Gospel Story Finder

Kris Fisher is well known in Toronto, Ontario, as a world-class swimmer. But talk to Kris, and before you hear about flip turns and his time in the backstroke, you’ll likely hear about his brother, Tom.
Kris says, “Tom told me this,” or, “It’s like Tom always says.” He often quotes what his brother has said about life or swimming. But don’t misunderstand—Kris isn’t a parrot, and he doesn’t live in his brother’s shadow. Tom is, however, a powerful influence on Kris, a powerful influence for good.
Kris had started into some rough water. He was 16 years old and quickly becoming an internationally recognized swimmer. He ranked 50th in the world for his age group. He swam on the Canadian national youth team that competed in Sweden. He received a grant to help with the costs of swimming. Maybe those waters don’t sound too rough, but his success fueled his ego until it began to crowd out his dependence on serious swim practices, family support, and ultimately Heavenly Father.
“I got cocky,” Kris recalls, sitting on the steps of the Gorgas Library at the University of Alabama, where he now attends school. “I was getting swallowed up in pride instead of being humble and remembering what got me where I was.” His confidence led him to relax in his swimming practices and meets, and, even more dangerous, in his spiritual pursuits.
“The Church had become more of a once-a-week, just-on-Sunday thing,” Kris says. “I was going to church with my parents, but as soon as I left, it was like I stepped out of the Church world and stepped back into the regular world. The Church would just sort of slip out of my mind for the rest of the week.”
During this time, Tom was serving his mission in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Kris and Tom are the only children in their family and had both been competitive swimmers. They spent a lot of time together growing up, whether they were heading off at 5:00 A.M. for swim practice or just watching one of their favorite sci-fi television shows together. But with Tom leaving for college and then a mission, Kris, four years younger than Tom, got used to being alone.
Kris’s I-don’t-need-anyone’s-help attitude, however, began to take its toll. His swimming fell to a low, causing him to miss out on making other national teams or receiving additional grants. And the more frustrated he became with his performance in the pool, the more frustrated he became outside the pool. Arguments with his parents became part of the regular routine as they tried to counsel him; and the Church, though still a part of his Sundays, had become something he thought he would get serious about when he was older.
Through the letters Tom wrote home, Kris sees, looking back, that Tom understood what was at the root of Kris’s swimming frustrations. Tom wrote Kris letters about how he could improve—not his strokes or his time, but his testimony. He gave him advice about scripture study, prayer, and service. He also encouraged Kris to follow their parents’ counsel. Though both Tom and Kris understood the commitment needed to be a world-class swimmer, Tom had come to realize the more important commitment needed to be a valiant son of God—something Kris was still figuring out.
“It’s like the way Michelangelo described making a statue,” says Kris. “He said that the statue was already there [in the piece of stone] and he just cleared away the extra pieces. It was like that with Tom. He knew what was underneath my surface; he just helped clear away some of the rough edges.”
The rough edges didn’t chip off with the first pound of the chisel, though. Kris tried with half-hearted effort to implement some of Tom’s written advice, but he never really got into a daily routine of scripture study and prayer. So when Tom came home from his mission, Kris didn’t react very well to Tom’s missionary zeal.
For the first few weeks after Tom’s return, Kris didn’t want to hear Tom’s advice. “Tom had changed so much by being around the gospel 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I would just stand back when he tried to help me,” Kris recalls, grinning at his own stubbornness. Tom tried to get Kris to study daily and join in family prayer. He used analogies comparing swimming to the scriptures. He reminded Kris that he needed to put on the “whole armor of God.”
Kris remembers clearly when understanding finally clicked into place. “It always put me on the defensive [when he would talk to me about living the gospel] and I would think, ‘You’re used to all that. I’m not used to it. I haven’t been like that for a while.’ And then it just hit me. ‘I haven’t been like that for a while.’ Maybe there’s a reason things haven’t been going so well.”
Kris continues, “I was struggling and wasn’t going where I wanted to go. Then I finally realized that all Tom was doing was trying to help me, and I do need help from other people. There are other people out there who want to see me do well—my family and Heavenly Father want to see me achieve what I can achieve with their help. I changed my attitude—I’m not invincible. And when I made the gospel more of an everyday thing, all of a sudden it wasn’t just something I believed; it’s something I do and live.
“Tom helped me see that I wasn’t doing things in the gospel. I wasn’t training my spirit, and your spirit shrinks just like your body does if you don’t exercise it.”
Now that Kris has become converted through the help of his brother, he is continually strengthening those around him and helping them swim a smoother course—in and out of the pool. It is not uncommon to overhear Kris chatting about the gospel with his nonmember teammates on the University of Alabama swim team as they travel to meets. And he isn’t afraid to tell fellow students how they can make their lives better by living gospel principles.
“People can change a lot,” says Kris. “They can turn around and find out that all hope is not lost.”
Kris is no stranger to challenges, and he knows that others around him face the same things. But because of Tom’s help, he now knows that faith in Christ can calm even the stormiest seas.

