Gospel Story Finder

Recorded in Church History is the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith's reaction to the need of a Church member.

Evidently, Joseph was working in his garden in Nauvoo, and several of the brethren were sitting on the rail fence surrounding the garden asking questions and listening to the Prophet teach them. Another person approached them and commented to Joseph that a certain member who lived some distance from Nauvoo had his house burn down the night before. Nearly all of the men expressed their sympathy for the man's loss. Joseph put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and exclaimed, "I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars: how much do you feel sorry?"[13]

The other brethren present immediately began to search their own pockets for spare money, as the Prophet had shown them by example that "action speaks louder than words."

The summer before my freshman year of high school, my family moved from a small town in California, USA, to northern Virginia, right outside of Washington, D.C. As I walked through the high school doors on the first day, the hallways were jam-packed with students going every which way to get to their classes. Over 2,000 students were crammed into an old, overcrowded building, but I felt alone as I walked the halls. I didn’t feel like I fit in, I struggled in my classes, and I began to think things would never improve. To make matters worse, as I attended church and seminary, and as I participated in gospel discussions at home, it also became obvious to me that I didn’t have a testimony of my own.
Lying in bed one night, I thought that if the gospel really is the source of peace, hope, and joy, then I needed to know for myself if it was true. I figured the best way to do that was to read the Book of Mormon and accept Moroni’s invitation to ask God with a sincere heart, with real intent and faith in Christ, if it is true (see Moroni 10:4–5).
As my freshman year came to an end, I began to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time in my life. Throughout the summer, I read and prayed every day. It took a while, but about a month or two into my sophomore year, I had read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
One night, I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. I was sure I was going to get an answer, but if I was expecting some kind of miraculous spiritual manifestation, I was disappointed because nothing happened. I felt confused and frustrated. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayer? Despite my disappointment, I continued to study and pray.
One day, I explored the woods behind my house. It was fall, and some of the leaves had already turned red and gold. The air was cool, the sky was blue, and beams of sunlight shone through the trees. I found a big rock by a stream to sit on, and as I watched the water flow by, I opened my heart to God again.
Suddenly I had an impression, as if God were asking me, “Eric, what has happened in your life since you started reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day?”
Immediately, I thought of my friends. I had made friends that summer who are still dear to me today. My anxiety about school had subsided, and my grades had improved. I realized that I was a lot happier and that I had strength beyond my own to face the challenges that had been so difficult the year before.
Then it happened.
I didn’t hear a voice, but the Spirit filled my heart as these words came to my mind: “Of course, it’s true!” An overwhelming feeling of peace, joy, and assurance came over me. I knew I had finally found my answer.
“It’s true! It’s true!” I said to myself over and over again as I walked home.
President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) once said, “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book.”1
That day in the woods of northern Virginia, I came to know that President Benson’s words are true. I realized what a difference the Book of Mormon had made in my life, and I also realized that because the Book of Mormon is true, then Joseph Smith is a prophet, we have a prophet today, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is God’s kingdom once again established on the earth.
When I remember my special spiritual experience, a scripture always comes to mind: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, I will impart unto you of my Spirit, which shall enlighten your mind, which shall fill your soul with joy” (D&C 11:13).
I am grateful for the undeniable influence of the Holy Ghost that told me, “Of course, it’s true!”
I have been blessed ever since.

After receiving my PhD I had the great blessing of becoming a teacher and witnessing the power of the Holy Ghost in assisting struggling students in their learning. Some months ago I had such an experience here on this campus. My wife, who often tutors international students in English, asked if I might help tutor a Chinese student who was struggling in her science class. As I did so, I discovered that not only was this wonderful Sister having a challenge with the language, but since this was her very first science class, even such basic concepts as atoms, molecules and compounds were totally foreign to her.

One Saturday morning, comprehending and understanding the basic principles was proving especially challenging. After a few minutes, she stopped me and asked, "Do you think we could say a prayer? I need some additional help if I'm going to understand this material." We then took the time to have a prayer and a wonderful Spirit entered the room. And while the topic did not get any easier, it was clear to both of us that her ability to learn the material was expanded and enhanced throughout the remainder of that study session.

