Gospel Story Finder

During the late winter, 13-year-old Travis Hurst, a deacon from Indianapolis, Indiana, and his dad, Kent, came up with a plan. Because several of their ancestors had made the trek west to Utah, they decided they would build a handcart and participate in a re-enactment of the pioneers’ journey through Iowa. Lots of people were coming from many locations to walk for a day or two, or even a week during the event, but Travis and his dad decided to go the whole way, so they could really understand what their ancestors had gone through. They would walk from Montrose, Iowa, to Winter Quarters, covering the entire state from east to west. It’s a long walk—about 300 miles—which takes about three weeks to complete, but Travis felt that it would be a good experience and a lot of fun. His older brother wasn’t so sure.

“At first I thought it was kind of a crazy idea,” says Travis’s 17-year-old brother, Taylor. “But I watched Travis and my dad build the handcart, and Travis kept telling me what an awesome vacation it was going to be. He was right.”

And so, when the trek started, Taylor was right next to Travis and Brother Hurst, taking his turn pushing their handcart. Janell Seely, a Mia Maid from Castle Dale, Utah, was pushing a handcart the whole way with some of her family members, too. And Danny Wilkins, a deacon from Willcox, Arizona, was just up ahead with his dad, Dean, driving a wagon.

“Some people think Iowa is flat,” says Janell. “But they’re wrong! It’s all hills.”

And hills weren’t the only challenge. Just like the pioneers 150 years ago, the trekkers encountered searing heat, fierce wind, and pouring rain.

“When we left from Keokuk, it was very rainy and wet,” says Travis. “We were supposed to travel across a bridge, but it had been washed out, so we crossed through the stream. It did feel good, though, to get our feet wet.”

Unfortunately, not long after that stream crossing, Travis was unable to continue because of illness. He went home to Indiana to recover, leaving Taylor and his dad to finish the trek alone.

“I feel bad that my little brother didn’t get to continue,” Taylor says. “Without him, I wouldn’t even be here. Lots of pioneers didn’t make it to the end of the trek because of illness, but they didn’t get to go home. It makes you feel grateful for medicine and all the other blessings we enjoy.”

Air conditioning, soft beds, and their mom’s cooking are some other blessings Danny, Taylor, and Janell all say they missed. But despite the spartan conditions, all of them said they see real advantages to living a pioneer lifestyle.

“It seems like there’s more time to talk out here,” says Danny. “Day after day, I just sit here talkin’ with my dad and the other people riding in the wagon, and it’s been fun. I feel like I know my dad better now.”

Janell agrees. “Sometimes I am walking along, and I think about how the pioneers were in this very same place so long ago. It’s pretty quiet, and I can really feel the Spirit. This is an experience I won’t ever forget.”

“When I was a teenager, Brother Jacob, my teacher, asked that I write down on a card what I had thought about during the sacrament. I took my card and began to write. First on the list was a basketball game we had won the night before. And then came a date after the game, and so went the list. Far removed and certainly not in bold letters was the name of Jesus Christ.
“Each Sunday the card was filled out. For a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, the sacrament and sacrament meeting took on a new, expanded, and spiritual meaning. I anxiously looked forward to Sundays and to the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, as understanding the Savior’s Atonement was changing me. Every Sunday to this day, as I partake of the sacrament, I can see my card and review my list. Always on my list now, first of all, is the Savior of mankind.”
Elder Don R. Clarke of the Seventy

I smoothed my skirt and took a deep breath. It sounded like the meeting on the other side of the door was coming to an end. The bishop stood in the doorway and shook hands as people filed out. He turned to me as I sat in a chair outside of his office, and he smiled broadly.
“Come on in, Erica,” he said with his hand extended.
I stood and shook his hand, suddenly feeling older than 12 years old.
Bishop Morris was a kind man whose love you could always feel. I felt more at ease as soon as I saw him. I told myself to quit being nervous, to remember that interviews with the bishop are regular occurrences once you are in Young Women. Still, I just didn’t know what to expect.
Soon the bishop had me talking about my family, school, and friends. He asked about my goals. And then we talked about testimony.
He asked me to share what I believed with him.
Suddenly my nervousness returned. I had only shared my testimony once before. So I gripped the chair handles and started with the first thing that came to mind—Joseph Smith. I told Bishop Morris that I believed Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ. I said I believed that Joseph Smith translated the Book of Mormon. I expressed my belief in this book, my gratitude for my family, and my admiration of our current prophet.
Before I knew it I had tears in my eyes. Goosebumps began to spread from my toes upward as I started talking about the Savior. I told the bishop that maybe I didn’t know a lot yet but that I did know that Jesus Christ lived and died for me.
Until this moment, I hadn’t recognized my own testimony. I read my scriptures and said my prayers, and I knew I had felt the Spirit, but I didn’t know I had a testimony of my own. When I finally bore testimony, I knew.

