Gospel Story Finder

In a stake conference in Campinas, Brazil, I enjoyed a soul-restoring experience of listening to the gifted, able, and charming president of the stake Relief Society, Sister Vilma Figuereda. She told of the great excitement and personal revelation she received regarding the truthfulness of the Church when she first heard its message from the missionaries. She was literally twice born, with energy, conviction, and a desire to tell all of her acquaintances and others of the healing and sanctifying message of the gospel. She walked over so many cobblestones and on so many sidewalks that she would wear out a pair of shoes each month. Her husband, at that time not a member of the Church but concerned about the many demands upon the limited resources of the family, asked her, “Couldn’t the Church at least buy you a pair of shoes?” The soles of her shoes were worn thin, but the inner soul of her being was fully restored.

I sat in a meeting at a university seminar where Dr. John A. Widtsoe in his older years was one of several panelists speaking to the subject of alcoholism. One stood representing a great Christian denomination and justified the use of alcohol in moderation, declaring that there is nothing wrong with such use. A second speaker represented another part of the Christian world, a young man of considerable conviction, who announced that he differed with the viewpoint of the preceding speaker. He said, “I look upon alcohol, used even as it is used by men who think they are moderate, as a tool of the devil.” He talked about the terrible destruction visited upon humankind through alcohol. Dr. Widtsoe was the last speaker. He was an internationally famous chemist and a man of celebrated intellectual accomplishment. He stood and said, “I think there is little need for me to add much today. I link arms with my young brother in what he has just said and walk with him.” And then he said, “Because I am a chemist and know something of the nature and effects of alcohol, perhaps I could talk a little about that.” And he did, and let it go at that.

I have never forgotten the imagery, and I have enjoyed the blessing frequently of trying to practice it. We must link arms with good people who have similar or common objectives and walk with them as long and as far as we can.

My stake was excited that the Palmyra New York Temple dedication was going to be broadcast at our stake center. The members seemed abuzz with anticipation. I was looking forward to it too, but for some reason I kept procrastinating getting my ticket.
Finally, on the day of the dedication, I talked to one of the counselors in the bishopric to get my ticket. He handed me a ticket, and without looking at it, I put it in my purse. During sacrament meeting, announcements were made about the dedication, but I tuned them out because I already had my ticket.
I went home that day and got lost in other activities. About 15 minutes before the dedication was to begin, I decided I should probably leave. I felt prepared as I put my white handkerchief in my purse and even double-checked to make sure my ticket was still there.
My family had left earlier to get good seats, warning me that I should come soon. I had planned to drive with them but hadn’t been ready, so I decided to go separately.
As I pulled into the church parking lot, I was surprised at how full it was. It was packed with cars, but there wasn’t a person in sight. At first I feared I was late, but I looked at my watch and I had five minutes before the dedication was to start.
I walked up the steps to the church and tried the door. It was locked. I was puzzled but remembered hearing somewhere that they were letting people in only through certain doors. I wasn’t sure which doors, so I decided to try them all. I went around the church, pulling at the doors, rattling them slightly, trying in frustration to open them.
As I approached the last set of doors, I felt my heart quicken. I tried the door, but it too was locked. I peered into the lobby, which was empty. The doors to the chapel were closed. I realized sadly that everyone was already inside, and I was alone outside—looking in.
As I walked dejectedly back to the car, I decided to double-check the time of the dedication. I fished through my purse until I found the ticket and saw that I had the time right. Anger ran through me at being locked out. Why wasn’t I able to go inside? I was missing this historic event!
I turned over the ticket and was surprised to see writing on the back. I read it with curiosity. Clearly printed was the instruction to be seated 30 minutes before the dedication started.
Why hadn’t I seen that before? I had never read the back of my ticket. I had placed it in my purse as soon as I received it. I hadn’t prepared in one of the simplest ways possible. As I sat in the car, too sad to move, I realized I was like one of the five foolish virgins in the parable of the ten virgins. I was left outside the wedding ceremony with a lamp that was out of oil, while the others were inside with the bridegroom.
Whenever I had read that story in Matthew 25, I wondered how the five women had been so foolish. I always thought that purchasing enough oil was such a simple thing to do. I knew the oil and lamps represented our testimonies and the Holy Spirit’s guidance (see D&C 45:57). I had thought I was prepared to attend the temple dedication, yet I wasn’t inside listening to the prophet.
Alone in the parking lot, I realized that having a ticket wasn’t enough. We have more to do than simply be present on the day Christ comes. We need to be prepared in every way, constantly filling our lamps, not just thinking we have enough oil.
As I drove back home, tears stung my eyes. It hurt to be alone, knowing that family and friends were inside being uplifted and I wasn’t able to go in with them. I promised myself that from then on I would do all I could to be prepared with plenty of oil. I want to be part of the joyful wedding party instead of being one of the unprepared locked outside.

