. All they knew was that it was true. And so the bishop went to this couple and taught them the law of tithing. They paid their tithing. Then later the bishop went to them and taught them about the fast offering. They paid their fast offering. And then the bishop went to them again to get a donation to help build a ward meetinghouse. They thought that ought to come out of the tithing, but before the bishop got through with them, they paid their donation on the meetinghouse.
Then the bishop went to the father to get his son to go on a mission. Now I can hear President Grant standing here, saying, “That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” The man said, “He’s our only child. His mother will miss him. We can’t let him go.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, who do you love in this world more than anyone else outside of your own relatives?” And he thought for a few minutes. He said, “I guess I love that young man who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then the bishop countered, “Brother So-and-So, how would you like someone to love your boy just like that?” The man said, “Bishop, you win again; take him. I’ll pay for his mission.”
Now you fathers, how would you like someone to love your boys just like that man loved that boy who came up to the land of the midnight sun and taught him the gospel? I heard a missionary up in Oregon giving the report of his mission. He himself was a convert to the Church, and he came down with his fist on the pulpit, and he said, “I wouldn’t take a check tonight for a million dollars for the experience of my mission.” I sat back of him, and I said to myself, “Would you take a million dollars for your first mission in the little land of Holland?” And I began counting the families that I’d been instrumental in bringing into the Church. What kind of a man would I be if I were to sell them out of the Church for a million dollars? I wouldn’t do that for all the money in the world!

It can happen to anybody. It happened to Joseph Smith. Over a very small thing, he temporarily lost the Spirit. He found he couldn’t translate unless he was worthy to be guided by the Spirit of God. David Whitmer recounted this situation. He said “something went wrong about the house and [Joseph] was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went upstairs and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation, but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went downstairs, out into the orchard, and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, and asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came upstairs where we were and then the translation went on all right. He could do nothing save he was humble and faithful” (A Comprehensive History of the Church, 1:131).

Joseph Smith must have felt he had lost the Spirit. He had to go and think about it, ponder it, pray about it, come in and apologize to Emma, and then he could translate again.

We chose the Book of Mormon because of its wonderful stories and plain presentation of gospel principles. It was also the only one of the standard works for which we had a large-type edition for the children. Angela was six years old, Jamie was three, and Dallas was newly born. At first, Jamie and Dallas had poor attendance, but Angela zealously showed up each morning.
About ninety seconds into our first morning, a few things became obvious: We were not going to finish for a very long time. Second, too much reading at one time would make this project miserable for all of us. And third, the children’s joy would come as much from reading to Mom and Dad as from the messages they learned from the Book of Mormon.
Keeping these things in mind, we decided to read one column of one page each day. We would each take a verse, in order, and read it aloud. For Angela, whose reading skills were limited, it usually meant that Linda or I would say one or two words and she would repeat them.
Discussions were prompted by questions from the children or the need for emphasis from Mom and Dad. Many times a short introduction to what was ahead made the reading more exciting. When a great prophet died, we felt sad and talked about it. When we came to a favorite story or favorite prophet, we mentioned it.
From the first, we recognized that reaching the book’s final verse wasn’t the point; the fun was in getting there. We soon lost any feeling of desire to get the book read in a hurry. If it took five years, so what? If the children, or even Mom and Dad, seemed to tire or become distracted, we would not read as much. We could always pick up the next day where we had left off.
We ended each session on our knees in family prayer.
As the weeks became months and the months became years, a miracle unfolded. We saw our children learning to read. Better yet, we saw them becoming acquainted with the prophets, stories, and teachings of the Book of Mormon.
As our family grew older, our children slowly mastered the text. They needed less and less help pronouncing words and names, and they rarely missed a word like Lamanite, even though they sometimes needed help with more common words. That large-type edition was soon passed from Angela to Jamie, from Jamie to Dallas, and then to our latest child, Jill. As the older children received their own copies of the Book of Mormon, their satisfaction grew even greater.

