Gospel Story Finder

His employment was interrupted by a 15-month stint in the Yugoslavian army, where he was exposed to “all kinds of people, good and bad,” he says. “I learned that I wasn’t supposed to think too much but do only what I was told. I came to believe that all people are selfish and are ready to walk all over those who are weaker. I became distrustful of others and relied only on myself. I didn’t feel any real emotions at that time.”
After his military assignment, Albin returned to his job but felt restless and dissatisfied. He eventually quit his job to study computer and information technology at the university. But he was still not finding joy in life. “On weekends my friends and I would have what we called fun—wandering from place to place, drinking alcohol, and flirting with girls we met,” he says. “I wasn’t happy because I felt empty inside. It all seemed fake.”
Then in 1987 he met Boza Gartner, a young woman he had known briefly before, and they began dating. And in June 1989, he was accepted as an international student trainee for three months at a company in Stavanger, Norway. He moved to Norway, started his internship, and met the missionaries a few weeks later.
“A young man holding a book stopped me on the street,” Albin says. “He said something to me in Norwegian, and his book was written in Norwegian. I explained in English that I didn’t understand a word he said and that I had no intention of taking any book, especially one in a language I did not understand.” To his surprise the missionary, an American, responded in English and offered to get Albin a copy of the Book of Mormon in English. Albin politely gave the missionary his address, but he hoped nothing would come of it.
A few days later the missionaries arrived at his door and gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon in English. They later gave him a copy in Croatian, which he could also read. (A Slovenian edition did not yet exist.) Albin’s conversations with the missionaries caused him to think about his religious beliefs.
“I had always believed in God,” he says. “And I prayed almost daily—but my prayers were ones I was taught as a Catholic, and I was only subconsciously repeating words. I didn’t believe my church was true, but I wasn’t looking for an alternative.”
Although parts of the Book of Mormon were interesting, he says, “I had no spiritual witness while reading it.” And when he attended the Stavanger Branch in Norway—a stranger who knew no one and didn’t speak the language—he initially felt uncomfortable.
But he liked what he saw and felt at church, and the members welcomed him warmly. “They were extremely kind to me,” he says. “They showed great interest in me by asking where I was from and what I was doing in the town. They invited me to come again. When I did, they accepted me as a part of their family.”
Now he felt more motivated to study the Book of Mormon and pray about it. “I prayed more and more,” he says, “waiting to get some kind of answer. Then one day while I was reading the words of Moroni, the answer came—unexpected, unannounced. I felt the Holy Ghost giving me indescribable feelings, and my mind was enlightened. At that same moment I was aware of all my sins, and I began to cry. I had never cried because of a book before. In that moment I knew the Holy Ghost was present with me, and I was thankful to the Lord.”
Albin was baptized on his 26th birthday, 19 August 1989. “I was a completely different man now than when I went to Norway in June,” he says. “My soul was clean, my sins were forgiven, and I was starting a new life much different from the one before. I felt glad, peaceful, and safe.” He also felt the nudges of the Holy Ghost—hinting of spiritual responsibilities that awaited him at home.
When he learned that the Church had not yet been established in Slovenia and that, as far as he knew, no Church members lived there, he realized the importance of learning all he could during his few remaining weeks in Norway. He continued attending Church meetings, family home evenings, and other activities; received the Aaronic Priesthood; had many discussions with missionaries, members, and Church leaders; and read the Doctrine and Covenants in English.
“I was worried about being left on my own back home,” he says. “I prayed that God would give me strength to explain my beliefs to my girlfriend, my parents, and others. I knew it would be difficult, but I also knew God would help me as long as I remained worthy.”
The closest branch in what was then the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia was in Zagreb, Croatia—three hours away from Albin’s home in Slovenia. He later learned there was a branch a little more than an hour away, in Klagenfurt, Austria. For more than a year he attended the branch in Austria every Sunday, even though his ability to speak German was limited. “The branch president and all the members were very friendly and kind,” he says. He received the Melchizedek Priesthood and served in his first Church callings in the Klagenfurt Branch. And his girlfriend, Boza, often went with him. Sister missionaries taught her the gospel.
“It took me almost six months to get my own testimony,” says Boza. “The Book of Mormon had not yet been translated into Slovenian, and it was difficult for me to read it in Croatian. One Sunday in 1990 I went to a nearby grove to pray for the answer, just like Joseph Smith did. The answer came in the middle of the prayer as an exceptional warmth around my heart. I thought at first that this warmth came from the sun—but the sun had already gone down, and the warm feeling was still there. I felt peace and knew from that moment on that God wanted me to accept His gospel.” Albin baptized her in the Klagenfurt Branch in March 1990.
In December of that year, the first two full-time missionaries were assigned to Slovenia, and soon the first baptisms in that land took place. In the summer of 1991, Slovenia proclaimed independence from Yugoslavia. After a tense 10-day war, the matter was peacefully resolved. A few months later, on 22 December 1991, the first branch in Slovenia was organized, with Albin Lotric as branch president.
The next year, in July 1992, Albin and Boza were married in Slovenia and then sealed in the Frankfurt Germany Temple—the first couple living in Slovenia to be sealed. “I could not have found a better, more understanding wife,” Albin says. “She gives me strength with her love and encouragement. It is especially wonderful to be together in the temple, to review the plan of salvation and enter into an eternal bond together. It gives perspective to all other activities in life.”
Their three children were born in the covenant: Lea Martina, April 1993; Flora Ema, January 1995; and Benjamin Luka, November 1996. “My wife and I are trying to plant the seeds of a gospel-centered life in the hearts of our children,” Albin says, “so they will be strong enough to face the challenges that will come and so they will be able to stand up for their beliefs.” The children are learning about the gospel through family home evening and scripture study, using the illustrated Book of Mormon Stories, which has been translated into Slovenian. Albin and Boza are helping them learn to recognize answers to their simple prayers.
“The Lord is blessing us abundantly,” Albin says. “I am trying to return this blessing by being faithful in the Church and trying to be a good husband and father.”
With the Church still in its infancy in Slovenia, President and Sister Lotric and other pioneering Saints continue giving much to assist in its growth. Sister Lotric serves in the auxiliaries and is writing a history of the Church in Slovenia. And after serving as branch president for seven years, President Lotric was called in April 1998 to his current assignment as Slovenia’s first district president. Over the years he has represented the Church on national television and radio, in newspapers and magazines, and in legal matters.
Meanwhile his career has blossomed. With university degrees in business administration and computer science, he currently works in the information technology department of the Slovenian ministry of finance. He enjoys friendly associations with colleagues and feels that most of them respect his lifestyle and beliefs. “To live according to the teachings of this Church requires many demands of the members,” he says. “But I know from my own experience that the resulting blessings bring much more joy than any earthly thing.”
One of his most memorable assignments has been to serve on the translation team for the Slovenian edition of the Book of Mormon, which is expected to be completed soon. “When the Book of Mormon comes forth with all its divinity and power,” says President Lotric, “the gates of heaven will open wide. The Spirit will testify even more mightily to the people of Slovenia that the word of God has once more been revealed to the children of men and that there is no name given under the heavens but the name of Jesus Christ through which salvation can come.”
Map by Thomas S. Child
In July 1999, nearly 10 years after Albin’s baptism, the Slovenia Ljubljana Mission—which includes various countries of the former Yugoslavia—was created. In Slovenia itself, a nation of two million inhabitants, there are now 200 members, one district, and three branches—in Ljubljana, Celje, and Maribor. Local leaders and members are learning to fellowship new converts. Couples have been sealed in the temple. Young men and women from Slovenia are serving full-time missions in many parts of the world. And members in Slovenia can now receive the Liahona in their own language.
“I know this is just a beginning,” says President Lotric. “I have a vision of the Saints blossoming like a rose in this country.”
Was it worth anyone’s time to befriend a stranger in a foreign land and teach him the gospel, knowing that in three months he would return to his home in a nation where the Church had not yet been established?
“The ways of our Lord are sometimes unpredictable and beyond human imagination,” says Albin Lotric. “He chose a wonderful way to present the gospel to me.”