Part of being worthy to enter the temple is obeying the Word of Wisdom. Seth Robinson, a teacher from Reno, Nevada, decided to share the benefits of the Word of Wisdom as part of his Eagle Scout project.
Seth—at left with fellow Scouts Greg Handlon and Caleb Sumrall—set up a display on the dangers of tobacco in a busy shopping mall near his home. He then talked specifically to teenagers walking through the mall, answering questions and distributing information.
“Meeting with the general public made me aware that many people think the use of tobacco will not harm them,” says Seth, who spent a lot of time telling people that nothing could be farther from the truth. “I think this project was a success.”

SYDNEY—“Flames were shooting 50 feet into the air. They were about 15 yards off. I could feel the heat on my face. That’s hot enough to know what firefighters would feel.”
But Michael James Davis isn’t a firefighter. The then 18-year-old member of the Sutherland Ward, Sydney North Stake, was standing in the driveway of his family’s home, ready to flee in horror as fire surged up from the valley where normally he walks his dog Jess.
The fire was one of about 130 that ravaged much of New South Wales in January, many of them set by arsonists. Nearly 1.5 million acres were burned.
Michael and his father had been trying to pump water from their swimming pool to hose down their house, but the fire got too intense. Firefighters ordered them to evacuate.
“I haven’t prayed so much in a long time,” Mike said. “I felt calm, but I still thought the house was going to burn. Just as long as everyone was safe, that was the main thing.”
Out in the street, he saw “everyone crying and trying to get their children out. All the people in the street, everyone just fled. It hurt me to witness that. That was almost as bad as the fire.”
He and his father joined the rest of their family at the home of some fellow Church members. After 45 minutes, a radio announcement said the fires had passed and residents were allowed to check on their homes.
“First we went to the chapel, to let them know we were safe and to see if anyone needed help. Then we came home to inspect the damage.” Miraculously, their home had been spared, even though the house next door had burned to the ground.
“All around their porch there were thick shrubs, and the shrubs spread the fire to their house,” Michael explained. Everything was gone but the foundation and a children’s play area out in the yard.
At his own house, Michael and his father found that two big gum trees in the backyard had burned completely. An iron fence had melted in the intense heat. And on the back porch, a mop sitting on the wooden deck had burned—the scorch marks are still there—but the deck had not ignited. That’s how close the fire had come.
That night Mike was allowed to sleep in his home. “The air smelled bad,” he remembers. “You could look down in the valley and see the embers glowing in the dark.” He lay there thinking of what he’d learned in just a few short hours:
—“Heavenly Father did hear my prayers. He helped me to be calm, to know that everything would be all right, even though he didn’t tell me exactly what would happen.”
—“There was a lot of help and friendship from the Church, but there was a lot of help from people in the general area as well. I took a walk around an area that wasn’t burning. Everyone was stopping and having a chat and saying, ‘Is your family all right? Is there anything we can do to help?’ These are people I hadn’t ever seen, people who weren’t in the Church, and they were good people trying to help each other.”
Over the next few days, he learned some additional things:
—“Fifteen members of our ward chipped in and bought a new fridge and a washing machine and brought blankets for the people in the house that burned down. They were just renting, but they didn’t have the contents insured. We helped them start getting their life back together.”
—“The worst thing is that police caught people looting burned out houses for jewelry. How people could do that to someone who is already hurt by their house being burned down is incredible to me. I’ve seen the bad side of people and the good side, too. I’ll take the good side.”
Time passed. “Soon we had the pool cleaned of the soot deposited during the fire, and fertilizer greened up our grass.” Down in the valley, green shoots poked through the ashes on the ground.
“Life comes back,” Mike says. “But the memory of this fire will be around for a long, long time.” Even more enduring, however, will be the new understanding of the things that are really important in life, and Mike’s deepened gratitude for them.

