Gospel Story Finder

About this time, I attended a fireside where Julie spoke; she talked a lot about prayer. I took her counsel to heart and decided to start praying morning and night with real sincerity. I got up earlier than before, scheduled 15 or 20 minutes just for prayer, and treated it as an appointment with the most important person in my life. I found that I could get answers and guidance in a way I never had before.

Of my parents’ three daughters, I am the middle one. It wasn’t until the dawn of a January morning that a fourth child, a son, was born. David seemed just like any other newborn to me—tiny, chubby, and fun. By virtue of my being merely a first-grader when he was born, my parents found no reason for telling me then that my baby brother was “different.” Hindsight tells me that it would only have compounded their already-numbed feelings to explain to me what they could hardly believe themselves. Besides, I was too young, and the word mongoloid would not have meant a thing to me. All I knew, or cared about then, was that my little brother was beautiful!

We grew to love him. He was a kind, loving, and cheerful child. It was not until I was in the sixth grade that David’s difference caused any concern to me at all. It was at the end of that school year that my class was visited by the principal. She asked those of us who had brothers or sisters who were or would be five years old next fall to raise our hands. I raised mine, and just as she counted it, I was prompted to ask something. I hesitated a split second, thinking that I should not even bother her with such a question. But, as she counted my hand, I asked, “Does this school allow mongoloids?” When I heard the words, “No, I’m sorry,” I took my hand down, wondering numbly why they would not let my brother come to their school. My naiveté about David had been shattered.

As the years passed, David was continually shunned by the majority of the neighborhood children. They had been warned by fearful parents. More than once our front door was darkened by an irate mother who told my mother to keep David away from her young ones.

It often seemed that if I would look into his eyes, I could see him peering over his inner wall of quietness with the tender, smiling eyes of someone who really knows a great deal more than will ever be credited to him. I wished that I could step inside that wall and talk with him for just one hour.

These past years have seen my family pass through many sorrows because of David’s difference. But to say that his presence with us has been destructive would be false. Rather, his presence has been like a powerful steel cable strongly binding our family together. As a family we are close, and because David is a part of it, we have learned real love, sweet patience, a pure and undefiled faith, and a tender, guileless approach to life. Still a child, even though he has passed into the age of adulthood, he continues in his innocent state. He is my brother. He is my friend. Heaven itself was granted to my family in this one single gift.

I know that in the bright hereafter I will finally be allowed to pass through David’s wall. I hope he will take me by the hand and sit with me, and I will ask him to share his world with me—his bit of heaven.

A son wrote a tender letter to his parents in the mission field: “Your service sets an example for our children. As a result, they are more willing to serve in their callings in the Church. It teaches us all to be more charitable as we exchange letters and send packages. When we receive letters and news from you, it strengthens our testimonies. Even though you retired from your profession and should have been happy by all the world’s standards, by going on your mission you have shown us a new way to be happy. You have found happiness money can’t buy. We have seen you overcome medical and other types of adversities and have seen you blessed for your willingness to go and leave your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. We love you dearly!”
Another couple reports: “One of our grandsons wrote to us while we were in Thailand and told us that he hadn’t decided for sure that he wanted to fill a mission, but we had set the example for him and now he knew he wanted to serve. He is now serving a mission.”
My own father and mother served a mission in England. As I visited them one day in their small flat, I watched my mother, with a shawl wrapped snugly around her shoulders, putting shillings in the gas meter to keep warm. I asked, “Why did you come on a mission, Mother?” Mother said simply, “Because I have 11 grandsons. I want them to know that Grandma and Grandpa served.”

One of the most important days of my life was the day I was baptized. I was 40 years old. The missionaries had knocked on my family’s door in Brazil. Whenever I read in the Book of Mormon about the sons of Mosiah, who were such powerful missionaries, I think of Elder Hansen and Elder Furness. They were well groomed, so it was easy for us to invite them into our home. They were well educated and polite. They had beautiful smiles and a good spirit with them. I love those missionaries who taught me to know the Lord. After I was baptized, they placed their hands on my head to confirm me. I cried a lot because I had never had such a wonderful feeling. And I have had this same wonderful feeling ever since.