As a young boy, Banyan was so attentive in his Methodist services that he could often repeat entire sermons, and soon became known among the children as “the priest.” When many unanswered questions left him dissatisfied, he drifted into an informal Christian scripture union, but had trouble accepting all of their doctrine of being saved by grace alone. Faith without works was a doctrine which caused deep conflict in him. “Every Christian ought to demonstrate that he believes in the Lord,” Brother Dadson says.
At twenty-two, Banyan separated from the group and joined another religious brotherhood. The group gave him the spiritual support he needed during the next eight years while pursuing his bachelor’s, master’s, and doctor’s degrees in organic chemistry. “The brotherhood forbade alcohol, tobacco, and immorality and even had a story similar to Joseph Smith’s experience,” Brother Dadson recalls.
He returned to Ghana after earning his doctorate from Cambridge University in England and took a position as a chemistry professor at the University of Cape Coast. He spent the next ten years in academic pursuits, marrying, and beginning a family—unattached to any religious group. During this time he came in contact with “Reverend” Billy Johnson, who had come across copies of the Book of Mormon and started, without official authority, a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Banyan had attended a church meeting, but couldn’t accept the tribal drumming and dancing that were a part of the services.
Eight years later Billy Johnson gave Brother Dadson copies of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, Pearl of Great Price, and Gospel Principles, along with the news that Latter-day Saint missionaries had recently reorganized the local church, this time with a priesthood foundation. Brother Johnson had been baptized and was called to be the first district president.
Banyan decided to give the new religion one more try. This time he attended a standard Latter-day Saint sacrament meeting with the hymns on cassette tapes. As he learned more about the gospel, he soon realized he had finally found the church he had been searching for. He was soon baptized, followed by the four oldest of his six children and, within a few weeks, his wife Henrietta.
Brother Dadson began spending more time with his family, including getting them up at 5 A.M. for prayer and scripture study. The effect on the family was impressive.
“People would tell me what a remarkable change for good they had noticed in my children,” he recalls. His brother and sister also noticed and soon joined the Church. Kwamena Dadson is now president of the Cape Coast Branch, and his sister Elizabeth Kwaw is a Relief Society president.
A few months after Brother Dadson’s baptism, he became the branch’s first elders quorum president, and in the spring of 1982 he was called to be second counselor in the Ghana District.
Brother Dadson credits his Church membership for his career successes. In 1981 he was appointed the dean of faculty at the university, a position he held until his appointment as pro-vice chancellor in May 1985. “The Church has made me a more effective teacher and leader,” he explains, citing such skills as organizing his time, using his talents and energies more effectively, and relating better with others. “In dealing with the staff, I am constrained by the law of Christ to show love.”
Along with improvements in his work and family, the gospel has brought another benefit. “I was once plagued by fears, but they have vanished. I feel a solid confidence; I am secure in the Lord.”
During the summer of 1983, Brother Dadson spent two months as a visiting professor of chemistry at Brigham Young University. That was his first trip to Utah, although he had previously lectured as a Fulbright Scholar and a guest of the U.S. State Department at various universities in the country.
Though his family remained in Ghana, Brother Dadson took advantage of his two-month stay to go to the Provo Temple and receive his endowment. Since then, economic restraints have prevented him from taking his family to the temple, but he says he “will not rest until I have brought my wife and children to a temple to be sealed.”
The Dadsons and their six children, ages ten to twenty-one, enjoy typical activities with the branch, including plays, native dancing, soccer, and working at the welfare farm, where maize, beans, and other vegetables are grown.
Concerned with needs of fellow countrymen for food and other supplies, Brother Dadson is one of the trustees of the Friends of West Africa (Ghana), a non-denominational organization involved with obtaining and distributing free medical supplies to hospitals, clinics, and villages.
The Dadsons plan to stay in Ghana and help the Church to grow, and hope their children will choose to do the same.

