Gospel Story Finder

In a historic first for West Cheltenham, the community embraced the tradition of the Passion Play, depicting the final days of Jesus Christ’s mortal ministry. Several Christian organisations in Cheltenham, including the Church of England, Catholic and Baptist Churches, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, came together for a special musical presentation telling the Easter story. Spearheaded by Revd. Janice Hamilton, Pioneer Minister for the West Cheltenham Parish, the play was a roving outdoor performance, moving across various local sites to bring the story directly into the community’s heart.
The full cast and production crew brought together over fifty individuals from all walks of life, many of whom attend various local Christian congregations. Other members of the Cheltenham Ward, including Caleb Williams and Jasmine James, contributed their wonderful talents to the acting ensemble, with Martin Giles taking the role of the Roman Centurion - bearing witness of the Saviour’s divinity with a heartfelt solo performance. Several youth and young adults from the Ward participated in the choir and orchestra, harmonising their voices and talents with those of the broader community and a combined primary schools choir.
Everyone involved in this special portrayal of Christ’s sacrifice, humbly sought to evoke the spirit and significance of the most pivotal event in human history. Despite difficult weather conditions over the Easter weekend, the play attracted an audience of family, friends and several hundred local residents. At the conclusion of the event on Easter Sunday, those watching were encouraged to ponder on their own relationship with God, as it is hoped that this pioneering initiative can serve as a catalyst for unity and spiritual enrichment within the community.

“They’re only making him a deacon!” I exclaimed. “But why? I thought when men were baptized, they just automatically became priests!”
“It’s never automatic, Sister. It’s between the branch president and …”
“Well, I didn’t exactly mean automatic. But, he’s such a fine man. Can’t the branch president see how good and humble and sincere and …” I was out of adjectives and out of breath when Sister Bullen replied.
“As I was saying,” she cocked her eyebrows for emphasis, “it’s between the branch president and the Lord. I think they can handle it. Don’t you?” She smiled sweetly, almost daring me to disagree.
I looked at my companion, not knowing if I should be angry or if I should laugh with her. I would have gone off to sulk, but our apartment was about as big as a shoe box. It’s hard to go off somewhere when you eat, sleep, and study in one room! It takes all the fun out of pouting.
I sat on my bed and pretended to study. I wished I had the faith Sister Bullen had. She’d been in the mission field for more than a year, and she was so calm about everything.
“Sister. Sister Johnson! Hey! You’re sure a long ways away! Are you still worrying about Brother Manzo?” Sister Bullen asked.
“I, well, yes I am. How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been studying that page for about 15 minutes,” she said with a smile. “Why are you so upset?”
“I just don’t think that someone who is as good as Brother Manzo should have to start out as a deacon. It’s like they don’t think he will stay with it, so they don’t trust him with anything else.”
Sister Bullen liked to joke around, and she kidded me a lot, but she was really serious when she asked, “Do you think that Brother Manzo is too proud to be a deacon?”
“No, he’s not too proud. But he’s a grown man, and he’s so dignified and kind of shy. I don’t want him to be embarrassed to be passing the sacrament with all those little boys. After all he has been through, I think he deserves to be a priest.
She smiled at me. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Sitting in the chapel on Sunday, I felt a little nervous again. The deacons were standing around the table, waiting to pick up their trays. Brother Manzo towered over the rest of the deacons. I noticed he was wearing a new white shirt and a tie. He was watching carefully to make sure he did the right things.
As he turned and reverently carried his tray of bread toward us, I could see that his face was shining. He caught my eye and smiled warmly. I looked down at my scriptures. They were open to the 26th chapter of Matthew, and I read verse 26: “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat …”
I couldn’t see the words through the tears in my eyes. It had been me, not Brother Manzo, who needed to learn about the priesthood! I felt a squeeze on my arm, and Sister Bullen smiled at me and winked.
I guess there’s no such thing as being “only” a deacon.