For example, in wartime missed messages between commanders and soldiers at the front have resulted in great confusion and serious loss of life. In World War I the 308th Infantry was ordered to the front in a desperate attempt to take and hold part of the Argonne Forest at any cost. The battle was so fierce that the supporting troops on the right and the left of one battalion withdrew, and the battalion was surrounded and isolated. Because headquarters lost communication with them, they became known as the Lost Battalion.
The battalion communicated with headquarters by carrier pigeons that flew from the battalion’s location to headquarters with messages. However, as soon as these pigeons were released, they were shot down by the opposing forces. The Lost Battalion’s own artillery, not knowing where they were, opened fire on their position and inflicted heavy casualties. The battalion ran out of food and water, but they held their ground and did not surrender despite their great losses. Finally, one carrier pigeon called Cher Ami, even though it was shot, got through to headquarters carrying the message that identified the battalion’s location. The survivors of the battalion were rescued because that one crucial message got through.

When I was 13 years old, my family lived on property in Granger, Utah, and every Saturday morning, my brother and I would get up early to start our chores. On one particular Saturday, my chore was to mow the lawn. We had a pretty big yard, so I had to get up extra early to get everything done before it got too hot.
As I was putting the lawn mower away in the shed after I’d finished, I heard the door to the back of our home close. I looked up and saw my father motion for me to come over and sit with him on the back porch steps of our home. We sat shoulder to shoulder, admiring the beautiful sunrise, as I waited for him to speak to me.
After a while he asked me, “Son, tell me about what you want to do in your life. What are your goals? What are your thoughts about the future?”
I told him my goals and dreams, including things like amazing sporting accomplishments and becoming an attorney. When I finished, he said, “That’s wonderful. You can accomplish anything in this life with our Heavenly Father’s help.”
Then he said, “Son, there is something that I would like to talk to you about, and I want you to know that I have prayed about what I’m going to share with you now. And I have prayed that the message I will give to you will be imprinted on your soul.
“What I am going to say to you will greatly affect how you deal with the challenges and the heartaches you will certainly face in your life. And it will come to influence how you face the successes that you have in your life more than anything else that I know to say to you.”
He paused, and I curiously waited to find out what this amazing piece of advice would be.
“Protect the private times of your life,” he said. “You know those moments of your life when you think, ‘There’s no one else around, nobody else knows what I’m doing, and nothing that I’m going to do during this moment will have any negative effect on anyone else’? You know those times?
“What you do in those moments, during these private times of your life, will determine the level of confidence you will have before God and men. It will determine your ability to concentrate and focus on difficult and complex challenges in your life more than anything else I could teach you. And it will have more to do with how you grow and raise your own family and how you strive to draw near to our Heavenly Father than anything else I could say to you. Son, protect the private times of your life.”
I listened carefully to that advice. And just like he said, that moment became locked in my mind and in my heart. Those words are forever imprinted on my soul.
“You know those moments of your life when you think, ‘There’s no one else around, nobody else knows what I’m doing, and nothing that I’m going to do during this moment will have any negative effect on anyone else’?”
As I reflected on what my dad taught me, I realized that my father was not only referring to the importance of staying away from things like pornography and misconduct. He was advising me to fill those private times with positive things. About a year after that conversation, I finished reading the Book of Mormon on my own for the first time. And I came to receive a witness by the Spirit, in a private moment, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. And I was able to make the connection between the importance of it being the word of God and this being the Lord’s Church.
In those private moments, I gained a testimony that the prophet of my youth, President Spencer W. Kimball, was a mouthpiece of the Lord. And it is on that foundation that I have continued to know that each prophet after, including President Russell M. Nelson today, is the Lord’s chosen, called, and anointed mouthpiece to the world.
For me, those private moments have been the foundation on which my testimony rests.
Since that morning on the back porch steps of my childhood home, protecting the private times of my life has meant not only doing those things that guarded each moment against error or sin but filling those moments with spiritually and physically uplifting activities. Some of those include listening to good music, praying, reading the scriptures or other wholesome books, and physical exercise. I try and fill those private times with a focus on developing my talents and working on my hobbies. I have found that doing so brings me lasting joy rather than momentary happiness.
Protecting the private times of my life has meant not only doing those things that guarded each moment against error or sin but filling those moments with spiritually and physically uplifting activities.
During my youth, as I worked on protecting the private times of my life, I made personal goals in areas where I wanted to improve, such as setting goals to read the Book of Mormon, improve my race time in the 400-meter run, serve a full-time mission, and attend a university. I strived to use the time I had to progress and develop my skills. Setting and striving to achieve those goals has blessed my life with better physical health, strengthened testimony, inner peace, and lasting joy.
I am so grateful for the advice my father gave me all those years ago to protect the private times of my life. I know his counsel has helped me to confront the challenges of life and feel the confidence of knowing that I have a Father in Heaven who loves me and to whom I can go during sweet hours of prayer, all during the private times of my life (see Doctrine and Covenants 121:45–46). As you protect those moments in your life and fill them with wholesome, uplifting activities you will see and feel our Heavenly Father’s blessings of peace, increased confidence and lasting joy pour into your life.

