Gospel Story Finder

Rose Seahe was baptized in July 2010 in Abidjan before the crisis in Ivory Coast. Because of the situation at the time, she moved to Tabou. She moved to Bouafle in 2014 with her husband. She lost contact with the Church and for a while she attended other Christian religious communities. Towards the end of 2023, she decided to stop completely. She knew that there was something missing. She prayed that if the Lord wanted her to end up in the right place, He must show her the way. This prayer was sincere.
On June 14, 2024, the missionaries were planning their day. They were calling friends and members. They wanted to go visit one Sister Rose. They thought they had her number on their phone. After 30 seconds it was obvious that this was not the Sister Rose they were looking for, but this was the Sister Rose the Lord had prepared for the day. They also learned that she worked not far from their home. After 5 minutes and a very short call they were sitting next to her sharing a scripture from the Book of Mormon. They were all happy. Sister Rose knew this was the answer to her prayer. After all these years The Lord had never forgotten her. Sister Rose lost her husband last year. She has returned fully to Church and is preparing to go to the temple to perform ordinances for her husband.
Sister Rose: I don’t even know when I gave missionaries my number, but as soon as they called me and said they were the missionaries I knew it was an answer to my prayer.
Elder Asuma-Perprem: It came at a time when I was feeling very discouraged. But that day I knew that the Lord was in the details. He had answered Sister Rose’s prayer and my prayer too. There is nothing random.
Elder Arbon: This experience testified to me that the Lord really does lead his work. He stands at the head of this work, and we are only instruments in His hands. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Two months ago, I celebrated my eightieth birthday. This gives me a very long perspective on what is essential to provide protections. When Mary and I were still in our twenties in the 1960s, the turbulence, anger, and social unrest was similar to what we have experienced recently. We lived in the San Francisco Bay Area. The combination of racial unrest, the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., the unpopular Vietnam War, and a destabilizing drug culture resulted in demonstrations that included rioting and looting and the occupation by dissidents of administrative offices of major universities.

In the face of this chaos, we were blessed to receive counsel from President Harold B. Lee, who was the president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at the time. We appreciated that counsel then and cherish it now.

President Lee’s counsel, in addition to following the prophet, was for both families and individuals. First, build Zion in your hearts and in your homes. Second, be a light on the hill and an example in your community. And third, focus your vision and goals on the ordinances and principles taught in the temple. President Lee promised that we would be protected if we followed these principles and that we could live anywhere in the world.

My admiration almost had no bounds one day when a young man from Murray came in to be interviewed for a mission. He’d saved $2,900 for his mission from his Marine pay in three years and nine months and fifteen days. By doing odd jobs which others wished to escape, he had $2,900 for his mission. Just a boy without a job, without a place, without a home, without somebody to keep him busy. But he caught the idea and went out and did other people’s work on the ship, and saved his money for this important thing.

This summer, our family went on a two-month cross-country road trip from North Carolina to California! We stopped at many places on the way. We read the Friend all along the way and liked taking pictures with it.
Before the trip, Spencer asked the missionaries for 10 copies of the Book of Mormon and some pass-along cards to hand out. We gave them to people like hotel employees and tollbooth attendants. Once Kylie got to take a Book of Mormon to the clerk at a gas station. He said he already had a Bible, so Kylie explained why the Book of Mormon is special. He said he would try to read it! Kylie says, “I loved traveling with my family, visiting relatives, seeing God’s beautiful creations, and being a missionary too!”

President Harold B. Lee told of a young man who was concerned about this very question: “Some years ago, President [Marion G.] Romney and I were sitting in my office. The door opened and a fine young man came in with a troubled look on his face, and he said, ‘Brethren, I am going to the temple for the first time tomorrow. I have made some mistakes in the past, and I have gone to my bishop and my stake president, and I have made a clean disclosure of it all; and after a period of repentance and assurance that I have not returned again to those mistakes, they have now [judged] me ready to go to the temple. But, brethren, that is not enough. I want to know, and how can I know, that the Lord has forgiven me, also.’

