Gospel Story Finder

Samuel grew up in Cape Coast, Ghana, as a devoted Seventh-day Adventist. He knew of the Church through his friend Alexander Asare Duodu, a friend from his teenage years who would invite him to services and activities. The lifestyle and conduct of Alexander and others, such as Charles Amoah, Ernest Arko, Stephen Amoah, impressed him greatly, and he began to live his life in accord with those attributes. But whenever he was asked if he’d like to join the Church, which happened to him regularly, he always declined. He admits that part of the reason was fear of telling his mother, who was staunch in her beliefs. And he just wasn’t ready to make the commitment.
One day, after getting another invitation to be baptised, he decided to accept just so that he could be free of the constant invitations. His plan, however, was to just not show up on the day of the baptism. But when the day came, as he explained, he “failed to flee.” He was baptised by Elder Anthony M. Kaku and confirmed by Elder John K. Buah on December 13, 1986.

“CQ … CQ (calling any station) … This is N7NGT, November seven November golf tango. Calling CQ from the state of Wyoming and standing by.”
The static of the radio fills the silence. Then the 16-year-old, red-haired girl, call sign N7NGT, leans over the microphone, presses the button, and repeats her call to the world on her father’s ham radio.
For a moment she wonders, Is anyone out there listening?
Does anyone want to talk to Shauna Richards in Rock Springs, Wyoming?
A moment later a voice answers Shauna’s call. In fact, in a little over an hour Shauna talks to people in Australia, New Zealand, Japan—all over. These people all have amateur radio licenses. They also have their own lingo, called Q signals. Shauna enjoys talking to strangers, who quickly become friends, about what their lives are like and what they like best about their hometowns. And in emergencies, they use their radios to relay messages out of the emergency area to comfort worried relatives and friends when other methods of communication fail. Ham radio is a good hobby for someone who likes to talk. And Shauna likes to talk.
Talking wasn’t always something that Shauna liked to do. In junior high school, she was really shy. But now that she’s a junior in high school, she’s found out there are lots of shy people, potential friends just waiting for someone else to talk first. When Shauna gives advice to her younger sisters, Talia and Crystal, about how to improve their junior high years, she says, “I wish I had talked to more people. I know I would have made more friends if I had talked more. I am still scared to talk to anyone …”
Shauna pauses a moment and glances at her best friend, Kristy Call, who interrupts and says, “especially boys.”
Shauna nods in agreement. “Yes, especially boys. There are people who grow up talking to people, and they are friendly and have no problem doing that. I try to smile and try not to look like I’m nervous, but it’s hard. I’ve been trying to open up more.”
Anyone who is lucky enough to meet Shauna would be shocked to find out that she thinks she’s shy and not able to talk easily with people. This is a girl who won the national Hiram Percy Maxim Award, given each year to one young person in the United States who has done the most to promote amateur radio and still live a well-rounded life filled with leadership responsibilities and good grades in school.
Outside interests are certainly not lacking in Shauna’s life. It takes her a minute to recite the whole list. “I play the piano and the flute and sing in the choir.” Then things start to get complicated. “But choir and band are the same hours at school as orchestra, so I play in the jazz band and orchestra at the college so I can still play my flute. I can’t choose between piano and flute. I don’t have a favorite; I love them both. I’m on the swim team, and we have practices before and after school. I’m in the drama club and the French club. And I’m going to enter the science fair again this year. I want to learn to play the guitar. You can’t carry a piano around with you. You can take a flute, but you can’t sing while you’re playing the flute. If you have a guitar, you can play and sing. I can take guitar lessons at school, but then I’d have to drop one of my other classes, and I don’t want to drop anything. I’ll get a job and pay for lessons. If I can’t, I’ll get a guitar book and teach myself.”
Whew! Remember, Shauna likes to talk now.
But the list isn’t finished yet. She was on the student council and plays the piano at church and loves Young Women activities. She was in dance, but had to give it up for the piano. And she’s really upset that she can’t work a speech class into her school schedule.
We have to ask her dad, Kerry. Do you see Shauna strung out doing too much? He laughs, “All the time.”
Wouldn’t it be a good thing if she just dropped a few things? That’s not an acceptable solution to Shauna. She likes to try lots of things even if she isn’t the star at any of them. It’s the way she has fun. And she’s got a great mother, Johanna, who helps her find ways to learn the things she wants to learn.
“We never told Shauna that anything is too hard,” says Johanna. “If she’s doing something to impress someone or to get attention, then we figure it’s not a good enough reason. But if she really wants to learn something, then we’ll help her find a way.”
One of the things that definitely does not get shoved aside is church. “This past year,” says Shauna, “I would say my prayers and read the scriptures, but it was just words. Then I started really reading the scriptures and listening to other people’s testimonies. I know I got extra help to make it through the day and not fall asleep in classes and get good grades. All this year, I’ve been listening to people and watching my older friends and finding out the special things they know because of the Church and seminary. I don’t have a strong, strong, strong testimony yet, but it’s growing. I know I can feel the Spirit at different times.”
Shauna is quick to acknowledge the help of her family and teachers. “There’s a lot of people who help me and encourage me. I’m not this wonderful person who can do everything on my own—like Joseph Smith who went out and found the truth by himself.”
Pretty neat girl. And she doesn’t let her handicap get in the way.
Wait a minute. What handicap?
What could possibly be wrong with this cute redhead with sparkling blue eyes and great personality?
Not much because she doesn’t let it get in her way. But one of her eyes (it’s hard to tell which) doesn’t work. She was born with sight in only one eye.
“I don’t know what it’s like to see out of two eyes,” says Shauna. “It’s harder for me to do some things, like sports. In basketball, I shoot and it looks like the ball is going to go over the top of the basket, but it doesn’t even get close. I have to practice to get the feel of how I need to shoot.
“When I draw pictures in art, they always turn out different from other people’s. But the art teachers like that, so it’s okay. Just because I can’t see out of one eye doesn’t mean I can’t play the piano.”
Shauna’s differences have made her more empathetic with others. In some important ways, Shauna sees a little more clearly than many people with two working eyes. Her dad says, “She can see when someone is hurting. She sees, in a crowd of girls, when one girl is being left out.”
Actually, amateur radio fits in with Shauna’s overriding interest in helping people. She has helped people who have been in accidents or have broken down on the highway by relaying messages to the police or tow trucks. Everything Shauna learns and every new person Shauna talks to broadens her understanding of the world. She continues to find ways to expand the boundaries of what she knows and what she can know. Shauna’s world continues to get bigger.
But it’s getting late. Time to sign off.
“Thanks for the QSO (conversation). Please QSL (send me a postcard). This is Shauna N7NGT clear. 73s (best regards).”
You can decode this message written in Morse code from Shauna by comparing each group of dots and dashes to the Morse code chart. When you figure out the letters, write them down and you will have Shauna’s message to you.