I well remember a young couple who started farming in Idaho years ago. They had modest means, but they paid a down payment on 40 acres of raw land. They were going into the raising of fruit—peaches particularly. They had leveled the land, brought out the laterals, planted the trees, and then weeded and irrigated and watched until the time had come when they’d have a harvest. This particular spring the orchard was a sea of blossoms, and it looked as though they were going to have a bounteous harvest. Then one night without warning, there came a frost that wiped out practically the entire crop overnight. Well, young John didn’t go to church the next Sunday, nor the next Sunday, nor the next Sunday. Finally his good old bishop came out to see what was wrong. He found John out in the field, and he said, “John, we haven’t seen you in church for several weeks. What’s the matter? Is anything wrong?” John said, “No, bishop, I’m not coming anymore. Do you think I can worship a God who would let this happen to me?” And then he explained to the bishop what had happened. Of course, the bishop felt sorrowful, too, and he expressed it to John. And as he looked down at the ground for a moment, he said, “John, I’m sure the Lord knows that you can’t produce the best peaches with frost. But I’m also sure he knows that you can’t produce the best men without frost, and the Lord is interested in producing men, not peaches.” Well, John went to church the next Sunday, and another year a harvest came. He later became a bishop in the Church.

As a young girl, my grandmother Chasty Olsen Harris was tending some children who were playing in a dry riverbed near their home in Castle Dale, Utah. Suddenly she heard a voice that called her by name and directed her to get the children out of the riverbed and up on the bank. It was a clear day, and there was no sign of rain. She saw no reason to heed the voice and continued to play. The voice spoke to her again, urgently. This time she heeded the warning. Quickly gathering the children, she made a run for the bank. Just as they reached the bank, an enormous wall of water, originating with a cloudburst in the mountains many miles away, swept down the canyon and roared across where the children had played.
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Except for this type of impelling revelation, my grandmother and the children she was tending would have been lost in the river.

One evening when it was raining, the family sat around the fireside when suddenly a thought came to me. “Father,” I said, a bit boldly for a young boy, “tell us about our grandparents on your side of the family. We have seen our grandparents on Mam’s side but we have not heard anything about our other grandparents.”

Father stared into the fire for a few moments before answering. “Thomas,” he said, “that’s a good question, but I don’t know much about my father. My mother, who died a few years ago, told me that he died just after I was born, and I have never visited his grave. Someday I must do that.” Sometime later Father announced he was taking a day to go visiting out in the country. There was nothing unusual about this as he had relatives who lived in a little cottage in a village a few kilometers away.

When he returned home that night, we could tell by his actions that something was wrong. A few days later, he called the family together and told us what he had learned.

He had visited an old church in a village called Llanviangel and there he had found the record of his father and of his own birth. This was the story that our father told us:

In a little coal mining village up the valley a girl was born to his grandparents. They named her Rhonwen. When she was sixteen years old, she was sent to work as a servant for a rich family. Before a year had passed, she returned home expecting a baby. Her wealthy employer had taken advantage of her innocence. When he found she was pregnant he paid her two months’ salary and sent her home.

Rhonwen married one of the young men of the village before the baby was born. She failed to have him christened or his birth recorded, and he grew up with the name of Rhonwen’s husband who was killed in a coal mine disaster just after the child was born.

The discovery of the circumstances of his birth, which had later been recorded by the minister of the church, changed our father’s life. He lost interest in his garden and in his personal appearance. Instead of being his happy self, he became morose and moody.

Then one day, Mam, who normally was as gentle as an angel, made Father sit down in his favorite chair. Her gentleness was gone and in her eyes there was a bit of fire. “Gwyllam [William],” she said, “you are acting like a fool. Just because a wicked man took advantage of a young girl and a child was born, you are cursing yourself and putting the curse on all your family. It was God that gave you birth and I saw in you a fine man whom I loved dearly and married.”

The fire was still in her eyes as she spoke again. “Now I will not stand by and see you destroy yourself and us.”

