Gospel Story Finder

The baby was crying, our three other young children needed to be put to bed, and I was exhausted.
As I tried to wrap my mind around the impossible task before me, all I could hear in my mind were the last words of my husband (who was currently serving as our bishop) as he walked out the door that evening: “I’ll be at the pool with the priests. Tim is teaching the boys how to scuba dive.”
“Really?” I thought to myself. “I’m here juggling four children, and you’re off learning to scuba dive? How is this fair?”
Later that evening when Bruce walked in the door, he met one tired wife.
“How did your evening go?” he asked.
In tears, I told him how hard it had been to put four children, including a fussy baby, to bed knowing that he was off learning how to scuba dive. I could understand him leaving if someone in the ward was facing a crisis, yes. But scuba diving? Not so much.
Bruce sat down beside me. “I’m sorry it was hard for you. I didn’t go for the scuba diving. I didn’t even know if I would get into the pool. I went for two young men.”
He told me he had felt strongly he should attend this event because two priests who hadn’t attended church or activities for a long time were going to be there. He shared that he had been able to talk to them that evening, strengthening his relationship with them and helping them integrate with the others.
My heart softened, and I was reminded that him being called to serve as a bishop while also being a husband and father required a sacrifice from both of us.

Guy de Maupassant, the French writer, tells the story of a peasant named Hauchecorne. While walking through the public square, he caught sight of a piece of string lying on the cobblestones. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
Later in the day the loss of a purse was reported. Hauchecorne was arrested and taken before the mayor. He protested his innocence, showing that it was only a piece of string that he had picked up. But he was not believed and was laughed at.
The next day the purse was found, and Hauchecorne was absolved [cleared] of any wrongdoing. But, resentful of the false accusation, he became embittered and would not let the matter die. Unwilling to forgive and forget, he thought and talked of little else. Everyone he met had to be told of the injustice. Obsessed with his grievance, he became ill and died. In his death struggles, he repeatedly murmured, “A piece of string, a piece of string.” (See “The Piece of String,” in The Works of Guy de Maupassant [n.d.], 34–38.)

In 1991, my beloved husband, Gilberto, lost his life in a truck accident in Pôrto Alegre, Brazil. His death was a shock. We had all been happy and healthy. We had even recently rejoiced in Gilberto’s baptism. The rest of the family—Gisele, Pablo, and I—had been members of the Church for some time.
Unfortunately, the children and I did not overcome our loss very quickly. Days ran into nights and into days again, and nothing seemed to lessen our pain or our sense of abandonment.
Then we learned that we would not be able to get an insurance settlement because we lacked the necessary documentation. We had to sell our house and all the furniture because we could no longer make the payments. Three months later, we were able to buy a small apartment. But it seemed as if nothing could cheer us.
We spent three very unhappy years in that apartment. The school where I worked became more unpleasant with each passing day. The children were having problems at school, too. They were persecuted by the other students for being members of the Church. Rather than improving, life seemed to become more unbearable. We began to lose hope and even stopped going to church.
After a time, we decided to move to a city in another state. We felt that by moving to Florianópolis, we might be able to leave our grief behind.
We arrived with the modest funds we had received from the sale of our apartment. But everything was very expensive, and we soon became discouraged. Then, during Easter vacation in 1994, we went to look at a new house in a place called English Beach. We went only out of curiosity, not expecting to like it much and certainly not realizing the blessings Heavenly Father had in store for us there.
We arrived at the house and met the owner, a man from Argentina who needed to return to his country. He was ready to sell for any amount, as long as the money was available immediately. It was a wonderful house, very large and very beautiful. We knelt down and thanked our Heavenly Father for such a wonderful blessing. We felt guilty for having had so little faith in him. But the house itself was only the beginning.
Two months later, we met the LDS missionaries in the area and learned where church meetings were held. Soon we were attending regularly. The members were very concerned about us. They showed us that we were members of a large family—the family of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Day by day, we grew happier.
With the arrival of spring a few months later, the rental rates in town went up, and it became very expensive for the branch to stay in its quarters. So the branch began to meet in our home. We opened our home to the branch, and the branch opened their hearts to us.
When we came to Florianópolis, there were few members. Now our little chapel is full. Both of my children have been called as stake missionaries. I serve as the organist and teach in the Relief Society. Our family is planning to go to the São Paulo Temple to be sealed.
Today, I know that even in our most desperate times, there is a purpose to our trials. We realize now that it was necessary for us to come to English Beach, and our years of struggle taught me that there is no greater happiness than doing the Lord’s work. Now I know that even though my husband was taken from us, our Heavenly Father has not abandoned us. He will always provide.

