Gospel Story Finder

My family moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, when I was about 11, but I didn’t join the Church until I was 24. Looking back, I can see why no one shared the gospel with me. I was not a golden contact on the surface. Actually, I was a bit of a rowdy kid. I got into fights and got into trouble at school regularly.
I had a number of LDS friends, but only one ever talked about the Church. And that was because I teased him about reading the Book of Mormon when he babysat.
I was curious about things, though. My mom took me to a local Christian church. I once asked them why Jesus hadn’t come to the Americas. They kind of laughed at me for asking such a question, so I didn’t ask anything else about it.
Years later I decided to visit the visitors’ center on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. There was a diorama on Christ in America. Suddenly I remembered my questions about that topic from my younger years. That’s when the Spirit hit me, and I knew I was ready to listen.
The example of my friends from high school stayed with me. In fact, the people I respected most were LDS. Randy Ridd and his wife both went to my school. They were always great examples, very good people. That made a big impact on me later. I thought, “If Randy believed this was real, it must be important.”
I don’t know what might have happened if they had shared more about the gospel at the time. I might not have been ready. But looking back, I wish they had. I know it would have had an impact on me.

When I was 15 years old, I decided to put the law of tithing to the test. I was working as a grocery bagger in Ponce, Puerto Rico. Every two hours I got a 15-minute break. During the break I would count how much I made in tips; then I would place my tithing money aside. After I started doing this systematically, I noticed that the amount of my tips increased! I don’t know that this was a result of divine intervention, but I knew that I was keeping a commandment and that when we keep commandments, sooner or later we receive blessings.
Of course, blessings don’t always come in quite the way we think they will. After I had been paying tithing for a while, I knew that what I was doing was sacred. It wasn’t just donating money to the Church. I was treating what the Lord had said with respect, and I was making sure my tithing was paid regularly and promptly. I was excited to do what I could to help build the kingdom of God.
Then one Sunday morning, I took longer than usual to wake up. My parents wanted to get to church early, so when I finally did get up, I was in a rush. I didn’t realize until we were at the meetinghouse that I had left my tithing money behind. “I’ll just pay it next week,” I thought. But I felt bad. I wanted Heavenly Father to know I was obedient.
After the meetings, we arrived home to find that our home had been burglarized. Jewelry, a video camera—pretty much everything that had value had been stolen. I rushed to my room and went through the drawer where I had left my tithing. It too was gone. Now I felt particularly bad. I felt that if I had remembered to bring my tithing to church, it would not be missing now.
Then I felt prompted to say something to my father: “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be OK. The person who robbed us took the Lord’s money, so he took something that is sacred.” I didn’t think the Lord would let that go unnoticed.
But I think the Lord wanted me to learn to be more careful with what belonged to Him. Soon the thief was apprehended, and everything was recovered—except my tithing money. To make things right, I took the same amount out of savings and took it to the bishop the very next Sunday. Ever since, I have always tried to pay my tithing in a timely manner. I know that tithing is a law from God, and that means I should take it seriously.

