Gospel Story Finder

As students at the University of Chicago, historian Marvin S. Hill and I were intrigued with the little-known fact that five men went to trial in Illinois for the murder of Joseph Smith. For over 10 years we scoured libraries and archives across the nation to find every scrap of information about this 1845 trial and those involved in it. Our book reviewed the words and actions of Illinois citizens who knew Joseph Smith personally—some who loved him and risked their lives for him, and others who hated him and plotted to kill him. Nothing in our discoveries in the original court records or in the testimony at the lengthy trial disclosed anything that reflected dishonor on the man who was murdered.14

It all started when Brandon, my two-year-old brother, got in the fridge and began dropping eggs onto the kitchen floor. Actually, things had been pretty crazy all morning. Mom, who is usually up and dressed by 7:00 every day, was still in her robe and slippers at noon, waiting for a chance to slip into the shower. The phone had been ringing all morning, the new baby was fussy, my little sister, Emily, had broken two glasses while setting the table for breakfast, Brandon had tried to be a “big helper” by washing out his oatmeal bowl in the toilet, and I had been whining all morning for Mom to drive me to my cousins’ house so that I could go roller-skating with them.
Mom had finally gotten the baby to sleep and was picking up the broken glass, when Brandon got into the eggs. Before she could do anything about him, the phone rang again. Sister Halvorson wanted to talk over Primary stuff with Mom, who is her first counselor. But Mom couldn’t hear a word she was saying, because Emily was prancing around, hollering that she needed to go to the bathroom. (The door was latched up high to keep Brandon from getting into it again.)
Mom told Sister Halvorson that she’d call back when things were calmer—in about fifteen years—and hung up. She dove for Brandon, who had run out of eggs and was trying to improve the color of the gooey mess on the floor by adding catsup, and called for me to unlatch the door for Emily.
But I was still mad about not being able to go roller-skating, so I just stood there pouting. “It’s not fair,” I said. “You get to do whatever you want whenever you want just because you’re a grown-up. I never get to do what I want. I wish I were the mom!”
That’s when it happened.
“Boingo!” Mom sang out, plopping Brandon back down in his egg and catsup concoction. “That’s it. I quit.” And with that, she turned and slid through the egg slime, out the back door, and calmly crawled inside the doghouse. (We had a large dog.)
I followed. Squatting, I peered in. “Mom, why are you in the doghouse?”
“Because I couldn’t climb the tree in my robe,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“Are you going to clean up the mess Brandon made?”
“No,” Mom replied sweetly. “I’m going to let you have your wish. Abbra-ka-doobra-ka-broccoli-boop!” she chanted, ceremoniously tapping my shoulders with the dog’s bone. “There! You are now officially ‘Mom’ for a while! You get to clean up the mess!”
“Oh, I get it,” I said. “We’re going to switch roles. I read a book about this!”
“No, no. You wished to be a mom. I didn’t wish to be a kid again. I’ve been there. That’s not so easy, either. No, I think I’ll just be a dog today.”
“Oh! This is going to be fun!” I shouted, envisioning myself filling shopping carts with frozen pizzas and Popsicles, serving ice cream and doughnuts for supper, and staying up all night watching TV.
“But, Megan,” Mom interrupted my daydream, “you have to take the whole package. I’ll be fair and take care of the baby, but you’ve baby-sat Brandon and Emily before, and it’s time you learn that you can’t just take the freedom without taking the responsibility too. Understand?”
I nodded and waited for Mom to tell me to start by cleaning up Brandon and the eggs, but she just barked, circled around a couple of times on her hands and knees, and settled herself comfortably in the doghouse.
I hesitated a moment, then headed for the house. As I reached the back porch, Mom stuck her head out and called, “Please leave the door open so I can hear if the baby wakes up.” She barked again and disappeared.
One look at the kitchen was all I needed to repent real fast. All my wonderful visions of endless roller-skating and unlimited ice cream exploded like a blitzed video arcade target. Brandon had discovered a bowl of leftover spinach in the fridge and was gleefully draping the limp, greenish globs over his head as he jumped up and down in the catsup-streaked egg mixture.
I almost went right back out to the doghouse to beg Mom to forsake her canine ways and be the mom again, but I didn’t. Not because I was too stubborn to admit that I was wrong, but because I suddenly realized that being a grown-up really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And Mom was stuck with it twenty-four hours a day, whether she liked it or not. The least I could do was let her be a dog for a few hours.
I unlatched the door for Emily, checked on the baby, who was sleeping peacefully, then tackled the job of getting Brandon and the kitchen cleaned up. A couple of times I thought I saw Mom peeking in the window, but I wasn’t sure.
Sopping up all those eggs gave me a lot of time to think about what Mom had said about freedom and responsibility. I was still getting used to the idea that maybe grown-ups sometimes got tired of being grown-up. I guess we all need a break sometimes, no matter who we are, I mused. I remembered reading in the New Testament that even Jesus had grown weary on occasion and had gone into the mountains where he could be alone for awhile.
I was fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Emily and Brandon, when I remembered that Mom hadn’t even had any breakfast—someone had come to the door just as she was about to eat her bowl of cereal, and by the time she got back, it was soggy.
With great care I made a sandwich for Mom, adding extra grape jelly, which I knew she adored. I carried the sandwich outside and knelt down by the doghouse. “Shall I put this in the doggy dish, or will this plate do?” I asked, giving Mom a big “everything is OK” wink.
Mom winked back. Then she crawled out of the doghouse, yawned, stretched, and brushed the dog hair off her robe. “Now that’s what I call a good vacation!” she declared, taking the sandwich and marching toward the house.
When Dad got home from work that evening, I took him aside and told him all about Mom’s morning. He was extra helpful that night. After dinner, while Dad was helping Emily and Brandon with their prayers and getting them to bed, I sat by Mom on the sofa as she nursed the baby.
“Megan, why don’t you call your cousins and tell them I’ll drop you and your roller skates off for a few hours in the morning,” she said, putting her free arm around me.
I thought for a moment before answering. “Thanks, Mom, but there’s something else I need to do tomorrow. I think I’ll give that old doghouse a good cleaning. After all—” I grinned— “you never know when you might need it again!”