She put her arms around his neck and in a voice that was now touched with love she said, “Oh my Gwyllam, we cannot live in the past. We have each other, our children and our love. Someone sinned but it was not you. Besides, we have the gospel and you hold the priesthood of God. Can we ask for more?”

It was then the agony in his heart burst forth and the tears came—tears that washed away the bitterness and cleansed his mind. From that day on he became our beloved father again. We resumed our walks in the hills and he tended his garden and flowers.

Brethren, in many, many areas it is time we take stock of ourselves and do what the Lord wants us to do. A man said to me the other day, not long ago, “This Church just demands too much of us.”

I said, “Brother, this Church demands nothing of you. It just offers you a better way of life.” He said, “But it is awfully hard.” I said, “Let’s see if it is. Let’s go and get a cigar and have a good smoke. Let’s go and hold up a bank and see what happens. Let us go and join a group tonight as they go out on a big drunk.” He said, “President Tanner, don’t be ridiculous.” I said, “All right, I won’t if you won’t.” Then I said, “Just name one commandment that you think you shouldn’t keep, or you would advise your son not to keep.” He could not.

Regarding our tithing, surely, brethren, we should be prepared to pay one-tenth of what the Lord has given us, especially when we realize that it could be taken away from us overnight with fire or hurricane, or any other thing that might take it away from us.

When I was presiding over the Edmonton Branch a man came to me and said, “I can’t pay a full tithing this year. I have had to do some building, some remodeling, and so on.” I told him that the Lord had said that he would pour out blessings that we would hardly be able to contain. He said, “I still can’t do it.” Right after the first of the year that man spent several days in the hospital with a high doctor bill, and he paid it. I am not suggesting that he was there because he didn’t pay a full tithing, but I am suggesting that the evidence is there that he could have paid a full tithing.

How would you like the Lord to figure out his blessings on the same basis that you do when you are figuring out your tithing? If you were in deep trouble, had physical or mental illness, or your family were suffering and causing you much concern, would you want him to say, “Well now, just how much can I keep from giving him? How close can I figure this blessing?”

Brethren, let us be obedient to the commandments of God. Let us prove faithful, let us be an example to the world, a light unto the world. Appreciate the priesthood which we have and the calling that is ours. We have been given the great privilege of holding the priesthood and the responsibility of taking the gospel to the world. We can do it by our actions as well as by precept, which is much more effective. Only as we live and keep the commandments of God, being obedient in all things can we fully enjoy life here and eternal life in the world to come, and be able to influence the world for good, and help build the kingdom of God here upon the earth.

May we do this, as members of the Church of Jesus Christ, which we are, and follow the prophet of God who has been chosen and through whom the Lord speaks, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

I have always tried to honor and obey my parents. During my teenage years, when I went home at night I would report to them. Mother would always be awake. Coming home with a clear conscience and being able to tell her where I’d been meant a lot to me. Some of my friends didn’t have to check in with their parents, but I’m grateful that I was expected to be accountable to mine. They helped protect me against temptation.

The author’s parents not long before her father died.
Photograph courtesy of the author
As a child, I always loved spending time with my dad. To me, he was the funniest, smartest person in the world. In my young eyes, he was a lot like Moroni, “a strong and a mighty man … of a perfect understanding” (Alma 48:11). He was one of my greatest friends.
One of the things I remember most about my father was how hard he worked for his family. It was not always easy to support a wife and six children, so he would often juggle three jobs at a time to give us the things we needed. He definitely did “labor exceedingly for the welfare and safety of his people” (Alma 48:12). Even at a young age, I could see that my father’s biggest concern was making his family happy.
Time spent with my busy dad was always time well spent. Some of my fondest memories with him include the nights we watched old Western movies on the couch and the weekends we spent at our favorite campsites.
I especially loved gathering as a family in the evenings to read from the scriptures. My father had a great love for the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. He wanted all his children to know and treasure the Book of Mormon as well.
He often used my brothers’ action figures to reenact classic Book of Mormon stories like those of Samuel the Lamanite, the stripling warriors, and the brother of Jared. He brought to life a book that for me as a child was sometimes hard to understand. My father’s love for the Book of Mormon was contagious. Not only did he share the captivating stories, but he also taught our family to live its teachings.
When I was 14 years old, my family received a visit from two police officers telling us that my father had passed away in a car accident on his way home from work one night. At first it was hard for me to believe that it had actually happened. I felt that we saw things like this only in movies. But it soon became very real and extremely difficult for my family. For some of us, it was easy to wonder why a loving God would take such a great man from a family who needed him so much.
Shortly after his death, my mother gathered us kids around the table that my father had made just a few years before and said something that I have never forgotten. She told us, “Now it is time to put into practice everything that we believe.”
My mind went back to my father’s love of the scriptures, and I began to read them more diligently on my own. Over time, I felt greater peace in my life. Certain verses brought me hope that I would see my father again because of the Resurrection of the Savior. I experienced personally that “the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ” (Mosiah 16:8).
Photograph posed by model
Reading the Book of Mormon has taught me that our loving Heavenly Father knows each of us and speaks to us in times of need through the holy scriptures. I have come to understand that we will all experience trials no matter who we are, but that Heavenly Father loves us enough to give us tools to find peace even during our darkest times. For me, one of these tools has been the Book of Mormon.
I will forever be grateful for my father’s example and for the way his love of the scriptures has changed my life.

