Gospel Story Finder

During a stake Relief Society conference, Buddy got into some trouble. There were many people he didn’t know, and he was snuffing like mad to sort them out. Suddenly he began howling and barking, even when Sister Moulder commanded him to be quiet. The man in charge of the microphones said that it was probably because of the high-pitched notes that dogs can hear, which were coming from the hearing aids of some older sisters.

That day, priesthood brethren helped serve dinner to hundreds of sisters by rushing up and down the aisles with wheeled carts. One server parked his cart and unloaded all the plates he could carry, leaving just one on the bottom shelf. Sniffing the food, Buddy must have thought that the last plate was for him. He was tempted, but Sister Moulder told him to “leave it,” and he did.

One day my friend got angry with me. She yelled and shouted at me. For two weeks I was angry with her. After the first week, she asked me if I wanted to walk with her. I said no. Then one day I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if He would help me not be angry. The next week my friend asked me if I would walk with her, but I still said no. The next time she asked me, I wasn’t angry, and we walked together from then on. Heavenly Father helped me forgive my friend. And that’s how I learned that self-control works, just like Elder Gibbons said in the Friend.

I have always been impressed by the organization of the Church, but I did not fully realize how important it was in efforts to serve others. The Pompano Beach Florida Stake, with many other stakes in the area, organized several relief efforts during four hurricanes that hit Florida last year. My ward was one of the many wards involved, and I was able to experience serving others.
A group of youth and leaders met one Saturday at 6:00 a.m. and drove two hours to Vero Beach. There, each ward was assigned an area to work in. Our ward was asked to help the senior citizens at a trailer park that had suffered a lot of damage. We were outside in the hot sun all day cleaning up debris and reconstructing homes, working alongside some of the residents.
This turned out to be a wonderful experience that I will never forget. I felt the Lord’s love as we served those people. Seeing the smiles on the faces of the people we were helping was such a blessing. I gained a testimony of the meaning and power of service and what it feels like to act in the name of Jesus Christ as a representative of His Church. I know that serving others is what He wants us to do.
The hurricanes caused a disaster, but there were blessings that came out of it. Testimonies grew, people were introduced to the Church, and the pure love of Christ was felt. Service brings us closer to Heavenly Father because we show and feel the Light of Christ as we act in His name. Taking upon us the name of Christ includes doing what He would do, like taking time to help those who need it most.

I saw that happen when I was a young man. I was the first assistant in a priests quorum. The bishop called me one day at my home. He said that he wanted me to go with him to visit a widow in great need. He said he needed me.
As I waited for him to pick me up at my home, I was troubled. I knew the bishop had strong and wise counselors. One was a famous judge. The other ran a large company and would later become a General Authority. The bishop himself would someday serve as a General Authority. Why was the bishop saying to an inexperienced priest, “I need your help”?
Well, I know better now what he might have said to me: “The Lord needs to bless you.” At the home of the widow, I saw him, to my amazement, tell the woman that she could get no help from the Church until she filled out the budget form he had left with her earlier. On the way home, as he saw how shocked I was, he chuckled at my surprise and said, “Hal, when she gets control of her spending, she will be able to help others.”

Shortly after the October 2010 general conference, Jared and Kathleen Smith of Utah, USA, decided to take a drive around the neighborhood with their three children to enjoy the colorful autumn leaves. Before leaving, Brother Smith put a vial of consecrated oil in his pocket. The words of President Henry B. Eyring’s priesthood address to be ready for priesthood service at all times had been on his mind (see “Serve with the Spirit,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2010, 59).
On their way home, the Smiths happened upon a crowd gathering around a little girl lying on the ground, apparently suffering from some kind of head trauma. They heard a woman shout, “Please, does anyone have consecrated oil? Please!” Brother Smith quickly pulled over and handed his oil to the girl’s father. After a priesthood blessing, the girl regained consciousness and began talking to her parents. Moments later, paramedics arrived and took her to the hospital.
“We felt a warmth and a peace in our hearts for having been in the right place at the right time, for having brought oil, and as President Eyring spoke of, having been ready,” says Brother Smith. “Our children saw the blessing of priesthood power, and we left feeling Heavenly Father’s love for both us and this young girl and her family.”

Junior is already preparing for his. He has asked his mother to teach him how to cook and do his laundry and talked with his father about finances. Junior sees only one problem with missionary service. “I want my own room.” Why go on a mission and risk having a roommate? “Because I don’t want to be selfish to people who don’t know about the gospel. It will make them happy, and I want all the world to be happy.”