“Hi, Stori.”
“I love you, Stori.”
“Stori, you’re so pretty.”
Everyone wants to talk with Stori B. And Stori talks with everyone. In many ways she is a typical three-year-old. But there is one big difference—Stori is totally deaf. She uses her hands to speak in sign language. She is the only deaf person in her ward, so almost everyone is learning sign language.
Stori has taught the Primary children that talking with their hands is fun. She’s always willing to talk with anyone, even if they know only a few words of sign language. Kaylie learned the letters of the deaf alphabet and can say “I love you.” Joseph learned some sign language words in school, and he enjoys practicing with Stori. The entire Primary is learning to sign the song “I Will Follow God’s Plan.” Stori likes watching them sing to her.

Kevin and Brandon had also made a firm commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy. For them, that meant no practices or games on Sunday. “No exceptions,” Kevin says. This particular decision was tested regularly. But they never faltered.

“Like most sports, lacrosse has a lot of tournaments on Sunday,” Kevin explains. “I’ve missed countless tournaments.”

Brandon and Kevin helped each other keep that resolve. “Once we made the decision, it was simple,” Kevin explains. Over the years, coaches and teammates have grown to respect the brothers’ commitment. Sometimes their team had to play without one or two of its star players, but Brandon and Kevin know where their priorities lie. “We really do believe in the commandments,” says Kevin.