I guess the things that mean a great deal to me are sometimes the ones I take for granted. I never realized how important the Church magazines are to me until I didn’t have them. I missed an issue of both the New Era and the Ensign, and I wonder if Satan helped lose them along their path to me. I’m sure he doesn’t like these magazines. I’m grateful for the many hours I’ve spent reading them from cover to cover as the Spirit bore record to me and I cried tears of joy. Joseph Smith once said that a person could get closer to the Lord by reading the Book of Mormon than by reading any other book. I know it’s also true that a person can get closer to the Lord by reading the Church magazines than by reading any other magazines.
Miles Andrew CookHickory, North Carolina

One Sunday the missionaries brought a family to church. They had a son my age, and my dad suggested that I go to church with him. They went to a different ward, so I stayed for three more hours to go to classes with him. And basically from then on, I went to two wards every Sunday.
I love church, so it’s pretty good to go for six hours. It’s easier when I can help someone else. When you don’t focus on yourself and you focus on someone else, it feels less tedious, more like service. Really focus on reaching out to the people around you. There are a lot of people who need your help who are never going to call out. And just being their friend can help them a lot. The more you reach out and serve others, the more you learn about yourself.
Benson O., 16, British Columbia, Canada.

Here in the mission field, I have learned to do many things on my own initiative and not to wait for someone to tell me what to do. We need to be like the Savior, who volunteered to come to earth and to pay for our sins. Although he suffered greatly, he was happy because he was doing the will of his Father.
Elder Jorge Guevara,Las Delicias Ward, Sonsonate El Salvador Stake

My uncle is an artist who makes small wooden ships in glass bottles. It takes a lot of time, concentration, and effort to make them.
One day I saw all of his tools and noticed how each tool was used for a specific detail or molding on the ship. As I watched him work, I was surprised by how he would use the tools to make these ships. I was reminded of the story of Nephi building a ship (see 1 Nephi 17–18). He built it according to the Lord’s way, not man’s way. God gives us tools to build our own ships in His way. The scriptures, faith, and the love of God are tools that I must use in my own life to carefully construct my own ship without any cracks. I am learning each day to be a disciple of the Lord.

I received a notice from my 13-year-old son’s school announcing a special parents’ meeting to preview the new course in human sexuality. Parents could examine the curriculum and take part in a lesson presented exactly as it would be given to the students.
When I arrived at the school I was surprised to discover only a dozen or so parents there. And I was the only Latter-day Saint. As we waited for the presentation to begin, I thumbed through page after page of instruction in the prevention of pregnancy and disease. I searched for the word abstain and related words but found the idea of abstinence mentioned only briefly.
The teacher arrived shortly, accompanied by the school nurse. Before beginning the lesson, the teacher asked if there were any questions. I asked why abstinence did not play a noticeable part in the lesson material.
What happened next was shocking. I was verbally assailed by the other parents. “How stupid are you?” one sneered. There was a great deal of laughter, and someone suggested if I thought abstinence had any merit, I was out of touch with the real world.
The teacher and the nurse said nothing as I drowned in a sea of embarrassment. My mind had gone blank during the unexpected attack, and I could think of nothing to say.
When the laughter subsided, the teacher explained that the school was to teach “facts”; the home was responsible for moral training. I sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as the course was explained. The other parents seemed to give their unqualified support to the materials that would be presented to our children.
“Donuts at the back,” announced the teacher during the break. “And I’d like you to put on the name tags we have prepared and mingle with the other parents. Get to know each other.”
All the other parents moved to the back of the room. As I watched them affixing their name tags and shaking hands, I sat deep in thought. I was ashamed I had not been able to come up with an argument that would convince them to include a serious discussion of abstinence in the lesson material. I uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher’s hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you join the others, Mr. Layton?”
“Thank you, no,” I replied.
“Well, then, how about a name tag? I’m sure the others would like to meet you.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I replied.
“Won’t you please join them?” she coaxed.
Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, “Don’t go.” The instruction was unmistakable. “Don’t go!”
“I think I’ll just wait here,” I said.
When the class was called back to order, the teacher thanked everyone for putting on their name tags. She ignored me. Then she said, “Now we’re going to give you the same lesson we’ll be giving your children. Everyone please take off your name tags. On the back of one of the tags I drew a tiny flower. Who has it, please?”
The man across from me held it up. “Here it is!”
“All right,” she said. “The flower represents disease. Do you recall with whom you shook hands?”
He pointed to a couple of people. “Very good,” she replied. “The handshake in this case represents intimacy. So the two people you had contact with now have the disease.” The teacher continued, “And who did the two of you shake hands with?”
The point was well taken, and she explained how this lesson would show students how quickly disease can be spread.
“Since we all shook hands, we all have the disease; there is no escaping that fact.”
It was then I heard the still, small voice again: “Speak now, but be humble.” I recognized the importance of the latter admonition, then rose from my chair. I apologized for any upset I might have caused earlier, congratulated the teacher on an excellent lesson, and concluded by saying I had one small point I wished to make.
“Not all of us were infected,” I said simply. “One of us abstained.”