This time, as I opened my mouth, I felt a peace that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. “At church once, some old guy told a story,” I began. “It’s about a kid who’s 18 and goes to work on a fishing boat out of St. John’s. And sometime in the summer of his first year on the boat it hits a sandbar and sinks. Most of the crew climbs aboard the lifeboat, but this guy and the captain get caught by a current and pulled away.
“They don’t have life jackets or anything, and for a long time they just tread water—hoping for someone to find ’em.”
“Wow,” from Lanny, who had been on enough fishing boats to know how big the ocean was, and how impossible it would be to find anyone swimming in it.
“Anyway, finally the captain realizes that the water’s too cold for them to last much longer, so he swims over to the kid and says ‘We’re not gonna make it.’ And he asks the kid if he’s religious. Well, the kid is just like me. He’s a Mormon, but he’s been kind of goofing off and it’s been a while since he’s been active. But he says he’ll say a prayer for ’em.”
“And what happened?”
“He and the captain close their eyes, and the kid says a prayer out loud … And when they open their eyes they see the light of a buoy. They swim over and hang on, and a few hours later they are found.”
Lanny smiled. “And the guy telling the story turns out to be the 18-year-old kid, right?”
“Uh, no. The guy telling the story was the captain. He joined the Church.”

In the Personal Progress book, one of the requirements is to get closer to a family member and write kind letters to them for two weeks. I was having a hard time getting along with my brother, so I decided to give it a try. In the first note that I sent, I explained to him that I didn’t like the way we were treating each other and that I would like to work harder on trying to be nicer to one another. Right after the first note I sent, I found a note from my brother explaining that he felt like that too. After that our friendship got a whole lot better, just from a simple loving note.
M’Lynn Y., 13, Idaho

Shortly after the initiation of BYU-TV, my wife, Marilyn, received an early-morning phone call from a friend in Pennsylvania. More than 25 years ago we lived near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and became friends with Robert and Kathy Brueninger during the time they were investigating the Church. They joined the Church soon after we met them, and one year later we accompanied them to the Washington D.C. Temple, where they were sealed as a family. They have been stalwarts of the Church for more than 25 years. Their children have grown, attended BYU, found their spouses here, and graduated. The Brueningers have been a model convert family. When Marilyn picked up the telephone, it was Kathy Brueninger on the other end.

She began by saying, “Guess what?”

Marilyn had no idea. “Tell me!”

Kathy then indicated that she and Bob had purchased a DISH Network satellite, which had been installed the night before. That morning Kathy had turned the TV on and was switching channels when suddenly she saw a familiar face. It was the January 2000 devotional in which Marilyn and I were speaking. She was unaware that BYU-TV was even on the DISH Network. As she told Marilyn about her experience, she started to cry. And then she said these words: “For the first time since we joined the Church, I feel fully connected! I can now participate in the BYU devotionals! I can watch general conference and Women’s Conference in my own home! We can watch the CES firesides and relive Education Week.”

As soon as their conversation ended, Marilyn called me at the university and relayed the story.

I have pondered the meaning of the event in Kathy Brueninger’s life and have concluded that we do not fully appreciate or understand the importance of this university to the membership of the Church. Technology is enabling the university to reach the world. It is becoming an incredible asset in the Church’s arsenal to build a worldwide community of Saints--to build Zion. It requires the very best of us! We must meet the challenge!

The next experience I want to share with you is how I developed my own testimony. I grew up in a great family with amazing parents. They were kind and loving and I knew they loved our Heavenly Father. We lived in Salt Lake and I have fond memories of my childhood. I was so lucky to have a group of amazing friends. In High School my priorities were sports, girls, friends, work and family. School was fun for the social aspect but I did not enjoy the academic side at all. As for the Church, I simply went because my family and friends went. I really did not have much of a testimony, mainly because I did put forth the effort to read my scriptures or say my prayers much. I went along life in kind of a happy-go -lucky way which means “cheerfully unconcerned about the future”.

Well, that all changed as I finished high school and had to make some important decisions about where my life was headed. My inclination was to take the easiest path possible. I was sick of going to school for 12 years so the thought of going to college was not appealing. Although, I knew that is what I needed to do. I had always been taught to serve a mission but did not really want to go because I knew it would be difficult.

As I approached my 19th birthday I was very uncertain about my future. However, I had convinced myself that I was not going to go and spend two years of my life on a mission if I did not know the Church was true.

Finally, I decided to get down on my knees and ask God if this really was the true Church on the earth. I spent hours and hours at night kneeling at my bedside. This went on for several weeks without any results. I was becoming impatient because the only feelings I had were confusion. And then it happened! It was very slow and extremely subtle but each night as I got on my knees to pray I did something a little different. Instead of doing all the talking I decided to listen. Instead of confusion, I started to feel a warm calmness that I had really not felt before. Each night as I knelt to pray the calming feeling became stronger and stronger until I knew that my decision to go on a mission was the right thing to do and that the church was indeed true.

I did study it out in my mind and my confusion left me. My intense feelings of calmness was the Holy Ghost burning within me. I immediately went to visit with my Bishop. We filled out my mission papers and I have never looked back, I knew for myself that the church was true. My mission changed my life forever. Brothers and Sisters I testify that God really does know me and answered my prayers.

