Gospel Story Finder

When my son Michael was six or seven, he did something wrong. He is my only son, and I want him to be better than his dad was. So when he slipped up, I sent him to his room with the instructions, “Don’t you dare come out until I come and get you!”

And then I forgot. Some hours later, as I was watching television, I heard his door open and hesitant footsteps coming down the hall. I slapped my forehead and ran to meet him. There he was with swollen eyes and tears on his cheeks. He looked up at me—not quite sure he should have come out—and said, “Dad, can’t we ever be friends again?” I melted and pulled him to me. He’s my boy, and I love him.

Years later I thought of that moment again. My wife and I were being taught by the missionaries. The missionaries asked me, “Do you believe that you can become like God?” I had never thought about it. But I thought, “If Heavenly Father is actually my Father, He would want the best for me, like my dad did. He would want me to be able to become like Him.” So I said to the missionaries, “Yes, I believe I can be like my Heavenly Father.”
The moment I answered, I knew what I said was true.

David was taught well by his parents, but as a teenage farm boy he desired his own personal witness of the reality of God and His Work.
“One day in my youth I was hunting cattle. While climbing a steep hill, I stopped to let my horse rest, and there, once again, an intense desire came over me to receive a manifestation of the truth of the Restored Gospel. I dismounted, threw my reins over my horse’s head, and there under a serviceberry bush I prayed that God would declare to me the truth of his revelation to Joseph Smith. I am sure that I prayed fervently and sincerely and with as much faith as a young boy could muster.
“At the conclusion of the prayer, I arose from my knees, threw the reins over my faithful pony’s head, and got into the saddle. As I started along the trail again, I remember saying to myself: ‘No spiritual manifestation has come to me. If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.’”
He had learned a great lesson. A young Latter-day Saint does not get conviction merely by asking the Lord, but by combining that asking with work, service, sacrifice, and obedience to God’s commandments.

When my father left for the war, I was almost seven years old. I couldn’t understand why he went—it had something to do with slaves. I thought about him a lot, mostly at night when the fire crackled on the hearth. Mother would sit in her chair, mending or knitting. We didn’t talk much in the evenings, but I knew she was thinking about him too.
Sometimes I tried to remember what he looked like. I knew he had black hair and strong, thick eyebrows, but maybe that’s because of his picture on the mantel. One thing I remembered for sure was picking plums together.
The meadow had high grass and as soon as we reached the trees, he’d swing me up onto his shoulders. When I think about it really hard, I can still feel his strong hands clasped around my ankles, balancing me. He never dropped me, and I felt safe and really tall up there.
“Pick the juicy ones, Tyler,” he’d laugh. “Make sure they’re firm.”
I’d stretch higher with one hand on his head, jiggling. I’d grab a plum, pull, and then throw it down into mother’s outstretched apron. She’d catch it and laugh. Those were happy times.
Now, after four years, a father I could barely remember was coming home.
It was a bright, sunny morning and I knelt on the soft brown dirt, thinning carrots. Mother was at the washtub behind the house. I pulled a carrot from the ground and drew it through my hand, rubbing off the loose soil. Then I plopped it into a willow basket beside me. Beads of sweat rolled down my face, so I paused to push back my hair.
I glanced once toward the road … then looked again. Can it be my imagination? I wondered. Nowadays hardly anyone comes along our road. I cautiously picked up the basket and, without taking my eyes off the road, headed for the house.
“Mother,” I said quietly. “Someone is coming.” I placed the basket on the bench by the table and nodded toward the road.
She swept her hand across her forehead and placed the other on my shoulder. As the figure drew nearer, she shielded her eyes and squinted into the sun. “Tyler,” she said, “get the rifle.”
I ran into the other room and lifted the rifle down from its place over the fireplace. Mother removed her apron and smoothed her hair. Carefully, I loaded the gun while she went to the window.
“It could be friend or foe,” she said quietly. “These are hard times. Show the rifle, Tyler, but don’t shoot unless need be.”
We walked to the door and my hands began to sweat against the wooden stock of the rifle. I wiped them on my trousers as we stepped out onto the porch. Whoever it was walked with the aid of crutches, and one pant leg was pinned up.
“He’s crippled,” Mother whispered. “Still, be on your guard.”
My heart pounded wildly. The cripple hobbled closer and at last paused at our gate. He stood panting with his head down, and his tattered blue uniform heaved with every gasp for air. Slowly Mother and I walked toward the gate. As we did so, the man raised his head. Tears were streaming down his dust-covered cheeks, and a weary smile lighted his face.
Mother suddenly gasped, then, with a deep sob, she rushed into the man’s outstretched arms. He rocked back and forth on the crutches as they swayed in a close embrace. My mouth dropped open and my grip relaxed as I lowered the heavy rifle to arm’s length.
Mother turned toward me and held out an arm. “Come, Tyler, your father’s home.”
Later that night Father sat in the chair by the fireplace, and Mother sat on a stool near his side. I curled up against the side of the mantelpiece, where I watched him from the shadows. Father’s hair was sprinkled with streaks of silver, and his face was like the rest of him—thin and shrunken. I couldn’t imagine how he had ever been able to swing me up onto his shoulders. And though I am ashamed to admit it, I almost wished he hadn’t come back. I excused myself early and left them to each other.
The following day I went about my usual chores. How can someone have changed so much! I wondered incredulously. Mother and I have gotten along well without him. Now he’s back with crutches and shoulders that droop like an old man’s. I kicked at a clump of dirt and looked up to see him swinging toward me across the grass. He was smiling, palely, weakly.
“Morning, Tyler,” he called.
“Morning, sir,” I mumbled.
He took a deep breath. “You’ve done well,” he said and nodded approval as he surveyed the plot with a sweeping glance. “Now that I’m home, we can grow more.”
I glanced up at him with blazing eyes. A one-legged planter! I thought.
He smiled as he eased himself down onto a fallen log. “Come on, son, sit here. Let’s talk. You and your mother have had a rough time while I was gone. For that, I’m sorry, son,” he began quietly. “Perhaps you don’t understand why I had to leave, but sometimes you have to stand up for what you know is right. Sometimes you have to fight. A lot of men lost their lives; I only lost a leg.” He patted the stump of his leg. “I was lucky. And I’m home now, Tyler. Can’t we be as we were?”
“I don’t even know you anymore!” I replied harshly. “Why did you leave us?”
“To fight for freedom, Tyler.”
“We were free!” I insisted.
“Only when all are free can any be. There were slaves, Tyler—whole families who were owned by other people. No one has the right to own another person. God made us all free, and if we don’t stand up for our brother’s freedom, how can we ever expect him to stand up for ours?”
“You’re not much good at standing now!” I lashed out. Then I saw the hurt in his eyes. I was sorry I had spoken so quickly and without feeling. “Father,” I began.
But he touched my arm and smiled. “It’s all right, Tyler. I know you resent how I look and what I’ve become. It was hard coming home like this, but I am your father and I love you very much. Please try to see beyond what I lack and look instead at what I want to be.”
My chin quivered and I turned abruptly to bury my face in his shoulder. “I do love you, Father,” I sobbed. “And I’m glad you’ve come home.”
“I’m glad too, Tyler. I was away a long time. But my love never changed,” he said.
We sat quietly talking, then Mother called, and he reached for his crutches.
“Here, Father,” I offered, “let me help you.”

