Gospel Story Finder

“The hills are alive with the sound of music.”
This phrase from a Broadway musical certainly rings true in the quaint, mountainous city of Otavalo, Ecuador. Strains of music can be heard from the homes and chapels of the Latter-day Saints from early morning to late at night.
So why is this such a unique thing? Because until just a short time ago, only one person in the 3,500 members of the Otavalo Ecuador Stake could play the piano. Only one person could accompany the Saints with their hymns. Today there are several who can provide this service, and among those are three talented youth: David Arellano, Blanca Campo, and Franklin Saavedra.
Each of these young Latter-day Saints had always wanted to learn to play the piano. But you need a piano to learn, right? Well, they didn’t own one. Also, don’t you need someone to teach you how to play? There wasn’t anybody. That all changed when Elder Alfred and Sister Phyllis Heywood, a missionary couple from Mesa, Arizona, began serving in that area. They also began to teach piano lessons to the eager Otavaloans.
At first, the Heywoods fashioned keyboards from cardboard with the names of corresponding notes written in place. Later real keyboards (called teclados in Spanish) arrived from a generous benefactor in Utah. The students had to share but willingly took turns.
Soon David, Blanca, and Franklin began to see a lifelong dream fulfilled—they could now play the songs of their hearts and share them with their families and fellow members of the Church.
David Arellano was 13 years old when he shyly entered the room full of people and stood behind everyone to take his first piano lesson by memorizing the cardboard keyboard. Within three weeks after David began practicing on a teclado, he was accompanying the congregation of his Cotama Ward with simplified versions of the hymns. He was so overjoyed, he wept.
During the next summer, David traveled with his father to New York City, New York, on a trip for the family merchandising business. David’s shyness did not interfere with his desire to play the piano in front of strangers. In fact, at the ward they were visiting, he bravely made himself acquainted with the organist and, as a result, he was given opportunities to play while he was there. Later, he was also asked to share his talents at a ward in Las Vegas, Nevada. However, the most thrilling moment came when David was invited to play the organ in the tabernacle in St. George, Utah. He returned home with wonderful memories of sharing his budding talent.
Blanca Campo, a 17-year-old at the time, was one of the first piano students of Elder and Sister Heywood. She was unable to attend the regular weekday classes because she spent six days of the week in another town marketing products for the family business. So the Heywoods scheduled Sunday afternoon classes just for her.
Blanca purchased her own teclado so she could practice the hymns during her spare moments at market. After three weeks of practice, she was prepared to play in a Christmas sing-along with other new piano students.
Soon after, Blanca was called by her father, Bishop Rafael Campo, to serve as the Paguche Ward pianist. As he set her apart, Bishop Campo was impressed to call Blanca as a teacher of music for their ward. She still serves in this capacity, sharing her talents with her family and ward members.
When Blanca accompanied a stake youth choir later that summer, and she heard a recording of herself playing “Carry On,” she humbly smiled and exclaimed, “I can’t believe that I am the person playing that music!”
Franklin Saavedra, also a 17-year-old at the time, was one of the first piano students to quickly use his talents to serve in his branch (now the Carabuela Ward) as pianist. He, too, accompanied a stake event—the priesthood session of one of the Otavalo stake conferences—only a few months after he began to use his newfound talent.
The Heywoods say that Franklin is very teachable (he practices until he can play a hymn to perfection), and he is a teacher (giving lessons after Sunday meetings to his family and ward members). Sister Heywood says, “Franklin is another example of the faith and dedication that are found among the sons and daughters of Lehi who are growing in the gospel in Otavalo, Ecuador.”
David, Blanca, and Franklin are aware that “every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God” (D&C 46:11), and they continue to use their gifts to edify and uplift others. The hills of Otavalo, Ecuador, will indeed continue to be alive with the sound of music, a gift given to each of these faithful young Ecuadoran Latter-day Saints.

You have just been blessed to hear from my wife Cindy, my companion and dearest friend—the love of my life. She is a precious gift to me in every way.

