Gospel Story Finder

Our family had just experienced a devastating house fire, and all eight of us were living in a temporary three-bedroom mobile home in our front yard. Our family faced challenges and discord.
My husband was not active in the Church at the time. Our two teenage sons were making choices that would lead only to sorrow. Simultaneously, I was serving as Young Women president in our ward, and several of the young women were struggling with serious temptations. Some of their parents also faced struggles and therefore were not assisting their daughters at this critical time.
I knew these young women needed me to help them through their spiritual land mines. I knew my six sons needed me. I knew my good husband depended on my strength. Yet there seemed to be nothing but darkness around me, and I felt empty, weak, and incapable of leading these loved ones to safety.
Late one night as I rocked our infant son in the stillness of our temporary home, my thoughts turned to those who needed me to be strong. I felt the pervasive darkness that surrounded them. In my anguish I prayed with all my heart that Heavenly Father would show me the way to help them despite my inadequacies. He answered immediately and showed me the way.
I seemed to see myself in our ward’s large cultural hall, which had no windows. It was late at night, and there was not even a glimmer of light. Then I lit a tiny birthday candle. It seemed so insignificant, yet the power of that miniscule light was enough to displace the blackness.
That was my answer! The quantity of darkness surrounding us in the world simply does not matter. Light is eternal and is vastly more powerful than darkness (see 2 Corinthians 4:6; Mosiah 16:9; D&C 14:9). If we remain worthy of the constant companionship of the Holy Spirit, our souls can reflect sufficient light to displace any amount of darkness, and others will be drawn to that light within us.
This was all I needed to know. This simple insight has carried me through the past 25 years with the knowledge that with the Lord’s help and guidance, we can do—and be—all that He needs us to do and be in this world of darkness.

To make sure that answer holds true, I testify today that supporting the rising generation in a time of unusual challenges and temptations is an essential responsibility given to parents and bishoprics by Heavenly Father. Let me illustrate the importance of a bishopric with a personal experience.
When I was a deacon, my family moved to a new home in a different ward. I was beginning junior high school, so I also attended a new school. There was a marvelous group of young men in the deacons quorum. Most of their parents were active members. My mother was completely active; my father was exceptional in every way but was not an active member.
The second counselor in the bishopric, Brother Dean Eyre, was a devoted leader. When I was still adjusting to the new ward, a father-son event was announced for Bear Lake—about 40 miles (65 km) away. I did not think I would attend without my father. But Brother Eyre issued a special invitation for me to go with him. He spoke highly and respectfully of my father and stressed the significance of my opportunity to be with the other members of the deacons quorum. So I decided to go with Brother Eyre, and I had a wonderful experience.
Brother Eyre was a marvelous example of Christlike love in fulfilling the bishopric’s responsibility to support parents in watching over and nurturing the youth. He gave me an excellent start in this new ward and was a mentor to me.
A few months before I left for a mission in 1960, Brother Eyre passed away from cancer at age 39. He left a wife and their five children, all younger than age 16. His oldest sons, Richard and Chris Eyre, have assured me that in the absence of their father, bishoprics supported and watched out for them and their younger brothers and sister with Christlike love, for which I am grateful.

One day in 2023, Uyanga Altansukh was at work in the northern Mongolian city of Darkhan when the Mongolian mission president entered her workplace. In her words:
“I saw him and thought he had this bright light in his countenance. He was very kind and fun to those around him, and I felt warmth. Before he left, I asked him some questions. A few days later, he came into my work again and asked if I could attend his church. I thought it might be helpful. I was worried for my children’s future, as society seemed to be full of stress and darkness. I wanted my children to be like this man with a light in their countenance, spreading joy to others around them.
“One day the missionaries taught us the law of tithing. My children said with excitement, ‘We must pay our tithing, Mom.’ I could see my children’s faith at that moment. Before I joined the Church, I watched general conference and listened to President Russell M. Nelson speak. He announced new temples all over the world and said that a new temple would be built in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I rejoiced and shed tears, even though I did not understand why. With this joy, I could tell that my faith and testimony were growing.”
Uyanga, like millions of others, is part of the great gathering of Israel in preparation for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. She has begun her journey along the covenant path and has become a disciple of Christ.

