Gospel Story Finder

We must come to think of our obligation rather than our convenience. The time, I think, is here when sacrifice must become an even more important element in the Church. Remember the story of how Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball went on their missions to England. They were both ill and poverty stricken, but they accepted the call to serve, The day they were to leave, Brigham Young was so ill that he fell down and could not get up. Heber C. Kimball went over and tried to lift him up but could not because he was so weak. So he called across the street to another brother and said, “Come on over here and help me get Brother Brigham up!” The next day both of them were on the way to their missions.

Where there were branches, we met in lodge halls, and it was the duty of the elders to go early on Sunday morning to clean up the cigar and cigarette butts and other leftovers from the regular Saturday night parties. Oh yes, part of that cleaning up was emptying the spitoons. By opening all the windows we were able to clear out some of the stench and make the place more fitting as a place for the Saints to meet.

But the man himself—what was he like? A good view of John Taylor is seen in this incident. Elder Taylor had gone to speak to a number of Saints near Columbus, Ohio. Shortly before the hour arrived, some of the Saints reported that most of the townspeople were planning to gather at the open-air site to hear him and that many expected him to be tarred and feathered. He was advised not to go. After a moment’s reflection Elder Taylor replied that he would go, and if his friends chose not to go with him, he would go alone.

When he arrived, he began by informing those gathered that he had come lately from Canada—a land under monarchical rule: “Gentlemen, I now stand among men whose fathers fought for and obtained the greatest blessings ever conferred upon the human family—the right to think, to speak, to write; the right to say who shall govern them, and the right to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences. … I see around me the sons of those noble sires, who, rather than bow to the behests of a tyrant, pledged their lives, fortunes and sacred honors to burst those fetters. …

“They nobly fought and nobly conquered; and now the cap of liberty is elevated on the tops of your liberty poles throughout the land, and the flag of freedom waves. … Not only so, but your vessels—foremost in the world—sail over oceans, seas and bays; visiting every nation, and wherever those vessels go your flag flutters in the breeze, a hope is inspired among the down-trodden millions, that they, perchance, if they cannot find liberty in their own land, may find it with you. … Gentlemen, with you liberty is more than a name; it is incorporated in your system; it is proclaimed by your senators; thundered by your cannon; lisped by your infants; taught to your school-boys. … Is it any wonder, gentlemen, under these circumstances—having lately emerged from a monarchical government, that I should experience peculiar sensations in rising to address you?

“But, by the by, I have been informed that you purpose to tar and feather me, for my religious opinions. Is this the boon you have inherited from your fathers? Is this the blessing they purchased with their dearest hearts’ blood—this your liberty? If so, you now have a victim, and we will have an offering to the goddess of liberty.” Here he tore open his vest and said: “Gentlemen come on with your tar and feathers, your victim is ready; and ye shades of the venerable patriots, gaze upon the deeds of your degenerate sons! Come on, gentlemen! Come on, I say, I am ready!” No one moved. No one spoke. He stood there, drawn to his full majestic six-foot height, calm and defiant. No one came.

After a pause he continued tc preach for three hours! At the conclusion, leaders of the community approached him, expressing displeasure at any unfortunate intentions of their fellow citizens.

Sisters, we must prepare if we wish to serve, and we must serve if we wish to prepare. When I was 16 I was called to teach the three-year-olds in what was then called Junior Sunday School. (You know there was such a thing in the olden days.) I taught some busy children. They climbed on and under the chairs and table and never seemed to stop moving. I was dreadfully inexperienced, and during the first few weeks I wondered if I had done the right thing in accepting the call.

But I persisted, and what I learned—quickly—was that I couldn’t just pray for help. I had to be prepared. That meant planning activities, stories, and lessons, and it meant having plan B ready, along with C through Z. Many years later, when I was called to lead a Junior Sunday School, I knew how to assist new teachers. I knew how to enjoy the children, and I knew the importance of being faithful in my calling.