Cindy literally walked into my life when I was a 23-year-old returned missionary and student at BYU–Provo. Toward the end of the fall semester of 1976, I was studying with some friends on the fifth floor of the Harold B. Lee Library when I looked up from my reading material and saw Cindy walk into the room between two friends. She immediately caught my attention, and, after watching her walk to a table across the study hall, I turned to my best friend and said, pointing in Cindy’s direction, “Do you see that girl?”

My friend, looking across a crowded room, was not sure to whom I was pointing. He responded, “What girl?”

I looked back at him, convinced that he was either daft or confused and said, “You don’t see her? Well,” I said, “I am going to ask that girl out for a date.” Suddenly, another thought came to my mind, so I said, “And I think I am going to marry her.”

Immediately, my friends seized on the impetuous boldness of my words and urged me to act. Soon, the boys at my study table were pulling nickels and dimes from their pockets with a few crumpled one-dollar bills and putting bets on the table. I was trapped by my own words.

After a few minutes of mounting pressure, I stood up with the resolve to walk over to Cindy’s table and introduce myself. Taking a deep breath, I started toward her table. But with each step, the beating of my heart quickened and I could feel my face begin to flush. The lyrics from an old Beatles’ song comes to mind: “Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room.”

I turned away at the last moment and went into the men’s room where I doused myself with cold water and recommitted to my plan. Perhaps by divine design, when I emerged from the men’s room, I saw to my complete surprise that Cindy had gotten up from her table and was standing at a large dictionary, perched on a stand in front of her.

I won’t take the time today to describe the awkward details of that first introduction, but it did yield results. We had our first date a day or two after Christmas 1976; got engaged in September 1977; and were married in the Provo temple on February 3, 1978.

I look back now after 43 years, five children, 18 grandchildren, and a lifetime of precious, shared experiences, and I realize that Cindy has been a gift from heaven to me, to our children, and to our growing posterity. She has also made a gift of herself to all of us and those around her by her devotion to God and His kingdom, and her selflessness in serving others. We look forward to sharing the next life and enjoying the felicity of God’s promises forever.

I knew a wonderful gentleman not too many years ago who helps to illustrate this universal principle of cultural myopia. I first met him in Singapore when I was assigned to be his family’s home teacher. A distinguished professor of Sanskrit and Tamil, he hailed from the south of India. His wonderful wife and two sons were members of the Church, but he had never joined nor listened much to the teachings of the gospel. He was happy with the way his wife and sons were developing and supported them fully in their undertakings and Church responsibilities.

When I offered to teach him the principles of the gospel and share our beliefs with him, he initially balked. It took me a while to figure out why: he felt that by so doing, he would become a traitor to his past, his people, and his history! To his way of thinking, he would be denying everything he was, everything his family had taught him to be, his very Indian heritage. Over the next few months, we were able to talk about these issues. I was awed (though not surprised!) by how the gospel of Jesus Christ was able to open his eyes to a different viewpoint.

So what happened to my friend? Well, he was taught the lessons and joined the Church. His family has since been sealed for time and all eternity in the Sydney Australia Temple. He has given up little—and gained the potential for everything. He discovered that he can still celebrate his history, still be proud of his ancestry, his music and dance and literature, his food, his land and its people. He has found that there is no problem incorporating the best of his local culture into the greatest of all cultures. He discovered that bringing that which is consistent with truth and righteousness from his old life into his new one serves only to enhance his fellowship with the Saints and to assist in uniting all as one in the society of heaven.

A recent letter from my amazing grandson serving in Oaxaca, Mexico, included this experience. From Elder Hunter Paul Clark:

"We had our last lesson with Jocabed and Enrique before they get baptized tomorrow. Jocabed was talking to us and said, 'I don’t think I have received my answer yet if the Church is—' then paused. After a few moments, she said, 'Nope, I have my answer: because I have seen the difference this has made in my family.' We didn’t have to say anything and the Spirit testified to her in the moment. I know that the Spirit is the teacher here and can testify to everyone that is willing to listen. I am so excited for them!
"The gospel has always been and was restored to bless families. The anti-Christ Korihor taught the people that there would be no Christ, and the women and the men began to commit whoredoms. Anti-Christ is anti-family, and anti-family is anti-Christ.
"I think of the great anguish and hopelessness we felt that day at Lake Powell. We would have done anything to bring Londyn back! I plead with you to build your foundation on Christ and His gospel by doing His teachings, that your houses do not fall and your children not perish.
"Tom Perry taught in one of our devotionals that the Church is the scaffolding that exists to perfect the individual and exalt eternal families."