I thought Sunshine was about the most popular girl in the sixth grade. She wore nice clothes and walked around with other popular girls, giggling and chattering.
Imagine my horror when one day my mother told me that she would pick my brothers and me up after school and Sunshine would be riding home with us! My mom had agreed to tutor her in drawing as part of a program for gifted students.
I was terrified of Sunshine because she was so popular. The dreaded day of the first drawing lesson came, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment as Sunshine climbed into our very unglamorous old brown van. I imagined she was used to sleek sports cars. My mind raced the whole way home as I tried to think of what to say to someone so popular. But besides a forced “hello,” I could find no words for Sunshine. I was afraid she might think anything I said was stupid. When we arrived at my house, I quickly escaped into my room.
Years later, as seniors in high school, Sunshine and I ended up being co-editors of the school paper. This meant we had to spend some evenings together each month working on the layout of the paper. By this time, I had a little more confidence, and I actually enjoyed the time I spent with Sunshine. I found we had quite a bit in common. One day as we were talking, the sixth grade came up. I mentioned how glad I was to be done with that awkward stage of my life. “Me, too,” Sunshine said soberly. “I had no friends at all then.”
I was shocked. I remembered all the rides home when I thought Sunshine didn’t talk to me because she was stuck-up. Had she felt awkward and afraid to talk to me, too? Had she felt alone that year, as I had, even though she always seemed to be surrounded by people?
I wonder if Sunshine and I might have become friends back then if I had not been too worried about myself to think about how she was feeling. Since that conversation, I have tried to remember to follow the Savior’s example and reach out to everyone, not just to those who appear to need help. I have realized that no one is too popular for kindness.

That’s because Alex’s father hadn’t been to church for almost a decade. But Alex, who at the time was attending Sunday meetings by himself, never gave up on him—or on the rest of his family.
“I’ve learned for myself how important example can be,” he says.
How does a young man stay active in the Church without support from his family? Mario Sayas, who was serving as bishop when Alex was a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, credits Alex’s testimony and his dedicated Young Men leaders, who took a special interest in him. Alex agrees.
“If I didn’t show up on Sunday, my leaders came looking for me at home,” he says. “Little by little I learned about the gospel until I had a strong testimony. Another reason I kept going to church is that I knew that only through the gospel of Jesus Christ could we be happy forever as a family.”
Achieving that goal meant staying strong even when some of his church friends in Córdoba, Argentina, wavered.
“There’s a lot of temptation to break the Word of Wisdom and the law of chastity,” says Alex, who drew strength from counsel he received from Bishop Sayas. “He said, ‘The only way to qualify for a worthy wife is to be worthy yourself.’ That has helped me a lot.”
Alex’s testimony was strengthened further following a dream he had in which he was called on a full-time mission and given a missionary name tag. “That surprised me, and I realized I needed to serve a mission,” he says. He began preparing but didn’t wait until he was 19 to begin sharing the gospel; he started with his own family. Bishop Sayas says Alex was at the center of ward efforts to help his family return to church.
“Alex always prayed for and encouraged his family,” he says. “And he would always encourage his older brothers to attend church. For a while, they listened and attended with him. The effort to bring his family back took a long time, but it succeeded because of Alex.”

The Prophet was not averse to introspection, even when prompted by scurrilous tales. Stories about Joseph, many of them twisted or blatantly false, circulated constantly. Yet the Prophet said,
When I have heard of a story about me, I sit down and think about it and pray about it, and I ask myself the question, “Did I say something or was there something about my manner to give some basis for that story to start?” And . . . often if I think about it long enough I realize I have done something to give that basis. And there wells up in me a forgiveness of the person who has told that story, and a resolve that I will never do that thing again.[33]

On 29 November 2018, my dear wife, Ruth, went into labor with our fourth child. Although this was an exciting and joyous moment for us as a family, there was some major concern. The pregnancy was at 32 weeks and the expected delivery was to be late January 2019. This was approximately eight weeks early. The thought—and the now-evident reality—of getting our baby preterm was disturbing.
Before we rushed to the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi that night, I said a silent prayer and beseeched the Lord so that both the mother and baby would be protected. As we arrived at the hospital, the doctors warned me of the possible dangerous outcomes of preterm delivery. They mentioned that the baby’s development could be affected due to incomplete time in the womb. In the worst-case scenario, loss of life happens, and mom and baby could be lost. Although this terrified me, I knew that God was in the details. I knew that the Lord would do His will upon my wife and baby. This assurance gave me a lot of peace. I had prayed many times for other pressing matters in the past, and I had seen the hand of the Lord. He had answered all my prayers from the days of my youth. I knew He would not forsake us even in this case however difficult it seemed.
Around this time of trial, my ward, Zimmerman, was split and I received a call to become the bishop of one of the two newly created wards. This was a very challenging moment for me, but I knew that God would provide a way to accomplish this immense task. I could juggle between my new calling, taking care of the three children at home—all of whom were still young—making regular visits to the hospital, and give honest labor to my employer.
From my past interactions with other bishops, it was evident that the calling of being a bishop was considered one of the most challenging callings in the church—feared and loved in equal measure. However, I confidently knew that whom the Lord calls He qualifies and that He would provide a way for me to be a successful bishop as well as fulfill all other responsibilities placed on my shoulders. As Nephi states: “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He hath commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.