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it start once when serving as a bishop. A student sat across my desk from me and talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they were sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said what I will not forget, “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.
And so somewhere this Christmas there is a family with a priesthood dad, and they have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he’d only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like a sacrifice now.

While in Oklahoma, I had the opportunity to meet with a few of the families devastated by the mighty twisters. As I visited with the Sorrels family, I was particularly touched by the experience of their daughter, Tori, then a fifth grader at Plaza Towers Elementary School. She and her mother are here with us today.
Tori and a handful of her friends huddled in a restroom for shelter as the tornado roared through the school. Listen as I read, in Tori’s own words, the account of that day:
“I heard something hit the roof. I thought it was just hailing. The sound got louder and louder. I said a prayer that Heavenly Father would protect us all and keep us safe. All of a sudden we heard a loud vacuum sound, and the roof disappeared right above our heads. There was lots of wind and debris flying around and hitting every part of my body. It was darker outside and it looked like the sky was black, but it wasn’t—it was the inside of the tornado. I just closed my eyes, hoping and praying that it would be over soon.
“All of a sudden it got quiet.
“When I opened my eyes, I saw a stop sign right in front of my eyes! It was almost touching my nose.”
Tori, her mother, three of her siblings, and numerous friends who were also in the school with her miraculously survived that tornado; seven of their schoolmates did not.
That weekend the priesthood brethren gave many blessings to members who had suffered in the storm. I was humbled to give Tori a blessing. As I laid my hands on her head, a favorite scripture came to mind: “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.”
I counseled Tori to remember the day when a servant of the Lord laid his hands on her head and pronounced that she had been protected by angels in the storm.

I hope we are reading the Book of Mormon with our children regularly. I have discussed this with my own children. They have shared with me two observations. First, persistence in reading the scriptures daily as a family is the key. My daughter in a lighthearted way describes their early-morning efforts with mostly teenage children to consistently read the scriptures. She and her husband wake up early in the morning and move through the blurry mist to grasp the iron railing that lines their staircase to where their family gathers to read the word of God. Persistence is the answer, and a sense of humor helps. It requires great effort from every family member every day, but it is worth the effort. Temporary setbacks are overshadowed by persistence.
The second is how our youngest son and his wife are reading the scriptures with their young family. Two out of their four children are not old enough to read. For the five-year-old, they have five finger signals to which he responds in order for him to participate fully in the family scripture reading. The signal for finger 1 is for him to repeat, “And it came to pass” whenever it appears in the Book of Mormon. I have to admit that I love the fact that the phrase appears so often. Incidentally, for the interest of young families, finger signal 2 is “And thus we see”; fingers 3, 4, and 5 are chosen by the parents based on the words contained in the chapter they are reading.
We know that family scripture study and family home evenings are not always perfect. Regardless of the challenges you face, do not become discouraged.

“At the beginning of middle school, I met another member of the Church who was very spiritually strong. He was an Aaronic Priesthood holder and seemed like a good example of someone who lived the gospel. We became good friends and talked a lot about the Church. As we got older, his self-worth and ability to uphold his standards started to deteriorate. Though we were still somewhat friends, he associated with others who were not very good influences. I would hear him curse frequently and joke about immorality and other inappropriate things. Several of his friends were atheists and would talk rudely about ‘Mormonism.’ Later, he became addicted to tea and, at age 13, got a girlfriend.

“I didn’t know what to do. I tried telling him in a friendly way of my concern for him several times, but he brushed me aside. Still I didn’t give up. I upheld my standards and tried to be an example for him. I didn’t want to stop being his friend, but as things got really bad, that path started looking better and better. Eventually, I got on my knees several times in prayer for his safety.

“Then his father got a job in another state. This upcoming move caused my friend’s eyes to be opened to all he had done. All I had tried to tell him for three years, he suddenly understood. During the next few weeks, he worked hard to undo his past as much as he could. When I spoke to him, he thanked me for my example and willingness to not give up on him. He was the happiest he had been in years and truly understood what it means to be a Latter-day Saint.