Kira A., age 9, Idaho, USA, broke both of her arms two weeks before conference. She felt the Spirit when Elder Nelson talked about our bodies. She says, “It’s very hard to have two casts! I’m happy that my arms can heal.”

Steve Young is one of the most gifted young men that I have ever known. He is fast, strong, big, handsome, … and rich. It is easy for us to look at Steve and say, “With all those attributes, you ought to be great.” However, it is more than his physical attributes that have made him great; it is the way he thinks! When Steve was a junior and was starting his first season as our quarterback, we had one of the greatest opportunities presented to us in our football program at BYU. We were scheduled to play Herschel Walker and the University of Georgia, the defending national champions. We worked very hard and felt we had a chance to beat them if we played our very best and did not make mistakes.
Before 82,000 fans, and on a “rainy day in Georgia,” Steve threw five interceptions in the first half of the game—more than he would normally throw in five games! In spite of the interceptions and two missed field goal attempts, we were still tied 7–7 at halftime.
Going into the dressing room, I thought to myself that I must talk to Steve and assure him that everything would be fine. The rain, the crowd, the tipped balls, etc.—I had all the excuses ready for throwing five interceptions in one half. I started explaining this to Steve and before I could finish, Steve stopped me, looked at me as if I was crazy, and said, “Hey coach, there’s no problem. I can hardly wait to get back out there. We’re going to win.” I found myself thinking, “What do you mean there’s no problem, you dummy. You have just thrown five interceptions!” It’s the way he thinks. That’s what has made him what he is and enabled him to accomplish what he has done. As you know, this was just the start of a career that would see him become one of the finest quarterbacks to play the game of college football.

One of my high school friends was an extraordinary person with great potential, but she worried about returning to college after her freshman year because of the cost. Dad found out about her concern and invited her to his office. At the end of the visit, he gave her a check he had already made out that enabled her to return to school.

“Mrs. Tillman lives right down the road. Maybe we could visit her for a minute before we go milk Betsy,” suggested Sister Allred.
“At six o’clock in the morning?” burst out Tony.
“Mrs. Tillman used to go to work at four in the morning,” replied Sister Allred. “She still likes getting up early. Besides, I want to drop her off some homemade breakfast rolls. And … well … I’d like to give her a Book of Mormon, too, and maybe share my testimony of it with her.”
“A Book of Mormon?” screeched Tony.
“She’s the last person I’d give a Book of Mormon to,” I said.
“She’s the meanest lady in town!” exclaimed Jimmy.
Sister Allred smiled. “Is that so? Well, I’m sure she would love to meet you.”
All five of us boys gave each other worried looks. Even “Sweet” Emily Clawson looked troubled.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Sister Allred. “This time I’ll drop you off to milk Betsy. You’ve milked her enough now that you don’t need my help. Today’s kind of a special day for me, and I really do want to give Mrs. Tillman this Book of Mormon.”
“So that’s why you wanted to be a good missionary to that mean old lady?” asked Tony.
Brian burst out, “Mrs. Tillman isn’t mean. She sat and talked to us and gave me hot biscuits and honey.”
My stomach growled.
“Best of all,” he added, “she’s going to church with us this Sunday.”
“She is?” we chorused.
Sister Allred chuckled. “I tried to give her the Book of Mormon, but I was too late. She read it a long time ago. She’s thought about going to church but has never wanted to go by herself.”
“So how did she get a Book of Mormon?” I said.
Sister Allred got a strange misty look in her eyes. “All these years, I didn’t know—Todd gave her one when he was only nine years old.”