“It was wonderful to love a dog so much,” I sighed. “But it was risky. Same as with loving people,” I decided. “Just look at Mrs. Fielding.”

Mrs. Fielding had a grown-up son who was flying home from Vietnam when his plane crashed and burned. They never even found him.

The morning after the accident a bunch of us boys were playing basketball in our backyard. I was on Tom’s team and the score was 14 to 12, our favor, which was pretty good since Kent was half of me. “Let him play guard along side me,” I said. So that’s the way it went—with Kent giggling and getting underfoot.

When Mother came out to say that she was going to the Fieldings I asked if I could go. That’s one thing Tom still can’t figure out about me. Even though I’m not so clumsy now when it comes to sports, I can take them or leave them. That day I left them.

Mrs. Fielding was worse off than I had been when Joey died. Being there made me remember how it had been after my dad and I had buried him and Mother had tucked me into bed. “There’s no such thing as Joey,” I sobbed over and over into my pillow.

Of course, I know better than that now. Scott said he was sure that a dog as good as Joey would go straight to paradise, and that sounds reasonable to me. That’s where Mrs. Fielding’s grown-up boy is too. I told her so one day after we got to be friends.

“You are a remarkable young man,” she said, sounding just like Mother. It was summer, and we were siting out on her patio. I knew that once in a while she liked me to come to drink lemonade or play with Stormy, her big German shepherd. And I liked being there.

Sometimes she’d show me scrapbooks of when she was young and pictures of her children and grandchildren and her Mr. Fielding who had died. Sometimes I’d read her one of my stories. Then she’d laugh and fuss over me, “Oh the happy, carefree days of youth!” she’d beam, “Happy, carefree days,” she’d say again, making the day seem happier and freer than ever.

Everything she said to me seemed strong and right, maybe because I’d seen pictures of her life when she was young and then a little older and then old. Maybe it was that I knew that Mrs. Fielding had healed a hundred hurts. Anyway, to me one of her sentences was worth a dozen of somebody elses.

Before she moved away to live near her youngest daughter, I finally told her about Joey’s accident. “You’re lucky to be alive,” was all she said. Not a word about my dog.

But that one sentence zinged across my mind, clear and moving and full of sunlight. “It’s true! It’s true!” something sang to my soul. “I am lucky to be alive.” And just for a second there, I could feel myself stretching across the years. And I thought, someday I’ll be old like Mrs. Fielding. And on some summer afternoon or winter evening I’ll remember these carefree days. Then I will smile and whisper, “There’s such a thing as Joey.”

