Gospel Story Finder

A young sister with diabetes became blind during her pregnancy with her second child. Her loss was devastating—and irreversible. After a time of anguish and questioning, she turned to the Lord for comfort and answers about what was expected of her in these new circumstances. With patience she learned that the “pleasing word of God … healeth the wounded soul” (Jacob 2:8) and that she could use her disability to help others. Her cheerful, open attitude makes it easy for others to talk with her about her blindness and her long struggle to accept and benefit from it.

It was cool inside the Western Presbyterian Church of Palmyra on Sunday, that twenty-first day of September, 1823. Fall had just come blowing in, laying the smoke flat on the chimney tops, but there was no fireplace inside the frame meetinghouse on Church Street. It was not considered necessary to provide comforts in a house of worship.
Joseph and Don Carlos, who were not Presbyterians, had accompanied their mother, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel to meeting. The other members of the family attended the newly built Methodist church in the eastern part of Palmyra. As Joseph passed the Reverend Daniel C. Hopkins on the way out, he smiled and was about to comment on the sermon when the minister abruptly turned away. Joseph and his family had almost grown used to being treated with a shrug and turn of the head, so they quietly walked on through the doorway. On several occasions, men of high standing in the most popular churches of the day had instigated bitter persecution against Joseph and his family. Joseph thought often of the intense bitterness that would cause someone to try to kill him in the dooryard of his home.
He had struggled to sort out an answer. Discussing his concern one evening with his mother, he asked, “Why should professors of religion excite people against me? I went to God in prayer to ask which church I should join. God the Father and Jesus answered my questions in person.”
“The Lord told you not to join any of the churches,” his mother answered. “He even went so far as to say that some of their doctrines were wrong. In the minds of the ministers, that would seem to challenge their position, their authority as leaders of the churches.”
“But the words are the Lord’s, not mine!”
“I know, Joseph. They’re trying to discredit your vision, to smother with ridicule and abuse that which they find themselves unable to silence with argument.”
Joseph recalled his mother’s words as he walked down the meetinghouse steps that morning. A red-headed boy with a splash of freckles taunted in a whisper that was meant to be heard, “Had any visions lately?”
When Joseph turned and caught his eye, the boy snickered and ran down Church Street.
Suddenly chilled, Lucy hugged a shawl to her shoulders as a husky, weather-beaten farmer called out, “Well, I do believe that’s young Joe Smith coming out of our meetinghouse!”
The men began joking about visions, taunting Joseph to argue with them. But he walked on in silence, his mouth tightened around a reply that he would not utter. No use starting a war of words, especially when he wasn’t right sure of the answers.
Lucy’s heart cried out to her son, Joseph, Joseph, don’t let them hurt you. Alvin, noticing his mother’s anguished expression, took her arm and said comfortingly, “Remember that Father has often said that Joseph has a lot of courage for a stripling. He can take it on the chin. If he had a mind to, he could wrestle the two of them to the ground with one arm tied behind his back.”
Lucy knew it was true. She also knew it took strength and courage to bear the humiliation in silence.
But six-year-old Don Carlos was flushed with anger. He backed away from the men, fretting like a cornered owl. Then suddenly he stopped for a moment, his face curiously without expression. When he caught up with Joseph again, he was smiling broadly. In guarded tones he confessed, “There’s one good thing about having four front teeth missing at once. You can stick out your tongue with your mouth closed.”
Joseph chuckled all the way to the wagon. “I’ll never tell,” he promised.
After picking up the rest of the family at the Methodist Church, the Smiths headed their horse down Canandaigua Road toward home. Joseph watched the dirt spill from the back of the wagon wheels in gritty whispers. If only the haunting questions would leave his thoughts as easily. But they kept rolling around in his head. And the constant creak of the wheels echoed the swallowed cry in his throat—Why haven’t I heard? Why haven’t I heard? Why haven’t I heard from the Lord?
Since his vision, Joseph had worked with his father on the farm as usual, waiting for further instructions from the Lord. But three years had passed and there had been no word. Strange, he thought; or is there a reason? It troubled him to think there might be something he should be doing—or not doing.
If, however, the heavens seemed closed to Joseph, the world about him was opening up. During those years Joseph watched the village of Palmyra grow from about seven hundred settlers to almost one thousand. He helped his father and Alvin build a lean-to on the back of their log house. It served as a sleeping room and somewhat relieved their crowded condition. Not long after it was completed a baby sister was born, the last of ten surviving children. So, under the direction of Alvin, who was by then a very able carpenter, a much larger frame house was begun nearby.
In 1822 the Erie Canal that had been started five years before reached Palmyra. The waterway was nearly parallel to Mud Creek and Main Street, and all three ran through the entire length of the village that extended for about a mile.
Whenever he could, Don Carlos accompanied Joseph on his weekly trips into Palmyra. “Let’s go see the big ditch,” Don Carlos would plead, almost before the wagon wheels began to roll. Then his six-year-old eyes would fill with such anticipation and hope that Joseph somehow always managed it.
One day as the two of them leaned on the fence, watching the long, shallow boats move along the canal, they sensed that this was indeed one of the great wonders of their age. “Just think, Don Carlos, when all the sections of the canal are finished it’ll stretch from the Hudson River to Lake Erie, over three hundred and sixty miles,” Joseph said.
Don Carlos didn’t much care about all that. He just wanted to walk beside a team of mules and pet them as they pulled the boat through the water. He didn’t like the way the mule driver rode on his horse behind them, cutting them with his long whip and scowling and cursing.
“Palmyra will soon be one of the most important canal towns in western New York,” Joseph explained to his younger brother.
But Don Carlos was still thinking about mules. “Some day I’ll have my own mule team. I’ll ride a horse behind them and crack my whip in the air and they’ll pull the boat up and down the big ditch. And I’ll see Buffalo and Syracuse and even the Atlantic Ocean.”
Joseph smiled. Don Carlos had his future all planned out.
“I wonder what I’ll be doing?” Joseph mused aloud. “Three years ago when I talked with the Lord, He seemed to have something in mind for me. I wonder why I haven’t heard what it is.”
Don Carlos looked up at his seventeen-year-old brother and shrugged. “Maybe the Lord’s forgotten,” he said.
Joseph had to laugh at that, but his heart yearned for answers.

