Gospel Story Finder

A few years after I had been baptized, becoming better acquainted with some duties in the Church, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. My father, who had baptized me, had died in the meantime of a heart attack, so the bishop conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I remember that I had a wonderful feeling about that as he conferred the priesthood upon me, that I now had responsibilities and would be accountable for my actions and would have things to learn to do as I would progress through life. I did have a special feeling that I now was a little different, that I wouldn’t be exactly the same as friends who did not hold the priesthood or people that you would meet out in the world. I now had some responsibilities, things we would learn on Sundays in church as we would sit around the old coal stove down in the basement of the meetinghouse.
On Saturdays we would clean out the church, fill the coal buckets with coal, and see that the building was ready for Sunday meetings. We had things to do in the lesser priesthood, in all the temporal affairs of the ward—collecting fast offerings and doing duties for the bishop. He and other leaders would teach us about the Aaronic Priesthood and the office of a deacon, then a teacher, and then, of course, a priest as we would advance in the priesthood. It seemed to me that I was developing an interesting understanding, a vision of the work to be done, and that I personally had some responsibility, even though I was just a young boy in a little country town. There was something very important about it.

Our visitors were Brother Karl G. Maeser, who organized Brigham Young University under the direction of President Brigham Young, and Brother George Goddard, who had a beautiful singing voice. I can remember to this day the songs Brother Goddard had us practice in that conference.
The first one is no longer in the hymn-book, but it goes like this: “Take away the whiskey, the coffee, and the tea. Cold water is the drink for me.” This song made such an impression upon me as a boy that I can hardly drink anything but cold water even today.
I was on the train traveling between Salt Lake City and Los Angeles one time when a waiter asked, “Are you ready for your coffee?”
“No, thank you,” I answered.
“Will you have tea?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” I repeated.
“Would you like some Postum?”
“No, thank you.”
He was becoming irritated now. “What do you want to drink?”
“Cold water, please,” I requested.
His reply was, “Well, you’re the funniest man I ever did see.”

