Gospel Story Finder

Even though she was 90 years old, Aletha Gilbert of the Lakeview Ward, Bountiful Utah Central Stake, loved to invite her family over for family home evening. Before her death in 2002, Aletha wrote of these special home evenings: “I make sure I have a supply of pens or pencils, writing paper, and envelopes. Sometimes I address the envelopes in advance. We each write a message to missionaries in the family and ward. What fun! Everyone likes this idea—the one who sends it and the one who receives it.”

The Maucotels suggest another way to make family night enjoyable: relate the treat to the lesson. For instance, one Monday night they read some scriptures on patience and, at the same time, made homemade ice cream.
Fourteen-year-old Isaac taught the lesson, sharing scriptures on patience. He said that making ice cream by hand takes patience. You have to put in some work while you wait for the results you want.
His parents and four siblings listened to Isaac while they shook their bags of ice cream. Then they dug in, eating the cold, creamy chocolate ice cream right out of the bag. (See sidebar: A Lesson on Patience.)

I was born on a little dry farm in northern Utah in 1934. By the time the doctor drove the thirteen miles from Logan to our house, I had already arrived.
I was born blue because I wasn’t breathing right. The connection between my heart and lungs was not very good, and doctors told my parents that I would have serious health problems. My family prayed hard that I would be healthy, and none of the things the doctors predicted happened. In fact, I was six feet tall by the time I was thirteen! I know that this was a blessing from Heavenly Father.

Once a young boy was trying to smooth out the dirt area behind his house so he could play there with his toy cars. There was a large rock blocking his work. The boy pushed and pulled with all his might. But no matter how hard he tried, the rock wouldn’t budge.
His father watched for a while. Then he came to his son and said, “You need to use all your strength to move a rock this large.”
The boy answered, “I have used all my strength!”
His father corrected him: “No, you haven’t. You haven’t had my help yet!”
They then bent down together and moved the rock easily.

Lucy was happy whenever Daddy was home. But she was sad when he had to go on business trips. When he came home, though, he always had a surprise for Lucy in his suitcase.
Once the surprise was a doll from Mexico with a red ruffled dress and a tiny red rose in its hair.
Once the surprise was a white fan with a pretty design from Japan. It folded and unfolded with a click.
Another time the surprise was a paper lei from Hawaii. Daddy said, “A lei means ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ and ‘I love you.’”
On his next trip, Daddy brought Lucy a shell from the ocean. It was chalky white and pink on the outside. The inside flashed bright green and purple when she turned it. “Put it next to your ear,” Daddy said, “and it will sound like the ocean.”
One day Daddy came home from a trip with two surprises. The first one was a tiny blue box to put things in. But the other surprise was even nicer: “I’m not going on any more trips,” Daddy said. “I’ll be here every night from now on.”
Lucy clapped her hands. “Hurray!” she shouted. “That’s the best surprise of all!”

I’m serving with my husband in Estonia as the first Finnish missionary couple here. When we visit and teach the Estonian members of the Church, we must sometimes travel long distances in the bus. Often I take the Finnish Valkeus magazine with me to read. At times, it has also had a few articles in Estonian in the local pages.
I’m especially grateful for the April 1993 issue, which has many beautiful pictures of Christ. I was looking through the issue one day on the bus when a middle-aged woman sat next to me. Seeing the pictures of Christ, she asked me where she could buy a magazine like that, since local magazines are not so beautifully illustrated. I had the opportunity to tell her about the Church.
While looking at the pictures, she said, “We Estonians need magazines like this.” I then found an article in Estonian by Marina Saarikki that discussed priesthood authority and started to read it out loud to her. In the middle of the reading, my fellow passenger said, “It is true.” We rejoiced in the presence of the Holy Ghost, and I invited her to attend our meetings.
Sister Mirja SilvennoinenTallinn, Estonia

Chris is keenly aware that, as the oldest, he is setting an example for his six young brothers. He has been offered scholarships to play football at several big-name universities. But they want him to commit to at least one year of college before leaving on his mission. Since Chris turns 19 soon after he would start college, he refuses to postpone his mission and has turned down the scholarships. He has faith that he’ll be able to regain a scholarship when he gets back. His parents were introduced to the gospel by missionaries when he was a baby, and his entire life he has anxiously looked forward to serving.
Editor’s Note: Since this article was written, Chris received his mission call and is serving in the Lithuania Vilnius Mission.