BUMP! CRASH!
Splitfoot staggered back from the blow. His mother—twelve hundred pounds of angry moose—glared at him. She had just struck him with her broad chest.
Splitfoot, only a year old, waggled his big ears. The blow had not hurt him, but he was puzzled. What’s happening? he wondered. Why is she driving me away?
His mother rejoined her newborn calf a short distance away. The calf, a reddish colored male, had arrived in the world two days before and was still wobbly. He nuzzled his mother’s flanks, wanting to nurse.
It was mid-May, and the north country had lost its winter drabness. The foliage was green, and leaves were budding. Splitfoot nibbled at a tuff of fresh grass, but he wasn’t really hungry. He watched his mother and the calf furtively from a clump of spruce trees.
For a year now, his place had been by her side. She was his protector and his strength, so it was only natural for him to want to remain close to her. He started toward her again, trying not to be obvious. While he grazed, he kept angling closer to his parent. But Splitfoot couldn’t fool his mother. When he was about twenty feet away from her, she charged. This time she really smacked him, knocking him down. Then his mother ran off a little way, her hackles raised. She bawled and growled menacingly.
When Splitfoot arose, she charged him again, leaving him sprawled on the ground. This time he just lay still, rolling his brown eyes. His mother trotted back to her calf, where she stood guard. She was nearsighted, as are all moose, but she could see her unwanted son well enough.
Splitfoot lay quietly for a few minutes more, then he climbed painfully to his feet. The last blows had really jarred him. He moved back to the protective spruce trees and studied his mother. Although his eyesight, too, was less than perfect, his ears and nose were keen. He knew every move his mother and the newborn were making. Splitfoot was learning what all yearling moose must learn: they are not welcome when a new calf is born. His mother might have accepted his company for another year had it not been for the calf. But, by instinct, she was so protective of her helpless new offspring that she distrusted every other creature, even her oldest son.
For the rest of the day, Splitfoot sulked in the trees. Toward evening, he went to a nearby pond for a drink. After ducking his head under the surface for a mouthful of succulent lily roots, he went back to try to find his mother. But she and the calf were gone. He searched for hours but never found them.
Now Splitfoot would be on his own for the rest of his life. It wouldn’t be so bad, however, because he had been prepared by nature for what lay ahead. He had thirty-two good teeth, and he knew what to eat. His mother had long before weaned him. Though only a year old, he was strong. This strength would help him escape enemies he couldn’t fight. Later that summer several wolves chased him. He managed to keep ahead of them until he came to a lake. Though he hadn’t had much practice, he plunged in and swam all the way across to safety. Few animals of the north have more stamina.
Splitfoot learned during the next few years who his enemies were, especially wolves, bears, and men. Deep snow was also an enemy. It was difficult to escape wolf packs while plunging chest deep through snowdrifts. And in wintertime, storms covered willows and cottonwood branches with ice, making it hard for him to eat. The ice cut his gums, turning his mouth bloody and raw. During one long cold spell when everything remained frozen, Splitfoot nearly starved—some moose did.
In the summertime, the mosquitos were a great nuisance. Great swarms of them stung his nose and tender lips. They dove at his eyes and buzzed in his ears until he dashed through the forest crazily to escape them. But in spite of all these hazards, he survived.
In his third year, the young moose grew his first spread of antlers. He also felt that he should take a mate. But older and stronger bulls drove him away from the females.
When he was four, he did manage to mate. But first there was a terrific battle with another male who also wanted the female. They charged each other head on, their antlers cracking like thunder on impact. They shook the ground, and their eyes flashed red with anger. They tore up the ground and snapped young trees like twigs. The battle lasted for an hour, then the rival moose gave up. Splitfoot was victor. It was the first of many such battles he would have.
After he mated, Splitfoot remained with his bride for only a short time. He was not content with only one mate, like the wolf, and in a couple of years would have a large harem.
When Splitfoot was seven years old, he came into his full powers. He weighed eighteen hundred pounds, measured over six feet high at the shoulders, and was nearly nine feet long. His antlers weighed eighty pounds and had a spread of seventy-five inches. He was deep-chested, with muscles that rippled under his dark-colored hide. Splitfoot was a king among his kind.
In December he would shed his antlers. This left him without an important weapon for defense. But that didn’t stop him from fearlessly roaming his fifty-square-mile range.
Splitfoot would live for twenty years, a long time in the wilderness. But to do that, he had to outwit hunters, outrace wolves, and outlast ice storms. He didn’t worry about any of these difficulties, though, but took the days as they came.