We have no way of knowing when our privilege to extend a helping hand will unfold before us. The road to Jericho each of us travels bears no name, and the weary traveler who needs our help may be one unknown. Altogether too frequently the recipient of kindness shown fails to express his feelings, and we are deprived of a glimpse of greatness and a touch of tenderness that motivates us to go and do likewise. Genuine gratitude was expressed by the writer of a letter received recently at Church headquarters. No return address was shown, but the postmark was from Portland, Oregon:
“To the Office of the First Presidency:
“Salt Lake City showed me Christian hospitality once during my wandering years.
“On a cross-country journey by bus to California, I stepped down in the terminal in Salt Lake City, sick and trembling from aggravated loss of sleep caused by a lack of necessary medication. In my headlong flight from a bad situation in Boston, I had completely forgotten my supply.
“In the Temple Square Hotel restaurant, I sat dejectedly, cheekbones propped on fists, staring at a cup of coffee I really didn’t want. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple approach my table. ‘Are you all right, young man?’ the woman asked. I raised up, crying and a bit shaken, and related my story and the predicament I was in then. They listened carefully and patiently to my nearly incoherent ramblings, and then they took charge. They must have been prominent citizens. They spoke with the restaurant manager, then told me I could have all I wanted to eat there for five days. They took me next door to the hotel desk and got me a room for five days. Then they drove me to a clinic and saw that I was provided with the medications I needed—truly my basic lifeline to sanity and comfort.
“While I was recuperating and building my strength, I made it a point to attend the daily Tabernacle organ recitals. The celestial voicing of that instrument from the faintest intonation to the mighty full organ is the most sublime sonority of my acquaintance. I have acquired albums and tapes of the Tabernacle organ and the choir which I can rely upon any time to soothe and buttress a sagging spirit.
“On my last day at the hotel, before I resumed my journey, I turned in my key; and there was a message for me from that couple: ‘Repay us by showing gentle kindness to some other troubled soul along your road.’ That was my habit, but I determined to be more keenly on the lookout for someone who needed a lift in life.
“I wish you well. I don’t know if these are indeed the ‘latter days’ spoken of in the scriptures, but I do know that two members of your church were saints to me in my desperate hours of need. I just thought you might like to know.”

As a qualified therapist-counsellor, Elder Robert Durkin had a custom-made mission. He was called as a pre-mission assessment coordinator. He also coordinated all the addiction recovery programme coordinators throughout the Europe areas where the addiction recovery programme is being used. He trained the coordinators and made sure records were kept up to date.

He and his wife served a full-time mission at the MTC in Chorley where he was in the MTC presidency. After her passing, he decided to serve another mission. He wanted to serve and live in Germany, so he was planning to move from the UK to Frankfurt, where he would have paid his own expenses as a service missionary rather than paying the monthly missionary fees. Due to COVID, he stayed in the UK and completed his mission from his own home. He says he was able to do everything he needed to do while living at home. He encourages others to serve a mission. He says, “Don’t miss the opportunity. A mission is a great way to get closer to the Lord.”

I was born in Chicago, Illinois, but came to Nauvoo when I was in foster care. I don’t remember much about my life before being in foster care, but I remember not feeling safe. When I went into foster care, I felt safe. I like having the gospel. Some of my friends have been put into some scary situations because they don’t follow our standards. I know that following the commandments keeps me safe.
It was a cool experience finding my family. My mom came to the preschool I went to because she was helping substitute. She played with me, and she told one of the teachers that she wanted to take me home because I was such a cute kid. The teacher said, “She is up for adoption, so maybe!” My mom looked into it and adopted me and my two brothers. It’s cool because I know what it’s like to not have a family, and that makes having a family even more special.