Acknowledging that their family has gone through some difficult times, Elder Gose and Sister Arouma Mata’utia recently shared why they are serving a second senior mission with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“We love the Lord, we want to obey our covenants of consecration, and we want our children and grandchildren to be blessed,” Arouma said.
When applying to serve as senior missionaries in Apia, Samoa, Arouma answered one of the questions, explaining, “I can walk about 15 minutes, and my husband can walk about 30 minutes before having to stop and rest, but we don’t need a wheelchair.”
Gose corrected her by stating, “I can walk an hour. Whatever the mission requires us to walk, we’ll walk. It doesn’t matter how far.”
Spend a little time with the Mata’utias and you will quickly learn that this is how they approach life. One step, one day at a time.
Gose and Arouma Mata’utia grew up in Samoa, married, and then raised their seven children, and three other children they call their own, in Australia. They also have 10 grandchildren. They say with big smiles, “Our children complete our joy.”
In 1993, they were involved in a severe car accident with six of their children. It took many months to recover from serious injuries, including brain injury, broken bones, and the loss of one of their children’s arms. They could not understand how something so terrible could happen to them, but they came to realise that they were “very blessed to survive.”
While still recovering, Gose accepted the request by Church leaders to be president of a Samoan branch in Canberra, Australia. He did that from his hospital bed for about a month, and then continued to serve as the branch president for 10 years.
After that life-changing accident, they both believed their lives were spared, and it strengthened their commitment to live the gospel. Arouma said, “We felt the need to give back to the Lord.”
They encountered more challenges when Gose suffered a stroke in 2015. After an extensive time recovering from that, their oldest daughter became sick and died three years later at the age of 38. At the time of her death, Arouma recalls, “Words came to me that Heavenly Father was telling me, ‘She is my daughter, too.’” They were comforted.
When contemplating whether to serve a senior mission, they describe their love of a scripture, Matthew 19:29, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.”
Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.
Another daughter died from cancer in 2023, also at the age of 38. The Mata’utias remember her as especially faithful. Arouma said, “She desired and continually encouraged us to serve a second mission.”
They expressed gratitude to be returning to their homeland of Samoa to serve their second senior mission. Gose said, “We will leave it to the Lord, and He will bless us and our family.”