When I served as mission president in eastern Canada, there was a lovely lady who served as the secretary of the genealogy committee in one of our fine districts. How she labored in her assignment! This dear woman was responsible for much of the genealogical research that had been done in her area of Canada. But she had come to a seemingly insurmountable barrier which she could not penetrate. She went to her Heavenly Father, poured out her soul to Him, and literally made a plea that somehow He would intervene, somehow the way would be opened. Without waiting for a specific answer, she continued her research.

One day she was traveling down the main street of Belleville, Ontario, and came to an old bookstore. She felt compelled to enter the bookstore, and as she perused the countless array of books, her eye caught a two-volume set on a top shelf, and she knew she had to see those books. She asked the clerk for assistance, and when he handed them to her, she read the titles: Pioneer Life on the Bay of Quinte, volumes 1 and 2. She turned to the first page, the second, and the third. Those two volumes contained nothing but family history from the first page to the last. One volume supplied the key which opened the lock to the mystery which had frustrated her work.

She was elated until she asked the price, and then her elation turned to doubt. “Two hundred dollars for the two rare volumes,” said the clerk. However, the quorum of elders in the district was able to purchase those two volumes after their worth had been verified. The books were sent to the genealogical archives in Salt Lake City, and it was reported that they also provided some of the missing keys to the research of the late President Henry D. Moyle of the First Presidency, for some of his forebears had come from the Bay of Quinte near Belleville, Ontario. A great blessing had been realized because a dear woman with “faith, nothing wavering,” had performed her duty.

“When I was a teenager, Brother Jacob, my teacher, asked that I write down on a card what I had thought about during the sacrament. I took my card and began to write. First on the list was a basketball game we had won the night before. And then came a date after the game, and so went the list. Far removed and certainly not in bold letters was the name of Jesus Christ.
“Each Sunday the card was filled out. For a young Aaronic Priesthood holder, the sacrament and sacrament meeting took on a new, expanded, and spiritual meaning. I anxiously looked forward to Sundays and to the opportunity to partake of the sacrament, as understanding the Savior’s Atonement was changing me. Every Sunday to this day, as I partake of the sacrament, I can see my card and review my list. Always on my list now, first of all, is the Savior of mankind.”
Elder Don R. Clarke of the Seventy

My little brother, David, is a real scaredy-cat. Mom said he was named after the David in the Bible. She told us that that David was brave and had a lot of faith in God. But I can’t imagine my brother slaying a giant warrior like Goliath.
Every Tuesday when we walk to Sister Johnson’s house for piano lessons, David insists that we go all the way around the block to avoid a big, barking dog, even though she is behind a strong fence. He’s such a chicken sometimes.
Maybe Mom and Dad thought that being named after the Bible’s David would help their son become a great hero. Maybe they were right. My brother sure isn’t brave near barking dogs or giant Goliaths, but one day I learned that he is a different kind of brave. …
All the kids in our neighborhood went sledding during Christmas vacation. The school had the greatest sledding hill around, and zillions of kids were there that day. It had snowed the night before, so the hill was perfect for trying out our new sleds.
We trudged up the hill, and I was the first one to jump on my sled and slide down. I found a great path that had a bump halfway down the hill and sent you flying through the air. What a ride! Everyone else followed me on that path—everyone else, that is, except David. He went over to the kiddie hill, where all the moms and dads were clapping and saying “Wheeee!” every time a little one slid to the bottom.
Some of our friends laughed at David and called him “chicken” and “baby.” But mostly they left him alone because they were used to him being afraid. I felt kind of bad for David, but he didn’t seem to care what other kids were saying about him.
Sledding was great fun, but after a couple of hours, we were cold and hungry. One of our friends suggested that we go into the drug store to look around and warm up. So we went inside and checked out the comic books and clearance toys. After five or ten minutes, we decided to head home. That’s when something really horrible happened.
On the way out of the store, someone—I think it was the new boy—dared everyone to take a candy bar from a big bin near the door. I couldn’t believe what was happening! Before I knew it, the other kids were stuffing candy bars into their hats or pockets.
I just froze. I didn’t want to steal anything. Then someone said I was scared, “just like your baby brother.” Fortunately David saved me before I had to decide whether to grab a candy bar or not.
“He’s not scared,” David blurted out. “He’s just smarter and cooler than you are. He turned and locked his arm through mine and said, “Let’s go.”
My heart was still pounding hard as David and I walked home. We didn’t say much to each other, and I thought a lot about what had just happened back at the store.
I think that what David did that day took a lot of courage and faith. It was just like in the Bible story when David slew Goliath because it was the right thing to do. I was pretty proud of my brother for choosing to do the right thing. And I’m especially glad he helped me do the same.
I don’t think of David as a scaredy-cat anymore. In fact, he’s pretty brave. I told him so, too.

