Gospel Story Finder

The rooms that April morning had been beautifully decorated with flowers for it was President Snow’s eighty-seventh birthday. On the mantle stood a more beautiful arrangement of roses. Before the president was awake there came a knock at the door of the Beehive House. When it was opened, there stood two little girls behind armloads of stunning red roses for President Snow.
The girls sang two or three songs and he was deeply touched by the serenade. He said he would cherish the memory all of his life.

A group of underprivileged boys on a Denver, Colorado, Boys’ Club basketball team looks a little snappier thanks to the efforts of Eagle Scout John Hadfield. For his Eagle Scout project, John made numbered basketball jerseys for a team of boys who were playing without uniforms.
John raised the money to buy the supplies. He then cut out 12 shirts, sewed them up (a skill he learned in a junior high home economics class), and recruited other Boy Scouts to hem them. He planned to buy the numbers, but when he explained the project, the shopkeeper agreed to number the shirts free of charge.
John serves as patrol leader and deacons quorum president in the Littleton Second Ward, Littleton Colorado Stake.

Four years later, Katie, one of my daughters-in-law, underwent an emergency C-section to deliver twin baby girls at 25 weeks of gestation, too close to the threshold of infant viability for comfort. When the girls were just eight weeks old, Katie was returning home late at night from her daily visit with them in the neonatal intensive care unit of the hospital and was hit and killed by a drunk driver, leaving my son a widower with six children.
My wife was everything to me, and my son’s wife was everything to him. Those were tough times for our family.
I didn’t fully appreciate how great Tanya was and how much I depended on her until she was gone. But we had knelt at an altar in a holy temple, and someone having the sealing power had pronounced blessings upon us. I have clung to the promise of those blessings. I trust in those promised blessings.
Tanya’s death was a crisis of faith for me. I had to decide, “Do I really believe?” Faith is called a gift of God, but it’s also a choice we make—a choice to believe. I chose to believe, and I found out that Moroni was correct when he wrote that we receive no witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6). After the trial, the witness did come. My faith was rewarded with a confirming peace of mind. That’s what has enabled me to go forward.
As my second wife, Becky, says: “We need faith the most when we face a crisis. Going to the Lord really is the only answer. It is the way to cope and hope.”
Brother Evans and his wife, Becky, share photos of his daughter-in-law and her twin baby girls.
For a time, I struggled to figure out what was faith and what was hope. Alma describes faith as a “hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21). Because of my faith in Jesus Christ, I have hope that if I remain faithful and true to my covenants, I can share eternal life with Tanya. I am also grateful for the assurance I have that the Savior is there for each of us. There’s a difference between thinking, “He’s there” and realizing, “He’s there for me.”
My two grandchildren have lasting ill effects from their car accident, and I still grieve Tanya’s absence in my life. I’ll never stop missing her, and the love I have for her is not diminished by the love I have for my second wife. The love has just multiplied.
My son has also remarried. His new wife is Becky’s first cousin once removed. We both married into the same family. What are the odds of that? It’s an amazing coincidence, or maybe it’s not.
Our family has had its share of challenges, but we have also experienced blessings. My son has become one of my heroes. He forgave the drunk driver who killed his wife, and he told her he hoped she would straighten out her life. His two little girls recently celebrated their fifth birthday. They are real miracle babies.
“I am grateful for the assurance I have that the Savior is there for each of us.”
For the past 17 years, I have had the privilege of serving as a patriarch. At first, I was afraid I couldn’t fulfill the calling, but I have learned that the blessings come from the Lord, not the patriarch. There are common themes in patriarchal blessings because our Heavenly Father wants many of the same things for all His children, but each blessing is different, individual, and personal.
One of the purposes of a patriarchal blessing is to help individuals see who they are as children of God and to discern how much their Heavenly Father loves them. As a patriarch, whenever I lay my hands on someone’s head to give them a patriarchal blessing, for just a few precious moments, Heavenly Father allows me to feel the love He has for that individual. It is an overpowering feeling. When I feel how much He loves each blessing recipient, I can feel that He loves me too.
“Nothing brings me greater joy than the promises of the temple, which give me hope that through Christ, I can overcome all trials,” says Brother Evans.
Today, Becky and I focus on the temple. One of the reasons our Lord has given us the temple is to give us a glimpse of Zion. In addition to being a patriarch, I was invited some years ago to serve as a sealer in the temple. That has been another great joy of my life. It is a calling of all happy occasions. Nothing brings me greater joy than the promises of the temple, which give me hope that through Christ, I can overcome all trials.