Many centuries ago, there was a girl in China who was extremely clever, brave, and agile—but there was no way of knowing this from her beginnings.
As a baby, she was found in a basket in King Ta Lang’s garden in Shen Su.
For years, King Ta Lang’s palace had been childless. Finally a hoped-for son was born, and then soon afterward the baby girl was found in the royal gardens. Who was she? Where had she come from? Who had left her there on the royal grounds? Why?
King Ta Lang sent for his court diviners, who brought their crystal balls, sand trays, magic charts, and other such aids to the palace. After much pondering, they decided that the baby girl was the daughter of the rain god, who had sent her to eventually become the wife of the newborn prince. They advised King Ta Lang to name his son Tou Meng (meaning “Give Thanks”), and the baby girl Chai Mi (meaning “Enables Us to Live”).
The king followed their directions about naming both babies and immediately had them engaged by royal decree.
Prince Tou Meng and Princess Chai Mi grew up the very best of friends. They had great fun playing ball and other games, climbing trees, riding donkeys, flying kites, dancing, shooting arrows in archery contests, and swimming in the Lan River. Although Chai Mi was really better at everything than Tou Meng, she always let him win by a small margin.
There was at court one man whom she did not fool about her superior skills—the king’s Chief General, who watched her progress through narrow, jealous eyes. Chai Mi, he thought, was too smart and athletic. Someday she might be a threat to his power. So he plotted against her and bided his time. …
Prince Tou Meng and Chai Mi grew up, and one day when she was in the River Lan swimming alone, Chai Mi found a roll of parchment. She took it to King Ta Lang, who unrolled and read it. He was stunned to discover that it was a secret plan to attack Shen Su!
The king mustered his army and hastily led them off to try to intercept the enemy. There were many tears, not only by Chai Mi and the women, children, and few old men who had to stay behind, but also by the sky, which rained steadily, flooding the Lan River, overflowing its banks, and washing away all its boats, piers, and bridges.
A few days after the army had gone, the defenseless stay-at-homes had a shocking surprise: The fierce enemy army appeared on the opposite bank of the swollen river, ready to attack as soon as the flood subsided and they could cross! The women, children, and old men had nothing to protect them except the raging river whose tide could fall as quickly as it had risen.
Chai Mi had a daring plan. She put the women to work.
Meanwhile, the enemy chieftain had a scheme of his own. A powerful man, he swam across the river, carrying a long rope that he tied to a willow stump. Then he ordered his soldiers to use the rope to help them across. They could carry only a light bow and arrows, but five hundred men thus armed would make short work of conquering their easy prey.
But instead of cringing, weeping women, they found a thousand soldiers marching in glistening armor, wearing hideous false faces (as was the custom in Far Eastern warfare in those days)! The soldiers carried sharp chang chiang (long, heavy spears), and their leader wore the king’s gold armor. Following them marched a thousand archers.
The attacking enemy realized they didn’t have a chance—their flimsy arrows could not dent the armor of the Shen Su defenders, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and they couldn’t retreat because only the raging river was behind them! They surrendered to a fierce-talking old man who took their arms and ordered the enemy troops still across the river to throw their weapons into the river.
The would-be attackers obeyed the old man, who followed orders given by the leader dressed in the king’s golden armor—Princess Chai Mi. During the surrender and the throwing-away of weapons, the Shen Su defenders clanged their spears against the river rocks and boulders as if furious at being deprived of a battle. Their tough enemies never realized that they were surrendering to an army of girls and women!
King Ta Lang and his army were crossing the Lan River in his swan-shape sampan on their way back to Shen Su, when he learned of Chai Mi’s clever and courageous trick. As he was wondering how to reward her, the Chief General finally saw a way to destroy the girl he feared, and said, “Your Majesty seems to have forgotten the law of your honorable ancestors!”
“What law?”
“The Law of Liu Ti that says no woman may put on the king’s garments. Whoever dares to do so must lose her head by the sword! Chai Mi has put on Your Majesty’s armor—she must die!” He handed King Ta Lang a death warrant to sign.
No one knows if the king really would have signed it, because at that moment the waters of the Lan River surged angrily and swallowed the royal sampan. King Ta Lang and his Chief General were never seen or heard of again. Chai Mi was soon married to Tou Meng, and together they ruled Shen Su for many happy years.