My parents and grandparents were born and raised in Utah. However, my mother and father began their married life in Phoenix, Arizona. That is where my three brothers and I were raised. Almost every summer my father and mother would take all of us to Utah to get out of the Arizona heat and also to enjoy the association with our cousins and other relatives.
Our parents taught us early the importance of working, first with the various responsibilities around the home and later adding other work opportunities such as selling newspapers, magazines, doing gardening for the neighbors, and babysitting. When I was old enough to work for someone else on a full-time basis, I had desires to go from Phoenix to Utah alone and spend the summer there working and earning money. This was to be during the summer vacation. One spring before school was out I asked my father if I could go to Salt Lake City to work and then return to Phoenix at the end of the summer to be with my family and begin school again. After thinking it over, my parents decided it would be fine. When school was out in May, Dad took me with him to the Continental Bus depot and, since I had no money of my own as yet, bought me a ticket to Salt Lake City. I was somewhat taken back when I found out that he had purchased for me a one-way ticket instead of a round trip. He said he would take the responsibility to see that I arrived in Salt Lake City but it would be up to me to do what was necessary while I was there to purchase the ticket for a return home to Phoenix at the end of the summer. As you can imagine, I was most anxious to come back home after my work experience as I had burning in my memory the happy experiences we had always enjoyed in our home. I enjoyed the association with and loved my three brothers and was most happy and comfortable being with my parents.
When I arrived in Salt Lake City I immediately set about to find work. This I was able to accomplish, and as soon as my first paycheck was given to me, guess what I did. First I paid my tithing, and then I took the rest of the money to the bus depot downtown in Salt Lake City and purchased a return trip ticket to Phoenix. I wanted to be sure that when summer was over there would be nothing to stand in the way of my returning home. I loved my home very much. For the rest of the summer I was particularly mindful of taking good care of myself and doing everything necessary to insure my return home to Phoenix. More than anything else I wanted to enjoy again the experience of being with my family.

Ramón jingled the coins in his pocket as he finished selling his chickens’ eggs at the village market. He thought about the jar at home that held his tithing coins. On Sunday he was going to give the coins to the bishop. Ramón had a warm feeling inside. He was glad to pay tithing.
The market stalls were full of things for sale. Ramón saw a colorful shirt with the logo of his favorite football team. He pictured himself wearing the shirt, running down the field, and scoring the winning goal. Ramón looked at the price tag. He could buy the shirt if he spent all his egg money plus his tithing coins.
Ramón noticed the warm feeling was gone. He really wanted the shirt, but he knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t want him to spend his tithing coins. Ramón started walking home. He decided to pay his tithing first. Then he could earn more money selling eggs until he could buy the shirt and pay his tithing like the Lord wanted him to.

During the priesthood session of this past April general conference, I was seated on the stand as one of the five newly called General Authorities. We were sitting where the sisters of the auxiliary presidencies are now seated. I was feeling very nervous and overwhelmed with my new call.

When we were singing the intermediate hymn, I felt a strong impression that someone was watching me. I thought to myself: “There are more than 20,000 people in this building, and most of them are facing this way. Of course someone is watching you.”

While I continued singing, I again felt the strong impression that someone was watching me. I looked over to the row where the Twelve Apostles were sitting and saw that President Russell M. Nelson was turned all the way around in his seat, looking at where we were seated. I caught his eye, and he gave me a big smile. That smile brought peace to my overwhelmed heart.

After His Resurrection, Jesus Christ visited His other sheep. He called and ordained twelve disciples, and with that authority, they ministered to the people. The Lord Jesus Christ Himself stood among them. The Lord asked them to kneel and pray. I am not sure if the newly called and ordained twelve disciples were overwhelmed with their calling, but the scripture says, “It came to pass that Jesus blessed them as they did pray unto him; and his countenance did smile upon them, and the light of his countenance did shine upon them.”5 During the last general conference, a smile lightened my burdens in an immediate and extraordinary way.