Some years ago I had a most unusual experience while flying in a four-seat, single-engine airplane.
We were flying toward Salt Lake City, and it was one of those days when the smog and fog had settled over the valley very quickly.
We were still flying above the fog at 3,000 feet when our pilot radioed to air traffic control at the Salt Lake tower for instructions for our approach and landing.
He was an expert flier, but the plane didn’t have radar or the other sophisticated equipment that larger planes have.
The controller told our pilot that although the runway was closing down because of poor ground visibility, he would talk us down through the fast-accumulating dense fog if we wanted him to.
Our pilot turned to us and said, “What do you want to do? We can either be talked down by the traffic controller, or we can go back to Nevada and land and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” We all agreed that we should land in Salt Lake if at all possible.
It was a very interesting experience to sit in our small plane and listen to the instructions from the control tower to the pilot. The controller, through radar, could see where we were. He told our pilot when to lower our altitude and when to turn either right or left. We were now in such dense fog that we could not see anything at all and were totally under directions from the tower.
I remember thinking how completely dependent the four of us were on the expertise and knowledge of the controller, who could see us on the radar scope.
It was a remarkable experience, for even though we kept lowering our altitude, we could not see the ground at all.
At about 500 feet our pilot said to my friend who was sitting in the right front seat, “Now you watch for the runway, and when you see it, tell me.” The pilot concentrated on watching the instruments and following exactly the instructions he received from the air traffic controller. I was watching the altimeter.
Soon we were down to 400 feet, 350 feet, 300 feet—still we could see nothing. Then all of a sudden my friend in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
We were all relieved as we looked out the windshield of the airplane. There, directly in front of us, was the runway, and the nose of our airplane was right on the white line in the center of it as we approached for landing. How grateful I was that someone in the tower had the experience and knowledge to give us careful instructions so we could safely land the plane!

Grandma came to visit when Dad took Momma to the hospital to have the new baby. Since I’m the oldest, I knew I could help Grandma a lot. I showed her where the plates and glasses went and which blankie Susie needed for her nap. I told her that Annie preferred cheese sandwiches to peanut butter and jelly. I helped set the table and clean up the dirty dishes.
“Joshua, you are so helpful,” Grandma said.
After dinner, Grandma read stories from Susie and Annie’s fairy-tale books. Then she let me pick out some stories from my favorite dinosaur books.
“I never get tired of reading about brontosauruses, tyrannosauruses, and triceratops,” Grandma said. “And that reminds me of something.” Grandma walked over to her suitcase and opened it. She pulled out a fossil with the print of a leaf preserved in a rock. “I found this on the farm,” she said, handing it to me.
At bedtime, Grandma helped us read the scriptures before family prayer.
In the morning, Dad called to say he was bringing Momma and our new baby home. We all hurried to finish up our chores. My sisters and I stacked the toys in the toy box and washed and dried the dishes. Grandma mopped and vacuumed floors and finished folding the clothes she had washed.
We were getting tired after all our work. Grandma sat down on the bed and picked up a pillow to fluff it up. Suddenly the seam on one side of the pillow split open, and feathers scattered everywhere. Grandma tried to stuff the feathers back in, but they flew around her like a blizzard of snow. Susie and Annie squealed and ran through the storm of feathers. I forgot I was supposed to be helping and joined in, sending more feathers swirling across the floor.
Grandma grabbed a broom and dustpan, but sweeping only scattered the feathers more. Grandma sank into a chair and wiped her forehead with her handkerchief.
I stopped running and looked at Grandma. She had worked so hard, and now Momma would come home to a big mess. I stopped galloping around and told Susie and Annie we needed to help Grandma clean up. I found a large paper bag, and we started gathering up handfuls, but feathers still littered the room.
I got the vacuum and turned it on. Whoosh! The vacuum sucked up feathers like fall leaves swirling into a leaf catcher. Then my sisters and I went out on the porch and plucked feathers out of our hair.
Grandma looked relieved. “Thank you, Joshua,” she said. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
When Momma arrived home, we crowded around to hug her.
“Did the neighbors’ chickens escape from their henhouse?” she asked. “I saw a few feathers on the porch.”
Grandma and I looked at each other and laughed as we all went to meet the new baby brother Dad was holding in a bundle of blankets.