In 1992, time was a precious and limited commodity for Elder S. Mark Palmer and his wife, Jacqueline.
Elder Palmer was serving on the stake high council at the time. He was also working hard to build his professional career. Sister Palmer’s time was stretched just as thin. The Palmers were raising six children in their Austin, Texas, USA, home—including a six-month-old baby boy.
When their stake president invited them to serve as workers at the Dallas Texas Temple, they didn’t know how they could handle one more duty. But they accepted the call—and then prayerfully asked for the Lord’s help.
Making a monthly bus trip to serve all day in the temple required sacrifice and careful planning. “But it blessed our lives enormously,” says Elder Palmer.
Serving in the temple, he adds, prepared him spiritually for future priesthood callings. It also made him a better husband and father—and he found balance in his busy life.
“Going to the temple often helps you reset your priorities and be reminded of the covenants you have made,” he says.

President Spencer W. Kimball was a friend of the Savior. When he was in the hospital ready to undergo open-heart surgery, his bed was being wheeled down the hall and into the operating room by a young hospital attendant. The young man accidentally smashed his finger in the door frame. He was in pain, and he took the name of the Savior in vain. President Kimball, although already sedated, opened his eyes and gently rebuked the attendant: “Young man, don’t say that; He’s my best friend!”

I am a second-grade teacher in a community where Latter-day Saints are well known. So I was surprised one day when a peer told me of another teacher’s remark about me. The teacher had said, “Did you know that Mrs. Craig is not a Christian?”
I was torn inside. I had just lost my husband of 28 years, and I had been closer to the Savior and my Heavenly Father than at any other time in my life. I knew that I would have to bear my testimony to this teacher, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I did not want to offend her, but I also wanted her to know that Latter-day Saints are Christians.
The next morning the Holy Ghost whispered to me what I should say. As I lay in bed, I thought of all the paintings I had in my home of the life of Jesus Christ. Each painting had a special place in my heart and was connected to a special time in my life. Thinking of those paintings brought many tender feelings about the love I have for the Savior.
One painting in particular shows the Savior calming the stormy sea. It reminds me that He conquers all and that I, through Him, can also overcome all things, including the heartbreak of losing my husband.
As I continued to reflect on the paintings, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for the blessings that had come to me because I belong to the Savior’s Church.
That morning at school I went into my colleague’s room and told her I wanted her to know I am a Christian. I asked her, “How many paintings of the Savior do you have in your home?” She told me that instead of paintings, she had two crosses in her home.
I told her about the paintings of the Savior in my home and what the scenes depicted in the paintings meant to me. I then bore my testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
I also told my co-worker that it was only through my knowledge of Jesus Christ that I had been able to survive the past year. I told her how His tender mercies had helped my children and me get through the difficult time of losing a father and husband.
I hugged her as I left, and she offered a sincere apology. There was no doubt in my heart that she knew that I, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, am a Christian.

One summer my mom and dad packed our car for a long trip. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Are we going to the beach?” “No,” said Dad. “Are we going to Grandma’s house?” “No,” said Mom. “Are we going to the mountains?” I asked. “Yes,” said Mom. “But we are not going to just any mountains. We are going to follow the pioneers’ trail to the Rocky Mountains.” “Oh,” I said. I remembered singing about pioneers in Primary, but I never thought I would get to see where the pioneers once walked. Dad drove for a long time. We saw the temple in Kirtland, Ohio. We saw the temple in Nauvoo, Illinois. We saw where the pioneers crossed the Mississippi River in their wagons. Then Dad drove our car across the plains. The sun was hot. I was glad I could ride in a car and not a wagon. “It must have been hard to be a pioneer,” I said as we arrived at the Salt Lake Temple. “It was,” Dad agreed. “But the pioneers knew it was important to follow the prophet.” “I guess that makes me a pioneer, too!” I declared. Mom smiled and gave me a hug.

Later on, we moved to Venezuela, where my dad is from. I lived there for two years, and we faced a lot of challenges. But there were good things too. I loved the food, and I had family there who were anxious to meet and talk to me. They were such humble people, and we all went to church together and felt the Spirit.
But even though we were going to church and I could feel the Spirit, I knew my family and I were missing something. One Sunday morning, the bishop invited everyone in the congregation to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year. I knew this would help my parents and me more fully live the gospel of the Lord. Little by little, as we read the Book of Mormon, the Savior started giving us more knowledge and blessings, and we continued to read the scriptures regularly.
Soon, I got baptized. I could really feel the Spirit in my life, and my parents did too. My testimony started growing more. We moved to Orlando, Florida, and we had to make a lot of changes and sacrifices again, just like when we left Spain. But our testimonies were growing stronger and stronger every time we went to church. We went to church every week and kept reading the scriptures.
After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so anxious to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms for the dead while I waited for my parents to complete temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now, my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms for the dead, because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple with my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