Then I was called to be the second counselor in the elders quorum. Even there I had a manual, but I couldn’t use it. All the Church members had manuals they could use, and I wondered if it would be a heavy burden for me to depend upon other people to always read for me and record it. I started praying and asking my Father in Heaven to help me find something I could use to better understand the gospel. While praying, I felt the Spirit say to me that if I have faith, I can even move mountains.
During a home teaching visit, I told the sister we visited, “I cannot read the scriptures because I cannot see. I want to go to a school where I can learn how to read and write Braille.”
Her brother worked at a school for the blind. He helped me apply. I studied Braille every day. I even woke up at night to practice reading Braille. It took me only four months to be able to read it.
I finished school and told my branch president that I could now read Braille. He gave me a box with a manual for the priesthood and all the scriptures in Braille. I never knew that the Church had those things. It was then that I started really understanding and enjoying the gospel.
I have been called in the bishopric, and I’ve been serving in that calling for I think about 10 years. I can now stand in front of other people and teach by the Spirit. Because reading Braille in the lesson would take a lot of time, I practice and I learn the lesson at home so I can teach without a manual in front of me.

A favorite scripture that keeps David strong in the face of adversity is Doctrine and Covenants 82:10 [D&C 82:10]: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” David says, “I know that when I apply this in my life, everything else will fall into place.”

An area in which he has put the Lord first is in Sunday matches. Though football tournaments are often scheduled on Sundays, David decided at the age of 11 that he wouldn’t play on the Sabbath. His coach and manager respected him for this decision and worked around it with him. David relates how the Lord blessed him for his obedience. “In England, matches are often postponed because of bad weather. At the end of one season, all the Sunday matches that had been deferred were played midweek instead. I was able to play in all six games—and scored thirty-two goals.” This earned him the title of top scorer for the season and a reputation as “the boy who never plays on a Sunday.”

