Gospel Story Finder

Jake had waited all autumn, winter, and spring for the opening day of fishing season. Fishing was his favorite sport, and he was ready to go. His pole stood by the door, loaded with all the line his reel could hold. He had tied on a brand-new red-and-white lure with a three-pronged hook. He was going to catch the biggest cutthroat trout ever in the creek by his house.
But now—of all times—Mom said he had chores to do.
“Jake, if you want to go fishing, you need to clean your room first,” Mom said.
Jake hung his head, stomped to his room, and threw himself onto his bed.
“I just don’t get what the big deal is about having a clean bedroom,” Jake muttered. “I know where my things are. If I put them back in a drawer, I’ll just have to go to all the trouble of digging them out again. And what’s the sense of making a bed if I’m going to climb back into it again in a few hours anyway?”
Jake picked up two wrinkled shirts off the floor and threw them in his closet. Then he hurriedly pulled the bedspread up over his pillow. Cleaning his bedroom didn’t seem as important as not being late for the opening day of fishing season.
Jake listened for clues about where Mom was in the house. If she was in the kitchen, she might stop him to make sure he had done a good job cleaning. But if she went to the laundry room, he could make a quick getaway. After several long minutes, the washing machine buzzer finally summoned Mom to the laundry room.
Jake rushed for the door, grabbing his fishing pole on the way out. He paused for a moment to close the door as quietly as possible, then ran across the field. He hid in the thick willows that lined the creek. He had escaped without being caught. Maybe Mom wouldn’t even notice his room wasn’t really clean.
Taking a deep breath, Jake whipped the tip of his pole back behind his shoulder and flung it forward, allowing the line to spin off his reel. He listened to the soft splash of the lure as it entered the gentle ripples of the fresh, cold water in his favorite fishing hole. It was just as fun as he remembered. Soon he had no thoughts of his bedroom, Mom, or anything else.
Jake reeled in the line, watching his lure dance across the rocks at the bottom of the creek. He repeated the process several times. Suddenly, he felt the line catch on something, followed by a sharp sting on his shoulder. Two of the prongs on his hook had gone through his shirt and snagged the back of his shoulder.
“Oh no!” Jake thought. “Mom will have to help me get the hook out. What will she say? I’m supposed to still be cleaning my room.”
As Jake headed back to the house, he prepared himself for Mom’s lecture, but it never came.
“Hmm, Jake, it looks like you’ve been caught,” Mom said when she saw the hook.
He knew what she meant. He was not only caught by the fishhook, but he had been caught disobeying. “I know, Mom,” Jake said. “I’m sorry I didn’t obey you.”
Mom took Jake to the doctor. Jake whimpered a bit as the doctor removed the hook, but was quiet during the ride home. He knew what he needed to do. When they got home, Jake went upstairs and cleaned his bedroom.
The next day, Jake did all his chores before asking Mom if he could fish. From now on, the only thing getting caught would be a big cutthroat trout.

At age 19, H. Ross Workman was engaged to be married and not planning on serving a full-time mission. Then one Sunday morning his stake president walked up to him as he sat in his car and said, “I’ve been inspired to call you to go on a mission. Will you go?” Caught by surprise but feeling the confirming influence of the Holy Ghost, young Ross said, “Yes.” When he told his fiancée, the girl he had dated through high school and become engaged to on graduation day, she cried but agreed to support him and delay the wedding.
The commitments made that day were a turning point in his life. He was born 31 December 1940 in Salt Lake City to Harley and Lucille Ramsey Workman. Following his mission to the southern states, he married Katherine Evelyn Meyers, his high school sweetheart, in the Logan Utah Temple. They are the parents of four children and have seven grandchildren. He earned degrees in chemistry and law from the University of Utah and has worked for more than 28 years as a patent attorney. He worked with the youth for many years and has served in several bishoprics, on a stake high council, and as a bishop, and was president of the Hawaii Honolulu Mission when called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy.