“For any friend who falters, I think it’s best to alert him of his actions. But if, like my friend, he won’t listen, don’t give up. This is probably when he’ll need a real friend the most. Keep your standards, even if he tempts you to do otherwise. Pray for him. I know that you can gain strength through this, and I know that you won’t be alone in your efforts. It’s easy to feel weak and out of place when we stand for good. But through the weak, the Lord will do a mighty work.”

Collin Z., 16, Wyoming, USA

“Why don’t we choose service as our goal?” suggested Kim, her blue eyes sparkling.
“We could do things for older people, little children, our parents, and each other!” added Jeri excitedly.
The rest of the second-year Beehives of the Bountiful 42nd Ward, Bountiful East Stake, chimed in with their ideas and comments about the different kinds of projects we could do. When a talent show was suggested, each of the girls committed herself to performing at least one number. Rehearsals were set for the following week, and the first performance was scheduled for three weeks later at a nursing home for the elderly. When the big night came, the girls were as nervous as if they were performing on Broadway! Their numbers went very well, however, and afterwards they visited with their new friends. The project was truly one of love, and thus it became known as our “Love Program.”
During the coming year we presented the “Love Program” several times—once to a 12-year-old bedridden girl—and in February we had a very special Valentine party for our grandmothers. The girls sent invitations, made special cards, prepared a buffet dinner, decorated the room with streamers and hearts and made candy hearts of dipped chocolate as favors.
Each time the program was given, the girls seemed to enjoy it more. “Before our program, I didn’t know I could write poems,” shared Jeri. “But when I saw others enjoying the poems I had written, it gave me confidence to write more. I even wrote one for my dad.”
“At first I didn’t want to play my guitar,” admitted Marti. “But when everyone else got so excited, I got excited, too. I’m glad I was kind of pushed into doing it.”
Our last performance of the “Love Program” was for the girls’ parents. The Mutual year was ending and we wanted them to know of some of the good accomplished. In addition to this, however, the girls also performed acts of service in other ways throughout the year. At Christmas, our Mutual provided gifts for a family and our class was assigned a two-year-old boy. For several weeks the girls baked cookies, brownies, cakes, and candies to raise money for our “Christmas boy.” When the girls weren’t doing this, they were making surprises for a “secret sister” in our class. What seemed to matter most to them was that they were doing something for someone else.
At the year’s end, Lynnette summed up the feelings of all the girls when she said, “I liked our year of service and I know that I am a better person for helping. I like knowing I can make people a little bit happier.”

That difference also characterized several hundred members from the Riverton Utah North Stake, who averaged more than fifteen ordinances per family for their ancestors in the Jordan River (Utah) Temple in two days.

For the Riverton Utah North Stake, the challenge to take an ancestor to the temple came from the Jordan River Temple presidency. The stake presidency decided to use two days for the work—the youth would come on 29 December 1987 to be baptized for their ancestors, and the adults would come the following day for initiatory work, endowments, and sealings. That way, the temple would not be overly congested. The goal: that every temple recommend holder in the stake would do work for their kindred dead by the end of the year.

President Duane B. Williams says that they were actually fairly well prepared. “The main reason we were able to undertake this challenge successfully was because the stake and wards were already participating in the Church family history program. A couple were serving as stake family history specialists, and each ward had a couple as ward family history consultants. Furthermore, the ward Sunday Schools offered the family history class.”

The high priests group leaders and family history consultants attended priesthood quorum, Relief Society, and Young Men and Young Women meetings to discuss the challenge and to describe the program: how to fill out the records, when to submit them, and what the schedule would be on the stake ancestral temple days. The consultants also kept up personal contact with ward members, visiting them in their homes to help with the work.

The stake also held a family-history clinic one Saturday. The purpose was to provide hands-on experience in finding information and filling out forms.

The results were astounding. More than 160 families attended the temple on December 29 and 30. Stake members completed over 2,500 ordinances in two days—all for their kindred dead. The outpouring of the Spirit was immeasurable. Many Saints felt their ancestors’ presence during the ordinances. One woman, for example, recounted that she had felt the arm of one of her ancestors encircling her; she was nearly overwhelmed by a great outpouring of love. Many testified that they had never felt such complete peace before.