A week and a half before the October 2019 general conference session, I, along with family and friends, had to bury the loveliness of my mother, Eudie (YOU-dee) Charnes. My heart was broken, grieving, and empty beyond empty. The beauty of Eudie, the beauty that was Eudie, was, simply and sadly, no more. She was no longer before me to hold, to hug, or to nourish—to bless, to sing to, to cry over, or to pray with. The life and the light that had given me life had died, her blessedness now gone and beyond. And so too a part of me died with her also, a part deep within, leaving me forever without. With grace she died, embraced by faith, interlaced in the loving arms of her beloved family: of my wife, Sarah; of our daughter, Yael; and of mine, her newly orphaned son.
We were all together, yet completely alone—each alone in our individual loss, but bound together in our shared loss. And that fragile togetherness that we shared with each other was helped, and at times was even held together, by the kindness and presence of two living Latter-day Saint community treasures: Brother Mike Law and his eternal celestial companion, Sister Debbie Law, of Colorado, USA. Their humble hearts overflow with a love that can only be described as being inspired from above, and we are forever grateful for the light of their accompanying presence during our walk through the darkness and the despair of death.
It was during this time, a mere two days after burying my mother, that my desperate cry for the blessed was answered—answered in the form of a simple phone call and offer from my treasured friend Brother Mike Law. He was again reaching out and reaching in, as always, to see how I was faring and wayfaring along, in loss along this long and lonely journey of woe.
While we were speaking, I noticed a subtle tenor of uncertainty entering into Mike’s voice as he asked me the following question: “Joe, I know the answer is probably going to be no, but would you like to go to general conference, if I can get tickets?” My response was simple, immediate, direct, and urgent: “Mike, there’s actually nowhere else that I’d rather be.”
Those were my words, friends; those were my words—words sung forth in solemn song and solemn sorrow. I just knew that general conference would be that consecrating moment of graceful uplift for my heart. I knew the generous arms of every Latter-day Saint–inspired heart would be unconditionally extended and extending in love—that the arms of their loving hearts simply would not fail.
At general conference, people simply smile from the heart. They say hello from the heart, and they glow from the heart. There is an unspoken language of presence of heart. Their presence says hello. Just being there says hello. Just being there is being embraced.
That was the balm my aching soul needed—that heart-embracing balm of general conference kindness. That is why general conference would truly be that healing balm of Gilead for my soul in need.
And this is a general truism of your grand faith. Wise, loving, nurturing kindness is the service anthem of the Latter-day Saint community; it is the emblematic hallmark and legacy of your faith. If the old adage is true that “the highest form of wisdom is kindness,” then general conference is truly a gathering place for some of the wisest human beings on the planet.
You are “a light unto the nations,” and a light unto my heart. Bless you, Mike, for following the promptings of your heart. Your devotion to helping me restore peace within has the heavenly choir above singing, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23).

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that, that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.2

To the Timmins family, “keeping it in the family” has developed a special meaning. It refers to a pocket-sized New Testament that has accompanied each new missionary that the family has sent out since 1926. Currently it is in the possession of Elder Matthew T. Bailey of the North Hollywood Third Ward, North Hollywood California Stake, who is serving as a missionary in Mexico. The original owner was Elder Bailey’s grandfather, W. Mont Timmins, who served in Canada.
Since that time the New Testament has been used by members of the Timmins family serving in Scotland, California, Chile, Uruguay, Argentina, Norway, Texas, Georgia, Italy, and France. When two missionaries are in the mission field at the same time, the one to go out first is presented with the book; then he mails it back as the next person in the family prepares to go. Before each missionary goes into the field, the family gathers for a special luncheon, after which the returned missionaries tell of their missionary experiences and bear their testimonies. Then the book is presented to the next missionary.
William Timmins, also a grandson of W. Mont Timmins, expressed the feelings of the Timmins missionaries toward the tradition by saying: “It’s like a bridge between generations. As each boy goes out, he can read notes and annotations written by his grandfather, uncles, and brothers. It’s amazing how those notes and marked scriptures have helped missionary after missionary.”