“What’s a testimony?” I asked my mom one Sunday as we were getting ready for church. I knew it was fast Sunday, which meant that people would be “bearing their testimony,” and I wasn’t sure what a testimony was.
My sister Diana hurried by, and Mom asked her, “What do you think a testimony is, Diana?”
“I think it’s when the Holy Ghost tells you something is true,” she said. “We’ve been studying about Jesus in seminary. I have a testimony that Jesus loves me and died for me. It’s a good feeling inside to know that Jesus will help me when I have problems.”
“We can have a testimony of many things, Bryan,” Mom said. “Bearing a testimony means you tell why you know a gospel principle is true.”
“I have an idea, Bryan,” Mom said later as we were going into the chapel. “Why don’t you write down all the things that the people bear testimony of in sacrament meeting today?”
“I can help you spell the people’s names,” Daddy said. “Pretend that you are a secretary or reporter. It will help you learn what a testimony is.”
After the sacrament, Daddy handed me a piece of paper and a pencil. At the top he had written “Name, Testimony” and had drawn a big line underneath. I felt like a news reporter as I wrote down everything.
Brother Nielson talked about how his prayers had been answered that week, and I wrote “prayer” beside his name.
Brother Brown, who seemed like the oldest person in the ward, bore his testimony next. He told how a priesthood blessing had saved his sister’s life. Daddy showed me how to spell “priesthood.” I know that when I have a sick stomach or a really sore throat and Daddy gives me a blessing, I feel better immediately. Sometimes my stomach or throat still hurts, but I feel better. It’s like the feeling I have when I have a bad dream and Mom comes and holds me and tells me about Jesus. After she does this, the bad feeling goes away and I feel sleepy again. I think I have a testimony of priesthood blessings, just like Brother Brown.
Sister Hatty cried when she bore her testimony about how glad she was that families can be together forever. Daddy whispered to me that Sister Hatty’s father had died the week before. I couldn’t think what to write down as her testimony, so Daddy finally spelled out “resurrection” for me.
As I wrote the names and topics, a strange feeling began to grow in me.
“Daddy,” I whispered a few minutes later, “how old do you have to be to bear a testimony?”
“You can bear your testimony when you’re old enough to have a testimony,” Daddy whispered back.
“Can someone my age bear his testimony?” I finally whispered.
“If a person is old enough to know what a testimony is,” Daddy whispered back, “he can bear it. Children know things are true just like grownups.”
When Mitchell went up to bear his testimony, the funny feeling inside me grew bigger. Mitchell was still in elementary school, like me. Mitchell said he was glad that his older brother, Aaron, was serving a mission. Mitchell said he wanted to go on a mission, too, when he got older. I wrote down “mission” by Mitchell’s name and thought how wonderful it would be to be a missionary like Aaron. Mitchell said that missionaries bear their testimonies all the time.
It was then that I decided I wanted to bear my testimony. I wasn’t old enough to be a missionary, but I could tell what I believed in. Daddy smiled and gave me a hug when I whispered that I was going to bear my testimony.
When Sister Morris sat down, I took a deep breath and started walking to the front of the chapel. I felt really scared, and I wished I could run back to my seat beside Daddy. But the feeling that I wanted to bear my testimony kept me moving toward the front.
“I love Heavenly Father and Jesus,” I said shakily and very loudly. I paused, and I felt better. “I like to read the Book of Mormon. I get a good feeling when I read it, even when I don’t understand all of it. I like to pray. I know Heavenly Father answers my prayers.” The wonderful feeling had spread all over me, and I felt warm and safe, like when I am wrapped in Daddy’s strong arms.
I felt really good when I finished my testimony, and I quickly walked back to Mom and Daddy. Diana gave me a big hug as I squeezed in by her. I whispered to her, “A testimony is a really good feeling that makes you happy inside, Diana, just like you said.” Then I added, “Bearing your testimony makes the good feeling inside feel even better.”

Contrast these events with an incident which happened to me when I was a young man in my early twenties. While serving in the Air Force, one of the pilots in my squadron crashed on a training mission and was killed. I was assigned to accompany my fallen comrade on his final journey home to be buried in Brooklyn. I had the honor of standing by his family during the viewing and funeral services and of representing our government in presenting the flag to his grieving widow at the graveside. The funeral service was dark and dismal. No mention was made of his goodness or his accomplishments. His name was never mentioned. At the conclusion of the services, his widow turned to me and asked, “Bob, what is really going to happen to Don?” I was then able to give her the sweet doctrine of the Resurrection and the reality that, if baptized and sealed in the temple for time and all eternity, they could be together eternally. The clergyman standing next to her said, “That is the most beautiful doctrine I have ever heard.”

The clock was running out in my New York high school wrestling match, and the score was 13 to 2. I was behind, and even though I had tried everything, I was no match for my opponent, Elmer. Yet I thought to myself, I can’t afford to lose. Everything depends on my match. If I lose, we can’t possibly get enough points in the rest of the matches to win. And there will go our undefeated season.
This was supposed to be our high school’s 99th consecutive wrestling team match win, and the 100th team match was scheduled later that day. It took many years of undefeated seasons to have a school record like that. Reporters from local newspapers and several radio stations would be at the 100th match because we were about to make Long Island wrestling history. No one ever expected us to lose.
Unfortunately, for publicity’s sake, the coaches had decided to save all the first-string wrestlers for the upcoming 100th match and let the second string wrestle the 99th. We watched in horror as many of our teammates lost their individual matches. It became painfully obvious to all of us that everything was going to depend on my bout. To make matters worse, I was not only the last-minute substitute for our sick, 165-pound wrestler, but my opponent outweighed me by 13 pounds.
Throughout each period, I worked extremely hard to leverage speed and skill to put Elmer on his back. Instead I fought most of the time to keep my own back off the mat. I simply could not compete with Elmer’s size and strength.
In the final moments of the match, Elmer was on his knees with his chest pressed against my back. He must have figured he could contain me there while he caught his breath and ran out the clock. Meanwhile, my coach sat despairing with his head in his hands. The roar of the crowd was deafening as they cheered Elmer’s imminent win and Brentwood’s upset.
By chance, my eyes caught sight of the clock. There were only 20 seconds to go. I wondered, What do I do now?
Just then, Elmer’s head dropped to obscure my view. He was exhausted. Instantly, both of my hands grabbed Elmer’s head. I tucked it into my chest and arched my back. Over he went like a sack of potatoes. “Pin!” shouted the referee as his hand slammed the mat and the buzzer sounded. I’d pinned Elmer before his feet ever hit the mat. Victory was mine. With only seconds left, I had glued Elmer, and our high school won its 99th in a row and went on to win the 100th team match.