The gospel literally rescued me from despair. Before, I was lost in every sense of the word. My parents and brother and grandmother were gone, but I felt as though I were gone too. After their deaths I no longer knew who I was. Now I have found my identity. I know that I am a child of God and that He knows me and loves me. As I was sealed to my parents, grandmother, and brother, my grief turned to joy with the assurance that we can be together forever.

One day, when I was 13 or 14 years old, I went to the grocery store that was a couple of blocks from my school. The store had spectacular ice cream, and my classmates and I went there often during our lunch hour to get double-decker ice-cream cones.
One day when we had our ice-cream cones, I looked down at my feet and saw a $10 bill lying on the floor. A U.S. $10 bill more than 50 years ago was really something to a young man. Satan tried to tempt me with “Think what you could do with this $10 bill.”
Because of the teachings of my parents, I didn’t listen. I took the money over to the cashier and told her I found it on the floor. She said, “Well, you are an honest young man. Let me write your name on this note, and if someone doesn’t claim this $10 bill, I will see that you get it back.”
I left it with her. That afternoon a young man came in to see if she had seen a $10 bill. She said, “Yes, and here is the fellow’s name who found the money.”
This boy looked me up to thank me, and we became close friends.
But that is just the start of the story. Because of our friendship and his good feeling toward me, he introduced me to his family. As the children in the family grew up and married, I became a good friend with their families as well. And over a lifetime, I have been a close friend to 10 or 12 families just because of that $10 bill. I have been in their homes. As a bishop, I have interviewed some of their children. I have been invited to temple weddings and other family occasions during the past 50 years. I have enjoyed great friendships, not only with those kids but also with their parents over that time. They are a wonderful family.
I am grateful that I wasn’t really tempted to keep that $10 bill, because my wonderful father and mother taught me the principle of honesty. I am grateful for the blessings that have come to me throughout my life from being honest—honesty has opened many doors. It is a wonderful feeling to be able to look people in the eye and say, “I have always tried to be honest.”
I have talked to my own nine children about being honest. I told them that when you see a $10 bill, you really don’t know how much it is worth. It has a face value, but my friendship with that family is worth more than a fortune. They are such a blessing in my life.

Hannah sat under the kitchen table, crying softly.
“What’s wrong, Hannah?” Mama asked.
“I can’t do anything right.”
Mama got under the table with her and held her close. “That’s not true.”
“Yes it is. I’m always making mistakes and having accidents.”
Mama thought a moment. Then she helped Hannah out from under the table. “Come with me,” she said. They went to the hallway mirror and looked at their reflections. “Do you know what I see, Hannah?”
Hannah stared at her reflection. “What?” she asked, still sniffling.
“A very important person who’s loved very much.”
Hannah smiled a little.
“And I see a beautiful smile, too. Daddy and I love you because you are special just the way you are.”
“But I can’t do anything right,” Hannah protested. “I spill my milk. I can’t tie my own shoes or button my shirt. I can’t even write all of my ABCs.”
“Hannah, you do a lot of things really well,” Mama reassured her. “You draw beautiful pictures of flowers and animals. You always talk kindly to our neighbor, Mrs. Green. And how could I hang the laundry on the clothesline without you there to hand me the clothespins? You’re my helper.”
When Hannah still didn’t look convinced, Mama went to the closet and got out a picture album. She led Hannah to the sofa and opened the album. “Do you know who this baby is?” Mama asked.
Hannah smiled. “That’s me.” She loved looking at these pictures.
“And what a good baby you were! You couldn’t do anything for yourself yet, so Daddy and I fed you when you were hungry, washed you when you were dirty, and loved you with all our hearts.”
Hannah studied the picture.
Mama turned several pages. “This photo was taken when you were about one. You were just beginning to walk.”
“Did I fall a lot?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, you did. But you always got up and tried again. Now you can run and jump and dance beautiful dances.”
They browsed on through the book and saw many pictures of Hannah. In each photo, she was a little older and able to do more things by herself.
“Everything we learn to do must be practiced over and over before we can do it well,” Mama said. “But remember that we will always love you, no matter what you can or can’t do.”
“Just like Heavenly Father loves us—just the way we are.” Hannah remembered learning this in Primary.
“That’s right. Heavenly Father loves us even when we’re not perfect. But He also helps us grow,” she added, hugging her special Hannah.