My senior year in high school was filled with student body responsibilities, classes, activities, and planning for next year at BYU. I felt my senior year was a time for me to evaluate and take stock, to plan for big changes in my life. And all my friends were getting contact lenses.
“It’s a whole new world!” Cheryl confided as we huddled in our band uniforms at the opening football game. “I can see things I never saw before!” I had to admit she looked much prettier, too. Her small Japanese features no longer hid behind the thick glasses she had worn for years.
I pushed my own glasses back up on my nose and considered the possibilities. If Cheryl and Carolyn and Ron and Celia could make the change, why couldn’t I? It couldn’t be all that big a deal.
Or could it? I pondered some more as my regular checkup with the ophthalmologist approached.
“Of course!” he reassured me. He could fit me with contacts. I would have them within two weeks, for a mere $200, including eye exam and fittings during the breaking-in period.
That, of course, was another problem. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for my family in 1970. I didn’t want to waste it. What if I couldn’t get used to the contacts?
I thought some more as I bicycled home. Daddy’s business hadn’t been going well. On the other hand, I had a good part-time job. Maybe I could offer to pay part of the bill. Maybe I would have to pay for the whole thing. Would it be worth it? I decided it would.
“Absolutely not,” said Daddy. “No daughter of mine is going to wear contact lenses.” I argued that everyone was getting them. I argued that I would pay part of the cost. I argued that I would pay all of it. I argued that I had $200, and more, sitting in the bank at that very minute. I argued that the doctor thought he could correct my vision more accurately with contacts. I argued that my glasses pinched behind my ears. I argued that contacts would give me better grades in school. Daddy was adamant, totally unreasonable. He finally put his foot down and refused to listen any more. “I don’t want you to go through all that,” he said flatly. “No. Don’t ask again.”
I stormed to my room in tears. The fight had bolstered my resolve. Anger had replaced any squeamish fears I had entertained. I would show him! I was 17 years old. I had my own life to live! Nobody was going to have control over me, not while I had $200 of my own money in the bank. I fantasized that I would be beautiful, independent. I would even lose weight, maybe streak my hair. Boys would take me out. I would show that mean, old-fashioned man a thing or two!
The next day I made an appointment for another eye examination.
I felt very shy and embarrassed the day I returned home wearing my new contacts. My eyes seemed different and foreign. The feeling was not unlike the strange tingle I had in my fingertips on the rare occasions when I used nail polish. I felt naked without my glasses, but I was astounded at the clarity of my vision. And in my heart a lurking fear was beginning to grow.
My father was more surprised and curious than shocked and angry. “Please let me see them,” he said. I held out the tiny green disk on the tip of a finger. He stared at it almost reverently. “Is this all there is to it? It’s so tiny. Are you sure you can see with it?”
I felt smug, superior, vindicated.
His next question surprised me. “Didn’t it hurt your eyes when they poured the latex in?” What on earth was he talking about? Nothing of that sort had gone on at all.
“I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning. I followed him upstairs to his room. From the back of his sock drawer, he pulled out a hinged leather case and opened it. On the white velvet lining were two glass balls. No, not balls. I picked one up. Doll teacups, of clear glass, an inch in diameter and an eighth inch thick.
“These are my contact lenses,” Daddy said sadly.
I was horrified. “How could anyone wear those? Why they must cover the whole eyeball!”
“That’s right,” he replied. “I wore them three times.”
My mother peered over my shoulder. “One of the times was on his second date with me,” she said. “His poor eyes watered so much and he was so miserable I made him take them off.”
“They made them by propping my eyelids open with a metal brace and pouring liquid latex over my eyes,” he explained. “The molds were then used for the glass lenses, which fit tightly over the entire eye. It took all my courage to put them in. I didn’t want that to happen to my little girl,” he finished lamely.
Remorse filled my heart. Daddy had only been trying to protect me from the pain he had suffered himself, while I had thought he was being mean and unreasonable. I shuddered as I remembered my misery when the orthodontist had made latex molds of my teeth. Then I thought of the young man, 20 years earlier, who had endured incredible agony for the hope of being freed from the burden of thick, heavy glasses.
Daddy hadn’t realized that times had changed. His actions toward me had been motivated by memories of his earlier experiences. I understood better now the reasons for other restrictions he imposed upon his children. He had once been a young man. Events during those years had shaped his relationship with his family; and the family rules, fair or unfair, were influenced by those experiences.
I knew the remaining months I would spend in Daddy’s household were limited. I would soon begin a new life that would lead me away from home. Very shortly, my parents would not be responsible for my welfare, and I was sorry my new understanding of them had come so late. I wished I had been more considerate and teachable.

“Every summer, for many years, Dad would drive us to Utah as soon as school was out. The trip would take two or three days, and we would usually stop in Scipio where my Grandma and Grandpa Peterson lived. Then we’d come up to Taylorsville to visit my cousins, whom we were very fond of. Dad would go back to Phoenix, and at the end of summer he’d come back to get us for school. While we were away, Dad wrote letters to us regularly.”