In the early days of the Church in Mexico, two faithful leaders who were disciples of Christ became martyrs because of their belief. The two whose lives were taken were Rafael Monroy and Vicente Morales.

During the Mexican Revolution, Rafael Monroy was the president of the small San Marcos Mexico Branch, and Vicente Morales was his first counselor. On July 17, 1915, they were apprehended by the Zapatistas. They were told they would be spared if they would give up their weapons and renounce their strange religion. Brother Monroy told his captors that he did not have any weapons and simply drew from his pocket his Bible and Book of Mormon. He said, “Gentlemen, these are the only arms I ever carry; they are the arms of truth against error.”

When no arms were found, the brethren were cruelly tortured to make them divulge where arms were hidden. But there were no arms. They were then taken under guard to the outskirts of the little town, where their captors stood them up by a large ash tree in front of a firing squad. The officer in charge offered them freedom if they would forsake their religion and join the Zapatistas, but Brother Monroy replied, “My religion is dearer to me than my life, and I cannot forsake it.”

They were then told that they were to be shot and asked if they had any request to make. Brother Rafael requested that he be permitted to pray before he was executed. There, in the presence of his executioners, he kneeled down and, in a voice that all could hear, prayed that God would bless and protect his loved ones and care for the little struggling branch that would be left without a leader. As he finished his prayer, he used the words of the Savior when He hung upon the cross and prayed for his executioners: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” With that the firing squad shot both Brother Monroy and Brother Morales.

It wasn’t until the end of my eighth grade year that I realized I was very different from my classmates and even my best friends, who were nonmembers. I was faced with a situation that really bothered me. In class we were debating some controversial topics, including abortion. When I shared my thoughts, I was surprised to see my moral values ripped to pieces. Something I feel is so precious—physical intimacy, something that should be reserved for marriage—was simply a fun pastime to other people. I walked out of the classroom that day knowing that things were going to be very different.

In the same class, I was faced with another moment that would force me to act on all of the things I had been taught since Primary. My teacher was in the front of the class, talking about a snippet of a movie we were about to watch. Some of my classmates suggested that we watch the whole movie. My teacher shook her head and nonchalantly explained that she couldn’t because the movie had a mature rating. I was stunned when I first heard this. I never thought this would happen.

I sat in my chair, thinking about what I should do. A thought kept coming into my head: We have been asked not to watch offensive movies. I tried to rationalize that because I was in school, the part of the movie we were going to watch would be appropriate. But the thought of not watching offensive movies trumped my rationalizations.

I calmly raised my hand, and in front of my whole class, I asked to sit outside of class while the movie played. I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I pushed in my chair and grabbed my book. I saw the looks on their faces; they simply didn’t understand.

While sitting in the hallway, I felt very happy. I knew I had done the right thing, no matter what my peers or teacher said. I felt stronger too. I knew I didn’t have to watch an inappropriate movie clip just because my teacher had presented it to us.

Since then, I have often thought about the Mormonad hanging up in my room. It reads, “Adversity Can Make You Strong.” I believe that when we are faced with moments of adversity and we stand up to them, we are made stronger than if we had sat down and let them happen.

This is an inner strength that is found through our Savior. If we look to Him in our times of difficulty, we will be made strong. Our faith in Him can help us face adversity unashamed. We must “be strong and of a good courage” (Joshua 1:9) and look to our Heavenly Father and our Savior for everything; with all that, our adversities will make us stronger.

A few weeks ago while in England, I had the opportunity to do some traveling by train. Weather and time schedules indicated this to be the most satisfactory method of transportation.
One day as the train rolled from Manchester to Leicester, after about an hour and a half of reading, I put down my books, looked out the window, and wondered if we were getting close to the station. A few minutes later the door to the compartment opened and the conductor entered. He greeted me with, “What is your destination?”
Inasmuch as I had been giving some thought to arrivals, departures, and stops, I answered, “I have an appointment in Leicester.”
To this he responded with, “We shall be at your destination in ten minutes.” He punched my ticket and made his way to check others.
After he left, I pondered his comments, “What is your destination?” and “We shall be at your destination in ten minutes.” He seemed convinced that every time the train stopped and dozens or hundreds of people got off, they had arrived at their destinations. Apparently he has been announcing this to his passengers for years.
However, I knew, despite his comments, that I needed to be in Leicester for two days for quarterly stake conference sessions but that it was not my destination. Stops in other English cities were not my destinations either. They were all assignments along the way. I had not arrived when I reached any of them.
As a result of this experience on the train, and having given this thought some consideration over the years, I am concerned that many of us are confused in our life’s travels with destinations, arrivals, stops, calls, stations, and assignments. It appears to me that some of us may be lost today because we think we have arrived.