One such pioneer who was guided by the “fire of the covenant” was Stillman Pond. He and his family were among the last to leave Nauvoo in September 1846. Having already endured much persecution and harassment from the enemies of the Church, the Pond family was ultimately driven from their Nauvoo home at the point of a bayonet. Without adequate preparation for their trek, they were left without proper food, clothing, and shelter. Their trek across Iowa to Winter Quarters was fraught with almost unimaginable suffering and heartache.

Snow came early to the Iowa territory that year, making travel extremely difficult. Weakened from trudging through the deep snow, Stillman’s pregnant wife, Maria, who had already been afflicted with consumption, then contracted malaria. She, along with every member of her family, suffered greatly from this sickness. Bowed down with grief and aching from the pain and fever of malaria, Maria could no longer walk. Amidst these grim circumstances she gave birth to twin boys who were named Joseph and Hyrum. They both died only a few days later. The deaths of these children coming across the plains from Nauvoo to Winter Quarters were only the beginning of the sacrifice and trials of Stillman Pond.

With all of the members of the Pond family sick with malaria, Stillman, who was unable to walk or even sit up, lay on his stomach in the bed of his wagon. Bracing himself with one arm and extending his other over the dashboard to hold the reins, he drove his team the last 150 miles. On October 16, 1846, they arrived at Winter Quarters. During the winter there the Pond family continued to suffer. In the space of five days, three more children died. A sixth died a few weeks later:

Laura Jane Pond, age 14, died of “chills and fever” on December 2, 1846. Harriet M. Pond, age 11, died “with chills” on December 4. Abigail A. Pond, age 18, died “with chills” on December 7. Lyman Pond, age 6, died with “chills and fever” on January 15, 1847.

Having survived the heartache of burying all of her children, the hardships of the trek across Iowa, and the hunger and privations of a long, hard winter, Stillman’s beloved wife, Maria, finally succumbed to her sicknesses on May 17 at Winter Quarters. Yet despite all this, Stillman Pond journeyed onward in the pioneer company led by Elder John Taylor, arriving in the Salt Lake Valley in the early fall of 1847. His testimony of the gospel, his faith in the Lord, and the fire of the covenant that burned in his soul gave him the strength to go on. “I am perfectly satisfied with the authorities of the Church,” he wrote in February 1846, “and consider it my indispensable duty to give heed to all things.”

Sometimes heavenly connections can be made in places that may not seem to be either spiritual or sacred. The following portion of my father's history will illustrate this concept.

My father graduated from high school in the midst of WWII. He wanted to enlist in the navy, but he needed to have a hernia operation first. While he was in the hospital recovering from the surgery, someone left a pamphlet about BYU on his bedside table.

My father recorded: "It said, 'Come to BYU, a friendly school.' I had no idea what I was getting into--but was intrigued by 'a friendly school.' I told my mother that I wanted to go to BYU in Provo, Utah--and she asked what BYU was. I told her it was a Mormon University, and I can still see her face when she looked aghast and said, 'What! You want to go to BYU with those Mormons out there?'"

His mother was a staunch Methodist, and he had been raised in that faith. Nonetheless, he attended BYU for one quarter and then enlisted in the navy. 50 years later, at my father's high school reunion, my parents learned that Jeane Berthelson, a high school classmate and friend, was also a nurse's aide at the hospital who listened to the Spirit and left the pamphlet in his room.

During the war, my father was assigned to serve on LSM (Landing Ship Medium) #389 when they landed in Guam. He was a quartermaster second class. Their ship sailed from the east coast of the US through the Panama Canal, picked up munitions and tanks in California, and headed out to the Pacific to deliver them to the Marines. In my father's words:

I remember when we pulled into the harbor...on Guam. It was a Sunday morning.
I looked down the beach and there were some huge quonset huts there. They used them as quarters for service men. I saw six sailors going into a quonset hut. They were in their dress whites. I thought: Gosh, in their dress whites? They should be in their standard uniforms. So, I asked the captain: "What do you think those guys are doing?" He said: "They are going to church." I said: "Well, who are they?" He said: "They are a small group of Mormons running their own church; they don't have a chaplain." I found that interesting, so I said: "Captain, could I have a leave to go ashore and join those six guys?" I shaved and decided to go over to the beach and see what was going on. There were six elders having their own little church meeting, so I joined them and I felt at home. That was the second time I had rubbed shoulders with the Mormons other than [at] BYU.

We all corresponded for years...I think things were planned very carefully that I would end up in the Mormon Church...That's my story...just at the right [place] in the right moment.