Twelve-year-old Monica Saili loves swimming. She is one of the top young swimmers in New Zealand. She may be part fish.
Well, the fish part probably isn’t true. But the only other explanation for why she’s so good is because she trains so hard.
She’s at the pool for two hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning at 5:00 a.m. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday she runs track or cross-country after school.
Her least favorite swimming drill is having to do the butterfly stroke with just one arm, keeping her chin up, and alternating arms every 100 meters. “Your shoulders really burn,” she says.
But she’s learned that when the going gets hard, giving up doesn’t make life easier. Doing the hard work is what makes her stronger.
All that hard work has helped. She started winning medals at age 10. At 11 she was in the country’s top 10 for her age group in the butterfly stroke. At 12 she was selected for a development swimming camp with the national team and was picked to swim in the Oceania Games in Samoa against swimmers from other countries.
She says, “My dad always said, ‘Success comes with hard work. It doesn’t just land in your lap.’”
Monica learned that is true for swimming, and she found out it’s also true in life when her father died unexpectedly a few months after her 11th birthday.
“I was very close to my dad,” Monica says. “He started me in swimming. He took me to all my practices and competitions. When he died, I felt like I had no one to talk to.”
Losing her father was hard. But Monica doesn’t give up during difficult practices, so when her dad died, she wasn’t going to give up on her faith in Heavenly Father either.
“My dad was my example,” she says. “He taught me how to live the gospel.”
Since his death Monica has started studying the scriptures before bed, “trying to make it a habit,” she says. She stands up for her beliefs at school. “I get a lot of questions about the Church,” she says. And she serves as the ward music director.
“I am blessed for being a member,” Monica says. “I am comforted when I get too stressed.”
Monica still misses her father. But with the support of her mother and family, she keeps going.
Her life is full of piano and violin lessons, student council meetings, swimming, Personal Progress, and leading the music during sacrament meeting.
She doesn’t know yet how far her swimming will take her or how long she’ll stick with it. But as far as the gospel is concerned, she is determined to stick with that to the end.
“Sometimes life is hard,” Monica says. “But doing hard things can make us stronger. You just have to keep swimming.”

Christmas has always been a special time for us as a family. Growing up in Brazil, I remember that my family would always get together with our aunts and uncles to exchange presents on Christmas Eve. My siblings and I, as kids, would act out the Nativity, sing some Christmas hymns and then, my father would always share a message about the Savior Jesus Christ.
As we grew older, we kept this tradition. For a long time, my wife and I had our own kids and their cousins acting out the Nativity story.
As I look back, I do not remember the presents I got, but I do remember the sweet spirit of watching the kids acting out and singing Christmas songs together, and either my father or my mother sharing a special message with us. Since my father’s passing, my mother is the one who shares a message with us every Christmas. I look forward to that moment and, even if we cannot be physically present, we connect through technology and enjoy those moments together as a family. I now know that those feelings that I had as a child were the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the divine nature of Jesus Christ. As I ponder about these experiences on Christmas Eve, the scripture that comes to my mind is found in Matthew 6:19–21: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