When President Russell M. Nelson spoke about using the correct name of the Church, his message was very clear to me: “It is the command of the Lord. … To remove the Lord’s name from the Lord’s Church is a major victory for Satan” (“The Correct Name of the Church,” Oct. 2018 general conference [Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2018, 87, 88]).
Committed to using the Church’s full name, I waited for the next opportunity to claim my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sure enough, that opportunity came. “You Mormons are such kind people,” someone told me.
“Well, thank you,” I answered. “As members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we believe we’re all brothers and sisters.” Then the conversation continued with him and everyone else talking about the kindness of “Mormons.”
Although I had done my part in saying the full name of the Church, my friends and associates still viewed me as part of the “Mormon Church” and not necessarily as a follower of Christ, let alone as a member of Christ’s restored Church.
Over the next several interactions about my faith, I found it awkward to say the full name of the Church multiple times in the same conversation. Everyone I spoke to seemed to give me odd expressions. And they continued to use the term “Mormons.”
I wanted to make my interactions feel more natural. But this turned out to be more difficult than I expected, particularly with individuals I didn’t want to offend. I didn’t want to be embarrassed or lazy about living my faith, but I also didn’t want to come across as harsh, since many of these people had previously called me “Mormon,” with me accepting it. I also heard many members of the Church still calling members of the Church “Mormons.”
I found myself asking whether using the full name of the Church was really that important in the grand scheme of things. The “Mormon” brand, after all, is quite positive in the minds of many people—being a “Mormon” had often been an asset to me. But in revisiting President Nelson’s talk, I was impressed that this really is that important, even if it did cause some awkwardness in conversation. So I recommitted myself.
One day I was visiting a friend at a church of another faith. Someone came up to me and with a bright smile asked if I was a Mormon. “Yes, I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said.
He started asking me several questions, each beginning with: “Does the Mormon Church believe … ?”
And each time, I began my answer with the phrase: “In the restored Church of Jesus Christ, we believe …”
This banter went back and forth several times. When he noticed that I wasn’t accepting the title “Mormon,” he asked me point-blank, “Are you not Mormon?”
So I asked him if he knew who Mormon was—he didn’t. I told him that Mormon was a prophet, a historian, and a military general in the ancient Americas. I am honored to be associated with a man who was so dedicated to the service of God and others.
“But,” I continued, “Mormon didn’t die for my sins. Jesus Christ is my God and my Savior. He is my Redeemer. And it is by His name that I want to be known at the last day, and it’s by His name that I hope to be known today.”
I felt the assurance of the Spirit supporting me in this short testimony to my new acquaintance. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “So, you’re a Christian?”
“Yes, I’m a Christian,” I responded, “and a member of Christ’s restored Church.”
Seeking to follow the instruction of the prophet seemed simple, but it turned out to take more effort than I expected. I’m still not perfect at following everything I’m asked to do, but I make sure to use the full name of the Church.
I’m grateful for the Spirit that I feel when I get to testify to others about my Savior and my membership in His Church.

On his return, Enoch taught at the Accra Missionary Training Centre for a couple of years as he contemplated his future. He had loved accounting in high school and had studied it with the intent of entering that profession. But about three years after his mission, he completed a data analytics certificate program from Coursera, offered by Google. That experience allowed him to see the critical role data plays in today’s economy in anticipating and solving problems. That vision motivated him to begin thinking of attending university to pursue a degree in data science. He applied for and got the sponsorship necessary to pursue a university education. Unfortunately, the global COVID-19 pandemic interrupted his plans, and he lost his sponsorship. Again, he endured his disappointment by casting his burdens upon the Lord.
Without the ability to continue his education at that time, Enoch pursued other interests. From the time he had mastered the piano, he had wanted to teach it, so he began doing so. In addition, he resumed his service to the Lord by working for FamilySearch out of the offices of the Africa West Area in Accra, Ghana. While working there, he met a senior sister missionary who was teaching a ukulele class. He had become acquainted and enamoured with the ukulele on his mission where his general love of music had drawn him towards it, so he joined with the class. Through his association with members of the class, they became aware of his desire to continue his education, so they helped him find new sponsors for attending university. Again, his love of music and his service to, and trust in, the Lord had brought him to the next step in his personal progress. With his sponsorship now secure, Enoch applied to, and was accepted at, BYU-Idaho where he is now studying data science.
Enoch reflects on his personal journey of perseverance and growth, and he gratefully acknowledges the value of that difficult period of his life when he struggled with questions that challenged his faith. Just as his ability to play his musical instruments came through perseverance, hard work, and struggles, learning here a little and there a little, so did his testimony grow line upon line, precept on precept. It was by persevering through his struggles that he discovered the joy of a personal relationship with his Saviour, and it is that relationship that has helped Enoch get to where he is today.