In the city of Coronel Oviedo, a native Paraguayan missionary, Elder Christian Turrini, prayed that the Lord would help him and his companion, Elder Matthew Porter, find people who were prepared to listen to the gospel. After his prayer, they left their room and walked two blocks. A campesino (a poor rural farmer) came running up to them. Speaking in Guaraní, he asked, “Are you LDS missionaries? I came looking for you because I know the Church is true and I want to be baptized!”
That campesino was Isabelino Giménez. He and his wife, Estanislada, had heard the missionary discussions in a distant city a few years earlier, along with Estanislada’s family. But although her family joined the Church, Isabelino refused to be baptized or to let Estanislada be baptized. “I told her, ‘We’re going to leave this city and look for our future.’ But really, I was running from the gospel.”
Isabelino and Estanislada moved to a remote area in the Paraguayan jungle. “We walked a long, long way through the jungle,” he says. “We arrived without anything. We didn’t have more clothes than what we were wearing. We didn’t have beds, but slept on the floor. We barely had enough to eat.” He cleared some land and worked hard to grow crops. But then he developed an infected sore on his foot, and one of his sons got a similar sore. A local doctor was unable to give them any relief. I was very discouraged and unhappy. I wanted to change my life.”
Estanislada’s family moved from the city to be near them. Even though moving to this remote place caused them to lose contact with the Church, they continued to live their religion. “My brother-in-law was always reading the scriptures,” says Isabelino. “One day I told him I couldn’t sleep at night because of the pain I had in my foot. He told me I needed to pray to Heavenly Father. I asked him, ‘How should I pray?’ And he began to teach me about prayer. He told me I had to give myself to the Lord.
“That day, I knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father and asked forgiveness. I asked him to heal my son and me of our sores. I told him I needed to work for my family. When I told my wife that I had given myself to the Lord, she smiled because she was very happy.
“My wife’s parents started teaching me about the Church. We read the Book of Mormon and Gospel Principles. They taught me to pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Our sores were healed.”
Now he and Estanislada wanted to be baptized, but they didn’t know how to proceed. They didn’t have the means to travel back to the city where the missionaries had originally taught them. Finally, four years after being cured of the sore, Isabelino made the four-hour trip on foot and by bus to Coronel Oviedo—the nearest city—hoping the Church was there and that he would be able to find the missionaries.
“I got off the bus at the terminal and asked a boy on a bicycle if he knew where The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was; he told me it was very far away. I walked about four blocks toward the center of town and asked a man; he said he didn’t know. I began praying to Heavenly Father to help me, so I wouldn’t lose hope.
“On a corner, I asked a woman. She said, ‘Wait here. I know the missionaries. They will pass by here soon.’ I waited about twenty minutes, and the woman said, ‘Here come the missionaries.’ When I saw them, I crossed the street without watching the traffic. I could have been killed, but I wanted to talk to them so much.”
The missionaries were eager to teach the Giménez family. First they received permission from their mission president to travel to the remote jungle location. Then they left at 6 A.M. and rode a couple of hours on a bus from Coronel Oviedo to a neighboring town. There they met Isabelino and rode with him on another bus for thirty minutes. Then they walked another hour and a half through the jungle, arriving at the Giménez home at 10:00 A.M. “I don’t think I had ever walked that far,” says Elder Turrini. “I had never been in the jungle like that, even though I’m from Paraguay. We saw lots of wild animals, snakes, and birds. When we got to their home, the family treated us like we were angels. The kids jumped all over us, and the adults were in tears. They had been praying for our safety and had lunch ready for us.”
That day, the missionaries taught three discussions to a group of about thirty people. Some of them were Estanislada’s family—members of the Church—who had almost lost hope of ever finding the Church again. Others were interested neighbors. After three hours of teaching, the missionaries returned home.
The next day, the Giménez family made the journey into Coronel Oviedo. It was raining, and since they were traveling with small children, the trip took seven hours. The elders taught them the last three discussions, and the following day—Sunday, 8 September 1991—Isabelino and Estanislada were baptized, along with two of their children, Aníbal and Diana; a foster daughter; and Estanislada’s younger brother and sister. They also have two younger children, Derlis and Emanuel.
“When I went down in the water,” says Isabelino, “I don’t know how it happened, but I felt that I was dead for one second. As I arose from the water, I felt so happy that I cried for joy. When the missionaries confirmed me, I felt a beautiful feeling. Then I arose to bear my testimony and couldn’t finish because of the great happiness I felt. Since then, I have shared my testimony with all my friends and neighbors. I want them to feel the joy I feel.”

Years ago, while immersed in the task of preparing a talk for general conference, I was aroused from a sound sleep with an idea impressed strongly upon my mind. Immediately I reached for pencil and paper near my bed and wrote as rapidly as I could. I went back to sleep, knowing I had captured that great impression. The next morning I looked at that piece of paper and found, much to my dismay, that my writing was totally illegible! I still keep pencil and paper at my bedside, but I write more carefully now.