I spent my career in the department store business. Because I was part of a management team, it was important for me to interact socially with local business organizations. The meetings with most of these organizations always started with a cocktail hour. It was a time to mix and get acquainted with the men who belonged to the organization. I have always felt uncomfortable in these social hours. At first I started asking for a lemon-lime soda. I soon discovered that lemon-lime soda looks like many of the other drinks. I could not build the impression I was a nondrinker with a clear soda in my hands. I tried root beer. It had the same problem.

Finally I decided I had to have a drink that would clearly mark me as a nondrinker. I went to the bartender and requested a glass of milk. The bartender had never had such a request. He went into the kitchen and found a glass of milk for me. Now I had a drink that looked very different from the alcoholic beverages the others were drinking. Suddenly I was the center of attention. There were a lot of jokes made of my drink. My milk was a conversation piece. I met more business leaders that evening than I ever had before at a cocktail hour.

Milk became my drink of choice at the cocktail hours. It soon became common knowledge I was a Mormon. The respect I received really surprised me, as did an interesting event that started to occur. Others soon joined me in a pure milk cocktail!

Sally was a relatively new member at the time of the martyrdom. She and her husband and their two sons had joined the Church near Buffalo, New York, and migrated to Nauvoo in 1843. Here they found many Saints sick with fevers, malaria, and measles. Writing to her family in the eastern United States, she said, “It is very sickly here at present … , and a great many children die” from the diseases.
Sally’s oldest son, 14-year-old George, soon got sick and died about three weeks later. With “a heart full of grief and sorrow” from her son’s death, she received word eight months later of the Prophet’s martyrdom. In this state of grief, she wrote her family to detail the events, share her emotions, and give perspective to events of the time.

During the time of the Korean War, a young man, Rhee Ho Nam, was pressed into a helping role by an American military unit involved in court martials. At the time, being dislocated from his regular way of life looked like a tragedy. Ho Nam, however, made the best of his challenges as did Joseph in ancient Egypt. He developed English as a second language. He carefully observed the things the American soldiers did, especially an LDS lieutenant who was “different” from his fellow soldiers and much admired by Ho Nam. They discussed things often. One day the lieutenant asked Ho Nam what the purpose of life was. Rhee Ho Nam could not answer, saying only that philosophers had struggled in vain with that question for centuries. Thereupon, the officer took out a plain sheet of paper and drew an outline of the plan of salvation. At that very moment, the Lord bore testimony through the power of his Spirit to Rhee Ho Nam’s heart that what the American had told him was true. Ho Nam studied, then joined the Church, keeping that piece of paper for years as a treasured reminder of that special moment.

The Korean War was soon over, but Ho Nam’s life in the Church had just begun. While in his thirties, Rhee Ho Nam became the first stake president of the first stake of the Church on the mainland of Asia. He is now serving with distinction as a mission president in Pusan, Korea, as an outstanding leader among his people. With special conviction, President Rhee teaches his missionaries and members to look with hope beyond what is to what may be! Sometimes within seeming tragedy there is opportunity!

