Gospel Story Finder

I close with another example of a family relationship. At a stake conference in the Midwest about 10 years ago, I met a sister who told me that her nonmember husband had been accompanying her to church for 12 years but had never joined the Church. What should she do? she asked. I counseled her to keep doing all the right things and to be patient and kind with her husband.

About a month later she wrote me as follows: “Well, I thought that the 12 years was a good show of patience, but I didn’t know if I was being very kind about it. So, I practiced real hard for over a month, and he got baptized.”

Kindness is powerful, especially in a family setting. Her letter continued, “I am even trying to be kinder now because we are working on a temple sealing this year!”

Six years later she wrote me another letter: “My husband was [just] called and set apart as the bishop [of our ward].”2

“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Brandon pushed his red toy convertible across the kitchen floor, driving it around the table and under the chairs in a zigzag pattern.
“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” Daniel echoed, driving his blue sedan in the same pattern.
Brandon parked his car under his chair. “Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”
Daniel parked his car right next to Brandon’s. “Yeah, Mom, what are we having for breakfast?”
“How about pancakes?” Mom asked.
“Yea, pancakes!” Brandon cheered.
“Yea, pancakes!” Daniel cheered just as loud.
“Will you make me a car pancake?” Brandon asked.
“Yes, I will,” Mom said.
“Will you make me a car pancake too?” Daniel asked, climbing up on his chair.
Brandon frowned. “Why does Daniel always have to copy me?” he asked. “Everything I do, he has to do, and everything I say, he says.”
Mom smiled as she stirred pancake batter. “Little brothers like to follow big brothers because they think their big brothers are really special. When Daniel copies you, he feels special too.”
“But it bugs me, Mom.”
“I can understand that,” Mom said. “But remember that Daniel’s not trying to be annoying. He thinks you’re great, and he wants to be just like you. That’s why it’s important that you set a good example for him.”
Brandon shook his head. “Daniel is lucky that he doesn’t have a little brother to copy him all the time.”
Mom poured batter onto the hot griddle. A wonderful smell soon filled the room. “Brandon,” she said, “you aren’t the only big brother who has a younger brother imitating him. Don’t you like to build model jets just like the ones Jeffrey builds, and drive your train on the track he put together?”
“Yeah, but Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him,” Brandon said. “And besides, I don’t say the same thing every time.”
“Jeffrey doesn’t care if I copy him either,” Daniel added.
Mom laughed but then grew serious. “I can think of a person whom we honor when we try to follow His example. Do you know who I mean?”
“Who?” Brandon and Daniel asked together.
“Jesus Christ. Did you know that He is the Firstborn of Heavenly Father’s spirit children? He is our Savior and sets the example for us.”
“Oh yeah,” Brandon said. “You told us that before.”
“He wants us to follow Him. One of the reasons He came to earth was to show us the things we should do and how we should act. Can you think of some ways you can follow Jesus?” Mom asked.
“We can get baptized,” Daniel said.
“And love little children,” Brandon added.
“Good answers,” Mom said. “And how about little brothers? Do you think Jesus loves little brothers?”
“Yes,” they both answered.
“What kind of things do you think Jesus would do to show His love for little brothers?”
“Help them clean up,” Daniel said.
“Help them build things,” Brandon said.
Mom turned the pancakes over. “You’re both right,” she said. “When you help your brother, you’re treating him the way Jesus would treat him.”
“So I can follow Jesus by letting Daniel follow me?” Brandon asked.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Whenever you treat someone with kindness you are following the Savior.”
“OK, Daniel,” Brandon said. “Should we both have syrup on our pancakes?”
“Yes!” Daniel exclaimed. “I like being like my brother!”