The memory of that particular summer will always stand out in my mind. It was about a week before school let out when my dad announced that I would be spending the next three months in the mountains with my grandpa tending sheep.
At first I had been really excited about the idea. That was until I told my best friend about it.
“Yuck!” She had said. “How boring. Why do you want to do a dumb thing like that?”
To hide my embarrassment, I quickly explained that I really didn’t want to do it, but that I had to because my parents were worried about Grandpa being in the mountains alone all summer. He’d had a mild heart attack earlier that spring, and the doctor had disapproved of his going. But he insisted that he’d gone every summer since he was a kid and that this summer wasn’t going to be any different.
So, because I was young and strong and could do most of the work, I was to help him. My parents also reasoned that it would be a good experience for me and give me an opportunity to get to know Grandpa better.
The first month of that summer seemed endless, and I became more depressed and lonely by the day. Grandpa didn’t help matters much. He was a quiet man, never wasting many words, and I wondered how I’d ever “get to know Grandpa better.”
One night after supper we were sitting near the campfire. It was quiet except for the occasional bleating of sheep in the distance. The sky was particularly clear that night, and I remember leaning my head back to study the stars. They winked back at me, and I tried to imagine the many secrets they held. Maybe someday I’ll be an astronaut, I mused, and uncover some of those secrets. Anyway, whatever I become, I won’t be a dumb old sheepherder!
“Grandpa,” I said finally, “haven’t you ever wanted to do something exciting?”
He chuckled. “Like what?” he asked.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
“You aren’t enjoying yourself much these days, are you?”
“Well, it’s kind of boring.”
“And maybe a little lonely?” he asked, smiling at me.
“Yeah, that, too,” I admitted. “How can you stand this, year after year, Grandpa?”
He poked at the fire with a long stick. “For me it has never been a question of standing it. I’m a sheepman. This is just part of what I do.”
It’s hopeless, I decided. I’ll never understand him.
The silence between us lengthened until he rose and walked over to the small trailer where we slept. A few minutes later he returned with a worn Bible in his hands. I had seen him read from it every night, so that didn’t surprise me. It did surprise me when he started to speak.
“When I was young, I felt a lot like you do right now. I wanted to do something really important in my life.
“My pa, your great-grandfather, died when I was about your age. This old Bible was his. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I opened it and for the first time noticed certain scriptures he’d underlined. One in particular made me do some hard thinking. I thought you might like to read it.”
He handed the old Bible to me. It was opened to the second chapter of Luke. I recognized it immediately as the Christmas story. In the light from the fire I could see that the pages were yellowed and wrinkled from years of use. My eyes went to the underlined verses, and I read: “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. …”
As I read on, the familiar words began to take on new meaning. At last I closed the book and carefully handed it back to my grandpa.
He fingered it lovingly. “My pa was a sheepman, and his pa before him,” he said. “I’m proud to have followed in their footsteps.”
Grandpa rose then and left me. I sat alone for a long time, gazing up at the sky. Those were the same stars that had shone that night so long ago, along with that one very special star.
The rest of that summer passed swiftly, and before I knew it, I was back in school. My friends teased me a lot about being a sheepherder, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew something they’d probably never know.
Not long before Christmas Grandpa had another heart attack, and a few days later he died. I was devastated. Never again would I be able to go with him to the summer sheep camp.
Christmas morning at our house was quieter than usual because we were all thinking about Grandpa. I, for one, knew I’d never forget him. As we gathered around the tree, Dad handed me a package. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I wasn’t in the mood for presents. I think he could tell, because he urged me to open it.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was the old Bible. Inside was a brief note from Grandpa. “I thought you might like this,” was all it said. So simple, and so like him.
As I stared at it, I had the feeling that Grandpa was there, watching me, waiting for my reaction. I smiled and pressed the Bible close to me. There were other presents waiting under the tree for me, but I knew none of them would top Grandpa’s Bible.

The next Sunday was fast Sunday. I had hoped to make a discreet entry, but when we arrived it seemed that everyone greeted us with a smile and a kind word. Many people welcomed me to the ward and asked if I was new. However, when I quietly passed along the sacrament tray without partaking, my three-year-old loudly asked, “Mom, aren’t you hungry?” Then my 11-year-old stood up to bear her testimony and said how happy she was that her mom had quit drinking beer and had started coming back to church. So much for quietly sneaking in!