At the bottom of a blue, topless sky an angry prairie wind slashed at the flanks of a big red-rock mesa and leapt over its rim like a giant ocean wave.
A twelve-year-old Navajo boy was seated against an ancient, gnarled tree that grew out of the split stone at the top of the mesa. He squinted as he carved a figure from a piece of wood. Suddenly a voice called out of the dirt-laden wind, “Billy Walking Horse.”
The boy looked up and saw his grandfather, White Cloud, approaching. “I’m here, Grandfather,” he answered.
White Cloud, his long white hair streaming in the wind, stopped beside the youth. He was Billy’s father’s father. Billy had enjoyed the company of the old man with the claylike face ever since he had come the week before. What Billy had especially enjoyed was the long drive to town with his grandfather in the old pickup truck. White Cloud had sung tribal songs, told stories, and laughed. Billy had missed the sound of laughter in his own home. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever hearing it. What intrigued the boy most, though, was the glow in Grandfather’s eyes. Billy wondered why his father’s eyes didn’t shine like that—or his mother’s.
“What is this you carve, Billy Walking Horse?” the old Indian inquired as he sat down cross-legged beside the boy. Billy held up a carving of a rearing wild stallion. White Cloud took it carefully and regarded it closely. “It looks alive! Who taught you this great skill?”
“No one, Grandfather,” the youth responded. “It’s like something is inside the wood, just waiting for me to let it out. Sometimes it’s a bird or a rabbit or a horse. I just have to whittle it free of the wood around it.”
Grandfather studied the boy and the horse, then said thoughtfully, “This talent you have is a gift from another of your fathers, perhaps a great-great-great-grandfather. It is a gift of love to you.”
Billy looked from the horse to his grandfather and said slowly, “I wish one of them had a gift to give to my father, one that would take away his pain.”
White Cloud sighed. “I, too, have noticed this pain. Such is the lot of many of our people. They are not alone in their suffering. Our forefathers suffered also.”
“But why is life so hard for my father, Grandfather? He’s a good man. It isn’t fair. I don’t understand.”
The old man stood and rested a weathered hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Always remember that heaven is up. It is steeper for some of us than for others. Maybe this is good. It means that some of us will try harder. Then others can take courage from our example, as we must from our fathers.”
White Cloud pointed to the old, gnarled tree that they had been leaning against. “Look. This old tree has not grown without effort. It has cleft that large stone and has become strong. It will stand for a long time—not like a tree that grows in soft earth without struggle and falls in the first little wind. This tree’s roots must be as deep as ours.”
Billy looked into Grandfather’s eyes. “You keep talking about our forefathers. Why? And why is the light I see in your eyes brighter whenever you speak of them?”
White Cloud smiled. “The wish you spoke of, a gift to your father from his fathers? There is such a gift. That is why I came to visit you and your family.”
“What is this gift, Grandfather?” Billy asked excitedly. “Where did you get it?”
The smile in Grandfather’s eye’s grew even brighter.
“The gift is a book, a record written by our forefathers. It was given to me by two young men from far away. I came to share this wonderful book with my family.”
“What book, Grandfather?”
“It is called the Book of Mormon. Its knowledge, its light, is the gift of our fathers to us. It says that they labored diligently to write it for us [2 Ne. 25:23]. It is our book!”
Billy’s eyes widened. “It was really written for us?”
“Yes, Billy Walking Horse—for me, for you, for your mother, for your father,” the old man affirmed. “It is for all our people, whether they be called Bolivians, Indians, Polynesians, or some other name.”
The wind whipped up the side of the mesa again, moaning as it swirled dust across an outcropping of jagged rocks. White Cloud motioned toward the sight. “The Book of Mormon speaks to us as a voice ‘crying … out of the dust’ [Moro. 10:27] to give us strength and courage, hope and confidence.”
“What does it say, this written voice?” Billy asked.
“It speaks of great promises and an even greater destiny that is our sacred birthright if we, like this old tree, master the storm. Great destinies, Billy Walking Horse, require great effort and bring great reward, in this life and the life to come. Our worldwide seed, being one family, shall blossom as the rose. Such is the promise, and so it shall be.”
Billy Walking Horse asked eagerly, “When will you talk to my father about these things, Grandfather? About this voice that cries out of the dust? I want to see the light I see in your eyes and hear the laughter I hear in your heart in his eyes and heart also.”
“You will, Billy Walking Horse. We shall all read this great record, this gift from our fathers—the Book of Mormon—together.”

