Gospel Story Finder

Just this week we received a letter from a mother telling of her Navy son, now stationed on a small island 1,200 miles south of India out in the Indian Ocean. It has only the military base and a small coconut plantation. This young man has located six other LDS boys and they are now holding regular Church services. He wrote his mother telling of his opportunity now to prepare lessons for their priesthood meetings—young men on a tiny speck of land in a vast ocean recognizing and using their priesthood authority. They are different.

I’ll never be able to last the whole two years, thought Suzanne, as she rested her head against the old seawall. She often came here when homesickness overwhelmed her, to dream of home and to look out over the blue water of the Gulf of Aegina.
Suddenly she heard a sound coming from the other side of the wall. Someone was crying. She stood up, and there on the other side of the wall was Katia, her arms hugging her knees. Suzanne had seen her every day in their class at the American school in Athens, Greece, but had never spoken to her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
Startled, the girl stood up and then recognized Suzanne. “I’m sorry you’ve seen me this way. I do not often cry,” she said, brushing away her tears.
“Please,” said Suzanne, “tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want me to.”
“It was the test today. I saw everyone writing and writing. My mind would not work. I am very stupid.” Katia began to cry again.
“Someone who speaks English as well as you is not stupid,” said Suzanne.
As the girls talked, Suzanne learned that Katia was from the island of Hydra and had never been away from home before. All the city girls seemed to be smarter and wealthier than the island people she had always known.
“My people are only fishermen,” Katia explained. “It was a sacrifice for them to send me here. I thought I could win the big scholarship and go to study in America, but now I know I never will.”
“Well, don’t give up so easily. You have lots more time to study,” Suzanne comforted.
“It will not help,” insisted Katia. “I have made a big mistake to come here.”
“I feel the same way,” said Suzanne. “I am lonely for my old home, and I think that the years my father will be working at the embassy in Greece will be very long.”
Before the girls parted, they agreed to help each other and Suzanne suggested that they study together. “Perhaps,” she said, “you will win the scholarship to America after all.”
The next afternoon the girls took their books and met again at the seawall that they laughingly named their crying wall. Before they left, Suzanne assured Katia, “You are every bit as smart as the rest of the class. No one is better than anyone else, and no one is worse. You just have to have more confidence in yourself and know that you can do it.”
“But I don’t know,” said Katia sadly.
“You will.”
Almost every day the girls studied together and one was seldom seen without the other. Katia soon was passing tests with high marks.
The day the tests for the scholarship were given, Suzanne waited for Katia outside the classroom. “How did you do?” she asked.
“I think I’ve done well,” Katia answered. The girls hugged each other in excitement. “But we must wait for the results until the Friday before the weekend you have promised to visit my family on Hydra.”
“How could I forget that!” Suzanne replied.
The day that the results of the tests came back was gray and cold. Suzanne looked all over for Katia and finally hurried to their crying wall. Sure enough, Katia was there, crying bitterly.
“Oh, Suzanne, I came in second, and second gets nothing. It was all for nothing!”
Suzanne tried to comfort her, but her own thoughts were as gray as the clouds above and the sea below. Maybe I was wrong to build up Katia’s hopes, she thought as she packed for her weekend with Katia’s family. The trip on the boat to Hydra was fun, and Katia became excited, telling Suzanne about what they were going to do.
On Hydra they went quickly to Katia’s house. It was a small, whitewashed building with a lemon tree in the courtyard. Although Katia’s mother and father spoke only Greek, they were able to let Suzanne know how welcome she was.
It didn’t take long to see the entire village and to visit the shops and cafes. Katia seemed to know everyone and they all nodded and smiled in greeting. Although Katia seemed happy to see her old friends, Suzanne could tell that she was still sad and worried about the scholarship. Late in the afternoon as Suzanne rested, she could hear Katia downstairs talking long and earnestly with her mother.
That evening the girls went for a walk. The stars, big and bright, were just beginning to dot the sky, and Suzanne had the feeling that Katia was as distant and silent as the heavens were. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last. “What are you thinking? Can I help?”
“I was just thinking that my mother is right,” Katia answered. “My place is here. I am needed to teach right here on my island when I graduate from the school in Athens. It is not necessary that I go away to school. And also I am thinking that the studying we did was not for nothing. I learned very much. But most of all I am thinking how glad I am to have you for a friend.”
“And I’m thinking,” said Suzanne, “that since the day I met you at the crying wall, time has just flown. I will be sorry to leave Greece. Maybe we need a new name for that wall.”
“I think we do,” answered Katia.
The girls were both silent for a few minutes. Then at almost the same time they said, “How about calling it the laughing wall?”