I started doing drugs when I was 12. That was the same time the alcohol, tobacco, and social problems began as well. It led to a life that saw me lie, cheat, steal, and fight with people. I also got in trouble with the law, did poorly in school, and didn’t get along with my family and friends. I am now seeing a drug and alcohol abuse counselor, and I’m trying to quit smoking. One day when I was really down on myself, I got home and saw the New Era. Even though I felt like the stories didn’t relate to my life-style, when I finished I felt loved. I prayed to Heavenly Father for help, and asked for strength to lift me out of my depression. I don’t think I would be alive today if it wasn’t for the New Era and a close friend who has been supporting me through all this.
J. B.Canada

Opportunities for Christian acts of service do not always come at convenient times. Approximately two or three years ago I was in southern California. I had reorganized a stake. Just as I was getting ready to go out to the airport where I could relax, a woman approached me. She was in her mature years and she said, “Elder Featherstone, are you going back to Salt Lake City today?” I said, “Yes.” She continued, “Are you going on that four o’clock flight?” I responded that I was. Then she said, “Would you mind doing a favor for me?” I quickly thought about the schedule I had just been through, and the flesh was begging for a little break. I assumed she wanted me to hand carry something to her relatives. I never check baggage unless I absolutely have to. I wondered if I would have to check what it was I assumed she wanted me to bring back. I thought about waiting at the baggage claim for the item; then I wondered where it would need to be delivered. Only a moment’s pondering and as always, the spirit thrust aside all empty excuses and responded as a service-oriented leader should.
I said, “I will be glad to help in whatever way possible.” Then the woman said, “My grandson Phillip has been down here with me for a couple of weeks. How would you like to baby-sit him home to Salt Lake City? He is two-and-a-half years old. His mother will be waiting for him at the airport.” We arranged to meet at the Los Angeles Airport, where the grandmother introduced me to Phillip. Just before we boarded the plane she said, “Here is an envelope. Will you wait until you are on the plane to open it?” I found out why she made that request later.
Phillip and I boarded the plane.
I reached into my pocket and opened the letter from the grandmother. It went something like this:
“Dear Elder Featherstone, Thank you for taking Phillip back to Salt Lake City and baby-sitting him for us. We appreciate it. His mother will be there at the airport to meet you; but if she is not there, then here is what you do.”
Then she had written, “The reason I did not dare have you open the letter before you were on board the plane is that I did not have enough courage to ask you to do another favor for us. Phillip’s brother Ricky is in the University of Utah Hospital. He has had constant seizures, many in one day. The doctors do not know what else to do. They have done all they know, and he still has the problem. Do you think you could possibly find time to go by the hospital and give him a blessing?”
When we arrived in Salt Lake City, there was no one to meet us. We walked the length of the airport terminal. Still no one recognized Phillip. We went down the escalator, past the baggage claim, and out to the street. I have done some unusual things in our marriage, but I wondered what my wife would say when I came home from a stake conference visit and brought a two-and-a-half-year-old boy with me.
I looked around and stood with Phillip for a moment, and then his mother arrived driving a car and stopped by us. She had been delayed in heavy traffic coming to the airport. The sweet mother was very kind, and she loaded a happy Phillip and all his luggage into the car.
A short while later I was standing in one of the pediatric wards at the University of Utah Hospital. There were about six children in cribs. An attendant was mopping the floor, and then he left the room. I was all alone in the hospital room with these six beautiful children.
I found out which was Ricky’s bed and went over to him. I said, “My name is Vaughn Featherstone. Do you know who I just left?” He said, “No,” and I said, “I came back from Los Angeles today, and I brought your brother Phillip home. I told him I was coming here to see you.” Ricky was only about four, but tears came to his eyes. He missed his little brother.
Then I said to him, “Ricky, I am a friend of President Spencer W. Kimball, and he loves you. President Kimball is a prophet. Your grandmother asked me if I would give you a blessing. Do you know what it means when someone lays his hands on your head and gives you a blessing?” He said, “Yes.” And then I said, “Ricky, do you believe in Jesus?” He said, “Yes.” “Do you know that Jesus loves you? Do you know that Jesus can heal you?” He answered, “Yes.” Then I asked, “Would you like me to give you a blessing so you can be healed?” “Yes,” he said.
I laid my hands upon his head and gave Ricky a blessing. An interesting thing happened in the little pediatric ward. The other children stopped playing or crying and seemed to listen.
When I finished the blessing I reached in my pocket and pulled out a beautifully polished rock with my name on it that someone had given me. I gave it to Ricky, so that when his mother came she would know that I had been there.
Two years later I was in the Kingsport Tennessee Stake and a sweet young mother came up to me after conference. She told me it was her mother that had asked me to baby-sit Phillip and bless Ricky and then she said, “Have you ever heard of the results of your blessing?” I told her I had not. Then she shared with me the great miracle, “Ricky has not had another seizure since you gave him the blessing.”
It was not convenient to take Phillip home, nor was it convenient for me to go to the University of Utah Medical Center; but it was what Jesus would have done. Our service must always lead us to ask, “What would Jesus do?”

