Gospel Story Finder

Sally was a relatively new member at the time of the martyrdom. She and her husband and their two sons had joined the Church near Buffalo, New York, and migrated to Nauvoo in 1843. Here they found many Saints sick with fevers, malaria, and measles. Writing to her family in the eastern United States, she said, “It is very sickly here at present … , and a great many children die” from the diseases.
Sally’s oldest son, 14-year-old George, soon got sick and died about three weeks later. With “a heart full of grief and sorrow” from her son’s death, she received word eight months later of the Prophet’s martyrdom. In this state of grief, she wrote her family to detail the events, share her emotions, and give perspective to events of the time.

Eighteen years ago, my wife and I received a phone call from President James E. Faust, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. He called us to serve as mission president and companion in Portugal. He told us that we had only six weeks before we started the mission. Although we felt unprepared and inadequate, we accepted the call. Our most important concern at the time was to obtain the visas required to serve in that country because, according to past experience, we knew the process took six to eight months to complete.

President Faust then asked if we had faith that the Lord would perform a miracle and that we would be able to solve the visa problem faster. Our answer was a big yes, and we started making the arrangements immediately. We prepared the documents required for the visas, took our three young children, and went to the consulate as fast as we could. A very nice lady met with us there. In reviewing our papers and getting acquainted with what we were going to do in Portugal, she turned to us and asked, “Are you really going to help the people of my country?” We firmly answered yes and explained that we would represent Jesus Christ and testify of Him and His divine mission in the world. We returned there four weeks later, received our visas, and landed in the mission field within the six weeks, as a prophet of the Lord had asked us to do.

When I was five years old, I became very ill. It turned out that I had polio, a disease that was completely unknown to the small-town doctor. I lay for several weeks on a World War I army cot in our front room beside a coal stove. Afterward, I could not walk. I remember very clearly sliding around on the linoleum floor and pulling myself up on chairs, learning to walk again. I was more fortunate than some. A friend walked with crutches and steel leg braces all of his life.
As I moved into school, I found that my muscles were weak. I was very self-conscious. I knew that I could never be an athlete.
It did not help a lot when I read about the man who went to a doctor to find a cure for his inferiority complex. After a careful examination, the doctor told him, “You don’t have a complex. You really are inferior!”
With that for encouragement, I set about through life and determined to compensate in other ways.
I found hope in my patriarchal blessing. The patriarch, whom I had never met before, confirmed to me that patriarchs do have prophetic insight. He said that I had a desire to come to earth life and was willing to meet the tests that would accompany life in a mortal body. He said that I had been given a body of such physical proportion and fitness to enable my spirit to function through it unhampered by physical impediment. That encouraged me.

One of our daughters, after giving birth to a baby, became seriously ill. We prayed for her, administered to her, and supported her as best we could. We hoped she would receive a blessing of healing, but days turned into months, and months turned into years. At one point I told her that this affliction might be something she would have to struggle with the rest of her life.
One morning I remember pulling out a small card and threading it through my typewriter. Among the words that I typed for her were these: “The simple secret is this: put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him.”
She did put her trust in God. But her affliction did not disappear. For years she suffered, but in due course, the Lord blessed her, and eventually she returned to health.
Knowing this daughter, I believe that even if she had never found relief, yet she would have trusted in her Heavenly Father and “[left] the rest to Him.”

The principle is illustrated in an experience that some members of our family had when we were in a very large city. Because of differences in work and school schedules, we had to book separate flights from two different airlines. Some of the family left from one airport, but my son and I were scheduled to leave from an airport south of town, nearly two hours away. There were challenges ahead: motoring on the opposite side of the road from that to which we were accustomed, congested highways, road repairs, as well as a limited time to catch the plane. We felt a dependence on the Lord as we began our journey. With road map in hand, I tried to navigate (which is not my forte), and my son tried his hand at the wheel of a rented car. I earnestly hoped that the people who had made the maps had designed them to match the road signs. We were not in a position to make a mistake or backtrack, or our destination would not be realized.
How like life, I thought: If we rely on the Lord, follow the map, and watch the road signs, without making a lot of unnecessary detours, we can navigate through mortality and reach our destination safely, in the Lord’s due time. Decisions determine destiny.

In 1975 my wife, Sabine, and I were a young married couple with a 16-month-old son. We lived in Celle, which was then part of the Germany Hamburg Mission.
The missionaries probably never would have found our home, which was hidden behind a gas station and an automobile repair shop. But they did find me—sitting on a bench at the train station one sunny June day. I was probably smoking a cigarette.
The two young Americans introduced themselves as representatives of a church. I don’t remember what we talked about, but it must have been interesting because I agreed to let them call at our home the following day.
They arrived on time and began discussing principles that most people believe. Both Sabine and I had a good feeling about them and enjoyed the conversation. But then the subject turned to God. I told them I did not believe in either God or Jesus Christ. The missionaries seemed somewhat dismayed and left us a pamphlet describing a visit by Jesus Christ to the Americas.
We didn’t make another appointment, but we read the pamphlet attentively and had the impression these Americans were crazy. Christ in America! Who ever heard of such a thing?
One Sunday in September we found ourselves near the home of some friends we hadn’t seen for several months. We decided to drop in. They were just getting ready to go to their new church, which they were very enthused about. Quite spontaneously, we decided to go with them. We too found the atmosphere of the branch enchanting, and everything we heard there was interesting and believable. We were eager to return the following Sunday.
Soon we were learning all about the Church from the full-time missionaries and from member missionaries. Brother Horst Klappert taught a class for investigators. Horst and his wife, Rotraud, had a lot in common with us. We became good friends, and soon we were being invited everywhere by Church members. We enjoyed many wonderful evenings that were different from anything we were used to.
One of the full-time missionaries was an elder named Max Fisher. When we got to the third or fourth discussion, Elder Fisher asked me—me, Jochen Beisert, someone who did not believe in God—to offer a prayer. At that moment I suddenly remembered something that had happened to me more than 10 years before.
Over the years my hectic lifestyle, combined with the trials of life, had caused me to forget this experience. But now when I started to pray, it came back to me, and I had a tender talk with my Father in Heaven. All those present—our recently converted friends and the missionaries—felt the Spirit and were close to tears. A few weeks later, on 18 October 1975, I was baptized by Elder Fisher. Sabine was baptized by one of our member missionaries.