I have made an effort to keep in touch with these boys. Many years later, after having been in Idaho and Washington, D.C., I happened to attend a Sunday School in the Whitney Ward. One of the boys was serving as bishop, another was a counselor, a third was ward clerk, and another was the visiting stake high councilor. Then we went to the adult class; there was another one as the teacher. One of them was serving as the Scoutmaster. We had a fine session together and could account for each one of the boys except two. No one seemed to know where they were or what they were doing.
Some weeks later I was down in southern Arizona. In those days we held general priesthood meetings in connection with stake conferences, and during the meeting I noticed way at the rear of the hall what appeared to be a familiar face. At the end of the meeting, one of the two boys we had lost track of came forward. We threw our arms around each other, and I said to him, “What are you doing way down here?”
He said, “I guess you mean ‘What am I doing in the Church?’”
I said, “Well, yes, that’s part of it, what are you doing in the Church?”
He replied, “I’m not doing very much, but I’m a Scoutmaster.” (I thought that took care of me very well!) Then he told me he had married out of the Church, but his wife had since joined the Church and was then using her influence to get him into full activity so they could go to the temple.
We started to correspond, and some months later I had the honor of officiating at the sealing of this fine couple and their children in the Salt Lake Temple.
Sometime later I was speaking at the annual meeting of the Idaho Farm Bureau at Burley, Idaho. Just before the meeting was to start, I was up on the platform with the president of the bureau and saw a man down at the door handing out literature to the farmers as they came in. I asked the president of the farm bureau who the man was. Sure enough, it was the last of the twenty-four boys to be located.
After the meeting the two of us had a good talk. He had married in the Church but out of the temple. It was not long before I also had the privilege of sealing this man and his wife and several children in the temple.
So far as we know, this was the last of the twenty-four to be married in the temple. Some of them are gone now, but we have good reason to suppose each one did a good job in life.

To illustrate this further, I share the true account of a family with five sons who moved from Los Angeles, California, USA, to a small community some years ago. The two oldest sons began playing high school sports and associating with friends, leaders, and coaches—many of whom were faithful members of the Church. These relationships helped lead to the baptism of Fernando, the oldest, and his next younger brother.
Fernando later moved away from home, where he continued his education and played college football. He married his high school sweetheart, Bayley, in the temple. As Fernando and Bayley finished their schooling, they eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child—a baby girl. But during the process of their families helping to move Fernando and Bayley back home, Bayley and her sister were driving on the freeway and were in a tragic accident involving many vehicles. Bayley and her unborn daughter lost their lives.
Yet as deep as was Fernando’s pain, as well as that of Bayley’s parents and siblings, so too was the depth of contrasting peace and comfort that distilled upon them almost immediately. The Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter truly sustained Fernando through this incomprehensible affliction. The Spirit communicated an abiding peace that led Fernando to an attitude of forgiveness and love toward everyone involved in the tragic crash.
Bayley’s parents called her brother who was serving as a missionary at the time of the accident. He described in a letter his feelings upon hearing the difficult news of his beloved sister: “It was amazing to hear your voices so calm in the midst of a tempest. I did not know what to say. … All I could think of is my sister may not be there when I come home. … I was comforted by your infallible testimonies of the Savior and His plan. The same sweet spirit that brings me to the verge of tears as I study and teach filled my heart. I was then comforted and reminded of the things that I know.”8
The Holy Ghost will help you by comforting you, as He did Fernando and Bayley’s family.