Elder Ronald A. Rasband spoke about coincidence versus "divine design" in his recent general conference address. He quoted Elder Neal A. Maxwell, who explained, "Coincidence is not an appropriate word to describe the workings of an omniscient God. He does not do things by 'coincidence' but...by 'divine design.'"[16]

Elder Rasband continues: "Our lives are like a chessboard, and the Lord moves us from one place to another--if we are responsive to spiritual promptings. Looking back, we can see His hand in our lives."'[17]

I don't believe it was by coincidence that a pamphlet was left in my father's hospital room. I don't believe it was by coincidence that he arrived on Guam on a Sunday morning and saw six sailors dressed in whites on the beach. I also don't believe it was by coincidence that, following WWII, my father met my mother at BYU in a history class because they were seated alphabetically (my mother's maiden name is Hale, and my father's last name is Hansen). God was in the details; heavenly connections were made in the most unexpected places.

One night during my freshman year of college in 1989–90, a good friend of mine and I stayed up late studying for exams.
Suddenly, Matt asked me a question that would become one of the defining moments of my life. “What does your church think God is like? I mean, what do you think He looks like?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. Being sensitive to my circumstance, he gently let the matter drop. But I couldn’t forget it. I was in an extraordinary position: I was a Protestant attending Brigham Young University, and though I had doubts about my own faith and religion in general, I had no intention of changing religions. Instead, for the entire year I had carefully barricaded myself spiritually by deflecting religious conversation. With this simple question, my friend had at last succeeded in opening a tiny breach into my heart.
Over the next several months, I asked myself repeatedly, “What do I believe? More important, do I believe? Is there really a God, and, if so, what is He like? Could I come to know Him? Would He answer my prayers? Could I have faith like my Latter-day Saint friends do?”
It was not that I hadn’t had opportunities to consider such probing questions before; for years some of my best friends were LDS. These friendships had led me to attend BYU. But almost always I had pushed away their gospel overtures. The few times I had met with the missionaries, I didn’t listen with an open mind.
I was too afraid of the changes that would be required, changes that might socially and emotionally isolate me from my family. I was unwilling to believe that I had been wrong or that my traditions were incorrect. I did not believe that I could receive revelation from God or even that others could receive it. It seemed preposterous, illogical, and even strange that God would appear to the boy Joseph Smith, that He would reveal new scripture, and that only one religion had received the divine guidance for its establishment as the true Church.
Ironically, I doubted the authenticity of all religions, including my own. While I had a heart filled with love for family and friends, a heart that longed for answers, when it came to the whisperings of the Spirit, I had a heart of stone.
After my freshman year I returned home to Kentucky to continue my education. My Latter-day Saint friends soon left to serve missions, and I felt a profound loneliness at their absence. I wanted to have some of the conviction that had inspired them to offer two years of their lives. At the same time, I was continually bothered that I still had no answer to Matt’s question. I wanted to know truths for myself. At last, after many letters from my friends encouraging me to meet with the missionaries, I overcame my trepidation and accepted.
Nevertheless, I had reservations regarding the idea that the various principles of the gospel were interconnected into one unified whole. The missionaries believed that since their message, in its entirety, was either all true or all false, once I gained a testimony of one principle, I could naturally accept all their teachings.
I did not believe them. I thought it was acceptable to pick and choose what I wanted to believe from a sort of spiritual and doctrinal smorgasbord. At the same time, my logic demanded empirical evidence as proof, not faith-based conversion.
Unfortunately, my logic also left me unhappy and dissatisfied. All philosophical arguments I considered were competing postulates of pessimism that provided no real answers. I desired something more, something that would commune with my heart the way my friends and the missionaries described communing with the Holy Ghost. I participated in the missionary discussions in hopes that I might come to know what they said was true or, at the very least, gain some satisfaction in learning it was false.
The missionaries were patient yet bold. Over the course of several months, they taught me many discussions and invited me to be baptized a number of times, but I always said no. I was waiting for some obvious and miraculous event that would provide me with a witness before I was willing to accept their invitation. I didn’t receive that kind of witness, so I kept stonewalling their invitations.
One day the elders read a passage from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6). Then they said, “Josh, every time we invite you to be baptized, you say no. What you have to do is say yes, and then the Spirit will confirm it to you.”
In other words, I had not yet received a witness because I had not yet tried my faith. I had taken no thought but to ask, believing I would receive without trying (see D&C 9:7). I had effectively blocked the Spirit from being able to witness to me because I was unwilling to take the next step. What I needed to do was to take a leap of faith into the darkness before the light would shine. The confirming witness would come after I tried my faith, not before.
My first thought was that the missionaries were manipulating me to get me baptized. Then it occurred to me that at the precise moment when I answered no to the baptismal invitation, something faint left my heart. It was a still, soft, and subtle feeling of peace urging me to follow the missionaries’ counsel, but I had not recognized its presence until it was gone, leaving me confused, unhappy, and sorrowful.