Upon graduation from high school and before I left on my mission, I obtained a summer job as a lifeguard at a swimming pool. As I arrived for my first day, I learned that because I was the newest employee I had been scheduled to work every Sunday the entire summer. I tried to work out a different arrangement with my employers, but they wouldn’t change my schedule.
I had committed to keep the Sabbath day holy as an Aaronic Priesthood holder. And as I prepared to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, I knew I needed to keep that commitment. Because of the nature of my job, my options were to quit or make other arrangements with my schedule so that I could keep the Sabbath day holy. As I prayed, I felt impressed to stay at the job and that the Lord would help me accomplish the thing He had commanded.
As the summer progressed, I met individually each week with other lifeguards who did not share my standards and offered to work for them on Friday nights or Saturdays if they would switch with me so I could have Sundays off. I was able to find a different person who would switch with me for all 12 weeks of the summer. The Lord prepared the way, and I was able to attend Church and keep the Sabbath day holy all summer.
Not only did this experience strengthen my understanding that the Lord would prepare a way for me to keep His commandments, but soon my co-workers noticed I was always searching for someone to work for me on Sunday. They learned that keeping the Sabbath day holy was a commandment and that I was determined to keep the commandment. At the end of the summer when the pool closed, there was a party with all of the lifeguards. At the party I received a parting gift from the other lifeguards. It was a work calendar they had made for me without any Sundays. They acknowledged that I had been scheduled to work every Sunday but had not worked one. They expressed respect for my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy.
My commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy as a young man and through my life as an adult has brought me the blessings the Lord has promised. This lesson was learned many years ago when I received a calendar with no Sundays.

“Stick close to me, girls. I don’t want to lose you!” Lexie said. Stacey and her friend Amanda hurried a little faster to keep up.
Stacey had been so excited when Amanda invited her to come shopping with her older sister, Lexie. Stacey wished that she could be as stylish as Lexie—Lexie always dressed like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Stacey had saved up money so she could buy a shirt on their shopping trip. Maybe Lexie would help her pick out something really cute.
The girls walked into a clothing store and began browsing a wall lined with colorful shirts. Stacey ran her hand across the racks, feeling the soft fabrics.
“You should try that one on,” Lexie said, pointing to one of the shirts. “It would look way cute on you.”
“Really?” Stacey asked. She felt flattered that Lexie was paying attention to her. The shirt was orange—her favorite color—and it was the right price. There was only one problem.
“She can’t get that one, Lexie,” Amanda said. “It has spaghetti straps, and it’s really short.”
Stacey felt her heart drop. How could she be cool like Lexie now?
Lexie casually waved her hand. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, that modesty rule only really matters when you’re older.”
Stacey began to feel a little hopeful. Maybe Lexie was right. It wasn’t like it was that immodest. Besides, the wall of shirts she stood in front of had only a few modest shirts, and none of them were very cute. It would take more time to find a shirt that looked good and had sleeves.
Stacey was about to pick up the shirt to try it on when she noticed she felt uncomfortable. She knew what she was about to do wasn’t right and that the Holy Ghost was warning her not to do it. She knew that dressing modestly was an important way of respecting her body and being a good example.
She looked at Lexie and swallowed. She wanted to be as cool as Lexie was, but after taking one look at Amanda, Stacey knew what she had to do.
“I actually don’t want to wear this,” she said, turning away from the shirt.
Lexie shrugged. “OK, that’s fine. Hey, let’s look at that section over there.”
As Lexie walked away, Amanda looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m glad you decided not to try on that shirt, Stacey.”
“I wanted to,” Stacey confessed. “But I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Well, come on,” Amanda said. “Let’s go find you a shirt that is right.”
They went to join Lexie, leaving the orange shirt hanging on the wall.

Two years later the Prophet came out of Liberty Jail and planned a winter trip to Washington D.C. to seek federal help for the Latter-day Saints who had lost their homes and property in Missouri. Not far from the nation’s capital, the horses pulling the stagecoach ran out of control of the driver for about four kilometers. Joseph carefully opened the door of the swaying stagecoach, pulled himself up over the side to the driver’s seat, where he got control of the reins and stopped the horses, saving the lives of the passengers. This event was confirmed by a letter of appreciation that appeared in a local newspaper.