At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

“Go outside and play,” the hired girl said. “You know your mother needs to rest.” So Leta, Sina, Nilla, and Clyde followed the flagstone path out the back door and past the pretty tulips. The gate led to the field, and at one end of the field was a big root cellar. The parts of the cellar that were not filled with potatoes or other root crops were like a playhouse for the four children.

“Let’s get ready for dinner,” Leta said in a special voice that meant she was pretending to be Mother. “Sina, help me tie my apron.” She pretended to pull an apron out of a drawer and put her head through the part that went over the shoulders.

Sina pretended to make a bow in the back, hurrying to finish so she could play the part of big sister. “I will set the table,” she said, turning over a wooden crate and draping it with an old dish towel that they had used in their playhouse before.

“Nilla,” Leta ordered again, “you go back to the house and find us some food to eat.”

Nilla was happy to have an important part to play in this game. She was almost back to the house before she remembered that the hired girl had sent them away and might not let her go into the house again. She looked around carefully until she saw the girl talking to a boy who had ridden up on a horse.

Nilla went to the kitchen. The cupboard doors were open, but they smelled of cleaning soap and nothing was inside. Boxes and bottles of various sizes and shapes were on the table and chairs.

One bottle with a worn, red-and-white label caught Nilla’s eye. She did not know that the picture of the skull and crossbones on it meant “poison.” The label was loose, so she tore it off and threw it down on the floor. Then she proudly took the bottle back to her sisters and brother, who were waiting in the playhouse.

Leta opened the bottle and looked at the white crystals inside it. “Yes, this looks very good,” she said, closing it up again. “It will take a little while for dinner to be ready, so don’t sit up to the table yet.”

Leta pretended to be busy cooking over the stove, then sweeping the floor. She scolded the children from time to time when they were impatient waiting for their food. Finally she announced that it was time for dinner.

When the children took their places at the table, Leta poured a little pile of the crystals in front of each of them. Clyde licked his finger, ready to eat right away, but Leta stopped him. “No food until after the prayer. And I will say it.”

This time, she reminded everyone of their father as she prayed. “Our Father who art in heaven,” she began, “we thank Thee for this food, and for …” Her voice rose and fell as she prayed on and on, and her words were mumbled much of the time so that no one was quite sure what all she had said. The others did hear her say, “Bless this food to our use” and “Bless the missionaries in the field.” Just when Sina, Nilla, and Clyde thought that the prayer would end and the feast would start, Leta thought of the name of a ward member she could mention in the prayer and the prayer continued.

In the house, Mother, sick and weak, awoke with such a feeling of concern for her children that she found herself standing beside her bed even before she was fully awake. Making her way slowly out of the bedroom, she saw the hired girl asleep on the couch.

The kitchen was spotlessly clean, except for a faded red label that startled her as a breeze blew it across the floor. A picture of a skull and crossbones was on it, and the word strychnine. Mother hurried outside as fast as she was able. She saw no sign of her children in the yard, so she went straight to their playhouse in the cellar.

Leta had just said, “amen,” and each child was raising a freshly licked finger in the air over the “food” to pick up the powder and eat it, when Mother’s shadow appeared in the doorway.

Mother had found the children in time! In her heart, she said her own prayer of thanks for the lives of her little children. She did not doubt for a moment that the Spirit of the Lord had awakened her and led her to the children who were in danger.

That evening at suppertime, the children waited patiently through the rising and falling tones of their father’s long blessing on the food. It wasn’t hard to remember their own blessing on the play “food” they had almost eaten in the root cellar.