At one time, people from local wards provided such ministering visits. Then the stake president felt prompted to encourage the branch presidency to ask the Lord which residents could serve and in what callings.
“When the branch president extended the calling to me to be the Relief Society president,” Sharon says, “I thought, I have received too many blessings to say no.” She, in turn, received inspiration about who her counselors should be. “Marlene came to mind first,” she says. “We had worked together on a stake level, preparing names for temple work. I knew her husband had passed away not long ago, and even though she was struggling with that, I knew she was faithful.”
Then, after a sacrament meeting, Sharon looked around the room, seeking inspiration. “I saw Dorothy. She smiled at me, and I knew she was the other counselor. The Lord guided me to both of them, and He didn’t make a mistake on either one.”
Sharon also says that she can see the advantage of having people from the facility serve others in the facility. “We’re closer to the situation,” she says. “We understand that we’re sometimes inept, sometimes we forget so much, and sometimes we just don’t feel well. And we know how to laugh about the problems we face together.”
“The people who live here are already kind of like a big family,” Marlene says. “We eat our meals together, so we see each other three times a day. Then sometimes we’re together at activities too. So I think the stake president was inspired when he felt there were people here who could serve each other.”
“We know what’s happening from day to day. We know if someone needs help or if someone gets sick,” Dorothy says.
In addition to ministering and helping others to minister, the members of the presidency organize Relief Society teaching. They suggest residents who might be called to teach, and they adjust assignments and schedules according to teachers’ individual needs.
“But our main job is to remind other residents that the Lord loves them,” Marlene says. “And as we do that, we feel His love too.”
“We all have struggles,” Sharon says. “I’ve got problems now I didn’t have five months ago. But when I get feeling sorry for myself, I think, ‘Hey, this is nothing compared to what the Savior went through.’ We are here to progress and grow. And even in old age, if you let your experiences teach you, you can keep learning forever.”
Because they have each lost loved ones, the presidency members have also learned a lot about compassion. They know how to succor those who stand in need of comfort. For example, in one year Marlene lost four family members and a best friend.
“Because we’ve been through tough things,” she says, “we can help others get through tough things too. If you’re struggling with something, lose yourself in service to others. That’s what this calling has helped me to do.”
The members of the presidency bring a wealth of experience and understanding to their callings. They have lived and worked in many places—California, Ohio, Wyoming, and Utah. They have served in the temple, in ward and stake callings, in Primary, Young Women, and humanitarian service. But Dorothy had never held a calling in Relief Society, until now.
“What is the motto of the Relief Society?” she says. “‘Charity Never Faileth.’ That’s true when you’re young, but it’s equally true when you’re older. As a presidency, we’re learning that every day.”
“I think we work really well together,” Sharon says, with a wink, “for a presidency that averages 90 years old.”

This summer, my wife, Kalleen, and I were changing planes in Amsterdam where, many years earlier, I was a new missionary. After I had spent months struggling to learn Dutch, our KLM flight was landing, and the captain made an incoherent announcement over the PA system. After a moment of silence, my companion mumbled, “I think that was Dutch.” We glanced up, reading each other’s thoughts: All was lost.
But all was not lost. As I marveled over the leaps of faith we had then taken as we walked through this airport on our way to the miracles that would rain down upon us as missionaries, I was abruptly brought back to the present by a living, breathing missionary who was boarding a plane home. He introduced himself and asked, “President Lund, what do I do now? What do I do to remain strong?”
Well, this is the same question that is on the minds of our youth when they leave FSY conferences, youth camps, and temple trips and anytime they feel the powers of heaven: “How can loving God turn into lasting discipleship?”
I felt an upwelling of love for this clear-eyed missionary serving the last hours of his mission, and in that momentary stillness of the Spirit, I heard my voice crack as I said simply, “You don’t have to wear the badge to bear His name.”
I wanted to put my hands on his shoulders and say, “Here’s what you do. You go home, and you just be this. You are so good you almost glow in the dark. Your mission discipline and sacrifices have made you a magnificent son of God. Keep doing at home what has worked so powerfully for you here. You have learned to pray and to whom you pray and the language of prayer. You have studied His words and come to love the Savior by trying to be like Him. You have loved Heavenly Father like He loved His Father, served others like He served others, and lived the commandments like He lived them—and when you didn’t, you have repented. Your discipleship isn’t just a slogan on a T-shirt—it has become a part of your life purposefully lived for others. So you go home, and you do that. Be that. Carry this spiritual momentum into the rest of your life.”