My experience applying to PhD programs was the opposite of my experience of finishing up my undergraduate degree. This time I felt very clear direction that I needed to get a doctorate, and I received some of the most distinct line-upon-line16 guidance of my life in the process. Because of how strong those promptings were, I figured that getting my PhD must be really important for me.

After I was accepted to Johns Hopkins University, I decided to visit the campus in Baltimore before making a final decision. I flew in on a Sunday so that I could visit a ward and get advice on where to live. I arrived at the Inner Harbor Ward church building early and took a seat on the back row of the chapel. As I waited for the service to begin, I heard a distinct voice in my mind say, “Ali, your PhD is important, but your experiences in this ward will be more important.” Because of this prompting, I made sure to find housing in the ward boundaries.

I learned so much from my associations with people in that ward. And I am so grateful for that prompting because I made sure that I prioritized the friendships and service opportunities that were extended to me. Otherwise, I think it may have been easy to put too much time and energy into my PhD and neglect building relationships with the people around me. There is not time to share the experiences I had with my ward, but I will say that it was because of the things I learned while serving with my ward family that I came to my dissertation topic. I believe I would have been far less successful in my program if I had not accepted both formal and informal opportunities to serve that allowed me to get to know the wonderful people in my Church community better.

Shula’s talent has put her in great demand with several different groups, so Shula has to make a lot of tough decisions about how she will spend her time. At these times, Shula relies on guidance from both her earthly parents and her Heavenly Father to make the best choices.

For example, Shula recently auditioned for the renowned National Youth Music Theater. She was offered a part in Pendragon, which will tour Scotland and be presented at the Edinburgh Festival—an event frequented by talent scouts and televised throughout Britain.

Unfortunately, rehearsals will coincide with school G.C.S.E. exams, so she declined. The director even phoned her personally to try to change her mind, informing her she’d been chosen for outstanding musicality.

A dilemma. Education versus opportunity. Education won.

“Sometimes things feel like a sacrifice,” Shula agrees, “but I enjoy what I’m doing so much that it really isn’t. It’s all worthwhile.”