I once spoke in a sacrament meeting that I will long remember. The conducting officer, a member of the bishopric who introduced me as the speaker that evening, gave an unusual, rather lengthy introduction that went something like this:
“Brothers and sisters, Elder Ashton will undoubtedly be disappointed when he hears what I am going to say about him and about myself. I heard him say to a group of prisoners once, ‘When you fellows leave this prison and go back into a regular environment, don’t apologize or boast about being ex-convicts. Just go on from where you are.’ Well, many of you in the congregation don’t know it, but I am an ex-convict of the Utah State Prison. About six years ago, when I met Elder Ashton, he was in charge of the Church prison program under the Social Services Department. A few weeks later when I became better acquainted with him, I told him I was a long-distance runner. I asked him if there was any chance for me to run in the annual Salt Lake City 24th of July marathon race. Elder Ashton encouraged me and said he would talk to the prison warden about my getting out for the day to participate in the race. He told me later that the warden agreed if Elder Ashton would take the responsibility for me. Elder Ashton assumed that responsibility and later told me he trusted me and expected me to do well in the contest.
“I’ll never forget that marathon race in July 1971. It was hot, the course was challenging, and I wasn’t in the best physical condition. My only preparation had been running around the prison grounds when I had free time. Halfway through the race I felt completely exhausted; my legs were sore, and blisters covered the bottoms of both my feet. I wanted to quit. I felt I couldn’t continue. Just as I was about to drop out, the thought flashed through my mind, ‘You can’t let Elder Ashton down. He’s counting on you.’ I made it into the final section of the marathon route, and I had the urge to stop. Again the thought came to me: ‘You can’t quit. You want Elder Ashton to be proud of you, don’t you?’
“Well, I finished the race. Not among the first 25, but I finished. I went right back to the prison after the race, according to my agreement. Elder Ashton told me he was proud of me for finishing the race and proud to have me for his friend. I don’t mind telling you that I was a little pleased with myself for one of the first times in my whole life.
“It wasn’t too long after the marathon race that I was released from prison. About a year later I met a lovely young lady; we had a good courtship, and some months after that Elder Ashton accompanied us to the temple and performed our marriage and sealed us for time and all eternity. Tonight, six years later, I am proud to be serving in your bishopric.”

“Leave him alone!” I yelled to Laurie Hilton, the school bully. “Pick on someone your own size.”
I was tired of her picking on my little brother, Tony. If she treated him nicely—or simply let him alone—he would be fine. It was her fault that he cried. And I hated it.
“Pick on someone my own size?” Laurie sneered. “Like you?”
I wasn’t Laurie’s size. She was two grades older and a head taller. “Sure. Like me.” I tried to sound confident, but inside I was shaking. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted her to leave Tony alone.
The bell rang and Laurie gave me a shove. “You’re going to get it after school.”
Still shaking inside, I watched her stomp away. I doubted I would really “get it” after school—Laurie would probably cool off by then. But just in case, I was going to avoid her.
My stomach was in knots even before I got to music class and found out I didn’t make the school play. I had really, really wanted a part. Any part. I didn’t have to be the star. But I didn’t even get to be an alternate.
And I sure didn’t feel any better in math class when I got my test back. I made a poor grade on it—even though I had studied hard.
“How did you do?” my best friend Audrey asked. She had helped me study the night before, and she had assured me I would make a good grade.
“Don’t ask,” I advised. I wadded up the test and threw it in the wastebasket.
I was careful not to look at Audrey. I knew what I would see if I looked into her eyes—sympathy. I could not take that. It would make me cry.
I wished I could be like Audrey. She was good at everything. She got the lead in the school play. She got straight As in math. She was beautiful.
It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t good at anything. Lately I felt like Heavenly Father had forgotten about me.
“I’m hopeless,” I told myself. “I wish I could forget about me, too.”
When I got home, I still felt like crying. I probably would have, too, if Tony hadn’t come in. “Why do you look so sad?” he asked.
I thought about telling him to get out of my room. After all, he had come in without knocking. Sometimes Tony can be a pest. But he actually looked concerned for me.
“I didn’t get the part in the play,” I told him.
“Oh.” He sat on my bed. “Well, you like to paint. Maybe you could help with the scenery.”
“It’s not just the play,” I said. “I did really badly on my math test, too.”
Then I went on to tell him how pathetic I felt—like I wasn’t good at anything.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. When he returned he had a drawing.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“It’s a picture of you.” He handed it to me. “I drew it in Primary.” He explained that his teacher had asked him to draw something he was thankful for. “So I drew you. Maybe you’re not a good actress. And maybe you’re not very good at math, either. I don’t know. But I do know one thing—you’re a good sister. In fact, you’re a great sister.” He put his arms around me.
And you know what? I felt a little better. “Thanks, Tony.”
“Something else,” he said, sitting back on my bed. “You’re really brave. You knew Laurie could hurt you, but you still stuck up for me today. You’re good at sticking up for people.”
When Tony left, I felt a lot better. He made sense. I’m not so good at some things, but that doesn’t mean I’m not good at other things. Maybe the things I’m good at are really important—maybe even more important than being a good actress or a math whiz.
Heavenly Father hadn’t forgotten about me after all. I knelt at the foot of my bed, figuring I should let Him know I hadn’t forgotten about Him either. And while I was on my knees, I thanked Him for all of my many blessings.