Carolina tried to listen to her teacher. But she could not stop looking at her friend Ramón. He didn’t have any hair!
His hair had been falling out for a while. Now he was bald.
Carolina heard a sound behind her. Cesar and Luis were giggling. She hoped they weren’t laughing at Ramón.
All morning, Ramón hunched his shoulders. He didn’t raise his hand. He looked sad. Carolina wished she could help him feel better.
At last it was time to play outside. Ramón was the first one out of the classroom. When Carolina got outside, she couldn’t see him anywhere! He wasn’t playing soccer. He wasn’t climbing on the bars. And he wasn’t playing hopscotch by the teacher.
There he was! Ramón was standing in the corner of the yard. And Cesar and Luis were there too. Carolina walked closer.
“Look how big his head is!” Cesar yelled.
Luis laughed. “I’d shave my head too if I had such ugly hair.”
Ramón’s hands were clenched into fists. He looked like he might cry.
Carolina ran up to Ramón. “Do you want to play with me?” she asked. She held out her hand, and they walked away together. They kept walking until they were close to the teacher. No one would bother them there.
“Do you want to play hopscotch?” Carolina asked.
Ramón nodded. He drew chalk lines on the ground.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m OK now.” Ramón smiled. “Thanks for helping me.”
Carolina smiled. She was glad she had been brave enough to help her friend!
When has someone helped you? How did it make you feel?
This story took place in Paraguay.

10. Once when traveling with Elder and Sister Russell M. Nelson, we left our hotel in Bombay, India, to catch a plane for Karachi, Pakistan, and then on to Islamabad. When we got to the chaotic airport, our flight had been canceled. Impatiently, I said to the man at the airline counter, “What do you expect us to do, just give up and go back to the hotel?” He said with great dignity, “Sir, you never go back to the hotel.” We rummaged about the airport, found a flight, kept the appointment in Islamabad, and even had a night’s sleep. Sometimes life is like that: we are left to press forward and endure frustrated expectations—refusing to “go back to the hotel”! Otherwise, such “give-up-itis” will affect all seasons of life. Besides, the Lord knows how many miles we have to go “before [we] sleep”! (“Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”).

One ever remembers that Christmas day when giving replaced getting. In my life, this took place in my tenth year. As Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. The times were those of economic depression; yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.
For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Mrs. Hansen’s son, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.
Then Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car from my train set, and ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, joyfully saying to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt supreme joy, difficult to describe and impossible to forget. The spirit of Christmas had filled my very soul.

In our family we have identical twin sons. In some circumstances they are practically impossible to tell apart.
A few years ago, when the twins were about ten years old, we moved and found ourselves in new surroundings. Several days after the move I was talking to Aaron, one of the twins, and inquired about the big bump he had on his forehead.
“Well, Dad,” he said, “Lincoln [who is his older brother] was chasing me down the hall, I ran around the corner, and I saw my twin brother, Adam. Now, I knew I could outrun Adam, so I just kept running.” It turns out he ran into a full-length mirror!

Illustration by Jennifer Tolman
“Help. … Help!” The faint cry persisted every couple of seconds. It was my first day at the care unit, and already I was needed.
It was in the summer of my sophomore year that I decided to apply for the Hospice of the Valley Teen Volunteer Program. Once accepted, I attended numerous hours of training and orientation. However, no amount of class time could properly prepare me for the job I was undertaking. No one could properly describe the forlorn expressions I would see as I entered each room, the faces of critically ill or dying patients. No one could accurately explain the stale smell that would engulf me as I opened the door to the care home. But most of all, no one could tell me about the overwhelming joy that came with each visit.
That afternoon as I turned the corner, the cries of help reached my ears. I didn’t even have time to think. It was an impulse to follow the plea.
I walked in to see a woman slightly raised from her bed, arms outstretched. I asked her what she needed, ready to call the nurse for pain medication or maybe to get the nursing assistant if she required the restroom. To my surprise, all she wanted was comfort, attention, a friend.
I was amazed at how quickly I felt at ease. We talked as if we were old friends, laughing and catching up on the past. I couldn’t help but smile as her face lit up with joy.
Then she said something I’ll never forget. “I can tell by your voice that you are a very pretty girl.” This seemed like a rather unusual thing to say to someone. Did she not think my face was pretty? But as I looked at her closer, I realized that she couldn’t see my face. She was blind.
That’s when my heart dropped. Here was a woman in a strange place, getting treatment from complete strangers she couldn’t even see. And I had been thinking about the smell. I had no idea that my cheery voice and undivided attention was bringing so much color into her life. For that, I would smell anything.
I walked out that day with a new attitude. This woman had taught me a valuable lesson. No matter what problems we may be facing, all around us are opportunities to forget ourselves and help another. When those chances come our way, we must make the effort to open our ears and turn our hearts to the ones who seem to be reaching out and calling, “Help.” We may just find a new friend.

