Gospel Story Finder

James Barry of the Caerphilly Branch, Cardiff Wales Stake, is a natural in rugby. He still holds a club record for most senior appearances by a 19-year-old prop (a specific position on a rugby team). He had five years’ experience and a good chance to go to international level. He dreamed of representing Wales in world competition.

“I trained on Sunday for a year, but never felt right about it. Then last year, when I was making the commitment to come on a mission, I stopped training on Sunday, because I thought it was wrong. And I got dropped from the district side, just before they were picking the Welsh international side.

“But I look at it now as a blessing. If I had made the international side, perhaps I wouldn’t be serving the mission. And the mission’s more important.”

And now about Ed. Ed also comes from a distant city. Ed started stealing when he was nine. He was arrested for auto theft at age thirteen, later convicted of grand larceny, and sent to prison in another state. He came to Utah, was arrested for and convicted of grand larceny again, and was sent to the Utah State Prison.
Ed became acquainted with the Church social services program conducted in the prison in much the same way as Jim. Once when Ed was on his way to one of the Church meetings, some of the prisoners ridiculed him, as only hardened convicts could. He responded that when he was on the outside he had acted as they did. Now he wanted to change and no one was going to stop him.
Ed had some particularly wonderful home teachers who occasionally brought their own children to the prison to have family home evening with him. The children consider Ed as an older brother. He considers himself a member of their family. Ed was one of those who had been released from prison and had returned to receive his certificate at the graduation exercises. He was invited to speak at the service.
As he stood at the pulpit, he took a piece of paper from his pocket. Holding it up to the audience, he said: “You probably can’t read this, but this is the most important document in my life. This is my baptismal recommend that will permit me to be baptized next Thursday.” Ed was baptized. After his confirmation, he walked over to a corner of the room where he could be alone and wept. He wept even more when he was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Eight-year-old Stewart was feeling happy. He had already been to church with his family. They had a big family, and this was a special day. Lots of friends and relatives were coming to eat dinner with them. Stewart was glad, because he loved being with all his cousins.
When his mother asked him if he’d like to go with her in the car, he quickly climbed in. As they drove around the corner, she told him that they were going to the store to get a few things that she needed for the dinner.
Stewart didn’t feel so happy anymore.
When the car pulled into the store parking lot, Mother climbed out and looked for Stewart. Where was he? She looked and looked. Finally she saw him crouched down in the backseat. “Aren’t you coming in with me, sweetheart?”
“No,” he mumbled miserably.
“OK. I’ll hurry.”
It wasn’t long until Mother came back carrying a bag. She put it into the backseat. As she drove home, she reached over and patted Stewart’s hand. “Why don’t you tell me what you are upset about.”
“I didn’t know that you were going to the store. I don’t ever want to go to the store on Heavenly Father’s special day.”
“Oh, Stewart, I’m so sorry! I will never go to the store on Heavenly Father’s day again.”
Mother knew that her little boy had made a better choice than she had. She knew that she shouldn’t shop on the Sabbath, even this one time, when it had seemed so important. Stewart taught her a lesson that she never forgot.
Stewart is all grown up now, and his mother is a grandma. Both of them remember that sunny Sunday afternoon and the lesson he taught her about keeping the Sabbath Day.

I love to read the New Era. I can’t wait for it to arrive each month. But the April 1987 issue came just at the right time.
On March 17, one of the best friends I’ll ever have died. I received the April issue in March, so I thumbed through it on the day after she passed away. I remember seeing the article “When a Friend Dies.” I was emotionally struggling with her death—very much so in fact—when I picked up the New Era and started to read it.
When I had finished, I was so deeply touched that I knew she was all right and that everything was okay.
I want to thank you so much for that article. I don’t know how I could have overcome this crisis without you.
Brooke WakefieldTaylorsville, Utah

In verse 16 of Ephesians, Paul states that we should take up the shield of faith, wherewith we may be able to quench the fiery darts of the wicked. I learned another valuable lesson on faith as a young missionary in Valencia, Spain. My companion and I were proselyting on the streets of the city of Valencia when a taxi sped up alongside of us and the driver exited the vehicle in an absolute panic. We were not sure what we had done, we were frozen with fear for just a moment. The Taxi driver asked if we were Elders in the Mormon Church; now we were really concerned, but having faith, we responded in the affirmative. The taxi driver said that he had frantically been driving the city looking for us and then he quickly explained that he had a daughter in the intensive care unit at the hospital. He said the baby was two months premature and wasn’t expected to live. He further explained that he had once been a Mormon and he knew that if Elders of the church blessed this baby, surely she would live.

