Gospel Story Finder

Karen Graham, who now serves as a stake Young Women president, writes of the importance of homemaking skills in her life:
“In my senior year in high school, when I was a 17-year-old Laurel, I arrived home from school one day to find that my mother had died very suddenly and unexpectedly of a cerebral hemorrhage. My two older sisters were married and living away from home. This left me the oldest at home to take care of the house, my grieving father, and two younger brothers ages 12 and 13.
“For the next two and a half years, I took care of the house, did all the laundry, bought groceries and fixed the meals. … Can you imagine letting a 17-year-old be in charge of the grocery budget? This sweet father of mine never said an unkind word. He never complained when I turned all his white shirts pink in the laundry or when dinner miserably failed. All my friends in high school were planning for their after-graduation lives. Some were going to Utah State University. … I had considered going to Ricks College, but in light of the family circumstances I chose to stay at home and continue to help.
“Two years after Mother’s passing, I started dating a return[ed] missionary, Garry. On our second date, he asked me what I had done with my Saturday. … He was a little surprised when I told him that I’d dusted and vacuumed and grocery shopped and done laundry all day. He thought I was just a real homebody. Six months later, this wonderful man took me to the temple and we started our life together. He was thrilled to have a wife that knew how to cook and handle the budget.
“One evening, the first year we were married, we had some newlywed friends over for dinner. Several of the couples started talking about what a hard time they had had adjusting to marriage. Garry and I looked at each other in disbelief. … Adjusting to marriage? What was that? Our first year had gone so smoothly! As we talked about it later, we determined that the reason was that I had come into the marriage with homemaking skills. … I didn’t have the stress of experimenting with and/or burning dinner, ruining laundry, or budgeting grocery money. I’d done all that experimenting on a sensitive, patient, wise father. Now Garry and I could concentrate on just our relationship, and it was wonderful. Putting my interests aside and thinking about the needs of my family had truly been a blessing for me later.”
Her service to her father during this difficult time was a part of the angelic cause of doing good, that great preparation you are making to become great women.

“As an investigator, I came across an old copy of the Book of Mormon that was yellowed and musty with age. Its jacket was stiff, as if it had never been touched,” says Janet Spear of South Glens Falls, New York. “But as I picked it up, I was filled with tremendous joy, and a peaceful feeling of relief washed over me. That day I began to read the Book of Mormon for the very first time. My soul was starving for spiritual food, and I began to feast upon the words.
“The passage cried out to me as I read Alma 13:27: ‘Cast off your sins, and [do] not procrastinate the day of your repentance.’ Driven to my knees, I poured out my soul in prayer. In my heart the Holy Spirit said, ‘This journey has ended. It’s time to begin another.’
“I arranged to have the missionaries teach me the gospel. It was wonderful. I had never known such joy! Since the day I was baptized, the Book of Mormon has been my constant companion. It encourages me, inspires me, and teaches me. Its words have shown me how to live, not simply to exist. I truly experienced a metamorphosis.”

Following my marriage to a wonderful companion, our home was blessed with the arrival of children. In the space of a few years we found ourselves the parents of ten children—all girls but eight. We knew as our children grew older they would need to assist with family finances. This became evident when our four older children expressed a desire to learn to ski. One Christmas we bought four pairs of used wooden skis and some poles, and we acquired some used boots. On Christmas morning our children were delighted to receive their skis, and they accepted the responsibility for most of their future expenses.

Tired of being the only one with your high standards in your peer group? Try doing what the youth on the island of Yap did—they created their own peer group.
Yap is about 532 miles southeast of Guam, has an area of 39.1 square miles, and has a total population of nearly 9,350. The Church is growing rapidly there, and the LDS youth have a reputation for not smoking, drinking, taking drugs, or chewing the betelnut, a druglike substance that stains the teeth and harms the body. The LDS youth are also noted for breaking down the island’s rigid caste system. Everyone at church is treated as a child of God, regardless of family status.
Recently, the youth worked with their leaders and the missionaries to organize a one-day mission activity. They participated in everything from interviews to an MTC experience to proselyting, while dressing like missionaries and following mission rules. As a result, 49 copies of the Book of Mormon were placed on their island. Already some of the people they contacted have been baptized.