When Doug Padilla was a high school freshman in Oakland, California, he decided to join a basketball team. Unfortunately, he was only four feet eleven inches tall. Fortunately, there was a special lightweight league for short people. “They took your age, weight, and height and rated you. If you scored low enough, they let you compete. If you scored really low, they put you in the D division. They put me in the D division.” But even in the D division there were challenges. “I had to play against some tall guys—some as tall as five feet four. And even the guys my size were better than I was, so I sat on the bench.”
But that was just for the first four quarters. “After every game they’d have a fifth quarter, where everyone would get to play. So I played in the fifth quarter.” Game after game, Doug rode the bench for the first four quarters, and then went out on the floor to do battle against the other fifth quarterites, fighting valiantly for rebounds against five-feet-four-inch giants. Although the rest of his body didn’t know it yet, the heart of a champion was beating in the thin little chest of Doug Padilla.

When Harold B. Lee was young, he learned to play many instruments, including the French horn and the piano. In high school, he earned money by joining the Preston Military Band. They played at nearly every community event!
Little did he know that his musical skills would help in the mission field, too.
Harold: I have been called to serve in the Western States Mission! I report to Salt Lake City to be set apart, and then I’ll go to Denver, Colorado.
Harold’s father: Congratulations, my boy. Your mother and I expect big things from you.
Harold didn’t want to let his parents down, but he was nervous. He had never seen a city as big as Salt Lake City.
Harold: Excuse me, but I think I’m lost. I’m looking for the Church Office Building. I have a very important appointment, and I don’t want to be late.
Stranger: Don’t worry—it’s that building right over there.
After being set apart, Elder Lee boarded a train and rode to Denver. The mission president, John M. Knight, and a group of missionaries met him.
President Knight: Welcome to Colorado, Elder Lee. Meet your companion, Elder Woodbury.
Elder Woodbury: Pleased to meet you, Elder Lee. Tell me about yourself.
Elder Woodbury: You play the piano? Wait till I show you my cello! Maybe we can practice together.
They did more than practice! Elder Woodbury began carrying his cello with him everywhere. When someone answered their knock at the door, they would offer to play a duet.
Woman at the door: Yes, I have a piano. I’d like to hear you play. Please come in.
Harold: If it’s all right with you, we’ll share a message about Jesus Christ and the restored gospel, too.
Elder Lee made many friends on his mission through “playing and preaching.” He was thankful that he had taken the time to develop musical talents so he could use them to serve Heavenly Father.

When Cliff returned to Salt Lake City, he was granted a scholarship to go to Harvard. Shortly thereafter, Cliff's bishop came to visit one day and asked Cliff if he would go on a mission for the church. Another change in life. Cliff wrestled with the decision because he was now 26 years old. He wanted to finish his education, get married, and have a family. He wondered if all those things would happen if he went on a mission. Cliff turned to the scriptures to help him make the decision. He read in Matthew chapter 6 verse 33, "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."
Cliff chose to change his plans and went on a mission to Maine. He had many wonderful experiences with the people there. After he came home from his mission he met my mother, got married, and was blessed with six children. He received all the things his heart desired.

Sharing the gospel on my mission was such a rewarding experience for me that I wanted to continue doing it after I got home to Peru. But I soon realized that I didn’t have the time I needed to reach all the people I wanted to, like I did on my mission.
So I turned to social media.
I created a blog to share my mission experiences, my thoughts from my weekly Come, Follow Me study, and other gospel-related insights with others. And as I shared my blog, I started receiving sweet messages from friends thanking me for sharing. I didn’t expect that! So then I thought: “Why can’t I do more on social media?” And that’s how my path to creating a gospel-sharing platform on Instagram and YouTube began.

Kieryn Murrin, a Laurel from the Sydney suburb of Oatley, loves to study history in school, especially ancient history.
“History is relevant to our lives,” she says. “It helps us know who we are.”
So it’s not surprising that Kieryn chose a history-related Laurel project. But the history she’s researching isn’t ancient. In fact, Kieryn doesn’t have to look much beyond the walls of her own home to learn more about her subject.
“When I was six and my sister Lyndal was eight, she became ill and died two weeks later. For my project I’m gathering and organizing things that have to do with her life,” she says.
As Kieryn has worked on her project, she has spent considerable time looking through the journals, photos, letters, cards, and school papers that the family kept when Lyndal died. It gives her a feeling of closeness to a sibling who has now been gone for nearly 10 years.
“We always talked about Lyndal,” Kieryn says, “but as I’m working on this project I think of more specific questions to ask. I feel like I really understand a lot more about her and what she was like when she was alive.”
Kieryn says she not only feels closer to Lyndal, but also to the rest of her family, especially her mom (who has helped a great deal with the project) and her younger brother, Cameron.
“Knowing about the plan of salvation, and talking about it, is very important to our family,” says Kieryn.

Painting the signs has helped Raegan and Rylyn through challenges. “When Kendall was sick, there were times we didn’t really want to be in the house because it was hard for us to see. So we decided to go and paint, and that lifted the load a lot,” Raegan says.
Kendall eventually passed away at age 16. Raegan says, “It was hard, but we knew that families are forever. We knew that even if we didn’t have much time with her, if we do our part, it’ll help us be closer to being with Kendall and Kallen again.”

We are a humble and very happy family. We were baptized in 1993, although it feels as though we have always been members of the Church and blessed with the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Initially, we were not interested in A Liahona (Portuguese). But then we read a copy loaned to us by a special missionary. We immediately realized that we wanted our own subscription. Now, should we ever miss an issue, it would be quite a spiritual loss for us.

Representatives from 93 nations attended the conference in Montreal to which youth were invited. Of the approximately 80 young people in attendance from countries around the world, Syndi was one of only a handful of girls. She also had the distinction of being the youngest in attendance.
“It was great,” she says with excitement, “except I don’t speak French, and they kept serving me wine. Someone finally told me to turn my glass upside down, and I wouldn’t be served.”