While they were eating, Nilla whispered to Leta, “Heavenly Father really does hear and understand each prayer, doesn’t He?”

“Yes, He really does,” Leta whispered back.

Elder Nicholas D. Germer, who served in the Brazil Brasília Mission, has been on the receiving end of a family home evening activity. He writes: “I received three letters from members of a family that I knew before my mission. They wrote the letters during a family home evening, and the three-year-old daughter even got help from her father to write to me. I could feel their love and will never forget these letters.”

Let me share with you for a few moments the positive, progressive attitude of a friend of mine formerly confined in the Utah State Prison. “I don’t want to blame anyone back home for my being in prison, but it is factual that I had no family relationships. I was involved in the family home evening program at the prison. Without the people [parents] who had been assigned to me through this program, many times I would have given up. These people loved me as if I were their own son. I have never had that, even when I was a small boy. Now with their help and the help of others I believe I can make it back a day at a time. I am not proud of having been in prison, but I am proud of my recent experiences while there. We have a tendency to blame others. We don’t want to blame our parents for not loving us, because we know they do, but maybe they didn’t have the guidance and direction in their lives to apply when they were bringing us up.”
Perhaps in the minds of many of us this fine young man would be justified in knocking his parents, knocking society, and knocking our systems, but he didn’t. Instead, he is thanking those who have helped him and is sincerely grateful for the direction in which his life is moving today.
Church attenders in prisons are, unfortunately, in the minority and are often classified by their associates in uncomplimentary terms, but this fine young man, bless his courage, is not ashamed to be identified as a member of “God’s Squad.”

Our son Justin grew up with a difficult disease. Sometimes he was very weak. He couldn’t always do things like everyone else, even though he tried. He knew what it felt like to be different.
One day Justin and his friends got together to play a game. They had to hit a ball with their arms to keep it in the air. One of the girls who came to play had a broken arm.
It would have been easy to say, “OK, we’re all playing, and she’s just going to watch.”
But instead, Justin said, “I have a great idea. We’re all going to play with one arm.” Everybody played the game using just one arm, including the girl who was wearing a cast. No one was left out.
Justin is my hero. He always looked at other people and thought, How do they feel? Justin was sick for most of his life, but he was happy because he helped other people and followed Jesus Christ.

I broke up with my first boyfriend on a clear summer night.
Earlier that day, Carter (name has been changed) and I had been fighting—which wasn’t abnormal in our three-year, on-and-off relationship. We fought about everything—from what to eat to future plans. In the beginning, I waved our differences aside with the adage that “opposites attract.” But our occasional playful banter eventually morphed into an exhausting chain of disagreements.
That summer night we had taken a telescope into the desert to look at the planets. But we found that the brightness of the moon against the dark sky obscured our view. Frustrated, we started arguing—again.
I ended up walking off to compose myself. “This isn’t me,” I thought. I was known as the peacemaker among my siblings, and I spoke gently and kindly to my other friends. So why was I yelling at the guy I claimed to love?
I looked up at the dark sky and prayed to know how I could improve my relationship with Carter. Suddenly, overwhelming peace replaced my anger, and I felt impressed that the best thing I could do for both of us was to end our relationship.
Healing took time. There were moments I was tempted to dismiss the prompting to break up with Carter because I missed the familiarity of our relationship. I sometimes felt frustrated at God, believing that He had slammed one door shut without opening another. Even so, I clung to the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “In moments of fear or doubt or troubling times … hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes” (“Lord I Believe,” Liahona, May 2013, 93–94).
I didn’t receive that “additional knowledge” for many months, and I began to wonder if I ever would. After one of my heartfelt prayers about the breakup, the Spirit pressed on my heart, telling me that Heavenly Father’s promptings are for the well-being of His children. The details of His reasoning aren’t as relevant as my faith in Him is.
Knowing that Heavenly Father had a plan for me gave me hope for my future and helped me to start dating again. One morning I read Doctrine and Covenants 88:40, where the Lord teaches that “light cleaveth unto light.” I suddenly realized that this principle can apply to dating. I knew I would be happier with someone who shared my values and light.
I eventually met Austin. We connected instantly, from our love of tacos to our respective stateside missions. His gentle spirit felt familiar and compatible with mine, and I eventually married him. What we have isn’t an explosive relationship like you might expect in a popular romance movie. It’s sweet and stable—something I believe can last forever.
Many of us yearn for an explanation when we receive difficult promptings. From my experience, I learned that faith in the Lord can help us remain obedient without knowing the why. As we trust in an all-knowing God, we can feel peace in our decisions to act on promptings until we do receive the “additional knowledge” He has promised the faithful.