My first memories of a need for power came when my family moved the year I began third grade. I started figuring out more about friends and other people’s families. As my new friends talked to kids in the extended neighborhood, we sized up assets and numbers—who had shade trees you could sit in or chicken coops you could climb on. Besides whose dad was the strongest, I noticed many of the kids were older than I. Luckily, I had two big sisters with lots of friends. In fact, I once said I could call out the whole high school if needed. I felt I had the needed personal power for safety and self-preservation.
My eight-year-old world was enlarging. So was the need for the skills that help one cope in this civilized world. I started appreciating the safety one gets from size, numbers, resources. Our use of what I call personal or political power begins early. Most children learn about size first. “If you don’t stop that, I’ll call Mom.” “When Dad comes home, you’ll be in big trouble.” Resources can supplement our need for size. A toy becomes a stick. What begins as a snowman becomes a fortress. The world was at war in those days, but I was a third-grader. The physical danger I feared was the boy with a wooden gun that shot rubber rings taken from fruit jars. His target was girls’ legs. Friends told me you could give the boy bottle rings and he wouldn’t hit you, but adding to his arsenal seemed like a traitorous thing to do, and I doubted you could trust a commitment from a bully. I think a teacher eventually took his gun. In my world, I appreciated people who had power, like teachers and parents, especially if they had fair rules.

We were driving through the majestic Swiss Alps on a family vacation when, without warning, our van lost all power. My husband, Floyd, pulled over to the side of the alpine road and tried to restart the engine. Suddenly there was a loud bang. “It’s okay,” Floyd said. “Just a backfire.”
But something made me look out the rear window. To my horror, I saw flames of fire coming out from under the van, spreading across the back of the vehicle. “There’s a fire!” I cried. Floyd reacted instantly. “Everyone out of the van—now!” he yelled, running around to open the side doors for us. Our two girls, ages sixteen and six, quickly climbed out of the van and ran down the roadside out of harm’s way. Our four-year-old son, shoeless and frightened, was next into his father’s arms. He was sent running away from the burning van which we expected to explode at any minute.
The baby and I were last. It seemed to take forever to unfasten the harness holding him in his car seat. Floyd helped us out, and we ran, too.
A cloud of oily black smoke was rising from the burning van as a young French couple stopped. The man ran to telephone for help. His wife helped me calm the children.
Next a truck driver stopped, and began to put out the fire with an extinguisher from his truck. Then he helped my husband rescue most of our baggage. The van continued to burn.
By now, farmers had wandered out of their homes to watch the excitement. Soon a large fire truck and police cars arrived. Quickly, the fire crew put out the blaze and retrieved the rest of our baggage.
There we were, our suitcases scattered beside the burned-out van, stranded at the side of a highway in Switzerland—a long way from our home in California. But we felt relieved and thankful to be safe and to have most of our baggage as well.
“Anyone here speak English?” my husband asked hopefully. There were only blank looks and a few shrugs.
Then a man and his son stepped forward. “You come to my house,” he said in halting English. “You come to my house.” He pointed across the valley to a small cottage. It took three trips in his little car to get all of us and our baggage there. Our new-found friend’s wife and family fed us, put our weary children to bed, and helped us sort and repack all our things.
The wife spoke perfect English, and we stayed up late into the night talking with our hosts, but it wasn’t until the next morning as we prepared to leave that we discovered they were Latter-day Saints, too. It made our host family even more special to us.
That day in the Alps was the most memorable part of our vacation. We will never forget our frightening experience. Nor shall we forget that Swiss family—brothers and sisters in the gospel whom we found by accident—and the love they showed for us.