“… As we pondered for a moment, we remembered King Benjamin’s address contained in the book of Mosiah. … There was the answer.

“If the time comes when you have done all that you can to repent of your sins, whoever you are, wherever you are, and have made amends and restitution to the best of your ability; if it be something that will affect your standing in the Church and you have gone to the proper authorities, then you will want that confirming answer as to whether or not the Lord has accepted of you. In your soul-searching, if you seek for and you find that peace of conscience, by that token you may know that the Lord has accepted of your repentance” (“‘Stand Ye in Holy Places,’” Ensign, July 1973, 122).

You recall the legend of a king who became bored with his routine living. He announced to his subjects that the person who could provide him with a game that would give him constant pleasure would be rewarded greatly, even unto half of his kingdom. Of course everyone wanted a “piece of the action.” Day after day, month in and month out, he reviewed all of the games that were invented. Finally a subject came to him and told him he had invented a game that would entertain the king as long as he lived. The subject demonstrated the game—he told the king that the game must be played on a board with 64 squares. He said the name of the game was chess. He taught the king all the moves and played several games with him. The king was so enraptured by the game that he told the subject to ask for anything. The man declined, suggesting that he had received enough pay if the king enjoyed the game. However, the king would not take no for an answer. Finally the subject said, “If you are determined to pay me something, give me one grain of wheat for the first square on the chessboard, two for the second, four grains for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on, doubling the number for each square until all 64 squares of the board are covered.”
The king was very disappointed that this was all the subject desired of him. Finally he agreed and sent a servant out to get a bushel of wheat and pay the man off. Well, by now you have the message—it wasn’t that simple. By the time the king tried to pay off the 64th square in wheat, he found that all of the crop of his country was not adequate to pay the debt. To do so would have required 18,446, 744,073,709,551,615 grains!

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury occupies a position of prominence in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred Sudbury, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed did not belong to the Church.
Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents, and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”
He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for eighteen months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently, my husband, Fred, stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you? “Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.”’ Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After twenty-six years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”
A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of kilometers that lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.
No hero stood so tall as did Craig when, in Australia, he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

I’ve been an avid golfer for many years. Several years ago, walking the golf course became challenging. I continued playing golf, but I was forced to switch to riding a golf cart. As my challenges worsened, I decided it was time to visit the doctor. After a number of medical tests in 2017, I was ultimately diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis, an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord.
Since that diagnosis, I have spent considerable time contemplating the miracles of the Savior, specifically His healing miracles. I have often thought, I need one of His miracles. I have faith, so why can’t I have a miracle to be healed of my disease?
By studying the Savior’s healing miracles, I have come to a greater understanding of and appreciation for one of them in particular.
I have thought about this experience a lot. Here this man is brought to the Savior to presumably be healed of his physical disease, and what does the Savior do first? He declares the man forgiven of his sins. He heals him spiritually. While we do not know what sins this man needed forgiveness from nor how much this man had been laboring over his sins versus his disease, I find it telling that the first healing the Savior performs on this man is to heal him spiritually.
As I have pondered this, I have received the following impression: I have already received one of Jesus Christ’s miracles—the healing miracle made possible by His Atonement. We all have a spiritual disease. We are all in need of spiritual healing. The Savior has performed the miracle of His Atonement for all of us so that we can repent and return to Heavenly Father’s presence. We just need to have the faith to receive the blessings He has already made available to us. This spiritual miracle is more important than any physical healing miracle ever could be.
I still want to be healed physically as well.
And I have come to realize that Heavenly Father and the Savior have taken care of that too. Because of the death and Resurrection of Christ, I know that I too will be resurrected and receive an eternal, perfected body. I will be healed of any disease that is currently afflicting me. While that miracle is set to happen at some point in the future and is something to look forward to, in my opinion it is no less a miracle than an instantaneous physical healing.