Growing up in the Church, Sundays tended to feel tedious and monotonous. It was rare for me as a kid to actually listen to what was being said. Maybe that’s why it’s so interesting to me that to this day I remember a single line from a talk I heard when I was Primary age.
At the time I was sitting in sacrament meeting, wondering why I had to be at church every single week. Then the speaker said, “Sunday shouldn’t get in the way of our lives, Sunday should be the center of our lives.” At the time that idea was so different from what I’d always thought that I wasn’t really able to understand what it meant. Even so, I could tell it was important.
In Primary we learned that we came to church to take the sacrament. I figured these two things were related, but I could never figure out how. I didn’t think too much about the sacrament. It was just something I did, and it didn’t have any meaning to me. Throughout the years, though, those two ideas stayed with me. I knew I was missing something.
Years later, in junior high, I found myself in a hard situation. I had a bad habit I was trying to get rid of. I knew it wasn’t so serious that I had to talk to my bishop, but it was still really bothering me.
I was embarrassed and didn’t want to ask anyone for help. Not even my parents. Not even Heavenly Father. I determined I could overcome this challenge on my own.
Weeks went by. I tried so hard to be better but without result. I was still struggling. I knew the Sabbath should be the focus of my week because of the sacrament. I had also been taught that the sacrament was a tool I could use to access the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
After trying and failing for so long, I finally decided to turn to the Lord. At last I set aside my pride, opened my heart, and prayed to Heavenly Father. I asked for help, strength, and forgiveness. I stopped waiting for change to happen to me and started focusing on taking small steps toward improvement, with faith that the Lord would bless my efforts.
For the first time I focused on preparing for the sacrament all through the week. The sacrament became something I looked forward to. I began to see it as an opportunity rather than a routine because it brought the power of the Savior’s Atonement into my life.
I felt change in my life. The things I was struggling with faded. I became more confident in myself. I was able to open up to my parents and seek more assistance. I felt grateful to the Lord for all of the help I had received. I felt forgiven. I felt clean.
I grew to understand what that speaker meant all those years ago. When I centered my life around being ready for the Sabbath, I came closer to Jesus Christ in a way that purified me and made me stronger.
Through prayer and guidance from Heavenly Father, I learned that I could not walk through this life alone, but that the Savior and Heavenly Father truly had to be a part of my life. I learned that when I spent my whole week preparing to partake of the sacrament, I was better able to fully access the power of the Savior’s Atonement.
I learned that Heavenly Father loves us and has created a way for us to be forgiven and receive blessings, but we need to do our part to make it more meaningful. I am so grateful to Heavenly Father for all that He has done for me and continues to do for me when I remember to prepare for the Sabbath.

I live in a village that has only one other family who are members of the Church. We take turns meeting at each other’s homes for church meetings. I turned eight years old in the winter, but because we do not have a baptismal font and all of the lakes are frozen solid, I was baptized in an inflatable swimming pool in my living room. The branch president and the district president flew in to help. I am glad I could be baptized so I can follow Jesus’s plan for me.

On one occasion, one of my counselors, J. B. Haws, and I were walking between apartment complexes when we met a young man in the parking lot. We stopped to say hello and found out that he was moving out of our stake. We talked for a moment and discovered that he was a returned missionary facing questions about his faith. My counselor is a master teacher who connects with people easily. Answering questions like these was natural and normal for J. B. I could see in this young man’s eye a light that may have been missing for some time reappear as they talked.
It was obvious that J. B. was interested in him and in his questions and concerns. The young man opened himself up because J. B. showed compassion. My counselor’s “bowels were filled” with love, and he had a desire to understand this young man without judging him. J. B. asked if we could visit him once he settled into his new apartment. The young man nodded, mobile numbers were exchanged, and a promise to follow up with him was made.
Before we left, we asked if there was anything we could do to help. He said, “Stopping to say hello was one of the most important things you could have done for me today.” Later that evening, I thought to myself, “If J. B. and I had not been out ministering, we may never have met this young man.”
It seems the Lord knew that we would be ministering that evening, so He placed this young man in our path—trusting we would see him and minister to him.