I wondered if this faint feeling could be the Spirit leaving me and if the cause of my confusion was my own hard heart pushing Him away. With no other recourse, I decided to try the missionaries’ challenge. I would say yes to the inevitable invitation, and then if I felt the Spirit as they promised me, I would go through with the baptism. On the other hand, if I did not feel the Spirit, I was perfectly prepared to tell the missionaries I was just joking.
The evening of our next appointment we watched a new Church video, The Prodigal Son. There was a special feeling in the room; the missionaries were visibly touched, tears welling in their eyes.
After the movie ended, we read several passages in the scriptures. At last Elder Critchfield turned to me and asked, “Josh, will you be baptized on Saturday, November 10, at 4:00 in the afternoon?”
I hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”
The Spirit hit me with such an electrifying presence that the hairs on my arms rose, and I nearly cried. There could be no doubt that light had shone into the darkness. I had tested my faith, and I knew unequivocally that I had to be baptized.
I had gained a testimony of the goodness of one seed of faith, but I had yet to see it grow to fruition (see Alma 32:35–36), and I had not yet received a confirming witness of other gospel principles. My trial of faith was not yet over.
Not long after I was baptized and confirmed, doubts crept into my mind. I felt conflicted between the very personal experience I had had when deciding to get baptized and my old logic, which did not accept faith-based knowledge.
Soon I again felt the haunting feelings of confusion and sorrow, and I did not know what to believe. Nevertheless, I had made a commitment, and I determined to remain active in the Church and apply the principles I had been taught until the trial of my faith resolved my conflict one way or another.
The Lord did not leave me to wander alone. I was given a calling to serve with the missionaries, and as we went proselytizing each week, the missionaries continued to shepherd me. My home teachers were faithful. My home teaching companion was prompt and consistent. Many ward members developed friendships with me by involving me in their lives, inviting me into their homes for dinners and for family home evenings. They prayed with and for me. The bishop and his family cared for and encouraged me. I could sense the honest intentions of their hearts, and that strengthened my resolve.
One day, some months later, it dawned on me that every time I read the Book of Mormon, I felt a subtle, familiar feeling of peace, much as I had felt during the discussions and baptismal invitations. I had a sudden moment of clarity: this was the Spirit. As I thought the words—“If this is the Spirit, then this book must be true”—that subtle feeling swelled in my heart, and my faith turned to spiritual knowledge of that principle.
As my heart continued to become more “broken” and my spirit more “contrite” (see Ether 4:15), other confirming experiences followed. In time my doubts were replaced by convictions. I knew that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, not by my own intellect or by the persuasions of others, but by the undeniable presence of the Spirit speaking to my spirit. Precept upon precept opened to my mind (see 2 Nephi 28:30). As these confirming experiences built upon each other, my perceptions of the gospel expanded, and spiritual understanding came more quickly. Each experience required diligence, a willingness to listen and to follow, and a desire to yield to the enticings of the Spirit (see Mosiah 3:19).
I can say today that the gospel is true, for I have learned this for myself. Once the gospel seemed strange and illogical; now it is familiar and wonderful to me. The gospel principles are indeed all interconnected in one great whole. Even with relatively limited doctrinal knowledge, as a missionary I could testify of these truths. As my doctrinal knowledge expands, so does my testimony.
My collective testimony works as a carefully forged and constantly nourished bulwark against adversity. It sustains me through the challenges I face, most particularly the efforts of the evil one to sow seeds of doubt regarding things I have already received answers about (see D&C 6:22–23). When I feel weak, when doubts come, when pain lingers, I apply the same pattern that has yielded fruit from the first day I received a testimony: I reflect upon each testimony-building experience I have received, I reinvigorate my practice of the principles I have been taught, and I pay attention as the Spirit reaffirms my faith.
The gospel is true, all of it, and it is open to all who will, in the humility of their hearts, try their faith by taking a step of faith into the darkness. The Savior’s light is there, hidden only by our unwillingness to find it. There may be many dark times in our lives or times when our testimonies are challenged. I discovered that the Savior’s illumination awaits us when we willingly seek Him, and that illumination, if we seek it continually, leads us unto conversion.

Among the new members in Canada were many with relatives and friends in England. They wrote letters explaining their conversion and became anxious to bear their testimonies personally to their friends. The groundwork was already being laid for the spread of the gospel. Several months before Joseph Smith had fled from Kirtland, he had called Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Willard Richards, and four Canadian converts to open the British mission. They arrived at the port of Liverpool, England on July 20, 1837.
These missionaries contacted friends and relatives and then began to work generally among the people of England. After nine months of preaching—in churches whenever they could, in rented halls, or door to door—they counted nearly two thousand converts. Most of the elders returned home that spring,. leaving Canadian Joseph Fielding to preside over the mission, with Willard Richards (not yet an apostle) and William Clayton, a British convert, as counselors.