Because of the experience, many other members in the stake began to prepare to go to the temple. One bishop reported that at tithing settlement, one day after the temple excursion, two couples who had not had temple recommends for some time paid their tithing in full so they could once again attend the temple. They said they did not want to be excluded from the temple work they had heard so much about.

Five Beehive girls had a surprise introduction into the Young Women program in the Twin Falls 11th Ward, Kimberly Idaho Stake.

The girls of the ward were worried that five of their friends were only partially active, so they planned a surprise breakfast.

But instead of inviting their friends, they decided (with the permission of the girls’ parents) to “kidnap” them. Each of the five girls was pulled out of bed and taken to their leader’s house for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. While waiting for breakfast to cook, the girls played games. They vowed that this was one morning they would remember.

In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Surgery had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40? (12.2 m) container filled with 40,000 pounds (19,000 kg) of needed supplies. The deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped. No one involved with the project knew of the need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members said, “I can vaguely remember a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member crawled among the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew that they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker would surely agree.
Who was the angel of mercy? Her name is Kristin Bestor. She was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika.
Kristin’s father said to me at a celebration one evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefitted.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair: “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own thank-you to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

In July 2021, I had the blessing of working as an extra in the new Book of Mormon videos, filmed in the mountains east of Springville, Utah, USA. We were filming scenes that occurred following the “great and terrible destruction” (see 3 Nephi 8:11–12) in the New World, which attested to the Savior’s Crucifixion in the Old World.
During filming, my brother Byron lay in a hospital bed in California, USA, while my newborn granddaughter lay in a hospital bed in Salt Lake City, Utah. Byron was dying of cancer, and my granddaughter, born with a serious birth defect, was not expected to live.
When my husband and I arrived at our motel after the second day of filming, my sister called me, worried about Byron.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said. “Byron isn’t answering his phone or his messages.”
Of my five siblings, I was closest to Byron. He was the second child, and I was the youngest. He often took care of me when I was small. We grew up in humble surroundings in Guatemala. We had no television, but we had each other. We were poor, but we were happy.
I missed Byron when he moved to the United States, hoping to help our family financially. He found a job as a bus driver for a tourism company. Years later, I moved to the United States, married, and joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After my baptism, my parents also joined the Church. When my husband and I settled in southern Utah, I saw Byron whenever he brought tourists to the visitors’ centers at the St. George Utah Temple and the Salt Lake Temple.
When I spoke to Byron about the Church, he told me, “Latter-day Saints have something very special. When I talk with people at the visitors’ centers, I can see that they are good, friendly people.” He agreed to meet with the full-time missionaries, but he was always working and almost never home.
Twice, Byron successfully underwent treatment for esophageal cancer. In 2020, however, the cancer returned. In June 2021, he was barely well enough to travel to Guatemala for a month-long family reunion. Our father had died earlier that year, and our mother had passed away in 2015, four years after they were sealed in the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. Seeing his siblings one last time was Byron’s final prayerful wish.
Two weeks after he returned to California, he was hospitalized. Now he lay in a coma.
When I arrived at the video site the day after my sister’s phone call, I was weary and sad. “Father, please help me,” I prayed. “So many difficult things are happening in my life.”
Before the actors and extras gathered to film the scene where the resurrected Savior descends from heaven (see 3 Nephi 11:8), we were told to think about Him and what He means to us. As I tried to concentrate on the Savior during the scene, my thoughts turned to my family. In my mind I saw my father, my mother, and Byron. At that very moment, I heard Byron’s voice.
“Everything is OK,” he said. “I am all right.”
I felt such hope and comfort, as if I really were in the land Bountiful when Jesus came to teach and heal the people, showing them His body. I knew that He was the answer to my trials, that He and the Father were there for me, and that things happen for a reason.
That night, I learned that God had taken Byron home. I’m grateful for the faith I have that I will see him and my parents again. I’m also grateful that God heard our prayers for Athena. After she spent 88 days recuperating in the neonatal intensive care unit, we finally brought her home.