My husband and I were living in a second-story apartment with our small son and daughter. We looked forward to Christmas that year with our two children. Our son was growing fast, and as any normal toddler, he liked to move a lot. He often ran around the apartment just for fun. We enjoyed his antics, but our neighbor downstairs was rather impatient. He often turned up his music in retaliation and came upstairs to complain to us.
It was a frustrating situation for us. What is a little boy supposed to do all day if he is not able to move freely? It broke my heart to keep him quiet when he was so full of gleeful energy. We met with our apartment manager and our neighbor to try to resolve the conflict. As we talked I noticed that our neighbor was especially defensive in his words and attitude. During the discussion, the Savior’s words from Matthew 5:44 came to my mind: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” I did not necessarily consider him an enemy, but we certainly didn’t see eye to eye.
He was in the military, and his wife had not been able to join him yet, so he was alone in a strange town. And when he came home from work, he had to deal with this noise above his apartment. I began to see how difficult it might be for him, but I still did not have a fair solution. I started to pray for him, and my heart was touched to be a little more sympathetic.
We welcomed my husband’s parents to spend the holidays with us that year. On Christmas Eve we were enjoying each other’s company and the special spirit of the season. Soon we heard and felt the vibration of loud music coming from the apartment below. It seemed very loud this time, but I remember feeling sorry for him rather than impatient. Thinking about the verse in Matthew 5, I made up a plate of homemade Christmas cookies for our neighbor.
My husband and I went down to deliver them. When our neighbor opened the door, he scowled at us and said, “WHAT?” I could tell he was expecting an unpleasant confrontation. Instead, we ignored the loud music and wished him a heartfelt merry Christmas. We smiled, and I could see his face soften as he accepted the cookies. He smiled back and thanked us, wishing us a merry Christmas also. It wasn’t long before the music was turned down.
We saw our neighbor outside a few days later, and he thanked us again for the cookies. He was smiling at us again, and we found it easy to smile back at him. We asked him if he had a church to go to, because he was new in town. He said he hadn’t found one yet, so we invited him to our church, and he accepted our invitation. He began visiting with the missionaries and soon wanted to be baptized. He and our son had their picture taken together on the day of his baptism.
I don’t remember any more problems with loud music, but I do recall the special blessings of following the scriptures in our lives. It still warms my heart to remember how the simple gift of Christmas cookies quickly changed an unpleasant relationship into a wonderful friendship.

Married and baptized a short time later, María Cristina and I rented a small, uncomfortable room in Ventanilla. Because of my hard work, I was advanced from proofreader to editor at the company’s magazine and newspaper. I had never been an editor before, and I was happy with the position. Even so, things started to change when our publications began to lower their standards, publishing items of questionable morality. These changes, ordered by our directors, opposed Church principles and values.
I had always wanted to be an editor, but the situation made me uncomfortable. Our bishop suggested that if we did things that pleased our Heavenly Father, He would bless us. After my wife and I thought it over and prayed about it, we felt prompted that I should quit my job.
A few days later I was beginning to feel stressed out and wondered if I had done the right thing. After resigning, I had sent résumés to several companies but had heard nothing back. María Cristina suggested that we pray again, and we did so. We prayed that everything would turn out well and that we would not lose faith even though the bills were piling up.
A few hours later my wife encouraged me to call one of the companies. Somewhat unbelieving, I called. I was astounded when an official there said he was just about to call me. He wanted to know if I could start the next day!
We wept for joy. Our Heavenly Father had answered our prayers.
We had to leave our ward and many good friends for my new job, but we left with stronger testimonies. I now have respectable work and a good salary, and we have a nice place to live. Above all, we have been blessed with the certainty that when we do the things that please God, we receive His blessings.