Of course other prayers are also offered in such quiet places. In Hungary, in a grove of trees at the top of a mountain overlooking the city of Budapest, two sister missionaries are quietly seeking answers.
They open their scriptures and bring out a typewritten copy of the dedicatory prayer—newly translated into Hungarian—that Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve pronounced on Hungary in 1987. It was here on Mt. Gellért that Elder Nelson originally gave this prayer, asking the Lord to pour out his blessings upon the nation and its people. For a few moments as they read, the sisters are enveloped with a feeling of warmth and peace.
Sisters. They love the sound of that word. There’s no family relationship between Sister Nagy Erika and Sister Pálinkás Bernadett. (Hungarian surnames are used first, followed by the given names.) And they met for the first time after becoming missionaries. But no sisters could feel more united in purpose and spirit.
Sister Pálinkás is from Dunaújváros, where there were no churches at all until just recently. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to him and felt that he loved me.”
When she was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers.
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting the following Sunday and, after being taught by the missionaries and converted by the Spirit, was baptized a month later, on August 22, 1992.
Sister Pálinkás is grateful for letters from branch members—especially the youth—back home. And she has a lot of support around her in the mission. Her first zone leader was the missionary who had baptized her in Dunaújváros a year and a half earlier! “I felt very fortunate to be able to work at the same time with him,” she says.
In April 1992, Nagy Erika was 20 years old and was living with her family in the city of Nyiregyháza when a friend encouraged them to listen to the missionaries. Erika’s father, who is a devout Christian, had taught his family about God. “But when the two elders came in the door and greeted us—my parents and all eight of us children—we felt a surprising feeling of happiness because of the spirit that came from them.”
After the second discussion, the family suddenly lost contact with the missionaries. First, one of the elders was transferred. Then, unexpectedly, Erika’s family had to move to Budapest.
Two months after moving to Budapest, Erika had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. First, she missed her bus. Then she had to walk a long way in the rain. When she finally reached a subway station, she was feeling pretty discouraged. “Then, while waiting for the subway, I suddenly noticed two elders—and one of them was the one who had taught us in Nyiregyháza! I couldn’t believe it—in a city of more than two million people!”
The discussions immediately resumed with the family, and Erika was baptized on September 13, 1992, just five months after her first meeting with the missionaries.
A year after her baptism, Erika received her mission call to Hungary. “I was happy to be called to serve my own people in my own language. But I worried whether I was worthy to be the first Hungarian citizen to serve in Hungary and if I would be able to give the people what they needed. I prayed about it and felt many special feelings that night. I knew that God loved me and my family. I felt very close to God.”
As the two sisters reminisce about experiences they are having as missionaries, it is obvious that they are being richly blessed by the Lord in their efforts. “When I went to my first city as a new missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás, “my companion and I looked in our planners and there was nothing scheduled. But we went out and worked hard. I learned that when there’s an empty day in our planners we can say, ‘No problem; we’re going to teach three or four discussions.’ I’ve learned that if we ask with real faith and real intent, the Lord will help us with it, as long as it’s according to his will.”
As these sisters see it, the preaching of the gospel in Hungary is both a beginning and an end. “The gospel gives us Hungarians a new start,” says Sister Pálinkás. “Maybe this means an end to the feeling some people have had that they needed to be apart from everyone else, that they couldn’t love each other.”
“Big walls are falling down and gates are opening up because of the gospel,” says Sister Nagy. “Over the years, we’ve built walls to protect us from things that were going to happen in our lives, and love and brotherliness were missing. But the gospel helps us open the gates to love and service.”
With that love and service comes lots of prayer—a principle that Sister Nagy and Sister Pálinkás have put to the test. First, they prayed to gain their own testimonies of the gospel; now they pray to help others develop theirs. These missionaries don’t always climb to a grove of trees on a mountaintop to say their prayers, but they know they can rise to great heights wherever they are by listening to the answers they receive.

When I was young, I always wanted everyone to feel included. If children on the playground were being picked on, I wanted to be their friend. I remember befriending one girl other children were mean to. Years later, after I was married, she was my neighbor. When I saw her, we happily greeted one another. I thought, “Look at her now. She’s a wonderful mother who serves well and works hard to teach her children.” I am so glad that when I was little I was nice to her. Then when I saw her again, I didn’t have any regrets. We were still friends.