“This happened during the Vietnam War, when we lived in Colorado Springs. Your grandpa, who was flying in Vietnam, was gone, and I was staying busy just trying to keep up with all the kids.
“I was singing in a chorus made up of officers’ wives at the Air Force Academy. During a break at one of the rehearsals, a friend told me about a service project she was doing for wounded servicemen who were recovering at the Fort Carson Army Hospital.”
Grandma explained how her friend would go regularly to read magazines and books to the servicemen. Some of them had birthdays coming up and she wanted to take cakes to them, but she was discouraged because she couldn’t find anyone to help her, and she couldn’t bake them all herself. Grandma volunteered immediately to help her bake some cakes.
The very next day her friend called and asked if she was really serious about helping and could she have one ready to go that afternoon.
Grandma told me, “I was pretty busy myself that day with family and Church responsibilities, but I felt like I should help. I made a chocolate cake from scratch and topped it with white frosting and chocolate swirls.” I knew exactly which cake she was talking about. She had made it before for family gatherings, and it was one of my favorites.
That afternoon Grandma’s friend came by to pick up the cake and take it to the hospital. Two hours later, she called and said, “I thought you would be interested in what happened with your cake. I took it to a 36-year-old sergeant, a veteran of many years in the army. He was recovering from wounds received in Vietnam. He looked like a typical, tough drill sergeant without a kind word in his vocabulary. When I took the cake into his room, handed it to him, and wished him a happy birthday, he looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face. Then the tears started rolling down his cheeks.”
The sergeant told Grandma’s friend that this was the first birthday cake he had ever had. Nobody had ever cared enough to bake him one.
As Grandma listened to her friend, she was amazed that one small act of service could have such an effect. Grandma closed the binder and said, “Tell your seminary class that I’m glad I took time to bake that cake.”

Having recrossed the river to Nauvoo that last Sunday, June 23, Joseph sent a letter to the governor in Carthage promising to be there the next day. To meet the governor’s deadline they would have to leave very early—a 6:00 a.m. departure at the latest, and they had had no sleep for two nights.

There are little moments in those last hours that are significant and poignantly memorable. I mention only a few.

After the two brothers returned to surrender state arms as ordered by the governor, Leonora Taylor was in the Smith home when the Prophet went again to say goodbye. He pleaded with Emma on that occasion to go with him, even though she did not want to risk getting the ague, chills, and fevers. She was also expecting a child (four months pregnant) and not feeling well. He begged her to come anyway. She said no. And as he turned away, he said, “Well, if they don’t hang me I don’t care how they kill me.”

It seems likely that Willard Richards overheard that statement and that that is why, in the last moments, he offered—and he meant it—to be hanged in the Prophet’s stead. The Prophet’s statement also tells us that he hadn’t yet been made to know exactly how he would die. There had been threats, one of them published in the newspaper, that his enemies would, as the letter said, “make catfish meat of him.”

There was a moment with Daniel H. Wells, not yet a member of the Church, who was on a sickbed. The Prophet, not feeling well himself, stopped to see him. “Squire Wells, I wish you to cherish my memory, and not think me the worst man in the world either.” Daniel H. Wells had to give up his family in order to join the Church later. He could never speak of that last encounter with Joseph without deep feeling, and he became one of our great ones.

Mary Ellen Kimball overheard the Prophet say, as the group stopped to ask for a drink of water on the way to Carthage that morning, “Brother Rosenkranz, if I never see you again, or if I never come back, remember that I love you.” She felt that to her soul, and fled and wept on her bed.

And then there was the pause the group made at the temple, where the Prophet lovingly surveyed that building, the city, the landscape, and then said: “This is the loveliest place and the best people under the heavens; little do they know the trials that await them.”

We were visiting some friends this past summer. A very young son with a new tricycle was disturbed because his parents were giving us their attention and all of us were ignoring him. He rode his trike as fast as his little legs could pedal, calling, “Look at me!” The inevitable happened as he looked at us instead of where he was going. He rode directly into a lawn chair. To try to stem the tears and take his mind off the hurt, his mother said, “That naughty chair hurt you. Let’s spank the chair.”
I suppose her response momentarily distracted the boy, but the mother was letting her son blame something else for the accident rather than himself.

Now let's talk about motivation. When we are young, we may learn to obey our parents out of fear of punishment or desire for a reward. I am the oldest of three boys in my family. As youngsters we got into our share of trouble. Whenever my father decided that it was time to correct one of us, he would announce that he was sorry that we had chosen as we had, but tonight I, or one of my brothers, would have a "session" with him. Just the mention of the word "session" was enough to send a cold chill down my young spine. When my father gave me a session, the two of us would go alone to his bedroom. There we would sit down and calmly discuss the problem and the way to correct it. Then, to make sure the message was adequately engraven on my young mind, he would give me one spank. The spank was followed by my father waiting for any tears to subside, then taking me in his arms and telling me that he loved me and that he didn't want to have any more sessions. Now I know that today spanking is considered old-fashioned, but you young parents, I tell you that it worked in my family. I only had five or six sessions in my childhood but from those I learned to be obedient.

President Ezra Taft Benson relates a special experience with prayer:

Rearing 11 vigorous children to honorable manhood and womanhood on a small farm is no easy accomplishment. Yet, as my father and mother devoted themselves to this task, they never seemed to have any fear of the future. The reason was their faith—their confidence that they could always go to the Lord and He would see them through.
“Remember that whatever you do or wherever you are, you are never alone,” was my father’s familiar counsel. “Our Heavenly Father is always near. You can reach out and receive His aid through prayer.”
All through my life the counsel to depend on prayer has been prized above any other advice I have ever received. It has become an integral part of me, an anchor, a constant source of strength.