Just before my mom passed away, she asked me to take care of her younger sister, who was in a hospital in Korea. My family and I lived in California, USA, so unfortunately there seemed to be no way to fulfill my mom’s compassionate last wish. Then my job unexpectedly relocated me to South Korea, and I had to be separated from my family for a year. Although I was concerned about living far from my family, I also anticipated visiting my aunt and my dad, who was in a Korean hospital suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.
I asked Heavenly Father for divine help in living away from my family. As I thought about the time I would spend in Korea, I resolved to visit my dad, my aunt, and the temple weekly as well as to pray for my family daily.
Once I was in Korea, the bishop of my new ward called me to be the Young Men president and the Gospel Doctrine teacher. My ward and the hospitals where my dad and aunt stayed were far from each other, and I had a very demanding job; but Heavenly Father blessed me with strength and stamina to magnify my callings and to keep my resolutions.
Soon after I started visiting my aunt, I discovered she rarely had any visitors. I decided to pick her up and have her stay with me on the weekends at my hotel, which had an extra room. However, I had a problem: should I take her with me to church on Sunday? I thought she would neither be interested in nor understand the meetings, and she would have to wait for hours after church for me to be done with meetings and other duties. But for some reason I felt I should take her.
That Sunday I took her with me, and, as expected, she had to wait for me afterward. After my meetings, I took her back to the hotel to eat. I noticed that she held a bag. I asked her about it, and she said a sister had given her some snacks.
Whenever I had duties after church, this sister—who did not know my aunt—always offered my aunt snacks. One week during my Sunday School lesson, a familiar voice volunteered to read a scripture. I had never imagined my aunt would volunteer, but a kind sister sitting next to my aunt had prompted her to read for the class. Although my aunt was not good at socializing because of her time isolated in the hospital, all the members kindly greeted and chatted with her.
Every Sunday evening I would take her back to the hospital and promise to pick her up the next weekend, which always brought a happy smile to her face.
One day a friend of mine shared a concern that my aunt might have a hard time when my visits suddenly stopped when I left Korea. As my scheduled departure from Korea came closer, I felt mixed emotions—happy to be soon reunited with my family but distressed and sad about leaving my aunt alone.
Finally, I explained to my aunt that I would not be able to visit her as often. She paused a moment, obviously disappointed. Then she tried to compose herself and asked if I could visit her again in a year. I cried and desperately asked Heavenly Father to help this lady.
On my last Sunday in Korea, the bishop asked if ward members could pick up my aunt on Sundays to bring her to church. He said that a number of members were willing to visit her on a regular basis—so many that they would have to organize and take turns. I could not believe his offer! This was the unexpected answer to my desperate prayers.
Since the members lived far away from my aunt’s hospital, I offered to leave some money for them to cover the travel expenses, but the members refused to take my money. They told me they would take turns visiting once a month, but I found out later that they actually visited every week. One faithful sister picks up my aunt every Friday to attend institute and have lunch. She even took her to a beauty shop for a haircut. Another sister, a single mother of two teenage children, volunteered to pick her up every Sunday morning. She cooks for my aunt, takes her for a walk, and listens to music with her. Most importantly, she tries to be a friend, and my aunt has finally opened up and comfortably chats with her and other members. Every Sunday evening the bishop picks up my aunt from a member’s home after his long day of Church meetings and other duties to take her back to the hospital. Every Thursday he sends a kind email to me to report their heavenly service for my aunt.
I believe that my mom saw the actions of faithful Latter-day Saints serving her younger sister. And now I know, more clearly than ever, why we call our fellow Church members “brothers” and “sisters.”

The bishop knows, as do others close to the family, just how difficult Sage’s healing has been. At times, the pain has been almost more than she could bear. Once when she was undergoing some therapy at home, she begged her mother not to hurt her anymore. Denise told her about a little girl who cried so much that her parents stopped giving her therapy. Now that little girl can’t walk.
Sage wept. “I wish I could give my body so that little girl could walk again.”

While on a mission tour late last year, on a Wednesday evening, I met the faithful parents of a newer missionary serving in that mission. On Friday, I met the fine young missionary. He was born in the covenant and raised in the Church by those goodly parents. Early on Saturday morning, the mission president informed me that the father had died, and the mother was critically injured in a car accident the night before.
With the approval of the Area Presidency, the mission president arranged for this young elder and his companion to attend the funeral of his father. As travel arrangements were being made and while still dealing with the tragic news, the young elder said, “I want to be a missionary; can I come back?” His question and subsequent actions reflected his desire and determination to press forward in faith and continue his service. For him, with faith in the Resurrection and the sealing ordinances of the temple, his father’s death was not the end, though it was such a hard thing for any young person to bear. He knew that his father was alright and that, regardless of what happened with his mother, their family could be together again. Following the funeral, he promptly returned to his missionary work and is serving with the faith and hope found in message of the restored gospel that he teaches every day.

Other happy memories for Jared and his mom took place in April and October 1990 when they attended general conference in Salt Lake City. Since only one family member could sit in the special section of the Tabernacle with Sister Anderson, Jared was chosen. Sister Anderson sat in her wheelchair near the railing and Jared was assigned a place on the front row. He attended her every need, including wrapping her legs and shoulders in shawls for warmth and quietly massaging her feet as they went into spasms.
In the last session of conference in October, Sister Anderson began having a seizure. Jared sensed her distress and immediately put the medicine in her mouth, averting a problem. One of the hosts in the Tabernacle said, “I’ve played a lot of football in my day, but I’ve never seen a bigger man than you were in the way you showed compassion to your mother today.”

