Gospel Story Finder

I remember seeing pictures of the temple from the time I was very small. Though too young to understand the blessings of the temple, I knew I wanted to go there someday. In Young Women, I started to understand the blessings that would come from the temple. At that time my family was less active, and I prayed each day that we could be sealed as an eternal family.
In the fall of 1993, two weeks before I turned 18, my family did go to the temple. I remember the feeling I had in the Provo Utah Temple, becoming an eternal family with my parents and siblings. As I left the temple that day, I thought I understood the blessings it brought me.

Let me share with you the story of an sister from the former communist East Germany, Sister Gertrud Barthel. I believe Sister Barthel has truly taken upon herself the name of Christ.

Over the past few years, I have had the opportunity on several occasions to travel to the former East Germany. When I have visited there, I have particularly enjoyed meeting those who were members of the Church during the communist times. They had to deal with a government that taught that there was no God and actively discouraged religious activity.

In addition, the government officials were concerned about potential threats to their control, so they organized a secret policy force, the State Security force, better known as the Stasi. The Stasi collected records of activities of individuals they considered as possible threats. They collected this information through a huge network of informers. The informers were sometimes volunteers but many were coerced into spying on their neighbors. Often the informers provided information on the activities of other informers. One could describe East Germany as a nation of spies spying on other spies.

Sister Barthel joined the Church as a teenager in the late 1940s as the communist government was initially coming into power. Since the Communists had prohibited the printing of religious texts, she did not have her own scriptures until several years after she was baptized. She watched the separation of Germany into two countries, one communist and one democratic, from the east side of the wall. In the early 50s she married. Her husband was not a member of the Church and still is not a member. Her daughter followed the communist anti-religion dogma and did not become involved with Church. Despite this lack of support, Sister Barthel remained an active member of the small Werdau Branch throughout the communist era. This dedication to the Church during the difficult and challenging Communist era in and of itself might be a demonstration of her commitment to taking upon herself the name of the Savior. However, there is more to this story.

In 1989, the wall came down, and the East Germans were finally free. As it became clear that the communist regime was crumbling, the Stasi officers attempted to destroy the huge volume of files that they had accumulated on their fellow citizens. This was an act of self-preservation for them. They didn't want the East German citizens to discover what they had done. However, the citizens were well-aware of the Stasi's activities, and they rushed to the Stasi offices to prevent the destruction of the files.

Most of the files were saved, and they are now public records open to anyone who wants to look at the information that the Stasi collected from their network of informers. Included in the files are the names of those informers who reported on their fellow citizens.

When I spoke with Sister Barthel about her life and experiences under the communists, I asked her what information about her Church activities the Stasi had collected about her. She said that she didn't know. Although she was confident that the Stasi had collected information about her and had a file on her, she had never looked at her files. When I asked why, she responded that there was no reason to look at the files. She said that it was possible that some of her friends had been coerced into providing information about her and their names would be in the files. She said that she didn't want to know who might have reported about her. Her words were, "Nothing good could come of that."

Nothing good could come of that! What a remarkable attitude of love and forgiveness from a remarkable sister. Has she adopted the attributes of being a disciple of Christ in her life? Absolutely! Has she differentiated herself in her attitudes and behavior? Definitely! Has she consistently lived according to her beliefs? Certainly!

For me, Sister Barthel is someone who has truly taken upon herself the responsibility of carrying the name of Christ. Her covenant to take upon herself the name of the Savior has been reflected in how she has lived her life.

One night after I came out of the church, my new silver CTR ring fell out of my pocket. My dad and uncle shined the headlights of their cars into the bushes, but I still couldn’t find it. I was feeling sad. My mom said we should have a family prayer. After the prayer, I walked through the bushes and felt a prompting to look down. There was my ring under a bush! I know that my prayer was answered and that yours can be, too.Brian Seegmiller, age 10Fairfield, California

At Sunday meetings in the Kirtland Temple, many people were criticizing the Prophet when he wasn’t there. Although a visitor and a new member, John Taylor asked for permission to speak at the meeting.
May I say a few words, Brother?
John was given permission to speak, and he bore testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith.
If the spirit which the Prophet is showing us does not bring blessings, I am very much afraid that the spirit shown by those who have spoken against him will not be very likely to bring them.