At the gates to the zoo, Patricia and Luis’s mother was getting a stroller for their little brother, Marcos.
“No,” said Patricia as Luis tried to lead her through the gate. “I don’t want to go into the zoo.”
“Why not?” Luis asked.
“Because I’m scared. It’s full of all those big animals—and lots of big people too.”
“I’ll help you,” Luis said. “I’ll tell you a secret that Mother told me.”
“What secret?” Patricia asked.
“All the animals began as baby animals, just like we were once baby people,” Luis whispered.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Luis smiled at his sister. “Then the baby people grew into kids like us and kept on growing until they became big people. And the baby animals grew into kid-age animals and then grown-up, big animals—see?”
“I’m still scared,” Patricia said.
“Look,” Luis said, “cover your eyes and imagine a baby giraffe.”
She covered her eyes and saw a baby giraffe wearing a bonnet. Patricia laughed and said, “This is fun. Now it’s your turn. Cover your eyes and see a baby policeman.”
Luis imagined a baby policeman standing in a crib. He grinned. “OK, cover your eyes and see a baby bear.”
Patricia put her hands over her eyes and saw a baby bear sitting in a high chair. She giggled. “Cover your eyes and imagine a baby clown.”
Up went Luis’s hands, and he saw a baby clown holding a bouquet of balloons. Luis clapped his hands. “Cover your eyes and see a baby lion.”
Patricia saw a baby lion in a playpen. “Hands off,” she said. “See a baby whale.”
Luis hooted when he saw a baby whale swimming in a bathtub. “Cover your eyes and see a baby ticket-taker,” he told Patricia.
Patricia saw a baby ticket-taker taking tickets. “Hey,” she said, “cover your eyes and see a baby elephant.”
Luis saw a baby elephant brushing its tusks. “One more,” he said. “Cover your eyes and see a baby zookeeper.”
Patricia laughed when she saw a baby zookeeper feeding the giraffe. “Know what?” Patricia asked. “Big animals and big people aren’t so scary after all!”
“That’s right.” Luis smiled. “Let’s both cover our eyes and see what we will look like when we are grown-ups.”
They covered their eyes. Luis imagined that he was an astronaut, and Patricia imagined that she was a baseball player.
“Wow!” Luis yelled.
Patricia looked very happy. “I’m not afraid any more. Thanks Luis. Here comes Mommy. Let’s race her and Marcos to the gate and go see the animals.”

Growing up without a father, I was fortunate to have wonderful Church and Scouting leaders as role models. One of these was my father’s cousin, Israel Bennion. He was the stake patriarch, and when I was seven, he paid us a visit that helped me look forward with courage and hope during those hard years.
Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed in our Sunday best, waited in turn for this dignified man to place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings. Mine was only 263 words long, but it has been a guide to me my whole life. It helped me begin to realize that I was literally a son of God and that He knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, He would help me. It sustained me when I was in the Navy in World War II. It inspired me on my mission. Throughout my life it helped me chart a course that included honesty and high moral standards.