I had just recently been made a senior companion and knowing that I had never given a lifesaving blessing, I hesitated for a moment surmising, that this was too serious of a blessing for a senior companion to perform. He saw the concern on my face and reassured me that I could do it. We climbed into his cab and he sped to the hospital on the other side of the city. Upon entering the room, we were met with suspicious looks from the doctors and nurses. The church was relatively new in Spain and at the time, Mormons were not held in high regard. His wife was there, as well, and she looked weak from childbirth and what appeared to be a continuous flow of tears for the small infant who was lying in the incubator with tubes in her chest and throat. We approached the little glass case where the baby lay. She was no bigger than my hand and her breaths were long and inconsistent. Not knowing for sure what I was supposed to do, I asked the doctor if we could put oil on the baby’s head. In disgust, he exclaimed that I must be crazy as there was nothing that was supposed to touch the baby’s skin. The doctor then tried to convince the father that the blessing was useless, as the baby would not last the night. He told the father that his time would be better spent by summoning a catholic priest to come to the hospital to administer the last rights for the baby.

In spite of this pressure, the father insisted that my companion and I were Disciples of Jesus Christ and we had come to save the child. Nervously, we approached this small incubator and with each of us standing on opposite sides of the glass, we reached into the rubber gloves that extended into the incubator and put one finger each on the tiny head of the infant. We bypassed the anointing, as we were forbidden to put the oil on the head. Then, mustering all of the courage I had, I began to utter a blessing.

Brothers and sisters, I have prayed many times in my life and have given many blessings, but in this instance it was different. For one of the few times in my life up to that point, I began to speak to God. I pronounced our priesthood and I began to bless the baby. These were not my words and as they flowed from my mouth; I remember being shocked at what I was saying. I blessed the baby that she would live, not for the night, but that she would live a full life; that she would be a testimony to her father and mother of the healing power of the priesthood. I realized that I was crying as I spoke and could not control the emotions that filled my soul. I blessed the baby that because of the great faith that her father had, she would be whole. There were many things that were said in that blessing, most of which I have forgotten over time. I will never forget, however, the way that I felt.

When we were finished with the blessing, I opened my eyes. There were six of us in that room, and the tears flowed from the eyes of every one of us. Even the skeptical doctor walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just squeezed my shoulder and walked out of the room for his emotions had also overcome him. That experience has stayed with me from that moment until this day. The baby did live. When I last saw her, years ago, she was about 13 years old; she was full of life; a beautiful and miraculous example of the healing power of faith, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and faith in his healing power through the Priesthood.

Her life-long dream had turned into what now seemed like a nightmare. During the long, hot summer days of picking potatoes and cucumbers, Alice had envisioned herself walking across the campus as a student at BYU. It was the goal that had kept her going when she would otherwise have given up.
Her determination had brought her to BYU for fall semester. And now the frustration, the pressure, the anguish that she faced seemed more like a nightmare than a reward for such effort.
She hadn’t planned it this way. In fact, after arriving she had hardly planned at all.
Alice was one of the students in my class. Somehow she hadn’t realized the big difference between going to school and learning.
Alice found the social side of college life more enticing than studying and learning. The urgency of preparing for her final exams hit her only after the opportunity for preparation had almost passed. It all seemed like a nightmare now. She must not fail, but she was unprepared. She had not committed herself to an education; she was just going to school.
She remembered people often asking her back home, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Growing up had seemed so far away until this day. Now she was searching for the answer to that question, not for them but for herself. What did she want to do with her life and how did an education fit in?
We must all face that question eventually if we are to be responsible for our lives.
When you find the answer, you’ll have a sense of what you want to learn or what kind of job you may someday have or how you can become a better mother and wife, because of your education. You’ll catch a glimpse of a bigger picture—a purpose, a destination, a course of action for this life that determines what you can become through the eternities. It’s when you catch even a glimpse of the excitement, the benefits, the opportunities, the richness of life that an education can provide, that the discipline required to study becomes a small price to pay.
With your eye toward eternity, education is the treasure you will take with you and give you so much the advantage in the world to come (see D&C 130:18–19). And for today, it opens doors to opportunities that would otherwise be closed tight. Nephi writes, “To be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29). If we lack wisdom we are to ask, and when we seek diligently we will know the truth. And the truth shall make us free (see John 8:32)—free to make wise choices; free to experience life with ever-changing, wonderful, new horizons; free to speak up and speak out for what’s right; free to influence those who are seeking truth; free to prepare in the time of youth for a rich and rewarding lifetime; free to hold on to the love of learning your whole life long making every day more zestful.