When our eldest daughter was to be married to a fine Latter-day Saint boy the two mothers were in the corner of the room talking to each other, and the mother of our oldest daughter said, “You know, from the time my little girl was born, I have been praying all my life that somewhere a mother would be preparing a son worthy to marry my daughter.” And this other mother smiled and said, “Isn’t that strange? This is my only son who is being married to your daughter, and ever since he was born, I, too, have been praying that somewhere there would be a mother preparing a daughter worthy to meet and to marry my son.”
It is that kind of home attention—mothers preparing daughters, fathers and mothers, sons—that will make us and our homes stronger today.
President Harold B. LeeConference Report, October 1964, p. 86.

I am a footballer [soccer player]. At football practice, my coach has us do lots of endurance tests and exercises. I feel good when I set goals and reach them.
I made a spiritual goal to stay awake when I say my prayers at night. I used to lie down in my bed while I prayed, but now I sit up or kneel down. I also try to change up what I say in my prayer and not just repeat the same things. This new goal has helped me feel better at night because I actually complete the prayers!

I remember an experience with a new missionary companion. During the first days I thought that I knew better than he did. When we intended to have a talk together, he asked me to say a prayer. I vividly remember at the very start of the prayer this feeling of peace and love nearly overwhelming me and I heard myself say how sorry I was for being so arrogant and unkind and I asked forgiveness from my companion. This changed our whole companionship. I do not exactly know which gift I received, but I cherished it as a tender mercy from God.

When I was 21, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were teaching English classes in my area of Russia. I initially attended for the language lessons, but I soon began to stay longer for the spiritual thoughts the elders shared after class and to ask them questions.
I had been raised in the predominant religion of my country, but I had lots of unanswered religious questions. The missionaries and the members of their Church had answers to questions that no one in the past had been able to provide to my satisfaction.
Feeling particularly bold after one English class, I asked the missionaries for a copy of their book, the Book of Mormon. But when I got home, I placed it unread on a shelf.
It didn’t stay there long, however. I’d heard members of the Church who attended the English class say that the scriptures had solutions to problems. So when I encountered personal challenges or problems, I pulled the Book of Mormon off the shelf and began to read. Invariably, I found answers—the kind of answers that told me exactly what I needed to know.
At that point I began to feel that I could not live without the Church. It was where I wanted to be. It was where I felt I belonged.
Still, I wanted to be sure by asking God. The problem was that I lived in a small one-room apartment that I shared with my landlord, an elderly woman, and there was no private place for me to pray. But one evening I slipped by myself into the kitchen—slightly separated from the rest of our home—and asked Heavenly Father if the Church was true. I received such a strong feeling in response that I knew what I needed to do.
I was baptized a short while later, and my time as a member of the Church has been the happiest of my life. Where before I had questions, now I have answers. Where before I felt empty, now I feel full.
I am grateful that Heavenly Father has not left us without answers. I know that He will speak to us, both through prayer and through the scriptures.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Sister Andrus opened the classroom window to let in the fresh spring air. On a soft breeze came the smell of lilacs and the song of robins.
After Sarah gave the opening prayer, Sister Andrus announced, “Today we are going on a treasure hunt.”
There were gasps of joy from everyone. “Please can we go outside?” Ashley asked, looking longingly at the blue sky through the window.
“Yes, indeed,” Sister Andrus said with a smile. “How could we stay indoors on a day like today!”
“What is the treasure?” Tony wanted to know.
“Actually, there are many treasures—treasures from Heavenly Father,” Sister Andrus told the class. “They will be somewhere outside. I want each of you to search carefully until you think you’ve found one. Then we’ll come back inside and share our discoveries. But remember,” she cautioned, “this is not a time to run and be noisy. You will need to look quickly and quietly. You have only five to ten minutes to find a treasure. Let’s go.”
With shining eyes, the children hushed each other as they tiptoed after the teacher down the hallway, through the heavy glass door, and into the bright sunshine.
Once outside, all the children scattered and began to search under rocks and behind bushes for treasures. All, that is, except Joey, who stretched out on the grass, put one hand behind his head, and smiled as he watched the clouds floating by.
Soon Sister Andrus called the children to line up. Back they went through the glass door, down the hallway, and into their classroom.
As soon as they entered the classroom, everyone wanted to talk at once. Sister Andrus had to quiet the excited children. “I’m sure you’re all eager to share your discoveries with us, but we must take turns so that everyone can be heard. Aaron, why don’t you go first? What treasure did you find?”
Aaron dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a large rock, which he put on the table with a thump. “I found it by the parking lot,” he said. “It has glitter in it.”
The teacher held it up in the light. “It’s beautiful, Aaron. It sparkles like a jewel. You have good eyes to have found this treasure.”
Aaron smiled shyly.
Next was Jenny’s turn. She opened her hand to reveal a clump of grass. “Smell it,” she urged everyone as she held it under each one’s nose.
“Oh, I just love the smell of fresh-cut grass,” said Sister Andrus, sniffing. Jenny nodded. “I like to walk on it barefoot.”
“Soft, green grass is a treasure,” their teacher said.
“Sister Andrus, I found something that smells good, too,” said Ashley, “but I didn’t think I should pick them—the pretty purple flowers on the tree in the corner.”
“Lilacs!” Sister Andrus clapped her hands together. “You were right not to pick them, Ashley. But they and all flowers truly are a treasure.”
Tony raised his hand. “But flowers can’t walk,” he pointed out. “I found a bug outside. It landed on my nose. I just watched it till it flew away.”
“I’m glad you were careful not to hurt it, Tony,” the teacher praised him.
“But, Teacher, isn’t a bug a greater treasure than a rock or grass or a flower?” Tony asked.
“And isn’t a bird a greater treasure than a bug?” Chad piped up. “That’s the treasure I found. A bird can fly and sing, and it eats bugs.”
“Teacher! Teacher!” Sarah was jumping up and down waving her hand. “I think Heavenly Father’s greatest treasure is the sun. Without sunlight there wouldn’t be any plants or animals.”
“That’s true, Sarah. The sun is a necessary treasure,” Sister Andrus said. “Who would’ve guessed there were so many treasures right outside our classroom?” She turned to Joey. “You’ve been very quiet, Joey. Did you find a treasure when you went outside today?”
He shrugged. “I guess I was too busy enjoying everything outside to look for just one treasure.”
Sister Andrus patted him on the knee. “That’s fine, Joey. Class,” she announced, “I think that in a way, Joey not only found many treasures, but he also knew what to do with them.”
“He did?” the other children said.
“Yes, he did,” Sister Andrus repeated. “Who created all these miracles we’ve talked about today?”
“I know.” Jenny raised her hand. “Jesus did.”
“That’s right—Jesus did under Heavenly Father’s direction. And why did he create all these wonderful things?”
“For us?” Tony guessed.
“For you, Tony, and for me, and for all of us to take care of—and appreciate. That’s what Joey was doing—appreciating them.
“And,” she went on, “while it’s important to appreciate these—and all the treasures Jesus has given us—it’s even more important to know that as his children, if we learn about the treasures he gives to us, and about him, and obey his commandments, we can become like him. We can someday become Creators, too, and have eternal life, which is the greatest of all his treasures to us.”