Sometimes that love comes in unexpected ways. Kristen was finishing a graduate degree and had recently given birth to her second child. She felt the other graduates had accomplished so much more and was reluctant to attend the graduation dinner. Her fears were confirmed when, at the dinner, the students were asked to list their professional accomplishments. Kristen recalled: “I suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed. I had nothing to call myself, no lofty position, no impressive job title.” To make matters worse, the professor read the lists as he presented a diploma to each student. The woman ahead of Kristen had many accomplishments: she already had a PhD, was receiving a second master’s degree, and she’d even been a mayor! The woman received grand applause.
Then it was Kristen’s turn. She handed the professor her blank sheet, trying to hold back the tears. The professor had been one of her teachers and had praised her performance. He looked at her blank paper. Without missing a beat he announced, “Kristen holds the most critical role in all of society.” He was quiet for a few seconds, then declared in a powerful voice, “She is the mother of her children.” Instead of a few courteous claps, people rose to their feet. There was just one standing ovation that night; it was for the mother in the room.

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

Before concluding, I hope you will pardon a personal reference to my own father and the power of his good life in mine. For a half century now I have benefited from his wisdom, his generosity, and his goodness. I am not sure I realized the full extent of his influence until recently as I prepared to return home following the final session of a stake conference to which I had been assigned. An elderly brother came up from the congregation to meet me. He thanked me for coming, and then, in obvious reference to the many times I must have quoted my father and referred to his teachings during the conference sessions, he said, “Brother Jensen, if you are ever assigned again to our stake, why don’t you just send your father!” My hope is that in some small way I will have a similar influence for lasting good in the lives of our own children.

An elderly woman sat on the front row, holding hands with a weathered-looking man. She looked a bit out of place in the fashionably dressed congregation—rather homespun by comparison. She looked as if she ought to talk in conference, and given the privilege, she reported her mission. Fifty-two years before, she had returned from the mission field, and since then she had never been invited to speak in church. It was a touching and moving witness that she bore.

True disciples of Jesus Christ are willing to stand out, speak up, and be different from the people of the world. They are undaunted, devoted, and courageous. I learned of such disciples during a recent assignment in Mexico, where I met with government officials as well as leaders of other religious denominations. Each thanked me for our members’ heroic and successful efforts to protect and preserve strong marriages and families in their country.

There is nothing easy or automatic about becoming such powerful disciples. Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought. But when we do, our doubts and fears flee.

Recently I learned of a fearless young Laurel. She was invited to participate in a statewide competition for her high school on the same evening she had committed to participate in a stake Relief Society meeting. When she realized the conflict and explained to competition officials that she would need to leave the competition early to attend an important meeting, she was told she would be disqualified if she did so.

What did this latter-day Laurel do? She kept her commitment to participate in the Relief Society meeting. As promised, she was disqualified from the statewide competition. When asked about her decision, she replied simply, “Well, the Church is more important, isn’t it?”

Faith in Jesus Christ propels us to do things we otherwise would not do. Faith that motivates us to action gives us more access to His power.

George Staples (pictured as an adult)

George Staples left his home and family in England to travel to Utah. When he was 16, he joined a company of Saints in the United States, but as they crossed the plains, George was separated from the group. The company had to keep moving or risk running into warring Sioux Indians. As the story goes, he stayed behind.

George later joined a Sioux tribe and lived as an honorary Sioux for years.

People in the Salt Lake Valley heard about a white boy living as a Sioux. Eventually, a group came looking for him. As the group neared the tribe, George recognized someone. With a wild whoop, he ran to his father. They were thrilled to see each other, but George’s Sioux mother was devastated to lose her adopted son. So, before leaving with his father, George promised to return and visit his Sioux family. He kept his promise.2