I learned about the power and blessings of the priesthood at an unfortunate time. A few years ago, when my little brother was 14, he wrecked on his motorcycle and snapped his leg in half. My dad called and told me they were taking him to the hospital. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I rushed to the hospital. When I got there, I saw one of my uncles. He told me how bad the accident was.
Fearing what I would see, I opened the door where my brother was and stepped into the room. I took one step, closed my eyes, and was instantly at peace. Just as I will never forget the sick feeling I had, I will never forget the feeling of peace and comfort that came over me. I recognized the feeling—it was the Spirit.
I then heard my father speaking. He and my uncle were giving my brother a priesthood blessing. He humbly blessed his son in the name of Jesus Christ to be OK, to heal, to have his leg work properly again.
After the blessing, everyone was quiet for a while. I knew at that moment that I had to live worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be able to perform blessings for my future children.
When we gathered in the hall outside my brother’s room, my parents started to discuss what they should do. They debated whether to leave Mexico to take him to a doctor in the United States or to have the surgery performed here. Whatever option they felt was best for my brother, I knew he had already received the best attention he could receive. He had received a blessing by two men holding the priesthood, so no matter what my parents decided, my brother was going to be fine.
They decided to stay in Mexico for the operation. Doctors put a plate and 10 screws into my brother’s leg. It healed well, and a few months later he joined a football team. The blessing was fulfilled just as my dad had said.
I know the priesthood is the power and authority of God given to men. What a great gift He has given us.

Gabriel loved learning about Jesus. He loved hearing stories from the scriptures. His family read the scriptures together every night.
One rainy night they snuggled together in their home. Papa said a prayer. Then Mama read stories from the Book of Mormon. Gabriel tried to listen very carefully. Mama read about Jesus talking to children.
“Mama, the children were with Jesus?” Gabriel asked.
“That’s right,” she said. “And He blessed each of them and prayed for them.”
Gabriel felt a new feeling inside. He did not know what it was. He felt warm even though it was chilly outside. He smiled big.
Gabriel wanted to share this special feeling. “I feel so happy and warm!” he said.
“That special feeling is the Holy Ghost,” Papa told him. “He gives you a warm feeling to help you know that the scriptures are true.”
Mama smiled and hugged Gabriel. “That feeling tells you that Jesus loves you.”
“Jesus blesses me,” Gabriel said. “Just like the children in the Book of Mormon! He sent the Holy Ghost to me!”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “I know the scriptures are true,” he said. “The Holy Ghost told me!”

Sister Davidson was one of our extraordinary sister missionaries in Chile. When she finished her mission she returned to school at BYU and continued serving in her ward. One Sunday afternoon while crossing the street near her apartment, she was struck by a car and killed. She was on her way to a meeting and found herself on the way to a different meeting. I spoke in a memorial service for her a few days later. I don’t believe Sister Davidson knew she would be leaving the earth that day.

The fact is, none of us knows exactly when we will be departing this mortal sphere, so we should be ready always—never procrastinating the day of our repentance but repenting daily and keeping ourselves prepared to meet God.

Amy made the choices every parent desires for a son or daughter. She was sealed in the temple after receiving a strong spiritual impression to marry her husband.
Prior to their wedding, her husband-to-be made a courageous choice as well, admitting to her that he had used pornography.
A short year later, Amy realized that his struggle with pornography was not in the past. Three years into their marriage—when they had an eight-month-old baby—Amy suffered the unimaginable pain of her husband’s having an affair and being subsequently excommunicated from the Church.
How did Amy survive the heartbreak? How do the many other women and men with similar circumstances survive their pain?
When Amy faced her husband’s excommunication, she knew that the Savior could provide the answer to the crushing weight she felt. However, she says, she wasn’t sure how “to bridge that gulf between where I was and the healing power of Jesus Christ.” How, she wondered, could she possibly find—or build—a bridge?
At first she tried to lessen her pain by vigilantly watching her husband and pleading with the Lord to heal him. But one day a spiritual prompting changed everything: Amy realized that controlling someone else’s behavior isn’t part of Heavenly Father’s plan and wasn’t helping her come closer to the Savior. So, she says, the biggest thing she had to do was begin her own journey of healing—and turn her husband’s journey over to him. She came to understand, through inspiration from the Spirit, that she needed to stop living her life as a reaction to pornography and trust in the enabling power of Jesus Christ and His Atonement to strengthen and bless her.
As she looks back, Amy says that at no point did any of her searching or investigating of her husband produce a feeling of peace. Life “was continual turmoil,” she says. “And the only peace I found was when I recognized that Heavenly Father had a plan” for her husband and for her. When she used her own agency to turn to God and seek His help, “the help came” and the gulf between her pain and the Savior’s help didn’t feel quite so wide or the pain so weighty.
Amy and her husband are still married—although he continues to relapse. Amy, however, testifies that peace comes when she watches general conference thinking, “How can I heal my pain?” not, “I hope my husband hears this.” She knows that Jesus Christ’s healing power and her faith in the infinite nature of the Atonement provide hope—not only for her husband but also for her.