I think of such a man I once knew, not a member of the Church. He was a graduate of a great university. His potential was unlimited. As a young man with an excellent education and a tremendous opportunity, he dreamed of the stars and moved in their direction. In the company that employed him in those early years, he was promoted from one responsibility to another, each with improved opportunity over the last. Before many years passed, he was in the top echelon of his company. But those promotions brought him into the cocktail circuit. He could not handle it, as so many others cannot. He became an alcoholic, the victim of an appetite he could not control. He sought help but was too proud to discipline himself in the regimen imposed upon him by those who tried to assist him.

He went down like a falling star, tragically burning out and disappearing in the night. I made inquiry of one friend after another, and finally learned the truth of his tragic end. He, who had begun with such high aim and impressive talent, had died on skid row in one of our large cities. Like Peter of old, he had felt certain of his strength and of his capacity to live up to his potential. But he had denied that capacity; and I am confident that as the shadows of his failure closed around him, again like Peter, he must have gone out and wept bitterly.

The morning rain tapped lightly on the roof of the van, then danced into tiny rivers down a fogged windshield. I waited in the backseat with my books on the floor, trying to warm my fingers with my breath. After early-morning seminary, our teacher would usually offer to drive some of us to school if we couldn’t find a ride.
Sarah sat next to me in the backseat, filing her nails. The sweet smell of bubble gum filled the air as she unwrapped a piece and began to chew. Wendy Turner was up front, and we all sat in silence as we waited for our teacher to finish in the classroom.
Then Sarah snapped her gum loudly and started a sudden burst of words.
“You know,” she blurted, still smacking, “seminary is such a waste of time. I mean it’s just such a drag!”
I didn’t say a word as I looked in her direction. I guess it took me by surprise, and I really wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s just that we have to get up so early, and for what?” She continued, “Just to hear someone preach at us for an hour before we go to school. It’s not like church isn’t already long enough on Sundays. Why should we have to torture ourselves through the week too?”
It’s not really a torture, I thought to myself. But I still wasn’t sure of what to say. Then just when I started to get a grip on what was going on, she added something else that really threw me for a loop.
“Besides, the Church isn’t really true anyway—only a total fool would actually believe that stuff!”
For the first time in my life, I really started to think about what I believed. Did I believe that the Church was true?
My parents had been converted when I was six years old, and the Church had been part of our lives ever since. My parents had taught me that it was true, and I could tell by their actions that they really believed it. But what about me? What did I believe? I guess when it came to the Church, I was just “along for the ride.” I had been baptized when I was eight years old, I had finished Primary, I held the Aaronic Priesthood, and I went to all my meetings and Young Men activities. But what did I really believe in my heart? I didn’t know.
Wendy finally spoke from the front seat. “I believe it is all true. I believe it is because I found out for myself, and I know it is in my heart—and that’s enough for me.”
Those words really impressed me—“I believe because I found out for myself.” I remember wondering how she found out for herself, but I didn’t ask. In fact, I didn’t say one word the entire ride to school. What do I really believe? I kept asking myself.
Time moved on, and soon my family moved to New Hampshire. We were no longer part of a large ward or an overflowing stake, but now members of a tiny branch which spread over several small towns. We soon discovered that my sisters and I were the only LDS youth in our town. I really had to cling to what the Church taught. I found myself defending it many times, but in my heart the question still lingered.
Was this what I really believed? I still couldn’t come up with the answer, and the question wouldn’t leave. It just kept getting bigger and more urgent. I had to find out for myself, but I didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The years passed by, and finally graduation was around the corner. It would soon be time to take the next step—serving a mission. Going on a mission seemed to fill every conversation I had with my parents, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I should go. How could I teach people the gospel if I didn’t know for myself if it “I believe because I found out for myself.”
It was time to stop living off of “borrowed light.” I was determined to find out.
I didn’t know where to start, but I decided the Book of Mormon would be a good place. I started to study it, not just read it. I also decided to study it prayerfully. While I was doing this, I realized that I hadn’t been having personal prayers very regularly. I also realized that this was the first time I had honestly studied the scriptures. Maybe the reason I didn’t know if the Church was really true was that I had never prayerfully tried to find out.
I kept a list of questions I had about the Church in the cover of my Book of Mormon. At nights I made an effort to pray about a certain question, and quite often I would find the answer to that very question as I read. This happened too often to be just a coincidence. My prayers were actually being answered, and every time a prayer would be answered, it gave me a deeper incentive to continue in my investigation.