You may have heard a report from Osaka, Japan, about the Kansai International Airport’s world record—something almost unbelievable. After 30 years of operation and processing hundreds of millions of pieces of cargo, carry-ons, and cases, this airport has not lost one item of luggage.
Not one single piece!
How is such a thing possible?
Tsuyoshi Habuta, the airport chief of baggage operations, believes losing luggage should never happen “because luggage is precious to passengers.” That attitude permeates through his entire staff. The airport’s success, he says, is all part of a commitment to “thoroughness and an attention to detail.”
The Japanese people have developed a reputation for such attention to detail. They have a principle, kaizen, that encapsulates a mindset of constantly searching for and implementing minor improvements. This practice requires a quiet discipline of always looking for small ways to make processes better. They take pride in the fact that these improvements almost always come from those doing the everyday work.
Over the years, the staff at Kansai Airport has developed a process that makes the goal of not losing passengers’ bags a reality. They train employees rigorously and constantly ensure that every bag is counted, tracked, and cared for. They make meticulous and multiple manual checks that complement a sophisticated automated system.
Fragile items such as musical instruments are often hand-delivered to passengers. Staff members do small things such as placing bags on conveyor belts with handles facing outward for easier retrieval by passengers.
When you hand off your luggage at Kansai Airport, you get a sense that they are saying to you, “We have your precious belongings. We are responsible for them now. We will return them to you.”

I was in Arizona a few years ago, and the president of the stake told me about one of his boys having been called to go on a mission. The boy went to the patriarch before he left, and the patriarch gave him a blessing. He told the boy that he should be satisfied with the assignment he would receive. And he said, “You shall see floods to the right of you and floods to the left of you, and your life will be protected and preserved.” He was assigned to the East Central States Mission, and while he was serving there, there was a major flood. The missionary was marooned in Louisville, Kentucky, in a house from which he had to be rescued in a boat, and he lived to see floods to the right of him and floods to the left of him. I ask you, how could the patriarch have known that when he gave that blessing, except by the inspiration of the Almighty?

There I was, staring at another article with multiple comments and suggestions. Most were valid and helpful, but I still felt down. Since I’m a writer, my work is constantly changing. Usually I’m OK with it, but this time I found myself frustrated.
Did everything always have to change?
My articles weren’t the only thing changing. My plans for graduating university in a timely manner were changing too. After serving a mission, switching majors and COVID-19 had set my education back. While my friends were all graduating, I was halfway through school. Generally, I felt behind. Things had changed so much from the way I’d expected them to go.
During this time, I became a communication intern with BYU–Pathway Worldwide.
Through work, I spoke with students around the world who were single parents, returning to school after years away, or struggling financially. Some had experienced way more unexpected changes than I had, and they were thriving.
But how?
As I came to know two specific students, Darlyn and Alexander, I took note of the lessons they taught me.
I left that conversation wanting to change my perspective of change. Because Darlyn had put aside resentment and anger about her circumstances, she was able to take control of her life. Instead of challenges and change deterring her progress, they propelled her forward.
I truly know now that no matter what changes I face, His commandments, blessings, and love are unwavering and eternal. Alexander taught me that if I set my path toward God and Jesus Christ and rely on Them, I will be able to face the uncertain future with hope and faith.
Thanks to these friends and my time at BYU–Pathway, I see change in a new light! Looking back, if my personal plan for education hadn’t been altered, I never would have found a major I love or met the wonderful people in my life. I know now that as long as I trust Heavenly Father and focus my life on Jesus Christ, I’ll be able to conquer whatever change comes my way.