The message I am sharing with you today is that the gospel protects us and that the gospel principle of repentance has the ability to restore us if we have committed a sin. Recently I received a letter written by a young lady who went on a long, dark journey, a journey that ultimately led her into moral transgression. Her story is important because she is going through the anguish of full repentance and now is beginning to feel the joy that honest repentance can bring. She has asked that her personal experience be shared with you in the hope that there might be one who can be helped and not take that same journey. She writes (excerpts from a letter):
“It began when I left my home to go to college. Until that time, under the righteous guardianship of my parents, I had not indulged in the loose morals of my friends and acquaintances.
“Probably the first dent in the armor of faith which my parents had built up around me was the realization that some ‘good returned missionaries’ were not always so good and really did indulge in necking and petting episodes. I began to think that a certain amount of physical relations were natural and included them in the closer relationships I had with young men.
“Satan is insidious. He leads a person away from the righteous way of living and little by little tempts them into greater and greater wrongs.
“The months passed, and I fell further and further from the truth. I moved in with a friend who was inactive in the Church and who also had loose morals and drank and smoked. With her I visited bars and nightclubs I never would have gone into on my own initiative.
“Next, I stopped attending Church meetings and even stopped praying. I found that my whole life had changed. I was always depressed. My grades dropped to an all-time low. I couldn’t get along with my roommates. Everything, everything, was wrong.
“I found myself totally rejecting the Church and all its teachings. I knew in the depths of my soul that I was afraid. I was truly a ‘ship without a rudder.’
“I found myself searching everywhere for some semblance of security and stability. My parents were physically a long way away. But even at long distance they sensed some of my inner conflict and were worried.
“I finally met a young man, also inactive, with whom I thought I was in love. By then it was easy for me to convince myself that making love was all right as long as I truly felt that I loved the man. So I made love and desecrated the temple of my body. I became pregnant. When I realized my condition, I went to the young man and told him of my problem. He wanted nothing to do with me or my baby. He did say he would pay for an abortion, however, if I so desired.
“At first I rejected the very idea of abortion, but as I thought about it, I began to rationalize. It took me a couple of weeks to talk myself into making an appointment and having the abortion done.
“Shortly thereafter I had the good fortune to meet and marry a young man of extremely high caliber. He was not active in the Church, but he was and is morally a fine, honest, upstanding man. Ever since that time, I have been working and living toward the goal of becoming active in the Church and of once again attaining a position of righteousness in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.
“A few months ago I realized I must go to the bishop of my ward and confess the terrible things I had done. I did so knowing that my sins were grievous before the Lord, that I faced possible disfellowshipment or even excommunication. I also knew that the time had come to put myself and my life into the Lord’s hands, that I might be able to cleanse my sins and stand spotless before Him on the judgment day.
“I made an appointment one Sunday afternoon with the bishop. He took time out of his busy schedule to hear of my terrible transgressions. Oh, how I prayed to my Heavenly Father before my interview. The bishop was kindly. He asked that I would have the courage to tell him everything; that I would not hold anything back. As I tried to touch lightly on my transgressions and go on, I couldn’t! A horrible tightening in my throat and chest made it impossible for me to go on. I suddenly knew it was the answer to my prayers. The Spirit of our Father in heaven was with me demanding complete confession. I bear witness that I felt the Spirit constraining me to tell the whole truth!
“It isn’t easy to admit past sins even to ourselves. I found that it was as hard for me to admit the exact nature of my sins to myself as it was to admit them to the bishop. I didn’t want to think about them.
“After my confession the bishop commended me on taking the first step toward returning to my Heavenly Father and outlined additional steps to prepare me for the day when I would realize that I had truly been forgiven. He emphasized that he, himself, could not forgive me. That was the Lord’s decision. He helped me to understand that I could be forgiven, that my Heavenly Father loves me, that I could gain an awareness of my future goals and not constantly condemn myself all of my life, thus halting my eternal progression. He asked me to read the Miracle of Forgiveness by President Spencer W. Kimball. It helped a great deal in making me aware of the process of forgiveness. We had several appointments, the bishop and I, so that he could help me to see my course toward reestablishing myself in good standing in the Church.
“Following my interview with the bishop, I found myself alternating between depression in which I wondered if I would ever be forgiven and becoming lax in doing the things I should be doing. I have learned that ‘to change’ isn’t easy. It takes time. One must learn to ‘try’ and ‘try again.’
“Now I find myself growing ever closer to the Lord—more positive. I know if I continue to work and to grow, my Father in heaven will forgive me, but most importantly, I will also forgive myself. The important thing is that I must persevere in doing what I know to be right.
“If my experiences sound familiar, I beg you from the very depth of my heart to please pause and take stock of your life. Do not be misled by the superficial moral codes of our day. They are Satan’s most persuasive tools. They have no eternal significance. It is Satan who will entice us away from the joyous richness awaiting us in the eternal family circle.
“You are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Stay true to your birthright. Do not bring into your lives the miseries and anguish of soul that I brought into mine. Refrain from doing things that will make you eternally sorry. Prepare yourselves in righteousness to do the things in life that will make you eternally happy.”
The true story we have shared is a testimony by a young lady who is coming back from the depths of depression to make a new life for herself.