In 1946 I was assigned by President George Albert Smith to go to war-torn Europe to reestablish our missions from Norway to South Africa and to set up a program for the distribution of welfare supplies—food, clothing, bedding, and so forth.
We established headquarters in London, England, and then made preliminary arrangements with the military authorities on the Continent. One of the first men I wished to see was the commander of the United States forces in Europe. He was stationed in Frankfurt, Germany.
When we arrived in Frankfurt, my companion and I went to seek an appointment with the general. But we were told by the appointment officer, “Gentlemen, there will be no opportunity for you to see the general for at least three days. He’s very busy, and his schedule is filled up with appointments.”
I said, “It is very important that we see him, and we can’t wait that long. We are due in Berlin tomorrow.”
He said, “I’m sorry, but he can’t see you.”
We left the building, went out to our car, removed our hats, and united in prayer. Then we went back into the building and found a different officer at the appointment post. In less than fifteen minutes we were in the presence of the general.
We had prayed that we would be able to see him and to touch his heart, knowing that all relief supplies contributed from any source were required to be placed into the hands of the military for distribution. Our objective, as we explained to the general, was to distribute our own supplies to our own people, through our own channels, and also to make gifts for general feeding of children. We explained the Church welfare program and how it operated.
Finally he said, “Gentlemen, you go ahead and collect your supplies, and by the time you get them collected, the policy may be changed.”
We replied, “General, our supplies are already collected. They are always collected. Within twenty-four hours from the time I cable the First Presidency of the Church in Salt Lake City, carloads of supplies will be rolling toward Germany. We have many storehouses filled with basic commodities.”
He then admitted, “I’ve never heard of a people with such vision.” His heart was touched as we had prayed it would be. Before we left his office, we had written authorization to make our own distribution to our own people through our own channels.

While at the hospital where they took my daughter Natalie (who had already passed), I was in a state of shock. I was completely numb, physically and mentally. Things were happening around me that I could see but not feel: police asking questions, friends crying, medical staff informing. It’s all a blur yet perfectly clear.
My former bishop and his wife were there. A colleague of mine had called them. My daughter, Natalie, and I had moved from their ward only a few months prior. My bishop and his wife were beloved friends of ours.
The bishop’s wife, also named Natalie, said I would be staying with them. The next thing I knew, I was in their vehicle riding back to my old neighborhood. I had no comprehension of time passing, yet I was aware it was dawn of the next day when I received a priesthood blessing from the bishop and a friend.
I was kept in the loop with all of the funeral arrangements, yet I was unaware of all the details. I would get dressed when I was told to get dressed. I would get in the car when I was told we had somewhere to go. I was a robot following simple commands. That was all I was capable of doing. Surprisingly, I had not yet shed a tear.
My daughter’s funeral was beautiful. There was a lot of laughter mixed with tears, and the Spirit was very much present. My oldest daughter, Victoria, traveled back to Utah from another state. She wrote a song and performed it at the funeral.
I was never approached about the funeral costs except to be informed it was being handled. Within a few weeks the funeral had been paid in full by donations from Church members.
At the time, I was still staying with my former bishop’s family. Members from my previous ward were looking for a new place for me to live. A cute little basement apartment became available, and the next thing I knew, I was signing a lease. This did not happen by my own doing. It was the actions of a network of Church members, including my dear friend Natalie, the bishop’s wife.
Ward members helped move my personal effects and got me and Victoria settled in. The first two months’ rent had been paid in advance—again, by Church member donations. I still had no perception of time, and I was still emotionally numb to a certain degree, yet I was starting to get feeling back.
A few weeks after my daughter’s death, the realization and magnitude of what had happened started to creep in. It was like heavy, thick black smoke seeping in at first, followed by all-consuming billows until I was surrounded by complete darkness. Grief in its rawest has its own dimension of blackness.
Natalie had died on Thanksgiving Day. It was now Christmas. The holidays only magnified my loss. The agony lingered throughout the day and tormented me throughout the night. It was relentless. The tears poured endlessly for days. Minutes passed like hours. Hours passed like days. Days passed like years.
As a divorced woman, I did not have a husband who could go out and earn a living. If I could have, I would have curled up in a ball, locked myself in a closet, and remained there forever. But I didn’t have that luxury. I had to somehow gather the strength to function. I had to find a job. I was working when Thanksgiving Day happened, but somehow in all the chaos, I had forgotten about my job. I could have gone back to it, but my Natalie loved to hang out there, and the thought of going back without her was unbearable.
By the first week of January, I had gotten a low-paying job. I tried to act like I was normal. My body kept going, but I felt like my soul had died. No one knew I was a hollow shell of a being just going through the motions. It was only during the drive to and from work that I was able to break down emotionally. This was my new normal.
I started going to my new ward a little at a time. I just knew if someone asked me how I was doing, I would fall to pieces. I desperately wanted to go to church, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less make eye contact. I wished with all my heart that I could be invisible. More than anything, I just wanted to rip this all-consuming pain out of my chest!
I have no idea what the sisters in Relief Society thought of me, and at the time I didn’t much care. I was too busy just trying to breathe! I’m sure I gave off the impression that I wanted to be left alone, for none of them bothered me. They did, however, occasionally give me a warm smile that I found a little comforting—just the exact small dose to keep me from running out the nearest exit, which was a constant thought.
Time is a healer. It doesn’t erase events, but it allows gaping wounds to slowly close.
That fateful Thanksgiving Day was in 2011, and it took me a few years to realize just how much I was helped by my brothers and sisters in the Church. I felt like I was carried off the battlefield after having been critically wounded. I was nursed back to health and cared for until I could stand on my own.
Countless blessings have come my way, in a variety of ways. My testimony has grown to near full maturity. I know now what it feels like to be held in the loving arms of our Savior.
So to answer my friend’s question, “How did the Church help you through this ordeal?” I say, “They didn’t help me. They saved me.”