Christmas for young people today is quite different than Christmas was for me more than sixty years ago. For example, there is a great difference in the way we get Christmas trees. When I was a boy we used to go out onto the sidehills and cut the trees. I remember once my brother and I dragged a Christmas tree off the hill and when we got home there was only one side of it left. We had to stand it up in the corner so the bare side wouldn’t show.
We used to make all of our own decorations. We’d take tissue paper and cut it into strips and paste it together to make chains. And we’d pop corn and then string it to make garlands with which to decorate the tree.
We’d always have a special dinner on Christmas.
My uncle, Gaskill Romney, operated a planing mill and a sash and door factory. He had a lathe on which he would turn out baseball bats for Christmas presents for the boys, and we used to make our own little cabinets for the girls. Our toys were not as sophisticated as they are now.
But Christmas was always a happy time. To us it was the day the Savior was born.

Recently a group of highly respected Jewish leaders and rabbis visited Church facilities in the Salt Lake Valley, including Welfare Square, the Humanitarian Center, the Family History Library, and the Oquirrh Mountain Utah Temple open house. At the conclusion of their visit, one of the most eminent rabbis in America expressed his feelings about what he had seen and felt.
He cited concepts from Jewish thinkers rooted in the Talmud and pointed out that there are two very different reasons people engage in acts of kindness and generosity. Some people visit the sick, assist the poor, and serve their fellowmen because they believe it is the right thing to do and others will reciprocate and do the same for them when they are in need. He explained that while this is good, builds caring communities, and should be considered a noble reason, a higher motive is when we serve our fellowmen because that is what we believe God wants us to do.
He stated that as a result of his visit, he believed the Latter-day Saints undertake welfare and humanitarian efforts and the work of salvation in our temples in order to do what we believe God wants us to do.
The Jewish leaders I mentioned earlier were particularly impressed with the principle of fasting and then paying a generous fast offering. They thought it was remarkable that Church members across the world would fast monthly and then make a freewill offering for the benefit of those who are in need.
When the rabbis visited Welfare Square, they were touched to learn that even in difficult economic times, our members, concerned about the challenges experienced by many, continue to donate generously to help the poor and needy.

His youngest sister, Cho Sungja (Korean women retain their birth family name after marriage), recalls that at first her brother simply held family home evenings with his brothers and sisters and taught gospel principles. But eventually he introduced them to missionaries.
His youngest sister accepted the gospel readily. She felt the Holy Ghost testify to her of the truth of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Members of another faith had shown her a scripture in the book of Revelation that they said warned against adding to the words of that book (see Revelation 22:18–19). But as she opened the Book of Mormon one day to read in 2 Nephi 29, some of the verses in that chapter told her of the need for additional revelation (see vv. 11–14), and again she felt the Spirit testify that it was true.
Her father was against her joining the Church, but finally, in answer to her prayers, he gave his consent. She was baptized and confirmed in 1976, at age 16.
Like her pioneering elder brother, Joong Hyun, Sungja wanted to share the gospel she had found. She shared it freely with friends at school, and eventually five of them were also baptized and confirmed.

My late father, Claude Roy, passed away in 2015, not long after being baptized. By then, my mother, siblings, and I had been members of the Church for some time, but for decades my father remained adamantly unwilling to join.
Over time, he said, “my heart hardened, and I became irritated by visits from my children and grandchildren and wanted to isolate myself from my family. Tensions grew in my house, and my relationship with my wife became strained.”
Around this time, he began to retrace his Canadian aboriginal ancestors, who were descendants of the Mi’kmaq and Huron-Wendat nations. After reaching out to the Mi’kmaq community near where he grew up, he was invited to a powwow, a Native American ceremony.
During the evening of the powwow, the high chief opened his arms and asked the children to come to him so he could bless them. The discourse that followed on the importance of family and descendants struck my father like thunder.
In that moment, he said, “I saw my family holding out their arms to me while I turned my back on them. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable sadness as though my heart was breaking in pieces. I knew in that moment that the Lord had used the words of my ancestors’ tribe to soften my heart. I knew I had to turn to my Heavenly Father and repair the damage I had caused my family.”
Dad began to make peace with our family, asking forgiveness from each family member. With the example of his wife and children, he began to pray and read the Book of Mormon. Having read many histories about the American continent, he felt drawn to the Book of Mormon. Its veracity was confirmed to him immediately.
“Surrounded by my family, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. “That was the most beautiful day of my life! I testify of the power of a loving example. For 36 years, my wife kept her faith and was a Christlike example to me, though my heart had hardened. Then, one weekend changed everything for me.”