Have you ever had to ask yourself, “What’s more important, my friend or our friendship?” I faced that problem when a note fell out of my friend Kate’s* pencil pouch. I read it and realized that my friend was using drugs. I was devastated. I tried desperately to talk to her, but she ignored me.
Kate was my friend, and I realized that no matter what she said or did, her safety was most important to me. Every time I thought of it, I wanted to cry. I knew that Kate might never forgive me if I told on her, and she might tell my other friends that I wasn’t trustworthy. I asked my mom to help me, and we prayed, talked, and read the scriptures. I was looking for something to help me help my friend. We found a scripture that gave me courage to do whatever I had to do and to live with the consequences: “For I do know that whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and their troubles, and their afflictions” (Alma 36:3). I knew that if I did what was right, God would support me.
I decided to tell the resource officer about Kate’s drug problem. Later that afternoon Kate was called to the office. When we changed classes, she was with her guidance counselor and a police officer. Kate caught my eye, and I could tell she knew I had told on her.
Several weeks went by before Kate would talk to me. I dreaded what she would say, but I was surprised that she wasn’t angry anymore. Our friendship had changed, but in some ways, it was better than before. She seemed to understand that I had done it for her sake. I never wanted to lose her friendship, but it was more important to love her enough to try to stop her from hurting herself and the people who love and care for her.
Yes, this experience was painful, but I learned that if we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart; and lean not unto [our] own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5), anything is possible.

As a young boy of five or six years of age, I had a powerful experience with prayer. My grandfather, who was not very old at the time, was very ill—feverish, ashen, and almost unconscious. It was a real crisis for our family. He lay in a bed that had been set up for him in his living room, and many of our family members, as well as our stake patriarch, knelt in a circle around his bedside to pray for him.
Although I was the only one in the room who was not an adult, I was invited to be in that prayer circle. Each member of the circle took a turn saying a prayer out loud. Then I, as the youngest one there, was called upon to pray last. I had participated in family prayer, the blessing on the food, bedtime prayers, and the other prayers that children say, but I had never experienced prayer like this before. People were crying, and everyone was anxious and concerned. It all seemed awfully important and urgent and somewhat frightening.
As a result of these prayers, my grandfather’s health was restored. The patriarch later told me that he felt my grandfather had been healed primarily because of my prayer. I have never forgotten that experience. Because I was so frightened at the responsibility to pray in such a setting, prayer took on a deeper meaning for me.

A year ago at Flagstaff, Arizona, a special banquet for Eagle Scouts was held. There were 1,150 Eagle Scouts. John Warnick, the director of Mormon Relationships, invited all those who would commit to go on a mission to stand. All 1,150 stood.
Later, one of the young men, a Catholic boy, went to the bishop and said, “I am not a Mormon, and I committed to go on a mission. What do I need to do?”
The bishop said, “Let’s talk to your parents.” During the visit with the family, it was decided that the family should hear the discussions. The family, including the Eagle Scout, are all members of the Church now.

When I switched to a new school in sixth grade, a girl named Hannah ate lunch with me and introduced me to new friends. But I never realized that, at the same time, I was helping introduce her to principles of the gospel.
One day Hannah and I were at a carnival together. Out of the blue, she told me she wanted to join the Church. To say I was surprised is an understatement. My first thought was, “I’m not sure if she knows how big of a commitment it is.”
I wasn’t sure what to do, but my parents said, “She’s interested in the gospel. You should invite her to ward camp.” I thought it might be overwhelming for Hannah to spend the entire week with us and meet so many new people. But I took their advice and invited her to camp and to youth conference.
During a testimony meeting at youth conference, I felt like Hannah needed to hear my testimony, even though public speaking is one of my biggest fears. Hannah knew I was afraid, and she admired the fact that I was willing to share because I believed in the gospel.
I’m an overthinker, so whenever I considered inviting Hannah to things, I thought, “She’s going to think I’m pressuring her into joining the Church.” But I knew this was an irrational fear. People like to be invited to things. As time went on, I was more comfortable with sharing how I felt. I learned that sharing the gospel is about love.
“Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony.”
There’s so much joy in sharing the things you love and cherish the most. Hannah’s journey hasn’t just changed her life; it’s also changed my life and strengthened my testimony. I saw the difference that the Savior made for Hannah, and it helped me recognize the difference He makes for me.