"We are all privileged to belong to a wonderful family. Genealogical research has so far traced our ancestors back to the 16th century, and further research continues to push back the sands of time.
"As far as the branch of the family which belongs to the Church goes, that began a few years after the Church was organized, when a 16-year-old apprentice shoemaker in Scotland heard two Mormon missionaries. He knew from the very beginning that what he heard was the truth. He wrote to his parents and asked for permission to be baptized. They wrote back and said that if he joined the Church, he would no longer be considered a member of the family. The man he worked for told him that if he joined the Church, he could no longer work for him.
"What a difficult choice for a 16-year-old boy to make. He must have agonized over the decision. To lose everything considered of value in life—his family and a chance to earn an income.
"If he had chosen to reject the gospel, this family would not be meeting here this year, all of us members of the Church, all of us committed to upholding the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
"Every person at some time in his or her life must make the same kind of decision. Each of us must decide, once and for all; we must say to ourselves, ‘This is who I am, and these are the standards I live by.’ Until we do that, we are continually tossed to and fro, not knowing what to do when we face difficult decisions.
"Archibald McKinnon made the decision to join the Church. He came to America and crossed the plains with a handcart company. In time he married a beautiful young woman in the Manti Temple, and from their union, all of us have descended."

He said that a granduncle of his, who was an abbot in the Catholic Church, had asked on his deathbed that Derteano gather the family’s genealogical records. Derteano promised to do so, although he thought that the request was only the irrational talk of a dying man. But he had made a promise, and so, after some time had passed, he began to research the Derteano records. He had to spend considerable time, effort, and money to gather the information. Many times he felt like abandoning the project. On one occasion, when he decided to stop the work, he dreamed his uncle came to him and reminded him of the promise.
He carried on the research for thirty years, locating Derteanos in many parts of the world. Apart from fulfilling a promise to a dying man, Derteano never knew why he was gathering the information. He said he was working blindly, hoping that some day he would understand the reason for it all.
I said that I could provide the answer for him. I told him about the Church and the purposes of the vicarious work for the dead in the temples. I read to him 1 Peter 3:18–20 [1 Pet. 3:18–20], which tells of the Savior preaching the gospel in the spirit world. Then I shared with him parts of Doctrine and Covenants 138 [D&C 138], emphasizing the joy the spirits feel when they receive the gospel and their hope that their descendents would remember them since they cannot progress without us.
Derteano was overjoyed at hearing the reason behind his search. Now, sixty-three years old, he finally felt free of his obligation to his granduncle.
He gave me copies of all the birth and marriage records he had and also the names and addresses of other Derteanos in other parts of the world. My joy and feelings overflowed when together we found a common ancestor in the records, and thus I was able to connect my family tree to his.
Derteano gave me one of his books in which he wrote, “To Luis Roberto Derteano and Rosa Liliana, relatives I had been seeking throughout my life. Without a doubt something brought us together. Kepa De Derteano y Basterra.”

The first real test of my young testimony came when I had to decide between going on a mission and playing basketball,” says Dean Reid Burgess. Brother Burgess had spent his freshman year playing basketball for the College of Southern Utah on scholarship.
It was 1965, the height of the war in Vietnam, and not every young man had the chance to serve a mission because of the United States military draft. But Brother Burgess had the chance and the choice. “It took a lot of prayer and a lot of fasting,” he says. “But I knew serving a mission was a real privilege, so I left school to serve.” While serving in the Brazilian Mission, Brother Burgess solidified his testimony of the restored gospel.
Upon returning home, he completed his education at Brigham Young University in business management and graduated in 1970. Some time later, he met Annette Christensen at a BYU student ward. “She was the Relief Society president, and I was the elders quorum president,” he says. “She was always busy serving in worthwhile and constructive ways.” They began dating and were later married in the Provo Utah Temple on 27 December 1973. They have five children and reside in Sandy, Utah.
Brother Burgess, 57, was born in Alpine, Utah, to Reid and Ethel King Burgess on 24 May 1946. He grew up working in the family-owned mercantile store and on their 20-acre (8-ha) farm. His parents taught him the value of family, hard work, and the principles of the gospel—the same values he has tried to teach his own children.
In 1997 Brother Burgess returned to Brazil, where he served as president of the Brazil Belo Horizonte East Mission. His other Church service includes counselor in stake presidencies, stake Young Men president, bishop, and high councilor; all told, he has served with the youth of the Church for more than 24 years.

Thirty years ago, while I was serving as a mission president in Austria, a bright young man came to see me in the mission office. He had received a few of the missionary discussions and was concerned that the missionaries promised him if he would read the Book of Mormon and pray about it he would know it was true.

"Well, Herr President," he said, "I've started to read the Book of Mormon, but to tell you the truth that book is drier than the Vienna telephone directory."