The sophomore math whiz sat in the classroom after school waiting for the football star to come in for his weekly tutoring session. The guy who enjoys algebra, calculus, and trigonometry would spend an extra hour or so each week teaching polynomial expressions and practicing exponential equations with the football hero, whom many called the best high school running back in the country. Turning upfield for another 10-yard gain he could do. But algebra? Linear inequalities were something of a challenge. That’s when the tutor came to the rescue.
When the school year ended, so did the tutoring sessions. The tutor had his junior year to look forward to while the tutor’s “student” graduated and accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Miami.
That’s when the math whiz says, “Someday when he’s a famous running back in the National Football League, I can tell my kids I taught him math.”
It’s a year later, and once again Maurice Navarro is sitting in a classroom at Coral Gables Senior High near Miami, Florida. School ended 30 minutes ago, but, just like the year before, a group of students is gathered around Maurice as he teaches a math concept his fellow students aren’t quite understanding.
That’s Maurice Navarro. Still the math tutor. Still helping others.
“That comes from my mother,” says Maurice. “She taught me that if I’m able to help others, it’s important that I do. It’s difficult for some of the kids to grasp some math things, so that’s why I tutor. Since math does come pretty easily to me, I’m glad to help.”
The same must go for his volunteer work at two area medical centers. Each Friday and Saturday, Maurice donates about nine hours doing numerous jobs at both hospitals.
“I work with patients, moving them in wheelchairs or in their beds through the hospital,” he says. “When I’m there, I get to see the smiles on the people’s faces when they see you’re doing something nice for them. I love meeting the patients, seeing their faces, and seeing their reactions.
“It’s that way with tutoring,” he continues. “When I hear somebody say, ‘I got it!’ about a concept I’m teaching, I feel I’ve done my job. And it’s the same in the hospital with the patients, only with smiles.”
In the Fountainebleau Ward, in the Miami Florida Stake, Maurice is the first assistant to the bishop in the priests quorum. Not long ago, he was a young deacon looking up to the priests who were preparing to leave on missions. Now it’s Maurice’s turn to lead. “Since I’m the oldest one in Young Men, I hope the deacons and teachers look at me as an example in the same way I looked to the older boys when I was that age,” he says.
Tangible evidence of Maurice’s example to other Aaronic Priesthood holders in his ward came in the way of service for his Eagle Scout project he completed last year. Maurice organized a child identification day where he invited people in his community to bring their children to the ward on a Saturday so the children could be fingerprinted and videotaped. After police gave a presentation on ways to protect children, the parents in attendance took the fingerprint cards and the videotapes home. Now, if ID information is ever needed, it will be at the parents’ fingertips.
Maurice spent numerous hours coordinating this project that attracted close to 100 children. As a bonus, he also asked people who came to bring one or two cans of food that he could then donate to a food bank. He eventually filled three big boxes with canned goods.
“What I enjoyed about that project is that it was different,” Maurice says. “I really wanted to make a difference. I hope people never have to use their video or the fingerprint cards. I don’t want it ever to come to that point. But they are a good safety net.”
Maurice is 18 years old and will turn 19 in November. He will graduate from high school in four months, then he’ll get his chance to perform some serious, long-term service.
He’s received plenty of peculiar looks from classmates as he talks about the Church’s missionary program. When it comes to Church subjects—confusion over what missions are or questions about the Word of Wisdom—Maurice is the one who students turn to. At Coral Gables Senior High, Maurice is the school’s only Latter-day Saint.
“People at school ask me about missions all the time, and I’m glad to explain. For many of them, it’s hard to comprehend that I would want to do this. They’re amazed when I tell them we go for two years and that nobody’s making us go. I’m definitely going on a mission.
“My dad was baptized when he was in his 20s, so he never went on a mission,” he adds. “The only person in my family who has gone on a mission is my uncle. So I see a mission as me starting a tradition in our family.”
Throughout his life, Maurice has played a small part in the lives of a lot of people. Coral Gables students who have been tutored by Maurice are passing math tests, and Maurice can feel that he contributed to their successes. Parents have recorded information about their children on file—just in case. They can thank Maurice for that. And there he is, wheeling a patient from one room to another at the hospital. No big deal? Perhaps. But it’s another small thing Maurice finds time to do.
Maybe it won’t be exactly how Maurice envisioned it after all.
One day in the future, the football star might just turn to his children and talk about a guy he knew in high school. “Kids,” he’ll say, “Maurice is the guy who taught me math.”