The last high school basketball tournament gave our family a rallying point for a common activity. My brother’s boy participated on one of the teams. They had lost their first game, and his personal production for that game was 12 points. This was about average for what he had been doing during the regular season. Then tragedy struck the team in the second game. Their big center, who was their high scorer, was injured and was out for the balance of the tournament. The team realized that another loss meant elimination.
My nephew was placed under the pressure of having to make up for that loss. He was moved from his regular position of forward to replace the center. He met the challenge by scoring 32 points that game. Then in the final two games he led the team to victory and finished second in total scoring in the state tournament. His scoring was twice what he had normally been producing.
Bearing his testimony the following week in meeting, he remarked that when the pressure became great and the burden difficult to bear, he would hear the encouraging cries of his family above the roar of the crowd and would be inspired to try harder.
The courage of this young man taught us all a lesson that day. One of the gifts of a loving family is the encouragement and confidence we receive to magnify ourselves.

“When I was in Korea,” I continued, “I carried my small Book of Mormon and the book Principles of the Gospel that the Church supplies to all LDS servicemen. Habitually I slipped my Book of Mormon into the breast pocket of my uniform and read it during every available moment. Having studied it in seminary, it meant a lot to me. And even though I can’t carry a tune in a barrel, I liked to sing the hymns in the back of my Principles of the Gospel book when I was alone.

“On October 4, 1951, we were caught under fire in some rice paddies and could almost feel the whiz of shells overhead—they were that close. There were 150 men in our company. We managed to pull into a draw where we waited to advance up a sparsely covered mountain 30 miles from Uijongbu.

“Next day the Air Force laid a smoke screen around that mountain to prepare for our attack. Hearing orders to advance, I started to put my Book of Mormon in the breast pocket of my fatigues, as usual, then instantaneously dropped it into my deep hip pocket and moved out, keeping close to my platoon leader, a first lieutenant.

“We were near the top when the North Koreans stopped us with a volley of grenades. I was knocked out! When I came to, I looked down at my leg. My pants were completely soaked with blood. I spotted the lieutenant lying on the ground nearby—a twitching finger told me he was dead. That one shell got seven of our platoon right there. I was the only live soldier in sight. And I knew I wouldn’t be alive very long if I didn’t clear out. Boy Scout training saved my life. I pulled the towel from under the radio at my neck and put a tourniquet above the gaping wound in my thigh. At that point I didn’t know what had happened, but I did know the shrapnel had hit my thigh and traveled down my leg. Why hadn’t it blown my leg right off?

“My radio wasn’t knocked out. ‘Groucho one! Groucho one!’ I spoke into the set. That was our code. Headquarters responded. I said, ‘Platoon leader KIA. I’m hit. Send a medic. We’re in heavy fire.’

“At last a medic arrived. Removing the tourniquet, he put on a big compress bandage. As he prepared a shot of morphine for the pain, shells again exploded, and he took off. My buddy Harold Wiggint from Minnesota and a Spanish-American buddy found me and dragged me down the mountain. Once my foot was caught in the crotch of a fallen tree. The pain was unbearable. Finally I reached the hospital ship Repose.

“My doctor, from Logan, Utah, was the first LDS man I had found in Korea. Following surgery, he came to my bed and handed me a riddled, blood-soaked Book of Mormon.

“‘This was in your hip pocket. If that shell hadn’t been stopped by this book, it would have taken your leg with it,’ he said.

“‘And in my position, it probably would have gone right through both legs,’ I added.

“‘Could be. It takes tremendous force to go through a book like this,’ he replied.

“I was later sent to a general hospital in Sendi, Japan, where my leg received further treatment from another LDS army physician, Sherman Thorpe from Salt Lake City.

“In my letters home, I hadn’t told Grandma I’d been injured seriously. (Grandma had raised me.) But Dr. Thorpe’s mother lived in Salt Lake City, and she called Grandma, so my secret was exposed. The Church makes this a small world.

“In Japan as soon as I was able to get out of bed, Dr. Thorpe arranged for Church services to be moved to the hospital so I could attend in a wheelchair for the first time since I’d been in Korea. Then when I was well enough to get up and around, he took me into town to church. He was like a father to an 18-year-old soldier.”

Taking the stained, riddled Book of Mormon from my pocket, I let eager class members examine it. I now stood squarely on both my legs—saved by a prompting of the Holy Ghost to put the book in the proper pocket.