Mickey Mantle, the great baseball player, once told of a little five-year-old boy who had grown up with a great fear of the barber. His parents tried to cut his hair at home, but that never seemed to work out well. Even if the boy held still, which he seldom did, their haircuts always looked worse than if his hair were left long and shaggy.
One afternoon the boy’s father said that they were going to the barber to get a haircut. The boy replied, “No, I’m not going to get a haircut!”
“Yes, you are,” his father explained, “but don’t worry about it now.”
The father and the boy went to the shopping center and parked the car. They stopped for a few things that they had to buy, and several times the father reminded his son that they were going to stop for a haircut too. Each time the boy answered, “No, we’re not!”
Suddenly they were in front of the barbershop door, and the boy froze in his tracks. He held onto his father’s hand and stared straight ahead. The father looked down at the boy but didn’t say a word. The boy’s face was solemn and serious as he stared through the glass of the shop. Finally he softly said to himself, “I am going to get my hair cut.”
The father opened the door, and together they walked inside. They had to wait a few minutes, and so they sat down on the chairs along the wall. The boy sat on the edge of his chair without saying a word.
Finally one of the barbers called, “Next please.” Then the boy turned and looked at his father, and his father nodded. The boy got up, walked slowly to the barber chair, and climbed up onto the little seat that barbers put across the arms of their big chairs for children. The boy let the barber put the sheet around him as he sat still as a statute.
No one said a word until the haircut was finished. Then the young boy took a deep breath and climbed down from the chair. His father paid for the haircut and the two of them left the shop.
Outside the boy stopped and looked up at his father. “I got my hair cut!” he said proudly.
This father later told Mickey Mantle that the bravest act he had ever seen was when his little boy stood up to something that had terrified him.

In her bedroom Mom opened a small box and lifted out a silver handheld mirror.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, fingering the letter B etched on the back.
“This was my grandmother’s mirror,” Mom said. “When I polish this mirror, I try to imagine what Grandma Beatrice saw when she looked into it. Maybe at first she saw a young girl, like you, dreaming of her future.
“I can imagine the light of happiness she saw in her eyes when she looked at her long braids in the mirror before her baptism. Did you know she wasn’t able to be baptized until she was 18 years old?”
“And then after her marriage to Grandpa, she had a baby daughter who lived only two days. I imagine the eyes she saw in this mirror then were swollen with tears.
“Many years after that, she would have seen her joyful reflection as she prepared to go to the temple to be sealed to her husband and three children.
“As an older woman, she may have used this mirror to place a hat on her head before going to her Relief Society meetings.
“And finally, as a gray-haired widow, she may have seen the brave determination in her eyes as she lived for many years alone but faithful to the end.”