Several years ago, while preparing for a business trip, I began to experience chest pain. Out of concern, my wife decided to accompany me. On the first leg of our flight, the pain intensified to the point that it was difficult for me to breathe. When we landed, we left the airport and went to the local hospital, where, after multiple tests, the attending physician declared us safe to continue our travel.
We returned to the airport and boarded a flight to our final destination. As we were descending, the pilot came on the intercom and asked me to identify myself. The flight attendant approached, said they had just received an emergency call, and told me there was an ambulance waiting at the airport to take me to the hospital.
We boarded the ambulance and were rushed to the local emergency room. There we were met by two anxious doctors who explained that I had been misdiagnosed and actually had a serious pulmonary embolism, or blood clot, in my lung, which required immediate medical attention. The doctors informed us that many patients do not survive this condition. Knowing we were far from home and not sure if we were prepared for such life-altering events, the doctors said that if there was anything in our lives that we needed to consider, now was the time.
I remember well how almost instantaneously in that anxious moment, my entire perspective changed. What seemed so important just moments earlier was now of little interest. My mind raced away from the comfort and cares of this life to an eternal perspective—thoughts of family, children, my wife, and ultimately an assessment of my own life.
How were we doing as a family and individually? Were we living our lives consistent with the covenants we had made and the Lord’s expectations, or had we perhaps unintentionally allowed the cares of the world to distract us from those things which matter most?
I would invite you to consider an important lesson learned from this experience: to step back from the world and assess your life. Or in the words of the doctor, if there is anything in your life you need to consider, now is the time.

When I was a young boy, we had no running water in our homes and no electricity. I can remember clearly when electricity first came to Bunkerville. I also remember my father and me taking horses and a big water wagon up to a spring in the mountains and bringing back drinking water to fill our man-made cistern. We would have to clean out the cistern before putting the fresh water into it. When we needed drinking water, we pumped it out by hand and carried it into the house in buckets.

In a few languages, translations have been made by people who were not Latter-day Saints, but whom the Lord inspired and guided to accomplish the work. For instance, the Afrikaans Book of Mormon was translated by such a man, who was eminently qualified and highly recommended by local leaders. He commented that when he had difficulty with a given passage, he searched the Book of Mormon carefully in other languages for help. If that failed to produce something he could feel right about, his only recourse was to kneel and ask the Lord what the passage should say in his language. He was never disappointed.

Except for the scriptures, I have never in my life read anything that has meant more to me than the July New Era, especially “Young Women Fireside 1980.” It truly brought tears to my eyes and strengthened my testimony of the gospel.
I am a 17-year-old girl who has been a member of the Church for just over two years. My parents are not members, and my family situation leaves a lot to be desired. During the past year I have spent time in the hospital because I was going to kill myself. I couldn’t handle things on my own anymore. With the help of the Church, I have been placed in a foster home and am doing great. I’ve come a long way in the past 4 1/2 months but still have a longer way to go. It really feels great to know that the Church is behind me 100 percent and that my brothers and sisters will always be there when I need them. When the Young Women fireside was broadcast, I was still very confused and didn’t go to it. I really wasn’t ready to hear it then. I’ve found that Heavenly Father only lets things occur when he knows we’re ready to handle them.
As I later read the talks in the New Era I felt as if every single speaker was talking to me personally, and I felt so full of the Spirit that I cried, as I am crying now. The youth of the Church don’t know how lucky they are to have the gospel in their lives and to have parents who love them very much. I’ve been on both sides of the street, and I know what it’s like. I know the Church is true with all that I am, and I thank my Heavenly Father every day for bringing it into my life.
Name Withheld

My name is Rachel. I live near the Paris France Temple.
The temple is really important to my family. Before the Paris Temple was built, we would go on family trips to the Frankfurt Germany Temple several times a year. It took 10 hours to drive there and back!
We loved watching the new temple be built. Every week after church, our parents drove by to let us see how the construction was going. First they tore down an old building and dug a big hole. Then they started building the temple higher and higher. Soon the house of the Lord was there!
My siblings and I are excited to go to the temple someday. My oldest sister, Esther, gets to do baptisms first. We are all waiting anxiously for our turn to go too. We love the temple and are happy to have one in our very own city!