My mom’s joyous sobs soaked into my shirt as she embraced me. I held her head, the feeling of her hair in my hands waking me to reality: She was really there at the airport to pick me up. And so was Dad. My once young and goofy sister was now a beautiful young woman. My younger brother hugged me, and I had the distinct realization that he was now taller than me. I tried to take everything in. But once the tearful hugs and reunions were over, awkward silence set in. I took a deep breath and asked my family, “So now what?”
Most returned missionaries probably experienced something similar when returning home. Nothing can describe the sweet joy of reuniting with loved ones. But after my initial excitement wore off—when I realized I was home and wasn’t going back to my mission, and when everyone returned to their daily lives—the shock set in. The hard realization that I had to be “normal” again crept in. Yet there was a question in my mind that I think arises in some shape or form for any returned missionary:
How do I be “normal”? And what does “normal” even look like?
I’ve been home from my mission for several years now, and looking back, it was a struggle for a good year. My family moved out of state, my long-term relationship ended, and all my friends seemed to be married and starting their eternal families—all of which contributed to a difficult time of transition for me. When I expressed that I wanted to make chicken and waffles (a Southern classic where I served), that I still wanted to study my scriptures early in the morning, that I wanted to share a pass-along card with the gas station employee, people told me I was awkward. “All returned missionaries are awkward at first,” they’d say. “But don’t worry. In a few months, you’ll be normal again.”
This was when I realized the great divide of normalcy between missionary life and regular life. For me, it was hard to hear that my life, my desires—the way I’d been changed by Jesus Christ and His Atonement and dedicated my heart to God over the last 18 months of my life—were considered awkward, that they weren’t “normal.”
I’ve witnessed this dangerous mindset in many returned missionaries. In a desperate effort to feel accepted upon returning home, missionaries might quickly abandon the very habits that would’ve helped their transition. Thankfully, several wonderful, wise people gave me the one piece of advice that helped me during this time of transition more than anything else: with the help of Jesus Christ and His Atonement, you have to find your new normal.
Returned missionaries from all around the world experience a wide range of challenges after a mission. Their previous life plan might have changed. They might have returned home early for whatever reason and feel judged for it. They might even feel a little weird not having a companion with them 24/7.
Every missionary returns home to a unique set of experiences. Each one will see some blessings and some challenges. For many, plans change, people change, and most of all, they themselves have changed. The plan that guided their life pre-mission may not be sufficient after spending years in the Lord’s service.
Working, doing homework, spending time with friends and family, and constantly getting set up on dates can seem to lack the eternal significance of missionary work. Though different, all these things are part of post-mission life back home. However, weaving things of eternal worth—such as prayer, scriptures, and service—into your new daily life is the best thing you can do to assure your transition keeps you close to Heavenly Father.
Another common struggle is the fear of returning to old bad habits, and let me tell you, it’s a slippery slope with entrances on all sides.
My first Sunday home, I was lying on my bed and realized I hadn’t looked at Facebook since coming home. I opened it and was overwhelmed by the nostalgia of pictures and videos from before my mission. I love to dance and had started watching some dance videos when I heard my mom call up to my room, “Breanne! What are you listening to?”
I listened more closely and realized how inappropriate the background music was. I was pretty embarrassed that here I was—a freshly returned missionary—listening to music that wasn’t inviting the Spirit.
That experience helped me realize how easy it is to become more relaxed in how much we maintain our gospel standards when we aren’t full-time missionaries. I wanted to stay changed. I wanted to remain the person God had helped me become. Luckily, I recognized that, for me, what I was listening to wasn’t bringing the Spirit and was able to adjust.
Over time, with all the busyness that is life, some returned missionaries can also experience guilt as mission habits begin to dwindle. The hour of personal study might slowly shrink to 10 minutes or less, or the goal of keeping in contact with those you were teaching on your mission might be forgotten.
Although you adapt your habits as your life changes, that doesn’t mean that you’re disobedient. The Lord doesn’t give a quota for how long to read the scriptures or how many copies of the Book of Mormon to share. All He asks us to do is to believe in Him and be “an example of the believers” (1 Timothy 4:12). As you seek and listen to the guidance of the Spirit, you’ll know what the Lord expects of you now.
There are many more struggles I’m sure other returned missionaries experience, but the lesson I learned in all of this was to find ways to deepen my conversion as I took on new roles—and found my new normal.
Our purpose as missionaries was to “invite others to come unto Christ.”1 What is our purpose after our missions? Alma taught that “this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God; yea, behold the day of this life is the day for men to perform their labors” (Alma 34:32). What labors are we to perform? Well, the Lord has taught that we are to live His gospel—to have faith, repent, live worthy of our covenants and the Holy Ghost, and endure to the end. We are to love and serve those around us. We are to continue to invite others to come unto Christ. And we will be continuously blessed and supported in every step of our journey as we do so.
It took me some time before I found my new normal. But as I stayed busy doing good things and waited patiently on the Lord to help me feel more settled and confident, I grew in remarkable ways. I learned patience and trust. My faith was tried and strengthened. But I got there. I never lost my purpose. I found my new normal. And I still love chicken and waffles.