Most of all, I think eternal marriage cannot be achieved without a commitment to make it work. Most of what I know about this I have learned from my companion. We have been married for almost 47 years now. From the beginning she knew what kind of marriage she wanted.
We started as poor college students, but her vision for our marriage was exemplified by a set of silverware. As is common today, when we married she registered with a local department store. Instead of listing all the pots and pans and appliances we needed and hoped to receive, she chose another course. She asked for silverware. She chose a pattern and the number of place settings and listed knives, forks, and spoons on the wedding registry and nothing else. No towels, no toasters, no television—just knives, forks, and spoons.
The wedding came and went. Our friends and our parents’ friends gave gifts. We departed for a brief honeymoon and decided to open the presents when we returned. When we did so, we were shocked. There was not a single knife or fork in the lot. We joked about it and went on with our lives.
Two children came along while we were in law school. We had no money to spare. But when my wife worked as a part-time election judge or when someone gave her a few dollars for her birthday, she would quietly set it aside, and when she had enough she would go to town to buy a fork or a spoon. It took us several years to accumulate enough pieces to use them. When we finally had service for four, we began to invite some of our friends for dinner.
Before they came, we would have a little discussion in the kitchen. Which utensils would we use, the battered and mismatched stainless or the special silverware? In those early days I would often vote for the stainless. It was easier. You could just throw it in the dishwasher after the meal, and it took care of itself. The silver, on the other hand, was a lot of work. My wife had it hidden away under the bed where it could not be found easily by a burglar. She had insisted that I buy a tarnish-free cloth to wrap it in. Each piece was in a separate pocket, and it was no easy task to assemble all the pieces. When the silver was used, it had to be hand washed and dried so that it would not spot, and put back in the pockets so it would not tarnish, and wrapped up and carefully hidden again so it would not get stolen. If any tarnish was discovered, I was sent to buy silver polish, and together we carefully rubbed the stains away.
Over the years we added to the set, and I watched with amazement how she cared for the silver. My wife was never one to get angry easily. However, I remember the day when one of our children somehow got hold of one of the silver forks and wanted to use it to dig up the backyard. That attempt was met with a fiery glare and a warning not to even think about it. Ever!
I noticed that the silverware never went to the many ward dinners she cooked, or never accompanied the many meals she made and sent to others who were sick or needy. It never went on picnics and never went camping. In fact it never went anywhere; and, as time went by, it didn’t even come to the table very often. Some of our friends were weighed in the balance, found wanting, and didn’t even know it. They got the stainless when they came to dinner.
The time came when we were called to go on a mission. I arrived home one day and was told that I had to rent a safe-deposit box for the silver. She didn’t want to take it with us. She didn’t want to leave it behind. And she didn’t want to lose it.
For years I thought she was just a little bit eccentric, and then one day I realized that she had known for a long time something that I was just beginning to understand. If you want something to last forever, you treat it differently. You shield it and protect it. You never abuse it. You don’t expose it to the elements. You don’t make it common or ordinary. If it ever becomes tarnished, you lovingly polish it until it gleams like new. It becomes special because you have made it so, and it grows more beautiful and precious as time goes by.

Young missionaries always have an idea as to where they would love to serve. Usually it’s a faraway place with a strange-sounding name.
One day I was in the men’s suit department of a large store when I encountered two missionaries with their mothers. It isn’t difficult to spot missionaries or their mothers. The two elders were conversing, and one said to the other, “Where are you going to serve?”
Came the reply, “I’m going to Austria.”
The first missionary responded, “You lucky dog, going to Austria! Those beautiful Austrian alps, that wonderful music, those delightful people! I wish I were going there.”
“Where are you going?” said the missionary assigned to Austria.
“California,” came the answer. “You know, less than two hours away by plane. We go there every year for a vacation.”
I could see by the expression on the mothers’ faces and the near tears of the one missionary that it was time for me to intervene. “Did you say California?” I asked. “Why, I once supervised that area. You have an inspired call. Do you realize what you will have in California to help you? You’ll have chapels and stake centers that dot the land, and they’ll be filled with Latter-day Saints who can be inspired to be fellow missionaries with you in sharing the gospel. You are a very fortunate missionary to be going there.” I glanced at the other mother, who said, “Brother Monson, say something about Austria, quick!” I did so.