Let us go back to the year 1805, on the 23rd day of December, in the town of Sharon, Vermont. Will you accompany me as we look back on those dramatic events taking place on that day? As Joseph Smith Sr. and his wife, Lucy Mack, proudly looked down upon the little baby who had come into their home, I’m certain they were pleased and most grateful. A choice spirit had come to dwell in its earthly tabernacle.
Some have asked, “Did he have an unusual childhood or boyhood?” “Was the Prophet Joseph different from me or my brothers?” I think we could gain insight into the childhood of the Prophet by reading the words of his mother. She said, “I am aware that some of my readers will be disappointed, for … it is thought by some that I shall be likely to tell many very remarkable incidents which attended his childhood; but, as nothing occurred during his early life except those trivial circumstances which are common to that state of human existence, I pass them in silence.”1 This is all we have from the boy’s mother concerning his early childhood activities.
During his early youth, however, ill health and ill fortune seemed to pursue the family. When young Joseph was seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. The others recovered readily, but Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, doing the best they could under the conditions of the time, treated him—and yet the sore persisted. Finally the doctors were afraid they were going to have to amputate his leg.
Thankfully, however, one day the doctors came unexpectedly to the home and told the family they were going to try a new operation to remove a piece of the bone, hoping this would permit the sore to heal. They had brought with them some cord and planned to tie Joseph to the bed because they had no anesthetic, nothing to dull the pain, when they cut into his leg to remove the piece of bone.
Young Joseph, however, responded, “I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have my liberty.”
The doctors then said, “Will you take some wine? … You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation.”
Again the boy prophet said, “No, … but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.”
So Joseph Smith Sr. held the boy in his arms, and the doctors opened the leg and removed the diseased piece of bone. Although he was lame for some time afterward, Joseph was healed.2 At seven years of age, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.
When Joseph was in his 11th year, his family, which now consisted of 11 souls, left Vermont and moved to Palmyra, New York. Four years later they moved to Manchester, located in the same county. It was here that Joseph described the great religious revival that seemed everywhere present and of prime concern to every heart.
These are his words: “So great were the confusion and strife among the different denominations, that it was impossible for a person young as I was, and so unacquainted with men and things, to come to any certain conclusion who was right and who was wrong. …
“While I was laboring under the extreme difficulties caused by the contests of these parties of religionists, I was one day reading the Epistle of James, first chapter and fifth verse, which reads: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him” (JS—H 1:8, 11).
The Prophet said that after reading this verse he knew for a certainty he must either put the Lord to the test and ask Him or perhaps choose to remain in darkness forever. He declared that as he retired to the grove to pray, this was the first time he had attempted to pray vocally to his Heavenly Father. But he had read the scripture, he had understood the scripture, he had trusted in God his Eternal Father; and now he knelt and prayed, knowing that God would give him the enlightenment which he so earnestly sought. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us the principle of faith—by example.
Can you imagine the ridicule, the scorn, the mocking that all of his young friends, his older friends, and his foes alike must have heaped upon him as he mentioned that he had seen a vision?
I suppose it became almost unbearable for the boy, and yet he was honest with himself, for these are his words: “I had actually seen a light, and in the midst of that light I saw two Personages, and they did in reality speak to me; and though I was hated and persecuted for saying that I had seen a vision, yet it was true; and while they were persecuting me, reviling me, and speaking all manner of evil against me falsely for so saying, I was led to say in my heart: Why persecute me for telling the truth? I have actually seen a vision; and who am I that I can withstand God, or why does the world think to make me deny what I have actually seen? For I had seen a vision; I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it” (JS—H 1:25).
The Prophet Joseph Smith taught honesty—by example.
The Prophet Joseph was truly blessed with the ability to inspire faith. One bright morning Joseph walked up to John E. Page and said, “Brother John, the Lord is calling you on a mission to Canada.”
John E. Page was rather astonished and said, “Why, Brother Joseph, I can’t go on a mission to Canada. I don’t even have a coat to wear.”
The Prophet Joseph took his own coat from his back, handed it to John Page, and said, “Here, John, wear this, and the Lord will bless you.” Brother Page took the coat, went to Canada, and in two years walked 5,000 miles and baptized 600 souls, because he trusted in the words of a prophet of God.3
The Prophet Joseph believed in missionary work. While he and Sidney Rigdon were proselyting at Perrysburg, New York, October 12, 1833, having been long absent from their families and feeling concerned for them, they received the following revelation:
“Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my friends Sidney and Joseph, your families are well; they are in mine hands, and I will do with them as seemeth me good; for in me there is all power. …
“Therefore, verily I say unto you, lift up your voices unto this people” (D&C 100:1, 5).
Joseph and Sidney continued their missionary labors.
Joseph Smith not only inspired men to volunteer for missions, but he also taught the importance of missionary work—by example.
I think one of the sweetest lessons taught by the Prophet, and yet one of the saddest, occurred close to the time of his death. He was required to leave his plan and vision of the Rocky Mountains and give himself up to face a court of supposed justice.
These are his words: “I am going like a lamb to the slaughter; but I am calm as a summer’s morning; I have a conscience void of offense towards God, and towards all men” (D&C 135:4). That statement of the Prophet teaches us obedience to law and the importance of having a clear conscience toward God and toward our fellowmen. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught these principles—by example.
There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him.
And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.
I pray we may learn from his example, that we might incorporate into our lives the great principles he so beautifully taught.