Once Elder Von G. Keetch visited a beach in Australia. He saw a group of surfers who had traveled there to surf. They were mad because a big net in the water kept them from getting to the biggest waves. After hearing them complain, another surfer showed them why the net was there—it kept the sharks out! God’s standards, like the barrier, protect us from spiritual dangers and help us feel peace and happiness.

One day while I was at church, one of the sisters expressed to me that she was feeling lonely. Like her, I was also a widow and lived by myself. Suddenly, I had an idea: why didn’t we get together on Mondays and hold family home evening? We could also invite other sisters who lived alone.
I did a little research and found eight women in our ward who might participate. Six were widows, one was single, and one’s husband wasn’t a member of the Church.
With my bishop’s approval, I arranged for all of us to hold family home “afternoons” together. (We hold it early in the day because most of us don’t see well and don’t like being out after dark.) We take turns meeting in each other’s homes and giving a brief lesson. Perhaps the most important thing that has come from this is a true feeling of friendship that binds us together in love as sisters.
All of us eagerly await our family home “afternoons.” We feel happy to be studying the gospel together, and we enjoy wonderful friendships that strengthen our faith and our love for the Lord Jesus Christ.

An area in which he has put the Lord first is in Sunday matches. Though football tournaments are often scheduled on Sunday, David decided at age 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 I scored 32 goals.” As a result, David earned the title of top scorer for the season and a reputation as “the boy who never plays on a Sunday.”

I will never forget a lesson that my dear wife, Sister Mutombo, taught me on the first day of our marriage. I remember that Sunday as if it was yesterday. We had no food in our home and no money to buy food. As a newly married husband, I truly wanted to provide for my new wife, but I had no means to do so. I felt very alone.
I looked at my wife lying on the mattress that we had put on the floor because we had no money for a bed. She was exhausted and hungry. I decided to visit a good friend of mine to find a solution to my trial. I left my wife alone in our small two-square-meter room and went to see my friend. He told me that he had no money to help me but gave me one dollar to use for transportation to get home. I saw this as an answer to many sincere prayers to my Heavenly Father, asking for His help and support. I decided to walk home and use the dollar to buy food for my wife because that is the only money I had.
On the way back home, I used the dollar to buy a small piece of meat and some bread and put it in a black plastic bag. I was so excited that I now had food to give to my wife and walked home quickly. It was after 9 p.m. when I got home, and my dear Nathalie was tired, exhausted, hungry, and probably wondering about her future. Can you imagine going without food on your first day of married life? When I arrived home, I proudly presented food to my wife, saying, “darling, I got some food for you, please wake up.”
She woke up and took the plastic bag and saw the piece of meat and bread. She asked, “where did you find the money to buy this food?”
I told her. She looked at me and asked an unexpected question. “Have you paid tithing on the one dollar you received?”
I replied, “Nathalie, this is just one dollar, do you think we need to pay tithing on it?”
She took the piece of meat and bread that I brought home to her, put it back in the bag and said that she would not eat the bread of a man who does not remember his covenant with God. I weep when I remember this experience. I repented immediately and promised my wife that never ever again would I make such a poor choice. She taught me what it means to be a true disciple of Jesus Christ who keeps his covenants with God. I have since found great joy in paying an honest and full tithing. As President Russell M. Nelson said, the Church was not any different because I paid a full tithe, however becoming a full-tithe payer changed me as my faith in my Savior Jesus Christ increased.