About 15 years ago I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Four years later my health was steadily declining, and I was using a wheelchair. I felt extremely frustrated by my condition because for my entire life, I had been very active.
About that time I went to a conference in Dundee, Scotland, attended by President Thomas S. Monson, then a counselor in the First Presidency. Following the meeting, a member approached me.
“Brother Sharkey?”
“Aye?”
“Come down to the front to see President Monson.”
I had no intention of doing that, but a few minutes later the man returned.
“Brother Sharkey,” he said, “President Monson is waiting to see you.”
“But he doesn’t know me,” I replied.
“Even so, he is waiting to see you. He has heard about your illness.”
I agreed and went to see President Monson. He greeted me warmly and asked whether I would like a priesthood blessing. I told him I would.
We found a room, and President Monson asked whom I would like to anoint me. I asked if we could send for my bishop. When someone left to find him, one of President Monson’s traveling companions reminded him that if they didn’t leave soon, they would not make it to the Edinburgh airport on time.
President Monson smiled and, referring to himself and to me, responded, “When you’re our age, you learn to prioritize. We’ll be there in time.”
When my bishop arrived, he and President Monson administered to me. The blessing President Monson gave me was not a blessing of healing; it was about managing my condition and its accompanying ailments. It was also a blessing for my family to be able to help me in managing my disease.
Now, a decade later, I still have Parkinson’s, but at age 74 I am doing well. I have indeed found ways to manage my illness. I feel good, and I have not used a wheelchair since the day I received the blessing. My doctor calls me his “star patient.”
I will always be grateful to President Monson for his kindness in speaking to and blessing a man he didn’t know. But I’ll also be grateful for what he taught me about using the priesthood.
We hold different keys and offices in the Church, but we hold the same priesthood. President Monson’s kind act taught me that the priesthood isn’t about who holds it but about how we use it to bless the lives of Heavenly Father’s children.

When I asked about their father’s sense of humor, one of the children offered this comment, “Dad has very poor handwriting and he readily admits it. He sometimes asks his office secretary to tell him what he has written on his calendar, because he can’t read it himself. President Lee called Dad’s handwriting, ‘unreformed Egyptian.’ One time when he was on the stand with President Kimball at a meeting, a message was delivered to Dad reporting that one of the Church school buildings in South America had burned. Father wrote a note to President Kimball, telling him about it. President Kimball looked at it for a long time, then sent a note back, ‘Do you mean burned or buried?’”

When Elder Quentin L. Cook was 15 years old, he had a talk with his big brother, Joe. Joe was trying to decide if he should go to medical school instead of going on a mission. They talked long into the night. They talked about the gospel. They talked about testimonies. They talked about serving a mission.
Joe knew that going to medical school and becoming a doctor was a good way to help people. But he also knew that Jesus Christ truly lived, that Joseph Smith was really a prophet, and that the Book of Mormon was really true. So he knew that going on a mission first would be a better choice. Quentin learned that night that his brother Joe had a strong testimony.

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Youth Dance
Come have some fun at the dance this Saturday! Remember, no saying no—always say yes when someone asks you to dance!
I’m excited for the dance, but For the Strength of Youth says that agency is the ability to choose and act for yourself. What if I just don’t feel like dancing with someone? Don’t I get to choose whether to say yes or no?
You should always be kind, but I think it’s your right to choose. Let’s talk to the leaders about this rule.
Thanks for letting us know how you feel. You’re right. It’s your choice. We understand not everyone will always feel comfortable dancing, but they still want to come.
Hey, will you dance with me?
Thanks, but I just don’t feel like dancing right now.
Oh, OK.
I’m not trying that again!
What about her?
Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask!
“Heavenly Father has given you agency, the ability to … act for yourself.”
For the Strength of Youth (2011), 2.