The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”

Recently a stake president told of his visit, with others, to a Junior Sunday School class. When the visitors entered they were made welcome, and the teacher, seeking to impress the significance of the experience for the youngsters, said to a little child on the front row, “How many important people are here today?” The child rose and began counting out loud, reaching a total of seventeen, including every person in the room. There were seventeen very important persons there that day, children and visitors!

“So, Christopher, what did you do in Primary today?” Dad asked after church.
“We talked about being honest,” Christopher answered. “And we worked on the Articles of Faith. I have all but the thirteenth memorized.”
“Good for you!” Dad said. “Mom and I are really pleased that you’re learning them.” He looked at Sarah. “What did you do today, honey?”
“We ate crackers, and we sang songs, and I colored this picture for you.”
“It’s beautiful, Sarah. Thank you.” Dad pulled his keys out of his pocket, unlocked the car, and opened the door. “Get yourselves strapped in. Mom will be here soon.”
“Why do I have to wear a seat belt?” Christopher asked as he and Sarah buckled up.
Before Dad could answer, Sarah added, “Why do I have to sit in a car seat? I’m not a baby.”
Dad smiled. “There are two reasons. First, we use seat belts and car seats because they will protect us if we are in an accident. Second, we do it because it’s the law and we obey the law.”
“I know lots of people who don’t wear seat belts,” Christopher protested.
“Whether to wear a seat belt or not is each person’s own choice, but they have to live with the consequences,” Dad explained. “That’s part of Heavenly Father’s plan.”
“Oh, Dad,” Christopher laughed. “Heavenly Father doesn’t care about seat belts.”
“Or car seats,” Sarah chimed in.
“You don’t think so?” Dad asked. “Christopher, let me hear you say the twelfth article of faith.”
“‘We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.’”
“Very good. Now, what does it mean?”
“It means that we believe it’s OK to have a president or a king or something like that—right?”
“That’s part of it,” Dad said, “but it also means that we believe in obeying the laws set by the president or king or whoever is in the government. And I believe that that applies to laws about seat belts and car seats.”
Just then Mom came. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “We can go now.”
“Not until you fasten your seat belt,” Sarah told her.
“It’s the law, you know,” Christopher added, “and we believe in obeying the law.”

As a high school student, I determined that I would act on this advice and try to obtain my own testimony of the gospel. I wanted to know that it was true. So I carefully read the Book of Mormon, underlining as I went, making notes about memorable passages. When I finished I felt a great sense of anticipation about Moroni’s promise. I knelt down and prayed, trying to learn for myself whether this book was true or not. Although I prayed off and on for several weeks with what I thought was “real intent” and determination, I failed to recognize an answer. When my friends stood in fast meeting to express their testimonies, my parents were disappointed that I did not. I told them that I was trying, but that a testimony had just not come to me yet. I could not be dishonest. I worried and wondered what I was doing wrong. Perhaps my life was not good enough for the Lord to recognize my question—or maybe there was something wrong with the way I was praying—or perhaps I just didn’t know how to recognize an answer when it came.
The prayer and study went on for two more years, during which I read the Book of Mormon a second time, and then my bishop asked me to go on a mission. On one hand, I was elated, because I had always wanted to serve a mission; but on the other hand, I was very worried, because my testimony had not been granted. How would I convince others if I could not speak with conviction? My brother was going on a mission at the same time, and my parents, who were of very modest means, pledged themselves to our financial support.
When I went for my interview with the stake president, he surprised me by suggesting that I remain at home until my older brother returned—to lessen the financial burden on my parents. Greatly disappointed, I returned home to relay this sad advice to my father, normally a quiet, soft-spoken man. My father was distressed. He expressed strongly held feelings that I should go at the same time as my brother, and that the Lord would help us to meet the financial obligation. He put on his coat and announced that he was going to talk with the stake president. “You are going on a mission—and you are going now!” he said with conviction I had never seen in him before. Before he left, he wanted us all to kneel in family prayer. My father uttered a simple, short prayer, expressing thanks for blessings, and asking for help in his talk with the stake president and for help for his sons as they prepared to leave for the mission field.
As I listened with faith to that prayer and tried to look into the future, I was spiritually moved beyond anything I can describe. At that instant, I received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I was overcome with a feeling of happiness and excitement, as if to say that my father would be successful in his own little mission, which he was. But I also knew absolutely that I would be able to go on a mission (as I did to New Zealand) and testify with honesty and certainty to anyone who would listen to me. It was an enormously satisfying experience. My previous anxieties about being a missionary without the conviction of a testimony were gone. The Lord had answered my prayers—although in a way that I had not expected. As for my parents—they successfully supported their two sons as missionaries for two years and prospered financially as they had never done before.