Sam carried an armful of planks to the construction site and set them down. At the moment, there were only wooden beams standing. But soon the planks and beams would become a building. Sam couldn’t think of a better way to spend his Saturday than to help build a brand-new chapel!
Sam liked building things. Sometimes it was hard for him, though. When he was a boy, his hands were badly hurt in an accident. Even now, when Sam was grown up, his fingers were still stiff. Sometimes it was hard to pick things up or hold tools.
Carefully Sam picked up his hammer. He had to try harder than some of the other workers, but he didn’t mind. He just wanted to help. He knew he was doing God’s work. And if he was doing God’s work, surely God would help him!
Sam was busy working when he heard someone come up behind him. “That is good work you are doing,” the person said.
Sam turned. It was Elder Biesinger! He was a Church leader who was helping to organise building projects in New Zealand.
“Thank you,” Sam said.
Elder Biesinger smiled. “How would you like to be a labour missionary? Right now missionaries are working to help build a Church school for teenagers. We need more helpers, and I think you’d do a great job.”
“I would love to,” said Sam. He couldn’t wait to serve the Lord as a missionary!
By Monday morning, Sam was an official labour missionary. He helped pour cement at a factory to make heavy blocks. The blocks were used to help build the school. Some of them were even used to build the Hamilton New Zealand Temple!
Day after day, year after year, Sam worked hard. He always did his best. Eventually, Sam was asked to be in charge of the brick factory. He led the other labour missionaries in their duties and made sure their work was done well.
Sam had fun too! He and the other missionaries sang songs together. Sometimes they performed their music to encourage others to come and help. Whether Sam was building, singing, or getting to know someone new, God helped him do good work.
Years later, Sam was called on another mission. But this one was different. He would not be using his hands to build things. Instead, he would be using them to help people inside the temple—the same temple he had helped build!
As Sam stood inside the temple in his white clothes, he felt peace. He was grateful for all the good things God had helped his hands to do.

Despite Elder Pratt’s earlier attempt, more than 100 years passed before the Church was permanently established in Chile. In 1956, Elders Joseph Bentley and Verle Allred were sent from the Argentina Mission to preach the gospel in Chile, now enjoying greater religious tolerance. In Santiago, these missionaries had the support of the Fotheringham family, members who had moved from Panama and had been hoping for missionaries to come.
The first baptisms were performed in Chile on November 25, 1956, in a pool at a country club in Santiago. Elder Allred recalls, “We went to the country club before the sun came up and had a service with prayer and short talks. I entered the water with Brother García; I baptized him first, and then eight other people after him. This was a very special occasion. What we all felt was unforgettable. … These members would be the pioneers of the Church in Chile and I believe that every one of them remained faithful until death: the Garcías, the Saldaños, and Sister Lanzarotti.”3

A number of years ago, our son, who was four years old at the time, was involved in a serious road accident away from home. After a week or so in hospital, he was able to be transferred the 200 miles (320 kilometres) to our local hospital. When we arrived home, there was a note from a loving and caring ministering sister with details of who would collect our other four children from school, who would provide meals and who would do our laundry. During the subsequent five weeks our son remained in hospital, my wife gave birth to our youngest son. With a son in one end of the hospital, a wife and new baby in the other end, four children to care for, and a full-time job to fit in, we would not have coped without the significant help given to us by our fellow ward members. How grateful we were for their selfless ministering. We know that the common question “Can we do anything to help?” is always sincerely offered, but this wonderful, thoughtful sister went the extra mile, anticipated our needs and ministered accordingly.