More than a hundred years ago President Brigham Young sent a family to a small, remote place in Arizona to make peace with the Indians.
The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He headed there at once, arriving about four o’clock in the morning. He found his wife gently cradling their little baby daughter in her arms. The baby had fallen into an open fireplace and was severely burned.
The father took their infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent people of the world. The baby girl did live. She was not disfigured, and she grew up, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life back to that tiny child. And that sweet baby girl, who owed her life to the power of prayer, grew up and gave me life. She was my mother.

We will never forget the Sunday when a new family of German origin moved into the Pusuqui Branch in Quito, Ecuador. The branch president introduced the Fuchs family during sacrament meeting, and we immediately felt they were special people.
After sacrament meeting I took my family to welcome them. Andreas, the oldest of their children, greeted us warmly and introduced himself as Andy. Something about that moment signaled the beginning of a friendship that was to be deep, true, and certainly eternal—a friendship that left us an unforgettable legacy.
Time passed, and the Fuchs family became very involved in our branch. I was Young Men president at the time, and I soon saw that Andy’s enthusiasm showed in all areas. When we began a service project, he was first to appear—with a big smile.
Andy was an extraordinary person, due to the goodness of our Heavenly Father and the guidance of his earthly parents. From an early age, Andy had been nourished by their affection and patience. He and his father, Horst, shared many activities and were indispensable to each other. This example so matured Andy that at age 14 he was a person of ability and usefulness. His many abilities never ceased to surprise us, but he was humble about them. He was totally dedicated to learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and lost no opportunity to talk to people about the Church.
No one supposed Andy would leave us so soon. We still remember that painful Saturday when we learned of his tragic death.
That morning Andy decided to ride his bike to the top of a hill in the area. He had already done so once with his father and was determined to repeat the feat alone. After getting his father’s permission, he set out. As he rode up the hill, a truck transporting wood down the hill careened wildly. It struck Andy and killed him instantly. It was difficult for us to accept that this tragedy had occurred to such a bright, promising young man.
The truck driver was seriously injured. He was taken to a hospital in Quito under police watch so he would not escape justice for what he had done. Surely, we thought, he should be held accountable for the accident. But from Horst Fuchs we all learned to forgive.
The branch president and I went with Brother Fuchs to identify Andy’s body. While the death of his son was very painful, he forgave the person who had taken Andy’s life. He refused to hold animosity in his heart. A few days later he visited the truck driver in the hospital and told him that he forgave him. He offered his help and spoke to him about the gospel of Jesus Christ. While the truck driver was recovering at home, he started receiving the discussions from the missionaries, who were accompanied by Brother Fuchs. Brother Fuchs also intervened in the justice system to have all charges against the man dropped.
I know this demonstration of love has its foundation in the gospel of Jesus Christ—the gospel by which the Fuchs family lives. The Fuchs family is indeed exceptional. Their example showed us that only through Christ does great strength come, as well as comfort and support.
Overcoming the pain made us better people. Although we understood that there would be tears along our path through life, our branch saw from Andy’s legacy and his father’s example that we must have faith and work diligently to live and share the gospel every day. And because of Jesus Christ, we have faith that we will meet Andy again.