by Jeffery A. Lee and Paul Scott Embley
What do you get when you combine 39 Hollanders, eight missionaries, and five eight-foot sandwiches? The young members of the Groningen Branch, Netherlands Amsterdam Mission, found out when they joined their nonmember friends, the missionaries, and fellow branch members in the park. The combination means you’re having an American picnic, Dutch style.
Actually, the fun began the night before when the Aaronic Priesthood and the Young Women gathered to fill the lengthy loaves. Armed with spoons, knives, ham, bologna, cheese, lettuce, pickles, and condiments, they soon stuffed the “submarines” amply enough to satisfy any appetite.
The next morning, an unexpected problem arose: how do you transport five eight-foot sandwiches to the park when the major means of transportation is bicycles? The answer was easy—recruit a Volkswagen! Such a car may already seem small to some people, but it seemed even smaller stuffed with super sandwiches!
But the sandwiches arrived and so did the crowd, with young and old enjoying each other’s company. The picnic started with contests: tossing raw eggs between partners, three-legged races, wheelbarrow racing, Frisbee throwing, volleyball, and soccer.
The games were followed by a testimony meeting, during which the picnickers discussed their love for their Savior, Jesus Christ. Then, finally, it was time to eat. Even though everyone’s hunger was great, they found it small compared to the size of the sandwiches—a total of 40 feet of bread and fillings.

Two years ago, I asked the young adults of the Manchester Coordinating Council, “What events would you like to plan throughout 2024?” I was moved that their ideas focused on the temple and on leading the youth. In 2024, they organised four successful, Christ-centred, temple-focused events: two “Flood the Temple” events with up to 500 young adults at the Preston Temple, some making their own covenants; a youth “Flood the Temple” event where 40 young adults led 280 youth to the baptistry; and a weekend where 20 young adults led a missionary preparation experience for 50 young men and women. I vividly recall visiting the baptistry and seeing a young man baptising a young woman, two young women witnessing, a young adult man recording, and young people waiting for their turn. Tears filled my eyes at the sight. Reflecting on these moments fills me with joy for the strength and covenant focus of the Rising Generation.

To explain why I was so stirred by our son’s response, I must share a story about his older brother, born shortly after my father’s death. We gave this older son his grandfather’s name as a middle name. He felt awkward about that old-fashioned name in his early years and didn’t use it. But when he took up debate in high school and learned that his grandfather had been a champion debater in the 1920s, he began feeling a tie to his namesake. My father had kept a personal journal during much of his adult life, and one day I showed my son an entry describing his grandfather’s big debate. I left that journal with him, hoping he would read it.
He was a good boy, but he wasn’t easy to rear. We prayed for patience. We prayed that the seeds of faith would take root in his heart, but we knew we couldn’t force that process. I thought during those days about my own older brother, who died in an accident during his turbulent adolescence. How my parents had prayed and grieved for him! Then one night my son left me a simple note: “I never want to do anything that would hurt you and Mom the way your brother’s problems hurt your parents.” I wondered how he could have known of something so personal from a generation ago. Then I remembered the journal, but I chose not to ask more.
A few weeks later, our son worked his way through a particularly trying experience and came to us late at night to tell us what had happened: “Dad, I never knew Grandpa Hafen, but I felt he was there, helping me.” I held him close that night, and I told him more about his grandfather.
Not long afterward, he was deciding how he should respond to a mission call. We were in southern Utah for a family reunion. One afternoon, with no explanation, he drove alone to the isolated little canyon where his grandfather had loved to ride his horse—the place, in fact, where he had passed away. Our son had read of this canyon in the journal and had seen it from a distance but had never been in it. In a secluded spot there, he knelt and asked the Lord’s help in sorting through his questions about his faith, his mission, and his life. At his missionary farewell, he alluded to the sacredness of that day and described the deep assurance and sense of direction he had carried from his grandfather’s canyon. Now, some years later, with children of his own, he reflects in his life that same assurance and direction, and I know the joy my father must feel.

Priests who are 16 years old can also assist in missionary work, something that Reuben, Randy, and Ethan recently had the opportunity to do.