Several years ago, upon entering an electrical establishment, Elder James E. Talmage saw an impressive array of lamps, door chimes, and other electrical items. And “having chosen a lamp, [he] turned the switch to test the … light; but lo, there was no light. The attendant told [him] that the lamps were there as an exhibit only, but were not connected up.”

He reported, “I turned to the bells, but when I pressed a button I listened in vain for [a] responsive tinkle. And so with everything [else] in the shop—pleasing to look upon, some pieces artistic, all suggestive of usefulness, but, as displayed, they were [only] ornaments and nothing more, for they were not connected up.”

Upon leaving the shop Elder Talmage thought, “A burning candle … is worth more in terms of utility than the most elaborate of electroliers without the current.” Then a fitting parallel came to his mind of the “scriptural description of minds and souls darkened and deceived by outward appearances while devoid of spirituality: ‘Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof’ (2 Tim. 3:5)” (Handbook of the Restoration [Independence, Mo.: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1944], pp. 389–90).

Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one room school house in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
“Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with 10 rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.
“A day or so later, … the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. ‘The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.’
“As Little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, Big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.
“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. ‘Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. “Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!”’”

Once when I was too young to go to school, I waited till the older boys had gone with their books and then climbed high up in their huge, old cottonwood tree to where a rope was tied. I took hold of the handles of the pulley that hung from the rope, so scared I could hardly breathe, and after what must have been 15 or 20 minutes of trying to get up the courage, I finally kicked off into space, the wind in my face and the world rushing past in a breathless green blur. I knew before I jumped that I was going to feel like a bird flying, and I did! I whipped down the long rope to a dusty, end-over-end landing about half a block away, and then I ran home to Mom—a little battered and bleeding, but exultant. “I did it! I did it!” I can still remember how it felt.

Another experience began 48 hours after my wife’s burial. At that time, I was rushed to the hospital in an acute medical crisis. I then spent the first four weeks of a six-week stay in and out of intensive care and in and out of consciousness.
Virtually all my experience in the hospital during that first period is lost to my memory. What is not lost is my memory of a journey outside the hospital, out to what seemed the edge of eternity. I cannot speak fully of that experience here, but I can say that part of what I received was an admonition to return to my ministry with more urgency, more consecration, more focus on the Savior, more faith in His word.
I couldn’t help but feel I was receiving my own personal version of a revelation given to the Twelve nearly 200 years ago:
“Thou shalt bear record of my name … [and] send forth my word unto the ends of the earth. …
“… Morning by morning; and day after day let thy warning voice go forth; and when the night cometh let not the inhabitants of the earth slumber, because of thy speech. …
“Arise[,] … take up your cross, [and] follow me.”
My beloved sisters and brothers, since that experience, I have tried to take up my cross more earnestly, with more resolve to find where I can raise an apostolic voice of both warmth and warning in the morning, during the day, and into the night.

Luis and Karla met as teenagers in Honduras. They began dating and soon married. Luis, not a member of the Church, admired Karla’s parents, who “treated each other with respect and love, and this made me want to learn about their values.” Soon Luis was baptized, and Karla and Luis were sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. In their early 30s, their relationship came under stress, and Karla left home, questioning whether their teenage marriage was a mistake. Luis fasted and prayed and asked God to “bring Karla back home, and He did it. He did it.” Today their marriage is stronger than ever.

Some years later in Cusco, a city high in the Andes of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room that opened onto the street. It was night, and while Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He wore only a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.
On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This starving street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.
Later the little boy returned. He slid along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. When he was near the point where the woman would see him again, I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.
Then, as something symbolic, I set him on Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer, the hungry little boy darted out into the night.
When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about my experience. He was deeply moved and told me, “You were holding a nation on your lap.” He said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”
As I have visited Latin American countries nearly 100 times, I have looked for that little boy in the faces of the people. Now I do know what President Kimball meant.

Two missionaries in the New Zealand Christchurch Mission decided that more people needed to know just how important families are—so they decided to build a float to tell them. Elder Dick Bybee and Elder Jeff Jarvic entered the resulting “Families Are Forever” float in the Blossom Festival parade in Alexandra. The float was shown on television and to the 15,000 visitors who came to the festival. Local Church members helped work on the float, which in turn helped open doors in town for the missionaries.