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response, “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I turned 14, I moved to Texas, USA, to join my parents and siblings. I found a local church and began attending regularly. Because of my experiences with God, I wanted to share His name and gospel with everyone who would hear me. At age 15, I enrolled in ministry school to become a minister. For two years, I attended Bible classes before school, after school, and on weekends.
One morning at high school, I heard noise in the boys’ locker room. “You Mormon!” someone yelled. I had never heard that term before, but it sounded like an insult.
Later I found out that the person being yelled at was my good friend Derek.
“I am sorry you got called a Mormon,” I said.
Derek smiled and asked, “You don’t know what a Mormon is, do you?”
He told me it was a nickname for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“So, are you a Christian?” I asked.
When he said yes, I was happy to know that we shared faith in Jesus Christ.
“Who are these Mormons,” I wondered, “and what do they believe?”
I went to the internet to find out. After a few minutes, I decided that my friend was not a Christian after all and that he was going to hell. So, I embarked on a mission to save him.
For the next two years, I read every book I could find about the Church, including the entire Book of Mormon—twice. I also met with Derek and the full-time missionaries to try to help them.
When I turned 17, I graduated from ministry school, was ordained a minister, and became the pastor of a small congregation in Texas. Two months after my ordination, I had another discussion with the missionaries.
One of them asked, “You’ve read the Book of Mormon, and you’ve taken every lesson we can offer, but have you asked God if our message is true? You would recognize an answer from Him, right?”
“Of course,” I proudly responded.
“The way I see it, it’s a win-win situation for you,” the missionary responded. “If you ask God if what your friend believes is true and God says no, then you have accomplished the mission for which you began this journey. But if He says our message is true, then think about how much you could gain.”
I had never thought about it like that. That night I knelt in my room after reading Moroni 10:3–5. My answer from God was simple but powerful. In a still, small voice, He answered me: “You’ve always known.”
Now that I had a testimony of the restored gospel, what about my ministry? I still had 10 months left in my contract as a minister. After much prayer and counseling with God, I decided to complete my service. For the next 10 months, I continued to share traditional Bible truths, but when possible I added the perspective of the restored gospel. People resonated with those truths, and my little flock grew from 20 to nearly 150.
After I had completed my contract, I was offered a permanent position, but I knew it was time to be baptized into the Church. It was time to begin a new chapter in my journey of discipleship.
When I told members of my family, they were not happy—at first. But three months after I joined the Church, I baptized my mother and two of my siblings. After serving a full-time mission in the Oklahoma Oklahoma City Mission, I baptized my younger sister.
If someone asks why I changed my religion, I always answer, “I didn’t change my religion—I am still a devout Christian. Rather, I simply strengthened my relationship with the Savior by becoming a baptized member of His Church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I know Him more personally and intimately now than before because of the Restoration of the gospel, the Book of Mormon, modern prophets, and the sacred ordinances of salvation and exaltation available in the temple.”
Today I have the privilege of working as a full-time seminary teacher. I am still dedicating my life to Jesus Christ and His gospel. And I am still telling anyone who will listen about the “good tidings of great joy” (Luke 2:10).

Anne was a baby then; Matt, Mike, and I were six, three, and five. We three older children were playing in the boys’ bedroom when we decided to go sailing.
Three empty dresser drawers made great boats, but the carpet around them looked like a still blue lake, and we wanted a stormy ocean. Soon the floor was covered with toy, clothing, and blanket waves.
We were deep-sea fishing when we noticed Dad standing in the doorway.
He didn’t say a word. It was our worst mess ever, and he didn’t say a word. He simply started to help us put our waves away.

During his fifteenth year Joseph F. Smith was ordained an elder, endowed, and sent to serve as a missionary in Hawaii. There he was to experience illness and discouragement far beyond that which is normal for a young man of his age. But with these experiences came an increased deepening of his soul and a broadening of his capacities as new spiritual insights were added in his life. One such experience was a dream, significantly centering in a family experience. This dream occurred during a time in his mission when he was greatly depressed. “I was … entirely friendless, except the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.”
The dream included many things, but central to the dream was the presentation of a male child to the Prophet Joseph Smith. In the dream he saw his father and his mother, and it was his mother who handed him the child. He carried the child to the Prophet Joseph, handed it to him, and then stepped back. Then Joseph Smith, Hyrum Smith, and Brigham Young—who was still alive at the time of the dream—formed a triangle around the babe, blessed it, and then the Prophet offered the baby again to Joseph F. When the young elder had presented the baby to the Prophet Joseph, he had thrust his hand up against the chest of the Prophet to test the reality of the presence of the Prophet. Upon returning for the baby, Joseph F. had determined to test again whether this were just a dream or a reality.
“I wanted to know what it meant. So I purposely thrust myself up against the Prophet. I felt the warmth of his stomach. He smiled at me as if he comprehended my purpose. He delivered the child to me and I returned it to my mother, laid it on her lap.
“When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared. … That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord. That has helped me out of every trial and through every difficulty.”
It is rather evident from President Smith’s comments that his main interest in this experience lies in the fact that his testimony of the Prophet at that time was intensified and expanded, but one cannot help noticing one detail from that dream, a detail upon which President Smith does not comment, and that is the presentation of a male child to the Prophet Joseph Smith for a blessing. In light of the fact that two of President Smith’s sons were eventually to come into the Council of the Twelve, and one of these Joseph Fielding Smith, was later to become president of the Church to bear, as it were, the mantle of the prophet in succession from Joseph Smith, one might wonder if there was not also prophetic dimension to this dream that he received as a young missionary, “alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii.”