Meanwhile, Brother Coppin had also contacted the mission headquarters in Geneva. In May I received a telephone call from a full-time missionary, Elder Bishop, who told me that there was a chapel nearby in Clermont and gave me the telephone number of the missionaries there. I called the missionaries that very evening, and we met the next day at the chapel. The door to the gospel was opening for me.
The following Sunday, I attended meetings at the chapel and arranged to receive the missionary discussions from a missionary couple, Brother and Sister Bair of Provo, Utah. I was baptized on 24 July 1990.
My joy in becoming a member of the Church grew as I attended the Swiss Temple and worked in the family history center in my branch. Then, in September 1994, on a trip to the United States and Canada, I met Elder Card and his wife, who served as proxies as I was sealed to my parents in the Alberta Temple. The eternal union of my parents’ family had begun.
For many years I had searched for the church that would fulfill my spiritual needs and unite me with my loved ones who had passed on. Now, in a miraculous way, I had received the blessings of the temple and was able to share those blessings with my loved ones.

A young lad stood at the pulpit in Sunday School trying to give an assigned talk, but he could not get the words out. His giant of a father walked from the congregation to stand beside his son, put his arm around him, and said, “I know Larry has prepared his talk and that he’ll be able to give it. He is a little frightened, so I’ll just speak to you for a moment and then I know he’ll be ready.” The father stood by his boy with his arm around him, and in a moment the lad gave his talk. And many wept.

So it is with our own spiritual experiences. If others do not enjoy them, it does not mean that we do not. I am reminded of an experience with this in New York as a graduate student. I was serving as a seventies stake missionary. The bishop called one evening and told me that some members were involved in a religious discussion with a group of what we would now call “born-again Christians.” The members were challenged by the conversation and had called him for some help. He asked me if I would be available to enter the discussion, which I did. Through that wonderful evening, it became clear that my new friends rejected the idea that Joseph Smith could have had a vision. My response was a question: “What is the highest and most sacred personal experience you could have?”

Their answer was, “A revelation of Jesus.”

I answered, “Why then would you deny another that same blessing?”

Early one Saturday morning while serving as stake president, I received a phone call from Bishop Nelson asking for help. He said the Janzen family from his ward, while on a family outing in the mountains, had lost their seven-year-old son, Mathew. Darkness had brought the search to a halt Friday evening. But within a short period of time Saturday morning, over a hundred brothers and sisters from the stake drove to the rescue site to join the search. After several hours of combing the trails, roads, and backwoods, they finally found little Mathew. Can you imagine the joy as he was swept into the arms of his mother and father? I listened through tears of grateful parents as they asked, “What happened?” Then this reply: “I took the wrong turn and got lost. When it got dark I tried to build a shelter and sleep, but it was so cold I couldn’t. I knelt down on a rock and prayed five times last night and again this morning. You taught me if I was ever lost, if I would pray to Heavenly Father and stay on the trail, I would find you. Heavenly Father did answer my prayers.”

In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.

A family of four was initially contacted by sister missionaries, and from the very beginning the mother and her children often read in the Book of Mormon, prayed daily, and wanted to attend church. The father, however, resisted—unlike his wife, he was not of a Christian faith, and he did not yet feel prepared to reevaluate his beliefs.
The sister missionaries were inspired to focus their teachings on Jesus Christ. In their words:
“We taught about Joseph Smith, of his faith on Christ, what we learn about Christ from the First Vision, and the Prophet’s testimony of our Savior. Everything we ever read together or challenged them to read as a family out of the Book of Mormon was teaching them more about our Redeemer. That is when we started seeing the progress. They displayed a framed picture of Christ proudly in their family room—it was one we had given them as a gift.”
The father’s change of heart occurred when his wife announced that she wanted to be baptized and his sons decided to pray to know whether they should also be baptized. From that moment on, he read regularly in the Book of Mormon and prayed about baptism. His sincere desire to know whether the Church was true changed him, and he became a spiritual leader in his home. Just before he and his family were baptized, the father asked for a tithing slip and an envelope. He did not want to delay keeping the commandments for even one second.