One summer at Aspen Grove Family Camp, I observed a mother patiently feeding a teenage daughter injured at birth and totally dependent upon Mother. Mother administered each spoonful of food, each swallow of water, while holding steady the head and neck of her daughter. Silently I thought to myself, For 17 years, Mother has provided this service and all others to her daughter, never thinking of her own comfort, her own pleasure, her own food. May God bless such mothers, such fathers, such children. And He will.

Several years ago I spoke at a meeting for members and investigators in the Peru Lima South Mission. I don’t know why I started talking about revelation and the importance of having a prophet, but as I did, I noticed two young men on the first row listening attentively and taking notes. After the meeting, those two young men came to me and said, “You talk about prophets and about revelation. We thought that there weren’t any prophets after John the Baptist.” The young men had been sent by the local priest to find out what I said. I had to catch a plane and didn’t have time to explain more about prophets and revelation. However, I did tell them that if they wanted to have personal revelation, they should read the Book of Mormon and follow the counsel in Moroni 10. I gave them each a Book of Mormon and marked Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Three months later I received a letter from those young men telling me that they had been baptized. One year later I received another letter saying that they were both preparing to go on missions. The Book of Mormon was what converted them.

But when I returned home from my mission, I got a job and moved away from my family. I got an apartment in a different state, with roommates who had very different standards than mine.

My co-workers also lived very different lives than I did. They would get together every weekend to drink and party, and they invited me to join. Not wanting to be in an environment like that, I always turned down their invitations.

But, weekend after weekend, as I sat alone in my flat and woke up each Sunday to go to church on my own, I started to feel discouraged.

Although I said no to early invitations to go out with my co-workers, I felt jealous—they seemed like they were having fun. I noticed that the friendships they developed when they went out seemed to be helping them move forward in their careers.

I just felt like the quiet, boring co-worker no one knew.

One weekend I was tired of feeling lonely. So I decided to go with them when they asked. I justified the decision by deciding beforehand that I wouldn’t try any alcohol.

I told myself, “Even if I’m in an unholy place, just being there won’t hurt me if I’m not doing anything unholy, right?”

As I started going out with these co-workers, I gradually started to change. I stayed out late on Saturday nights, which resulted in me sleeping through church on Sundays.

Although I wasn’t drinking alcohol, I wasn’t standing in holy places. Physically, I wasn’t going to church. Spiritually, I didn’t think about the gospel or make time for Heavenly Father. I was trading my meetinghouse for parties. I didn’t leave room for the Spirit in my life.

One day, I woke up and realized how far I had let myself drift away from Heavenly Father. I felt like I finally understood the term “godly sorrow” (2 Corinthians 7:10). My mind and heart were full of anguish.

“What am I doing?” I thought. “This isn’t me.”

Despite going out on weekends, I didn’t feel happy.

I knew I needed to get back on track with my faith. I needed to repent.

I used to think that repentance was a painful, difficult process, full of guilt and shame. But through this experience, I have learned that repentance is the process of allowing Jesus Christ to change our natures and help us become “new creatures” (Mosiah 27:26).

Ultimately, it was the thought of Jesus Christ and His Atonement that helped me remember who I truly am, the choices I want to be making, and the environments I want to be in.

I started praying for the first time in months. I stopped going out with my co-workers. I went back to church. I opened my Book of Mormon more often.

As I returned to my consistent spiritual habits, I felt peace and renewed comfort. I gained a testimony that when God asks for space in my life and I give it to Him, He will bless me. I can choose to stand in holy places, and if I sometimes find myself in an environment that makes it hard to feel the Spirit, I can hold fast to my standards and faith and rely on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to protect me (see 2 Kings 6:15–16).

This experience showed me that the world has such a strong, enticing pull, and we can easily be swept up in it if we aren’t making room for the Spirit in our lives.

Before, I was so worried about my career and loneliness. But after wandering away from the gospel, I realized that if I follow Jesus Christ, He will continue to prepare a way for me physically, socially, spiritually, and financially. As my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ has improved, I’ve found new ways to socialize while not putting myself in spiritually dangerous environments.