The fulfillment of the Prophet’s statement came some months later when Dan Jones was called to go to Wales. His wife, Jane, accompanied him. They traveled with Wilford Woodruff and others to the British Isles. Elder Jones was assigned to labor in northern Wales. Though he had the great asset of speaking both Welsh and English, he accomplished relatively little in touching the hearts of the people of that area. On the other hand, William Henshaw, who did not speak the Welsh language, enjoyed considerable success in the south.

When Brother Henshaw was released a year later, Elder Jones was called to preside over all the work in Wales. He made his headquarters in Merthyr Tydfil in southeastern Wales. Working with a handful of missionaries, he witnessed a remarkable harvest. From 1845 to 1848, approximately 3,600 were baptized. It is estimated that in terms of population, one out of every 278 people in Wales at that time was baptized into the LDS Church.

Opponents of the Church had access to newspapers and other publications to attack the Mormon missionaries. But the press would not open its columns to Elder Jones. He therefore determined that he would answer with publications of his own. He enlisted the help of his brother, John Jones, a Protestant minister who owned a printing press. It is said that John printed Dan’s literature during the week and denounced him from the pulpit on Sunday.

Dan Jones’s publication was the first Mormon periodical published in a language other than English.2 Issued in 1846, it carried the title Prophwyd y Jubili (“Prophet of the Jubilee”).

We catch the spirit of his sometimes feisty manner in his opening article:
“Dear Reader,—Behold the beginning of a new era in our age, yea, the most remarkable which has ever been, the most wondrous in its preparations, the most goodly in its deeds, and the most glorious in its effects of every previous age. Once more the golden keys of heaven have been entrusted to men for them to open all treasures, to unlock all mysteries and for the clarification of all errors in the midst of mankind. Already the doors of eternity can be seen opening on their rusty hinges, its hidden pearls and the treasures old and new are once again starting to shine before the eyes of men as in the days of God! Let the inhabitants of the earth rejoice, and let every Welshman give a hearkening ear to the good news of great joy which is sounded through this last trumpet.”3

He had an interesting missionary technique. It was essentially one of controversy, a technique not fit for our time but used well by him then. He feared no one. He moved with great boldness. Of his method it has been written: “He would often advertise in a town for several weeks that he was coming to ‘convert’ the whole town. He would inform the mayor, the city council, the ministers, and the police force of his intentions. He would have the local members of the church distribute thousands of tracts to all the city. When he arrived at the railroad station he was often met by all of the officials of the city and many excited citizens.”4

Ministers of other churches lashed out against him. They used their pulpits and the public press. Of their antagonism, Dan Jones wrote, “Most of the stories that were told on poor Brother Joseph in America, are here fathered on Captain Jones, and I often hear those who don’t know that little man [himself], unhesitatingly denounce him as ‘a curse upon this nation.’”5

Public opinions raged this way and that. But instead of shrinking, Dan Jones capitalized on controversies. He drew such public attention that people had to decide whether the gospel of the Mormons was true or false. An increasing number of converts came into the Church while a veritable storm arose against the Mormons in general and Elder Jones in particular. He was vilified in the press. He was shouted at in the streets. His life was threatened.

In those circumstances he wrote, “I delight in the trophies of war. I came here to fight for the spiritual freedom of my brethren, and I thank heaven … that He is knocking off their shackles by hundreds! Who that has tasted of the sweets of liberty would say, ‘hold!’”6

I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.

During this time, I was having difficulty getting along with my mother, as teenage girls sometimes do. I can remember after disagreeing with her once, I went down to the basement to be alone. Full of confusion and remorse, I prayed for comfort. I was still sobbing when in my mind I heard these words, “Blessed art thou, Carol.” At that time I wasn’t understanding my world very well, and I felt like Heavenly Father was comforting me so that I could get through a difficult time. It strengthened my testimony so much to know that He cared.

I eventually left my home in São Paulo, Brazil, to serve a mission. While serving, I saw many broken homes, but as I studied my patriarchal blessing, I found the solution for those homes: family home evening. Through teaching people about family home evening, I saw families strengthened, couples reconciled, and siblings united. In short, I saw homes transformed into little pieces of heaven.

“If this can happen to families in my mission,” I wondered, “why not to my own family?”