I finished the Book of Mormon and started on the New Testament. I had seen books like A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and Jesus the Christ sitting on my parents’ bookshelves, and now I had an intense desire to learn what they had to say. I didn’t really read anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for the first time, I understood it. As I continued in my study and prayers, a strong testimony began to grow within me, and sometimes when I prayed, a warm feeling would overcome me entirely. I soon learned that the Holy Ghost was real.
I noticed one night that every question I had written on the list had been crossed out. Although it hadn’t happened all at once, my questions had been answered—every one of them.
Then I realized I knew that the Church was true. I knew it was true, not because my parents had told me it was true, not because the leaders of the Church had told me it was true, but because I had found out for myself.
The New Era is adding a department called “How I Know.” It will include short articles from our readers about how they learned the Church was true or how they learned to recognize answers to their prayers. If you have an experience that you’d like to share with other readers, please send it to the New Era, 50 East North Temple, Salt Lake City, Utah, 84150.

It seemed like the bell would never ring. Why does the day that Grandfather comes always seem like the longest day of the year? Alma wondered. And when will—
The clanging schoolbell interrupted Alma’s thoughts, and he quickly ran out of the classroom.
“Alma Cutler, slow down!” his teacher Miss Young called after him.
Alma barely heard her. He just had to get home in a hurry today. Grandfather was coming to visit!
Alma tripped over a rock in the dirt road and fell head over heels. His school books and papers were scattered everywhere. He jumped up and gathered his books and papers into a bunch and continued running. “Why does everything have to slow me down the day Grandfather comes?” he said to no one in particular.
As Alma ran into the kitchen where his mother was baking bread, he went so fast that he couldn’t stop, and he crashed into the table, sending the baking flour flying like a cloud into the air.
“Alma Cutler! What on earth’s wrong with you?” his mother scolded, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I’m just excited to see Grandfather,” Alma replied. “Where is he?”
“He and your father haven’t come from the railroad station yet. Now get yourself out of my kitchen and go and gather the eggs.”
Alma hurried to the chicken coop to gather the eggs. He was proud that he didn’t break any, since everything else had gone wrong. But then when he went to get some chicken feed, he leaned too far over the grain barrel, and it fell over. Alma tried to scoop up the grain, but the chickens were eager to get to the spilled feed and scrambled all over him. He had a terrible time.
Once out of the chicken coop, Alma ran back to the house and yelled, “Is Grandfather here yet?”
“Not yet,” his mother answered.
Alma sat down on an old tree stump outside the kitchen window and picked some chicken feathers off his pants. “How come Grandfather’s not on time?” he grumbled.
“Good heavens, child!” his mother said. “Finish your work and stop worrying about when your grandfather will be here. He’ll get here when he gets here.”
Alma got up and kicked at some weeds. He couldn’t understand why he was the only one who got excited when Grandfather came.
At the side of the house, Alma picked up a bucket of potato peelings and vegetable tops to feed the pigs. When he got to the pigpen, Alma used all his strength to lift the bucket up on to the fence but he wasn’t careful where he put his feet. Suddenly he slipped and fell against the fence, and some of the messy mixture spilled on him. Alma was sure the pigs were laughing at him.
Alma put the bucket away and walked back into the house. Before he could ask about Grandfather, his mother sniffed the air and groaned, “Alma, did you have to play with the pigs? Now get yourself cleaned up before your grandfather comes.”
Alma went to his room and took off his dirty clothes and began to wash himself. He was scrubbing his face when he heard his mother calling out a greeting. “Grandfather’s here!” Alma shouted, letting the soapy water run into his eyes. “Ow!” he yelled, and he quickly rinsed the soap from his eyes.
As soon as he had put on clean clothes, Alma ran to the kitchen. Just before he got there, he heard his mother say, “I’m telling you, Father, I just don’t know what happens to the boy when he knows you’re coming. He complains all day long, wondering when you’ll get here, and he can’t do anything without it going wrong.”
Alma blushed, and he wanted to hide, but there was Grandfather coming out of the kitchen. “There you are, Alma! How’s my favorite grandson?”
“I didn’t mean to complain, Grandfather,” Alma said. “I just wanted you to get here faster.”
“You heard what your mother said, didn’t you?” his grandfather asked.
“I didn’t mean to,” Alma told him, “but—”
“Now, don’t you worry,” Grandfather said. “Come and sit down next to me and let me tell you a story that taught me a lesson about complaining.
“You see, Alma, complaining about being thirsty didn’t get us to the water hole any sooner.”
Alma looked up at his grandfather and saw a smile in the old man’s eyes. The next time Grandfather comes, Alma thought, I’ll be just like Hunkup. I won’t want Grandfather to be here until he comes.