Ashley, a sister I minister to, and I both have cookbooks from our grandmothers. Hers is from her great-grandmother, and mine is a book I put together when I inherited my Grandma Greenwood’s recipe box after she passed away.
Ashley and I both chose a recipe from our cookbooks, and we got together after work one night to try them out. She chose a blondie dessert recipe, so we made it first and put it in the oven. I chose “pink chip dip”—a staple at every Greenwood family party. Ashley’s daughter Alice helped us taste test the food. Then, because Ashley didn’t want her kids to eat all the blondies, she cut them up and delivered them to the sisters to whom she ministers.
The thing I loved most about our recipe night is that as we cooked and baked, we talked about all the regular ministering topics—her struggles and mine. But we also talked about our grandmothers and moms, which was tender for both of us.
Jenifer Greenwood, Utah, USA

“What’re you doing with my ball?” Rodney Sims growled at me as I stood under the huge sycamore tree at the park, admiring the new football I’d found on the grass. He stomped toward me, his face red and sweaty from playing ball in the sun.
I nodded at my friend Frank. “We were just riding past on our bikes and spotted it lying here. I figured somebody lost it.”
“Well, I left it here,” Rodney barked, snatching the ball from my hands and tucking it under his arm. “It isn’t lost, and I don’t need anybody ripping it off, either.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal it,” I said, climbing back onto my bike. “It sure is a nice ball, though. If it were mine, I’d write my name on it so I wouldn’t lose it.”
“Hey, kid, you want to buy it?” Rodney’s tone was suddenly friendly. Surprised, I turned to face him. “I have another one.” He nodded at the guys who were still playing football. “If you like this one, I’ll sell it to you.”
I laid my bike down again and took the ball, a red and gold San Francisco 49ers ball. It fit my hand perfectly. I had seen some just like it at the Sports Haven, a big sporting goods store downtown. The 49ers were my favorite pro football team, and I had wanted a ball like this one, but it cost ten dollars.
“I like it,” I said, gripping the ball tightly, cocking my arm and pretending to throw a pass. I shook my head and handed it back to Rodney. “But I don’t have ten dollars.”
Rodney studied the ball as he rolled it in his hands. “I’ll sell it to you for five.”
“Five dollars?”
“I have my other ball, and I’m a Dallas Cowboys fan, anyway.”
My mind began to race. I had four dollars at home in my drawer, and I could borrow a dollar from my little sister, Stephanie. I licked my lips and grabbed the ball again, searching for flaws. There were none.
“I’d have to go home for the money,” I explained, picking up my bike. “It’ll take me fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be here. But the price is five dollars. And no refunds or returns.”
I sped home so fast that Frank had a hard time keeping up with me. Stephanie agreed to lend me a dollar until my next allowance. I snatched the other four dollars from my drawer.
“You’d better think about this,” Frank warned as I crashed out the front door and leaped for my bike. He was still straddling his bike in the driveway.
“What do you mean, think about it? I’ll never get another deal like this! Five dollars, Frank, for a ten dollar ball! And if I bought it at the Sports Haven, I’d have to pay tax too. I can’t pass this up.”
“Something’s fishy, Joshua,” he cautioned me again. “Has Rodney ever been nice to you?” I thought a moment and shook my head. “So why’s he suddenly doing you this great big favor?”
“He has an extra football and he doesn’t like the 49ers. I’m just helping him out,” I answered defensively.
“Something has to be wrong with the ball. Maybe it has a slow leak. Have you thought of that?”
“I checked the ball out really well, Frank. It’s brand new. Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“I wouldn’t buy it if I were you, Joshua.”
I stared at my friend. “You’re just jealous because he’s not selling it to you. I’m getting that ball before Rodney changes his mind.”
Rodney was waiting for me under the sycamore tree with one of his buddies. The others had left. He had the new 49ers ball and another one that was a bit scuffed up. I held the money out, and Rodney snatched it. As soon as he was sure it was all there, he handed me the football. “You just bought yourself a ball, kid.” He laughed and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s head out of here.”
Holding the ball, I watched the two run off. They were smirking as they glanced over their shoulders in my direction. An uneasiness stirred inside me. I thought of Frank’s warning. Maybe there was something wrong with the ball. I tossed it around a bit. It felt good. I squeezed it to see if it was losing air. It seemed firm enough. If there was anything wrong with the ball, I sure couldn’t tell what it was.
For the next two days, my friends and I played with my 49ers ball. It was everybody’s favorite. It didn’t have a slow leak, either. It was brand new, just like it looked. I kidded Frank about being worried and asked him if he wished he had come up with the five dollars. He shook his head, but I still figured he was jealous.
One afternoon as I sat on the front steps, tossing my ball in the air and catching it, he rode up on his bike, looking serious. “I found out something about your ball,” he said.
I grinned. “Are you still worried about this ball, Frank?”