A couple of months into my third season of collegiate football, during a routine five-man sled drill, my life’s plan started to unravel. As I hit the blocking dummy, I felt something snap in my neck, and a sharp pain shot down my right shoulder. I stood up and tried to move my arm but realized I had no strength.
I did not know it at the time, but in that instant all my plans and dreams would be altered, and my future would change dramatically. I had dedicated years of my life to football, but as I walked off the practice field that day, that would be the end of it. I would never put on my pads, cleats, and helmet and go out onto the football field again.
After visits with local doctors, I was referred to a neurosurgeon, who explained that I had injured the main nerves coming out of my spinal column going to my right arm. He also said there would be no football for at least a year, and that if I injured the nerves again I may lose the use of my right arm.
With this crushing news, it seemed like my world began to crumble in other areas. My grades rapidly began to go south, and I neither had interest nor ambition to turn them around. I found myself, day after day, lugging my arm in a sling on the sidelines as I watched the guys practice. I finally decided to spend time in the library instead of the football field but found it difficult to concentrate.
The academic quarter seemed to drag on forever, and one frigid, dark November afternoon, I found myself sitting in despair in the old amphitheater on campus. As I sat all alone, I felt terribly abandoned and depressed. I gazed out into the valley as the cold wind whipped wisps of leaves around my feet. Nothing was going right, and my life seemed to have little meaning or happiness. My athletic dreams and goals had crumbled, my grades were poor, I felt I had few friends at school, and I was far away from my family.
Why me? I thought. Why did this have to happen when things seemed to be going so well? What did I have to look forward to now? As I pondered these questions, I found little solace. The clouds, the cold, and my state of mind seemed to be wrapping over me in darkness as I descended into self-pity.
As I sat, reaching for anything to lighten my mind, a thought came that prayer could bring a little relief. I halfheartedly offered up a few words in a weak plea but was hesitant, as I mistakenly felt the Lord would not want to listen to me. During the past year I had become increasingly distracted by the excitement and prestige of athletics, and my church activity had become sporadic at best. My face cradled in my hands, I tried to hold some composure from my grief. I felt so alone.
After some time, I felt, ever so softly, a warm pressure on the back of my head and neck. I felt immediate relief from my despair and dared not lift my head lest the feeling would leave me. I only knew that whatever this feeling was, I wanted it to continue. After weeks of misery, I felt complete and total relief. What was this? Tears began to fall freely down my cheeks, and soon an undeniable impression came into my mind that I knew the Lord was there for me and it was time for me to go on a mission.
I had turned down my home bishop’s invitation to go on a mission 10 months earlier, explaining that my plan was to pursue my football scholarship for another two years. I told him I might think about a mission afterward. I was confident, if not proud, of my plan and was taken aback when he did not share in my enthusiasm and confidence.
I sat there on the cold bench for a while, contemplating what had just happened to me. Going on a mission had been the furthest thing from my mind that afternoon. Serving a mission right now had definitely not been in my plan. But a mission was the only thing on my mind now. I had been given a personal revelation. I could not deny it, and my heart was filled with light and happiness. Serving the Lord was now what mattered most in my life. My mission and future could again be bright and happy. I could not restrain myself as I stood up, crying out as I flung up my good arm in exuberance.
The next few weeks went by quickly, and I gained new enthusiasm for life. I made efforts in correcting my grades in order to finish out the quarter. When it was over, I closed this chapter of my life, leaving my athletic plans and dreams behind. I had no regrets or remorse over my decision. Instead, I felt excited about preparing for a mission and setting my course for a bright future. Cheers from the crowd in a football game were pale compared to the cheers I felt in my heart by going on a mission.
As I look back on this memory, I can see the importance of making the right choices at the right times. Sometimes we feel we have a solid and logical plan for ourselves. But if it’s not in accordance with gospel principles and the whisperings of the Holy Ghost, our plan seldom evolves into true happiness and joy. Nor can our own plan replicate the blessings we receive by living the gospel in faith, with a determination to live the commandments. For young men in particular, the opportunity to serve as a missionary is the right plan. I believe there is nothing that provides more growth than unselfishly serving the Lord and His children. Other self-generated plans, though appealing, will ever fall short in comparison.
This experience was sacred to me, and the chance to redesign my own plan with the Lord’s help has significantly changed what I am today. I will ever be grateful to the Lord for the experience on that cold November day that changed my life and helped me understand the Lord’s plan for my life.

Oksana has had some challenges in her life. About two years ago, she developed a lot of pain in her back and legs, so much that she couldn’t walk or bend over. Her parents took her to the hospital, where the doctors discovered a tumor on her spine. As the doctors prepared to operate, they told her parents that she had a 50% chance of being paralyzed from the waist down. “I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me,” Oksana says.

“The doctors scheduled an emergency operation on fast Sunday,” Oksana’s mom, Andreé, explains. “Members of our ward fasted for her. And when the doctor came out of the operating room, he said it was like a miracle.” The doctors were able to easily remove the tumor without damaging Oksana’s spine, which they had not thought would be possible. “It was a miracle,” Oksana’s mom adds. Today Oksana is healthy and happy, though she still has one more surgery scheduled to remove some metal rods placed in her spine, which are helping it to grow straight again.

Members of the Samabula 1st Ward participated in a service project for the Harland Hostel for the Deaf in Fiji in March 2021.
A group of 20 volunteers spent three hours cleaning the hostel and playing with the children. They raked the yard, cut the grass, planted, and cleaned. They also repaired a washing machine.
“We wanted our members, especially our children, to see firsthand how children as young as five years old leave their homes and loved ones and live at the hostel just so they can have access to quality specialized education,” explained Eileen Swann, one of the participants.
The Harland Hostel for the Deaf has 26 children from ages five to 14. There is also a rented home for older boys and a hostel for older girls.
“The hostel is just five minutes away from our chapel where we meet each Sunday and we as members of the Church need to be aware of others in the community where we live,” said Swann.
“We need to know our community, know what services are available or how we can be of service to our community. When we look beyond our differences, we will find that we have a lot in common with others. In doing so we build resilient and tolerant communities and better citizens.”
Other participants expressed gratitude to see how happy the children were despite having a loss of hearing and being away from their families.