The fictional character Mary Poppins is a typical English nanny—who happens to be magical.1 She blows in on the east wind to help the troubled Banks family of Number 17, Cherry Tree Lane, in Edwardian London. She is given charge of the children, Jane and Michael. In a firm but kind manner, she begins to teach them valuable lessons with an enchanting touch.
Jane and Michael make considerable progress, but Mary decides that it is time for her to move on. In the stage production, Mary’s chimney sweep friend, Bert, tries to dissuade her from leaving. He argues, “But they’re good kids, Mary.”
Mary replies, “Would I be bothering with them if they weren’t? But I can’t help them if they won’t let me, and there’s no one so hard to teach as the child who knows everything.”
Bert asks, “So?”
Mary answers, “So they’ve got to do the next bit on their own.”2

Other outgoing teenagers find they are not isolated because of their religious beliefs. Fourteen-year-old Geraldine Hall of Exeter Ward in Devon attends a Church of England school. She finds schoolmates accepting her beliefs without prejudice. She even manages to share her testimony.

“After a home economics lesson one week,” Geraldine says, “the teacher asked, ‘Who would like a cup of tea?’ Of course they all said ‘yes please’—except me. When someone asked, ‘Why don’t you drink tea?’ one friend answered, ‘Because she’s a Moron.’ ‘Not Moron—Mormon,’ I replied. Then, whilst they all sat round, I explained what we were really called and why. After that no one’s ever tried to belittle my faith.”

Less than a year after returning home, the Bollbachs locked up their house and workshop a third time to serve in the Germany Munich Mission, where Brother Bollbach was called to be branch president in Nürnberg. Although the branch had more than 450 people on its records, only about 20 members attended regularly.
The Bollbachs knew they had challenges, but they also knew how to overcome them. With faith, prayer, obedience, and diligence, they concentrated on visiting less-active members. “A miracle happened,” Brother Bollbach exclaims. “The branch grew. Several months later, the branch was divided into three branches—Feucht, Fürth, and Nürnberg. I know it was the blessing and help of God. We were just the instruments in his hands.”

The following is a true story. For my eighth birthday I wanted to have a party. My parents agreed, and so a week before my birthday, I took the invitations to school.
On the school bus, I kept thinking about Alice.* I was hoping that she wouldn’t be there that day. Then my parents couldn’t blame me for not inviting her. You see, Alice was different from the other girls, and she was very quiet. She always played by herself at recess, and as far as I could see, she had no friends. In other words, I didn’t see why I needed to invite her to my party.
When I got to school, much to my dismay, Alice was there. I handed out the invitations, and everyone was very excited.
The morning of my birthday party, my parents asked, “Will Alice be coming?” I was surprised! I didn’t think they even knew Alice.
“I don’t know if she’s coming,” I answered. My father suggested that we take a ride over to her house to see. My father is a very kind man, but he is also very firm. If he suggests that we do something, we do it.
Alice’s mother answered the door, and my father told her why we were there. “She won’t be coming,” Alice’s mother said. “She doesn’t have a present for your daughter. You see, my husband lost his job and …”
My father gestured that he understood, then said, “We would still like Alice to come. It doesn’t matter if she has a present or not.”
No present? I thought. What kind of a birthday party is that? But, of course, I just stood there and smiled.
When we were in the car again, my father told me that after he took me home he was coming back to take Alice to buy a present for her to give me.
This isn’t turning out so bad after all! I thought.
I can’t remember what presents I got that day, but I do remember that Alice seemed to laugh a lot and was actually quite fun to be with. When it was time to take her home, I got in the front seat and she got in the backseat. I turned around to tell her something, and next to her was the prettiest doll I had ever seen. In my eight-year-old mind, I realized my father had bought that doll for Alice. I felt as though my heart grew two sizes that day.
My father is not a great scientist. He has never invented anything or found a cure for a disease. But that day he did something just as important—he showed charity to a little girl. And to another little girl, he showed what it means to be Christlike.

When his grandpa had a mild heart attack, Chris gave up his bedroom to his grandpa and grandma so that they could stay at his house. He did this and many other things without complaint. He helped Grandpa with his IV (medicine that Grandpa had to carry around with him), got him something to drink when he was thirsty, brought him his supper, and did anything else he needed when he couldn’t get around very well. Chris even helped Grandma in the kitchen. A happy, loving child, Chris always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart. He is active in the ward Primary and has borne his strong testimony in fast and testimony meeting at church.

Lucy was happy whenever Daddy was home. But she was sad when he had to go on business trips. When he came home, though, he always had a surprise for Lucy in his suitcase.
Once the surprise was a doll from Mexico with a red ruffled dress and a tiny red rose in its hair.
Once the surprise was a white fan with a pretty design from Japan. It folded and unfolded with a click.
Another time the surprise was a paper lei from Hawaii. Daddy said, “A lei means ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ and ‘I love you.’”
On his next trip, Daddy brought Lucy a shell from the ocean. It was chalky white and pink on the outside. The inside flashed bright green and purple when she turned it. “Put it next to your ear,” Daddy said, “and it will sound like the ocean.”
One day Daddy came home from a trip with two surprises. The first one was a tiny blue box to put things in. But the other surprise was even nicer: “I’m not going on any more trips,” Daddy said. “I’ll be here every night from now on.”
Lucy clapped her hands. “Hurray!” she shouted. “That’s the best surprise of all!”