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.

When I was a young boy in Long Island, New York, a robin built her nest every year on the roof of our home. We used to watch as she had her little ones. She fed them and nurtured them. And when it was time for them to fly, she gently and lovingly would nudge them out of the nest. They would glide to the ground, their wings fluttering—unsure, afraid, and not knowing how to fly. Then the mother would go down to the ground and help them learn how to find their food and teach them how to fly. She wanted to help them to be on their own.

It brought me great sorrow each year when I would find a young bird that tried to “do it alone.” Often he would be found dead in the rock garden below among the lilies of the valley.

The children have learned in the process of growing up what their parents expect. One young man said: “I remember when one of my friends asked if I’d like to go to a movie with him on a Sunday afternoon. I said no, and he wanted to know why—was that one of our rules? he asked. I thought about it and suddenly realized that it was one of our rules, but it had never been stated in those words. It’s just one of the things that our family would never do.”

In 1987, Marcella, the older of my two daughters, saw two young men with name tags on a bus in Tiradentes, Brazil. A conversation ensued, and the missionaries asked if she would like to know more about the Church.
Marcella was interested, but she knew that my opinion of Latter-day Saints was very unfavorable. She made arrangements to be taught at the home of a member, and in time she was baptized. She was 19 years old. I did not go to her baptism because I was still radically opposed to the Church.
Meanwhile, I was going through a very difficult period in my life. One day I decided to look through some magazines in our magazine rack. Among them were several issues of A Liahona (Portuguese). I found what I read interesting.
The February/March 1986 issue contained an article about Si Peterson, a young man from Canada who is a quadriplegic (see Jeannie Takahashi, “Typical, but Unique Latter-day Saint,” 22). I was particularly impressed by the faith and perseverance of Si’s mother.
About that same time, January 1988, my younger daughter, Monica, suffered an appendicitis attack and was in terrible pain. The doctor said she needed emergency surgery. Marcella and I took her to the hospital and comforted her the best we could. At the hospital I remembered the examples of faith I had read about in A Liahona. I thought especially of Si’s mother, Anita Begieneman.
Marcella and I held Monica in our arms. We prayed with all the faith we had. Soon we noticed the color returning to her cheeks, and she stopped crying. Amazingly, the doctor told us a mistake had been made. Monica didn’t need an operation. The three of us went home happy and grateful.
Monica and I decided to receive the discussions, and we were baptized on 19 March 1988. Marcella later served a full-time mission to Switzerland and is now married.
The examples of faith in A Liahona showed me that my former ideas about the Church were in error and gave me strength during a difficult time. In the years since these events occurred, reading the magazine has continued to strengthen my testimony.