Ethan says that going out with the missionaries taught him the importance of being a hard worker. “We would be walking down the street, and the missionaries would talk to perfect strangers. They would say, ‘Hello,’ or, ‘Would you like to hear this message we have?’” Ethan says. “A lot of people would ignore the missionaries or say, ‘No, thank you,’ but the missionaries would keep on trying. It was a real lesson to me that I need to be persistent when I serve a mission.”

Helping with missionary work was also an eye-opener after visiting less-active members in the ward. “It’s nice to know that there are people who come to church every week, but there are many people who don’t come. And knowing they’re out there really makes me want to try to help them come back to church. It’s increased my awareness,” Ethan says.

Among the first to accept the gospel in Tanzania was Robert Israel Muhile. Robert attended his first LDS meeting in Egypt, where he was working and studying. At church, he met a missionary couple who taught him the discussions and baptized him. In May 1991 he was ordained an elder and decided to take the gospel to his family in Tanzania. But when he returned to his village—one thousand miles and three days by bus from Tanzania’s capital, Dar es Salaam—his efforts went without success.

After six months, Robert traveled to Nairobi, Kenya, and secured permission from the mission president to administer the sacrament to himself. “I know how important those emblems are,” Robert says. “I didn’t feel well spiritually.” Back home, Robert continued to invite his family to join him for worship service, and they continued to turn him down. So he held his own service alone. He describes his service simply:

“I prepared water and bread and more water to clean my hands, and a small towel. I sang a song to myself out loud. I had my hymn book. After that, I offered an opening prayer. Because I was alone I didn’t have any business to do, so I sang the sacrament hymn and prepared the sacrament. Then I knelt and blessed and took it. After the sacrament, I covered it, as we respect it always. I offered myself a talk—my testimony. Then I sang as in Sunday School and then read from Gospel Principles. I finished with a prayer. I then attended priesthood. After singing a hymn, I’d have a prayer, then read from the priesthood manual the lesson I had chosen for that day. After that, I finished by singing and then offered the closing prayer.”

After being home two months, Robert received a letter from Lervae and Joyce Cahoon, the first missionaries sent into Tanzania. They requested his services as a translator. He accepted and traveled to Dar es Salaam to join them. While there, he met and married Joy Nassiuma, a convert from Nairobi. In July 1993, Robert and Joy had their marriage sealed in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.

While this teaching process was occurring, our other friend, Bernard, walked into our lives. Bernard had first found the Church through a local Facebook ad and he accepted our first phone call invitation to attend church that coming Sunday. It was a joyous day when Bernard and Prince were able to meet on the oak benches in our chapel. Even though there is a small age gap, they clicked so well, and the rapidly growing testimony of Prince touched the heart of Bernard. Elder Hutchason and I watched Bernard quickly came to love all the messages and teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
As we taught Bernard each time, we would call him on the phone, and he would answer. Anytime we asked to meet he was so excited he would even close down his shop early to meet us at the chapel to hear another message. Anytime we extended a commitment to read from the scriptures or to pray on his own, he would willingly and faithfully do so. Elder Hutchason and I both knew that we should not procrastinate the day of his baptism.
Even through a very challenging and busy week for everyone, we were still able to have Bernard properly interviewed, baptized, and confirmed in the same week. On that perfect cool Saturday evening of September 18, 2021, I watched as my worthy, spirit-filled companion, Elder Hutchason, guided Bernard into the baptismal font. I cannot express with words how much joy I saw in that man’s smile as Elder Hutchason raised him out of the water. He knew, and so did everyone else in attendance, that his sins had been purified.
By taking this first step, he had become more like our Savior, Jesus Christ, and began a lifelong journey to now go and share his light before mankind that “they may see [his] good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). Bernard was confirmed the following day in sacrament meeting. My favorite part about this is the support of the uplifted right hand from the congregation to support the newest member of their family.

Another Relief Society President, Sister Sun, Sung Pi Hung, of Nantun Ward, Taichung South Taiwan Stake, has shared, “After holding a ministering interview with a companionship of ministering sisters, I meditated for several days about some challenges facing one of the companionship’s assigned families. I then received inspiration to recommend to our bishop that the mother of the family be called as a Relief Society teacher.” Now that the mother has begun serving as a Relief Society teacher, her family has been blessed with more reconciliation with God. The sisters of the ward have also been blessed through her service as a teacher.