Most Latter-day Saints who achieve any amount of fame or success will say that in spite of their dedication to their chosen field, the Church comes first. But the girls on Kirtland, New Mexico’s record-shattering basketball team won’t tell you that.
It would be impossible for them to separate the Church from any one facet of their lives, because the gospel is the dominating force in everything they do. To rank it in one place, leave it there, then go on to others would be absolutely ridiculous to them.
Take basketball, for example. That’s what they spend most of their time doing, and the gospel is always a part of it. There were five LDS girls on the team that won a record-breaking eight straight state championships, and the coach was the first counselor in the bishopric. With that kind of a roster, you can bet the gospel was never far from their minds.
“The Church is the whole backbone of everything in life,” says Paige Manning, a perky five-foot, two-inch guard who resembles a pixie more than a basketball player. But Paige will surprise you. She’s a skilled starter with some deadly shots that have earned her high-point honors in more than one game. “We pray about everything, and we know we represent the Church wherever we go, whatever we do,” she says.
And the players on the Kirtland Central High girls’ basketball team get to do a lot of representing. Since they set their record, they’ve appeared on radio and television stations nationwide, including ESPN, and have been noted in many newspapers, including a featured article in USA Today. One player, Collette Hatch, has even had her picture printed on the side of milk cartons all over the state as part of an antidrug campaign. And that kind of recognition isn’t common in Kirtland.
You see, Kirtland is an unlikely place to produce a team that rolls over the most powerful schools in the state. Kirtland is hardly even a speck on the map in the northwest corner of the state. But the town, like its LDS residents, is permeated by the gospel. It originated in the late 1800s as a little offshoot community of nearby Fruitland, which was mostly settled by Saints sent out from Salt Lake City. Yes, it is named after the famous Mormon settlement in Ohio. Today most of the town’s residents are non-LDS, but there are still descendants of the original settlers. You’ll find LDS family names like Cluff, Foutz, Ashcroft, Biggs, Farnsworth, and Hatch wherever you go.
Kirtland never was exactly what you’d call a boomtown, either. The population hit about 3,000, and has stayed close to that mark ever since. It’s mostly flat, rocky desert land, although the red-brown scenery is dotted by a Navajo willow every now and then. There are a few stores in Kirtland, a post office, a couple of churches, and a ball diamond or two.
And there are schools there. Schools that feature superlative female basketball players. The winning tradition has become a legacy that many of the little girls in town dream of joining. “I’ve always wanted to be on the team,” says Gaylene “Gidget” Gallagher, an energetic guard. “I’ve been trying to learn how to play since I was little. When the coaches finally started us in a program, I spent all my time in the gym.”
It was the same for Collette. “When I was just little I remember my dad saying, ‘Here—take this basketball and go dribble it around the house—and don’t use both hands!’”
Once Collette got to high school, basketball seemed to dominate just about everything else. “You just go to practice, come home, study, and go to bed,” she says. “You have no social life. Except after the games you might go get pizza or something, but that’s about it. All during the summer, you just practice.”
All that work seems to have paid off for Collette, who fits most people’s description of the all-American girl. In the summer of 1987, she was selected to be on a high school superstar team that traveled to Israel. She has managed to be active in seminary, Mutual, and student council, and she is rated second in her class academically, so you can tell she finds time for some other interests.
During the season, practices last at least three hours a day. And in the summertime, some of the players have been known to practice up to 12 hours a day. Coach Cluff, a loving, fatherly man who knows how to take charge, uses basketball as an opportunity to help his players learn the gospel.
“I’m simple enough to believe that everything is spiritual with Heavenly Father,” he says. “Whether it’s basketball, math, science, or whatever.” He always makes sure that there’s a prayer both before and after a game. “Kids can learn a lot about their Heavenly Father through basketball, if they use prayer, and hopefully those lessons will stick with them for the rest of their lives.”
What are some of the lessons they’ve learned? They’ve learned to stick to their standards, for one. “The community knows we’re not the partying type,” says Collette. In fact, the town residents know just about everything about the players on their championship team, from their grade point averages to the color of dress they wore to the prom. “The community knows that we’re probably the straightest people in the whole town. We can’t give in to temptation, even just a little bit, or everything will go down. Not just our reputation, but our abilities and our potential.”
“And it’s not always easy to set a strong example,” adds Paige. “It’s hard in a small town. You don’t have much to do that’s exciting. Everything gets real old real fast, so a lot of kids just turn to things like alcohol and drugs, and they think that makes them happy. I’ve seen them go through a lot of pain, and I’ve been able to avoid all that by following the Word of Wisdom and keeping my standards where they should be.”
They’ve learned that the missionary work they do through example is invaluable. Over the years, several team members have joined the Church thanks to the examples set by their LDS counterparts. And most of the LDS players today bring friends to Church activities and seminary. You might think there would be a certain breach between the LDS and non-LDS players, but they go out of their way to be unified.
“There’s never a division between the LDS girls and the others,” says Moni Ahlcrimn, a raven-haired forward with a sparkle in her blue eyes. “But they do watch us, and many times they kind of follow along with what we’re doing.”
Gidget thinks that that cohesiveness is the main reason for Kirtland’s success on the courts. “You have to be truly dedicated to teamwork to win,” she says. “We work so much together as a team. One of the reasons the other teams lose is because there’s conflict from within. But we really help each other. I think the main reason we do so well is that we’re like one big family.”
But even on a winning team, there are lessons to be learned about defeat. Angie Harris, the team center, hyperextended her knee during the second quarter of the first game of the record-breaking season, and was sidelined for the rest of the year. At least two surgeries have been necessary to get her back on her feet, and she’ll probably never play school ball again. Many players might be bitter over this, but not Angie. She reads the scriptures faithfully every day, and from them she’s learned that “the Lord isn’t going to give you challenges that you can’t handle. This injury wasn’t that bad. I played on the state championship team last year. This keeps it from going to my head.”
Oh, and of course there are the basic lessons to be learned about taking care of the temple which is your body. These girls are so into fitness that in the few seconds of spare time they have left over, they do things like coach little girls’ softball, work as a lifeguard at the community pool, play church volleyball and softball, compete on the school track team, and run just for the fun of it. That’s the main reason Moni is involved in basketball at all. She’s only been playing about three years, but she says, “The running is what I like best. I play to stay in shape.”
And they’ve learned to play, to eat, to drink and sleep—to live under pressure. Many people think the girls’ basketball program is the best thing that ever happened to Kirtland. “Now that we’ve got a streak going, nobody wants to be on the first team to lose,” says Coach Cluff. “The girls work real hard, under intense pressure from the community and from themselves and their teammates, to continue the winning tradition.”
With that kind of pressure, you can see why most of the girls are a bit relieved come graduation day when they hang up their tennies and go on to college. A few of them continue playing basketball—BYU’s star Karina Zapata is a product of Kirtland, and Collette hopes to play for a four-year university. Most of the players from the Kirtland basketball legacy, however, will give up ball in favor of books.
But they will never regret, and they will never forget, the things they learned from their magical years on the basketball team. Sure, their hook shots may fade, and they might not recall how they ever managed to pull down so many rebounds, but because they took their coach’s advice to “consider all things spiritual,” they’ll never forget the eternal principles they learned on a high school basketball court.