Deep in the winding corridors of the forgotten river, the morning was fresh and sweet. A soft breeze rustled the cottonwoods, and the lazy brown water was green with reflected leaves. Sun-ignited cotton lay on the surface in a brilliant haze and drifted down the morning like tiny stars, feathering the shoulders of three young men in a canoe.
They paddled madly, elbows flying and paddles flinging rainbows that fell in a trail of ripples behind them. Now and then they looked over their shoulders apprehensively. Someone was pursuing them!
Actually, the forgotten river isn’t really forgotten, just ignored. Most people know it only as a dull, brown stream that flows under bridges on its way from Utah Lake to the Great Salt Lake. It is a small river, creek-sized and shallow, but it bears an important name. It is the Jordan.
On this particular day, the Varsity Scouts and Mia Maids from the Sandy Utah Stake had come to find out what lay between the bridges by tackling a three-mile stretch of the forgotten river in a super-duper canoe race. The three young men in the canoe were looking over their shoulders with good reason, because 30 more canoes were in hot pursuit.
The race began early, in a pool which the spring sky had tinted blue. Far off across the valley, the snow-frosted Wasatch Mountains framed the scene, and overhead the sun shone with an unambiguous warmth that promised another summer. Grass grew deep in the meadows nearby. The trees were in exuberant leaf, branching both up into the sky and down into the water. Lined up neatly by the riverside, bright-colored canoes were reflected in a dazzling watercolor. On the western bank, young men and women were helping each other into life jackets. The group listened carefully to safety instructions and a brief course in canoe paddling. Then, after bowing their heads in prayer, they began launching their rented canoes at half-minute intervals. The great race was underway!
It was clear that some of the voyageurs had never been in a canoe before, and at first many steered a zig-zag course—zigging into both banks and zagging into each other. But they learned quickly, and the river soon began unwinding before their energetic strokes. Down the river they went—splashing, surging, bailing, and sometimes spilling into the snow-cold, waist-deep water. Choruses of birdsong washed over them from all around and their hair flamed into halos of sunlight. As they raced along, the meadows soon gave way to backyards, but generous foliage made it seem as if they were deep in the countryside. Tall willow trees leaned overhead, trailing their long fingers in the water. Giant cottonwoods towered skyward. Bushes and reeds covered the banks with green flame. Only occasionally did a fence or house remind them that they were floating through the middle of a city.
Through the grassy banks they slid, dodging snags, skirting shallows, overtaking, and being overtaken. Digging fist-deep with their paddles, straining muscles to the limit, they churned around long, leafy bends and down warm, chocolate stretches smelling of river and pollen. They glided under trees and sky and bridges. Once a long yellow locomotive hooted at them loud and lonely and far. The water continually changed from brown to green to blue, and sunlight ran like lightning across the surface. Red, yellow, green, and blue canoes bled their reflections into the water, and banks of newborn weeds were as lovely as any flowers.
On and on they dueled. Some raced as if only the winners would live, and others were lulled by the soft sky and warm sun into taking it easy and floating with the slow-moving current. The air was intoxicating. This was the morning of their lives, and on a morning filled with such air, such sun, such sights, such smells, what might not be possible? It was a rare day for dreaming.
But slow or fast, dreamy or awake, they all eventually came through the perils of the forgotten river (including a small waterfall over a power company dam) to a city park where they had to beach their craft and carry them across the finish line. When the canoes were loaded safely on their racks, the judges began figuring the winning times for the several categories (three boys, three girls, two boys-one girl, two girls-one boy). Meanwhile, everyone enjoyed a delicious lunch and perhaps an equally delicious nap on the grass. The winners were then announced and each received a candied-popcorn reward.
But they all knew that was not the day’s real reward. The real reward was the opportunity to enjoy the grandeur of God’s springtime world on a lazy and never-to-be forgotten little river right in their own backyards.