A couple of years ago I got into drinking. I drank as kind of an experiment. Around here there isn’t a lot to do so my friends all drink and party. I wanted to be like them, I guess. After I started drinking, I felt almost hopeless. At first I thought I was happy, that I was having fun, but I realize I was miserable. I thought, what’s the point in trying to change? I just didn’t feel worthy.
I really love football, and one day after practice I came home to find my mom sitting there. We talked about my drinking, and she called the school. I was suspended for a couple of games. That was a really big kick in the head for me—I realized I needed to change.
My family and some people in my ward helped me and made me feel loved. As I went through the repentance process, I gained a strong testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It’s so amazing to feel how much Heavenly Father loves us. It’s just crazy to me that He would send His Son to die for me when I mess up so much. You can always call upon Heavenly Father no matter what, and He will be there for you if you are willing to try and change.
I’m so much happier now than I was when I was drinking and partying. The gospel just brings you so much happiness if you turn to God and strive to improve yourself. It’s totally worth it.
Jens P., 18, Illinois, USA

The unique qualities possessed by these men and women whom I have mentioned can be of invaluable assistance to us as we face the problems and the trials which lie ahead. May I illustrate by mentioning the experience of the Jerome Kenneth Pollard family of Oakland, California.

This past May, as Elder Taavili Joseph Samuel Pollard was traveling to the mission office on the last day of his mission in Zimbabwe, the mission car he was driving somehow spun out of control and hit a tree. A passerby was able to rescue Elder Pollard’s companion, but Elder Pollard, who was unconscious, was trapped in the car, which burst into flames. Elder Pollard perished. His mother had passed away eight years earlier; hence, his father was rearing the family alone. A brother was serving in the West Indies Mission.

When the news of Elder Pollard’s death reached his father, this humble man—who had already lost his wife—called the son serving in the West Indies Mission to let him know of his brother’s death. Over that long-distance telephone line, Brother Pollard and his son, no doubt grief stricken and heartsick, sang together “I Am a Child of God.” Before concluding the call, the father offered a prayer to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for His blessings and seeking His divine comfort.

Brother Pollard later commented that he knew his family would be all right, for they have strong testimonies of the gospel and of the plan of salvation.

Some of you may be familiar with Thornton Wilder’s classic drama Our Town. If you are, you will remember the town of Grover’s Corners, where the story takes place. In the play Emily Webb dies in childbirth, and we read of the lonely grief of her young husband, George, left with their four-year-old son. Emily does not wish to rest in peace; she wants to experience again the joys of her life. She is granted the privilege of returning to earth and reliving her 12th birthday. At first it is exciting to be young again, but the excitement wears off quickly. The day holds no joy now that Emily knows what is in store for the future. It is unbearably painful to realize how unaware she had been of the meaning and wonder of life while she was alive. Before returning to her resting place, Emily laments, “Do … human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?”

Celebrating Christ’s life during the Christmas season brings both families and friends closer together. Jennifer Adams, of Pleasanton, California, discovered this when she went away to school.
She and her roommates knew they would spend most of the time leading up to Christmas away from their families. But they didn’t want to miss out on the traditions and special experiences of home, so they started some of their own.
They took a long candle, decorated it with numbers from 1 to 25, and placed it in the center of the living room. Every night they lit the candle and let it burn down one number.
While the candle burned, they sang traditional Christmas hymns and shared stories of service and giving. Some nights, they bore testimony of the Savior and talked about what Christmas meant to them.
It only took 15 minutes a night and made for a meaningful holiday season. It became a tradition Jennifer will one day incorporate in her own home. It also brought the roommates closer together and created a feeling of having a family even while they were away at college.