“After keeping record of my time spent on social media for the first week, I was a little shocked at the amount of time I spent on my phone. It was definitely a good idea for me to use some of that time for the Book of Mormon, especially because diligently reading scriptures is not one of my strengths.
“Ironically, one of the first days I read my scriptures in the morning was a terrible day. However, I knew that reading scriptures would only improve my life, so I kept reading.
“I think the greatest impact from reading every day was that I felt much more in tune with the Spirit. I was able to make decisions much easier. I felt more love for the people around me and an increased desire to serve. When I read my scriptures in the morning, the day went so much better. When I read at night, I slept well. I would strongly recommend that everyone try this. What a difference it makes!”
Bryn C., age 18, Utah, USA

“Come on, Sam,” Jeremy said as he played kick the can with his friends along the old dusty roadbed. “Nobody will know but us.”
Lagging behind, I thought about the conversation Jeremy and I had had that morning. He’d told me about his plan to steal watermelons from Brother Vargas. I knew stealing was wrong, but I figured if I did what he wanted me to, we would be friends. So when he had finished talking, I had swatted him on the back and told a lie. “I know all about stealing. It’s easy. I’ve done it before.”
“You have!” he’d exclaimed, looking surprised. “Wait until I tell the other guys.” After he told everyone in the group, they looked at me with renewed interest. I liked that, but now I was in a terrible situation. I didn’t want to steal anything, especially Brother Vargas’s prize watermelons.
Brother Vargas was as old as my grandpa, but he had been my only friend when we first moved to Fawn Creek. He knew I was lonely and needed a friend. And I knew that the money from his melon field made up a big part of the income he and Sister Vargas lived on for a whole year.
“Hurry up, Sam,” one of the kids in the group called over his shoulder. “Brother Vargas will be back soon to pick up another load of melons. If we don’t get to his field before he does, we’ll have to wait another day.”
Oh, well, I thought, walking faster, I need friends my own age. Jeremy’s in my Primary class and my Scout troop, and all the guys like him. If we become friends, I’ll have a lot of guys to hang around with. Besides, Mom thinks he’s a good friend. So did I—until now.
When I caught up to Jeremy, he began making plans. “Clint, you be the lookout. If anyone comes, whistle real loud. Brett, you take Sam and head for the nearest row of melons. Jeff and I will be right behind you. Remember, we won’t have much time, so don’t be too choosy. Just get the biggest ones you can carry.”
“Yeah,” Clint agreed licking his lips. “We already know how good they taste.”
“What if we get caught?” I asked.
“Getting nervous?” Brett questioned.
“Not me,” I lied for the second time in half an hour. “You’re right; we’d better hurry.”
The real reason I wanted to hurry had nothing to do with taking melons. The truth was, I didn’t want to see the way Brother Vargas would look at me if he caught me robbing him. We were friends, and true friends take care of each other. I was starting to feel awful.
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Jeremy said. “No one will find out.”
How did I get into this situation? I wondered. I needed someone to blame. So I blamed Mom. It’s her fault we moved after Dad died.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered under my breath. “And look at what you’re doing.” I knew why Mom had sold the house. She didn’t want to go to work and leave me home alone. She’d loved that old house, and I knew she didn’t want to move away from her friends any more than I did.
“Sam, you’re dragging your feet again,” Jeremy said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, as I sent a rock flying across the road with the side of my foot.
When we finally reached Brother Vargas’s melon field, I knew I had made the worst decision of my life. But I didn’t know how to get out of it. Then the words to a song we were learning in Primary popped into my head. I began to sing softly:
“‘Choose the right when a choice is placed before you. In the right the Holy Spirit guides; And its light is forever shining o’er you, When in the right your heart confides.’”
When I got to the chorus, all the boys began to sing with me. When we finished it, I knew I had to say something. “We can’t do this!” I declared looking first at the guys and then at the melon field. “This just isn’t right.”
“But you said you’ve stolen things before,” Jeremy said accusingly.
“That was a lie,” I admitted. “I’ve never stolen anything in my whole life, and I don’t want to start now.”
“Neither do I,” Clint said, walking over to stand next to me.
Surprised I turned to Clint. “I thought you had stolen before. You even said that you knew how good Brother Vargas’s melons were.”
“We lied, too,” Brett admitted. “Brother Vargas gives my family watermelons from his field every year.”
“Yeah, and boy are they good!” Jeff said, almost drooling. “He gives melons to anyone who wants them.”
“Then why were we going to steal them?” I asked, almost shouting.
“We thought it would be fun,” Clint said as he dug the point of his tennis shoe into the loose dirt.
“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, as his voice became a whisper. “But it sure doesn’t seem like fun now.”
When Brother Vargas drove up, we were sitting in the shade of the big metal shed still talking about his watermelons.
“Hi, boys,” he called. “It’s good to see you. I could sure use your help putting another load of melons on the truck.”
Feeling a little guilty, we asked him how we should do it so we wouldn’t damage the melons. Two hours later, after the truck was loaded, he offered us jobs for the rest of the summer. Then he asked, “Will each of you take a watermelon home to your families?”
“Yes! My family is going to love this!” Brett said excitedly. “Just yesterday Dad said his mouth was watering for a taste of Brother Vargas’s melons.”
“Mine, too,” Clint said with a big grin.
After Jeff, Clint, and Brett headed for home, only Jeremy and I were left.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I guess I just got carried away.”
“I’m sorry, too, Jeremy. I’m glad we finally made the right decision.”
Jeremy’s whole face lit up. “So am I! Now we can eat watermelon without feeling bad—and we have jobs too! It doesn’t get much better than that!”