And his dedication is exemplary. One Sunday, he was in a lively conversation with other young men.
“We’ve been asked to clean up the meetinghouse grounds this Saturday.”
“But we have a better activity than that,” another replied.
“But let’s do what we’ve been told to do first,” Alvin said.
Well, Saturday came, and while the other young men were yet to arrive, Alvin was already in his work clothes. And he brought his nonmember cousin, too.
Seeing all this, you can’t help but make the connection between him and his favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7).

In church they talked about how Hurricane Katrina had destroyed houses and how children had no toys or food or supplies. Afterward I couldn’t stop crying. My mom helped me think of some things we could do to help those unfortunate people. We started donating toys and books that we didn’t use anymore. We donated 116 toys and books. We prayed and also decided to donate some money. If I was tempted to be selfish, I didn’t feel it because Heavenly Father’s love was warming me. I believe the Holy Ghost touched my heart and my mom’s heart. I’m glad we listened and helped. We hugged each other afterward because we felt so good.

House Build B:
Estefania and her two children, Camila (5) and Diego (2), had been living in an extremely small, one-room home with five other members of her extended family.
As she was handed the keys to her first home, Estefania was brought to tears. She thanked the youth for this act of love and service. To her and her family, it represented the love of her community and the hope of a brighter future.

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased, because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening I came home to see a truck in their driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it began with love.

José Mesaville told what it was like to be the first convert in Granada. The rest of his family was not at all interested in anything two young North Americans might have to say about religion, but José accepted a strange book called the Book of Mormon and read it. To his amazement he found that he believed what he read. “When I read the part in Third Nephi about the visit of the Savior to America, I knew with a special surety that it had really happened. I decided to be baptized, but I was only 18, and at that time I was still legally a minor. My parents wouldn’t give me permission, so I couldn’t become a member. Shortly after my conversion, the missionaries left Granada. They later came back for a month or two, but for the greater part of three years I lived without the Church. But although I did not have the Church or the gift of the Holy Ghost, I did have the gospel to guide me, and I tried to live as the elders had taught me. When my father found out about the law of tithing, he tore up all my Church books because he thought the principle was a form of thievery. So I had only the Bible and the knowledge I carried in my heart until a returned missionary later sent me more books from the United States. These I had to leave in a hotel where I worked or at the home of a family I had interested in the Church. Finally my father softened his attitude, and I was able to read them at home. I quit smoking and drinking, lived the law of the fast, and did my best to comply with all that I had been taught.
“Before long I came to wonder if I had any friends. Those who had been my best friends made fun of me. I refused to take offense, however, but kept treating them as friends no matter how they treated me. Little by little they began to grow accustomed to my beliefs. Now when we are out together, they ask for beer for themselves and a soft drink for me without my saying anything.”
In 1976 the missionaries returned to Granada to stay. José was now legally an adult, but out of deep respect for his parents, he still asked for their permission to be baptized. “My mother said that I was now an adult and must make my own decisions. She said she thought that this was all youthful foolishness, but that if it wasn’t true, I would grow tired of it with time. I suppose she was right because I certainly haven’t grown tired of it.”
José was baptized in a nearby lake. There was no chapel in those days, and Church meetings were held in the elders’ living quarters. “At first the meetings consisted of two elders and me. The services didn’t last long because we only had one speaker. Later we moved to our present location, and more members began to join the Church. It causes me pain to say that some of them have left the Church already. They didn’t give enough of themselves, and the only way to stay strong is to give of ourselves.”