Three years ago my family and I were sealed in the Orlando Florida Temple. The temple was as white as snow on the outside and I could feel God’s Spirit on the inside. When I was brought into the sealing room, I felt the Spirit so strong that I was trembling! It was good to have my brother there too. I felt so reverent. Now my testimony of the temple is very strong. I know that it is the house of the Lord.Keegan G., age 8, Florida

One of the mountains we had to climb was when we were making all the arrangements with my wife’s family for our marriage. Her family, who is Catholic, made it a condition that if I wanted to marry their daughter, we had to get married religiously in the Catholic Church. We were completely at a loss as to what to do.
My wife and I said to each other that temple marriage is a commandment of God. We had faith in Him and in His Son Jesus Christ; we decided to pray and fast, and then whatever our Heavenly Father would reveal to us we would do it, even if it meant getting married in a Catholic church. We decided to meet with my wife’s family to ask them if we could all pray together. If our Heavenly Father revealed to us that we should get married in the Catholic Church, then we would do it. But if God revealed to us that we should get married in the temple, then we would invite my wife’s family to accept that answer. Our goal was to accept the will of God.
After we prayed and fasted, our Heavenly Father revealed to us that we should get married in the temple. To our great surprise, my in-laws did not challenge us anymore.
We have been married now for three years, and we plan to go to the temple next month.
A few months ago, my mother-in-law told my wife that she felt that we had bewitched them during the prayer. They did not understand what had happened! My wife tenderly explained that it was the Spirit of God that touched her heart.

Illustrations by Elise Black
The front door closed behind Thomas with a swoosh and a click as he hurried to check the family calendar.
“I was right!” he called loudly. “It is my turn to teach the lesson in family home evening.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “Honey, I’m so sorry we didn’t plan your lesson last night! I thought it was my turn to teach.”
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what to do.” Normally she helped him prepare the day before. But he was 10 years old now. He could plan a lesson by himself.
Mom smiled and raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure? You don’t need any help?”
“Yup, I’ve got this.”
Later that night Thomas pulled out his copy of the Friend. He opened it to an article he’d read called “The Ten Commandments Teach Me to Love God and His Children” (Sept. 2012). As Thomas read it out loud to his family, he noticed Mom looking very proud of him.
After the lesson it was time for the activity on the next page. Thomas had already cut out the labels that read, “Honoring God,” “Respecting Parents and Family,” and “Respecting Others.”
As part of the activity, they took turns sharing examples of how they’d kept commandments the past week.
“I said my prayers last night,” said his big sister Ella.
“What group do we think that falls in?” asked Thomas. After discussing, they picked “Honoring God.”
After the lesson Ella served some tasty cookies she’d baked. Then they delivered some of the extras to friends.
Thomas felt so happy he could help out. That was one of his favorite family home evenings ever!

Ask about teenagers in the Brooklyn First Ward, and inevitably you’ll meet the Petrus family. It’s not that they’re the only teenagers in the ward—far from it. They just seem to be the ones involved in everything.

“Whatever the youth of the ward are doing, the Petrus kids are there,” says Blake Ricks, the ward Young Men president. “They set a great example.”

On any given Sunday, you might find Michael, 15, in a teachers quorum presidency meeting, or see Sarah, 16, sharing her scriptures with an investigator. Raquel, 17, is checking to make sure all the Young Women know which subway to ride to a youth fireside. And Gregory, 11, … well, Greg is usually telling someone a joke. But don’t misunderstand. Humor is a Haitian custom, a way of putting people at ease. And Greg loves to make people feel at home.

The Petrus teens are examples of dedication to the gospel and involvement in the Church. But a lot of the reason they’re good examples is that someone has been a good example to them: their mother.

Mireille Petrus returned to school after her husband left. Faced with raising her children on her own, she knew she needed better skills. As a nurse’s aide, she now spends her days helping elderly people in their homes.

“She works hard,” Sarah says. “But she loves the people she serves. She’s taught us all to work and get along with people. She’s good at that.”

She’s also taught her children a lot about being a family.

“She’s a very independent woman,” Raquel explains, “but she needs us as much as we need her. We help with the little things, like cleaning up the house. That’s a way to show her we care.”

“She’s taught us how to talk through things, too,” Michael says. “Around here, we’re always talking.” Sometimes conversations last long into the night, but they always end on a positive note.

“She’ll say, ‘Just come give me a hug,’ and everything’s all right again,” Sarah says. “Of course, we still have to work things out.”