Sometimes it isn’t the huge tasks that are difficult for us to do. It’s the little seemingly unimportant assignments that we sometimes neglect, thinking that it’ll never matter. When living on Molokai, one of my sons was a Deacon and his scout troop participated in the yearly canned good drive. He didn’t want to go, saying, “no one ever leaves their canned goods on their doorstep. We drive around for hours to collect maybe three bags.” We told him, “okay, well, enjoy the drive” and encouraged him to support his scout troop and leaders. They had some success that day and collected several bags of canned goods.

They pulled up to one particular house and there was an old, Hawaiian woman sitting on the front porch. My son quickly scanned her front door, searching for a grocery bag. The woman called out, “hui…what you looking for boy?” My son said, “oh it’s okay aunty, we are collecting canned goods for the needy. It’s okay, thank you.” She then said, “oh come inside boy, let me see what I can give you.” He uncomfortably followed her and stood watching as she opened one cupboard at a time. He noticed that her cupboards were empty. She finally found a half-filled gallon of soyu. She said, “here, you can have this.” My son graciously thanked her and said, “it’s okay aunty…you keep that for you, we’re good. Have a nice day.” He then went back out to the truck. His leader asked, “nothing?” My son said, “nothing…she didn’t have that much in her cupboards, so she was going to give me her soyu.” His leader turned the engine off and went to the back of the truck and grabbed two large bags of canned goods, and handed them to my son, “Here. Go and take this to her. This is why we do this.” What an incredible teaching moment for my son! I am forever grateful for that boy scout leader that day, who was fulfilling his calling as a scout leader…and for finding an opportunity to teach a simple lesson that spoke VOLUMES! He was willing to do the little things—anytime, anywhere.

Ten years after the death of my father, as if guided by the Spirit, Mother left Nago amid the opposition of friends and relatives and moved to Naha, the capital of Okinawa. A few years later, about 1967, the missionaries knocked on our door. At that time our house was isolated and surrounded by sugarcane fields and a graveyard. The road to the house was in poor condition, and few people ever called on us. The missionaries were Elder Jackson and Elder Fuchigami, a second-generation Japanese-American from Hawaii. The missionaries asked, “May we speak with you about God?” Mother had been concerned about her sons’ education and thought we might learn something good from the missionaries, so she invited the elders in and said, “Please teach my children about God.”

Mother found peace as she learned about the gospel. She was impressed that the missionaries paid their own way and that Elder Jackson was serving a mission, even though he had lost his parents in an automobile accident when he was younger and had struggled along with an older sister. As she listened to the missionaries, Mother shed tears for the first time since my father’s death. She felt the Lord’s love and the Spirit through the discussions. She knew that this was the church our family had been searching for.

To set an example for her sons, Mother was baptized first. She was touched by the missionaries’ message and by their loving, kind behavior. She began to think that the greatest education she could give her children would be for us to learn the gospel and become missionaries. Mother always told the missionaries, “There are eight boys in our family. Please come to our house and teach the gospel to them. When they are all converted, there will be eight more priesthood holders at church. And they may be missionaries in the future.”