Before I became president of the Church, I was assigned as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to visit some of the countries of South America for various gatherings with the Saints. We were received well by the countries, by their officials, and by the press.
I was interested in a comment made by a representative of one of the largest papers in Brazil. She had heard my sermon the day before, on Sunday, in which I had spoken rather strongly about the restoration of the gospel. She asked me why Christ was crucified.
I answered: “Because he said, ‘I am the Son of God.’”
And her next remark shocked me: “He should not have said it, should he? He really was not, was he?”
I thought she was joking. I looked into her eyes for a moment and thought she was going to smile. But she did not. And I said firmly: “He said he was the Son of God because he was the Son of God.”
Later I read an article in the Easter paper of one of the largest cities in South America. The author was a minister with letters after his name. I read the entire article and in the half a page given front page notice, he never mentioned the Lord of heaven and earth, the Redeemer, the Savior. He always spoke of “Jesus.” He quoted two or three scriptures which mentioned Jesus of Nazareth as being more than the carpenter’s son, but never in his writing did he ever give any other title to the Christ who shed his precious blood for him.
During the same trip, I asked 400 missionaries gathered in a meeting, “What think ye of Christ and the claims that are made?” And I heard 400 inspiring testimonies from youth—sure testimonies, ringing with conviction.
I am reminded of what Paul said: “And I, brethren, when I came to you, came not with excellency of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the testimony of God.
“For I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:1–2).
I could not see how we could really celebrate an Easter without discussing the Lord Jesus Christ. Why even the devils know that Jesus is the Christ. On one occasion the devils came crying out and saying, “Thou art Christ the Son of God. And he rebuking them suffered them not to speak: for they knew that he was Christ” (Luke 4:41). On another occasion “the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?” (Acts 19:15). And another time, “they cried out saying, What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God? art thou come hither to torment us before the time?” (Matt. 8:29).
I believe that there was a considerable conviction in the heart of Pilate, who was constrained by his conscience to let the Savior go free, but because of political ambitions and other reasons, in spite of his wife’s importuning, he delivered him to be crucified. But even after that, he wrote on the cross in three languages—Hebrew, Greek, and Latin—this famous statement: “Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews.” The Jews, offended, came and said:
“Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews.
“Pilate answered, What I have written I have written” (see John 19:19–22).
You have read of Nathanael, the man without guile, who said, as he saw the Christ: “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God; thou art the King of Israel” (John 1:49).
Paul had hardly made his transformation, had just barely received back his sight from his unusual experience when he went straightway into the synagogues and preached Christ, “that he is the Son of God.”
Why will the divines of the day purposely avoid the names of the Deity whom they would choose to call only Jesus? There are tens of thousands of Jesuses in the world. In all the Spanish-speaking countries you find them on every hand. They pronounce it Ha-sús, but it is Jesus. But there was only one Jesus who became the Prince of Light, the Author of our salvation.
Joseph Smith said: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
You remember what Peter said when the disciples were asked, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” They spoke up and said men thought him to be Elias or one of the other prophets, and then the Lord said again, and I can imagine his piercing eyes, wondering and expectant eyes, “But whom say ye that I am?” And the answer was one of the most stirring and glorious of all statements made, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And the next statement must never be overlooked: “Flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in heaven” (see Matt. 16:13–17). In other words, man has not told you this, but my Father has revealed it unto thee; a great revelation has come unto thee, and thou knowest it.
I asked 400 missionaries the Lord’s question which faces every man, woman, and child on this earth: “Whom do ye say that I the Son of man am?” And I was gratified at the hundreds of replies saying “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And that is my testimony to you, that Jesus is indeed the Christ, the living Son of the living God.

My parents have served in the temple for more than 30 years—Dad as a sealer, Mom as an ordinance worker. They also served five full-time missions together—in Riverside, California; Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia; Nairobi, Kenya; the Nauvoo Illinois Temple; and the Monterrey Mexico Temple. In Mexico they worked hard to learn a new language, which wasn’t easy at 80 years of age. But they sought to do the will of the Lord rather than to pursue their own desires in life.