When I was six years old, my family moved to a new house in our hometown of Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. On the day we moved in, we were tired and thirsty. My older brother took me into the kitchen to get me a glass of water, but the utilities had not been turned on yet.
We didn’t know what to do. It was late, and we didn’t know anyone. Just then, someone knocked on the door. It turned out to be a pleasant and smiling older lady. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said. “I’m your neighbor, Tenchita. I thought you probably didn’t have any water, so I brought you some lemonade and bread.”
I was so happy to see the lemonade that I smiled a huge smile. A few days later, Tenchita invited us to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and gave us a copy of the Book of Mormon.
We soon took the missionary discussions, and three months later the elders challenged us to be baptized. My five older siblings accepted the challenge, but my parents didn’t feel ready. They continued to attend church, however, and they and I were baptized and confirmed two years later, when I was eight.
I was young, but I could see the changes the gospel of Jesus Christ made in our family. Like all families, we had our problems, but communication and harmony increased in our home, and we trusted that solutions would come because of the teachings we received in the true Church. We were grateful that Tenchita had introduced us to the gospel, but she soon moved, and we didn’t hear from her again.
Thirteen years later, my family was sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple, and I decided to serve a mission. In my first area in the Guatemala Guatemala City South Mission, we often visited members who were ill or less active. One day the bishop asked us to visit an elderly sister who was sick and couldn’t leave her home. He told us that this sister’s favorite drink was lemonade.
When my companion and I arrived at the house, the sister was ill in bed, but I recognized her immediately and gave her a big hug. Sister Tenchita didn’t know me at first, but after we had talked for a while, her eyes shone in recognition. She smiled and said, “I brought you lemonade and bread.”
I thanked her for also bringing me the gospel and making it possible for me to serve a mission.
Giving a glass of lemonade and a loaf of bread is easy and inexpensive, but giving them the way Sister Tenchita did—with affection and concern for our eternal welfare—truly made them valuable. She changed my life and the lives of members of my family. Likewise, we can all change people’s lives by helping them find their way to the “living water” and the “bread of life” (John 4:10; 6:48).
Today my family and I don’t share just lemonade and bread with our neighbors; we also share the true gospel of Jesus Christ.

“We walked the last half of the journey to Atexcac; it usually took an hour and a half when we were feeling well and two or more when we weren’t. On our arrival the people usually asked if we were tired. One Sunday they asked, and we said, ‘Not really,’ and so in sacrament meeting they gave talks on the body being a temple, and how the Word of Wisdom helped us from being tired. We made sure we weren’t tired from then on.”
Shirl Lee RoperCrownpoint, New Mexico