It was December first, Christmas was coming, and I felt I should do a service project to make the season complete. My mother had taught me through example that giving selflessly to others made Christmas more enjoyable. As I contemplated what to do, my ward Young Women president suggested that a friend and I do the “Twelve Days of Christmas” for someone.
During the next few days, Camie and I thought about who that person should be. Camie’s mind kept returning to an older man in poor health named Lee Wilde. His wife had died many years earlier, and he had been lonely for a long time. He stayed inside the house mostly, except for the one trip he took each morning to feed his cows in a nearby pasture. Neither Camie nor I knew him, but we both had a strong feeling he should be the person.
That first day was exciting as we named ourselves the Secret Elves and carefully planned both our notes and gifts. Each day we delivered a different gift to Mr. Wilde. As the days went by, we noticed he was catching on, which made it harder to leave the gift without getting caught.
The 12th day came quickly, and we hated to see our project end. As it turned out, it would be up to me to make the final delivery because Camie had gone snowmobiling. As my mother and I drove down the road looking for one last hiding place I had a strong feeling I should allow Mr. Wilde to visit with me. At first, I thought it would be more rewarding for the act to be anonymous. However, the feeling did not go away and continued to prod me to go in and visit.
My mother parked the car, and I told her about my feeling. At first, she counseled me to remain anonymous. But at last, she told me to follow the Spirit. As I reached Mr. Wilde’s doorstep, I was a little nervous. When he answered my knock, I handed him the gift and said, “This is your present for the 12th day.” At first he gave me a puzzled look, then suddenly broke into a smile and invited me in. I explained I was one of the Secret Elves who had hoped to make his Christmas a little brighter.
He told me he had been waiting for us every night and that we had made his Christmas a very happy one. On his table lay all 12 days’ gifts as well as a white sack of peanuts he had put together for us with a little note attached. I took the peanuts and thanked him. As we were returning home, I couldn’t hold back the tears as I told my mother what he had said. I also tried to convey the feelings of the Spirit that had touched me.
The next day was Christmas, and as our family gathered around the Christmas tree to open gifts, a knock came on the door. Standing on our porch was Camie and her mother, who came by to tell me Mr. Lee Wilde had passed away that morning. Although I was sad, I had a strong feeling we had made a difference in this man’s life, and that the experience gave us the best Christmas ever. I also learned the importance of following the Spirit and listening to the still, small voice.

Today in Primary we talked about how Travis and Luke will become deacons next year. They’ll be able to pass the sacrament then. But it made me wonder … why don’t I get the priesthood too?
We went to a corn maze for FHE and got SO LOST! While we were walking around, I asked Dad about the priesthood. He said boys and girls have different responsibilities. He also said that whenever someone serves in a Church calling, they’re using priesthood power. Both women and men. I didn’t know that.
I couldn’t focus on my homework today. Mom asked what was wrong. I guess I’m still wondering about the priesthood. She said when she has a question that doesn’t have a clear answer, she puts it on the “back burner” of her mind. She doesn’t ignore the question, but she doesn’t let it crowd out all the things she DOES understand. She has the faith to wait for answers, and she trusts that Heavenly Father knows what’s best. That’s OK, I guess, but I hate waiting.
A cool thing happened today. Mom said maybe I should pray about my question, so I went to my room and asked Heavenly Father to help me understand why boys get the priesthood and girls don’t. I can’t even explain what happened next. I felt warm all over. I think Heavenly Father was trying to tell me that He loves me just as much as He loves Travis or Luke or my brothers—or anyone. I felt so happy! And when I get old enough to have a Church calling, I’ll be using priesthood power too.
Auditions for the school play are tomorrow! I’m so scared!!! What if I forget my lines? Mom said I could ask Dad for a blessing, and he blessed me to not feel too nervous. I feel a little better now. Dad told me that giving a blessing is an act of service for someone else, just like everything else we do with the priesthood. He said that when he needs a blessing, he asks our home teachers. I’d never thought about it that way.
I’m 12 now! My birthday was pretty crazy because it was also the last performance for the play. I only forgot one line! So today was Sunday, and I had my first meeting as part of the Beehive presidency. We talked about what we can do to help Sara feel comfortable at church. I had no idea. Then I remembered what the bishop said when he set me apart for my new calling. He said that God would help me know the needs of the girls in my class. When I remembered that, I had an idea of an activity that Sara might like.
Sara loved our activity on Wednesday and even came to church today! Travis and Luke are both passing the sacrament now. I think I understand what Dad meant about all of us having different jobs. We use priesthood power in different ways, but we all serve each other.
Hello, old journal! I’m 24 now and—wow—I’ve learned a lot! I understand way more about the priesthood now than I did when I was 12. If you’re looking for answers, don’t stop! Heavenly Father and Jesus love you and want to bless you.