Frank didn’t smile. “My brother Derek runs around with one of Rodney’s friends. According to him, Rodney ripped that ball off.”
“What do you mean ‘ripped it off’?”
“Rodney stole it from the Sports Haven. A couple of his friends covered for him, but he was the one who sneaked it out of the store. That’s why he wanted to sell it.”
It felt as if Frank had punched me in the stomach. I looked at the football. “Maybe this isn’t the same ball,” I argued, feeling myself get angry.
“Rodney stole a 49ers ball the same afternoon you bought it from him. This is the one, all right.”
“Well, I didn’t steal it,” I snapped at Frank. “I paid for it, so it isn’t my problem. And I didn’t know it was stolen when I bought it from Rodney. He’s the thief, not me.”
Frank shrugged and turned away. “I just figured you ought to know.”
I was angry at him for telling me about Rodney’s stealing, because I liked that ball and I wanted to keep it. “Are you going to tell anybody?” I shouted after him. He turned back and stared at me. Slowly he shook his head.
After he left, I put the ball away. When Stephanie asked me to play catch, I said no. I kept telling myself that the ball was mine, fair and square, and that I hadn’t done anything wrong. But I still didn’t feel good about having it. I didn’t even want to play with it anymore. And I sure didn’t want to tell Mom and Dad what Frank had said. They hadn’t been happy about my borrowing the dollar from Stephanie in the first place, but they’d only suggested I pray about it and left it up to me.
The next day I went looking for Rodney. He was riding his bike over in the school parking lot with a couple of his buddies. Walking up to him, I handed him the football. “I want my five dollars back!”
He looked at the ball and then at me. “I told you—no refunds and no returns. Besides, I’ve already spent most of the money. And,” he added, nodding down at the ball, “it doesn’t even look new, anymore.”
“You stole this ball,” I hissed.
The grin disappeared from his face. Jumping off his bike and letting it clatter to the pavement, he grabbed the front of my shirt and jerked me toward him. “Who told you that?”
“There are guys who know,” I rasped. “And I don’t want a stolen ball.”
“Don’t you go blabbing around that I stole that ball, kid, or you’re going to be in a bunch of trouble. Nobody can prove that I stole it. Besides, it’s your ball. You paid for it.”
“I don’t want it now.”
“That’s your problem. If you don’t want it, go throw it in the trash.” He gave me a hard shove, climbed onto his bike, and rode off with his friends.
My feet dragged as I left the parking lot, carrying the football that until yesterday had been such a prize. Now it was a cold, hard reminder of dishonesty. I saw the garbage dumpster in the corner of the parking lot. I considered throwing the ball away. But I couldn’t. I’d paid five dollars for it, and I still owed Stephanie a dollar. I couldn’t just get rid of it.
I tried telling myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t known the ball was stolen when I bought it. I hadn’t been the one to take it. I had tried to give it back to Rodney. What else was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to lose my five dollars because Rodney had done something wrong?
I shook my head. All my excuses wouldn’t make the sick, guilty feeling go away. I thought of the Sports Haven. I had always liked going there and looking around. Now every time I even passed by, I thought of the stolen football. And even though I hadn’t been the one to steal it, the Sports Haven was still missing a ball. And I had it. I knew what Dad and Mom would say, and I knew I wouldn’t feel good again until I did it.
I walked home, climbed onto my bike, and rode downtown. It was tough walking into the Sports Haven. I asked for the manager, Mr. Turley. One of the clerks took me to his office in the back of the store.
“Well, hello, Joshua,” Mr. Turley greeted me as I stepped into the office. “How can I help you?”
I set the football in the middle of his desk and stared at it. “This ball was stolen from the Sports Haven,” I announced quietly. “I didn’t steal it, though,” I quickly added. I told him the whole story.
“So it’s not my ball,” I finally ended. “You might not want it, either, because it’s been used and I wrote my name on it in black marker.”
Mr. Turley leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. For a long time he thought without saying anything. Finally he leaned forward and took the ball from his desk and rolled it around in his hands. “Joshua, first of all, I want you to know that I’m happy that you had the courage to come in. I don’t expect that that was very easy.” I shook my head without looking at him. “It’s not always easy to be completely honest. In this case, it cost you five dollars. And you weren’t even the one who stole the ball. But being honest is more important than this football or the money you spent to buy it.”
Mr. Turley smiled at me. “I’m going to try to make being honest this time a little easier for you. You’ve already paid five dollars. I have some work around here that you could do to earn the other five. Then the ball would be yours.”
“You mean I could keep it?”
Mr. Turley smiled. “You just be here tomorrow morning.” Grinning, I turned and started for the door, the sick, guilty feeling gone. “Hey, Joshua,” Mr. Turley called out. I turned. He laughed and tossed me the ball. “You’d better take that with you, or someone might walk off with it.”