Prayer came to my aid during a most terrifying experience of my early life. I was a missionary in (Sunderland) England. . . . My companion, William Harris, and I were standing back to back, facing a hostile crowd that was swelled by a rowdy element from the pubs, men who were always eager for excitement and not averse to violence.
What had started out to be a customary street meeting soon took on the proportions of an angry, unmanageable mob. Many false malicious rumors had been spread about our church activities.
The crowd started swaying. Someone in the rear called out, “What’s the excitement?” Several voices shouted, “It’s them bloody Mormons!” This touched off a clamorous demonstration: “Let’s get ’em under our feet!” “Throw ’em in the river!”
The mob surged forward and tried to force us to the ground so they might trample us.
In my anxiety, I silently prayed for the Lord’s guidance and protection. When it seemed that I could hold out no longer, a husky young stranger pushed through to my side and said in a strong, clear voice: “I believe every word you said tonight. I’m your friend.”
As he spoke, a little circle cleared around me. This, to me, was a direct answer to my fervent prayer. The next thing I knew, a sturdy English bobby was convoying us safely through the crowd and back to our lodgings. [Frederick W. Babbel, On Wings of Faith (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, Inc., 1972), pp. 85–86]

Using that great principle of prayer taught by his parents saved the life of President Benson and his companion.

I remember when President Rufus K. Hardy, of the First Council of Seventy, passed away. I was walking along the street of one of the cities in New Zealand, and one of our native members came up—a lady. She said to me, “President Hardy is dead.” I said, “Is that so? Have you received a wire?” She said, “No. I received a message, but I haven’t received any wire.” She repeated, “He’s dead. I know.”

Well, I always believed them when they told me those things. When I got back to headquarters, I wasn’t there long when here came a cablegram which said that President Hardy passed away the night before. But she knew that without any cablegram. She told me about it.

During my mission in Guatemala, I learned of the joy we can feel in our lives as we serve. I also learned of the joy that comes from allowing others to serve me. One act of service directed toward me changed my life forever.
For most of my mission, my companions and I were rarely invited to eat with other families.
While I was serving in Rabinal, a small farming village, a loving family invited my companion and me to dinner one evening.
This family had nothing of monetary value. Their one-room adobe home had no windows, only openings in the adobe. There was no running water; they carried water up from the river. They barely had enough food for themselves and their three children, but they offered to share with us.
Upon arriving at their home, we noticed only two place settings on their little table. When we asked if they had eaten, they said that they would eat later. My companion and I realized that they would only eat if anything remained. I imagined the children looking, after our departure, to see if there were any black beans left in the bowl and tortillas on the plate. My companion and I exchanged a knowing look and took small portions. I don’t remember black beans and tortillas ever tasting so good.
We sincerely thanked them and prepared to leave. They encouraged us to eat more, but we took some candy wrappers out of our bags and told the sister that we had been snacking and were full but that her meal was delicious. We gave a few pieces of candy to the children.
We shared a message, offered a prayer, and left.
As we stood outside thanking the father and saying goodbye, we could see through a little opening in the home that the mother was serving the children from the remaining food on the table. I’m sure the parents didn’t eat that night.
I learned a great deal from that family. These dear parents taught their children to offer selfless service, no matter how humble their station in life.

As we raise a hand to sustain a person, we commit to work for whatever purpose of the Lord that person is called to accomplish. When our children were small, my wife was called to teach the little children in our ward. I not only raised my hand to sustain her, but I also prayed for her and then asked permission to help her. The lessons I received of appreciation for what women do and of the Lord’s love for children still bless my family and my life.

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time President James Buchanan sent United States troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when the enemy troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

When Ross Harwood, 83, moved into the Cedaredge Branch of the Montrose Colorado Stake in Eckert, Colorado, he had no idea he would be singled out for a special evening courtesy of the Young Men and Young Women.
Crippled by a stroke, Brother Harwood had not been able to attend church. The youth of the branch decided to plan something special for him. A dinner was prepared complete with fine china and silverware. Brother Ross said, “I’ve never had such courtesy shown to me.”

While I was still a student, my grandmother fell down a flight of stairs, injuring herself so severely that her heart stopped three times and had to be restarted. She also suffered broken ribs, a broken hip, and a broken jaw. Worst of all, she lost almost all of her vision.
A few weeks later, my grandfather suddenly died of a heart attack. Why had she survived her accident only to face this? she wondered. She missed my grandfather and longed to be reunited with him. Fortunately, she had a good home teacher who helped her to feel secure and looked-after.
As time went on, Grandma began to feel that perhaps she had survived her fall for a reason, and she determined to find out what it was. She began to realize that once a person is gone, there isn’t much left on earth to remember him or her by. Many of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren—including myself—hadn’t known her and Grandpa well. And she wanted us to know our heritage. Neither she nor Grandpa had ever kept a journal, so she decided to write about her fifty years of marriage and of her service in the Church.
With this new goal, Grandma became excited about life again. Her only problem was how she would be able to do it. She was nearly blind, and she didn’t know how to type. She tried tape-recording her recollections, but her memory was failing just enough to make accuracy impossible.
About this time, Grandma phoned me and asked for help with her history. I had never had a very close relationship with my grandparents, and the last thing I wanted to do was to help with this project. Besides, I didn’t have the means to get to where she lived to help her.
But the Lord must have wanted me to help, because when I graduated from college, I found a job and an apartment near where my grandmother lived. Though I still didn’t really want to help write her history, I felt a family obligation to give her some of my time.
One day, I visited her and evaluated what needed to be done. She had a box full of photographs, tapes, letters, newspaper clippings, and certificates. To organize this would take months, maybe years!
But the Lord was listening to her prayers. The first week at my new job, I hurt my back and couldn’t work for some time. I decided to spend the time recovering from my injury to helping Grandma with her history.
I soon found that the fastest way to compile the material was to tape-record Grandma telling her story as she responded to questions I asked her. Though the history was soon progressing well, my injured back wasn’t, and after a while I was almost out of money. I decided that I would have to return to work; the history would have to wait.
About this time, my grandmother’s home teacher, John Minor, told me about a night when my grandmother had almost died. She had been very sick and had called him—not to ask him for a blessing, but to ask him to pray for her, which he did.
That night John had dreamed that he saw my grandfather, who said that he was going to call for Grandma. John had pleaded, “You can’t. She hasn’t finished her book yet!” The next day, John had checked on Grandma, and she was all right.
As John told me of his dream, I felt the Spirit soften my heart. I sensed the urgency of finishing my grandmother’s history. It would not be easy, but I determined to spend as much time as I could with her—as long as my limited funds lasted.
Now my concern was shared by other family members. They all helped to support me with food and with rent money while I wrote. In a pocket of some clothing I had my family send from home, I found some money that I had forgotten about. The Lord was blessing me and Grandma as we worked on the project together.
As I wrote, I began to better understand my grandparents. I learned about the persecution they had endured when they had joined the Church. I learned that soon after their marriage they had found out that they could not have children until Grandma underwent an operation to allow them that blessing. I felt the Spirit of Elijah turn my heart to my fathers, and I loved and appreciated my grandparents more than I ever had before.
After a few months of steady work, I gave the first chapters of the history to Grandma. She loved them!
A few weeks later, Grandma died.
After Grandma’s death, I finished her history and made it available to our family. I am grateful that through it, other descendants can come to love and understand my grandparents’ as I have.