When I was in my teenage years, I decided I would read the Book of Mormon on my own. It was a decision made quietly, privately. I simply wanted to know for myself whether it was what Joseph Smith proclaimed it to be. I grew up in Seattle, Washington, where there were not many members of the Church, so we had seminary early in the mornings before school. I did not know that our upcoming course of study that year was to be the Book of Mormon, but by the time seminary started, I was well into my reading of the book. While some may say it was a happy coincidence, I believe it was more than that. I would read one chapter a night before I went to bed.
As I read the Book of Mormon day by day, I felt goodness, substance, and light grow within me—and it was a good feeling, even delicious. I felt more complete. Despite being a very busy teenager involved in many and varied activities (which means I was pretty tired at night), I looked forward to those quiet minutes before going to bed when I would read a chapter. In fact, there were a few times when, after reading the book and praying, I would hold it to me as I fell asleep—I loved what I was feeling from reading the book.
Early one gray, drizzly Seattle morning, our seminary teacher led us in a discussion based on Alma 32. Sister Kopeinig (a wonderful teacher who left an indelible mark on my soul) may not remember the discussion that morning and may even have felt it had little effect (some of us were a bit bleary-eyed at that hour), but I remember well the realization that came to me as we read:
“Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me” (Alma 32:28).
As we read this passage in class, I leaned back and thought, “This is the perfect description of what I’m experiencing with the Book of Mormon itself!”
As that year went on, I completed my personal reading of the Book of Mormon. I was changed for the better because I had read, pondered, and allowed it to influence how I lived. As I knelt by my bedside the night that I finished the book, I already knew it was true. The response to my prayerful inquiry was as quiet, still, gentle—and real—as had been my experience as I had read the Book of Mormon. Again, I felt the swelling motion within that was delicious to my soul. I realized that the book had enlarged and enlightened my very being. I felt a quiet, settling confirmation: “Yes, as you know, it’s true.” Ever since then, hardly a day has gone by that I have not read from the Book of Mormon. I love the book with a passion. It is a part of my daily life.

Not everybody has a vision of the glory. For example, toward the end of the last century, a Mr. Wright was a religious leader in the community of Elkhart, Indiana. A man by the name of Professor Kelly visited him. Professor Kelly was a local teacher who was trying to raise money for research in technical matters, and he wanted Wright’s support. He said that if people concentrated their industrial and technical efforts, they could do unbelievable things to raise their standard of living. He outlined some of the things that he thought might be accomplished. He said that man could increase his life span. He could construct homes that provided unheard of comforts and conveniences. He might even fly like a bird someday.
Wright said, “That’s an ungodly thought! I’m not going to support this. Go home and pray for forgiveness. To suggest that man could fly like a bird is to defy the will of God!”
Wright had two sons—Wilbur and Orville who had their vision of eternity as they flew the first power-driven, heavier-than-air flying machine in 1903.