When I was in Brazil serving as a counselor to the Area President, I was sent to reorganize a stake that was having problems. The president of the stake and his first counselor were not worthy to serve. So the second counselor had been carrying the whole burden of that stake for six to eight weeks.
When I got there I found that this second counselor was a young medical student. He had been married not too long ago, and his wife was a nurse. He was very busy, yet he was carrying this terrific responsibility, made even greater by the terrible circumstances of the stake presidency. As I talked to him, I thought that this worthy young man, because he was a busy medical student, should not be called as stake president. It would be too much of a burden for him.
So that evening when I knelt by my bed I prayed, “Heavenly Father, bless Elder Milder and me that we will be inspired to know whom we should call as stake president and resolve the difficulties of this stake.”
A strong feeling came over me that said, “I’ve already shown you the new stake president.”
And I said to the Lord, “Oh, no you haven’t!”
All night long I wrestled with the Lord. I kept waking up with the impression that that young medical student should be the stake president, but I thought, “No, no, no. He should not.”
The next day when we started interviewing, Elder César Milder, an Area Seventy, and I agreed that the second counselor should not be the stake president, even though he was worthy, because it would be too much to give him. We had interviewed a bishop who would do well. Then we interviewed a man who had just moved into the stake. He had served in a stake presidency. He had been a bishop twice. He was financially secure.
When we finished the interviewing, I told Elder Milder, “Give me the three names of those whom you think we ought to consider.”
He gave me the name of the bishop and this man who had just moved into the stake. Then he said, “I still feel we cannot ignore this second counselor.”
And I said, “Well, those are the three names that we should consider, but I agree that we should not, however, call the second counselor to be the new stake president.”
So, in prayer, we presented the name of the man who had just moved into the stake, and I understood at that moment what a stupor of thought was (see D&C 9:9). We did not get a confirmation at all. We prayed about the bishop and did not get a confirmation.
I said, “Well, I guess we’d better present this second counselor’s name before the Lord and see what He thinks.”
A powerful witness overwhelmed us. Our bosoms really did burn within us. Tears flowed down our faces as we received that confirmation.
So we met with him and his wife. I told him the reasons he shouldn’t be the stake president, then I said, “But apparently the Lord doesn’t care about any of those reasons. Therefore, on His behalf I extend the call to serve as stake president.” He accepted.
Later, while in Salt Lake City for general conference, I met with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. After the meeting he said, “I’m being assigned to visit a stake conference in Brazil, but not to reorganize the stake. I’m not sure why I’m being sent. Do you know anything about this stake?”
It was the same stake where I had called the second counselor to be the stake president, so I told Elder Nelson the circumstances of the stake president being called.
He said, “You know, Elder Wood, we do not usually call medical students to serve as stake presidents.”
I said, “I didn’t know that, but I believe it, and I would not have done this on my own.”
After the stake conference, Elder Nelson came to Recife, Brazil, where I was living. When he got off the plane, he said, “Elder Wood, you did the right thing. That man was indeed called of God, and he has made a great difference in the stake.”

Joseph turned the page in his book. He frowned. He had two more pages to go.
“Are you OK?” Mama asked.
“I like to read,” Joseph said. “But I am so slow. How can I learn to read better?”
“I have an idea,” Mama said. “Read a chapter of the Book of Mormon every day. It will help you learn to read better.”
Joseph tried. At first it took him a long time. He had to sound out the long words. But he kept reading every day. Soon he could read more than one chapter.
Two weeks went by. Joseph’s bookmark moved from 1 Nephi to 2 Nephi. Then it was in the book of Jacob!
One night it was Joseph’s turn to give the lesson in family home evening.
“I know what to do!” Joseph thought. He found the Book of Mormon Stories book. It had words and pictures. He turned the pages until he found the perfect story.
Joseph read the story to his family. He read short words, like ship. He read long words, like commanded. Prophets wrote these words long ago. The words were easy to read.
When the story was over, Mama had tears in her eyes.
“Are you OK, Mama?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Mama said. “I’m happy. You have worked hard.”
Joseph smiled a big smile.
“I am reading every day, just like you said.” He showed Mama his Book of Mormon. His bookmark was in the book of Alma!
Someday Joseph’s bookmark would be at the end of the book. And then he could start over!