When I woke up the first morning of summer vacation and remembered where I had to go, I felt nervous. I was going to visit a man named John.
My Primary teacher, Sister Chichenoff, had asked each person in our class to “adopt a grandparent at a nearby nursing home. She told us if we learned to love one another like Jesus taught, we would find real joy. At first I thought her idea was good.
Sister Chichenoff had made it sound like a privilege. “Hey, Nick,” she said. “I assigned you to a special person. This man could really use a friend.”
“You can count on me,” I said. “I’ll be his friend.”
“He doesn’t mix with other people much and he only has one leg. He could use someone who cares about him and will push him around in his wheelchair.”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
Sister Chichenoff reached out and took hold of my arm. “This man doesn’t like people,” she said. “He doesn’t like to talk to anyone, and he doesn’t like to go in his wheelchair. In fact, they tell me he is quite a grouch.”
“Why give him to me?” I asked.
“Because John needs someone to talk to,” Sister Chichenoff said. “He is a lonely man, and I told the administrator you were the person John needs.”
I was afraid to meet someone who didn’t want me to be there. I wondered if he’d yell at me. By dinnertime, I was so afraid to meet him that I went in my room and prayed. I knew Heavenly Father wasn’t afraid of John.
Sister Chichenoff met us that evening with her husband. Brother Chichenoff was funny, so I asked him to stick with me. He was also big, and I planned to hide behind him if John yelled at me.
When we walked into John’s room, he did not yell. He didn’t say anything. He sat in his bed and ignored us.
My friends and I liked monster riddles so I decided to try one.
“What do sea monsters eat?” I asked.
John glared.
“Fish and ships.”
Brother Chichenoff broke out laughing but John kept glaring. I changed the subject. “Um—how about a ride through the nursing home?”
To my surprise, John nodded yes. The evening didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would.
The next week I didn’t want to go back, but I wasn’t afraid. When we got to the nursing home, John was already in his wheelchair.
“Been waiting for you,” he said.
“How about a ride?” I asked.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Brother Chichenoff and I still did most of the talking, but John grumbled a few words. When it was time to go home, he motioned for me to come closer.
“What happened to the apples on the monster’s apple tree?” he asked.
“Well, I … um, I don’t know.”
“They all grue-some. You know—g-r-e-w-some.” John chuckled at his joke. Brother Chichenoff and I laughed.
After that, I looked forward to Thursdays. John’s face lit up like a lightbulb when I walked in. And each week he had a riddle for me.
John told us stories of fishing and hunting years ago. He told us how he cut his leg on an old camper door and it got infected, and that’s why he had only one leg.
Several months later, John told me a secret. “Hey, Nick. Guess what’s two weeks from tonight? My birthday. I’ll be 88.”
“Wow! Let’s do something special” I said. “What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to go somewhere and have a big chicken dinner.”
“OK,” I said. “It will be my birthday present to you.”
My parents agreed to drive us to the restaurant, and then take us back to the nursing home after dinner.
The next week when I visited John, he was walking with crutches all by himself. All he talked about was going out next week for his birthday dinner. He was so excited. I was too.
A few days later, the phone rang early in the morning. It was Sister Chichenoff calling to say that John had died during the night.
On John’s birthday, I sat in the nursing home with the Chichenoffs, my parents, and some of the kids from my Primary class. It wasn’t evening and it wasn’t time to visit our adopted grandparents. It was the middle of the afternoon and we were attending John’s funeral. We were the only people there besides a few who worked at the nursing home.
As I sat there and listened to the story of John’s life, it was hard not to cry. The nursing-home workers said his life had changed and gotten better after the children from the “Mormon Church” started coming to visit. I knew my life had changed because of those visits.
I wish John and I had gone out for that chicken dinner, but I’m glad we had the chance to become friends. I discovered the real joy my Primary teacher talked about when people love one another.

After his mother died, Gordon B. Hinckley felt responsible for his younger brother and sisters and helped them in many ways. He worked hard and saved money for his schooling. When it was time for his sister Ramona to graduate, he realized how important it would be to her to have a new dress for that special time. Thinking more about her needs than his own, he used some of his hard-earned money to buy her a beautiful new dress.

Several years ago I was transferred to Garden Grove, California, by a large grocery firm. During the time my family was in California, we faithfully held our family home evenings. One family home evening lesson suggested that each person in the family take a piece of paper, think of one of the members of the family, write his or her name down, and then write something nice about that member of the family. Each person wrote something nice about every other person, and then we read all of the nice things before the family group.
When I came to my wife’s list, I read several things about her from other members of the family, and then I read what our son Scott had written: “Mom is a miracle maker.” I suppose in that one short sentence Scott described Merlene Featherstone.