Then there was the dream—the ugly, ominous dream—at Nauvoo. He dreamed of William and Wilson Law. They had cast him into a pit, a pit higher than his head, so that there was no way for him to climb or spring out of it. Shortly both of them were attacked by serpents and were dying. They cried out for his help. All he could say was, “I would help you if I could, but you have made it impossible for me to help.”47 This dream was all too authentic. William and Wilson Law were the leading spirits in the Nauvoo Expositor and in the meetings of conspiracy that culminated in the Prophet’s death.48

Seventeen years after that accident, I was called to be the bishop of my ward. During a subsequent ward council meeting, the Primary president proposed calling a particular couple to teach the CTR class. My counselors and I quickly traded surprised glances.
The sister attended church, though inconsistently, but her husband hadn’t attended for years. Nevertheless, we all felt they should have the opportunity to consider the calling.
The night before I spoke with the couple, I had a vivid dream. I awoke the next morning and remembered it completely. It was all about what to say at the interview so they would accept the call to serve. I felt shocked at remembering my first dream in 17 years, but more than that, the dream’s content thrilled and energized me.
That evening my counselor picked me up. As we drove to the appointment, he said, “Bishop, I’m going to let you do all the talking.” I remember smiling confidently because I felt the Lord had outlined my presentation for me.
During the interview I repeated the dream exactly, and the couple accepted the call. As we headed home for the night, my counselor said, “I feel like I’ve just been schooled by the master.” I smiled again because I knew it was true—both of us had been schooled by the Master.
The husband and wife carried out their Primary duties with dedication, and they both became active in the ward. A couple of years later they were sealed in the temple.
To this day, that particular dream is the only one I have remembered for the past 28 years. I feel certain that Heavenly Father knew the time was perfect for this couple. Consequently, He inspired the Primary president and, for one night, blessed my partly out-of-order memory to function perfectly. Once again, I realize that the Lord stands at the head of this Church and that “the eternal purposes of the Lord shall roll on, until all his promises shall be fulfilled” (Mormon 8:22).

Hamilton (Montana) Ward
Last June, 46 young men and women of the Hamilton Ward made a trip to the Cardston Alberta Temple to do baptisms for the dead. It was the largest youth temple turnout in ward history. On their way to the temple, they stopped at Glacier National Park, and in Cardston they visited the Remington-Alberta Carriage Centre, home to the largest collection of horse-drawn vehicles in North America.
But the real reason for the trip was the temple. The youth performed more than 300 baptisms for the dead, with all the names prepared for temple ordinances and provided by Hamilton Ward members.
In the several months leading up to the trip, the ward held classes and activities to assist the youth in learning about family history.