A little over a month ago, I received a message from a returned missionary who had served with us. He said: “The last while has been tough. Battling anxiety and depression every day has been weighing me down, and it is very difficult. I feel alone and just miserable. I have been praying for the guidance of our Heavenly Father for peace and comfort in what I can do to battle the hardship. … While I was praying, I felt the prompting of the Spirit tell me that I needed to be paying my tithing in full. … I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I immediately felt the urge to do so. With the desire to do so, I felt the prompting that ‘if you pay your tithing, everything will be OK.’ I am still struggling to find peace, but I do have a testimony in our Savior and that through my obedience, I can feel and find the peace I am looking for in my heart and mind. I have recently decided to come back to the Church and to seek the Spirit in all that I do.”

Now he is doing very well. You also may ask Heavenly Father for peace, but the answer may be different than what you anticipate it will be. As long as you seek to know of the Savior and pray to Heavenly Father, He will give you a customized answer for you.

Sue twisted the CTR ring on her finger. She was only half-listening to her teacher, Miss Williams, tell about when to indent for a new paragraph. Mostly she just looked at the back of Myrtle’s head. As usual, the girl’s faded red hair stuck out in tangles.
At least she could comb it, even if she doesn’t wash it, Sue thought.
Suddenly it seemed like her CTR ring pinched her finger. She turned it around and around, feeling the raised Choose the Right letters. She wished she knew if not choosing to do something right was as bad as choosing to do wrong. …
Just then Myrtle turned around and smiled at Sue. She was sure now that Myrtle wanted to be on her kickball team at recess.
Miss Williams placed the language book on her desk and walked to the door. The recess bell rang, and Sue lined up with the other fourth graders.
And who has a name like “Myrtle”? Maybe someone’s great-grandmother. Nobody Sue knew had such an old-fashioned name. Myrtle was new to their school, and she wore old, wrinkled dresses and funny shoes with socks that crept down under her heels. Because she moved around so much, she had been kept back a grade. So she was taller than every other kid in the fourth grade. She smiled a lot, tried hard to be friends with her classmates, and seemed not to recognize that they all wore clean, neat clothes and that they pretended not to see her when they chose sides for kickball games.
Sue tried to ignore her best friend, Maryann, who chattered at her side. She had to make up her mind what she was going to do. Ahead of her stood Myrtle, waiting for her at the drinking fountain, smiling.
In her head, Sue could hear Miss Williams telling how Myrtle’s family moved around a lot, how lonely she was, how much she needed a friend. As she got closer to Myrtle, Sue touched her CTR ring again.
Just as she got near Myrtle, Maryann pulled at Sue’s arm. “Sue! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said!” she complained. “You have to pick Bradley and Rosie first!” She dragged Sue past Myrtle. “First, after me, of course!”
Sue stole a glance back at Myrtle. The new girl’s big blue eyes looked teary. Sue shook her head quickly to rid herself of the sad face behind her, then hurried outside to the field. This was her week as a team captain. She wanted to choose the best players. The other captain was Jason, who was in her Primary class.
When everyone was chosen, Myrtle was left standing. “Sorry, Myrtle,” Jason said. “I guess you’ll have to sit this one out. It’ll make the teams uneven, if you play.”
Sue looked away. Even Myrtle knew that all it would take was for someone on the other team to run twice. This is what Sister Marvin meant last Sunday when she reminded us to use our CTR rings to help us choose the right. But it’s Jason’s turn to choose, not mine. …
Later, at lunch, Sue and Maryann stood in the doorway, looking for good seats. Myrtle sat sideways, watching the doorway, her hand on the empty place beside her, saving a seat. She was looking directly at Sue, and she was smiling.
But Maryann said, “There’s Rosie and Jason! They’re waving to us!” Sue followed Maryann, avoiding Myrtle. She pretended not to see how Myrtle’s shoulders slumped downward as she turned around, taking her hand off the empty place beside her.
Sue had a pain in her chest all through lunch. She couldn’t help but notice that none of her classmates sat beside Myrtle. When Maryann made a rude remark about Myrtle and everyone else laughed, Sue was silent. She was thinking about how she would feel if the others laughed at her.