In the spring of 1970, our priest had announced that we would be selling our school to the Mormons. “You Chileans think that the Catholic Church is the only religion,” he said.
I thought, “Of course, what else?”
Our priest continued, “All of you will write a report on The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Since the LDS mission office was only two blocks from our home, I went there to find information for my school project. When I got home, I looked at the pretty pamphlets about the Church and at the Book of Mormon. My copy of the book contained Moroni’s special promise right on the first page:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moro. 10:4–5).
When I read that promise, I received a spiritual witness that those words were true and that the Book of Mormon was true. But I was fifteen and not ready to be “religious,” so I decided not to do anything specific about my feelings. My interest had been stirred, though, and I earned the best grade in the class with my report on the Mormons.

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

Dear April,
Two days until we get to Oklahoma. I cried so much when we drove away this morning. I don’t know if I’ll have any friends there. I miss you.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
July 14
Dear April,
We got here last night. The moving vans came this morning and there are boxes everywhere. I have six weeks until school starts. I think it’s going to be a lonely summer. I miss you!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
P.S. My dad gave me a blessing that I will do well and make friends here. I am starting to feel less scared.
July 20
Dear April,
How are you doing? There are only two other girls in my class at church! And one of them is already almost 12. But the other girl is our age. Her name is Heather. She is quiet, but nice. She and I will be going to the same school. The kids in the ward here go to three different schools. It’s so different, but it’s also the same—same songs, same lessons. My mom says that’s one great thing about the Church—it is the same wherever you go. I just wish you were here too.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 1
Dear April,
Yesterday I went to Heather’s for her birthday. Some other girls were there who will be in our class when school starts. Heather likes scrapbooking, just like we do. I hope you really do get to come and visit next year. You will be amazed at how flat Oklahoma is! It is pretty in its own way.
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 16
Dear April,
How are you? I miss you! Thank you for the birthday card! For my birthday I am going to the movies with Heather and my mom and her mom. I think it will be fun to do that instead of having a big party. Anyway, thanks again! Your card was so cute!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 24
Dear April,
I had such a fun birthday! My mom got me a box of scrapbooking stuff. Heather and I have been having a lot of fun with it. I think it’s neat that you gave a talk on the Holy Ghost at your sister’s baptism. I bet you did great. School starts tomorrow. Yikes! I know you are praying for me, and I am so glad about that. I need it!
Best friends forever,
Ashley
August 30
Dear April,
I survived the first week of school. It is going to be OK. Heather and I are the only members of the Church in fourth grade. Before I moved here Heather didn’t always tell people about the Church because she is shy, but together we do OK. She’s a good friend. How do you feel about having more than one best friend?
Best friends forever,
Ashley
September 15
Dear April,
I am so glad you understand about Heather. After I sent that last letter, I was worried your feelings would be hurt. I know we are both sad that we don’t get to be together all the time. But I love writing letters! I was thinking today about how nervous I was to move here. But it’s starting to feel like home now. The most important thing is being with my family!
Best friends forever (and best pen pals!),
Ashley

I once found myself late at night on an airplane bulging with passengers going north from Mexico City to Culiacan. The seats in the plane were close together, and every seat was taken, mostly by the gracious people of Mexico.
A young woman came down the aisle with four small children, the oldest of which appeared to be about four, and the youngest a newborn. She was also trying to manage a diaper bag, a stroller, and some bags. The children were tired, crying, and fussing. As she found her seat in the airplane, the passengers around her, both men and women, literally sprang to her aid. Soon the children were being lovingly and tenderly comforted and cared for by the other passengers, who passed them between one another all over the airplane.
Settling down in the caring arms of those who cradled them, the children soon went to sleep. The mother was freed from the care of her children for most of the flight. The only thing that I felt bad about was that no one passed any of the children to me!