A reporter from a leading Brazilian magazine studied the Church in preparation for a major news article.1 He examined our doctrine and visited the missionary training and humanitarian centers. He spoke with friends of the Church and with others who were not so friendly. In the interview with me, the reporter seemed honestly puzzled as he asked, “How could someone not consider you Christian?” I knew he was referring to the Church, but my mind somehow framed the question personally, and I found myself silently asking, “Does my life reflect the love and devotion I feel for the Savior?”
Jesus asked the Pharisees, “What think ye of Christ?”2 In the final assessment, our personal discipleship will not be judged by friends or foes. Rather, as Paul said, “We shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.”3 At that day the important question for each of us will be, “What thinks Christ of me?”
Even with His love for all mankind, Jesus reprovingly referred to some around Him as hypocrites,4 fools,5 and workers of iniquity.6 He approvingly called others children of the kingdom7 and the light of the world.8 He disapprovingly referred to some as blinded9 and unfruitful.10 He commended others as pure in heart11 and hungering after righteousness.12 He lamented that some were faithless13 and of the world,14 but others He esteemed as chosen,15 disciples,16 friends.17 And so we each ask, “What thinks Christ of me?”
President Thomas S. Monson has described our day as moving away “from that which is spiritual … [with] the winds of change [swirling] around us and the moral fiber of society [continuing] to disintegrate before our very eyes.”18 It is a time of growing disbelief in and disregard for Christ and His teachings.
In this turbulent environment, we rejoice in being disciples of Jesus Christ. We see the Lord’s hand all around us. Our destination is beautifully set before us. “This is life eternal,” Jesus prayed, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”19 Being a disciple in these days of destiny will be a badge of honor throughout the eternities.
The messages we have heard during this conference are guideposts from the Lord on our journey of discipleship. As we have listened during the past two days, praying for spiritual guidance, and as we study and pray about these messages in the days ahead, the Lord blesses us with customized direction through the gift of the Holy Ghost. These feelings turn us even more toward God, repenting, obeying, believing, and trusting. The Savior responds to our acts of faith. “If a man [or woman] love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”20
Jesus’s call “Come, follow me”21 is not only for those prepared to compete in a spiritual Olympics. In fact, discipleship is not a competition at all but an invitation to all. Our journey of discipleship is not a dash around the track, nor is it fully comparable to a lengthy marathon. In truth, it is a lifelong migration toward a more celestial world.
His invitation is a call to daily duty. Jesus said: “If ye love me, keep my commandments.”22 “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”23 We may not be at our very best every day, but if we are trying, Jesus’s bidding is full of encouragement and hope: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”24
Wherever you now find yourself on the road of discipleship, you are on the right road, the road toward eternal life. Together we can lift and strengthen one another in the great and important days ahead. Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”25
Let me share two examples of discipleship in action. The first is from the life of President Thomas S. Monson, demonstrating the power of simple kindness and Jesus’s teaching, “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”26
Nearly 20 years ago, President Monson spoke in general conference about a 12-year-old young woman suffering from cancer. He told of her courage and the kindness of her friends to carry her up Mount Timpanogos in central Utah.
A few years ago I met Jami Palmer Brinton and heard the story from a different perspective—the perspective of what President Monson had done for her.
Jami met President Monson in March 1993, a day after being told that a mass above her right knee was a fast-growing bone cancer. With her father assisting, President Monson administered a priesthood blessing, promising, “Jesus will be on your right side and on your left side to buoy you up.”
“Upon leaving his office that day,” Jami said, “I unfastened a balloon tied to my wheelchair and gave it to him. ‘You’re the Best!’ it announced in bright letters.”
Through her chemotherapy treatments and limb-saving surgery, President Monson did not forget her. Jami said, “President Monson exemplified what it means to be a true disciple of Christ. [He] lifted me from sorrow to great and abiding hope.” Three years after their first meeting, Jami again sat in President Monson’s office. At the end of the meeting, he did something that Jami will never forget. So typical of President Monson’s thoughtfulness, he surprised her with the very same balloon that she had given to him three years before. “You’re the Best!” the balloon proclaimed. He had saved it, knowing she would return to his office when she was cured of cancer. Fourteen years after first meeting Jami, President Monson performed her marriage to Jason Brinton in the Salt Lake Temple.27
We can learn so much from the discipleship of President Monson. He often reminds the General Authorities to remember this simple question: “What would Jesus do?”
Jesus told the leader of the synagogue, “Be not afraid, only believe.”28 Discipleship is believing Him in seasons of peace and believing Him in seasons of difficulty, when our pain and fear are calmed only by the conviction that He loves us and keeps His promises.
I recently met a family who is a beautiful example of how we believe Him. Olgan and Soline Saintelus, from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, told me their story.
On January 12, 2010, Olgan was at work and Soline was at the church when a devastating earthquake struck Haiti. Their three children—Gancci, age five, Angie, age three, and Gansly, age one—were at home in their apartment with a friend.
Massive devastation was everywhere. As you will remember, tens of thousands lost their lives that January in Haiti. Olgan and Soline ran as fast as they could to their apartment to find the children. The three-story apartment building where the Saintelus family lived had collapsed.
The children had not escaped. No rescue efforts would be devoted to a building that was so completely destroyed.
Olgan and Soline Saintelus had both served full-time missions and had been married in the temple. They believed in the Savior and in His promises to them. Yet their hearts were broken. They wept uncontrollably.
Olgan told me that in his darkest hour he began to pray. “Heavenly Father, if it be thy will, if there could be just one of my children alive, please, please help us.” Over and over he walked around the building, praying for inspiration. The neighbors tried to comfort him and help him accept the loss of his children. Olgan continued to walk around the rubble of the collapsed building, hoping, praying. Then something quite miraculous happened. Olgan heard the almost inaudible cry of a baby. It was the cry of his baby.