I’m not good at basketball. Call it genes, call it natural ability, call it whatever—it always seems like everyone else on the court has it, and I don’t. This often makes me feel out of place.
This fact didn’t stop my friends from inviting me to play basketball. I would just run up and down the court, pretending I knew what I was doing. I don’t think I fooled anyone. But, to their credit, my friends did their best to include me.
During one game, I took a shot and the ball flew toward the basket. It hit the backboard, the rim, then fell through the hoop. I couldn’t believe it. Purely by luck, I made the shot!
Understanding the uniqueness of this moment, my friends congratulated me. I didn’t contribute much to that game, but I felt like I belonged, and that meant a lot.

The clock struck nine. Flora watched her father thumb through the Bible’s pages to find his place. Elder Roberts, who had been teaching them about the Church, laid down the saddlebag he was mending. Flora’s sister, Matilda, set aside her needlework to listen to Father read: “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee’” (Isa. 41:10).
“Amen,” Elder Roberts said as Father finished reading.
“Now, Elder Roberts, would you read from the Book of Mormon?” Father asked.
Elder Roberts opened the well-worn Book of Mormon. He cleared his throat and began, “‘Now this is the commandment: Repent … and come unto me and be baptized in my name’” (3 Ne. 27:20).
Flora leaned closer to Matilda and whispered, “You can be baptized if you like, but I never will.”
“Why not, Flora?”
“Just look what has happened to us for even listening to the missionaries. Mr. Cardston, who has always treated us like his own daughters, will not speak to us. He won’t let Amy and Gertrude associate with us.”
“It is hard.”
“But that isn’t the worst of it. Think of Isaac, driven from the street with stones. He was almost killed just for passing out pamphlets about the gospel.”
“But do you know what he whispered to me as I fed him his supper? ‘Matilda,’ he said, ‘I am so happy that I am baptized and that I am counted worthy to hold the office of a deacon in the Church and kingdom of God.’”
“Well, you can be baptized like Isaac and Father, but I shall not,” Flora declared firmly.
“Daughters,” Father said, “please say good night to Isaac before going to bed.”
“Yes, Father,” the girls chimed.
Isaac’s arms and face were black and blue with bruises. He moaned a little as he attempted to roll onto his side, but he forced a partial smile when he saw his sisters in the doorway.
“Oh, Isaac!” Flora exclaimed. “How can you stand what they have done to you?”
“There, there, Flora. I’ll mend in no time. You’ll see.”
“Weren’t you frightened when they began stoning you?”
“Yes, little one, my knees trembled, yet I did my best to magnify my office and calling.”
“You are so brave, Isaac.”
“It isn’t bravery—just love, Flora. My whole being is filled with the love of Christ. I even love those who threw the stones today.”
“How can you love people who were trying to hurt you?”
Matilda said, “I think I understand what you mean, Isaac.” She kissed his forehead on a spot that wasn’t bruised.
“Are you girls going to be baptized?” he asked.
“Yes, I am—this Sunday, in the Matlock Baths.” Matilda’s face was radiant.
“No, Isaac.” Flora sighed. “I just can’t.”
“Is it because you don’t know if the Church is true?”
“I know it’s true. When I read the Book of Mormon, my whole mind seemed filled with light. But I just can’t be baptized.”
“Why not, little one?”
“All my friends will turn away from me. And Father said that if we all join, we will sell everything and go to America. How can I part with everything and everyone that I love and hold dear? I’m afraid, Isaac.”
“That is to be expected. You pray and let God guide you.”
On Sunday, Flora was happy that Isaac, although still weak, joined her and Matilda as they made their way to where Matilda would be baptized. At first, the neighbors silently watched them. Then some began to shout horrible lies about the Church.
Flora’s stomach churned with fear. If only Father were with them! He had gone earlier with Elder Roberts to prepare for the baptism. She glanced at Isaac’s blanched face, perspiring from the effort of walking. He looked close to collapsing.
“This is as far as you go,” spoke a harsh voice. “There will not be any of this Mormon baptizing done today.”
Flora eyed the crowd that was closing in around them. She shuddered as she looked into their faces. Former friends now seemed like strangers, their faces dark with anger. Flora winced as a stone hit her ankle. “Let’s stone them!” someone shouted.
“Heavenly Father, I am so afraid. Please guide and strengthen me,” Flora prayed. Peace and love filled her heart, and she felt stronger. Was the Holy Ghost with her? She felt that He was.
“Do not be afraid,” Flora said. Her voice, clear and steady, easily reached the back of the crowd. “We are your neighbors, and we love you. We wish to show our love for Heavenly Father this day by being baptized in the name of His Son, Jesus Christ.”
An old woman shook her cane at the crowd. “They’re just children,” she said. “Let them alone. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
Flora held her breath as she listened to the angry crowd murmur. “Come now,” a man growled. “Beatrice is right. These children haven’t done us any harm.” The crowd slowly scattered.
“Who is the brave one now?” Isaac whispered. He smiled, and Flora knew he was pleased with her.
“Flora, did I hear you say ‘we’ are to be baptized?” Matilda asked.
“Yes, I said ‘we.’ You and I are going to be baptized today.” Flora linked her arm with Matilda’s.
So Matilda and Flora were baptized at the Matlock Baths. Afterward, they sang:
“‘O Jesus, I have promised To serve Thee to the end;
Be Thou forever near me, my Master and my friend;
I shall not fear the battle If Thou art by my side,
Nor wander from the pathway If Thou wilt be my guide.’”