The mayor of Bastia knew very well that the missionaries standing in front of him were foreigners. Why, he wondered, would young men come from other countries and offer to help his people on the island of Corsica?
After a pause, he accepted their offer and challenged them to show up early the next morning to paint his small hotel.
True to their promise, the young men arrived at 7:00 a.m., eager and ready to refinish the mayor’s hotel on this picturesque island off the coast of France in the Mediterranean Sea.
When the mayor arrived at the hotel later that day to find the missionaries still working in the coastal sun, “he was astonished to see us there,” said Jake Lowry, one of the missionaries serving at the time.
Amazed at their willingness to bend their backs to help people they didn’t know, the mayor softened his resistance and “asked us to sit down and tell him what we needed,” Brother Lowry said.
The missionaries shared the gospel and told how their purpose was to bless the people on the isle of Corsica. They recounted their difficulties in finding an apartment because of residents who were weary of outsiders. A few months earlier, all missionaries had been removed from the island for safety reasons. But these elders had now reopened it for missionary work.
The mayor listened to the elders. “By the next morning,” Brother Lowry said, “he had secured a well-situated apartment for us and written a kind note.”
That evening, after settling into their new accommodations, “two well-dressed representatives from the mayor’s office stopped by to greet us and assure us that we were welcome and safe in the city,” Brother Lowry said.
In short order, the mayor and his wife began attending Sunday meetings with the branch, where they loved singing the hymns. Soon the mayor’s wife was baptized.
From these simple beginnings in the early 1990s, the Church took root on this island renowned as the birthplace of Napoleon Bonaparte. Missionary work soon flourished. After three months, more than 40 people were attending Sunday services in a wonderful meeting place arranged by the mayor.

Then one day I remembered that the missionaries who had given me the Book of Mormon had told me that the local Latter-day Saint branch president owned a business in town and that if I ever had any questions, I could go to him. I visited President Murray Conley, asked some questions, and was pleased with his answers.
Later, some members of my church visited me and informed me that I was being misled. The next night, the minister and his wife came to visit. But when I asked him to explain Malachi 4:5–6 [Mal. 4:5–6], he got angry and told me I had been brainwashed by the Mormons and there was nothing more he could do.
One night I read 3 Nephi 14:13–14: “Enter ye in at the strait gate; for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat;
“Because strait is the gate, and narrow the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” [3 Ne. 14:13–14]
I got up from my chair and walked outside. Alone in the darkness, I could see myself standing at that narrow scriptural gate, pacing back and forth, afraid to go in. I realized at that moment that I had found the way. The Lord spoke to me that night, not as we speak to one another, but with a still, small voice that said, “What are you going to do about it?”
I went back to tell President Conley I wanted to be baptized. But he was in Salt Lake City. Thinking that only the branch president had the authority to baptize, I left, intending to return a week later.
During that week, Satan placed another stumbling block in my path—more doubts. “Do I have to start all over again?” I wondered. After struggling with my doubts for three days, I started reading a book President Conley had given me—Truth Restored, by President Gordon B. Hinckley. As I did, the Spirit, which had borne witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, also bore witness to me that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the Lord’s true church.
When President Conley returned from Salt Lake City, I told him I wanted to be baptized. As we drove to Gilmer, Texas, for my baptism on 19 October 1970, I asked him, “Do I understand correctly from what I have read in the scriptures that just because I’m being baptized, I’m not saved, but that I have to endure to the end?”
He said, “That’s exactly right.”
I cried all the way to my baptism. I felt very strongly that the Church was true. After baptism, I felt it ten times more strongly.
Many times after, I wondered, “Why me? Why do I know the truth while many good Christian people don’t?” And a scripture always came to my mind, “Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Luke 11:9).
Several weeks after I was baptized, I had the privilege of receiving a witness of the Holy Ghost once again, stronger than before. One morning at about 3:00 A.M., I sat up in bed with tears streaming down my face. The Holy Ghost was bearing such a powerful witness to me of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and of the Church that I felt like saying, “Please, Lord, no more, no more. I know it’s true.”
I do know with all my heart and soul that the Book of Mormon is true. It led me to the living God, to his Son Jesus Christ, and to his church guided by a living prophet.