For hours the neighbors frantically dug into the rubble, risking their own lives. In the dark of the night, through the piercing sounds of hammers and chisels, the rescue workers heard another sound. They stopped their pounding and listened. They couldn’t believe what they were hearing. It was the sound of a little child—and he was singing. Five-year-old Gancci later said that he knew his father would hear him if he sang. Under the weight of crushing concrete that would later result in the amputation of his arm, Gancci was singing his favorite song, “I Am a Child of God.”29
As the hours passed amid the darkness, death, and despair of so many other precious sons and daughters of God in Haiti, the Saintelus family had a miracle. Gancci, Angie, and Gansly were discovered alive under the flattened building.30
Miracles are not always so immediate. At times we thoughtfully wonder why the miracle we have so earnestly prayed for does not happen here and now. But as we trust in the Savior, promised miracles will occur. Whether in this life or the next, all will be made right. The Savior declares: “Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”31 “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”32
I testify that as you love Him, trust Him, believe Him, and follow Him, you will feel His love and approval. As you ask, “What thinks Christ of me?” you will know that you are His disciple; you are His friend. By His grace He will do for you what you cannot do for yourself.
We eagerly await the concluding remarks of our beloved prophet. President Thomas S. Monson was ordained an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ when I was 12 years old. For more than 48 years we have been blessed to hear him bear witness of Jesus Christ. I testify that he now stands as the Savior’s senior Apostle upon the earth.
With great love and admiration for the many disciples of Jesus Christ who are not members of this Church, we humbly declare that angels have returned to the earth in our day. The Church of Jesus Christ as He established it anciently has been restored, with the power, ordinances, and blessings of heaven. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ.
I witness that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He suffered and died for our sins and rose the third day. He is resurrected. In a future day, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that He is the Christ.33 On that day, our concern will not be, “Do others consider me Christian?” At that time, our eyes will be fixed on Him, and our souls will be riveted on the question, “What thinks Christ of me?” He lives. I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Answer: I remember one time at the doctor’s office, the pediatrician asked Mom if she had ever heard her children say, “I wish I’d never been born.” And Mom answered, “No, all of the kids are fine.” I was surprised that Mom didn’t know I had thought about killing myself. So I tried to tell her what I was going through. But she acted so shocked that it made me never want to talk about it again. I pretended that I hadn’t really meant it.
Answer: Yes, but I didn’t really understand what a testimony was. I always knew deep down that there was a God, but Satan was working hard to convince me to doubt everything else. So I started wondering if the entire Church was wrong. Fortunately, I had some great Young Women leaders who were inspired to help me and show me a lot of love. One of them in particular helped me start feeling better about myself.
Answer: A bright spot was my Young Women class. I had a teacher who taught right at my level. She’s since moved away, and I wish I could tell her what she meant to me. I don’t remember what she taught exactly, but I remember feeling like I belonged there.
Another thing that really helped were temple trips. Even though I often felt worthless and didn’t think anyone cared about me, I enjoyed the spark of light and goodness of the temple. I often felt the Spirit there. One trip in particular made a difference. It started out bad because one of the older girls said something hurtful to me. But later that day, she apologized and gave me a hug. And I learned that I really liked hugs! After that, I asked her for a hug every Sunday. One Sunday I sat down in sacrament meeting without getting a hug from her. And she came up to me and said, “Where’s my hug?” with a smile. I felt so surprised and special that she sought me out and showed me love. She and I became closer and closer friends. I know hugs don’t help everyone, but they helped me.
Answer: Sure! She was the craziest, most energetic person I have ever known. She seemed to have never-ending amounts of happiness to share. She greeted me with so much enthusiasm and love every Sunday and gave me a hug. Her dose of goodness seemed to be just what I needed. I would carry it with me during the week. Over time, I began to accept that what she said was true. The Spirit was working on me. This is when my behavior finally started to improve in a lasting way. And my suicidal thoughts, which I’d had about a year, went away, though I still had to work on how I felt about myself.
Answer: Another turning point was when I began to volunteer at a nonprofit organization each week with my older brother and my mom. I was sometimes the only volunteer on my team who showed up regularly, so my supervisor counted on me. I found I really liked that. For example, one time we were cleaning up together, and she got called away to do something else. I kept sweeping and working hard. When she came back, she said that I had really good initiative and gave me so many compliments. And it felt so good. I realized that working hard and doing a good job was fun. Helping was fun! So I began to try my hardest to be the best volunteer that I could be. I gained enough experience to train other volunteers. I developed a passion for this organization and made friends.
Photograph from Getty Images
During this time, my behavior continued to change in positive ways as I felt the Spirit increase in my life. Over the next couple of years, I made friends again with my family members. I started feeling like a good person instead of a bad person. I became a happier person. People even commented on how much I smiled. And my happiness no longer depended on having a leader saying good things at church. My testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was growing, and I could feel Their love for me.
Answer: My testimony keeps growing stronger. I know now that Heavenly Father loves every one of us—including me. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I know that no matter what mistakes we have made, we can come back to goodness. We can repent through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Anyone can return to Him again.
Answer: Please, if you are experiencing low self-worth, or depression, or want to die, or any other feelings like that, reach out for help. Go to a parent, a youth leader, a former Primary teacher, a bishop, even a friend—anyone you feel you can trust. I promise you that Heavenly Father does not want you to die. He wants you to live and feel joy. He wants you to feel His love. Turn to Jesus Christ. He can help you throughout your trials. He knows everything you are going through. Meanwhile, Satan is the one who tells you lies about yourself. Ignore him. He wants you to fail. Heavenly Father wants you to succeed.
Answer: Honestly, I still have a hard time accepting compliments or believing good things about myself sometimes. And I think insults hurt me more than they hurt most people, even if they’re just a joke. I still sometimes have a hard time believing that people love me until I feel convinced. But overall, I like myself and who I am becoming. It is a glorious feeling!