by Revell Butler
The sunburns and callouses have faded away, but the memories of our visit last summer to the Havasupai Indian Reservation in the Grand Canyon still fill a special place in the hearts of the Young Women from the Sacramento Fourth Ward, Sacramento California Stake.
Eighteen girls and six chaperons participated in the unforgettable trip that took almost an entire year to plan and prepare. Participation in fund-raising projects, committee work, and faithful attendance at sacrament meetings were requirements, and by the time the morning for the trip to begin arrived, we were excited and eager to go.
We spent the first night at the rim of the Grand Canyon and early the next morning hiked down into it, arriving at the Indian village right before lunchtime. We were welcomed by Brother and Sister Bigler, stake missionaries on the reservation. After leaving them, we hiked to Fifty Foot Falls and made camp. It was only about a two-mile walk, but in the 120-degree heat even three feet seemed like quite a journey. After an afternoon of swimming, we spent the evening singing song after song around the campfire. It was sprinkling a little, which was a refreshing treat after all the hot, dusty hiking of the afternoon.
The next day was Sunday, and as we walked into the village, our sandals filled with the soft, powder-like dirt that lined the streets of the village. Our dresses were slightly wrinkled from being in our backpacks, and we received a few curious glances as we walked toward the church.
After the warm, friendly service and a luscious dinner with the Biglers, Doug Butler (a chaperon) announced that he had spoken with the bishop and was going to be baptized the next morning in the river near where we camped. The girls were delighted and all agreed that this was the perfect ending to a spiritual and memorable afternoon.
The next two mornings were devoted to a playschool the girls had planned for the Indian children. Kathy Epling was in charge and had arranged for books, small crafts, crayons, and coloring books to be given to the children. She had planned activities that included reading stories to the children, showing them a missionary filmstrip, and helping them to plant poppy seeds in paper cups as a remembrance of the visit.
Tuesday evening the girls presented a musical program at the community center. They sang songs (mostly camp favorites) for an hour and a half before the spectators would let them stop. The next morning we started for home, stopping at Boulder Dam and swimming in the ice-cold Colorado River in the afternoon. Glacier Point and Yosemite Village were our final stops before arriving home.
We shared many things during the nine days we lived together—food, shampoo, towels—but the most meaningful things we shared weren’t tangible. We shared hard work and often unbearable weather. We shared special experiences that will never leave any of us quite the same again. We laughed together and cried together, and drew closer together because of it. We all came to know each other a little better as we gave of ourselves to others and shared in the special joy that comes from giving.

Following a curiosity—like going to see how hand-blown glass is made—could end up becoming a rewarding new hobby for you. And hobbies are good for mental health!

We stopped at a pizza parlor on the way home from the priesthood session of general conference when I was fifteen years old, and as a result I learned a lesson about tithing that I will never forget.
My father, my two brothers, and I were hungry. As we waited for our order, I saw one of my friends working cleaning off the tables. I asked him how he got the job, and he told me they still needed extra help. A few minutes later he came back and told me that the manager would interview me immediately. Perhaps it was because I was wearing a nice shirt and a tie, but the employer seemed impressed. The interview went well. I expressed my wish not to work on Sundays, and he said there would be no problem—plenty of people would work for me. I was hired to begin work as soon as I could.
During the next two years, I gradually worked my way up to the position of pizza cook. Then one evening as I began my shift, I noticed one of my scheduled days had been taken off the calendar. My boss told me that if I wanted to work the regular number of hours, Sunday was open. I worked one Sunday and felt terrible about it, so I declined to work on the Sabbath from then on. My relations with my employer started to deteriorate, and I began to look for another job.
It was interesting that although I was fairly adamant about keeping the Sabbath day holy, I was lax in obeying another commandment—the law of tithing. I didn’t pay tithing at all, unless my parents prompted me. Then I’d say, “Yes, yes,” and put something in the envelope the next week. I just couldn’t understand the sense in giving away one-tenth of my hard-earned money.
I kept searching for a job but with no results. I prayed to my Father in Heaven sincerely, confident that he would help me find employment. One evening while praying, a thought came to me. Why should the Lord help me find another job if I wasn’t paying tithing on the income from my current job?
I studied a couple of scriptures:
“And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
I decided to obey the commandment. I went to the bank and secured a large sum of money from my savings account to pay the tithing I had missed. I took it over to the bishop’s house that very evening.
In my pursuit of better employment, I had applied for work in a shop that installed car mufflers. This was in January, and they said they wouldn’t need any additional help until the following December. Two days after I paid my tithing, someone from the shop telephoned with an offer for me to start work the next day. By the time I left on my mission, I was earning three times as much money as I had earned cooking pizza, plus a good commission. I was able to finance half of the expense of my mission by myself. Furthermore, after I had been in the mission field about a year, my employer from the muffler shop called my parents and asked if he could help pay the rest of my mission expenses.
Some might say that all these things happened coincidentally. I would be inclined to say that I was blessed because I finally started living a gospel principle. Tithing opens a door to blessings from the Lord.