The next day Myrtle was again standing in the kickball line, waiting to be chosen. Sue was cross. Why doesn’t she just go swing, or do something with someone else? Why does she always stand there, waiting to be chosen for a game no one wants her to play? Again, Sue felt the pinch of her CTR ring. A little rhyme that her grandma had taught her flashed through her mind: “Kindness is a little thing, but lots of happiness it does bring.”
Sue squared her shoulders and stepped forward to make her first choice. Even though she always chose Maryann first, Sue looked at Myrtle and smiled—really smiled—and declared, “I choose Myrtle.”
Over Maryann’s wail of disappointment and the murmurs of surprise from her other classmates, Sue stood firm. With a really happy smile, Myrtle stepped close beside Sue. When everyone was chosen and someone on Jason’s team had been picked to run twice, the game began.
Sue’s team was up first. She was determined to make this work, so she chose Myrtle to kick first. Myrtle lowered her shoulders, drew back her right leg, and kicked the ball squarely into the weeds at the back of the outfield. As she ran around the bases, everyone in the fourth grade, even Jason’s team, chanted her name. “Hurray for Myrtle! Run, Myrtle, run!”
And when she pounded into home, every fourth grader on both teams was clapping for her.
Maryann went over to her. “You did great, Myrtle!” she said. “No one has ever kicked a ball that far before!”
Myrtle grinned and took her place at the end of the line. Sue smiled at Myrtle, wishing she had congratulated Myrtle first. She held up her thumb. “Good job!”
When Sue’s team went out to the field, Myrtle was the one who seemed to catch every ball. Suddenly Myrtle was everyone’s best friend.
Three weeks later, Myrtle did not show up for school on Monday morning.
“Where is Myrtle?” everyone asked.
Miss Williams looked sad. “Myrtle’s family moved away. She will not be coming to this school again.”
Sue looked down at her CTR ring. She did not want anyone to see her cry. She was sorry Myrtle had moved away, but she was glad that she had been a friend. She wished that she had been quicker to listen to the promptings of the Holy Ghost. Still, she had chosen to be a friend. And inside, she felt like smiling—just like Myrtle did.

A man passing the sacrament while listening to music on his headphones. This would be wildly inappropriate in most cases. But let me share “the rest of the story.” I knew a man who has a strong testimony and has served a mission and accepted a variety of callings. In recent years, however, he was diagnosed with a schizoaffective disorder. Wearing headphones lets him listen to soft, peaceful music and helps block out the ever-present voices in his mind. He is able to feel the Spirit and reverently serve others with the help of his headphones.

1 In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
2 I can’t do it, Sister Simon. Jason Edwards makes fun of me every day. How can I love him? I hate him!
3 Joshua, every commandment is given to us for our own good. Hate is a heavy burden to carry, and Jesus is inviting you to lay it down. But you’re trying to do the hardest part of the commandment first. Do you think you could start out by just praying for Jason?
I’ll try.
4 Please bless Jason, Heavenly Father. Help him stop being so mean. I mean, if he’s hurting somehow, please help him feel better.
5 Hey, Miller! Is it painful being that ugly?
Actually, I feel great, Jason. Thanks for asking, though.
6 What’s gotten into him?

Her mother expected her to continue with her university education and earn a master’s degree. “But I told her I wanted to go on a mission. She said that I couldn’t, that I mustn’t sacrifice the years I should be in school. I prayed very hard that my mom would let me go. And then I learned something very important.
“You see, we had a young man living in our home. He was about twenty-five years old and was like an adopted son to my mother. His health was poor, and my mother took care of him and supported him when he served for a time as a Buddhist monk. I was very jealous of him and of the attention my mother paid him. I wouldn’t even sit at the same table with him.
“When I prayed to Heavenly Father for my mom to let me go on a mission, I received the answer that first I would have to show her that I loved everyone, even the young man I was so jealous of. It was a very hard thing for me to accept. But the next morning when I saw the young man, I waved at him and said ‘Hi!’ It was the first word I had said to him in seven years. When I turned to face my mother, she had tears in her eyes. I knew then that everything would be all right. I told her that I really wanted to go on a mission and that her support was most important. I really appreciate all that my mother has done for me.”