Clint was speechless.
So was everyone else in the congregation for that matter. The warm, tender, emotion-filled quietness was so thick we could practically touch it. It wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, no one wanted to disturb it. So we sat in silence at Clint’s missionary farewell, while he tried desperately to blink back his tears.
Some people might have been surprised to see Clint, the student-body officer, the lead singer in the band, the enthusiastic basketball player, unable to speak, but it didn’t surprise me at all. I’d seen him at a loss for words more than once.
In fact, he was like that when I first met him. I was about 11 years old, and that summer I’d become a close friend of his sister Lisa. My first contact with Clint came when I called their house to ask Lisa if she wanted to go on a bike ride, and Clint wasn’t exactly verbose then.
“Hi there,” I said. “Is Lisa home?”
“Umph,” a voice said.
“May I speak with her?” I asked, wondering if her dog Clancy had accidentally knocked the phone off the hook and was growling at it.
“Umph,” said the voice, and the grunt was followed by a crash that sounded like the phone had been dropped. Soon Lisa picked up the receiver and greeted me.
“Have you got a Neanderthal butler or what?” I asked.
“Nah—that’s just my brother,” she told me. “He isn’t very articulate today, or any other day really. You know how big brothers are.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. But I really didn’t. All I had was a big sister, and she certainly didn’t have any problems talking on the phone.
When the summer was over, Lisa and I returned to our cross-town schools. We kept in touch, but as far as I knew, her big brother had slipped into oblivion.
He suddenly emerged from it one day several years later when my older sister Karen brought him home—her latest crush. Surprise! Over the last several years, he’d grown tall and thin, and had dark blond hair that just sort of drooped over his head. I’d never noticed his deep, dark brown eyes before. And his vocabulary had improved too. “Lisa and I are old friends,” he said with a smile as Karen began to reintroduce us.
I heard his voice around the house a lot after that, and I was glad. Of all the people my sister dated, he was definitely my favorite. He took the time to drive my friends and me to the beach, he’d visit me at the ice cream parlor where I worked, and he was there to softly console me when I didn’t make the freshman cheerleading squad. And he didn’t just do it to make points with Karen either. He genuinely liked the mischievous adolescent that I was, and he wasn’t embarrassed to show it around his high school friends.
He started coming to our church for the right reasons too. A number of the boys in town would attend just because they were smitten by the local LDS girls. But not Clint. Sure, sometimes he would come to our meetings with Karen, but he began coming with his other LDS friends too. Sometimes he’d even come on his own. “I like the feeling I get there,” he said to me one day. “I know there’s something to this.”
I knew there was something to it too, and I prayed, really prayed, that he would discover what it was.
Clint learned a lot about the gospel. He admired the people in the Church. He read the Book of Mormon, felt of its spirit, and he knew it was true. He had one problem though. Although he could easily talk to everyone around him, when it came to conversing with the Lord, he was speechless. Actually talking to someone he couldn’t see, and having that being respond directly was a foreign concept to him. He didn’t believe God would really pay personal attention to him.
It took a major upheaval in his high school world to help him understand just how important that heavenly communication is. Some of the players on his basketball team were suspended for using drugs, and most of the team, along with most of the school, were convinced that Clint had turned them in. His popularity at school took a nosedive, and he realized just how fickle a crowd can be. He needed to embrace something more solid—something more enduring. He couldn’t base his life on ever-changing popular opinion.
What could he base his life on? Clint decided that the Lord was the only one who could tell him. He drove his battered car up a canyon not far from his house, and, like the account he’d read of Joseph Smith, he dropped to his knees and began, for the first time in his life, to really, sincerely, inquire of the Lord.
After a while, Clint knew. He knew The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true church of Christ on this earth and that he should be baptized. But that knowledge wasn’t given to him by a thunderous voice or by an angelic chorus. It came to him wordlessly, on a soft breeze that seemed to envelop him with warmth.
He was almost speechless when he called to tell me of his decision to be baptized. About a year later, he was speechless when he rose to thank the patriarch for giving him a wonderful patriarchal blessing. And now, here he was, speechless again as he stood at the pulpit of a chapel that was packed to the rafters with people wishing him well on his mission.
But the silence was a comfortable one. It wrapped us in the same feeling Clint had felt when he went out to pray about the truthfulness of the Church. The Spirit was touching us all.
Through his speechlessness, Clint taught me that some of the most beautiful emotions in this life aren’t communicated by words from mouth to ear, but are communicated by the Spirit from heart to heart.

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”