Sister Petrus is more than willing to share her philosophy: “My children know I will always be here for them. But they also know that my most important role is to help them return to their Father in Heaven. I will do everything in my power to help them choose the path back to him. Everything else comes after that.”

There are lots of other good influences in the Petrus teens’ lives. Their grandparents live on the first floor of their home, a step-aunt lives with her children on the second floor, and the Petruses live on floor three. “Grandpa is always checking up on us,” Sarah says. And relatives are always dropping in. Home teachers and visiting teachers and friends from the ward are also like part of a great big family.

But it’s their mom the Petrus children honor the most. It’s a Haitian custom. “In American houses you’re more casual,” Michael explains. “You’ll say, ‘Hi, Mom.’ But in Haitian houses, if you don’t kiss your mother in greeting, you’re being extremely disrespectful. You always kiss your mother when you walk in the door.”

Some years ago such a precious seed was planted in fertile soil in Germany.
Robert Frederick Lippolt, his wife, and daughters lived in a small city in Central Germany. Robert, a house painter, provided a moderate living for his family. One Sunday, while on her way to the Protestant church, Robert’s wife was approached by Mormon missionaries, who invited her to attend sacrament meeting. She attended and was impressed.
After subsequent visits by the missionaries, she was baptized and became active in the Church. From the moment of his wife’s baptism, her husband grew in animosity and bitterness toward the Church. Their daughters were also baptized, resulting in more bitterness.
Robert could bear the Mormons no longer; he moved his family from Germany to Vera Cruz, Mexico, and then on to Porto Alegre, Brazil. As soon as they were settled, Robert’s wife continued to spread the news of the gospel. She was causing excitement in Brazil, for the doctrine that she preached was completely new.
Bitterness filled Robert. He hated the Mormons. He prevented his children from going to public school, for fear they would learn to read and would thus be further indoctrinated with Mormon literature.
Finally, in desperation, he took his family away from civilization to the interior of Brazil. They settled in the remote, peaceful valley of Ipomeia, in the state of Santa Catarina.
Filled with a burning testimony and a desire to share the “good news,” Robert’s faithful wife wrote to the mission president in Germany, who in turn referred her to the Argentine Mission president. She asked that he visit Brazil. President Reinhold Stoof visited Brazil in 1927 and reported that much success could be realized among the German-speaking people of Brazil.
From the tiny seeds sown by missionaries in Germany and carried across the Atlantic, the First Presidency established a mission in Brazil in February 1935. The work now flourishes. Hundreds, then thousands heard the good news. Now there are four missions in Brazil and four stakes of Zion.
Even Robert Frederick, the once bitter husband and father, was eventually touched by the seed of truth, for at the age of 83 he was carried in his wooden rocking chair to the nearby River Rio de Peixe and baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. How could one ever describe the deep abiding love of Robert’s faithful wife for the gospel and for her family?

A few months before my eighth birthday, my mom and I were cleaning out my bedroom. We noticed how much stuff I had that I didn’t really use, and my mom asked me where I would put the new things I was going to get for my birthday. After talking about it, I said, “I don’t need gifts for my birthday. Let’s find someone who doesn’t have anything and give him or her the gifts.”
On my birthday, I invited my friends over for a party. I asked that instead of bringing a gift for me, they bring one for a seven-year-old girl who was living in a homeless shelter. A fire at the shelter had burned all of her belongings. During the party we took our gifts to the girl. Because of a death in the family, she wasn’t at the shelter, so we left the gifts on her bed. It was sad to see how little this family had. We all left feeling very grateful for what we have. When my mom asked me later how I thought the party had gone, I said, “It was fun. We did something good today.”

I became aware that I was attracted to men as a teenager. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings or how to talk about them, so I just buried them for a long time.
I was too afraid to acknowledge that this was a part of my life. I felt that if I just continued to keep the commandments, pray, read my scriptures, and go to the temple and if I served a mission, God would somehow miraculously take these feelings away from me.
While all those practices did help establish my testimony of the restored gospel and of God and Jesus Christ, my attractions didn’t change. Eventually, through a lot of deep soul-searching, praying, and skilled therapy, I became closer to Them, learned to truly understand and feel Their love and mercy, and learned to work through my attractions while keeping my covenants.