Dasch couldn’t wait to play with Charlie!
Charlie was the class teddy bear. He was brown and furry. He had his own clothes. He even had a baseball hat.
Each weekend, one student took Charlie home. It was Dasch’s turn.
Dasch was excited. He had a baseball hat to wear too.
Dasch and Charlie had fun. They ate cheese pizza. They played video games. They had a sleepover.
On Sunday, lots of people visited. Dasch’s sister was leaving on a mission. She was going far away. Everyone said goodbye.
Charlie said goodbye too. His big weekend was almost over.
The next day Dasch took Charlie back to school. Dasch stood in front of the class. “What did you and Charlie do?” his teacher asked.
Dasch was nervous. He held Charlie tight.
Should he tell about the pizza? The video games? The sleepover?
Should he tell about Sunday? The kids in class didn’t go to his church. What if they laughed?
Dasch thought about his sister. He knew what she would do.
He took a deep breath. He told all about his weekend, even about his sister’s mission. He told how Charlie said goodbye.
Everyone clapped. They didn’t laugh at all!
Dasch smiled. He was brave just like his sister. Maybe he was a missionary too!

During my service as mission president, I met many young people who also demonstrated this kind of pliability. I first met Olivier Pecqueux on a visit to New Caledonia. He was 24 years old and in the military service. He was not active in the Church, pursuing instead a life of worldliness. But the Lord had other plans for him. At his request we met and discussed his patriarchal blessing. He decided to humble himself, repent, and let the Lord mold his life. Soon he was called on a full-time mission, and he became one of my most capable elders. He is now attending college and was recently married in the Tahiti temple.

A number of years ago I was in Atlanta, Georgia, as an attorney representing a man who was buying a business. After several days of negotiations we reached an agreement and signed the closing documents. That evening one of the sellers invited us to a dinner to celebrate the closing. When I arrived, he offered me an alcoholic drink, which I declined. He then said, “Are you a Saint?” I didn’t fully understand what he meant, and he repeated, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?” I responded, “Yes, I am,” and he said he had been observing my personal habits during our negotiations and had concluded that I was either LDS or had a stomach problem. We both chuckled. He then informed me that he had only known one member of the Church on a personal basis, David B. Haight. They were both executives in Chicago with a large retail chain following World War II. He told me of the significant influence Elder Haight had been in his life and that he held him in the highest regard.
As I flew back home to San Francisco, I thought about what had occurred, especially in two respects: I was surprised at how it felt to be asked if I was a Saint, and I was impressed with the positive influence one outstanding example—Elder Haight—had on this good man.

I’ve told the story about the little baby nine months old who was born blind. The father came up with him one Sunday and said, “Brother Cowley, our baby hasn’t been blessed yet, we’d like you to bless him.” I said, “Why have you waited so long?” “Oh, we just didn’t get around to it.” …

I said, “All right, what’s the name?” So he told me the name, and I was just going to start when he said, “By the way, give him his vision when you give him a name. He was born blind.” It shocked me, but then said to myself, why not? Christ said to his disciples when he left them, “Greater things than I have done shall you do.” (See John 14:12.) I had faith in that father’s faith. After I gave that child its name, I finally got around to giving it its vision. That boy is about twelve years old now. The last time I was back there I was afraid to inquire about him. I was sure he had gone blind again. That’s the way my faith works sometimes. So I asked the branch president about him. And he said, “Brother Cowley, the worst thing you ever did was to bless that child to receive his vision. He’s the meanest kid in this neighborhood; always getting into mischief.” Boy I was thrilled about that kid getting into mischief!

I also learned on my mission, during the hot summer of 1981, the importance of charity. Jesus Christ taught: “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:34–35).
The area I served in that summer included a part of the city that had many apartment buildings with security guards. It was very difficult to get permission from the guards to tract in those buildings. We often tried but usually failed.
One afternoon both my companion and I felt we should go to that part of the city. During the bus trip there, we saw an older woman pushing a wooden cart. She seemed heavy laden, so we determined to get off the bus to help her. But the driver refused to stop since the road was so steep. When the bus did stop, my companion and I immediately ran back to the hillside. Her load was very heavy; it took us 15 minutes to get it to the top.
Some of the security guards saw what we were doing. That day when we walked into their buildings, they simply let us pass. That afternoon we had much success—we found three new investigators, one of whom was later baptized.