As my baptism day approached, my mom and I talked about inviting a friend of mine to the service. We had been friends since preschool, but recently she had moved about 45 miles (72 km) away. I knew she didn’t go to our church, so I was nervous to ask her to come, thinking she might not want to. Finally I decided to invite her, so my mom called her mom. My friend and her mom were excited to come! My baptism day was stormy and rainy, so we thought they might not make it. They showed up right on time! They seemed to really enjoy the baptism, and asked a lot of questions. I felt good that they came and shared this special day. It was an easy and fun way to share the gospel.

In our family, we have always been taught to keep the Sabbath day holy. We attend church and try to do other things on Sunday that will help us think about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We write in our journals and read stories from the Church magazines. We avoid activities like going to the park or playing sports.
I was excited to get an invitation to my friend Gordon’s birthday party last year. But when I opened it, I saw that the party would be on Sunday. I showed it to my parents but didn’t even ask if I could go. I said, “I can’t go to his party because it’s on Sunday.” I was disappointed to miss it, but I knew I was making the right choice.
My mom telephoned Gordon’s mom and told her I couldn’t come. Gordon’s mom apologized for having the party on a Sunday. The very next day she wanted to talk to Mom while they were waiting to pick us up from school. She said that their family used to go to a church and that she still believed in prayer. This conversation led to lots of opportunities to share the gospel with Gordon’s family. They haven’t joined the Church, but they still show some interest and they understand more about what we believe.
My mom said if I had not made the right choice about keeping the Sabbath day holy, we probably never would have been able to talk to them so much about the gospel. They respect our values, and this year they had Gordon’s birthday party on Saturday rather than Sunday.

When my husband died in 2019, I decided to go to the United States, where my daughter now lived. I wanted to see her and learn more about the restored Church.
I stayed in Salt Lake City, Utah, for four and a half months. I went to church every week with my daughter. I had a feeling I could not describe. I took the missionary discussions. I knew it was all true. I experienced the most beautiful day of my life when I entered the waters of baptism and was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on July 27, 2019.
When I walked into the room to be confirmed after my baptism, everyone was crying. Being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost is a great gift from our Heavenly Father. After my confirmation, I felt that heaven was open and that we were all there together. In my patriarchal blessing afterward, I received many special, eternal promises.

Now, some of you older sisters may ask, “Haven’t I heard every Relief Society lesson? What point is there for me to go to Relief Society each week?” The answer to those questions may best be given by relating the story of a young piano student. His mother, wishing to encourage him, “bought tickets for a performance of the great Polish pianist, Paderewski. The night of the concert arrived and the mother and son found their seats near the front of the concert hall. While the mother visited with friends, the boy slipped quietly away.
“Suddenly, it was time for the performance to begin and a single spotlight cut through the darkness of the concert hall to illuminate the grand piano on stage. Only then did the audience notice the little boy on the bench, innocently picking out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’
“His mother gasped, but before she could move, Paderewski appeared on stage and quickly moved to the keyboard. He whispered to the boy, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And then, leaning over, the master reached down with his left hand and began filling in the bass part. Soon his right arm reached around the other side, encircling the child, to add a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice held the crowd mesmerized.
“In our lives, unpolished though we may be, it is the Master who surrounds us and whispers in our ear, time and time again, ‘Don’t quit. Keep playing.’ And as we do, He augments and supplements until a work of amazing beauty is created. He is right there with all of us, telling us over and over, ‘Keep playing.’”

David Bednar’s own reliance on the scriptures and his teaching of their importance have been evident throughout his priesthood service. Elder Bednar remembers: “During my training before my mission, we went to the solemn assembly room in the Salt Lake Temple. President Harold B. Lee was there to answer questions from about 300 missionaries. He stood there in his white suit, holding his white scriptures. He answered every question from the scriptures, or he said, ‘I don’t know.’ I sat there and thought that I would never be able to know the scriptures the way he did, but my objective became to use the scriptures in my teaching the way that I saw President Harold B. Lee do it. That desire is the genesis of all my scripture study.”