In Cali, Colombia, a few days ago, the mission president visited one of our Church meetings. At the start of the meeting a seven-year-old boy came up on the stand and sat next to him. He was not on the program; he just wanted to be there. When the meeting was nearly over he strode to the pulpit and bore his testimony.

When he finished, he went back and sat next to the president. The two exchanged glances. The mission president smiled approval. The young boy smiled back. In those dark eyes was a message of love and security. Here was someone who knew he belonged.

Later it was learned the boy had spent his earlier life as an orphan. A couple in the ward had taken him in and were raising him as their own. The whole ward was his home, and he was blossoming in this atmosphere of acceptance.

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)

That fall, Joseph’s parents traveled south to Harmony. Nearly two months had passed since Joseph left their home in Manchester, and they had heard nothing from him. They worried the summer’s tragedies had devastated him. In a matter of weeks, he had lost his first child, nearly lost his wife, and lost the manuscript pages. They wanted to make sure he and Emma were well.
Less than a mile from their destination, Joseph Sr. and Lucy were overjoyed to see Joseph standing in the road ahead of them, looking calm and happy. He told them about losing the confidence of God, repenting of his sins, and receiving the revelation. The Lord’s rebuke had stung him, but like prophets of old he wrote the revelation down for others to read. It was the first time he had ever recorded the Lord’s word to him.
Joseph also told his parents that Moroni had since returned the plates and interpreters. The angel seemed pleased, Joseph recounted. “He told me that the Lord loved me for my faithfulness and humility.”
The record was now safely stowed in the house, hidden in a trunk. “Emma writes for me now,” Joseph told them, “but the angel said that the Lord would send someone to write for me, and I trust that it will be so.”7

Light spilled through the open door onto the cobblestone street outside. Behind the marble counter a 13-year-old boy slapped and pounded a fistful of dough into a flat circle and drizzled it with olive oil.
“Funghi o qualcos’altro? (Mushrooms or something else?),” he asked Casimiro.
“Funghi,” replied Casimiro, and Annalisa nodded her head in agreement. While on their way home from Mutual they had not been able to resist the yeasty, spicy aura hanging about the street near the neighborhood pizzeria and had stopped in for pizza.
The boy deftly smeared a ladleful of tomato sauce on the flattened dough and almost as quickly chopped up a fresh curd of mozzarella cheese, still dripping milk from the bowl it was snatched out of. He dashed coarse salt and pepper over the two pizzas and slipped a large wooden paddle under them one at a time. Taking a large straw broom from against the wall, he swept away the embers near the fire in the back of the oven. Without hesitation the wooden paddle soon deposited the pizzas on a fine layer of ash on the floor of the brick oven.
Near the door of the pizzeria, three of Casimiro’s neighbors were discussing in tones growing warmer every minute the merits of their favorite calcio (soccer) teams.
“The fire in the oven isn’t the only thing that’s cooking this evening,” chuckled Casimiro to Annalisa as they watched their pizzas roast and grow bubbly through the pizza oven’s open door.
Soon the mozzarella was running in milky rivers between crusty mountains of browned pizza dough, and the wooden paddle swished them from the fire. Still piping hot, the two pizzas were folded over, wrapped in paper, and held out to Casimiro and Annalisa. Each plunked 250 lira, about 50 cents, on the counter and turned to leave the pizzeria.
Outside the door the conversation had turned from soccer to the irresponsible driving habits of youth because a young girl crossing the street had just narrowly avoided being hit by a small motorbike. Casimiro and Annalisa dodged the discussion just as one of the participants began offering Casimiro the opinion that “in the old days, youth had more respect.”
Waving back at the men and laughing as they hurried down the cobblestones toward their homes, Casimiro and Annalisa finally bit into their steaming pizzas. Mutual had been over for about half an hour, and their parents would begin wondering where they were.