When it was time for them to leave, Brigham was so sick he couldn’t stand up. His wife, with a newborn child, was also sick, as were his children. Determined to fulfill his promise to the Lord and go on a mission, Brigham crawled out of the house and staggered to a wagon. After a painful ride to the river’s edge, and then across the river, he lay on the ground for a long time. A horseman came along and gave him a ride to the Kimball home where he found Heber also sick. The two men lay bed-ridden for a week or two, but finally determined that they had to be about the Lord’s business. They got up, arranged for a wagon to take them out of town, and said good bye to their wives (Mary Ann had come across the river to help nurse Brigham). Weakened by their illness, the two men climbed into the wagon and lay down. Brother Kimball said to Brigham, “Let’s not leave them this way.” They staggered to their feet, waved their hats and shouted, “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Zion!” and collapsed to the floor of the wagon.

My dad is not a member of the Church. Since my mom, brothers and sisters, and I are all active in the Church, we are sometimes at odds with him. There was a time in my life when my father and I just couldn’t seem to get along because he was unkind about my beliefs and I was angry at him for not agreeing with me.
In an effort to smooth things over between us, my mom tried to help me see things through Dad’s eyes. “How would a person without the gospel see this situation?” she asked me gently.
Since that time, I have thought a lot about what she said. I have tried to be more patient and forgiving, and I am trying to improve my relationship with my father.
It has helped me to know that Heavenly Father will not give me anything I can’t handle. It has also helped me to know that my earthly father loves me, even though we may not always agree. I still pray for my father to join the Church, but he now knows that I love and respect him no matter what.

When I was about 12, I wanted to know for myself that the Book of Mormon was true. In a talk, I could testify that the Book of Mormon is the word of God because my Primary teacher had said it. But inside myself, I didn’t understand what that meant.
I knew the promise of Moroni that said that if I read, pondered, and prayed, I could know also (see Moroni 10:3–4). I read for weeks and felt at peace, but it didn’t produce anything spectacular—no light, no angels, no voice. In the end, I quit reading the Book of Mormon.
One day while studying Exodus, I read that when the Israelites lacked food, God sent manna to them. Each person was to take a certain amount each day. He sent them food, but they had to figure out how to gather it.
Nephi’s words came to me: “The Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). From this I understood that God had commanded the Israelites to leave Egypt and planned to provide for their hunger. This Book of Mormon scripture enlightened my understanding of the Bible, and I concluded that the Book of Mormon was the word of God.
As Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, personal revelation resembles more the gradual rising of the sun than the light that is suddenly produced when we flip a switch.1 I began to see the Book of Mormon in a different way.
During the months that followed, I knew more surely than ever that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. The impression I felt numerous times through the voice of the Spirit was “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true.”
I still read the Book of Mormon almost every day, and every time, I hear these words: “It’s true.”

I have seminary at 6 a.m., before school. I wake up really early to have time to eat breakfast, have family prayer, and walk to the church. But the more I go to seminary, the more I see that waking up early is worth it!
The teachers are really great and always teach with the Spirit. They are wise and know so much about the gospel, which made me excited to go and learn more.
Going to seminary each morning helped me be brave enough to share the gospel with two classmates and helped me explain the scriptures. Seminary also helped me be brave enough to stand up for my beliefs. I was listening to the radio one morning, and a man was saying Joseph Smith was a liar. I was really frustrated by this because I had gained a strong testimony of Joseph Smith in seminary and knew that what the man was saying wasn’t true.
I told my seminary teacher about it, and he suggested I write a letter to the man and share my testimony of Joseph Smith. I wrote the letter and bore my testimony about Joseph Smith and the Church. It helped me calm down and not be so frustrated. He never responded, but I felt a confirmation of my testimony while I was writing. It made me really grateful that I had gained such a strong testimony of the Prophet and the gospel in seminary.
Raquel B., Argentina

At a very young age I realized my father and mother loved each other very much. It became evident in the symbols that represented their bond. Their anniversary was an event marked with great celebration. At other times of the year, outward symbols served to renew their marital commitment. The look on my mother’s face when my father presented her with a dozen red roses is indelibly painted in my mind. The symbol was powerful in my life, and my parents renewed the event many times as I grew older.

On my own wedding day, we also selected roses to represent our special occasion. Thus we continued a tradition that symbolized commitment, a symbol I had loved to witness in my parents.