Forty years ago, I gave my heart to Jesus Christ and began attending an evangelical church. I had a wonderful pastor and made many friends who helped me grow spiritually. But after many years of attending, I became troubled by some of the church’s new practices. I tried so hard to stay, but I just couldn’t abide by the changes.
When I began searching for a new church, my brother and his wife, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, invited me to come to their church. But I couldn’t wrap my heart and mind around Joseph Smith as a prophet. I respectfully told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
I started going to another evangelical church, but the same thing happened there too. After a while, I felt that my spiritual needs weren’t being fulfilled there either. Once again, my brother and his wife invited me to come to their church, and again I politely refused.
I decided I couldn’t trust any church. I made a plan to practice my faith alone. But without church or the opportunity to share my faith with others, I felt myself slipping away from my commitment to Jesus Christ. I started doubting what I had believed in for 30 years! That was the turning point for me.
I looked to the only option I seemed to have left and finally told my brother and his wife that I wanted to go to church with them.
I was skeptical at first, but I will never forget that first Sunday I attended with them. My heart swelled throughout sacrament meeting, as we discussed the New Testament in Sunday School, and again when we sang beautiful music together in Relief Society. And I loved the way people interacted with such love and compassion.
I felt at home.
I continued going to church, but after praying and searching for almost two years, I still had many questions for the Lord and wasn’t ready to be baptized. Then, in October 2012, I decided to watch general conference to find my answers.
Both Saturday sessions greatly touched my heart, and I decided to watch the Sunday morning session in the church building. Even though there was hardly anyone there, I felt distinct peace about my decision to be in the chapel. I could feel my heart softening. I was so hungry for truth.
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, shared a beautiful message that I will never forget. He spoke of Joseph Smith’s prayer in Liberty Jail, when he cried out: “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:1). President Eyring compared Joseph’s feeling to what I had felt:
“Many of us, in moments of personal anguish, feel that God is far from us. … God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are, covered by a pavilion of motivations that draw us away from God and make Him seem distant and inaccessible. …
“Our feelings of separation from God will diminish as we become more childlike before Him. … It will help us recognize this truth: God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children.”1
As President Eyring shared this message about receiving God’s love and His will, I heard a message from the Spirit in my mind. It was two simple words: “Be baptized.”
When Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles spoke about conversion that same day,2 I felt my concerns about being baptized disappear. I realized I wasn’t giving up my core beliefs from my evangelical days by joining a new faith. I was building on the faith and truths that I already had. I was being further converted unto the Lord. And His prophets were helping me along the way.
The morning after conference, I called my brother and asked him if he would baptize me. It was a joyful moment that brought us both to tears.
As I reflect on my life journey, I’m grateful for the opportunities afforded me through Jesus Christ. And I’m grateful for general conference. During general conference, I felt that God had heard me. He answered my questions, addressed my fears, and loved me through the words of His prophets.
I know that each general conference has a message straight from the Lord that is personally tailored to you and what you’re going through. As we listen to the prophets with a willingness to accept God’s message for us, we will hear Him. We will receive answers to our prayers and answers to our questions. We will find that the Lord speaks, and we will become more and more converted unto Him.

As the wagon drew near to Bountiful, … we came to the site of a log house with a dirt roof on one part of it and another part adjoining on the south that had been built up to the square with logs unchinked without a roof, and this, my mother turned to explain to me, was her home. But soon mother and children climbed out of the wagon and went into the house. …

No one was at home when the little group entered, much to the disappointment of the mother as to the children, for, of course, we were anxious to meet our other sister, “Annie,” who was remembered lovingly by us. Our mother seemed annoyed, for she had expected her other daughter at home, perhaps with supper ready. It was only a short time, however, until “Sister Annie” came in and what a charming thing she was—bright, blue-eyed, fine long hair combed back from her face. Everything about her seemed so perfectly clean and wholesome, and to my eyes she was beautiful too, and spritely. She seemed to be everywhere about the house at once, and the meal that our mother had expected was soon under way. …

… What was left of the day was the wonderful meal prepared by Annie. Not much variety of food, for our mother was desperately poor, but what there was, was fit for princes—just white light buttermilk biscuits with butter, clear water from the creek, and dark, sweet, sticky fluid called “Molasses.” It was heartily enjoyed, Mary and me furnishing the principle appetites. How long the talk of the reunion lasted is not remembered, but it must have been far into the night. With the awakening of the next day, my life in Utah had begun.