I come from a small village in Sicily, Italy, where the lemons bloom and the boundaries between the fields are marked by green rows of prickly pears bristling with thorns bearing the sweetest of fruits. I remember with pleasure the years I spent there preparing to become a Catholic priest. After entering seminary at age ten, I completed my high school and advanced theological studies in various cities in Sicily. I was a good student and seminarian.
But my story, now told in old age, is one of sorrow as well as joy. After having spent a lifetime in anguished searching, I dedicate this brief account of my conversion to all believers of good faith, Christian or non-Christian, and especially to those who are searching for the restored Christian church.
After I was ordained a priest in 1950, my faith in the Catholic Church started to waiver. At a certain point, I thought I had lost my faith altogether. This was the first of many crises of belief to follow. However, I spoke of this to no one; I don’t know whether any of my colleagues or superiors were ever aware of my internal anguish. Externally, I continued to carry on as before: I said mass, prayed in public, and administered the sacrament regularly. My superiors conferred positions of trust upon me. Among other things, I was appointed Dean of the Seminary and became a preacher much in demand.
But I was deeply unhappy, because my old faith had collapsed inside me. I requested the opportunity to pursue further theological studies at the Pontifical University in Rome, hoping to dispel my doubts. My request was granted, and I spent four years obtaining my doctorate in the Department of Dogmatic Theology.
But instead of dispelling my doubts and strengthening my faith, the experience had the opposite effect. Thus, I returned to Sicily with another doctorate—but with a faith that was literally in pieces.
I no long viewed my situation as a passing crisis, but as a permanent reality. Deeply unhappy, I envied those uneducated believers who maintained their simple faith. Not only was I enduring the internal anguish of religious doubt, but I was also facing a moral and professional quandary: How could I remain in the service of a church whose teachings I did not believe?
When someone advised me to use caution and to prayerfully continue my studies, I enrolled in the Department of Letters and Philosophy at the state university. For four more years I analyzed my questions. But my faith only continued to deteriorate.
I could find no answers to my major problem: As a result of my historical research on my church, I was certain that an apostasy had occurred as early as the end of the first century after Christ. But how could I reconcile that fact with the never-changing nature of God? Surely, I reasoned, when God established his church, he wouldn’t have let it vanish forever after lasting only one century; it must endure eternally. But where was the solution to the apostasy? Surely there must be another Christian church that had inherited the doctrine of the true church of Christ.
After achieving yet another degree, I arrived at a crossroads. Only two possibilities existed: continue on as a priest of a church that clashed with my conscience, or leave my church and my profession in order to remain consistent with my religious convictions.
I knew very well that the first option was ethically immoral, but it certainly would be the most convenient. And I knew that the second option would create enormous difficulties. But at that point, I did not hesitate. On 25 September 1965, I gave my official and final adieu to my church and my profession.
As I expected, my decision created an enormous void around me; even close relatives ostracized me. Alone and without money, I left for northern Italy, where I began a new life. There, I quickly found a job as a teacher of letters in a technical institute in Bologna.
In my free time, I continued my research, first embarking on a study of Protestantism that left me even more disillusioned and bitter than before. Not one church seemed to possess the requirements of the true church of Jesus Christ. If the Book of Mormon had come into my hands at that time, or if someone had told me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, perhaps my journey would have ended there.
Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. I went on to study other religions besides Christianity—Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism—eventually neglecting my search for the true church of Jesus Christ. Instead, I became an expert in Oriental philosophy and came to believe that perhaps one religion was as good as another. As a result of all my study, I seemed to have fallen into religious indifference.
But, thanks to the grace of the Lord, I still believed in God and in his divinity. And I never completely lost my faith in the divinity of Jesus Christ. For this reason, I continued to search for Him.
In the meantime, I had married. My wife, Ines, had been reared in a Catholic home but was not a practicing church member. We decided not to instruct our two children in any religion, leaving the choice to them.
With the passing of years, I had grown closer to Christ. I had started praying regularly and reading the Bible again. I was a Christian without a church—but still engaged in the search for the true church of Jesus Christ.
By this time I was old, past sixty. It was at this time that the good Lord took pity on me, sending me premonitions, in the form of dreams, that my chance would soon arrive.
On a clear September morning, I had just left my car when I saw two boys at a distance. They watched me as though they recognized me and were waiting for me. Strangely enough, I didn’t assume the defensive stance that I normally used in order to shun the annoying approaches of sellers or missionaries. Much to my surprise, I felt drawn to them, as though I, too, had been waiting to meet them for a long time. Although they were strangers, I was open and friendly to these clean, sincere young men.
They were two Mormon missionaries. When I found this out, it hit me like a thunderbolt, and I listened to them with great joy in my heart. I felt that God had finally answered my questions. I willingly took a Book of Mormon from them and started reading it with anticipation later that evening.
Sitting alone at my desk with that book, I felt overcome with joy and tenderness. Sweet feelings that I had never known before made me feel almost lightheaded in a semi-conscious state that lasted for perhaps an hour.
God gave me the inner assurance that I would find in that book the truth I had been seeking for so many years. The reading of the Book of Mormon bound me immediately. The Book of Mormon and the Bible both pointed me toward a single divine revelation: the Christian church, which had fallen into apostasy, had been restored! Christ had not abandoned his church after all—it was man who had been the author of the Apostasy, and now the Lord had again placed his church upon the earth! Even I, in my small way, felt that I had been restored. My long night, which had lasted for many years, was finally at an end!
Thanks to God, I was finally happy. My testimony grew every day as I continued to study the scriptures and to discuss the doctrine with the missionaries and the branch president, Ezio Caramia. A few months after meeting the missionaries, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Adding to my happiness, my wife also decided to be baptized a few months later.
I later received the Aaronic Priesthood and then the Melchizedek Priesthood. And I testify today, with absolute certainty, that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true and only church of Jesus Christ. I am also grateful for my testimony of a living prophet and of the modern-day Twelve Apostles.
This is my joyful testimony, molded from much suffering, which I offer humbly to all those whom it may help. The Church is eternal, as are all the works of God. It is his masterpiece.

Sometimes people won’t understand your actions, but if you follow the Holy Ghost, you will always know that you are doing the right thing. When I received my mission call, I had finished two years of schooling at Stanford University. I announced that I was dropping out of school for two years to serve a mission, and soon afterward, my advisor asked to meet with me. When I walked into his office, the first thing he said to me was, “Robert, are you crazy?” He told me that I was making a mistake and that the university might never let me back in. He encouraged me to finish my schooling and then serve a mission.
Many years later, I received a call from the prophet asking me to retire and serve as a General Authority. At the time, I had a responsible position in the United States government. I accepted the call, just as I had accepted the mission call when I was nineteen years old, and I announced my retirement. Soon afterward, a senior official walked into my office. The first thing he said to me was, “Robert, are you crazy?” I said, “I think I’ve heard this before.”
I wasn’t crazy when I served a mission, and I wasn’t crazy when I retired to serve as a General Authority. No matter what else is going on in your life, when the call to serve comes, that is the moment to do it.