Jeff Holt doesn’t believe in going against the grain. The 17-year-old Indio, California, priest was recently honored for his statewide, first-place woodwork project—a pool table. Jeff was a guest of the California Department of Education in Sacramento where he toured government buildings, watched the legislature in session, and was guest at a banquet.
The pool table, weighing well over a thousand pounds, was completely hand-fashioned and valued at $1,000. Surprisingly, it was Jeff’s first real woodworking project.
“As I got into it, the work went very slowly at first,” he recalls. “It turned out to be a lot more work than I thought—not only the design and planning and woodwork, but the sewing and upholstery and felt work involved.”
The four-month endeavor also became a family project as Jeff, his parents, and his three sisters embarked on all-day trips to Los Angeles for specially selected materials. The 24-hour marathon completion involved lots of sandwich-making by family members, as well as Jeff’s final perfectionist touches to the felt and the polished Philippine mahogany.
The ten men it took to lift the table and the thousands who saw it in California aren’t about to forget Jeff’s effort.
Back home there’s not a room large enough in the Holts’ home for the table, so Jeff has to be content with keeping it in the garage. With the table finished, he’s also had a chance to work on a few new projects, including a stereo console and a dinette set. He’s also taken a junior college class in upholstery while finishing high school.
Jeff holds down a part-time job to save money for a mission. After his mission he plans on studying to become an industrial education teacher or furniture maker.

The first time I heard about the restriction on black men holding the priesthood, I was on my mission. I was baptized in 1984, after the restriction had already ended. Two years later I was called to serve in the South Africa Johannesburg Mission.
While assigned to Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, my companion, Elder Francis Jack, and I visited a less-active sister. Her husband was a theological professor from another church. He asked us why the priesthood had been withheld from men of black African descent. He said many things that bothered me—things I had never heard before. When I walked out of that room, I felt very low and very discouraged.
Elder Jack and I rode our bikes back to our apartment without speaking. When we got there, he looked at me and said, “Elder Dube, what is wrong with you? You seem very disturbed.”
“Didn’t you hear what he said?” I responded. “How could this happen?”
“Elder, do you believe that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph?”
“Yes,” I said. “But what does that have to do with this?”
“It has everything to do with it,” Elder Jack replied. “We believe in revelation, don’t we?”
I thought about his words and what the professor had said. That night I woke up in the middle of the night. I felt happy and at peace.
The answer to every gospel question ties back to what happened in 1820. Knowing that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith means that he was a prophet and that this is the Lord’s Church. If Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph, then all gospel principles and questions fall into place. This is a church of revelation, and the Lord reveals certain processes at certain times to His servants, the prophets, and that is what brought peace to me.
I started jumping up and down and woke my companion shouting, “Yes, yes! You are right, Elder Jack! Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to the boy Joseph! This is the Lord’s Church!”

In 2003 I was called to serve a mission in the Ivory Coast, in western Africa. As I researched, I found that the country seemed to be involved in constant civil war, but I was comforted to learn there was a ceasefire in place. Further comfort came when I was set apart. The stake president gave me a promise that while I was serving, I would at times feel the presence of angels and they would protect me. I was also promised that if I was obedient, I would return home safely.
In the first months of my mission, the mission president counseled us to be prepared. In our apartment in the capital city of Abidjan, we kept a three-day supply of food and water, and at meetings we received training on what to do if conflict broke out.
Still, we were nervous when rebels broke the ceasefire on November 4, 2004. Our mission leaders gave us a 6:00 p.m. curfew. During our last teaching appointment the next day, we heard a sudden explosion. Immediately we ended with a prayer, left the family a chapter from the Book of Mormon to read, and rushed home. The other companionship in our apartment arrived shortly after us. The assistants phoned and told us not to leave our apartments under any circumstances—not for church or even food. We learned that some French peacekeepers had been killed in air strikes, so France had attacked the military airport, crippling the small Ivorian air force. In reaction, massive riots had broken out across the capital.
Tens of thousands of protesters swarmed the streets, wielding machetes, looting French shops, and breaking into homes where they suspected the French lived. From our window, we could see the violence unfolding. We knew we were in danger because of our white skin.
On Sunday afternoon, November 7, amid the sounds of screaming, gunshots, and explosions, we held a sacrament meeting in our apartment with only four participants. After blessing and passing the bread and water from our three-day food supply, each of us shared a scripture and bore testimony. I read Doctrine and Covenants 84:88: “And whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” As I read, I reflected on the blessing my stake president had given me, and I knew I would be safe.
We were shut in our apartment for a week. Ward leaders and members visited us and brought us food. One member even took messages from us and e-mailed our families, letting them know we were safe for now. These members’ help was amazing! Meanwhile, our families and Church members around the world were praying for our safety. As my family prayed, they felt a calm assurance that I would be OK.
On Friday, November 12, our evacuation began. Ivorian Church members led us through the streets of Abidjan, and though we heard reports of other refugees being harmed, we made it safely through the barricades to the British ambassador’s home. Then British forces evacuated us from the country, and my family’s prayers were answered when they saw two other elders and me on the news being evacuated. In the dark of the night, members took other non-African missionaries to the mission home. From there the Italian air force transported them to Ghana, where we were reunited.
Despite dozens of attacks on foreigners throughout the country, none of the missionaries were harmed during the riots, and no missionary apartments were broken into. Because we listened to the mission president’s counsel, we were safe at home when the riots broke out and we had supplies necessary for our survival. And even more comforting than military protection was knowing we had the Lord’s protection.
When we were being evacuated, I found out that on Sunday afternoon after our sacrament meeting, a group of protesters had been preparing to attack our apartment. One of our neighbors shouted, “They aren’t French!” but they would not leave. Finally, another neighbor cried, “They’re missionaries!” and the rioters dispersed. I again remembered the words, “My Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you,” and I realized that I was living the promise from my stake president’s blessing. I had seen prophecy fulfilled.