I served in the United States Navy during World War II. I started in the lowest ranks. After the war ended, I decided that if I ever had to serve in the military again, I wanted to be an officer instead. So I went to drill meetings. I studied. I took exams. Finally I got a letter that said I was accepted! I showed my wife and said, “I made it!” She gave me a hug and told me I had worked hard.
But then something happened. I was called to be a counselor in my ward bishopric. The bishop’s council meeting was on the same night as my navy drill meetings. I knew that I couldn’t do both. I prayed about it. Then I went to see the man who was my stake president when I was a boy, Elder Harold B. Lee, who later became the prophet. I told him how much I wanted to become an officer. I even showed him the copy of the letter I had received.
After thinking about things for a moment, he said to me, “Here’s what you should do, Brother Monson. You write a letter to the navy and tell them you can’t accept the commission as an officer.”
My heart sank. Another war was starting, and if I was called to go back into the military, I wanted to be an officer. Elder Lee put his hand on my shoulder and in a fatherly way said, “Brother Monson, have more faith. The military is not for you.”
I went home and did what he said. Six weeks later, I was called to be a bishop. I would not hold the position in the Church I hold today if I had not followed the counsel of a prophet and prayed about that decision. I learned an important truth: the wisdom of God sometimes looks foolish to men (see 1 Corinthians 2:14). But when God speaks and His children obey, they will always be right. When you follow the prophets, you will be in safe territory.

I know one elder who saved for six years to go on his mission. He came from a little town in Idaho, and he went all out just to make sure he got his money’s worth. I will never forget when he finished his first year. He said he was going to make a new resolution to make sure he got full value for his money. Instead of starting at 9:00 in the morning to go out and do his missionary work, he resolved to start at 8:00. Instead of getting up at 6:00 to study, he started getting up at 5:00. Why? Because he wanted to get his money’s worth.

The day before Shan Harper of the Telford Ward in England was to participate in the Newcastle-Under-Lyme Stake sports day, she fell from her horse, caught her leg in one of the stirrups, and was dragged several feet. If she had decided not to participate in the sports events the next day, it would have been understandable. But Shan not only participated, she won three events! A Beehive, she beat all others in the 12–14 age group in the high jump and 100-meter race before running in the 800-meter race. To save time, it was decided to have all three age groups (which also included 15–17, and 18 on up) run the 800-meter race together. Shan again took first place, finishing yards ahead of all other competitors.