One day in August 1989, I was doing my chores when my mother asked me to join her in listening to a message from two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Even though I was only 12 years old, I was interested in what they said. The missionaries asked me to pray about the Book of Mormon and the principles they had taught us. I said I would.
When the sisters returned to give another lesson, my mother had lost interest. But with her permission, I continued to listen to them. The sisters always reminded me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if the things they were teaching me were true. I took this seriously and prayed constantly, but nothing happened.
I attended church twice and liked it very much, but I was still not sure of its truthfulness. I told the sisters I could not be baptized because I had not received an answer of any kind. The sisters merely repeated their invitation to be baptized and asked me to pray with greater fervor.
Again I accepted their challenge and prayed fervently for an entire week. Perhaps because I was so young, I expected to receive a glorious manifestation, such as a dream or a visitation from an angel. Nothing like this happened. Sunday came, and I told myself this was the last time I would go to church.
That day I attended all three meetings, starting with priesthood meeting. Then I went to Gospel Essentials class and finally to sacrament meeting. Right in the middle of sacrament meeting, something indescribably wonderful happened. Something began to burn inside my heart, and I was overcome by a feeling of certainty unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was a simple feeling, but it was clear and sure. It reached deep into my soul and penetrated my whole being. By the end of the meeting, I was a different person. I went to tell the sisters I was ready to be baptized.
I know Heavenly Father hears our prayers when we pray with real intent. He knows us individually, and He knows when the time is right to answer our prayers.