When I was in Brazil serving as a counselor to the Area President, I was sent to reorganize a stake that was having problems. The president of the stake and his first counselor were not worthy to serve. So the second counselor had been carrying the whole burden of that stake for six to eight weeks.
When I got there I found that this second counselor was a young medical student. He had been married not too long ago, and his wife was a nurse. He was very busy, yet he was carrying this terrific responsibility, made even greater by the terrible circumstances of the stake presidency. As I talked to him, I thought that this worthy young man, because he was a busy medical student, should not be called as stake president. It would be too much of a burden for him.
So that evening when I knelt by my bed I prayed, “Heavenly Father, bless Elder Milder and me that we will be inspired to know whom we should call as stake president and resolve the difficulties of this stake.”
A strong feeling came over me that said, “I’ve already shown you the new stake president.”
And I said to the Lord, “Oh, no you haven’t!”
All night long I wrestled with the Lord. I kept waking up with the impression that that young medical student should be the stake president, but I thought, “No, no, no. He should not.”
The next day when we started interviewing, Elder César Milder, an Area Seventy, and I agreed that the second counselor should not be the stake president, even though he was worthy, because it would be too much to give him. We had interviewed a bishop who would do well. Then we interviewed a man who had just moved into the stake. He had served in a stake presidency. He had been a bishop twice. He was financially secure.
When we finished the interviewing, I told Elder Milder, “Give me the three names of those whom you think we ought to consider.”
He gave me the name of the bishop and this man who had just moved into the stake. Then he said, “I still feel we cannot ignore this second counselor.”
And I said, “Well, those are the three names that we should consider, but I agree that we should not, however, call the second counselor to be the new stake president.”
So, in prayer, we presented the name of the man who had just moved into the stake, and I understood at that moment what a stupor of thought was (see D&C 9:9). We did not get a confirmation at all. We prayed about the bishop and did not get a confirmation.
I said, “Well, I guess we’d better present this second counselor’s name before the Lord and see what He thinks.”
A powerful witness overwhelmed us. Our bosoms really did burn within us. Tears flowed down our faces as we received that confirmation.
So we met with him and his wife. I told him the reasons he shouldn’t be the stake president, then I said, “But apparently the Lord doesn’t care about any of those reasons. Therefore, on His behalf I extend the call to serve as stake president.” He accepted.
Later, while in Salt Lake City for general conference, I met with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. After the meeting he said, “I’m being assigned to visit a stake conference in Brazil, but not to reorganize the stake. I’m not sure why I’m being sent. Do you know anything about this stake?”
It was the same stake where I had called the second counselor to be the stake president, so I told Elder Nelson the circumstances of the stake president being called.
He said, “You know, Elder Wood, we do not usually call medical students to serve as stake presidents.”
I said, “I didn’t know that, but I believe it, and I would not have done this on my own.”
After the stake conference, Elder Nelson came to Recife, Brazil, where I was living. When he got off the plane, he said, “Elder Wood, you did the right thing. That man was indeed called of God, and he has made a great difference in the stake.”

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