In Elder Sonntag’s ward a group of twelve boys his age played ball together and were good friends. They were also energetic and drove many Sunday School and Primary teachers away. Elder Sonntag relates that “the teachers all loved us, but they didn’t want to teach us. One, however, Sean Christensen, knew how to get through to us by teaching us a game that used our hands and kept us from hitting each other. Meanwhile, he would bear his testimony that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ.
“This teacher challenged us to go on missions. It meant a great deal to him to have ‘his boys’ be worthy to be missionaries, and Brother Christensen’s challenge greatly helped us to prepare.
“I had been taught to obey the Word of Wisdom, and I earnestly tried to obey it all my life. When I was married and a young bishop and the father of three children, my brother and I were involved in a serious car accident. I walked to get help for the other people in the accident, who were unconscious. By the time I got to the hospital myself, I’d lost a great deal of blood, and the doctors thought that I wouldn’t live. I asked the Lord to let me live to fulfill my responsibilities as husband, father, and bishop, and I heard a voice speaking, just as clearly as I might speak to you, say that because I had lived the Word of Wisdom all my life, I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’ [D&C 89:20] and that I would receive even more blessings. When my wife arrived at the hospital, someone suggested that she not go into my room because I looked so terrible. She asked, ‘Is he breathing?’ and went in anyway. She also received the same witness that I would live.”
Elder Sonntag wants the children of the Church to know that “it is a privilege to be a member of the Church and to live the commandments. The commandments are easy when you decide that you are going to keep them. The Word of Wisdom is not a hard thing—it is a blessing. It is within the power of each of you to determine what you want to be. There is no other you in the whole world. You are the only you; you are an individual. You alone can decide what you want to be and where you’re going to go. Choose the Lord’s way and live the gospel, for that will bring you the greatest happiness.”

When I was 14, my school was across from a Latter-day Saint chapel. I watched men in white shirts going in and out of that big building. I wondered what they were doing inside.
One day my friends and I wanted to play soccer, but there was no more room on our school grounds. Someone said, “Let’s play at the church. They have a nice place outside to play.” That was my first contact with the Church—outside the building.
Two years later one of my brother’s friends invited my sister to go to the LDS Church, and I went along with her. I was excited to finally find out what they were doing inside that church.
When we got there, we saw some members playing a simple game. They looked so happy, and that got my attention. “Why are they so happy?” I wondered.
I found out when I took the missionary discussions and was baptized. Happiness comes from inside. My conversion changed my life, the life of my children, and generations ahead and behind.
Whatever you do outside the teachings of the Church will not bring you happiness. Maybe it will bring you a laugh or a small moment of excitement, but real happiness is within the gospel.
Even if your friends sometimes make fun of you, they will admire you for standing by your principles.
Your parents love you. Whatever they ask you to do is not because they are being hard on you; it is because they want to protect you.
Always be grateful for your parents and for the gospel and the happiness it brings into your life.

As I thought about all the gifts and cards we would be giving during another Christmas season, suddenly a question came to my mind. Of all the gifts I had received during Christmastime in the past, had any of them significantly affected my life? Then I remembered December 1963.
I was home alone because my parents had gone out. I was a young teacher at the time. Classes had ended, I was on vacation, and Christmas was fast approaching. I looked around for something to read, but I had already read everything in our home library. I decided to go see a neighbor who had a good book collection and had often loaned books to me. This time she offered a book that two young men—foreigners—had left with her.
“I’d like to know your opinion of it,” she said. “The content seems interesting.”
She then added that the young men were missionaries. Missionaries? My interest in the book immediately died. At the time I was not interested in anything having to do with religion, but I took the book anyway.
As I said good-bye, my neighbor added, “Inside the book you’ll find a little note they wrote, suggesting that before reading the book, a person needs to say a prayer to God.”
Not having any plans that rainy Saturday, I decided to read the “interesting” book. I opened it and found the note written by the missionaries. I put the book on my bed, knelt down, and for the first time in my life, offered up a prayer to God in my own words.
As I started to read, the story captivated me. How was young Nephi able to exercise such unshakable faith? I wondered if I would ever be capable of doing something like that. As I read the book of Mosiah, I drew strength from the words of King Benjamin. At the time I had no idea I was reading a book that would become my favorite for more than 40 years.
During those years the book’s pages have provided me with much support, comfort, and strength, and I have discovered many important insights that I shared in talks and lessons at the little Tucumán Branch in Argentina, where I was baptized and confirmed. Two years later, while serving a full-time mission, I also wrote little notes on pieces of paper, suggesting to investigators that they pray before reading the copy of the Book of Mormon my companion and I left in their hands.
So many years have passed since then. But how could I have forgotten the most precious Christmas gift I ever received and the neighbor who gave it to me? I can hardly remember her face, and I struggle to remember her name—Marina. Thank you, neighbor. You have my eternal gratitude.