True worship is a deeply satisfying experience. Some years ago I went hiking in the Catskill Mountains with some young people to pick huckle. On this mountain there was a spring near the berry patch, so we didn’t carry any water with us. When we arrived at the spot, we found lots of big berries, but we couldn’t find the spring. After a while our thirst became almost unbearable. We quickly picked our pails full and made the long descent down the mountainside. Near the place where we had parked our car there was a crystal-clear spring of cold water. We stretched out on the grass and drank. I will never forget the intensity of my thirst and how deeply satisfying it was to drink from that spring. Worship can be like this to the true believer in Christ. The Savior told a woman in Samaria who had come to a well to draw water, “… whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.” (John 4:14.)

Once a group of children was playing in a home where the Prophet was hiding from wicked men who wanted to kill him. They overheard the older people tell of the Prophet’s danger, and one seven-year-old girl said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”

A few minutes later the Prophet went past a bedroom door in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety. Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. As the children rose from their knees, one of them said, “Now I know Brother Joseph will be safe.”

Then the Prophet returned to the room where his older friends had come to guard him through the night. He told them that they could go to their own homes, for he knew that prayers of children are heard and answered and that he could sleep in peace that night. And he did!

Christianity celebrates the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God the Eternal Father. Christian churches with great variations of doctrine dot the land the world over. When 14-year-old Cortnee, a daughter of a mission president, entered a new high school as a freshman, she was asked by classmates if she was a Christian. They scoffed at her response that she was a Mormon, a common reference to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Upon arriving home she asked her mother, “Mom, are we Christians?”
Growing up in my family, we lived as devout members of another Christian faith. I was baptized a member of that church shortly after my birth. Our family went to church each week. For many years my brothers and I assisted the pastors who conducted our Sunday services. I was taught the importance of family prayer as our family prayed together each day. I thought that someday I would enter the full-time ministry in my church. There was no question in our minds that we could define ourselves as devout Christians.
When I was a university student, however, I became acquainted with the members and teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Christian faith centered on the Savior. I began to learn about the doctrine of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days. I learned truths that I had not known before that changed my life and how I viewed the gospel. After much studying, prayer, and faith, I chose to embrace beautiful restored truths found only in this Church.
The first restored truth that I learned was the nature of the Godhead. The true Christian doctrine that the Godhead consists of three separate beings was known in biblical times. God bore witness of Jesus, His Only Begotten Son, on several occasions. He spoke at Jesus’s baptism: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”1 Jesus Himself testified of God, His Father, when He said, “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”2 After Jesus’s death and Resurrection, we learn that Stephen, “he, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up stedfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God, and said, Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of God.”3 What a dramatic testimony of the Godhead from that disciple of Christ.
The knowledge of God and His physical separateness from His Son and the Holy Ghost was lost after the death of Christ and His Apostles. Confusion and false doctrines about the Godhead were fashioned out of the Nicene Creed and Constantinople councils, where men declared that instead of three separate beings, the Godhead was three persons in one God, or the Trinity. Just as Christian Protestant reformers struggled with these creeds of men, I did as well. The teachings about the Trinity that I learned in my youth were incomprehensible to me.
However, when I was introduced to the glorious truths of the First Vision experienced by the Prophet Joseph Smith, it was a stunning awakening for me to finally understand the truth about the nature of God the Eternal Father and His Only Begotten Son. Joseph declared: “I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”4 This heavenly vision restored the wondrous yet plain and precious knowledge of God and His Son to the earth again, dispelling at once the teachings I had learned about the Trinity.