The Church magazine arrived that week, and I found several articles that focused on the Sabbath. I read it from cover to cover to see what the Church leaders had said on the subject. I made an elaborate list of “don’ts” for the Sabbath and resolved I was going to keep the Sabbath holy, even if it killed me.
The next Sunday I found myself wondering what to do. I was following the letter of the law but not the spirit of the Sabbath, and something was definitely missing. The hockey episode took place near Christmas, and January had its share of Sundays, but no Sabbaths.
Then in February a new convert named Keith moved into our small branch. He had been a member for five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries in one. When the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith suggested that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. We talked about visiting two branch members who lived in the rest home, but we took no action.
Then one Sunday President Harrison gave a talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. That afternoon Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and we didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew to things: first, they needed us; second, we could do better. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving the 150 miles home from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. With President Harrison’s permission, Les and Keith blessed the sacrament and passed it to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the rest home and sang a hymn. We took turns reading an article from the Church magazines, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left, and since we were all hungry, Les invited us to his house for soup and crackers. So that Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home—but this time it was very different from the Sunday I went there looking for someone to play ice hockey. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. But for two hours that Sunday afternoon, we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents, sharing jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in the mission field. It was truly an inspiring experience.
When I finally returned home at ten o’clock after several other meetings, I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned. As I knelt for prayer that night, I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation with his teachers quorum adviser went something like this:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m no good at basketball. The only reason I came was because the other guys kept calling me.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“I don’t have an outside shot. I don’t even have an inside shot.”
“So … what do you do in a game?”
“Mainly try to get the other team to feel sorry for me,” Dan said glumly.

Let’s take another look at Dan, this time with a more positive light in his life.
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“Okay. Maybe I can work with Steve a little. He’s good at passing, and that, along with what I can do, should be a good combination. You know, I’m starting to feel a little sorry for the other team.”

Growing up I thought the Spirit only spoke in an audible voice, which made me think very few people were privileged to hear that voice. So when I met with missionaries and accepted their invitation to pray to Heavenly Father for a confirmation that the gospel is true, I expected to hear an audible voice. And I was disappointed when I didn’t. Even though I felt their message was true, I was reluctant to be baptized because I had not heard the voice of the Spirit.
As my family members were baptized and bearing testimonies, I felt like I wasn’t doing something right, since Heavenly Father wasn’t “speaking” to me. When my mum and older brother went to the temple, I had a strong feeling that the temple was truly the house of the Lord and that I needed to prepare to go there one day. But I still didn’t recognize that my feelings were promptings from the Spirit.
One day I was reading from the Book of Mormon with the missionaries, and I had a strong feeling that what we were reading was true. I told the elders what I was feeling, and they helped me understand that the witness I felt was the Holy Spirit speaking to me. In that moment I realized I had been feeling the Spirit in so many ways, but I hadn’t considered He speaks with us all so differently. I accepted the invitation to be baptized that day.

One night Joseph and Emma stayed up late to take care of the babies, who were both sick. A mob of angry men came into the home. The men grabbed Joseph and carried him away from the house.
The wicked men hurt Joseph and poured hot tar on him.
When the mob left, Joseph was very weak. He crawled back to the house. When Emma saw Joseph hurt, she fainted.
Joseph’s friends carefully washed him.
Sunday morning—the next day—Joseph preached to the congregation as usual. Some of the men from the mob came to listen.

Without question, those progressing eternally are those on the straight and narrow; they are spiritual and charitable. A bishop in the Dominican Republic exemplifies such a life. After sacrament meeting in his ward, a new convert approached him and said, “Bishop, I notice that the members are always looking at books when they sing. I want to do that. They look at books in Sunday School class. I want to do that.” Quietly the brother said, “Bishop, I want to be a good member. I want to do all the Lord’s work. But I can’t read. Is there someone who can teach me?”
“Yes,” said the bishop. And then he tried to think of a likely tutor. He found himself saying, “I’ll teach you to read.”
For many months this new convert and his wife met weekly with the bishop. They learned to read using the scriptures. Now this was a busy bishop, like they all are. He could have delegated the responsibility, but the Spirit had prompted him to take the assignment. They became friends in the gospel as they studied together. After two years, the bishop was released and a new bishop called. Sustained to follow him as the leader of the ward was his student of the scriptures. This bishop set out to teach his friends how to read the gospel message, and in the process, he showed them how to live it. Could this bishop have seen the end when he began? How often do we follow the dictums of the Lord and in doing so influence eternity?