For example, one young girl had great physical beauty. When she walked in a room of strangers, people stopped talking. They seemed in awe of her looks. Boys she didn’t know would stop her and ask for her telephone number. Attention and opportunities came to her just because of how she looked. She was popular and had friends. But in speaking with a Young Women leader, she confessed that her good looks sometimes made her uncomfortable. She explained that she didn’t know if people liked her for herself or because she was pretty. Sometimes friends were only friendly for a short time. She didn’t trust any of the young men who approached her because she felt they didn’t really want to get to know her; they just seemed to want to go out with her because of her looks. Instead of making her happy, her beauty made her feel insecure because she wondered if people would still like her if she weren’t beautiful.

Recently in South America, a lady missionary, who impressed me greatly, told me the story of her conversion to the LDS Church and her missionary call. Before coming on her mission she was a nurse. Her roommate was a Mormon girl. The nurse liked the girl’s habits, was very pleased with her character and personality, and so she decided to study the LDS religion. The Mormon girl got two missionaries to teach the nurse the gospel.

When the nurse’s parents heard that she was favorably inclined toward the Mormon religion, they thoroughly opposed her actions. They forbade her to join the Church, telling her that if she did she would be disinherited.

The Holy Ghost had borne witness to her so strongly that the Church of Jesus Christ was the true church that she asked the missionaries to baptize her even against the wishes of her parents, whom she loved dearly. It grieved her when her father and mother told her not to return home.

After joining the Church, she had a very strong desire to go on a mission and so she decided to work and save the money. It took her three or four years’ time to save approximately $3,000. She was called to labor in South America, where she is doing an outstanding job in taking the gospel of Jesus Christ to the people of that land. When she returns home, she hopes to regain the love and favor of her parents.

In school, if the children had been well-behaved, the teacher might reward them by having a railroad spelling bee after the afternoon recess. All the children lined up next to the wall. One day little Mary was at the front of the line, so she could spell any word that she wanted to. She correctly spelled cat. Then Charles, who was next in line, had to spell a word beginning with t, the last letter in Mary’s word. He spelled tail. Laura was next, and she had to spell a word beginning with l. She slowly spelled, “l-i-v-e-l-e-e.” Then, because she had misspelled lively, she had to sit down. The game continued as Henry correctly spelled a word beginning with y. All too soon the railroad spelling bee ended—it was time for the children to go home. But the next day they would return to the one-room schoolhouse to study and play again.

This important truth was evidenced some years ago as a member of the Seventy was on assignment in Hong Kong. He visited a very humble ward that was struggling in many ways, unable to provide for its own needs. As the bishop described their situation, the General Authority felt the impression to have the members pay their tithing. The bishop, knowing their dire circumstances, was concerned about how he could carry out that counsel. He thought about it and decided he would approach some of the most faith-filled members of his ward and ask them to pay their tithing. The next Sunday he went to the Primary. He taught the children about the Lord’s law of tithing and asked if they would be willing to pay tithing on the money they earned. The children said they would. And they did.

The bishop later went to the adults in the ward and shared with them that for the past six months their faithful children had been paying tithing. He asked them if they would be willing to follow the example of these children and do the same. The people were so touched by the sacrifices the children were willing to make that they did what was necessary to pay their tithing. And the windows of heaven were opened. With the example of these faithful children, a ward grew in obedience and in testimony.