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”

As we turn backward the clock of time, we recall that some 65 years ago a desperately arranged peace, a conference of peace, convened in the Bavarian city of Munich. Leaders of the European powers assembled even as the world tottered on the brink of war. Their purpose, openly stated, was to pursue a course which they felt would avert war and maintain peace. Mistrust, intrigue, a quest for power doomed to failure that conference. The outcome was not “peace in our time,” but rather war and destruction to a degree not previously experienced. Overlooked, or at least set aside, was the hauntingly touching appeal of one who had fallen in an earlier war. He seemed to be writing in behalf of millions of comrades—friend and foe alike:
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I chose to arrange the next two family home evenings, focusing on faith. I started off by preparing the lessons and trying to learn the chords on the guitar for the songs we would sing.
The first lesson was on faith. I asked what we as a family could change to grow our faith. They replied, “Praying, studying scriptures, fasting, going to church,” and so on. We agreed that there are many things you can do to grow your faith, but the most important thing is to actually do them. It’s important that you act in order to strengthen your faith.
The second lesson was on spiritual gifts. We talked about what faith and spiritual gifts had to do with each other.
Our faith-themed family home evenings went really well. We improved some things in our family; we had fun and tried not to just get it over with. We felt the Spirit together as a family.
Riza S., age 16, Roskilde, Denmark

My family used to live in a large city on the east coast of the United States. While we lived there, I had the opportunity to perform in the Nutcracker Ballet. It was exciting, magical, and a dream come true, since I have taken dance lessons from the age of three.
In hopes of recreating the magic, I auditioned again for the Nutcracker in my new town. One week later, the new director of the ballet company called our home to offer me a part in the first act. However, because of a new company policy, rehearsals would take place every Sunday for the next three months.
My mom explained to the director that this would be a conflict with our religion, but she would present the choice to me and let me make the decision whether I would dance or not. The director then gave this charge: “Abby needs to choose what is most important to her.”
This was a hard choice for me as I looked at the pros and cons of accepting this part. I loved ballet with a passion, but I also knew what was right. I had learned a long time ago that the Savior taught what is right and what is wrong, and that it is left up to me to choose the good part. So I declined the invitation to dance in that year’s Nutcracker.
The next day was our Children’s Sacrament Meeting Presentation. The theme was “Choose the Right.” The main scripture our leaders chose to use was “Choose you this day whom ye will serve; … but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Josh. 24:15). My mom and dad sat in the congregation, watching me while I sang with the Primary chorus these words: “Choose the right in all labors you’re pursuing; Let God and Heaven be your goal” (Hymns, no. 239).

After the 1832 crisis with South Carolina subsided, and before the Civil War began in 1861, Joseph was hardly considered “observant.” He and others who held to the revelation were ridiculed.
Elder Orson Pratt (1811–1881) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said that from the time he was 19 years old, he preached this prophecy all across the upper United States. Generally, his teaching was regarded as “the height of nonsense,” and he was “laughed … to scorn.” He specifically noted reaction in Kansas, where many were certain that if war came, it would surely start there, where pro- and anti-slavery forces were often in intense and sometimes bloody conflict.
But Elder Pratt declared, “Behold and lo! in process of time [these events] came to pass [as Joseph had prophesied], again establishing the divinity of this work, and giving another proof that God is in this work, and is performing that which He spoke.”6

My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.