What was I thinking? Me? Run a half-marathon? No way! But there I was for the fourth week in a row, training to run a 13-mile race. Why was I pushing myself so hard to do something I had never been good at? Because I had to prove to myself that I could achieve a personal victory, symbolic of all the spiritual and temporal changes that had taken place in my life.
Before I found the gospel, I had always taken the easy road when it came to making choices. I never pushed myself. I never tried to become a better person, spiritually or physically. But things changed when I received the missionary lessons. Suddenly I was introduced to a whole new world of people striving to better themselves, working hard at self-mastery and education.
I was intrigued. My old friends were interested in parties and fun. My new friends were interested in experiencing joy by overcoming the “natural man”—a concept I didn’t quite understand. But I was awed by my new friends’ lifestyle. They worked hard in school, dressed modestly, didn’t drink or smoke, and they read scriptures every night!
At first I didn’t understand why they chose this righteous pattern of living. “Why would anyone want such a boring life?” I thought. I didn’t understand how regular scripture study and prayer could be better than watching a good movie.
Then I learned the meaning of the “natural man” when an institute teacher explained the concept in detail. From the scriptures he read, “The natural man is an enemy to God … and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord” (Mosiah 3:19).
True happiness, my teacher explained, comes only when our spirits learn to control our bodies, training them to be governed by the laws of God. When we live by the natural man’s principles, which is to do only what is easy and fun, we may feel good for the moment, but we will never find lasting peace or joy.
The words of my teacher struck me, and I decided that I should experiment. I would start working hard at being more like Christ would have me be. I would join in the marathon of righteous living, training daily by reading the scriptures and praying. Then I would decide if doing so could really bring me lasting happiness.
I began to read the scriptures. At first it was painfully boring. I didn’t understand a thing I read. But the institute teacher had planted a seed of faith in me, so I kept reading. And then, little by little, I started to understand the scriptures. Not only did I understand, but I also felt a real, lasting joy—different from the temporary joy I experienced when I watched a movie or bought a new sweater. In training for this marathon of righteous living, I realized how badly I needed to drink the “living waters,” which represent the Atonement of Christ. I found answers to my deepest problems and anxieties.
The institute teacher was right. Now that I have tasted of the true joy that comes from living the laws of God, I will never be satisfied with the easy life and fleeting, feel-good moments. I no longer see myself as living in a body that is a slave to its desires. Instead, I see myself as a spirit daughter of Heavenly Father, able to make the right choices. I’ll always remember that there is a bigger marathon to run in life. I know if I endure to the end, having faith in Christ and keeping His commandments, I can attain the prize—eternal joy.

Sixta María Martínez of the Aeropuerto Ward, Mérida México Centro Stake, was already 62 when she was baptized in 1974. She quickly learned to love temple work and made several long trips on temple excursions from southern Mexico to Mesa, Arizona, in the United States. She delighted in a later opportunity to visit the temple in Salt Lake City. Over the years Sister Martínez has completed temple ordinances for her own family back five generations. She has lived to see a temple built just a few kilometers away in Mérida. At 92, she tries to go there once a week. “It is my joy. It is my life,” she says.

In March 1958, while serving as one of the first missionaries in the West Spanish-American Mission, Elder H. Aldridge Gillespie had an experience that profoundly affected his life. Elder Spencer W. Kimball of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1895–1985) had been assigned to formally organize the mission, and the young Elder Gillespie, a newly called second counselor in the mission presidency, was given the opportunity to be his “chauffeur, roommate, and companion” for approximately two weeks.
“Elder Kimball had special spiritual capacities that touched my heart and influenced my opinion of what life should be and how I should live it,” Elder Gillespie recalls. “My concept of what man should be, what families should be, and how people should conduct themselves was greatly amplified in that brief time.”

“One time I invited a sports club friend to the English class that the missionaries were teaching at the church,” Kosei explains. “He and the missionaries became good friends with each other while he was learning English.”
However, the conversations didn’t stop at English lessons.
“My friend started to think about why these missionaries, who were almost his same age, were doing volunteer work and serving as missionaries in Japan. His next question was to ask what drives missionaries to serve. He’s now heard the missionary lessons and still has a correspondence with missionaries through video chat.”