As an illiterate seventeen-year-old peasant girl, Joan of Arc left her family and the simple comforts of her home to liberate her country and place Charles VII on the throne. I was intrigued to realize that not only did she gain the trust of Charles VII but also the trust of more than twelve thousand troops placed under her command. At one point, determined to keep the Sabbath day holy, she required all of her troops to partake of the holy sacrament prior to entering into battle. Many believe her public demonstration of faith in God won her that battle.
Virtuous by choice and trusting in the Lord, Joan of Arc would not only liberate the city of Orléans but defeat the English in four other battles. Bishop Gérald Caussé explained:
She was surrounded by men who were rough and sometimes disrespectful toward women. But she was committed to stay faithful and worthy because that was a condition for her to receive the guidance she needed from God.
Eventually captured in the battle of Paris, Joan was held as a prisoner—not for treason but for heresy. What was her crime? She believed and taught that she, as a woman, had received revelation from God. As I stood by her stone prison, I wondered at her determination and faith. Listen to some of the words she, as an illiterate nineteen-year-old girl and prisoner, spoke in her own defense in 1431, as translated from official court records. She said: “I must go, and I must do this thing, because my Lord will have it so” and “I look to God, my creator, in all. I love him with all my heart.” She also said, “Everything I have said or done is in the hand of God, and I commit myself to Him.” And in his play Saint Joan, George Bernard Shaw had her say, “It is better to be alone with God.”
Joan was eventually sentenced to death and burned at the stake.

A new animal was coming to live in the zoo, and the other animals were excited. One morning a big truck backed up to an empty cage, and out stepped the new animal.
The other animals stared in amazement. The new animal did not look like any animal that they had ever seen before. He had a long neck and a long tail, and when he opened his mouth, he barked. One by one the other animals turned away from the cage. Because the new animal was so different, they were not sure how to treat him.
The new animal was very lonely. The other animals ignored him, so he had no one to talk to. He was so sad that he could not eat. The zookeeper began to worry. People stopped visiting the zoo because the new animal was sad and the other animals hid in the backs of their cages.
One day the elephant heard the new animal barking to himself. “The new animal does have a good trunk,” he told the giraffe. “It’s not as long as mine but is really quite nice.”
The giraffe stretched her neck to take a closer look. “Look at his strong neck. He can reach as high as I can.”
The lion was looking quietly at the new animal’s mane. “My goodness! He has an excellent mane—almost as thick as mine.”
Just then the zebra trotted by the cage. “His coat has a very nice pattern,” she said.
“And his horns are curved just right,” the mountain goat said, “just like mine.”
When the monkey came swinging from the trees, he said, “Look at that handsome tail. I wonder if the new animal would like to play tag?”
Finally the duck waddled by the cage.
“What fine feet you have. You probably can swim faster than I can,” she said.
The new animal stopped crying and thanked the duck for the compliment. Soon all the animals were talking together. They felt much happier. Even though the new animal looked different, the other animals had all found something about the new animal that they liked.

There is a story about a little girl whose father worked digging wells. Every day the little girl took a sack lunch to her father. Looking down into the dark hole, she couldn’t see her father working at the bottom, but he could see her standing in the light. Every day, she called out to her father. He told her to drop the sack down to him, and he would catch it. One day, her father said, “Why don’t you come down and join me for lunch today? If you’ll just jump into the hole, I’ll catch you.”

“But, Daddy, I can’t see you.”

“I can see you, and I will catch you.”

Trusting, the little girl jumped. Her father caught her, and they enjoyed their lunch together.

The idea of confessing the Lord’s hand in all things was poignantly taught to me several years ago by my father. It was one of those teaching moments that he took, and my guess is that he probably has no idea of the effect this small experience had on me. But the lesson he taught me has stayed with me throughout my life.

Each year when I was growing up, my family would go backpacking in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming. On this particular trip, my father, my younger brother, and I had enjoyed a beautiful day fishing at one of the alpine lakes, and we decided to climb over a ridge and down into another lake a couple of miles away. There had been a significant amount of snow the past winter, and we were there a little earlier in the year than normal, so there was still a fair amount of snow in the higher elevations. After making the climb to the ridge, we looked down and admired the turquoise lake in the valley below us. The problem was that there was a steep 400-foot snowslide between us and the lake. We weren’t all that concerned about sliding into the freezing, ice-fed water, however, since there was a fifty-foot-wide boulder field between the snowslide and the lake. It was made up of automobile-sized boulders that would certainly stop us before we could make it to the water. This was not a lot of consolation, however. Traveling at the speed we would be traveling down the snowslide, we didn’t particularly want to meet the boulder field.