Long, long ago in the far northern wilderness before white men arrived and built cities and roads, there lived Little Squirrel, a Chippewa Indian boy.
One night as Little Squirrel was sleeping in his deerskin wigwam, the roar of a mountain lion awakened him. He sat up on his blanket bed and peered through the wigwam opening into the moonlit forest.
In the darkness all around him, in the caves and in the thickets, lived the wild forest creatures. Little Squirrel’s eyes penetrated the darkness for their shapes. His ears listened for their sounds. The Chippewas thought of wild ones as people—four-footed forest people. Some of them were enemies, but most were friends. Often one would live in a wigwam, sharing the family’s food and shelter.
Little Squirrel knew the forest people well. He knew their names and secrets. He had learned to speak their language. One of them had even lived with his family for awhile.
Six summers past, his father had found a black mother bear dead in her den, a tiny cub crawling over her. Because a Chippewa would never leave an animal to starve, his father had brought the bear cub home and put it by his little son, who was nestled in a linden cradle. “For you, Little Squirrel,” he had said.
As Little Squirrel grew, he romped and wrestled with the cub. His first steps were taken by her side as his fat fingers clutched her thick black fur. He loved the bear. He called her Bear Sister.
Together they gobbled up berries that grew in tangled thickets. Side by side they searched for honey hidden deep in bee tree holes.
But one day without warning, the bear vanished. She ambled off into the pine trees and did not return. Little Squirrel cried when she first went away. He missed their fun together. He missed his furry sister snuggled on his blanket bed during the cold northern nights.
His mother had told him Bear Sister had gone into the forest to find her own bear people.
But Little Squirrel had never ceased looking for her. As he looked into the forest, he listened for any sound from her.
Suddenly he saw something—a shadow moving through the pines. His black eyes sparked with excitement. It might be Bear Sister, he thought, and his heart was filled with hope.
Trembling like an aspen in the first warm rush of summer, he stepped out of the wigwam. The shadow moved before him, but he only heard its sound. Almost without thinking, he slipped through the trees, following the footfalls that crunched down the leaves. His thoughts were with Bear Sister.
Indian boys were encouraged to go for midnight walks in the wilderness. Watching the ways of the forest people was their school. They learned how the beaver people trim trees and build dams. They listened to the owls chirring to their owlets—they listened to the owls’ secrets so they too could be wise. Little Squirrel moved ahead swiftly, silently, following the sounds of the shadow.
Suddenly in a shaft of moonlight the shadow turned into an elk. His heart cried out. It wasn’t Bear Sister after all. Little Squirrel sighed and sat down on a log as the elk sauntered off.
An owl hooted from the pine boughs above. Little Squirrel’s eyes searched until he found the owl. Then he scanned the trail of stars scattered over the deep dark of the sky above. He was once again absorbed in the wonders of the wilderness.
The pines began to whisper and the owls began to scold him. “Go back to your wigwam,” they seemed to be saying.
I must go, he decided as he stood up and began his walk back to the village. His thoughts were of the wigwam, warm and safe.
Halfway around a rocky ledge overgrown with thickets, he suddenly stopped. What was that sound off there in the depths of the thicket? he wondered. He stood as still as a tree trunk. Again he heard it. His heart began to beat like the wings of a giant bird. It sounded like the grunt of a bear. In the black shadows of the night, he watched and waited. Then in the distance he saw a dark form emerge from behind the rocks. It was a bear!
The moonlight dusted the bear’s fur, but Little Squirrel was too far away to be sure of the color. If it were Bear Sister, would she remember him?
Instinctively he began to sing a song—softly, sweetly, so this bear and all others might know of his love for them. Because of his Bear Sister, he could never harm nor kill one of their people. This was the way of the Chippewas, and this was the message of his song.
Little Squirrel sang of how his father had found a bear cub in the forest many moons ago. He sang of hunting berries and of searching out bee trees; he sang of a bear and a boy together on a blanket bed.
As Little Squirrel sang, the bear moved its head back and forth, growling softly. The boy knew the bear understood the song. He knew the bear understood how he felt in his heart, for the Indians and forest people knew each other well. But Little Squirrel could not be sure if this were really his own Bear Sister.
Then a young bear cub appeared from the rocky den, and the heart of Little Squirrel almost burst within him as it beat a steady rhythm to his soft bear song. And suddenly it didn’t matter even if this were not Bear Sister, for all bears were his friends!
The she-bear grunted to her cub, an owl chirred to its owlet, and the wind began to whisper to the treetops.
By the time Little Squirrel reached his deerskin home, all the forest people had heard of the little Chippewa Indian and his love for the forest people.