The summer I was 16 we lived in Las Vegas. I was hoping to spend the three months of vacation spending time with friends, but my dad had other ideas. If I wanted to date or put gas in the car, I needed a job. So, along with a couple of buddies, I applied for a summer position with the city.
Both my friends got the jobs they’d requested—one as a lifeguard, the other as a youth counselor at an elementary school. But I was offered a position as a recreational assistant for handicapped children. Like many teenagers, I was uncomfortable around disabled kids. But when I learned that the job paid $1.75 an hour more than my friends were making, I decided to give it a try. I’m glad I did. Besides learning patience and unconditional love, I was taught an especially important lesson by a blind boy named Russell.
Because of his disability, Russell needed a lot of help. And for some reason, he selected me as his helper of choice. Roller skating, bowling, hiking, whatever we did, he wanted me there guiding him through it. Except when we swam. Russell was terrified of water. He spent every swim day seated against a wall by the pool, refusing to go in.
One afternoon I hopped out of the water and slid over next to him. He was alone and seemed to be contemplating.
“What are you thinking about, Russell?” I inquired.
He paused, then asked, “Bryant, do you know how to swim?”
I considered myself a pretty good swimmer, so I exaggerated, “Russell, I’m the greatest swimmer in the world.”
As soon as I had responded, Russell leaped to his feet and half jumped, half fell into the diving end of the pool. Startled, I dove in after him, pulled him out, and laid him on the concrete. He was coughing, but luckily he was okay.
I was upset. “Russell,” I yelled, “why did you do that?”
“You said you could swim,” he replied, choking. “I believed you. I knew you would come in after me.”
Now, I’m not saying that was a smart thing to do. But I learned a significant lesson that afternoon. Russell had faith. He had asked, believed, and acted. He knew I wouldn’t let him drown.

What I didn’t mention during this address was that I knew this promise was true because I was in the midst of completing this very same assignment myself for the first time.
On December 1, 2016, I obtained a new set of scriptures and proceeded to begin the same assignment that I would later extend to young adults in January. When I finished the assignment six weeks later, I had looked up and marked more than 2,200 citations from the four books of scripture.1
For me, to be able to accomplish this assignment was just thrilling!
Something I found to be most insightful was that the Savior was telling us about Himself through these various periods of time—Old Testament, New Testament, the Restoration period, and our day. In all books of scripture, the story is the same and the Storyteller is the same.
I have devoted much of my 93 years to learning about the Savior, but rare are the occasions when I have been able to learn as much as I did over this six-week study period. In fact, I learned so much about Him from this study that I am planning to share much of it in other upcoming addresses that I am currently preparing.2
Upon beginning this assignment, I didn’t expect that this study would help me to receive a new testimony of the divinity of the work of Joseph Smith—but it did! The revelations recorded by Joseph Smith and the insights found in the Bible are amazingly consistent. It was so enlightening for me to see this in my study.
Joseph Smith wouldn’t have possibly had time to correlate and cross-reference with the Bible at the rapid rate at which he was translating the Book of Mormon—but it’s all here!
So not only do I now have a greater testimony of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but I also have a reaffirmation of my absolute conviction that the system Joseph Smith had for translating the Book of Mormon was a gift from God.
I know how you feel. I thought the same thing of myself—that there’s no way I can have time to do all of this. I needed to remind myself that a comment like this is not a faith-promoted comment. A faith-promoted comment would be “I know I don’t have time for this, but I’m going to make time for it. And I’ll fulfill it with what time I have.”
Each of us who takes this challenge will finish in our own time frames. For me, much of the joy of this came from getting it all done in just six weeks. This intense study over a relatively short period of time allowed me to appreciate the complementary nature of the learnings to be found in the Old Testament, the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and the Doctrine and Covenants.
To those of you who feel you don’t have time, if you will make a sacrifice, you will be well rewarded and very, very grateful for the change of perspective, increased knowledge, and improved depth of your conversion. I know this is true because I have seen the same rewards in my own life.