We decided that we would traverse our way across the snowslide rather than attempting to slide down it. My father told my younger brother to walk right above him, so that if he accidentally slipped, my father could stop him. Then we started on our way. About three steps into our traverse, my brother lost his footing, knocked my father’s feet out from under him, and the two of them started careening down the snowslide. As they went they threw all of the equipment they were holding, so that they could use their hands to help steer and slow them down. I watched from the top of the snowslide with much anticipation as they got closer and closer to the boulder field. After doing a somersault over one boulder higher up in the snowslide, my father was able to gain control, stop himself, and stop my brother just before they hit the main boulder field.

We all took a sigh of relief that they had made it down safely, but now came my dilemma. I was at the top of the snowslide, they were at the bottom, and their equipment was scattered all down the slide. I figured I would just keep traversing the snow back and forth, descending gradually, and pick up their equipment on my way down. About three steps into this plan, my feet slipped out from under me and I was on my way down the slide. My trip down the first half of the slide consisted of sticking a hand or foot out every so often to try to grab the fishing rods, backpacks, fishing equipment, etc., that they had strewn along the snowslide. I was actually able to grab all of the gear, which was quite miraculous in and of itself. Then, the second half of the slide, my thoughts turned to panic. I could see my father and brother standing as a bumper pad between me and the boulders. I dug in my boots as best I could to try to slow down. My hands were useless due to the fact that they were full of all of our gear. Eventually I got myself slowed to a reasonable speed, and my father grabbed me and stopped me just before I got to the boulder field.

After making sure that everyone was okay, we took inventory of our situation. To my surprise I was able to hold on to all of the gear that I had gathered along my way down the snowslide. Then I looked at the only casualty of the day; I had broken my own fishing rod. My immediate thoughts were something along the lines of “Oh great. I nearly sacrifice my life to gather up all of their gear, and MY fishing rod is the one that gets broken!” I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I vocalized my anger and frustration to my dad. His response—and this was the lesson—was, “Oh, that’s okay. You needed a new fishing rod anyway.”

My next thought was, “What? You don’t understand! I broke my fishing rod. This is awful! Now how am I going to enjoy the rest of the trip?” I didn’t vocalize this thought, thankfully. Instead, I paused and thought about the reaction my father just had. His message to me was, “Look, you can either be angry or else you can enjoy the rest of the trip. We are all safe, and that is what is important. Breaking a fishing rod is really not a big deal. You can use half a rod the remainder of the trip, or you can use mine and I’ll use half a rod. It’s just not that important.”

As I have had disappointing experiences throughout my life, my father’s reaction to this situation always comes back to me. Rather than reacting in an angry, negative way, just take the situation for what it is and move on. Do I recognize the Lord’s hand in this experience? Absolutely. As disappointing as it first was when I discovered I had broken my fishing rod, the Lord had protected us and had taught me a valuable lesson that has brought me strength throughout my life. I am indeed grateful to my father and to the Lord for this experience.

A recent example of perseverance occurred in Kasungu, Malawi. Having heard about the Church during his theological studies, Weston Kapasule yearned to learn more about the Savior’s gospel, but in 2013, missionaries had not yet been assigned to his rural town. Weston was undeterred, however. He found and repaired an old computer, connected it to the internet, and, using social media, contacted sister missionaries serving in the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission. For the next seven years, Weston was taught online by a variety of missionaries, who were joined by Amram Musungu, a native Kenyan and avid member missionary now living in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. During that time, as mission presidents of the Zambia Lusaka Mission learned about Weston’s desire to have the gospel in his life, they sent senior missionaries to minister to him and to deliver copies of the Book of Mormon, lesson manuals and other materials.