It was during the Mexican Revolution and because of the danger to the Mormon families we were forced to leave for the United States.
I remember well the night in July, 1912, when Father came home from a priesthood meeting with word that a decision had been made for women, children, and older men to leave the next day for El Paso, Texas. The prospect at first was exciting to me, full of romance and adventure. But the seriousness of the situation really came to me when we were awakened early the next morning to prepare for the trip north.
Before leaving on our journey to the train station, I sat on a chair under the apricot tree in back of our house while Father cut my hair. He told me that he would have to stay a while in Mexico to settle his affairs and that I should go with Mother and the children. He said I would have to be the man of the family temporarily and take care of them when we got to El Paso.
About 10 o’clock in the morning we left Juárez in a wagon. Mother, Aunt Lydie, and Uncle George sat on the spring seat. Mother’s seven children and Uncle George’s—I think there were five—were in the back. I was seated on our trunk that carried all the goods we could take because of the crowd that would be on the train.
As we drove down Main Street, across the river, and down past Dan Skousen’s mill, I was looking up the road in the direction from which we had come. Over the flat between Dan Skousen’s and San Diego, the rebel army was moving northward. They were not in formation but were straggling along two at a time or in larger groups.
Suddenly two soldiers on horseback, large cartridge belts slung over their shoulders, stopped us. They were riding in old-fashioned Mexican saddles with big horns. The men said they were looking for ammunition and searched our wagon. They found no ammunition but they did find twenty Mexican pesos, the only money we had to help take care of us when we reached the United States.
They took the twenty pesos from Uncle George and then permitted us to proceed south. They started north. When they were about 100 yards from the wagon, they turned around, drew their guns from their holsters and pointed them toward the wagon.
As I looked up the barrels of the rifles, they seemed very large to me. I suppose this was one of the most exciting moments in my life, as I expected that we would be shot. However, the men did not shoot us. Slowly they lowered their guns, turned, and rode away, and we all lived to tell the story.

Will W., 14, from San Francisco, California, USA, probably doesn’t do many spiritual belly flops because he believes in making choices before the last minute.
“If you make the choice to do or not to do something before it even comes up, it makes things a lot easier,” he says. “Say you went to a party and someone offered you a drink. If you had to choose right then to take it or not, you might be tempted to take it. But if you had decided a long time ago to say no if anyone ever offered you a drink, you’d feel a lot surer of yourself. You wouldn’t even have time to be tempted. You’d say no because you had already decided to a long time ago.”
The 2018 Mutual theme says, “Learn of me, and listen to my words; walk in the meekness of my Spirit, and you shall have peace in me” (D&C 19:23). For Will, peace means feeling confident as he chooses the right and not worrying about negative comments from others. That peace comes to Will from making the decision to listen to—and obey—Jesus Christ’s words in advance.
“Sometimes kids give me a hard time for what I do or don’t do, but it doesn’t really bother me because I decided a long time ago that that is how I would live,” he says.
One thing Will and his family decided a long time ago was to keep the Sabbath day holy. That got a little tricky when Will made an elite soccer team. But, like Nephi, his family believes that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
To Will, soccer is just about everything. As his mom says, “He eats, drinks, sleeps, and just loves, loves soccer. It’s his passion and he’s very good.”
So when Will made one of the highest-ranking teams in the area, he was thrilled. The only problem: the team played many of its games on Sundays. Most teams wouldn’t accept a player who would miss every Sunday game. Choosing not to play on Sundays could mean losing his spot on the team.
But Will had made that decision a long time ago. He would keep the Sabbath day holy.
Will and his family prayed together and told Heavenly Father of their desire to keep His commandments and asked for His help. Then Will and his mother talked to the coaches of the team about their beliefs. To their surprise, the coaches wanted Will on the team even if he didn’t play on Sundays!
“I know that when I honor the Sabbath, I am blessed,” Will says. “I may not get to play as many games as the others, but I’ve seen blessings, like Sunday games suddenly getting changed to another day. I also think I play better because I have a day of rest.”
It gets better. Will soon found out that one of his teammates was also member of the Church. After a few months of playing together, the other boy followed Will’s example and stopped playing on Sunday too.
If you feel like you are not receiving the blessings of obedience, that might be because you can’t see all that Heavenly Father has in store for you. Deciding to listen to Christ’s words and to serve the Lord is always the right decision, so make it now!
“I plead with you to make a determination right here, right now, not to deviate from the path which will lead to our goal: eternal life with our Father in Heaven,” said President Thomas S. Monson (“The Three Rs of Choice,” Oct. 2010 general conference).
Don’t make your life a game of “Jump or Dive.” Don’t risk spiritual or any other kinds of belly flops. Decide right now to follow Jesus Christ and enjoy the peace He brings into your life.

Several years ago, I was in the market for a van. My wife and I had nine children, and we needed a larger vehicle. One day, I saw a big 12-passenger van for sale. I contacted the owner, who let me take it for a test drive. I was worried about the height of the van, so I decided to drive it home to see if it would fit in our garage.
I eyeballed the van and the garage door, and it looked like the van was too tall. I got a tape measure and measured the van, then the garage door. Sure enough, the van was too tall. But I wanted the van so badly; I wanted it to fit! So I called my wife out and said, “Come out and watch this. I’m going to try to pull the van into the garage and see if I can make it.” Luckily, before I actually tried to pull the van in, I thought, Wait a minute, I know I can’t make it! I realized that I had two reliable standards already. When I looked at the van, I could see it was too tall. And when I measured the door and the van, I could see the van wouldn’t fit. Yet I was almost willing to risk damage to the van and the garage by trying to drive it in. My personal desires almost kept me from trusting the standards.