President J. Scott Dorius of the Peru Lima West Mission told me their story. He said:
“Becky and I were married for 25 years without being able to have [or adopt] children. We moved several times. Introducing ourselves in each new setting was awkward and sometimes painful. Ward members wondered why we [didn’t have] children. They weren’t the only ones wondering.
“When I was called as a bishop, ward members [expressed] concern that I did not have any experience with children and teenagers. I thanked them for their sustaining vote and asked them to allow me to practice my child-raising skills on their children. They lovingly obliged.
“We waited, gained perspective, and learned patience. After 25 years of marriage, a miracle baby came into our lives. We adopted two-year-old Nicole and then newborn Nikolai. Strangers now compliment us on our beautiful grandchildren. We laugh and say, ‘They are our children. We have lived our lives backwards.’”18

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.

Ladean felt confident as she sat on the piano bench in the Primary room. Her soft blond hair was tied back with a big bow that matched her dress. It seemed like only yesterday that Sister Hayes, the Primary chorister, had asked Ladean to accompany them during an opening song. Ladean had chosen one of her favorite Primary songs, even though it was fairly difficult to play. She had practiced it over and over again for three weeks.
Now the big moment was here. Sister Hayes stood up to lead the opening song and nodded to Ladean to begin. The introduction went fine, but when the Primary children joined in, Ladean’s confidence crumbled. Her heart began to pound louder and louder with every beat. Her hands began to tremble, her fingers stumbled on the keys, and her face blushed with embarrassment. Then she lost her place in the music. The children continued to sing as she frantically tried to reenter the song. But her fingers quivered so much that she could not control them, and before she knew it, the song was over. Tears welled up in Ladean’s eyes as she pushed herself away from the piano and sat down with the other children.
“I’d like to thank Ladean for accompanying us today,” said Sister Hayes. “She worked very hard on this song, and I would like her to help us with it again next week.”
Sister Hayes’s words sounded a fire alarm in Ladean’s mind: Next week? Not me! Never, neveragain. Oh I wish I could just disappear. I don’t want to ever play in front of anyoneagain!
At the end of Primary closing exercises, Sister Hayes quickly grabbed Ladean’s hand and pulled her toward the piano. “Quick, come up and play while the children leave,” she whispered.
Before Ladean could answer, she was staring at the piano keys. Once again her heart began to pound and her fingers trembled, but as she played, her confidence returned. This is right, she thought. I’m playing exactly like I practiced.
Sister Hayes smiled at Ladean. “See—I knew that you could do it.”
Ladean closed the songbook and shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I know this song. Why did I get so nervous? Something was different, but what?”
Sister Hayes put her arm around Ladean. “You’ll get it. Just try it again next Sunday.”
That evening Ladean sat at her piano, mumbling. “Now, the first time I played the song was with the Primary singing. And the second time I was playing alone. That’s it! That’s the difference—I’ve never practiced with singers. That’s why I got so nervous when the children joined in. I need some singers!”
She asked her mother for help. “Mom, will you sing this song while I practice?”
“Who, me? You know that I always sing off-key,” Mom laughed. “Can your father and brothers help out too? Maybe they’ll sing loudly enough to cover up my squeaking.”
“Great!”
Soon the whole family was gathered around the piano. Ladean’s brothers tried to outsing each other, and her father’s booming voice sounded like a bass drum. They all laughed and sang the song over and over until Ladean did not stumble or lose her place at all.
Throughout the following week, whenever Ladean practiced, she could hear her family humming from the other rooms in the house. Pretty soon her brothers would walk in and start singing aloud. Then her mom and dad would join in as well.
That next Sunday, Ladean once again sat at the piano in the Primary room. Sister Hayes nodded at her to begin the introduction. When the children started singing, Ladean smiled as she played. She thought of her family and all the wonderful, happy hours they had shared together, and she played the song through without one mistake.

While serving as a mission president, I had the responsibility to interview any individuals who were studying the gospel who came from Muslim backgrounds. The reason for this was certain countries could persecute and cause severe problems for not only the investigators, but their immediate families. On one occasion, I interviewed a man, his wife, and daughter—we will call him Zara and her Ali and their daughter Sara.

While talking to Zara, I became impressed with his understanding of the doctrines of the gospel and even more impressed with the depth of his spirit. As I explained our concern for his safety while studying the doctrines of the Church and what might be imposed from some of his family or country officials, he made a statement that I'll never forget. He said, “No man, not even you, can keep me from being baptized if this is what God wishes.”

He was right, and I was more than happy to allow him and his family to enter into the gospel of Jesus Christ. They were baptized and lived the gospel for a time in our mission and then moved to Melbourne, Australia.

Zara saw evidence in the lives of the members of the ward and the teachings of the missionaries. He acted boldly on that evidence and was then blessed with a strong assurance from God through the Spirit.