“We make Christmas in our home,” says Krista. “Mom has spices cooking on the stove the day before Christmas, so it smells like Christmas. It’s peaceful and quiet, with Christmas music playing in the background. This year we didn’t give a lot of presents. Each of us gave one present to every other person in our family. There weren’t a lot of gifts, but we tried to give something that the other person really wanted.
“This year, instead of attacking our presents, we were handing out presents to each other and watching everyone open theirs. It’s more fun to get excited for what someone else receives than for what you get,” she said. “I remember times when I was younger, coming back to school after Christmas and all my friends telling me what they got. I would feel bad because I didn’t get such and such a thing. Here you don’t have to worry about that.”

I guess that we had the most fun one day when Mom went visiting teaching. She left Daddy to take care of us. He was busy in his study, so we looked for something fun to do until Mom got home. Hans opened a cupboard and took out a big can of flour. He took off the lid and showed it to me. It looked like something fun to play with, so we took it into the living room, where he poured it all onto the carpet. Then we rubbed it in big circles. If felt soft and nice. Hans rubbed a white circle around one of his eyes. He looked so funny! Mom came home right after that, and she couldn’t get mad when she saw how funny he looked. She just got her camera and took a picture of us.

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was a small valley called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. Part of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The ‘holler’ was truly a ‘paradise’ for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

I remember handing in a paper to Dean Bruce B. Clark, who was at the time the teacher of an English literature class I was taking. I loved the class and knew from the first day of instruction that three short papers would be due on clearly stated dates during the term. Yet I left those papers—in every case, I think—until the night before they were due. I remember Dean Clark handing one of them back to me, saying something like, “You had the makings of a good paper here. It’s too bad you didn’t spend more time on it.” I was devastated. Here was the chairman of my major department, teaching only one class a term that year, the very symbol of my academic hopes and dreams for the BA, saying, “You didn’t work very hard.” Oh, I had worked hard all right. From 9:00 the night before until 3:00 that morning—without stopping, without breathing.

Now, my young brothers and sisters, I deserved to be devastated. I should have been devastated. And it could have been a good paper. Perhaps that discouraged me more than anything. You see, I discouraged me. I discouraged myself. Remember, dear Brutus, “the fault … is not in our stars but in ourselves” (Julius Caesar, act 1, scene 2, lines 133–34). And that’s the worst kind of despair, the kind of self-despising that eats at our image and crushes our hopes. It isn’t the class or the teacher or the paper. It never is. I simply should have done better. I should have been at work much sooner. I should have written a draft or two and then left it alone for a time. I should have gone back to it in freshness and strength. I might even have asked for some suggestions. I should have reworked it and shaped it and fine-tuned it over several rewritings. At the end I should have been working with a scalpel; as it was, I delivered one butchered idea, the meat-axe still dripping as I walked into class. And furthermore, you don’t type very well at 3:00 in the morning.