Tiger Brown was the meanest man I’d ever met. During the first summer after my mission I worked a highway construction job. Tiger was the foreman. He was about 60, short and stocky, with a bulldog neck and face. His eyes were small and angry, like a bear’s eyes.
My job was to follow a machine that laid down asphalt mix and to make sure the surface was clean and level. Large rocks would make their way through the machine, ending up buried in the asphalt. I would have to pick them out with a shovel and fill in the hole with hot mix from the front of the machine. Then I’d rake it smooth so it matched the rest of the road surface. We were laying a new surface on a highway in the west desert of Utah that summer. In the middle of the day the temperatures would be a hundred plus in the shade, and with the steaming hot asphalt it was nearly unbearable. The machine would often drop several big rocks at once, and I’d have to run just to keep up.
About four times a day Tiger would come by.
"Hey!" he’d growl at me above the roar of the machine. He would walk up to me with quick steps, his head down, pawing the air with his arms moving like an attacking grizzly. He always wore the same clothes—a ragged blue denim jacket, old khaki pants, a worn-out flannel shirt, and a dirty baseball hat. If you didn’t know him and saw him in downtown Salt Lake, you’d probably feel sorry for him and offer him a dollar. On the job no one ever made that mistake or even had to ask how he got his nickname.
"That’s not the way you do it," he would mumble, grabbing the shovel out of my hand. For ten minutes he would do my work. He would attack it with a vengeance terrifying to watch. No matter how far behind I was he would catch up to the machine in a quarter of the time it would have taken me. There was nothing I could do then but stand, humiliated, watching until finally he’d hand the shovel back to me.
"I should have hired your grandma," he’d snarl, and then after a disgusted glance he would stalk off.
He watched his crew like a red-tailed hawk watches a covey of mountain quail. If there was ever any indication of something out of order, the work moving just a little slow, or if the new road surface wasn’t perfectly level, or if the asphalt mix wasn’t just right, he would swoop down with that eagle nose and those fierce eyes, yelling, "Hey!"
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I had bad feelings for the man, feelings that almost bordered on hate. I felt that way until about the second month of work.
We’d finished a stretch of road and were getting the equipment ready to move to a new location. The place looked like an ant bed that had been kicked. The work was moving fast, and the crew was on the run getting their equipment onto the back of trucks and large trailers. Tiger came suddenly into the middle of this scene waving his arms and yelling.
"Hey! Hey!"
He stopped all the work and grabbed the driver of a large crane by the arm and directed him toward the hot mix machine. The hot mix machine was a 50-foot long cylinder used to mix gravel and hot tar. When the crane reached the hot mix machine Tiger had the operator lower a hook that hung by cable from the crane’s arm. With the entire crew watching and wondering if he’d finally slipped his gears, Tiger put his foot in the hook and jerked his thumb upward. He rose up to about 40 feet, level with the top of the hot mix machine.
After reaching the cylinder, he carefully bent down and picked up a small bird’s nest full of bald-headed baby birds. The proud and very worried parents, two kingbirds, were hovering over the nest. Tiger jerked his thumb downward. When he reached the ground, he walked over to a small cottonwood tree and gently placed the nest in its branches. He had several of us put barricades around the tree.
"Hey! Hey!" he yelled when he turned around. "Get back at it. You think this is a spectator sport? I should have hired your grandmothers."
Tiger still barely nodded when I said good morning to him, and he yelled at me and took my shovel when my work wasn’t up to his standards; but after the incident with the birds I saw him in a different way.
We broke the Utah record a few weeks later for the amount of asphalt laid in a day. The inspectors said it was as smooth and as good a surface as they’d ever seen. Whenever I drive over that highway I feel a sense of pride. Tiger believed in giving a good value of work for his dollar and he expected the same from his crew. I started looking past his faults to the good in the man. By the end of the summer I not only learned to respect Tiger, but I also learned to like him.
Since then I’ve found there are many people like Tiger, and I’ve had to look past their faults to see the good. Some have become very good and valued friends.

The story is told of a shy Latter-day Saint man who often sat on the back row of the chapel alone. When a member of the elder’s quorum suddenly passed away, the bishop gave priesthood blessings to comfort the elder’s family members. Relief Society sisters brought in food. Well-meaning friends and neighbors visited with the family and said, “Let us know if there is anything we can do to help.”

But when this shy man visited the family later in the day, he rang the doorbell and when the widow answered, he simply said, “I have come to clean your shoes.” In a couple of hours, all the family’s shoes were cleaned and shined in preparation for the funeral. The following Sunday the family of the deceased elder sat by the shy man on the back row.