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back of the room, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to Him for a very long time. Ask Him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures now and again. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in His hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw Him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you coming with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

Some time ago I was walking in the center of Salt Lake City, on my way to City Creek Canyon, where I usually walk every day. A car with an out-of-state license plate was driving by. It pulled over and stopped. The driver asked, “Where is the church of the Mormons?” I assumed that they were thinking of some place or building. I took time to point out the Church Office Building and the Church Administration Building and the magnificent temple and the historic tabernacle, most of which were visible from our vantage point. They thanked me and went on their way.

So when the inquirers in the car with the out-of-state license asked, “Where is the church of the Mormons?” how should I have answered? It has bothered me ever since. If I had pointed to my chest and said that the Church should be first and foremost in my heart, the inquiring travelers surely would have gone away somewhat bewildered. But would I have been more accurate than I was by directing them to our beloved, magnificent, sky-piercing spires, the great majestic dome, and the other world-famous monuments and edifices, wonderful and unique and great as they are? I would have been more correct because the Lord said, “The kingdom of God cometh not with observation: Neither shall they say, Lo here! or, lo there! for, behold, the kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:20–21).

My best friends from school were trying out for a competitive soccer league. The tryouts were on Sundays. My mom told the coach that I was not going to try out for the team because the tryouts were on Sundays, which is our Sabbath day. The coach called back a few days later and said he had scheduled a special Wednesday tryout for me. I made the team. I know Heavenly Father blesses us when we keep the Sabbath day holy.

Needing income, Henry and his father went downriver to St. Louis, Missouri, to find jobs. His father joined George Betts’s shoe shop, which employed 25 men. Henry took a job at a small shop belonging to three LDS shoemakers. His mother and sisters joined them in St. Louis in the spring.
Henry’s good friends from Nauvoo, Algernon and John Rigdon, visited him in his new home. Their father, who had been Joseph Smith’s counselor, had decided to leave the Church and was moving to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. In “the last conversation that I had with them as we were saying good-bye,” Henry said, “the boys declared that they would return to the Church. … Knowing they were … sincere, I expected for some years to hear from them but was disappointed.” (John Rigdon rejoined the Church in 1904 just before he died.)