I replied, "Michael, perhaps we could try reading a sample from the middle of the Book," and I opened up the Book of Mormon to Third Nephi Chapter 17, the moving account of the Savior's healing of the sick, blessing of the little children, and praying to the Father in their presence. I suggested that I read a verse and then we could alternate and he would read every other verse. As we proceeded to read that chapter, tears began to trickle down his cheeks, and as we concluded the chapter he said, "I'm going home to read the whole book." And he did. A few weeks later he was baptized and he has remained faithful to his covenants.

The conflict of Identity vs. Role Confusion during our teenage years is difficult for many. During this time we incorporate our personal beliefs with those of society and begin to make decisions about the future. When I was a teen, I would occasionally defy my parents’ suggestions regarding my performance in life. I remember very distinctly being frustrated with my mother one day as she proposed recommendations for my future. As my mother was advising me, I angrily turned and began to walk away—and then I heard her quietly comment, “I only want you to be a better person than I am.” My heart immediately softened, and I wondered how anyone could possibly be better than my own dear mother. I have since apologized for my behavior, but her comment (or rather her challenge to me to be a better person) has stayed with me throughout my life. As a teen, and even now, that challenge has motivated me to be a better person—it taught me the importance of applying my learning.

Watoy paused under the colorful Filipino flag outside his school before heading inside.
“Good morning, class,” his teacher said. “It’s time for our morning prayer.”
All around him, Watoy’s friends each touched their foreheads, chests, and shoulders to form the shape of a cross. Then they recited the prayer they always said at the beginning of class. As usual, Watoy didn’t join them. Instead, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and said his own silent prayer. He prayed about different things each time, the way he was taught to pray at home and in Primary.
When he finished and looked up, he saw that his teacher was watching him with a confused expression on her face.
“May I talk to you after school?” she said.
Watoy swallowed and nodded. Was he in trouble?
When classes had ended for the day, Watoy’s teacher walked over to him.
“I see that you never cross yourself or recite our morning prayer,” she said. “Will you please tell me why?”
Watoy breathed a sigh of relief. His teacher wasn’t upset, just curious! He thought about how to answer.
“Well,” he began, “in my church, when we pray, we talk to Heavenly Father about many different things. And the cross reminds us of when Jesus died. But Jesus is not dead. He lives!”
His teacher thought about this for a moment and then nodded slowly.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she said.
As Watoy walked to football practice, he felt warm and good inside. He liked teaching others about Jesus Christ.

After completing school, I decided to stay in Lomé to be closer to Church members and pursue a university degree in civil engineering. After a couple of years, I deferred my studies to serve a full-time mission. On June 23, 2016, I was called to serve in a newly created mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Mbuji-Mayi. Today I am a missionary and, in a few months, I will finish my mission with honor.
I have learned a lot from the Church and by the daily reading of the Book of Mormon, which is the keystone of our religion. Although weak, I have been shaped by the Lord to bring souls to Him, and I rejoice in this privilege that He has granted me to fulfill this sacred duty of the priesthood.

We should all realize that great works of righteousness can be and are performed by the Aaronic Priesthood. President Wilford Woodruff relates an experience that he had. He said:
“I was strongly impressed three times to go up and warn Father Hakeman [an early apostate]. At last I did so, according to the commandment of God to me. The third time I met with him, his house seemed to be full of evil spirits, and I was troubled in spirit at the manifestation. When I finished my warning, I left him. He followed me from his house with the intention of killing me. I have no doubt about his intention, for it was shown to me in vision. When he came to where I was, he fell dead at my feet, as if he had been struck with a thunderbolt from heaven. I was then a Priest, but God defended me and preserved my life. I speak of this because it is a principle that has been manifest in the Church of God in this generation as well as in others. I had the administration of angels while holding the office of a Priest. I had visions and revelations. I traveled thousands of miles. I baptized men, though I could not confirm them because I had not the authority to do it.” (Millennial Star, 1891, 53:641–42.)
He also said: “I desire to impress upon you the fact that it does not make any difference whether a man is a Priest or an Apostle, if he magnifies his calling. A Priest holds the keys of the ministering of angels. Never in my life, as an Apostle, as a Seventy, or as an Elder, have I ever had more of the protection of the Lord than while holding the office of a Priest. The Lord revealed to me by visions, by revelations, and by the Holy Spirit, many things that lay before me.” (Millennial Star, 1891, 53:629.)