I know that Heavenly Father has provided a solution for me in Jesus Christ and that my life will be filled with blessings as I continue to follow Him. I feel so grateful for a Savior who was willing to suffer for me so I could choose to follow Him again.

I was never involved in any fights in high school. I’m glad I wasn’t. I’m not very big, and I don’t find great joy in cuts and bruises.
But one time I got into a fight walking home from school that lasted a few weeks. My opponent was only 28 centimeters tall, but this was one of the toughest battles I’d ever fought. This battle was with a magazine.
My high school was within view of our front porch, so I walked to and from class every day. One afternoon, as I stepped across the thin ribbon of green lawn that divided the school’s sidewalk from the road, I noticed an open magazine by the curb. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; then I realized it was pornographic. I quickly lifted my eyes from the gutter and kept walking toward home.
This is how the battle began. Every day as I went to school, and every day as I came home, I had to face the temptation that lay in the gutter.
As I think about it now, I wonder why I didn’t just pick up the magazine and throw it away. But I didn’t even want to touch it. What if someone saw me with it? Or what if my dad saw it in our garbage can? Or what if I picked it up and saw more than I wanted to see?
Each day my mind could come up with some pretty good rationalizations: “It might be good for you to know what’s in there, so you’ll know what’s going on in today’s world,” or “You don’t want to be a sheltered, naive little boy, do you? What’s it going to hurt, anyway? Just repent later. Who’s going to know?”
One day in seminary, our teacher pointed out that Jesus answered each of his temptations with a scripture. That sounded like a good idea.
Looking through my scriptures, I found a verse about battling temptation: “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear” (Alma 13:28).
Another helpful verse came from the New Testament: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13).
This was a formula I could use: humble myself, watch and pray continually, and trust that God would help me find a way to escape the temptation. I began to cross the street in a different place, and these two verses of scripture helped me as the days passed with the magazine still sitting there in the gutter.
One afternoon, as I stepped off the curb, I noticed that the magazine was gone. I could tell by the appearance of the gutters that a street cleaner had recently passed by. A street cleaner—how appropriate, I thought.
God did make a way for me to escape, and together we won the fight. Curiosity, rationalization, and laziness are no match against courage, self-control, and mental toughness.
Victory in physical battles requires strength, muscles, and skill; but the fight is never tougher and the victory is never sweeter than in the battles with temptation. No, I never got into any fights in high school; but with some help from the scriptures, I defeated a 28-centimeter magazine.

In 1989, Markus, Karen, and their three-year-old son were granted permission to leave their home in East Germany to go on a holiday to Hungary. While they were there, Hungary opened its border to Austria, providing thousands of East German refugees a way to freedom. Markus and Karen recognized their unique opportunity. They could also leave.
Leslie Nilsson, photographer
I said, “Let’s leave for Austria.”
“Oh no, you can’t,” Karen said. “Your parents are left in Germany and my parents as well.”
“They will understand,” I replied.
“We’ve already started to build a house,” Karen told me. “Let’s finish that.”
“No, let’s start again,” I said, “somewhere else, in western Germany.”
Again I tried to tell her we should leave. She said, “No, because you have just been called as bishop and you said yes, you would serve.”
This is why we did not leave Germany. Some weeks later the Berlin Wall was falling. We were blessed for staying. This was Heavenly Father’s way for us.

Most of the people who live in Iceland belong to the evangelical Lutheran Church, and Binni, Unnar, and Matthías are the only Latter-day Saints in their school. When the time came for his baptism, Binni decided to do some missionary work. He told his parents he wanted to invite someone special—his school teacher! His mother and father encouraged him to ask her but cautioned him that she might choose to not come. On the day of his baptism, however, she was there at the church! “She even stayed afterward, had some refreshments with us, and asked some things about the Church,” he said, very happy that she had accepted his invitation and that his first efforts as a missionary had been successful.

I was quite young when World War II started, but I was old enough to be frightened by what was happening. My father assured me that the Lord was in control and that all would be well. As he told me not to worry, he put his arms around me, enveloping me in security and love. I had the same feeling of safety as we knelt in family prayer and I listened to my father, a bishop, pray for the servicemen who were from our ward. I knew that Heavenly Father lived and that He was listening.

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”
I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.
This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.