During the second discussion, the missionaries challenged my mother and me to be baptized. Our reactions were very different. After reading a good portion of the Book of Mormon, I had fasted and prayed and received a confirmation of the truth of what the missionaries were teaching. My mother, however, did not have the slightest intention of being baptized.
When the missionaries left, my mother presented me with a difficult choice. If I chose to be baptized, I would have to live somewhere else. For me there was no question. I knew what was right; I left my mother’s home that night.
The following day the missionaries, the branch president, and I went to my mother’s home to try to resolve the problem. During the discussion that followed, I accepted my mother’s request to wait a month before being baptized—but I did so only out of respect for her and to prove to her that my desires were sincere.
During that month the missionaries continued teaching us. Nothing changed for my mother, and it became clear that she wanted me to again delay my baptism. But I could not wait, and on 15 February 1985—the best day of my life until then—I was baptized.
My mother was angry at my decision, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I met with my branch president, and as we prayed together, I felt inspired to ask my father’s brother to let me live with his family.
My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.

When I first learned the restored gospel was true, I was a 19-year-old young man trying to make sense of my own identity as both a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and someone who had been raised in the beloved teachings of my American Indian heritage. I had joined the Church at age 14, yet at that time I had no real understanding of the doctrine. I only knew that the restored gospel was good and of God.
I also knew what my lineage taught me about who I am—that I was good and of God. This was my struggle: If both are good, why do I feel I am being forced to choose between them? How can I pick one and bury the other? Choosing to love one and hating the other meant hating a part of myself, or so I thought.
The teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and of my American Indian heritage were handed down from generation to generation until they came to shape and form me. Yet my identity as a member of my tribe conflicted with my identity as a member of the Church. I was fortunate to find other Church members who had dealt with this internal conflict too, but their answers, while helpful, did not remedy any of my pain, nor their own. They had to reject their native heritage or ignore the internal conflict altogether. Though I was grateful for these conversations, they never truly sat easy on my own troubled heart.
My father was a prominent leader and the last authorized historian in our tribe, but he was not a member of the Church and was antagonistic towards those who were. My mother had a similar love for her indigenous heritage, but she was a member of the Church and loved the restored gospel. Her desire to be active in the gospel and my father’s enmity towards Christianity because of the harm caused by those who claimed to be Christian were a fitting embodiment of my own internal struggle.
As a teenager, I had never read the Book of Mormon, and I did not know who Jesus Christ was, and I wondered how He and this book fit into who I am. How could I reconcile the harm that was done by those who claimed association with His teachings? And how could I also honor what had brought me this far?
These were the issues I brought to my first reading of the Book of Mormon. If I could find the answers here, I knew what my responsibility would be in return. I would become a committed Latter-day Saint, serve an honorable mission, marry in the temple, and love God with all my heart for the rest of my life. But if I were to truly become converted, I needed to know. I knew I was asking hard questions whose answers only God could give.
I began reading and learning about Lehi and his family, Nephi’s vision of that beautiful tree of life, and the angel referring to the Savior as the “God of nature” (1 Nephi 19:12). When I came to King Benjamin’s address, I found myself reading it over and over again, circling passages about raising children, taking care of the poor, and our utter dependence on God for daily physical and spiritual survival. I then came to the Waters of Mormon and read and reread the covenant of baptism. I loved the story of the brothers Nephi and Lehi as missionaries and their journey to redeem God’s children. Despite all of these moving accounts and the doctrine, I still had questions.
Then I arrived at 3 Nephi, where the account of the Savior’s visit was given. From the time He appeared—showing the wounds in His hands, feet, and side—I was captivated. I kept asking myself, “Who is this man?” In my bedroom on that summer day, I felt His words more powerfully than I ever did before as I read them.
When it was time for Jesus Christ to leave the people that day, He said, “Behold, my time is at hand” (3 Nephi 17:1). I felt what the people felt, pleading with tears in our eyes, “Please don’t go.” And in this moment in my bedroom, He went from being a stranger to something more. I had been a stranger, but now I was more.
I finished 3 Nephi and began to read 4 Nephi. It was night now, as I had not stopped reading that whole day, and it was here that I found my answer:
“And it came to pass that there was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults, nor whoredoms, nor lyings, nor murders, nor any manner of lasciviousness; and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God.
“There were no robbers, nor murderers, neither were there Lamanites, nor any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the children of Christ, and heirs to the kingdom of God” (4 Nephi 1:15–17).
This was the sacred truth of my people, handed down generation to generation—that all people are children of God. I had found it here in this little blue book. It was for all peoples, regardless of ethnicity, to truly understand in their souls they are children of God and to accept the responsibility that came with it.
To find yourself was to find God. This was the great truth my father had taught me, and this was the great and sacred truth the Book of Mormon confirmed. The two warring pieces of my heart were now at peace because I realized they both need each other in order to exist. My lineage was not a sword that needed to be buried, nor a master that pulled me away from my Savior. It is what brought me to the Savior, and it is a part of me that needs to be honored and embraced.
Since that day I have tried to repent of my sins and live the restored gospel. I served a mission and married my wife in the temple. We strive to raise our children in the Savior’s gospel and the blessing of our lineage. The struggle that had weighed upon my soul was replaced with peace and understanding. I had learned that the Book of Mormon was true. The passages I circled and reread were familiar teachings I had been taught before.
This sacred record is not just a history of ancient peoples; it is a spiritual book whose truths cannot be found in any other record of history, science, or academia but only through the power of the Holy Ghost. It is this same power that brings us to the Savior, who helps us with our silent conflicts, internal struggles, and hard questions. In time, through sincere prayer and learning, we can walk away whole with a true understanding of who we are. This is because of the Savior’s invitation to follow Him.
I had confused assimilation with conversion. I had falsely believed that in order to be a faithful Latter-day Saint, I had to shed one part of my identity and embrace a new one, but the reality is that what needs shedding is that which separates us from God. The heart does not need to be purified of its heritage, only of sin and conflict. This purification reawakens us to our true identities as sons or daughters of God.
These blessings are meant for all. The only requirements are repentance, making and keeping covenants, and diligently seeking after Him. Like Nephi of old, you do not need to know the meaning of all things (see 1 Nephi 11:17). Just knowing that God loves His children is a good start, and then eventually “by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5)—even the turning of our hearts to the knowledge of our fathers.