“Officer Lansberg, re-e-port to the control room. It’s urgent!”
The sharp command, coming over the intercom, drew me from my scriptures. Turning on the microphone, I said, “Lansberg acknowledging. I’ll be right up.”
Leaving my quarters immediately, I started down the hall to the transit port. As I passed an external viewscreen, I couldn’t help but pause and look at it. There, on the screen, was the Milky Way spread out before me.
The words that I’d read from the book of Moses, just moments before, ran through my mind:
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten. … For behold, there are many worlds that have passed away by the word of my power. And there are many that now stand, and innumerable are they unto man; but all things are numbered unto me, for they are mine and I know them” (Moses 1:33, 35).
Those words, unlike some things, seemed to have grown more impressive with the continuing conquest of space.
“They’re waiting for you, Mike!”
Bishop Gentry’s jolly voice pulled me out of my reverie. He was a transport skid operator and had been dispatched to pick me up.
I hurried to the port and boarded the skid. It shot out of its port like a bullet, humming moderately as it clung gondola-like to the track that would carry it across the ceiling of the agricultural dome to the control room at the top.
I was the youngest officer in Delta Colony, but being a teenage prodigy with a flair for history and physics had made me a natural for my position.
Since I was the investigator of extragalactic phenomena I rarely had to respond to an emergency call. Most problems that arose did not involve me, and a majority of those that did could wait until my regular shift.
“You have any idea what’s up, Bishop?” I asked.
“None at all.”
Bishop Gentry, leader of our small ward, always gave direct and concise answers. After a short pause he picked up the conversation.
“I received a bulletin from Church headquarters today.”
Earth seemed almost nonexistent when one lived on a giant metal cylinder, four light-months outside the “edge” of the galaxy. I sometimes marveled that anything from Church headquarters could ever reach us.
“Anything new?” I said, adding, “Did the millennium begin yet?”
He chuckled heartily, “No, nothing like that. It was a statement from the First Presidency, reemphasizing the importance of serving a mission—which reminds me of something. You’ll be 19 in one more week and you haven’t begun to work on your papers yet. I know that you’ve been preparing, I know that you’re worthy, and up until now you’ve been eager. What’s the matter?”
Well, imagine how it feels. You’re in a swiftly sliding aluminum box, 200 feet above the floor, only your bishop with you, and he’s just asked you a question that jabs to the center of your conscience.
“Bishop,” I said, “I’ve seen more of the galaxy than anyone my age ever has, and more than most people ever see in their entire life. A mission would be somewhat anticlimactic.”
I was prepared for him to ask me how I could know that, but instead he asked, “How do you intend to spend the time that you would otherwise spend on a mission?”
“Bishop,” I answered in mock complacency, “with two more years at Antares Academy I could be appointed governor of this colony, or one like it.”
As we pulled into the port, Bishop Gentry responded, “Mike, I agree that to be a governor at 21 would be an unmatched achievement, and I’m confident that you can do it, but would it be that much worse to be a 23-year-old governor?”
I figured that if I made a hasty exit then I could get in the last word, but the door was jammed.
“It’s not just the time, Bishop,” I answered, poking the open button harder than before. “It’s the money, too. I only have so much, and mission and education costs have both become quite astronomical.”
By then I’d resorted to tugging on the door, to no avail. Disgusted, I turned away from the door and saw the cause of my minor dilemma. The bishop was holding his finger on the override lock.
“I just wanted to make sure that I clearly understood every word you had to say,” he commented, wearing one of those smiles that you just can’t get angry at.
As I stepped out of the skid he continued, “Pray about it. Some things, like what God expects of men, are absolute, and endure much longer than the stars.”
Then, much to my surprise, he added, “Remember, the Lord didn’t just tell Moses that he’d made everything. He also said, ‘They are mine,’ and that includes you and me.”
Flashing one last smile, he closed the door.
I stood speechless on the deck as the skid darted away. Did he know that I’d been reading Moses just five minutes before? Could he?
I didn’t have time to ponder those questions. I’d been summoned on an emergency call, and it would require my total attention.
The door to the control room slid open as I entered. Commander Jackson was waiting for me.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, in his stern, deep voice.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“We’re picking up an SOS.”
I stopped where I was. The gentle tapping of fingers against keyboards, and the rhythmic clicking and buzzing of 30 computer consoles bridged the momentary silence. I was puzzled.
“Commander,” I asked, “How am I supposed to help with that? What does that have to do with extragalactic phenomena?”
“The signal didn’t come from out there,” he said, indicating a screen that displayed the Milky Way. “It came from out there,” and he gestured to a screen showing a few clusters of stars, some scattered patches of light, and farthest away, little dots resembling stars.
Every object visible on the screen was a separate galaxy. The signal had come from deep space, much farther out than any official manned mission had ever been sent. No independently funded missions had been undertaken since the Space Bureau had instituted laws against them, one and a half centuries before.
“Who could it be?” I murmured.
“Well,” the commander answered, “it’s obviously not an alien. The transmission is in English. Besides that, there are no spacecraft at the signal’s point of origin.”
“An SOS signal that comes from nothing,” I remarked, “is definitely in my department.”
I thought a moment. There were just a few possible solutions, even including the most improbable ones.
Interrogating the control room staff, I asked, “Are there any malfunctions in the communications system?”
“Negative, sir,” a crewman responded. “We’ve already checked that out.”
“How about a mirage?” I continued. “Is there an ion cloud out there, or anything that the signal could be bouncing off of?”
“Negative, sir,” another crewman answered. “Sensors indicate no ion clouds, and no stray matter for at least a 50-mile radius of the signal’s origin.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I turned back to the commander. I could see just one possibility remaining, though it seemed unbelievable.
“Commander,” I said, “whether it’s a renegade independent from Earth or something more bizarre, I can’t say, but there’s only one place that the signal can be coming from. I’ll need three star scouts, one outfitted with a boarding mechanism, and I’ll need a salvage shuttle as well, with full crews in each craft. I don’t know if the broadcaster can receive a message, but transmit it anyway: ‘Received, awaiting arrival.’ I’ll be in the boarding star scout.”
As I turned to leave, the commander asked, “Where is it coming from, Lansberg?”
Well, when your commanding officer asks you a question, you can’t very well avoid it, however controversial you know the answer will be.
I looked right into Commander Jackson’s steely eyes and said confidently, “Hyperspace,” and quickly departed, certain that the commander thought me to be “space happy.”
Hyperspace was an old theory based more on conjecture than on fact. It had begun with the idea that the three dimensions—length, breadth, and depth—representing space, were not alone; everything had a fourth dimension—duration—representing time. From that a concept of a fifth dimension developed: hyperspace, a bridge or tunnel traversing space and time. If a person wanted to move from one place to another, in much less time than it would take to travel in space, he could travel in hyperspace. It was the long sought “northwest passage” of space travel. I had neither accepted the idea nor rejected it. Theory is theory; fact is fact.
As we waited in space, near the origin of the signals but as far away as caution dictated, I talked on the radio with Commander Jackson.
“Lansberg,” he said, “if you didn’t have such a good track record you’d be under psychiatric observation right now.”
I responded with respect, “Commander, I admit myself that it sounds insane, but frankly, it’s all I can think of. Do you have any other suggestions?”
“No way. This is your territory. Besides, if you’re right, it could revolutionize space travel. Your competence in the past gives me every reason to trust you now, incredible as your idea is.”
“Thank you, sir,” I answered.
An hour passed, and another as well, before anything happened. In the middle of the third hour the SOS signal stopped. Simultaneously, a bright light appeared at the exact point that had been the signal’s origin. It immediately widened and opened until it became the border of a great circle through which a delta-winged spacecraft was passing.
The craft, three times the size of a star scout, was dwarfed by the ring of light, as it came smoothly through the center of the circle. Twenty vessels just like it could have passed through side by side.
What a picture! A tiny spacecraft coming through a giant ring of light, the end of what seemed to be a conduit to another galaxy, for behind it stars blazed in glory! A closely knit cluster of at least 5,000 stars, seen through the ring, paraded before us in majesty, beckoning us to charge through after them.
When the mysterious craft had swiftly passed beyond the ring of light, the passage through hyperspace shut up tightly, just as it had opened.
As the vessel drifted in space near us, I unsuccessfully attempted to restore radio contact. I then instructed my pilot to maneuver our star scout to search for damage and identifying marks.