Several years ago, my wife’s family had the opportunity to acquire a piece of property. The property had about 500 large and beautiful cherry trees on it. It also had old engine blocks, cars, batteries, car parts, buildings, hundreds of old tires, and other junk that rendered it unsightly and of little value to us. It had been used as a junkyard for many years. So we had to make some difficult decisions. First, were we going to purchase the property, recognizing that it had some potential, but it also had a lot of problems? Second, if we did purchase it, what did we want it to be, and what were we willing to do to realize its full potential?

In the end, we made the choice to purchase the property, to clean it up, and to purge it of all the junk. It was not easy. It took months of hard labor.

Cars were removed, and wire, batteries, tires, and literally hundreds of loads of trash were hauled away.

Old buildings and sheds were torn down and removed.

When we were done, it was beautiful. We turned our attention to the trees and the orchard. We pulled stumps and mowed and prepared the orchard in every way.

That spring, the weather was beautiful. We anticipated a great harvest of cherries. Fruit did come, but those who knew much more about the care of trees than we did said that the trees were in need of attention and that we would need to prune them to improve their yield. My first reaction was, “Wait, they are beautiful, and all is well in the orchard.” However, we listened because we desired that the orchard be as good and productive as it could be, fulfilling its full potential.

So, the next spring we undertook the job of pruning the trees. When we were finished, I wondered, “What have we done? These trees will never thrive after having undergone such devastation. How will they ever produce more fruit than before?”

But as spring progressed, they did become beautiful, and the harvest was bountiful. Now the orchard had reached its full potential.

In order to complete the illustration, let’s look at each part of the experience and relate it to our lives.

We have been presented with an eternal opportunity. Starting today, you can determine your destination. You can place yourself firmly on the path. President Russell M. Nelson refers to it as the covenant path, and it leads back to our Heavenly Father. What is the covenant path? It is sacred covenants we make with God, which if kept, enable us to return to His presence and become like He is. Covenants are binding promises—promises of obedience made by us to our Heavenly Father, and promises of blessings from our Heavenly Father to us. There are a few principles you should know about the covenant path.

There may be things we need to change in order to put ourselves on the covenant path. You may need to go through the hard work of repentance. You may need to change habits that, while not necessarily unrighteous, are not leading you back to our Heavenly Father. You may need to clean up. It is a process that always starts with the first step.

In the orchard, there was the first old battery, the first old car, the first old tire that needed to be loaded onto a truck. It could have been discouraging because when one piece of junk was removed, another seemed to be lying right underneath, but eventually the land was clean. As we make needed changes, little by little, we can see the difference in our lives.

President Nelson has taught that there is great joy in this process. Every step we take that brings us closer to Christ will bring us satisfaction and encouragement. In fact, as our dear prophet has lovingly taught us, this gift of repentance, of change, is one of the greatest gifts extended to us by our Heavenly Father and His Son. We must choose to accept this gift. In choosing to repent, we are setting a course for our lives. There is no sin or transgression that you may have committed that cannot be forgiven. With the Savior’s help we can all change. We all need the gift.

After we had cleaned the junk out of the orchard, a part of us felt we were done. The orchard was now beautiful, and it bore fruit. Yet in order for the orchard to be everything it could be, the trees had to be pruned. We will be tested, even sanctified, by difficult experiences in this life—even as we make our best efforts to get on and stay on the covenant path.

The Mitchell family struggled much longer than the Bonds, but their son has conquered drugs and is leading a productive life as a husband, father, and faithful member of the Church. He began abusing drugs at age fourteen. As the years and his habit progressed, he eventually ruined his marriage, lost his home, and destroyed his business. Four years ago, after fifteen years of addiction, he entered a treatment program that was successful. Brother Mitchell thinks he and his wife might have helped stop their son’s abuse earlier if they had recognized the problem more quickly and dealt with it more firmly.
“We really didn’t want to believe our son was an addict. You know, you let yourself believe the things your child tells you that you want to hear. We paid his fines; we paid his legal expenses. We said, ‘Well, we’ll just help him out this one time.’ We did that for years.”
After their son entered the treatment program, the Mitchells learned the crucial concept that abusers stop abusing only when they are forced to experience the natural outcome of their behavior. “You have to help the person face the consequences of his addiction,” they say. “And the sooner you do it, the sooner he’s likely to change. He has to realize that the pleasure of using drugs isn’t worth the pain that follows.”