Let me illustrate this point with a story. A family made plans to go on a fun trip together. They were excited to visit a new place and have some great adventures.

About halfway through their trip, their car broke down. They were sad and discouraged. They felt that all their efforts had been wasted, so they decided to go back home and start their trip all over again.

Now, you may say to yourself, that is ridiculous—why would they completely start over? But don’t we do the same thing sometimes? Sometimes we feel discouraged or falsely believe that one little mistake erases all the progress we have made. But mistakes don’t erase the progress we make as we strive to become more like Jesus Christ. As Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained: “Jesus Christ, the Son of God, died so that our mistakes might not condemn us and forever halt our progress. Because of Him, we can repent, and our mistakes can become stepping-stones to greater glory.”3 We need to be patient with ourselves and stay hopeful.

While in college, our oldest son was hired into a very desirable part-time student job that had the potential to lead to a wonderful, permanent job after graduation. He worked hard at this student job for four years, became highly qualified, and was well respected by his coworkers and supervisors. At the end of his senior year, almost as if orchestrated by heaven (at least to our son’s way of thinking), the permanent position did open up, and he was the leading candidate, with every indication and expectation that, indeed, he would get the job.
Well, he was not hired. None of us could understand it. He had prepared well, had interviewed well, was the most qualified candidate, and had prayed with great hope and expectation! He was devastated and crushed, and the entire episode left all of us scratching our heads. Why had God abandoned him in his righteous desire?
It wasn’t until several years later that the answer became very clear. Had he received the dream job after graduation, he would have missed a critical, life-changing opportunity that has now proved to be for his eternal benefit and blessing. God knew the end from the beginning (as He always does), and in this case the answer to many righteous prayers was no, in favor of a far superior outcome.

Hannah feels great empathy for anyone who is hurting in any way. And she does something about it. A boy who started school at the same time she did had suffered from neglect and could hardly speak. “Hannah took him under her wing and helped him gain confidence,” her father remembers. “Within a year he was communicating properly and reading well. She also taught him to swim and to fit in with the other children.” Now he’s a good student and Hannah’s self-appointed protector. “She’s always sorting people out at school. In fact she gets into trouble for not getting her own work done because she’s always helping others.”

One such pioneer in Ghana is Joseph W. B. Johnson. Brother Johnson was converted after prayerfully reading the Book of Mormon in 1964. He relates that following his conversion “one early morning, while about to prepare for my daily work, I saw the heavens open and angels with trumpets singing songs of praise unto God. I heard my name mentioned thrice: ‘Johnson, Johnson, Johnson. If you will take up my work as I will command you, I will bless you and bless your land.’ Trembling and in tears, I replied, ‘Lord, with thy help, I will do whatever you will command me.’ From that day onward, I was constrained by the Spirit to go from street to street to deliver the message that we had read from the Book of Mormon.”

When the missionaries arrived fourteen years later, there were already many unbaptized congregations that Brother Johnson had organized, identifying themselves with the Church. Some of these early converts later rejected official membership in the Church, but many accepted it. A foundation had been established upon which later missionary work would build with increasing success.