As we circled the craft, it seemed to be undamaged. If any of us still harbored any secret desires that we’d made contact with an extraterrestrial, they were quickly dissolved when we discovered an identifying mark on the nose of the craft. What appeared to be its name was written in neat bold letters: SPACE BEAGLE.
After a short search we located a hatch on the Space Beagle’s underside. A dull thud reverberated throughout our vessel as I sealed the boarding tube to the strange craft’s hull. When the gravity-free tube had been pressurized, a section of our star scout’s floor slid open, disclosing the entrance to the tube. When I looked in, I was surprised to see some colored light emanating from the opposite end. The hatch on the other craft had already been opened.
I was to board the Space Beagle solo for the initial investigation. I grasped some handles inside the boarding tube and pulled myself through the hole.
I floated effortlessly towards the opposite hatch. It was strangely different than floating in open space. In space I would have heard no sound, but there I heard the sounds of movement from my craft as they blended with the mystical, musical whisperings that ebbed and flowed from the curious vehicle that I was approaching.
As I entered the Space Beagle I twisted my body so that I wound up landing in a gentle squat on the floor next to the hatchway. While I sat there a strange rhapsody filled the air around me.
Standing up, I looked around the chamber that I was in. Lights on various consoles, reds, greens, and blues, flashed incessantly, creating a hypnotic strobe effect throughout the room.
The eerie music continued as my senses were subjected to a deluge of visual images. Video units lined each wall, alternately showing pictures of planets, stars, and galaxies. Flashing shots of ancient stone structures mingled with shots of desolate landscapes, as well as open meadows and green hills, not unlike those of Earth.
Some screens flashed pictures of chartreuse skies, and others of crimson snow.
Most fascinating of all, in the center of the room was a highly advanced holographic display that intermittently presented many of the images on the screens as three-dimensional moving objects, synchronized with the shifting musical tones that filled the air.
Indigo lions stalked on a lavender veldt. Dragons soared across distant horizons. Living cells seemed to grow larger and larger, until I saw DNA, the double helix, spinning before my eyes.
Elements mixed and changed. Continents slipped beneath seas. Planets broke up to dust, stars exploded in fury, and entire galaxies pulsated with light in front of me.
In no other place that came to my mind could such a comprehensive treasury of knowledge of the universe be found.
Then the words I’d read that morning once again occurred to me, “And worlds without number have I created … for mine own purpose … numbered unto me … they are mine and I know them.” As if that wasn’t enough, the phrase “they are mine” became stuck in my brain on a constant replay.
As I stood, awestruck at the scope of what I was experiencing, the music suddenly stopped, and I heard a deep and tired sounding voice, gentle to my ear, say, “Does my collection please you?”
Looking around I saw no one. I answered the question, “Yes,” adding, “Who are you?”
“I’m just a man like you,” the voice replied. “I’m in an adjacent chamber. When I lived on Earth I was called Desmond Jeffress.”
“Desmond Jeffress?”
“My, but that is sweet. That’s the first time I’ve heard my name spoken in more than 300 years.”
“You’ve been in space that long?” I asked, gasping at so profound a claim. Only the reality of hyperspace would allow such a thing.
The voice simply answered, “Yes.”
“You sent an SOS. What kind of help can I give you?”
A door at the other end of the room opened, revealing a brighter, more substantial light behind it.
“Come here, please,” the voice said.
Still somewhat mesmerized, I complied with the request.
The chamber that I entered was apparently a combination control room and observation deck. The Milky Way, Delta Colony, the salvage shuttle, and the other two star scouts were clearly visible on a wall-size screen that could easily have been mistaken for a window.
A circular console in the center of the room held dials and gauges that I was unfamiliar with, and seated in its center, in a large, well-cushioned chair, was the oldest looking man I’ve ever seen. Long silver hair flowed over his shoulders to the middle of his back, and a beard of the same color reached to his knees.
Looking directly at me with soft, brown eyes, he said, “I’m dying. I’ve lived more than 300 years, and I’ve barely an hour left.”
I almost felt hurt. I’d just met a man with a broader range of experience than anyone else I’d ever met, and he had less than an hour to share his knowledge with me.
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” he responded. “That’s why I sent the SOS. I didn’t want to die alone, and, more important, I didn’t want to have lived in vain.”
“Three centuries before you were born I began my chronicle of the universe. Though there are countless planets, stars, and galaxies that I have never approached, I have nevertheless chronicled a total of 237 galaxies with 100 trillion stars and 600 trillion planets. I was able to visit exactly 200,000 of those planets, if only for a moment. If it sounds like I’ve been busy, I have. Never for an instant have I been idle. My last wish was to see all that I have learned safely delivered into another human’s hands. Since that is now assured, I should be able to die knowing that my life was not in vain. Still … still, something is not right.” He paused a moment, wheezing slightly. “I should feel at peace, but instead I’m more anxious than before.”
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“I believe,” he said, “that my mind is still troubled on one matter, on one foolish little matter.”
“What is that?”
“I had,” the old man recalled, “before I went into space, been somewhat of an atheist. I’ve always been analytic and cannot accept anything as true until it has been proven by experimentation. Not long after my voyages began, I found myself believing in God. I had become aware of a pattern, of a design in the universe, and observing mankind’s potential to control it, I felt a relationship, a descendency if you will, with some remarkably infinite power, maybe even a living, tangible being.
“From then on all of my experiments and voyages, of which my journals and chronicles became but by-products, were whole-hearted efforts to prove the existence and nature of God. All my knowledge was continually applied to this single purpose. I was determined to prove God, so that I could know, and not just feel, that he lives.
“However, despite all of my efforts, the most powerful evidence was nothing more than a strong indication of what I believed. It always left room for doubt.
“I’ve been almost everywhere and seen almost everything, and still have no proof that God exists. I’m a scientist believing something with no definite proof of its validity. That is my anxiety.”
I thought his method of research had been like someone trying to learn about a sculptor by studying his statues. He had been experimenting through the wrong medium.
“Have you ever asked God?” I inquired.
“How is that done?” he replied.
I then proceeded to bear my testimony to him. My testimony of God, that he is the Creator, that he is everyone’s Father in Heaven, of the premortal existence, of the plan of salvation, and of the atonement of Christ, and that Jesus is the Only Begotten Son of God; my testimony of all these things fell from my lips with more power than it ever had before.
We talked. In the short time available, our conversation must have touched upon nearly every principle of the gospel.
I told him that I did not just believe the things I’d said. I explained that I knew them by the power of the Holy Ghost, through prayer, that being the only way that anyone could know.
He then prayed one of the most fervent prayers that I’ve ever heard. He ignored my presence in the room as the words of supplication rolled smoothly off from his tongue, and when he ended his prayer, he knew! One quick glance at his tear-washed eyes and it was clear: he knew!
He looked up, right at me, and he said, “Young man, contained in this spacecraft is knowledge accumulated from more than three centuries of constant research, as I traveled from one galaxy to another, and never has it meant more to me than it does now.”
His eyes held mine in a firm stare as he continued, “The knowledge that you have shared with me for the last hour is more important than all the rest of the knowledge I’ve gathered put together. Thank you,” he said.
The moment that he finished uttering those words his final breath wheezed from his lungs. Silence permeated the air.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, hoping that someplace his spirit could hear, and added, “Thank you, Desmond Jeffress.”
The entire procedure of impounding the Space Beagle seemed almost melancholy after that. Those who had wondered what had consumed so much of my time while I had been in the vessel were satisfied when they had seen the tremendous storehouse of knowledge within the craft.
The immense value of the Space Beagle to science was obvious. It would prove to open a new renaissance in space travel. No longer would it take years to cross the galaxy. The doors to other galaxies were wide open, and, with the charts provided by one who had been there before, no one would have to travel blindly.
As far as I’m concerned, the greatest results could not have been filed in a library. After I had received credit for the safe recovery of the Space Beagle and its priceless cargo, the League of Interstellar Earth Colonies granted me a full scholarship to Antares Academy.
I was very honored, but I politely and cheerfully declined. I already had a message to share that was more important than anything that the academy could teach me. Besides, the Lord expected me to serve a mission.