For the past few years I have had the privilege of home teaching with an ordained teacher part of the time and a priest with whom I am teaching at the present time. They make the appointments and take their turn in presenting and leading the discussions. The other day my home teaching companion called me and said that the head of one of the families we visit was in the hospital and suggested that we go to see him. We did and blessed him.

When Mom and Dad said we’d be living in a one-room cabin in Nauvoo this summer, I wasn’t excited about being so close with my family. But we’d be performing in the City of Joseph pageant, which sounded fun, so I thought I’d give it a try.
On opening night, as I looked at the performers in their 1840s costumes, I felt a oneness with my Nauvoo ancestors. How real they seem to me now. Lots of people have told us how the pageant has touched them, too.
Tonight our family won an award from the director for working so well together. I guess it’s not so bad to be close as a family!

I’m eternally thankful for those who ministered and shared the restored gospel in a natural way to my wife when she was fourteen years of age. She accepted the invitation to follow Christ and was baptized in Málaga, Spain.
Having been ministered by her friends, who helped in her youth to draw closer to Christ, she learnt that ministering to others is part of our own process of repentance. It is how we turn our hearts to God and his Children. Some years after her baptism she travelled all alone to the Switzerland Temple to minister those on the other side of the veil. We then met each other in Zollikofen and this is also where we got sealed for time and eternity.