I had won the race. The prize seat in the minivan was mine. As I squeezed in between my best friend and the guy I had a crush on, I thought, “Life is great.” Soon I would be caught up in the normal chatting that accompanies any Mutual Christmas-caroling activity. Only this time, by some chance, I saw Chrslyn—left behind in our mad dash for the vehicles.
I knew Chrslyn from passing conversations in school. I may have even called and invited her to a few Church activities. But in the previous months I had failed to bring her into my circle of friends because she was in a wheelchair.
On that winter night, squashed into a minivan, as I watched her skillfully yet slowly struggle to catch up with us, I realized I also had a disability, and I knew I must change. I must treat Chrslyn as the daughter of God that she was. I decided to help her when she needed it.
As I tried to be of aid, I felt a little frustrated because I was being left out of the fun of the evening. No one even noticed that I was no longer with the group. At one stop, as I was helping Chrysln to her wheelchair, I begged Jared, one of the more outgoing young men, to wait for me. He complied, and soon the other youth began to notice Chrslyn and offer their help in various ways. The quest to help Chrysln soon became a game, as we each fought for a turn in pushing her wheelchair. We rotated the privilege of sitting in the truck with our new friend and generally kept her at the center of attention the whole night.
We soon had a system set up. I was responsible for lifting Chrysln from the vehicle while one of the young men reassembled her wheelchair, and then we were off. Even as we walked up and down the dirt roads that were becoming more mud than dirt, we were not daunted. This was our new mission, and nothing would stop us from helping Chrslyn have the caroling experience of her life.
At the last home we visited, we were able to park close to the house, so instead of reassembling her wheelchair, I just carried Chrslyn to the door. I was surprised at how light she felt. As strains of “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, no. 206) filled the night air, I looked down and saw Chrslyn smiling. Holding her in my arms, I thought of the Savior’s message: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
In my mind I saw the picture of the Savior healing the lame man near the pool of Bethesda, and I knew this night another miracle had been performed. Only this night it was not the physically lame who had been made whole: it was I, the spiritually blind. I now saw Chrslyn as a person and a friend who had feelings and desires similar to mine.
That night ended, and months passed. Chrslyn and her family left our branch, but I know that through Chrslyn my life was changed. Even now, when I think of this experience, I am reminded to follow the Savior, loving and serving all men, no matter their circumstances, for we are all children of God.

Jamie has also had a lot of experience for someone so young. Because his father is in the military, the family has lived not only in Arizona, but in Georgia, Michigan, Utah, Texas, New Jersey, and Korea as well. That has given Jamie a chance to see the Church in a lot of settings. And last summer, when he went to visit his father in Korea, it gave him the opportunity for a particularly memorable experience.
“The mission president asked me to serve an eight-day minimission. I got to go to a zone conference, participate in discussions, watch the elders bless the sick, bear my testimony in sacrament meeting, and meet the mission president. But best of all, I got to baptize a Korean investigator! After a week like that, it was hard to leave.”
It was an experience that kindled the missionary zeal in James Young, an excitement he tries to foster in the quorum he leads.
“We’ve got to go!” he says with quiet intensity. “And we’ve got to go prepared.”

Natalie thinks that it’s great to be sixteen and to go on dates. But I’m only seven, and I went on a date! Your girl-friend Melissa took me to a movie. She said that you wouldn’t mind. When we got home, Kelly’s car was at our house. I saw her outside with Mom, but Melissa didn’t. I told Melissa that I’d buy her an ice-cream cone, and we walked to the ice-cream store. That was a close call! I think that having girl-friends is hard work!

As a Kenyan teenager, Jastus Suchi Obadiah once vowed to his friends that he would physically harm any white South African he happened to meet. “My friends and I often read in the newspapers about the injustices of apartheid, and we hated white South Africans,” he explains. Fortunately, Jastus forgot his hateful vow before he ever met a South African.
As a young man, Jastus was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by his cousin, a Church member. “I’ll never forget the first missionaries who taught me; one was a black African, and one was a white elder from the United States,” says Jastus. As Jastus observed these two young men working together in harmony, “I learned there were many good people no matter what their color.
“As they taught me, the principle of love came into my heart. I realized that to be like God, you really must be loving. My sense of love grew—even for my enemies.” Two years after his baptism, Jastus was himself a missionary, serving in the Kenya Nairobi Mission.
Jastus and his senior companion seemed to work particularly well together; they shared a strong mutual respect and quickly became the best of friends. One day, as Jastus was looking into the white face of his South African companion, the long-forgotten vow made in his teens came rushing back to him. “It really affected my heart when I remembered what I had said. Then I realized how wonderful the gospel is, because it brings people together, no matter who we are or where we come from.
“And I felt how wonderful it is to teach this gospel together with my white companion,” he says. “The gospel changed the course of my life.”