But today there were no mysteries to solve. Danny sat down next to Dad at the computer desk and played with his magnifying glass.
“Is Detective Danny solving another mystery?” Dad asked, looking up from the computer.
“No,” Danny said. “Nobody lost anything. Nobody is missing. And I can’t find anything suspicious.” (The detectives in Danny’s books said words like suspicious a lot.)
“I have a mystery for you,” Dad said as he clicked the computer mouse.
Danny perked up. Another mystery? He looked at the computer screen, but all he saw were a bunch of names and dates.
“Aw, Dad!” Danny said. “That’s not detective work. That’s just family history.”
“Just family history?” Dad pretended to be shocked. “This is some of the most important detective work you can do! You have to hunt for clues, find missing people, and solve the mystery of where you came from!”
Danny crinkled his nose. He would rather be following footprints with his magnifying glass.
“I’ll tell you what,” Dad said. “I need to make a few calls. Why don’t you look at the family tree while I’m gone? You might be surprised by what you find.”
Danny sighed and sat down at the computer. He found his name. His parents’ names. And his grandparents’ names. Then he clicked an arrow and even more names appeared! The names kept going on and on. Some of his ancestors were from California like him. But some were from countries far away.
Whoa! They lived hundreds of years ago, he thought. I wonder what they were like.
Then Danny saw some blank spots on his family tree. Maybe there was some detective work to be done.
From that day on, Detective Danny was on the case—the Family History Mystery!
He looked for clues in family journals.
He called his grandma and asked her lots of questions.
He searched online and found old records and pictures of his ancestors.
Danny loved helping fill in the blanks on his family tree. Soon he had helped Dad find 12 people who needed temple ordinances.
Dad was really excited when Danny found a record for Herbert Henry Jonte, Danny’s great-great grandfather.
“Your great-grandpa used to talk about his father all the time,” Dad said. “And now I can do his temple work for him. Thanks, Detective Danny! Case closed?”
Danny shook his head and smiled. He wasn’t just solving a mystery. He was helping his family members get closer to Heavenly Father. And he wanted to keep helping.
“Case not closed,” he said. “We have a lot more work to do!”

When Heber J. Grant was a young man, he took a grammar class.
Teacher: Your assignment is to listen to people speak. When they use incorrect grammar, write down what was said and correct it. Hand in four corrected sentences each week.
On Sunday, Heber attended church. The bishop stood to speak, and Heber took out a piece of paper to take notes. He quickly realized that he could do his homework.
Heber: His grammar is terrible! By the end of the meeting, I’ll have so many incorrect sentences I’ll never need another one.
Heber wrote down the first sentence, but that was all. The Spirit came upon him as the bishop bore testimony of Joseph Smith.
By the end of the meeting, Heber still had only one sentence written down. Tears of gratitude ran down his cheeks for the testimony that had been shared. He loved feeling the Spirit. It was the first time he had felt the Spirit this way.
Heber: I truly know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.
The bishop’s talk made such an impression on Heber’s testimony that he didn’t use the one sentence he had written for homework. It was too sacred to mock.
Heber: I have never been annoyed by grammatical errors of those who preach the gospel. To judge a man’s spirit by the way he speaks is like judging a man by the clothes he wears. Some have never had the chance for education, and some have never had money for nice clothes. I have tried to judge men and women only by the spirit that they have.
As President of the Church, Heber used this experience to warn members to not harshly judge others.