When I first learned the restored gospel was true, I was a 19-year-old young man trying to make sense of my own identity as both a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and someone who had been raised in the beloved teachings of my American Indian heritage. I had joined the Church at age 14, yet at that time I had no real understanding of the doctrine. I only knew that the restored gospel was good and of God.
I also knew what my lineage taught me about who I am—that I was good and of God. This was my struggle: If both are good, why do I feel I am being forced to choose between them? How can I pick one and bury the other? Choosing to love one and hating the other meant hating a part of myself, or so I thought.
The teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and of my American Indian heritage were handed down from generation to generation until they came to shape and form me. Yet my identity as a member of my tribe conflicted with my identity as a member of the Church. I was fortunate to find other Church members who had dealt with this internal conflict too, but their answers, while helpful, did not remedy any of my pain, nor their own. They had to reject their native heritage or ignore the internal conflict altogether. Though I was grateful for these conversations, they never truly sat easy on my own troubled heart.
My father was a prominent leader and the last authorized historian in our tribe, but he was not a member of the Church and was antagonistic towards those who were. My mother had a similar love for her indigenous heritage, but she was a member of the Church and loved the restored gospel. Her desire to be active in the gospel and my father’s enmity towards Christianity because of the harm caused by those who claimed to be Christian were a fitting embodiment of my own internal struggle.
As a teenager, I had never read the Book of Mormon, and I did not know who Jesus Christ was, and I wondered how He and this book fit into who I am. How could I reconcile the harm that was done by those who claimed association with His teachings? And how could I also honor what had brought me this far?
These were the issues I brought to my first reading of the Book of Mormon. If I could find the answers here, I knew what my responsibility would be in return. I would become a committed Latter-day Saint, serve an honorable mission, marry in the temple, and love God with all my heart for the rest of my life. But if I were to truly become converted, I needed to know. I knew I was asking hard questions whose answers only God could give.
I began reading and learning about Lehi and his family, Nephi’s vision of that beautiful tree of life, and the angel referring to the Savior as the “God of nature” (1 Nephi 19:12). When I came to King Benjamin’s address, I found myself reading it over and over again, circling passages about raising children, taking care of the poor, and our utter dependence on God for daily physical and spiritual survival. I then came to the Waters of Mormon and read and reread the covenant of baptism. I loved the story of the brothers Nephi and Lehi as missionaries and their journey to redeem God’s children. Despite all of these moving accounts and the doctrine, I still had questions.
Then I arrived at 3 Nephi, where the account of the Savior’s visit was given. From the time He appeared—showing the wounds in His hands, feet, and side—I was captivated. I kept asking myself, “Who is this man?” In my bedroom on that summer day, I felt His words more powerfully than I ever did before as I read them.
When it was time for Jesus Christ to leave the people that day, He said, “Behold, my time is at hand” (3 Nephi 17:1). I felt what the people felt, pleading with tears in our eyes, “Please don’t go.” And in this moment in my bedroom, He went from being a stranger to something more. I had been a stranger, but now I was more.
I finished 3 Nephi and began to read 4 Nephi. It was night now, as I had not stopped reading that whole day, and it was here that I found my answer:
“And it came to pass that there was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults, nor whoredoms, nor lyings, nor murders, nor any manner of lasciviousness; and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God.
“There were no robbers, nor murderers, neither were there Lamanites, nor any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the children of Christ, and heirs to the kingdom of God” (4 Nephi 1:15–17).
This was the sacred truth of my people, handed down generation to generation—that all people are children of God. I had found it here in this little blue book. It was for all peoples, regardless of ethnicity, to truly understand in their souls they are children of God and to accept the responsibility that came with it.
To find yourself was to find God. This was the great truth my father had taught me, and this was the great and sacred truth the Book of Mormon confirmed. The two warring pieces of my heart were now at peace because I realized they both need each other in order to exist. My lineage was not a sword that needed to be buried, nor a master that pulled me away from my Savior. It is what brought me to the Savior, and it is a part of me that needs to be honored and embraced.
Since that day I have tried to repent of my sins and live the restored gospel. I served a mission and married my wife in the temple. We strive to raise our children in the Savior’s gospel and the blessing of our lineage. The struggle that had weighed upon my soul was replaced with peace and understanding. I had learned that the Book of Mormon was true. The passages I circled and reread were familiar teachings I had been taught before.
This sacred record is not just a history of ancient peoples; it is a spiritual book whose truths cannot be found in any other record of history, science, or academia but only through the power of the Holy Ghost. It is this same power that brings us to the Savior, who helps us with our silent conflicts, internal struggles, and hard questions. In time, through sincere prayer and learning, we can walk away whole with a true understanding of who we are. This is because of the Savior’s invitation to follow Him.
I had confused assimilation with conversion. I had falsely believed that in order to be a faithful Latter-day Saint, I had to shed one part of my identity and embrace a new one, but the reality is that what needs shedding is that which separates us from God. The heart does not need to be purified of its heritage, only of sin and conflict. This purification reawakens us to our true identities as sons or daughters of God.
These blessings are meant for all. The only requirements are repentance, making and keeping covenants, and diligently seeking after Him. Like Nephi of old, you do not need to know the meaning of all things (see 1 Nephi 11:17). Just knowing that God loves His children is a good start, and then eventually “by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5)—even the turning of our hearts to the knowledge of our fathers.