I received a shock when I moved to the Salt Lake Valley a few years ago. At that time I really didn’t know much about the Mormons—I just had a vague notion that they lived “somewhere in the West” and that they had somehow contributed to its development. My interest and knowledge both stopped at that point. I was therefore surprised to find that I had come to live in a whole state full of Mormons!
I suppose my background had a lot to do with my lack of interest in any particular religion. I was born an Episcopalian, but my father died when I was nine, and I then entered a nondenominational orphanage. My experience there left me without preferences for one church over another. I later attended several different churches and found good in all of them.
As time passed in our new home and my wife and I began to realize who and what the Mormons were, I patiently waited for the onslaught of well-meaning Mormons trying to convert me. But the onslaught didn’t come. The Mormons I knew were friendly, but they didn’t press. So I asked questions. But the answers didn’t seem to be quite relevant.
Then one day I met Dick Reisner. He had a fine and beautiful family, and was to be coordinator during a year of training in a new career field. He was an enthusiastic Mormon, and I was impressed. His dedication to his faith was precise and honest. He’d ask me questions good-naturedly to see what I knew about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By this time I knew quite a bit; I had read the early history of the Church and knew generally of its government and beliefs.
The chief obstacle for me concerned the principle of faith. I reasoned that if God could show himself to the sinner Saul on the road to Damascus and speak through a burning bush to Moses, then he could manifest himself to me in a similar way. Once convinced, I would surely be one of God’s strongest defenders and most able architects; but my conversion had to be at least as dramatic as a burning bush.
All too soon my training in Utah was completed and we moved to St. Augustine, Florida.
As time went by, however, we found that we missed Utah—especially the people. We checked the phone book to see if there were any Mormon churches in the area. The closest one listed was 64 kilometers north. We decided we would do without; we didn’t want the Church as much as we did the companionship of the people who made it up.
After one particularly tiring day, I returned from work early to find my wife busy in the kitchen.
“We had some visitors today,” she smiled.
“Really. Who? Salesmen?”
“Yes … a kind of salesmen.
“Who?”
“Two Mormon missionaries.”
“You’re teasing!”
“No. They left a pamphlet. See for yourself. It’s got a telephone number in it.”
“I’m going to call them. I bet that will shock them!”
She laughed. “I called them and invited them over. They told me the branch met in town over at the Odd Fellows Hall. I thought I had misunderstood, but thanked them and hung up.”
The two young men who came to see us offered us six easy lessons over a period of six weeks. Why not listen? We thought to ourselves. It was a small price to pay for the companionship of Mormons. Besides, I had had discussions with some very knowledgeable people.
That Sunday we arose early. In good spirits we turned our efforts to the task of getting four children ready. But we misjudged the time.
“We’re late,” said my wife, as we drove into the parking lot of the Odd Fellows Hall.
“Perhaps,” I said, “it would be better if we waited. We don’t even know which way the congregation is facing. It could be pretty embarrassing to go in and find that they’re all facing us.”
The dilemma was resolved, however, when a pleasant-looking gentleman got out of one of the parked cars and introduced himself as the branch president. Knowing that we might arrive late, he had decided to wait for us.
The children were taken to their particular classes, while we were introduced to the investigators’ class. Our instructor was obviously a learned man and knew his material well. Finding people of his intellect belonging to a church and staunchly professing a belief in God forced me to reassess my own reasoning.
We had a good time that day. Attending church made us feel much closer as a family. And we felt something magnificent, challenging, and rewarding in the simple humility of this branch.
Shortly thereafter I contacted another friend in Utah, Dennis Hill, with whom I had worked. I told him I was now attending his church. He said he was going to send me a book, even though I tried to convince him that I was attending only because I liked the people.
The book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by LeGrand Richards, came after our second visit to the little church. I set it aside to read “sometime later.”
The third Sunday we decided we were too tired to go to church. No one called to ask “Where were you?” and we were disappointed.
But Monday night the telephone rang. It was the missionaries!
“We missed you at church Sunday.”
“Yes, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, we do.” A pause. “We promised you six lessons; we would like to begin them soon.”
“Fine! How about tomorrow night and every Tuesday thereafter?”
That was the beginning of a very fine friendship. The children loved these two young men who exuded faith and happiness.
I cooperated with their attempts to use psychology on me because I felt they needed the practice; however, I had to set the limit when they invited me to offer prayer at the opening and close of these meetings. I was happy to have them or anyone else offer the prayer, but I would have felt hypocritical praying to a God whose existence I wasn’t sure of.
The next Sunday was stake conference in Jacksonville, Florida, and the speaker was to be none other than Elder LeGrand Richards. I grabbed my book and started reading. (If I’m going to listen to a speaker, I want to know as much about him as possible.) When the day came, I managed to sit way up in the balcony where I could hear and see well. This man’s keen mind impressed me; but I was even more moved by his sincerity, conviction, and faith.
The missionary lessons continued, and we began to acquire a better comprehension of what the gospel was all about. About the fourth lesson we began to realize that these missionaries were planning to finish this by inviting us to be baptized.
I won’t do that! I told my wife. “I don’t even trust myself in a thing so simple as prayer. I’m not going to do all of that.” She agreed.
The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.
Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.
The Mormons love their families and I love them for that. As a religious group they are, in fact, a family themselves—with all the love and learning that implies. Yet through it all one fact never changes: they have the gospel of Jesus Christ. A burning bush is not the answer. We have free choice—we can choose a darkness devoid of faith or we can light it brilliantly and forever with our belief. The Mormons believe! And so do I.

“Elder S. Dilworth Young’s article in the February 1976 New Era mentioned a map and a compass. What did they signify?”
Before the “fy” had left the moderator’s lips, three hands flashed into the air.
“Yes, Roger,” said the moderator as the scorekeeper indicated that Roger had been first.
“The map is the revealed word of God, and the compass is the living prophet,” Roger almost gasped.
“That’s correct,” intoned the moderator as a mild rumble among the spectators turned into applause, over which the scorekeeper shouted, “Time’s up!”
“We won, we won!” whispered Roger as he rose to his feet and shook hands with his other three teammates. The girls, Becky and Mary, were only slightly flushed with their victory as they turned to congratulate the other team.
Sister Weston, Roger’s mother, hurried to the front and asked the four to cluster around the trophy as she fiddled with the flash attachment on her camera.
“You never know,” she said, after telling the group to smile. “The New Era itself might be interested in a picture of the seminary regional winners of the New Era Bowl.”