My father was born in the Chaco region in northeastern Argentina, where the sun is hot and people work the soil, growing cotton and other crops. Neighbors have known each other for generations, and traditions are followed to the letter. My father’s family lived in Villa Ángela, where they had a comfortable middle-class life.
Then, when my father was nine years old, his parents separated, and my father went with his mother and sisters to live in Buenos Aires. This was quite a difficult change for a young boy who couldn’t understand why he had to leave his hometown and his friends and didn’t know when he would see his father again. As the months of separation turned into years, my father’s memory of his own father faded. He didn’t even have a photograph of him.
Our family was introduced to the restored gospel and eventually joined the Church. When I was 15, I became quite interested in family history work. Seeking out my ancestors became a passion with me, and I was able to become well acquainted with my family on my mother’s side. But on my father’s side all of my attempts ended with one name: Grandpa Pablo Pedraza.
When my father told me the story of his childhood, I had a strong desire to find out more about Grandpa Pablo. We began to pray as a family to find out more about him so we could complete our family history. My father probed his memory, and he managed to recall the address of an elderly aunt. He wrote to her, but she passed away before we were able to get the information we were seeking. We didn’t give up but continued to pray.
One day on my father’s way to work the bus he was riding stopped at a traffic light beside a mail truck. My father could see several large packages in the truck, and one drew his attention. On its label was the name Pablo Pedraza, and it gave an address in my father’s childhood hometown.
Very excitedly my father wrote down the address. He knew his father had been an auto mechanic, and he thought the large box on the truck could easily have been for him. For several years we wrote to this address, expressing our hope that we had found our father and grandfather and our desire to meet with him. But we never received an answer.
Then one day my father was telling this story to a friend in our ward. The friend suggested, “Why don’t you just go there and find him?” Fear flooded our minds. Maybe Grandpa Pablo did not want us to find him, or maybe this was not his address.
But after praying about it, we felt we needed to travel to Chaco to look for Grandpa Pablo. Our whole family loaded into a van and traveled for 28 hours. Driving straight to the address on the package, we stopped in front of a pretty, well-kept house. A man of about 60 was out washing his car. My father gathered his courage and got out to introduce himself and verify that we were on the right street.
Our family watched expectantly through the van windows, and after several minutes we saw our father and the man exchange a big hug. Then they both began to motion for us to get out of the van. It was indeed Grandpa Pablo—the father my father had not seen for 40 years!
The meeting was not an easy one, but a spirit of love was there. We learned that because of the inadequate postal service in his small hometown, Grandpa Pablo had not received any of the letters we had sent him over the years. We also learned that he had tried to find my father for many years but that he had his own fears about meeting us. We met Grandpa’s wife and children and learned about their joys and sorrows. We learned that Grandpa Pablo was a good man who believed in God. He was a loving husband and father and a good neighbor. And we could see that he was as excited to get to know us as we were to finally find him.
Now we have photographs of Grandpa Pablo and vital information about him and some of his ancestors. He died one year ago, and we are preparing to go to the temple to do ordinance work for him and other family members. My father can hardly contain his joy that he will finally be able to be sealed to his parents. The work on our family history chart continues.
We have been promised that “the heart of the fathers [shall turn] to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers” (Mal. 4:6). Our family was greatly blessed to have the Lord lead us by the hand so that this promise could literally be fulfilled.

Many people have been able to change their drug habits. A mother of three, Susan used drugs only on the weekends in an effort to hide her problem from her children. But the children found out anyway and begged her to stop. After three years, with some special help and the support of her children, particularly her seven-year-old son, she did stop. Looking back she recognized that Heavenly Father had pulled her through this and had prepared her for hearing the gospel. She said:
“The gospel changed my heart, my appearance, my attitude, and my feelings. And I learned to pray. Whenever I have a problem, I go to Heavenly Father and say, ‘Help me.’ And he sees me through it. … Now when I walk, I walk with my head high because I know Heavenly Father’s beside me every step of the way. …
“Oh, it’s a new day. I lost a lot of things by wanting to be in this drug world—I lost my apartment, my son almost died in a fire, I lost my marriage, I lost happiness completely. But I got it back. Heavenly Father gave me another chance to start again. I’m new now—brand new all inside and out.”

My family moved to a little desert town in the United States during one of the hottest months of the year. But among the Latter-day Saint kids, my reception was cold.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And in my Sunday School class there was always one empty seat between me and everyone else.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the LDS kids. He had never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he had noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing close behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughter.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the short distance to the high school. It is all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not go to church ever again.
“If this is really the true Church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she would be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. Instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re hurting only yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a few times to check on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. I kept telling myself everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty they had made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me hurting only myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye: “See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in nowise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered—not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M., so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the LDS kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