At age 16, I began working as a lifeguard and teaching swimming lessons at an outdoor swimming pool in the center of the town. It was my dream job. Two years later I became the pool manager with a lot of responsibility.
As summer approached, I interviewed and hired all the lifeguards, arranged the work schedules, and organized the swimming lesson schedule. My days were full of lifeguarding and teaching lessons, and each night I counted all the money and took it to City Hall after we cleaned and locked up the pool.
The summer was going well and I loved my job. Then one day, several of the guards came to me wanting the following Sunday off; they all planned to be out of town. The pool had always been open on Sundays, but I had never had to work them because I never scheduled myself and the others weren’t bothered by working on Sunday.
I could almost hear the tempter’s voice in my ear saying, “Just work one Sunday. What’s the big deal?” But I wanted to remain firm in my commitment to never work on Sunday. It took a lot of arranging, but I finally was able to fill that shift and didn’t have to work.
Over the next several weeks, I felt more and more anxiety about the whole Sunday situation. I realized that there might be some day in the future where I would have to work because no one else was available or might call in sick. I had made a commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy, and I didn’t want to break it, but I needed a solution or I would have to find a job elsewhere for the next summer.
I gave the problem a lot of thought and decided I might be able to figure out a way to get the pool closed on Sundays. Could it even be possible? I would have to approach the city council, since they were the ones who were in charge of the city pool.
So I brainstormed all the ideas I could think of to justify closing the pool. I figured out how many people usually came to swim each Sunday and what the average revenue was. I deducted the costs of operating the pool, heating the water, and paying the lifeguards. Typically, Sundays were slow at the pool—and my minor research had confirmed that. Closing the pool could save the city money.
A friend of mine helped me find more reasons why closing the pool on Sundays was beneficial to the city. Together we worked on a proposal, and a few weeks later I took the proposal to the city council. To my great surprise, they agreed and accepted my proposal. Within a short time that summer the pool was open each week only Monday through Saturday.

President Hinckley has enjoyed marvelous support from his family, none of whom take themselves too seriously—a trait fostered by both father and mother, who have stayed remarkably unaffected by years in the spotlight. Sister Hinckley has filled long absences away from children and grandchildren with letters postmarked from around the world. Virginia says, “The way we came to appreciate Dad’s callings was through Mother, because she made it a shared experience and told us every detail. When they went to the Seoul Korea Temple dedication and told us about the beautiful women in their Korean dresses who lined the halls as they came out of the dedication, we could picture what they’d seen. Dad, on the other hand, said, ‘Dresses? What dresses?’”

Yet while letters filled some gaps, Sister Hinckley longed to share more with their family. When President Hinckley asked her how she would like to celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, she responded immediately, “I would like to walk the streets of Hong Kong with my children.” The request seemed far-fetched, but their children determined to save the money such a trip would require. Says Kathy, “I had heard Mother describe the streets of Hong Kong in such detail that when I stepped out into them I felt like I had come home. To finally be in Hong Kong was like stepping into Mother and Dad’s other world.”

Virginia says, “Because we were so certain about what Mother and Dad stood for, none of us had to worry about impressing others or appearing to be more than we are. That is just not Dad’s style. He refuses to take himself too seriously on things that don’t matter—simply because he is so sure of the things that do matter.”

Not content with merely being very good, the post gets together every Wednesday to practice their routines and become even better.
In the ward cultural hall balloons squeak as several clowns practice making balloon animals under Howard’s guidance. Others work on a skit. Brother Buchanan’s voice is heard. “Remember to work the crowd. Don’t just stand around. Work the crowd. Get them involved!”
Howard is demonstrating an airplane. Dr. Funnybones, experimenting, suddenly discovers that he has created a monkey hanging from a branch. Several other clowns stop to look. “How did you do that?”
Dr. Funnybones looks at his creation in awe. “I have absolutely no idea.” There is a camaraderie here, a palpable warmth and love, but there is also a serious sense of taking care of business. The Explorers have often prayed that they can make a difference in the lives of those they clown for. Now they are working hard to become part of the answer to their own prayers.