Here was a man who was able to fill an unmet need. Both they and he were blessed by his empathy-guided ministering.

Throughout my life I have learned that when we follow the teachings of our prophets, we receive promised blessings. In the April 1986 general conference, President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994) promised that if families would read the scriptures together regularly, the Spirit would fill their homes.1
My dear wife and I decided to follow that counsel. We set a goal to read a chapter a day from the Book of Mormon with our three children—Jorge, 10; Susi, 9; and Luis, 3. We read every day, each of us reading one verse at a time. Even though Luis could not yet read, he wanted to participate. He sat on my lap, facing me, with the Book of Mormon between us. When it was my turn to read, we both followed my finger as I pointed to each word, and Luis repeated out loud every word I read while he looked at those words upside down.
Just before he turned five years old, Luis asked, “When is it my turn to read?”
We explained that when he was older, he would go to school and learn to read.
He responded, “I already know how to read!”
Astonished, I handed him a Book of Mormon. He opened the book upside down and began to read perfectly. He had learned to read by following along in the Book of Mormon!
Luis is now finishing his university studies and working full-time. No matter how late he gets home from work, school, or a Church assignment, he still reads a chapter from the Book of Mormon before he goes to bed. The prophet’s promise has truly been fulfilled: as a result of our reading this sacred book, our family has been richly blessed and we are more united.

Teresa Perez had had the same dream for three nights in a row. In her dream, she saw a small room filled with white clothing hanging from a line.
Could the dream have something to do with the lessons she and her family had been taking from the Mormon missionaries?
Elder Nichols and Elder Benjamin had started teaching her family three weeks ago and challenging them to read the Book of Mormon and to pray.
She and her parents had started reading the Book of Mormon and praying together. Teresa knew that her parents were struggling with the decision to accept the gospel that the American missionaries taught and to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In their small town outside of Madrid, Spain, nearly everyone belonged to the same church. Some family members and friends had made unkind remarks about the “Mormons” and ridiculed Teresa’s family for even listening to the missionaries.
Teresa didn’t understand everything that the missionaries taught, but she liked the warm feeling she had as she listened to them. They spoke of Jesus Christ and of His love for all children. Teresa liked that. In her old church, she rarely heard about Jesus’ love.
She saw love for the Savior and His gospel in the elders’ eyes. She heard it in their voices when they spoke of Him.
When the missionaries arrived that day, Teresa told them of her dream.
“Can you describe the clothes?” Elder Nichols asked.
“There were lots of white clothes hanging from a line. Pants. Shirts. Dresses. Some were little and some bigger.”
Elder Nichols looked at Teresa’s papa. “Can you meet us at the church tomorrow evening?”
Papa nodded. “We will be there.”
The lesson continued, but Teresa barely heard what the young elders said. Her dream and Elder Nichols’s request filled her mind.
That night, the dream came once more. The beautiful white clothes were so white that they shined.
Teresa and her parents made the hour-long trip by bus to the chapel. Elders Nichols and Benjamin met them at the door and led them down a hallway to a small room.
“Is this what you saw in your dream?” Elder Nichols asked.
Teresa looked at the white clothes of all different sizes hanging from a large rack. There were dresses, pants, shirts, just as in her dream! “Yes. It is just as I saw in my dream.”
“These are baptismal clothes.” Elder Nichols explained, “When a person gets baptized, he or she wears all white. It’s a symbol of purity.”
A frown crossed her papa’s face. “We have been baptized. When we were babies. For Teresa, that was only ten years ago.”
“We understand,” Elder Benjamin said. He pointed to the scriptures he always carried. “We learn from the prophets that those who take upon themselves the name of Christ must be baptized by the proper authority.”
Teresa remembered that from the discussions. “The priesthood.”
Elder Benjamin nodded. Then he bore his testimony. Elder Nichols followed. Tears filled his eyes as he spoke of his love for Jesus Christ and of his gratitude for the priesthood which he held and which included the proper authority to baptize people.
Teresa heard the truth in the testimonies. Even more, she felt it. She turned to her father and mother. “It is good, what we hear. I feel it.” She placed a hand on her heart. “I feel it here.”
Elder Nichols smiled. “The word gospel means the good news.”
Teresa’s papa wiped tears from his eyes. “Good news. You have brought us very good news.”
“Always we search for something,” her mama said. “Now we have found it.”
“When can we be baptized?” Teresa asked.
Elder Nichols’ smile widened. “How does Saturday sound?”