When President Russell M. Nelson spoke about using the correct name of the Church, his message was very clear to me: “It is the command of the Lord. … To remove the Lord’s name from the Lord’s Church is a major victory for Satan” (“The Correct Name of the Church,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 87, 88]).
Committed to using the Church’s full name, I waited for the next opportunity to claim my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sure enough, that opportunity came. “You Mormons are such kind people,” someone told me.
“Well, thank you,” I answered. “As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe we’re all brothers and sisters.” Then the conversation continued with him and everyone else talking about the kindness of “Mormons.”
Although I had done my part in saying the full name of the Church, my friends and associates still viewed me as part of the “Mormon Church” and not necessarily as a follower of Christ, let alone as a member of Christ’s restored Church.
Over the next several interactions about my faith, I found it awkward to say the full name of the Church multiple times in the same conversation. Everyone I spoke to seemed to give me odd expressions. And they continued to use the term “Mormons.”
I wanted to make my interactions feel more natural. But this turned out to be more difficult than I expected, particularly with individuals I didn’t want to offend. I didn’t want to be embarrassed or lazy about living my faith, but I also didn’t want to come across as harsh, since many of these people had previously called me “Mormon,” with me accepting it. I also heard many members of the Church still calling members of the Church “Mormons.”
I found myself asking whether using the full name of the Church was really that important in the grand scheme of things. The “Mormon” brand, after all, is quite positive in the minds of many people—being a “Mormon” had often been an asset to me. But in revisiting President Nelson’s talk, I was impressed that this really is that important, even if it did cause some awkwardness in conversation. So I recommitted myself.
One day I was visiting a friend at a church of another faith. Someone came up to me and with a bright smile asked if I was a Mormon. “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said.
He started asking me several questions, each beginning with: “Does the Mormon Church believe … ?”
And each time, I began my answer with the phrase: “In the restored Church of Jesus Christ, we believe …”
This banter went back and forth several times. When he noticed that I wasn’t accepting the title “Mormon,” he asked me point-blank, “Are you not Mormon?”
So I asked him if he knew who Mormon was—he didn’t. I told him that Mormon was a prophet, a historian, and a military general in the ancient Americas. I am honored to be associated with a man who was so dedicated to the service of God and others.
“But,” I continued, “Mormon didn’t die for my sins. Jesus Christ is my God and my Savior. He is my Redeemer. And it is by His name that I want to be known at the last day, and it’s by His name that I hope to be known today.”
I felt the assurance of the Spirit supporting me in this short testimony to my new acquaintance. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So, you’re a Christian?”
“Yes, I’m a Christian,” I responded, “and a member of Christ’s restored Church.”
Seeking to follow the instruction of the prophet seemed simple, but it turned out to take more effort than I expected. I’m still not perfect at following everything I’m asked to do, but I make sure to use the full name of the Church.
I’m grateful for the Spirit that I feel when I get to testify to others about my Savior and my membership in His Church.

I am extremely grateful for these glorious truths—what we call the Father’s plan of salvation, His plan of mercy, or His great plan of happiness. Learning these important truths has helped me know my true identity and the great blessings of exaltation and eternal life God has prepared for us. The prophet Nephi taught us the way: “Wherefore, … feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.” He added, “If ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do.” Today I would like to share how the words of Christ and the Holy Ghost helped me find these important peace-giving truths in my teenage years.

Just like Nephi stated in the opening verse of the book of 1 Nephi, I was also “born of goodly parents.” I grew up in Nagano, Japan, in a home where honesty, diligence, and humility were strongly encouraged and conformity to the old customs was strictly followed. My father was a very religious man. I watched him praying in front of the Shinto and Buddhist altars every morning and every night. Even though I had no idea whom he was praying to and what he was praying for, I believed some sort of unseen power or God would be “mighty to save” or help us if we prayed sincerely.

Like other teenagers, I experienced many hardships. I struggled, thinking that life was unfair and had lots of ups and downs. I felt lost, not having a sense of direction in my life. Life seemed so fleeting because it would end when I died. Life without knowing the plan of salvation was confusing.

Not long after I started to learn English in junior high school, all the students in our school received a copy of the New Testament. Though we had barely begun our study of English, our teacher told us we should study English by reading it. I opened it and reviewed its contents. The words in the New Testament were extremely difficult for me. The words in Japanese were equally difficult. However, I was drawn to a list of statements and questions of the soul that had been included just before the biblical text in this Gideon Bible—questions about feeling lonely, lacking confidence, being confused, facing life’s trials, and so on. Each item on the list was followed by a reference to verses and pages in the New Testament. I was especially drawn to the statement “When you are weary.” The reference led me to open Matthew 11:28–30, in which Jesus said to His disciples:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
This was the first time I remember reading the words of Jesus Christ. Though I did not understand all the words He said, His words comforted me, lifted my soul, and gave me hope. The more I read His words, the more I felt like I should try the virtue of His words. I had never felt like I felt that day. I felt I was loved. I felt that Jesus Christ was someone I knew.
As I continued studying, I felt as though He were speaking directly to me when He said, “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.”
His words filled my heart, even though I could not describe my feelings well at that time. Although Jesus Christ lived many centuries ago in a land unfamiliar to me, I thought I could trust His words with all my heart. I hoped someday in the future I might learn more about Jesus Christ.
That someday came only a few years later. I met very dedicated, young, full-time missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And I soon met a small group of kind and joyful Latter-day Saints striving to follow Jesus Christ. Despite it taking me a while to fully trust them, I came to see in the restored gospel what I yearned for when I studied the New Testament—the words of Jesus Christ and the hope and peace that come from them.