As I read about my ancestors, I learned that they apparently had the typical Kirschbaum trait of a quiet, good-natured disposition—except when aggravated. I read with amusement about a local notary who apparently played a mean trick on one of my ancestors. The man later found himself shut up in his own house by a cartload of “natural fertilizer” that was delivered to his doorstep by Herr Kirschbaum himself—the mayor.

Lucy Mack Smith spoke in general conference in 1845, after all of the Book of Mormon witnesses in her family had died of illness or been killed. She told a story from her son Samuel’s first mission.

Samuel, one of the Eight Witnesses, visited the home of Rhoda Greene, whose husband was on a mission for another church. Samuel asked Rhoda if she would like a book. “It is a Book of Mormon that my Brother Joseph translated from plates out of the ground,” he explained.

Rhoda accepted a copy of the book to read and show her husband. When Samuel returned later, Rhoda told him her husband had no interest, and she could not buy the book. Sad, Samuel took the book and began to leave. Rhoda later told Lucy that Samuel then paused and looked at her. “She never saw a man look so,” Lucy said in her conference talk. “She knew that he had the Spirit of God.”

“The Spirit forbids me taking this book,” Samuel told Rhoda, who knelt and asked Samuel to pray with her. She kept the book, read it, and received a testimony of it. So, eventually, did her husband. They chose to abide by its precepts throughout their lives.

“And thus the work began,” Lucy testified, “and then it spread like a mustard seed.”10

Sister Paula Thomas of Sandy, Utah, discovered for herself that Heavenly Father does indeed speak to His children. She remembers:
“I was raised in a less-active home. Because of the influence of friends, I began attending Primary. When I was nine years old, my Primary teacher gave a lesson on personal prayer. I knew that I could pray at mealtimes and in meetings, but I had never thought of praying to Heavenly Father on my own.
“After the teacher dismissed our class, I approached her and asked her to teach me to pray. Kindly, she pulled out a piece of paper and began to write and talk at the same time. ‘You always begin by thanking Heavenly Father for all you have,’ she said, ‘and then you tell Him the desires of your heart. Is there something special you want to ask for, Paula?’
“I knew exactly what I wanted—I wanted to make my mother happy. I did not recall ever seeing her smile or laugh. Life was hard, and Mother cried often. I loved her so much that I would write poems, put on programs for her on Mother’s Day, and buy her gifts with my baby-sitting money. She was always grateful, but I knew her burdens were heavy.
“I left Primary that afternoon with those written instructions from my teacher. That night, when the house was quiet, I knelt at my bed and began my very first personal prayer. I prayed that I would be able to make my mother happy. I offered the same prayer every night for seven years.
“When I was 16, I received my patriarchal blessing from a patriarch whom I had never met. In my blessing he said: ‘Paula, the Lord has heard the prayers of your heart. A time will come in your life when you will be able to return with a deep feeling of love the gifts that have been so graciously given unto you by your mother. You will not only bring your mother happiness, you will give her the gift of joy.’
“As he was giving me the blessing, I received a powerful witness of God’s desire to communicate with us through personal revelation. Heavenly Father had heard my prayers, and He let me know he was aware of me.
“Years later, after my mother’s death, I went through the temple to receive sacred ordinances in her behalf. While there, I received an impression that I had truly given my mother the gift of joy—that day and on many other occasions.”