I know that heaven-sent revelations have replaced the gross errors of man-made doctrines concerning the Godhead. I know that God is our Heavenly Father. His Son, Jesus Christ, is my Savior. The Holy Ghost testifies of the Father and the Son. I express my profound gratitude to God for introducing the resurrected Lord Jesus Christ to mankind in these last days. The Savior lives; He has been seen; He has spoken; He directs the work of His Church through apostles and prophets today. What magnificent truths He has taught as the Good Shepherd who continues to look after His sheep.
The second restored truth I learned as an investigator of this Church was the reality of additional scripture and revelation. The prophet Isaiah saw in vision a book that he proclaimed was part of “a marvellous work and a wonder.”5 I testify that the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ is that book. It is a sacred record written by prophets of God to persuade all people to come unto Christ, and it helps to reveal the gospel of Jesus Christ in its fulness. The Book of Mormon tells of prophets and other faithful members of the Church who took upon themselves the name of Christ, even before the Savior’s birth.6 This book tells of the resurrected Christ teaching men what they must do to gain peace in this life and eternal salvation in the world to come. What could be more Christian than seeking to take His name upon ourselves and follow His counsel to become like Him?
President Gordon B. Hinckley has said, “I cannot understand why the Christian world does not accept this book.”7 I first read the Book of Mormon at the age of 21. I then asked God if it was true. The truth of it was manifested unto me by the comforting power of the Holy Ghost.8 I know that the Book of Mormon is a second testament of Jesus Christ. I join my testimony with the prophets of this sacred book to declare that “we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ.”9 I am deeply grateful for every word that He has spoken and for every word He continues to speak as He quenches our thirst with living water.
Another restored truth of the gospel I became acquainted with was the restoration of priesthood authority, or the power to act in God’s name. Former prophets and apostles, such as Elijah, Moses, John the Baptist, Peter, James, and John, have been sent by God and Christ in our day to restore the holy priesthood of God. Every priesthood holder in this Church can trace his priesthood authority directly to Jesus Christ. Men now possess the keys to establish the Church so that we can come unto Christ and partake of His eternal ordinances of salvation.10 I testify that this is the Church of Jesus Christ—the only church authorized with true priesthood authority to exercise the keys of salvation through sacred ordinances.
Cortnee asked, “Mom, are we Christians?” As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, you are a Christian, and I am too. I am a devout Christian who is exceedingly fortunate to have greater knowledge of the true “doctrine of Christ”11 since my conversion to the restored Church. These truths define this Church as having the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Like other members of the Church, I now understand the true nature of the Godhead, I have access to additional scripture and revelation, and I can partake of the blessings of priesthood authority. Yes, Cortnee, we are Christians, and I testify of these truths in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At age eight, LeGrand contracted some type of hip bone disease. For nine months he wore a plaster cast on his leg from shoetop to hip and around his waist, during which time he used crutches and missed a year of school. Later that year, still in the cast, he was attacked by a vicious ram. The animal came at him time and again as he braced against the fence and tried to ward off its attack with his hands. It was the plaster cast around his waist that is thought to have saved LeGrand’s life.

One night after the molasses making was finished, he kissed my sisters and me goodnight and said, “God bless you.” That night he went to sleep and never awoke again.
My heart broke. I didn’t want Ma to see me cry so I went out to the stable. Later she found me and, putting her arm around me, said, “George, you’re the man of the house now. You have six sisters and your Ma is depending on you.”
Well, pretty soon it was seven sisters. Just two weeks after Pa died, LaVern was born.
One evening when I saw Ma slip out alone and go toward the cemetery I followed, and found her kneeling by Pa’s grave, weeping.
Tugging at her arm, I said, “Ma, you mustn’t come here to cry. Come on home.”
Getting to her feet she drew me to her. “My little man,” was all she said.
“If Pa got permission to come for a visit, do you think he’d come to this cold old graveyard?” I asked.
Thoughtfully, she said, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d want to come home.”
Hand in hand we walked silently through the twilight.
Shortly after that, Ma put Pa’s picture on the easel in the living room. “Children,” she said, “in this home we will live exactly as Pa would want us to do. Because he loved the Lord we have been blessed.” Her voice broke, but only for a moment.
We knew she missed Pa, but she kept herself busy making our home happy. As we grew, it became the gathering place for all of the young folks in town, especially on Sunday afternoons when Ma would sing with us around the organ.