This story happened in Taiwan.
“Ready, Louie?” Miss Li asked.
Louie nodded. He put his fingers to the black and white piano keys and began to play. Plink, plink, plink. He loved playing all the notes together to make music. He played through the whole first page and moved to the next.
PLUNK. Oops. He always had trouble playing that part. It had lots of quick notes. Louie started again from the beginning.
PLUNK. Louie frowned. Not again!
“That’s OK,” Miss Li said. “Let’s try again slowly.”
Louie practiced with Miss Li’s help a few more times. But he still couldn’t get through that part very well.
“This part is tricky, but I know you can do it,” Miss Li said. “Do you think you can practice more at home before the performance?”
“I think so,” Louie said.
The next day, Louie practiced piano again. But he kept messing up the same part! Plink, plink, PLUNK.
Dad came into the room. “How’s it going?” he asked.
Louie pointed at the notes on the music sheet. “This part is really hard. I keep having to do it over and over!”
“That does look hard,” Dad said. “But this reminds me of a story in the Book of Mormon. The story about Nephi going back to get the plates.”
Louie’s eyes got big. “I love that story! Nephi kept going back to try again. And Heavenly Father helped him.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. I think if you keep trying, Heavenly Father will help you like he helped Nephi.”
Louie nodded and started over. Dad sat in a chair close to Louie and listened. Louie focused on the part that was hard. He played each note slowly.
Then Louie played through the whole song again. Each time he played, he got faster. At last he played all the notes right! He felt so good. He didn’t even notice how long it took.
“You did it! Great job,” Dad said.
Mom stood in the doorway. “It sounded great, Louie!”
“Thanks,” Louie said. “I finally learned the hard part.”
Mom gave Louie a hug. “I’m proud of you for working so hard.”
On the night of the performance, Louie was nervous. His heart was pounding. His hands were sweaty.
Finally, his name was called. He walked onto the stage and looked at the parents and kids listening. He said the name of his song, then sat down on the hard bench.
Louie took a deep breath and placed his hands on the shiny keys. He knew he had done all he could. Heavenly Father would help him.
Louie started to play. The notes came just as he had practiced. Then it was time for the hard part.
He played each note right. It didn’t feel quite so hard this time!
Finally he played the last note of the song. Everyone clapped as he lifted his fingers from the keys. Louie smiled and bowed. He saw Mom, Dad, and his sisters clapping and smiling. He did it! He had tried again even when it was hard, just like Nephi. And Heavenly Father had helped him.
Illustrations by Toby Newsome

In 1968 I left my New Zealand home to settle in Israel. I just came, without great means and not knowing what conditions to expect in this land. The Spirit of God pressed upon me to come here, and being unmarried, I undertook the journey alone.
But before coming to Israel I searched a map of this land for a place where I might go to stay, for I had no relatives here to welcome me. The only map of Israel in my possession was an old biblical map, and on it I found a place by the name of Zerin.
After arriving in Israel I discovered that a kibbutz was built next to the ruins of Zerin and that this was the ancient town of Jezreel, which name the kibbutz had adopted anew. Upon joining this kibbutz I was questioned as to why I chose that place rather than another, but at that time I was at a loss for an adequate reply.
For a few years I worked on the kibbutz, or farming commune, milking cows and helping to build up the land. I began to observe the laws of Moses, and I studied the Bible a great deal, although until I came to Israel I had no background in Judaism.
One day, while I was looking for a book to read in the kibbutz library, the librarian, who was nonreligious, handed me the Book of Mormon and said that I should read it. It had once been left in the library by a young Mormon volunteer worker who had spent a few months on the kibbutz. I was not interested in the Book of Mormon, but this lady, knowing I was spiritually inclined, was insistent that I read it, and so out of curiosity I took it with me.
When I began to read it, I greatly wondered at its contents, as I read of things that I had never supposed existed. I prayed about whether the things contained in the Book of Mormon were true, and indeed, just as promised in the admonition in the book, the Holy Spirit witnessed very strongly in me, and I began to take these writings seriously.
I read the Book of Mormon twice and then sent a letter addressed to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, asking for further information. Back came a reply from the Missionary Department, with tracts and a letter of encouragement.
Through the tracts I learned of the existence of two books called the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price, and I immediately sent for these also. Many things were pressing to be clarified to my mind, and I desired to have all the scriptural material that was available.
From studying these things in the light of the Mormon scriptures, I became increasingly convinced of the truth of the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ as taught by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Within a year I earnestly sought to be baptized, but I was unable to locate any Latter-day Saints. At the government information services I was told that the Church had no presence in Israel; and when I followed up addresses of Saints forwarded to me by the Switzerland Mission, I received no answer. It was not until three years after first reading the Book of Mormon that I met any Mormons.
While studying Oral Law in a yeshiva, or Jewish Talmudic school, on Mount Zion, I came across an advertisement of Latter-day Saint services on a torn piece of newspaper. Immediately I contacted the brethren of the Jerusalem Branch, which before President Harold B. Lee’s recent visit to the Holy Land was still called the Israel Group, a non-Israeli congregation of about thirty souls, the majority being children.
For some weeks I secretly attended meetings and further studied the gospel through the favor of the presidency of this branch. Early one morning, the day I left the yeshiva, some brethren gathered at the Pool of Shiloam, and there I was baptized. The day following, at the house of the branch president, I was ordained a priest, both these ordinances having been carried out by President David B. Galbraith and his first counselor, Elder John Tvedtnes, from whom I took further instruction in the gospel.