When Ole Ravn-Petersen was 16, he obtained his father’s permission to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The baptism took place in a neoclassical-style building in a quiet residential area of Copenhagen, a meetinghouse that had been dedicated in 1931 by Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Later, after serving a mission, young Ole would come back to this same building to baptize his father. For him and for many other Danish members, fond memories of the building became only sweeter when it was renovated and dedicated as the Copenhagen Denmark Temple in May 2004.
Ole Ravn-Petersen now serves as bishop of the Århus Ward, Århus Denmark Stake, on the Jutland Peninsula, three hours away from Copenhagen by train. He visited his nation’s capital city recently and found himself thinking that the pace of life there was a bit hectic. And then he thought of the temple: “We have a place here in Copenhagen where we can get closer to our Heavenly Father.”

After Elder Kimball left, I shared my conversion experience with my friends, and they mocked me. But I knew the gospel was true and could not deny it, so I decided to find another vocation. I started a garment business as my father had. Gradually though, I realized that I could not progress unless I gained more education. I was in my mid-20s, and the idea of going back to school was daunting, but I spent the next nine years acquiring education. I ran my business in the morning and studied in the evening. I spent all my earnings on education. I was determined and prayed for divine help. I pursued a bachelor’s degree in psychology, sociology, and arts from Agra University. Finally, I attended the Meerut University to study for a law degree.
During the early part of those nine years, there was one Latter-day Saint family in Delhi, the Shortlefts, who worked in the U.S. Embassy. I traveled to Delhi for sacrament meeting in their home. In 1962, Elder Richard L. Evans (1906–71) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited us, and in 1964, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles came. I remember placing a garland on Elder Hinckley and handing over my pot of saved tithing, which I had been accumulating for many years.
Unfortunately, these moments of fellowship—though helpful—were infrequent, and while in India I was devoid of the constant fellowship of other Saints. This troubled my heart. As the years wore on, lonesomeness was taking a toll on me, and I saw no future for me in India. I longed to have the priesthood and live among the Saints.
When I felt it was time to be closer to the Saints, I discontinued my law course and immigrated to Canada. When I landed in Edmonton, Alberta, I went to the nearest ward. I met Bishop Harry Smith and immediately felt a sense of belonging and fellowship in that ward. I visited the Cardston Alberta Temple, even though I could not receive my endowment yet.
I wanted to visit Salt Lake City and surprise my good friends Elder Kimball and Brother Lamar Williams. Finally, in the spring of 1969, eight years after my baptism, I visited Salt Lake City and met with Elder Kimball. He was delighted and spent the rest of the day with me.
While in Salt Lake City, I went to a salon for a haircut. I shared my testimony with the barber, who was a convert himself. One gentleman, waiting for his turn, overheard me and told me about his travels to India. He paid for my haircut, invited me to dinner, and drove me to Brigham Young University. I was impressed by the campus. I mentioned that I wanted to continue my studies here but could not afford it. The man offered to pay $1,000 for my tuition. I was surprised and immensely grateful.
Brother Dipty (left) with Paul Trithuvadass, another pioneer Church member from India, on Temple Square in Salt Lake City.
I joined the social work program at BYU. In 1972, after graduating from BYU, I moved to Salt Lake City to pursue a master’s degree from the University of Utah. Later I moved to California, USA, where I earned a PhD in clinical psychology, taught courses on how to stop domestic violence, and authored a book. I am now retired and live with my wife, Wendy, in Nevada, USA.
There was a time when I went through much personal strife, challenges, and tribulations. My focus on the gospel and the blessings of the temple helped me overcome many of life’s challenges.
I often look back at my journey from being a “jungle boy” in rural India to being where I am today and know that my life and faith are truly miracles. The Lord’s embroidery of my life is more beautiful than I ever expected. How wonderful it was to have the Lord’s anointed prophet Spencer W. Kimball school me and walk with me at key times in my life’s journey.
I often think back to my time with President Kimball. He would invite me to his family camping trips, picnics, and Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Even then I knew that he truly was an Apostle and prophet of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I met President Kimball one last time while he was very ill. But he still smiled at me and hugged me. He was my first LDS contact, and I knew he would never let go of me.
I am thankful to God for our prophets and the restored gospel. Our Church is the divine model the world needs today. Because of the Church I was able to gain an education and grow as a person. I am grateful for that day when I knew prayer was real and that I was willing to listen to the still, small voice and investigate the Church. I am grateful that I allowed the Lord to shape my life. I know that if we seek His kingdom, everything else will be added to us (see Matthew 6:33).