“It’s your turn to read, Papa,” Bernice said. She opened the scriptures. Maman and Papa sat next to her on the couch.
Papa read the first scripture. “I know that he loveth his children.”
“I know that he loveth his children,” Bernice repeated.
“Nevertheless,” Papa said, “I do not know the meaning of all things.”*
Nevertheless was a hard word. Bernice couldn’t read yet, and she didn’t know what all the words meant. But she loved repeating the words when her family read scriptures together.
The next day at scripture time, Papa had a surprise. “I have something special for you,” he said. He gave Bernice a book. It had a picture of people and a boat on the front.
“Is this for me?” Bernice asked. She hugged the big book in her arms.
“For you,” Papa said. “Look inside.”
Bernice opened the book. Her eyes got big. There were so many colorful pictures.
“What is it called?” Bernice asked.
Papa pointed to the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” he said.
Bernice traced the words on the cover. “Book of Mormon Stories,” she said.
“It has the same stories we are reading about in the scriptures,” Maman said.
Bernice pointed to one of the pictures. “Who is that?” she asked.
“Hmm. Do you see the bow and arrows?” Maman asked.
Bernice nodded.
“Do you remember reading about someone who had a broken bow?” Papa asked.
“Nephi?” Bernice said.
“Yes, that’s Nephi,” Papa said.
Bernice smiled. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. I love this book.”
Each night, Bernice read her scripture book with Maman and Papa. She pointed to the pictures. She learned to say some hard words. And she learned to read some easy words on her own!
Reading the scriptures made her feel happy. She was glad she could read them with Maman and Papa!
This story took place in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
* 1 Nephi 11:17

When I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings, and two missionaries reported their missions in the Southern States. When I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call.
And I went home, went into my bedroom, and got down on my knees, and I asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station in Salt Lake and I was headed for the land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”

I’m grateful for the bishop’s encouragement and belief in my daughter’s ability to be able to settle down in a sacrament meeting. He didn’t judge me for not being able to get my daughter to be reverent all the time. I will never forget the day he assigned me to give a talk on the responsibility of a mother. I felt it was a role I had fallen very short on, but my bishop didn’t. On Mother’s Day, the bishop, knowing that I often had to leave church early, ran after me to ensure that he personally handed me my Mother’s Day card and gift. That deeply touched my heart.

I go to a school run by one of the churches in my country. Sometime back I was chosen by my classmates to be our class counselor. One day as I was planning what to teach, I came across a Church booklet about the law of chastity. I decided to teach my classmates about chastity and asked the full-time missionaries for booklets, which I gave out during the lesson.
After my lesson, many students wanted to know more about the Church, so I taught them and gave them more Church materials, including the Book of Mormon. I did not know that this was not approved by the head teacher.
One day she called me to her office and asked me which church I went to. When I told her, she asked why I was giving out the Church’s “Bible” to the students. I told her that I gave them only to those who asked for them.
After a long talk about the Church, in which she made it clear that she believed it was not the Church of God, she told me, “I know that you have no parents, but I am very sorry—you will have to leave my school because you will convert many of my good students to that church of yours.” She told me to choose between the Church and my education.
She called an assembly and told the school that I was not allowed in school anymore because I belonged to the Mormon Church and that any other students following me would have to leave.
After the assembly, she asked what I had decided: my church or my education. I felt the Spirit telling me to stand for what I know: that the Lord has restored His true Church. I shared my testimony with her as I was leaving. She told me to return the following week to pick up a letter showing that I no longer went to the school.
When I came the following week, she had changed her mind! She wasn’t making me leave the school anymore. I was very happy, mostly because I had stood for what I knew to be true.
This experience taught me to always stand for what we know to be true. The Lord will always be there for us. If I had denied the Church, the students would have said that what I was teaching them was not true, but now they know that I know the truth.