While I was stationed at an air base in Wyoming during World War II, it was announced in our branch sacrament meeting that the following week a branch conference would be held and that there was a good possibility that the mission president would bring a visiting authority from Salt Lake City with him. As we came to branch conference the following Sunday morning, we were introduced to that visiting authority—a man whom none of us had ever seen before. It was Elder Spencer W. Kimball, the newest member of the Twelve out on one of his very first assignments. His manner was kindly, his testimony so sure, but he expressed concern that such a high calling should come to one such as he.
Then with renewed confidence, he said in effect, “Brothers and Sisters: I don’t know exactly why the Lord has called me, but I do have one talent to offer. My father taught me how to work; and if the Lord can use a worker, I’m available.” Yes, the Lord could use a worker! In fact he needed a hard worker who might possibly be ready to assume prime responsibility at a most significant time.

After I completed my college education, I became a research scientist. Trained in the scientific method, I accepted only what could be sensed and proven. I lived without God’s influence in my life; I was practically an atheist.
Then one morning I received a call that my son had been in a serious automobile accident. On the way to the hospital, I felt prompted to say the Lord’s Prayer, which I had learned in childhood. I could not remember it, but I felt that I needed to pray anyway.
Even though God had called to me, when the crisis subsided and my son recovered, I continued to live without Him in my life.
Years later I began dating a woman named Rubí. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, though she was not active. We were together for three years when she began to feel the desire to go to church. She would ask me to go with her, but I always refused.
One day the missionaries came to our door. They gave me a Book of Mormon and left me with reading assignments. I read what they requested but felt nothing. I also attended church but was always skeptical. Even so, I felt I needed to keep reading the Book of Mormon. God was calling me again.
As I continued reading, I started to feel that the book was true. My faith was growing. When I reached 3 Nephi 13:9–13 and read the Lord’s Prayer, the Spirit flooded over me. I broke into sobs. God was calling me a third time. This time I listened.
My faith in God grew. I wanted to know more. In a short time, I read all the standard works. I continued attending church, and after Rubí and I married, I was baptized. I will never forget the joy I felt when I was confirmed a member of the Church.
Today I am still a research scientist. But now I see the hand of God in all things. I agree with Alma, who said, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).

During the second discussion, the missionaries challenged my mother and me to be baptized. Our reactions were very different. After reading a good portion of the Book of Mormon, I had fasted and prayed and received a confirmation of the truth of what the missionaries were teaching. My mother, however, did not have the slightest intention of being baptized.
When the missionaries left, my mother presented me with a difficult choice. If I chose to be baptized, I would have to live somewhere else. For me there was no question. I knew what was right; I left my mother’s home that night.
The following day the missionaries, the branch president, and I went to my mother’s home to try to resolve the problem. During the discussion that followed, I accepted my mother’s request to wait a month before being baptized—but I did so only out of respect for her and to prove to her that my desires were sincere.
During that month the missionaries continued teaching us. Nothing changed for my mother, and it became clear that she wanted me to again delay my baptism. But I could not wait, and on 15 February 1985—the best day of my life until then—I was baptized.
My mother was angry at my decision, and I didn’t know what I was going to do. I met with my branch president, and as we prayed together, I felt inspired to ask my father’s brother to let me live with his family.
My uncle agreed but on the condition that I return to the university. Soon, however, our relationship deteriorated because he did not want me to go to church or to help the missionaries. Finally, he prohibited me from leaving the house for the district conference where I was to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.
Once more I had to choose between a tranquil life and the gospel. For me there was no question. That Saturday I arose early, packed my clothes, and left.
It was not easy being a member of the Church, but the Lord blessed me as I made my own way without the support of my family. One of my greatest blessings came when I went to visit the home of a newly baptized couple on an assignment from the elders quorum. There I met their daughter Giovanna.
After a time Giovanna was also baptized, and we planned to be married. But on the day of our wedding a legal notice arrived stating that the marriage could not take place. My mother had found a way to prevent it. After several difficult months we resolved the matter and were married. We now have four beautiful children.
As a family we have had difficult experiences, but these experiences have strengthened our testimonies. The Lord has blessed us greatly, and He has used our trials and difficulties to guide and bless our lives. Of this there is no question.