But the time was not right for him to be baptized. Kasungu lies far from Blantyre or Lilongwe, the two areas where the Church was organized in Malawi and starting to build a strong foundation of branches. These population centers, known as centers of strength, are important to develop before the Church can be taken to outlying areas. This pattern of building the Church from centers of strength ensures strong leadership and a foundation of enduring support for members and new converts. Once centers of strength are well established, in the Lord’s timing, additional branches of the Church, such as now formed in Kasungu, may be organized.

As Weston gained a firm testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, persevered in continually learning more, and waited patiently for baptism and the Church organization to reach Kasungu, he shared what he had learned with his family and with others—who brought still others into the Kasungu fold. The first resident missionaries were finally authorized in late 2019 and, after persevering in patience for years, members of the Kasungu group began to be baptized on the first day of February 2020. Weston was one of the first to enter the waters of baptism. He was joined by over one hundred others.

Was persevering difficult for Weston and those in Kasungu seeking the blessings of the Lord’s Church? Absolutely. But the challenges did not stop them from seeking and learning the Savior’s gospel or from developing their own testimonies.

“I think God’s grace was there for us,” said Weston. “We should not refrain from this truth and go back where we came from. This is exactly what made ourselves today to be who we are and what we are. So, I persevered. . . . I know that God wanted [us] to go through that process for us to be what we are today.”

Today, there is a branch of the Church in Kasungu and joy abounds.

One Christmas experience is especially poignant. After describing his destitute circumstances and his feeling that all about him seemed to have so much, he describes a trip he made to town one day before Christmas to buy “something for my chicks.”
“I wanted something to please them, and to mark the Christmas day from all other days—but not a cent to do it with! I walked up and down Main Street, looking into the shop windows … everywhere—and then slunk out of sight of humanity and sat down and wept like a child until my poured-out grief relieved my aching heart; and after awhile returned home, as empty as when I left, and played with my children, grateful and happy … for them.”

I want to introduce you to my friend, Aaron Franco, one of the Young Single Adults in our ward in Salt Lake City. Aaron has been on a different path than most of us church members. Here is his story in his own words…

“I was raised devoutly Jewish in New York City. I have always had a testimony of God because the Jewish faith believes in the Old Testament. However, I always knew something was missing.

When I was twelve, I was in the car with my soccer coach who was listening to Christian music for several hours. I distinctly remember the lyrics to a song. '...He knows my name, He knows my every thought, and He hears me when I call.' Somehow, I knew the 'He' in that song was Jesus Christ and I felt the spirit so strongly. But I quickly denied those positive feelings because believing in anything other than Adonai, which means Heavenly Father in Hebrew, was considered blasphemy. I was jealous of my friends who celebrated Christmas or could make the cross symbol on their chests when entering a soccer field.

On another occasion, I remember feeling the Spirit when a friend was talking about Jesus. I felt an overwhelming joyful emotion that was difficult to describe. She assured me that it was the Holy Ghost. That feeling left a spiritual yearning in me that I could never quite replicate in Synagogue.

I had always felt connected to God. But as the years passed and my life choices took me away from religion, I stopped believing that God loved me. I had left home and was playing semi-professional soccer. My lifestyle reflected the way I imagined God felt about me. Following a traumatic soccer concussion in 2017, I began to battle depression, anxiety, and many other traumatic experiences. One night, when I thought my life was over, I got down on my knees and begged for help. I told God, 'Take my life. I will do anything and go anywhere you tell me to. Any church, any temple or any mosque. Please end my suffering and help me find the truth that will heal me.' Then God intervened in my life. He replied to me, 'I’ve got you in Utah now. Go talk to some missionaries.' I laughed. That was a mistake; that can’t be. So, I asked several more times and God plainly told me to go investigate The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The rest is history.”