When I was a teenager, my Young Men president invited the young men in our ward to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.
I didn’t accept that invitation. I’ve usually been someone who is ready to take on any challenge, but I was at a really low point spiritually.
Interestingly, during this time, I was “preparing” to serve a mission, but I was only going through the motions. My testimony was weak, and I told myself I would serve just to make my parents happy. I had decided that after my mission, I would figure things out for myself. I would believe what I wanted to and do my own thing.
Although I was exerting myself in my schoolwork at the time, I had fallen into a pit of spiritual idleness. I felt so distant from God that I started questioning His existence. I had doubts concerning the authenticity of the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith’s call to be a prophet. I struggled with self-esteem and self-hate, and I had no strong conviction regarding the purpose of life.
“I was in the darkest abyss” (Mosiah 27:29), so I had little desire to read the Book of Mormon.
One night, I was reading a novel when an impression came to me that I believe and know with all my heart was from the Spirit. I found myself getting deeply wrapped up in the plot of this book, and then the thought came to me that I had never studied the Book of Mormon seriously—at least not as seriously as I was reading and pondering this particular book.
I had casually studied the Book of Mormon, taken notes, and prayed about it multiple times before, but I’d been missing a crucial part of Moroni’s admonition in the last chapter of the Book of Mormon: to ask “with a sincere heart, with real intent” (Moroni 10:4). I knew that it was the perfect time for me to ask my Father in Heaven again for answers. I felt spiritually hungry, and this time the answer actually mattered to me. Without realizing it, I had arrived at a spiritual crossroads, where my faith in the gospel hinged on knowing whether or not the Book of Mormon was true.
The same night I received that impression, I began to read the Book of Mormon—but this time with purpose.
Now eager to accept my Young Men leader’s invitation and finish reading by the end of the year, I read my pocket-size copy at every opportunity possible: on the train, during bus rides to school, in between classes, in between chores, before and after meals, and before bed. At every possible opportunity, I read. And every time I read, I kept praying: “I need to know. I need to know.”
One day my family and I went to the Manila Philippines Temple, but I forgot to bring my temple recommend. I did have my tiny copy of the Book of Mormon with me, though, so I sat in a waiting area and continued to read. Occasionally, I would stop to admire the beauty of the temple—the chandelier, the staircase, the stained-glass windows, and the people coming and going ever so reverently with great love for the Lord in their hearts.
At some point while I was reading, I received a very distinct impression from the Spirit in my mind. When it came, it spoke to me on many different levels. I was actually so shocked when it hit me that I sat up a little straighter. I felt such a powerful feeling that I could not dismiss it as a passing thought or a fleeting emotion.
“Totoo ‘to,” is what I heard in my mind.
A simple yet profound statement in my native tongue, Tagalog, that means, “This is true.”
I had received a confirmation that the Book of Mormon was true—that it was the word of God. I finally knew it with all my heart because I knew that impression had come from heaven.
But that’s not all that I learned.
Growing up, I had read the Book of Mormon and learned about the gospel in English. As a matter of fact, during the first few years of my life, I had a better grasp of English than Tagalog. But receiving this spiritual impression out of nowhere in Tagalog—the language native to my country—spoke truth to my heart.
I knew in that moment that God knows me in a very real and personal way.
I knew that He really is there. I knew that He speaks my language, that He loves me, and that He is aware of my struggles and weaknesses. I had that confirmation, but there was something else I needed to know for sure, so I sought out the answer immediately: “Heavenly Father, is Joseph Smith really a true prophet?” The feeling came again, this time more powerfully into my heart: “Totoo ‘to!”
I knew then that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He saw both the Father and the Son. Through Joseph Smith, the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored in its fulness.
What peace and comfort and knowledge did I receive! At that moment, I wanted to rush out on the temple grounds, waving my small copy of the Book of Mormon in the air and exclaiming, “Totoo ‘to! Totoo ‘to!” I felt like Alma when he exclaimed, “Oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold” (Alma 36:20).
After this experience, my reason for going on a mission immediately changed. Soon my papers were in, and I got my call to serve in Colorado, USA. I was so excited. I knew that someone out there was experiencing what I had gone through—crying out for help and longing for happiness and truth. And I knew that through the gospel of Jesus Christ, they would find that help and happiness, just as I had.
I hope that we may all come to know: “Totoo ‘to!”

Heber served in Japan for two years but saw very few people baptized and never learned the language very well. One day when he was discouraged, he went into the woods to pray.
Heber: If it is Thy will, when my mission in Japan is finished, I would like to serve a mission in Europe.
Three days later, Heber was called home to Utah by President Joseph F. Smith.
President Smith: Welcome home, Elder Grant. But you won’t be here long—your next call is to serve as president of the European Mission.