Not long ago a young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied: ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

Many years ago I had one of my experiences in being unforgiving. I felt I had been taken advantage of, and I did not like the person. I did not want to be around him. I wouldn’t talk to him unless I absolutely had to. Long after the issue should have been closed, it was still cankering my soul.

One day my wife—who is very astute and knows how to read me—said, “You don’t like so-and-so, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” I said, “but how could you tell?”

“Well, your feelings show when you are around him. It’s in your countenance. It shows. Why don’t you do something about it?” she asked.

“Like what?” I asked.

“Why don’t you pray about it?”

I said, “Well, I did pray, and I still don’t like him.”

“No,” she replied, “why don’t you really pray about it?”

I thought, “How do you really pray about something?” Then I began to think, and I knew what she meant. So I decided that I was going to pray for a better feeling about this person until I had one. My spiritual life was on the line.

That night I got on my knees and prayed and tried to open up my heart to the Lord. But when I got up I still didn’t care for that person. The next morning I knelt and prayed and tried again to have a feeling of goodness toward him, but when I finished, I didn’t feel any different. This process continued for several weeks, with the same negative result. Every night and every morning I prayed, but finally I noticed that my prayers had turned to pleadings. I have found that pleading raises prayer to another level. It happens when you really open up your heart to the Lord and let Him see the real intent and purpose of your petition to Him—a petition based on a deep love for the Lord as well as for each one of His children.

I don’t remember a specific time that it happened, but I do know that the time finally came when I knew that if I were asked to, I could stand before the Lord and, at least in this instance, He would find that I had a forgiving heart.

Joseph Smith was the only prophet of this dispensation to labor as a full-time missionary while presiding over the Church. During the first years after the Restoration, as the infant Church began its amazing growth, Joseph undertook preaching missions on various occasions.
One small treasure in the archives of the Church Historical Department is a worn leather journal, 14 pages of which tell of Joseph’s missionary trip into Canada in late 1833.* Joseph’s entries in the journal appear almost daily; half are in his own handwriting and the others he dictated. This is the earliest diary account we have of any mission of the Prophet. Prodded by “Father” Freeman Nickerson, a convert from western New York, Joseph, along with Sidney Rigdon, his first counselor, set out to preach to Brother Nickerson’s relatives and others along a 250-mile crescent stretching north and east from Kirtland, around Lake Erie, and west into Canada.
Let us follow the Prophet’s four-week journey by examining the entries in his private diary.
With team and conveyance provided by Brother Nickerson the three started eastward from Kirtland on October 5. The next day at Springfield, Ohio, they attended a meeting of the Saints, where, as Joseph recorded, “Brother Sidney spoke to the people, etc., and in the evening held a meeting at Brother [John] Reed’s. Had a great congregation, paid good attention. Oh God, seal our testimony to their hearts. Amen.”
Journeying along the shores of Lake Erie they visited with various Church members, holding similar meetings. One week from Kirtland the missionaries stopped at Brother Nickerson’s home in Catteraugus County, New York. Here the Prophet noted: “I feel very well in my mind. The Lord is with us, but have much anxiety about my family.” Did Joseph, like most missionaries, feel here a tinge of homesickness? Evidently so, for that night he received a revelation (D&C 100) wherein the Lord assured him and Sidney that their families were well and in his care, adding that there were many people in the region of their mission awaiting their testimonies. “Continue your journey and let your hearts rejoice” were their instructions.
On Sunday, October 13, a large congregation listened to Elder Rigdon preach, followed by the Prophet. “I bear record to the people,” Joseph wrote. “The Lord gave His spirit in marvelous manner for which I am thankful to the God of Abraham. Lord bless my family and preserve them.” When starting for Canada the next day, Joseph recorded a quick plea: “Lord, be with us on our journey. Amen.” He tells of one disappointment on October 15 when a meeting scheduled for a Presbyterian meetinghouse was canceled because the man who kept the keys refused to open the door. From there the missionaries turned westward, arriving three days later at the home of Eleazer F. Nickerson, the second son of Freeman Nickerson, at Mount Pleasant, Upper Canada.
The following Sunday they preached to an attentive congregation in the morning and a large gathering that evening, which “gave good heed to the things which were spoken. What may be the result we cannot tell but the prospect is flattering.” During a Tuesday evening meeting, while it was “snowing vehemently,” the missionaries were verbally attacked and then denied the right to speak by a Wesleyan Methodist. This caused Joseph to write: “We find that conviction is resting on the minds of some. We hope that great good may yet be done in Canada, which O Lord grant for thy name’s sake.”
During that week the missionaries’ preaching brought success. On Wednesday they interviewed a Mr. Wilkeson, who was a leader in the Mount Pleasant Methodist group. “He could not stand our words,” the diary reads. “Whether he will receive the truth the Lord only knows. He seemed honest.” Thursday, a wet day, their preaching at Weathersford drew only a small congregation. But at Mount Pleasant that evening a fine meeting developed: “One man, [Eleazer] Nickerson declared his full belief in the truth of the work. Is with his wife who is also convinced to be baptized on Sunday. Great excitement prevails in every place where we have been. The result we leave in the hand of God.”
But their excitement about the pending baptisms diminished somewhat during a negative Friday discussion with a Mr. Patrick, which caused Joseph to lament: “People very superstitious. Oh God, establish thy word among this people.” But later that evening, before an attentive audience, “the Spirit gave utterance” to the Latter-day Saint preachers.
As anticipated, October 26 was a successful Sabbath and the highlight of the proselyting venture. Joseph and Sidney first preached to a large congregation at the Nickersons’, then took 12 converts into the waters of baptism, including Brother Nickerson’s two adult sons, Moses and Eleazer. That evening they “held a meeting for confirmation. We broke bread, laid on hands for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Had a good meeting, the Spirit was given in great power to some and the rest had great peace. May God carry on his work in this place till all shall know him. Amen.”
Because others at the Sunday meetings felt deeply impressed, another service was held Monday morning. Here two more souls were baptized and then confirmed at the water’s edge. At candlelight, to provide a leader for this new cluster of converts, the missionaries ordained Eleazer Nickerson an elder. “Had a good meeting,” Joseph noted. “One of the sisters got the gift of tongues which made the Saints rejoice. May God increase the gifts among them for his Son’s sake.”
The mission was accomplished and affairs at Kirtland needed their attention after a month’s absence. The missionaries spent the next five autumn days on the road. Upon reaching Kirtland, Joseph added a final comment to the missionary journal: “Found my family all well according to the promise of the Lord, for which blessing I feel to thank his holy name. Amen.”
In his own words Joseph Smith not only provides details regarding a successful mission but also conveys his strong conviction about the truthfulness of his work. His hopes, worries, concerns for loved ones, disappointments, and successes all revolved around the Lord. Deep and genuine dependence upon Him in his daily affairs characterized this little-mentioned mission of the Prophet.