Earlier I mentioned Sister Andersen and her Beehive Girl’s Handbook. She is the wife of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Presidency of the Seventy [now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles], a mother, and a grandmother. I love the thought that even though she has moved so many times, she has always known where to find her Beehive Girl’s Handbook and achievement bandlo. Sister Andersen has stood by her husband and taught the gospel all over the world. She has also exemplified womanhood and goodness as a faithful member of the Church.
As an 11-year-old girl, Sister Andersen couldn’t wait to enter the Young Women program. When her birthday finally arrived, she was given the Beehive Girl’s Handbook. Sister Andersen explains:
“In the beginning of the book it said, ‘As a Beehive girl, and for the rest of your life, set your goals high’ (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 12). I could tell this was going to be a great adventure for me. I took my book home and immediately read it from cover to cover to see what goals I should complete during the next two years.
“I discovered that there were 80 possible goals to choose from. In my excitement, I determined that if I worked hard, I could complete all of the goals in my book—well, all except one: to go to the temple … and be baptized for the dead (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 140). I [could not] be baptized for the dead because there [was] no temple in Florida.”
Sister Andersen decided to tell her father about her situation. Her letter continues:
“My father hesitated only a moment. We had no family in the West and no other reason to travel to Utah. He thoughtfully said to me, ‘Kathy, if you [will] complete all of the other goals in your Beehive book, we will take you the 2,500 miles [4,000 km] to the temple in Salt Lake City so that you can do baptisms for the dead and complete your final goal.’
“I worked on the goals in my Beehive book for two years and completed 79 goals. My father worked during those two years to save enough money to make the journey to the temple. My father kept his promise to me.
“Air travel at that time was too expensive for our family, and so we traveled 5,000 miles [8,000 km] by car to Salt Lake City and back so that I could complete my last Beehive goal. What joy I felt as I entered the Salt Lake Temple and in proxy was baptized by my father. It was an experience I will never forget.
“I will forever be appreciative for my mother and father’s willingness to make the temple an important part of my life. … They wisely understood that as I worked on my Young Women goals, my faith would be strengthened. My parents’ faith and sacrifice in making the long journey to Salt Lake City significantly impacted me and the generations that have followed” (“I Can Complete All of the Goals—Except One,” unpublished manuscript).
As a young girl, Sister Andersen strove to do the small and simple things that would help her become an exemplary woman— “an example of the believers”— and that is what she has become. Each of you has the same opportunity. The small and simple things you choose to do today will be magnified into great and glorious blessings tomorrow. Living each day as “an example of the believers” will help you to be happy and more confident. It will strengthen your testimony, help you to keep your baptismal covenants, and prepare you to receive the blessings of the temple so that eventually you can return to your Heavenly Father.

One summer while I was growing up in Arkansas, my neighbors invited me to join them for a couple days of camping, fishing, and swimming at a large reservoir near Sardis, Mississippi. We spent several days enjoying all sorts of outside activities.
On our last day we were getting our final swim in before heading home. As my friends and I were throwing a beach ball back and forth, the ball sailed over my head and landed a few feet beyond me. The wind immediately started blowing the ball away from me along the top of the water. I started after it, but the wind kept blowing the ball just beyond my reach. In a short time I had reached the markers that bordered the shallow swimming area. The ball had been blown beyond the markers toward the main body of the reservoir.
As I approached the markers, I gave little thought to swimming beyond them. The ball was not that far in front of me, and I was sure I could catch it. After all, I had completed a lifesaving course and proudly wore the course emblem on my swimming trunks. I felt comfortable in water and confident that I was strong enough to retrieve the ball.
The wind, however, continued to keep the ball outside my reach. Sometimes I would get so close to it that I could touch it with my fingertips, only to see it sail off again. Finally, a gust blew it far beyond my reach.
I was not aware of how far I had traveled until I stopped to rest. The water seemed much darker and colder than it was in the shallow swimming area. When I looked back toward the shore, I realized that I was close to the middle of the reservoir. I decided to abandon the beach ball and swim back to shore. I was tired and worn out, but I wasn’t worried. I was young and felt that I would be all right.
But as I tried to return to shore, the wind that had assisted the beach ball worked against me. It seemed that no matter how hard I swam, I made little progress. My arms and legs began to burn and ache. I stopped to dog paddle and float, trying to regain my strength.
Then I heard a familiar sound—the sound of a motorboat. I was happy and relieved to soon see a man in a small boat pull up beside me and offer me a ride to shore. My arms and legs were spent. I couldn’t even pull myself into the boat, so I put one arm over the side and hung on while the stranger slowly towed me back to the swimming area. I grabbed one of the markers, let go of the boat, waved a thank-you, and swam to shore.