The Salvation Army also runs a preschool to provide support to low income families in the area. The Precious Jewel Day Care Centre, located in Oistins, Christ Church had a dire need of appliances which has now been assuaged by the Latter-day Saints Charities’ donation of a stove, washing machine, food processor and several standing fans. In addition, playground equipment and sheets for the cots used by the preschool will be delivered in the near future. Principal Kelly Hall was overjoyed to receive these items and said, “It’s wonderful to have a stove with an oven that works!” Major Brown of the Salvation Army described the donation as the answer to her prayers.

I was baptized in May 2016. My first year of seminary started later that year. I was skeptical at first, and I wasn’t ready to get up early, but I was prompted to go. I was still a little unsure about recognizing the voice of the Spirit, but being in seminary has helped me recognize that voice. Through the Spirit, I’m able to know the scriptures are true. I know that the Spirit prompts me to highlight scriptures with meaning and that there’s always a reason. The scriptures guide me when I’m lost, and they teach me. Whenever I’m having a bad day, I can open them up and make my day better.
Shelby L., 16, Montana, USA

When I was six years old, my family moved to California for my dad’s new job. I had not made any new friends in my new city. After a few weeks, my family went out and delivered some of my dad’s special homemade bread to our new neighbors. It made me feel good inside. I knew that special feeling was the Holy Ghost. It made me feel like the Holy Ghost was saying, “Hailey, you were very brave to move to California, and you will make friends!”
Hailey B., age 7, California, USA

Ryan’s dad is a Cub Scout leader, and he also helps out with the Boy Scouts in the ward. Ryan accompanies him on some of the campouts and activities that he might otherwise have to wait a few years to participate in. After Hurricane Hugo struck near Charleston, South Carolina, the Scouts from the Hugheses’ ward decided to see if there was anything they could do to help. Brother and Sister Hughes, Joshua, and Ryan went with the Scouts, and Ryan learned a great deal about people serving one another.

My dear brothers and sisters, this is, as our missionaries would say, an awesome situation. At this time, I want to thank my parents for the good example they set for me. There was one time in my life—and my mother, who I imagine might be listening, doesn’t know this—when the love I knew she had for me saved me. I knelt down one night to pray, as she had taught me. I was about to throw away everything that I had. As I started praying, I started thinking of her and of the love that she had for me. As I cried and prayed—and it took most of the night—I was so grateful that I knew that she loved me.

I am grateful for my wife. Throughout the many years we have been together, I have known that she has loved me. It is because of this love I have felt for my family, and they have felt for me, that I am here today.

I am grateful for President Kimball. I was watching some young people sitting in front of me as we were singing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” (Hymns, no. 196), and I imagine they would have liked to have come up and sat beside President Kimball where I sat just now.

I know that this is the work of the Lord. I know that he lives. I know this. I know that these men, the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve, are prophets and Apostles, seers and revelators, and if we will follow them, we will have eternal life. I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In addition to digging, Abram has another great love—the Book of Mormon. When his younger sister passed away in 2005, Abram read the Book of Mormon for comfort. He says, “As I started reading it more, I really got interested, and now I’m studying more and more.”
Abram has learned a lot while studying. “It gave me a stronger testimony when Christ came to teach the people. And it talked about a lot of things that He taught that we still do today. That was a big leap in my testimony. It was really special,” he says.