Thomas Giles, a Welsh convert who joined the Church in 1844, also suffered much in his lifetime. He was a miner, and while he was digging coal in the mine, a large piece of coal hit him on the head and inflicted a wound nine inches long. The doctor who examined him said the injured man would not live longer than 24 hours. But then the elders came and administered to him. He was promised that he would get well, and that “even if he would never see again, he would live to do much good in the Church.” Brother Giles did indeed live but was blind the rest of his life. Within a month of his injury “he was out traveling through the country attending to his ecclesiastical duties.”

In 1856 Brother Giles and his family immigrated to Utah, but before he left his homeland, the Welsh Saints presented him with a harp, which he learned to play skillfully. At Council Bluffs he joined a handcart company and headed west. “Though blind he pulled a handcart from Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City.” While crossing the plains his wife and two children died. “His sorrow was great and his heart almost broken, but his faith did not fail him. In the midst of his grief he said as did one of old, ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’” When Brother Giles arrived in Salt Lake City, President Brigham Young, who had heard his story, loaned Brother Giles a valuable harp until his own arrived from Wales. Brother Giles “traveled from settlement to settlement in Utah, … gladdening the hearts of the people with his sweet music.”

“Son, don’t do this,” his parents said. “You’re throwing your life away.”
Those aren’t the words most missionaries expect to hear—right at the airport—just as they are leaving to report to the missionary training center (MTC).
Elder Morris, from New Zealand, knows how much his parents love him. They’ve been there for him through thick and thin. They cheered him on in his rugby matches. They applauded his decision to attend law school. They raised him with love and with hope that he’d have a bright life ahead of him.
Their pleading words came from a place of love. To them, the idea of their precious son serving a two-year mission for his new faith seemed not only confusing, but also a threat to the goals he’d worked so hard to achieve.
You see, Elder Morris was a gifted athlete on his way to becoming a professional rugby player. In his schooling, things were just taking off in his legal career.
Oh, and he was thinking about getting married!
Elder Morris already had this conversation with them many times before. He responded in the only way he knew how. “I told them I loved them. I embraced them. And I shared my testimony that I knew this was what I needed to do.”
Then he bid them farewell and hopped on the airplane for the MTC in Provo, Utah, USA, to prepare for his mission to the Philippines.
At which point COVID-19 showed up and turned the world upside down.
COVID-19 had already been making headlines throughout the globe for weeks before Elder Morris showed up at the MTC. In fact, his group would be the last batch of missionaries to report to the MTC for another 16 months. Groups after him were told to stay home and wait for further instructions.
To say that things were uncertain at the MTC would be an understatement. “Many people were worried about what was going to happen,” Elder Morris says. “For me, I felt calm. I still didn’t know how things would unfold. I only knew that they would work out for the best.”
When the news came that Elder Morris would be reassigned to his home country of New Zealand, his reaction might not be what you’d expect.
He was more excited than ever!
“I realize that many missionaries hope to serve in a faraway place,” Elder Morris says. “For me, though, I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country. I wanted to share the gospel with New Zealand.”
“I always thought it would be a privilege to teach my own people in my own country.”
Little did he know how this would change his life—and the life of a woman who is very important to him.
Elder Morris’s grandmother (his nan) was dealing with some serious health challenges. “She was so unwell that she said she reached a point where she was ready to die. She didn’t feel she had anything left to live for.”
Before his mission, Elder Morris had a chance to start teaching the gospel to his nan. But now, he was a full-time missionary assigned to the very area where his nan lived.
“I love my nan very much,” Elder Morris says. “And I’ve seen the gospel absolutely transform her.”
His nan chose to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She’s the first member of Elder Morris’s direct family (besides himself) to join the Church.
Her life, Elder Morris says, is very different now. “When my nan found the gospel, she realized why she was still alive. Now she wants to live! Every morning she wakes up at 4 a.m. or 5 a.m. and sings hymns. She prays and reads her scriptures every single day. She does it because the gospel has blessed her with purpose.”
Time and time again, Elder Morris has seen the light that the gospel brings into the lives of those he teaches. He’s had the chance to teach other friends and family members. He’s seen firsthand how they improve. “The gospel of Jesus Christ gives us purpose,” Elder Morris says. “I feel so sorry for those who don’t have the gospel in their lives. They don’t know their true identity.”
On a related note, even his parents have begun to notice the changes in Elder Morris’s nan. They can now see that the gospel has blessed her life in many ways.
Elder Morris with his nan (grandmother).
Elder Morris has no doubts whatsoever that serving a mission was the right choice. He also knew at the start of his mission, when COVID-19 began to rage throughout the world, that God would still guide His work. “The work of man will be frustrated, but God’s work never will be,” he says.
Every time he has an opportunity to do so, he encourages youth to live worthy to serve a mission. For Elder Morris, no other decision would have had a greater impact on his future—especially his eternal future. “The biggest advice I would give to youth is to prepare to serve a mission. It will change your life.”
He recognizes that choosing to serve may come with sacrifice. But then again, he knows a thing or two about sacrifice, and the blessings that come from it.
Witnesses of Jesus Christ
Elder Morris: The gospel is simple, and the gospel is true. Jesus Christ is our Savior. He and our Heavenly Father are mindful of us. I testify that the Book of Mormon is amazing. It helps us to come closer to Jesus Christ and to learn the fulness of His gospel. The Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith had to happen. Without it, we would still be lost today.
Elder Fotuaika (Elder Morris’s companion): I’ve seen in my life that, without the Lord, I’m nothing. With the Lord, I’ve seen myself grow to the best person that I could ever become. When we try to do the small and simple things like praying and reading the scriptures, God magnifies who we are. I have a testimony that God loves us.