I thought at first that my wife, Eva, had nudged me. But as I turned over, I could see that she was still asleep. As I sat up, I had the distinct impression that I needed to go to the living room. I slipped out of bed and headed down the hallway. Checking the children as I passed their bedrooms, I could see that they were sleeping soundly.
In the living room, a comforting warmth radiated from our coal-burning stove, which was burning the evening’s load of coal. The damper was set correctly, and the furnace seemed to be working properly. Everything looked normal. Even our dog was sleeping, oblivious to my presence. Outside, I saw only motionless shadows lying across a snow-covered yard.
As I again looked around the room, I was perplexed. The impression I had was real. So why was I standing alone in the living room at 3:00 a.m.? I lingered for a few minutes but finally decided to return to bed.
Just as I started for the bedroom, I heard a metallic swoosh sound behind me. I quickly turned around to see smoke and hot cinders billowing from the back of the stove! A rivet on the stovepipe had suddenly snapped, and a section of the pipe had slid down into another section, leaving a gaping hole in the pipe.
I called to Eva for help. Then I quickly donned a pair of heavy leather gloves that I kept near the stove and squeezed the stovepipe seam back together. After reconnecting the pipe piece, I joined Eva in clearing the smoke from the living room. We then surveyed the damage.
Cinders and soot had burned only a small section of carpet. Had I not been there when the pipe rivet snapped, the whole living room would have been quickly engulfed in flames. The likely destruction of our home and the possible loss of our lives had been averted—thanks to a gentle but indelible impression from the Holy Ghost.
Returning to bed, I was grateful that a loving Heavenly Father, who is over all things, would warn me about a small metal rivet that would fail on that cold winter night.

Just twenty-four hours after my call as an Apostle last June, I left for a Church assignment in southern California where, in due course, I found myself standing by the bedsides of Debbie, Tanya, and Liza Avila. These three lovely sisters, aged thirty-three, thirty-two, and twenty-three, respectively, each developed muscular dystrophy at age seven. Since that tender age, each has had her rendezvous with pneumonia and tracheotomies, with neuropathy and leg braces. Then came wheelchairs, respirators, and, finally, total immobility.
Enduring the longest period of immobility of the three sisters, Tanya has been on her back for seventeen years, having never moved from her bed during that period of time. Never once in seventeen years has she seen the sun rise or set or felt the rain upon her face. Never once in seventeen years has she picked a flower or chased a rainbow or watched a bird in flight. For a lesser number of years, Debbie and Liza have also now lived with those same physical restrictions. Yet somehow through it all, these sisters have not only endured, they have triumphed—earning Young Women personal achievement awards, graduating from high school (including seminary), completing university correspondence courses, and reading the standard works over and over and over again.
But there has been one other abiding ambition these remarkable women were determined to see fulfilled. They rightly saw themselves as daughters of the covenant, offspring of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Jacob and Rachel. They vowed that somehow, some way, someday they would go to the house of the Lord to claim those eternal promises. And now even that has been accomplished. “It was the most thrilling and fulfilling day of my life,” Debbie said. “I truly felt I was home. Everyone was so gracious and helpful with the innumerable and seemingly insurmountable arrangements that had to be made. Never in my life have I felt more loved and accepted.”
Of her experience, Tanya said: “The temple is the only place I have ever been where I felt truly whole. I have always felt I was a daughter of God, but only in the temple did I understand what that truly meant. The fact that I went through the experience lying horizontally with a respirator took absolutely nothing away from this sacred experience.”
Elder Douglas Callister, who, along with the presidency and workers in the Los Angeles Temple, assisted these sisters in making their dream come true, said to me, “There they were, dressed in white, long black hair falling down nearly to the floor from their horizontal position, eyes filled with tears, unable to move their hands or any other part of the body except their heads, savoring, absorbing, cherishing every word, every moment, every aspect of the temple endowment.” Debbie would later say of the experience, “I now know what it will be like to be resurrected, surrounded by heavenly angels, and in the presence of God.”