When I turned 14, I moved to Texas, USA, to join my parents and siblings. I found a local church and began attending regularly. Because of my experiences with God, I wanted to share His name and gospel with everyone who would hear me. At age 15, I enrolled in ministry school to become a minister. For two years, I attended Bible classes before school, after school, and on weekends.
One morning at high school, I heard noise in the boys’ locker room. “You Mormon!” someone yelled. I had never heard that term before, but it sounded like an insult.
Later I found out that the person being yelled at was my good friend Derek.
“I am sorry you got called a Mormon,” I said.
Derek smiled and asked, “You don’t know what a Mormon is, do you?”
He told me it was a nickname for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“So, are you a Christian?” I asked.
When he said yes, I was happy to know that we shared faith in Jesus Christ.
“Who are these Mormons,” I wondered, “and what do they believe?”
I went to the internet to find out. After a few minutes, I decided that my friend was not a Christian after all and that he was going to hell. So, I embarked on a mission to save him.
For the next two years, I read every book I could find about the Church, including the entire Book of Mormon—twice. I also met with Derek and the full-time missionaries to try to help them.
When I turned 17, I graduated from ministry school, was ordained a minister, and became the pastor of a small congregation in Texas. Two months after my ordination, I had another discussion with the missionaries.
One of them asked, “You’ve read the Book of Mormon, and you’ve taken every lesson we can offer, but have you asked God if our message is true? You would recognize an answer from Him, right?”
“Of course,” I proudly responded.
“The way I see it, it’s a win-win situation for you,” the missionary responded. “If you ask God if what your friend believes is true and God says no, then you have accomplished the mission for which you began this journey. But if He says our message is true, then think about how much you could gain.”
I had never thought about it like that. That night I knelt in my room after reading Moroni 10:3–5. My answer from God was simple but powerful. In a still, small voice, He answered me: “You’ve always known.”
Now that I had a testimony of the restored gospel, what about my ministry? I still had 10 months left in my contract as a minister. After much prayer and counseling with God, I decided to complete my service. For the next 10 months, I continued to share traditional Bible truths, but when possible I added the perspective of the restored gospel. People resonated with those truths, and my little flock grew from 20 to nearly 150.
After I had completed my contract, I was offered a permanent position, but I knew it was time to be baptized into the Church. It was time to begin a new chapter in my journey of discipleship.
When I told members of my family, they were not happy—at first. But three months after I joined the Church, I baptized my mother and two of my siblings. After serving a full-time mission in the Oklahoma Oklahoma City Mission, I baptized my younger sister.
If someone asks why I changed my religion, I always answer, “I didn’t change my religion—I am still a devout Christian. Rather, I simply strengthened my relationship with the Savior by becoming a baptized member of His Church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I know Him more personally and intimately now than before because of the Restoration of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, modern prophets, and the sacred ordinances of salvation and exaltation available in the temple.”
Today I have the privilege of working as a full-time seminary teacher. I am still dedicating my life to Jesus Christ and His gospel. And I am still telling anyone who will listen about the “good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10).

Every day at recess, Jason sat under a shady tree and read a book. Most of the other kids played soccer. Jason had played with them before, but he didn’t really like it. He wasn’t very good at running fast or kicking the ball. And being around lots of kids running and yelling made him uncomfortable.
But Jason didn’t like feeling lonely and left out. The other kids seemed to have so much fun! He wanted to have fun with friends too.
One day at recess, Jason looked up from his book. He noticed Kira sitting at a picnic table, reading. Then he saw Mark kicking a rock against a wall. Why weren’t they playing soccer like all the others?
The next day, Jason watched again. Kira was reading at the picnic table, just like yesterday. Mark was sitting on the ground. He was twirling some grass. Jason went back to reading. But he kept looking at Kira and Mark. Maybe they liked doing quiet things too.
That afternoon, Jason talked to Mom. “Every day at recess, I read a book,” he said. “But the other kids play soccer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Mom smiled. “I was the same way when I was your age. Always reading.”
Jason smiled too. He liked it when he and Mom read books together.
“I thought I was the only one who didn’t like soccer,” Jason said. “But there are two other kids who don’t play either.” He told Mom about Kira and Mark.
“Maybe you could be their friend,” Mom said.
Jason nodded. “Maybe. But I don’t know what to do with them.”
“Well, you and Kira both like reading, but that’s something you do by yourself,” Mom said. “What else do you like to do?”
“I like to play checkers,” Jason said. “And there’s a checkerboard at school.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “What could you do with that checkerboard? Maybe at recess?” She pretended to think about it.
Jason laughed. “I think I have an idea.”
The next day when the bell rang for recess, Jason grabbed the checkers set. He walked over to the picnic table where Kira was reading. When she looked up, he held up the game. “Want to start a tournament?”
“Maybe,” Kira said. “But there are only two of us.”
“Wait a minute,” Jason said. He ran over to Mark, who was sitting in the grass again.
“Hey, Mark,” Jason said. “Want to play checkers? We could start a tournament.”
Mark smiled. “I play checkers with my dad,” he said. “I’m pretty good at it.”
“OK!” Jason smiled back. “Let’s go play.”
This story took place in the USA.