After Ella gulped down her breakfast, she quickly put on her jacket, boots, hat, and gloves. She opened the front door and eagerly stepped onto the porch to see the glistening, new-fallen snow.
Ella dragged her feet through the snow, making two narrow trails across the yard. She reached the sidewalk and peered down the street. The Gonzales twins were already out in their yard, busily constructing a snowman.
“Their snowmen are always the biggest and fanciest on the street,” Ella grumbled to herself, “because there are two of them to do the work. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll build the best snowman that’s ever stood on Larkin Street—even if it takes me all day!”
Scooping up a handful of snow, she patted it into a ball and began rolling it in the snow. Around and around and around the yard she went, until her arms ached from pushing and sweat trickled down her forehead.
“Whew!” Ella stood back in admiration. She’d never seen such a gigantic ball. She glanced proudly toward the Gonzales’s yard—and her eyes popped as the twins set still another snowball on top of the four already there. A five-layered snowman!
“Nuts!” Ella said crossly. She wished that she had someone to help her—this was hard work! She flexed her arms, took a deep breath, and began rolling a second ball.
“Can I help?”
Ella whirled around instantly, but her excitement turned to dismay when she saw who was standing hopefully in the driveway.
Deon! Of all the people on Larkin Street—of all the people in the whole third grade—Deon was the very last person whom Ella would pick to help her. Deon was big enough, but he was awkward. He couldn’t make it through a day of school without dropping something, tripping, or crashing into desks and shelves and people—even Mr. Brown, the principal. Deon’s nickname was the Clumsy Giant.
Deon would probably trip and fall on top of mysnowman and smash it to pieces, Ella thought. I don’t want him to help.
She opened her mouth, all set to tell him—nicely, of course—to go away. Deon’s head drooped sadly. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Oh,” said Ella, hating to see him so unhappy, “all right. You can help. Here, let’s lift this up.”
An enormous grin spread across Deon’s face as he plodded into the yard and bent over. Together they lifted the ball and set it on the sturdy base.
“Great!” Ella exclaimed as she dusted the snow off her knees. Then she looked down the street again and groaned. “The Gonzales’s snowman is so tall!”
“Yours is a lot wider, though,” Deon encouraged her.
Ella was pleased. “I’ll make the head, and you can make the neck, OK?”
“Sure!”
In another half hour they were finished.
“Fabulous!” Ella said, beaming. “It’s much better than the Gonzales’s snowman.”
“Are you going to put a face on it?” Deon asked eagerly.
“Of course. A face and a hat, buttons, …”
“A belt?” Deon asked.
“Terrific!” Ella exclaimed. “Why don’t you get a belt and buttons, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”
“OK,” Deon agreed. He lumbered down the sidewalk.
Ella rushed inside and began rummaging through the kitchen.
“Who’s that you’re playing with?” asked her mother.
“Oh, that’s Deon,” Ella explained, slamming a drawer shut. “He’s eight, too, even though he’s so big.”
Mom chuckled. “He reminds me of your Uncle Terry. Terry was big like that when he was a boy. Papa called him a bumbling old sheepdog.”
“Uncle Terry was that big?” Ella was amazed. Uncle Terry looked just like anybody else now. Oh, he was a little taller than average, and quite a bit chunkier, but still he was normal.
“He certainly was a clumsy child,” Mom said. “But now Aunt Rosemary says that he’s the best dancer that she’s ever danced with!”
Ella kept sneaking glances at Deon as they decorated the snowman. Will Deon grow up to look and act like everybody else? She wondered. And had Uncle Terry minded being called a bumbling old sheepdog? I bet Deon doesn’t enjoy being called the Clumsy Giant! Uncle Terry is a pretty super guy—and Deon really is a nice boy.
Soon the snowman was dressed with pop-bottle-cap eyes, a carrot nose, a potato-peeling mouth, an old fishing hat, a moth-eaten blue and green scarf, five shiny black buttons, and a sagging brown belt. Ella lifted up the hat and plopped down an old mophead for hair, and Deon leaned a broken fishing pole against the snowman’s arm.
Deon laughed. “We should make a sign: ‘I’m all ready. Where are the fish?’”
Ella grinned. “That’s a good idea.” She paused, then said, “Come on in. I think that we have paint and cardboard somewhere.”
Mom greeted them cheerfully and gave them cookies and milk after they finished their sign. She didn’t even mind when, on the way out, Deon knocked over a chair and just missed toppling a lamp. “No harm done,” she said, reaching out to steady it. “Now,” she added, “put your sign up, then wait for me. I’m coming out with the camera.”
“Your mom’s nice,” Deon told Ella as they propped the sign against the snowman. “My mom’s always afraid that I’ll break things. She starts yelling at me as soon as I come into the house: ‘Stay away from the table! Don’t set foot in the living room!’” Deon sighed. “I wish that I could take a shrinking potion. I hate being so big.”
“Don’t worry,” Ella said reassuringly. “My Uncle Terry was big like you when he was eight, but now he’s just like everyone else.”
“Really?” Deon’s eyes brightened.
“Yes. After Mom takes our picture, you can come in and play and she’ll tell you about him.”
“Are you ready?” Mom called as she tramped through the snow. “One of you get on each side of this super snowman and smile!”
“The best snowman on Larkin Street,” Ella said proudly as Mom focused the camera. “The best friends too.”