Increasing our faith usually starts by exercising faith in our Savior and in His promise that we will be blessed when we keep His commandments. The following story found in the Church History Centre in Johannesburg perfectly illustrates this truth.
When Johnny Poo Shuping was sixteen, he met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The glow they carried with them attracted him. He said, “They were looking for somebody to teach, and they found me. We set an appointment, and my spiritual awakening began.”
However, not long after beginning the lessons, Johnny’s father reminded him that their family belonged to a different church. He refused to allow Johnny to be baptized and insisted that he attend the family church. Finally, Johnny and his father reached a compromise: Johnny would be allowed to attend the Church of Jesus Christ only after he had attended his family’s church first. He recalled, “So for the next two years, I woke up early on Sunday mornings to attend the 7 a.m. service at the local chapel in town and would then run swiftly . . . to make it on time for my sacrament and priesthood meetings.”
When Johnny was old enough to serve a mission, he had completed his first year of university education. Because of his excellent grades, he had received financial aid to pay for his schooling. However, if he left school to serve a mission, he would lose his scholarship, and all his work to get good grades would have been in vain. Johnny took a leap of faith: he decided to earn money and prepare for a mission.
With no support for his decision at home, he treasured the support and encouragement of a family in the Church. He was grateful for the important role they played in his life for the two years he prepared for his mission. They were almost as excited as he was when he submitted his mission papers and received his call to the Uganda Kampala Mission.
Johnny diligently served his mission, even extending his time there. But eventually, he knew he had to return home, mend his relationships with his family, and figure out what to do about school.
After his return—after exercising his faith by choosing to prepare for, then serve, a mission—Johnny enrolled in the university, knowing he had a huge outstanding debt from previous years, since his scholarship had been invalidated when he left. He recalled, “Discouraged a bit and not knowing what to do, I felt I should get to campus one morning to check exactly how much I owed.
“The lady at the administration center printed out the account, and I anxiously scanned through it, looking for the ‘balance due’ section on the bill. I couldn’t find it. What I found instead was ‘credit.’ I asked the lady at the desk to explain to me what that meant. She looked into the details and found that some financial aid program had come across my grades and, impressed with what they saw, paid the entire outstanding fee I owed the school.
“Furthermore, the amount listed under the ‘credit’ section was money given to me for my good grades. What a tender mercy! I sat there, drowning in amazement at the thought that I was debt-free and ‘confused at the grace that so fully He proffers me.’1
“I remembered President Ezra Taft Benson’s (1899–1994) promise that ‘When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives.’2 I experienced the truth of that promise.”
Johnny went on to earn a degree with honors in communications and has launched his own enterprise. He obeyed the commandment to serve a mission and has never regretted taking a leap of faith and trusting in the Lord.
Based on A Leap of Faith, Everyday Saints of Africa, Marnae Wilson and Midge Nielsen, Africa Southeast Area, 2015.

My siblings and I grew up believing in God, but our family wasn’t religious. We did our own thing and didn’t bother to learn about our purpose on earth. When a few relatives died, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I remembered my grandfather warning us not to sleep too much because when we die, we sleep forever, and it got me curious. Was death just a dark place of eternal sleep? As my soul searched for the answer to what happens after death, a neighbour—a former bishop for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sent missionaries to us. They taught my sister, Fiasili, and me the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and introduced us to the plan of salvation, which finally answered all my questions about death. Fiasili and I were soon baptised. She was 13 years old and I was 12.