Aaron continues, “Three months later I was baptized. I now hold the Aaronic and Melchizedek priesthood, and I attend the temple weekly. I have callings in my ward, I received my patriarchal blessing, and I have a beautiful girlfriend who is a returned missionary and is helping me navigate my covenant path. God moves quickly when you’re willing to listen. I’m so grateful. I walk by faith, not by sight. I have a testimony that Jesus is the Christ, that Heavenly Father loves His children, that the Book of Mormon is true and that we have a living prophet today. I love my new relationship with Jesus Christ. He knew me long before my conversion, and many seeds were planted for me along the way. My spiritual questions closely paralleled those of young Joseph Smith, when he prayed to know which church he should join. The First Vision was an answer to his prayers, and my new life is an answer to mine.” End of quote.

It has been a privilege to watch Aaron find his way to the covenant path and thrive there. He is my friend and example. How many Aarons are out there? My faith is renewed when I think about his journey. I’m so grateful he didn’t give up— and that the gathering of Israel is happening all around us as missionary work continues in our day.

I gained a better view and understanding of this heavenly law by climbing atop my parents' shoulders when I was 12 years old.

I loved snow skiing and found myself in a sporting goods store standing in front of a rack of brand new skis. One particular pair of skis seemed to call out my name, sing the Sirens' captivating song, and whisper, "Buy me!" I knew at that moment that I was meant to call these skis my own. Unfortunately, I didn't have the funds for a cheeseburger, let alone a pair of skis. So I found my mother in the mall, brought her to the sporting goods store, and stood her in front of the skis so she too could receive revelation and do what every inspired mother should do--buy skis for their beloved children. I stood next to her looking at the skis, waiting for the big moment. Nothing! No whispers, no singing, no light shining on the skis, nothing! Undeterred, I made my emotional plea, asking her to fulfill my dreams, and reminded her of her role as a good, honorable mother. Nothing! I told her it was her duty to help her children to be happy. Nothing! She finally turned, looked at me, and said calmly, "Matt, you'll appreciate these skis more if you earn the money to buy them yourself."

What? I tried in vain to convince her that I would appreciate the skis if she bought them, and besides, where would I be able to earn money--I was 12 years old! Since Mom said no, then obviously I should ask Dad. Nothing! Well, actually he did say, "Matt, you'll appreciate these skis more if you earn the money to buy them yourself."

I was convinced this was a conspiracy. Not long afterward, I found work on a local farm. I pulled and shucked garlic, fed chickens, and helped load the farmer's truck for market at 5:00 a.m. A neighbor saw me working early in the morning and asked if I was interested in stocking frozen foods at a local grocery store after my farming chores. This led to another person asking if I wanted to stock all the potato chips in the store as well. Obviously there were no child labor laws when I was young, and I wasn't complaining.

I was able to scrape together enough money for a down payment to hold the skis, and then every two weeks, I walked to the mall and made a small payment on the skis. I would ask if I could see the skis, and the salesperson would bring them out from the storeroom. Oh, sweet reunion! After spending some quality time together, I would hand the skis back, wave longingly goodbye, and get back to work. It took a year to earn enough money to take those skis home. I have owned many pairs of skis in my lifetime. But there was only one pair that was never sold, given away, or sent to the local thrift store. It is this pair.

I learned that the old-school pioneer law of the harvest really did work. It took much longer than I hoped, but in due season the reward did come. It was much harder than I expected, but I fainted not. Or, in other words, I didn't quit or stop, even though I had no idea when the harvest would actually come.

I learned something else about the law of the harvest that I didn't quite bank on. Oh, I got the skis that I worked for, but I also received much, much more. For example, my mother and father were right. I did appreciate these skis more because I did buy them myself. I also harvested something of even greater and lasting value. I reaped a knowledge that I could find solutions to my challenges, that I could do difficult things, and that I could endure much better than I thought I could. I harvested experience, grit, and a determination that continues to bless me to this day.