Gospel Story Finder

After high school, David studied business at Utah State University. He graduated, found a job at a Salt Lake City department store, and was put in charge of hiring new employees. That’s when he met his sweetheart, Ruby Olson.

After spring term at the University of Utah, Ruby was hired to work at the store where David worked. He soon asked her to lunch. They dated for a year and were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 4 September 1930. Elder Haight said, “Ruby and I were married the right way, sealed in the temple with its divine covenants and commitments that promote trustworthiness, faithfulness, devotion, and dedication.”4 He and Ruby enjoyed 74 years of marriage. They have 3 children, 18 grandchildren, and 78 great-grandchildren.

Splash!
I dived through the water and swam around behind the boat, trying to catch the breath the cold water pushed out of my lungs. Actually, it felt good. The air above the river was hot and heavy, and I needed that sudden jolt to wake me up and prepare me for my first ski run of the day.
My first ski run, and possibly my last. Not only of the day, but of the year—two years, in fact. I would be leaving for my mission in about two weeks, and I had been spending the entire summer cramming in a lot of activities that would be prohibited once I entered the mission field.
I figured that if I spent enough time skiing, swimming, dating, dancing, and doing a thousand other things I wouldn’t be able to do as a missionary, I’d get it all out of my system and be ready to settle down once I reached the MTC. I hardly even looked at the scriptures. They weren’t going to change any in the month before I left, and I would have plenty of time to study them over the next two years. I would soon be devoting 24 hours a day to the service of others, so I had decided to devote the preceding month to the service of me.
I signaled to Kent, who was driving the boat, that my ski was adjusted and ready. He smiled, nodded, and began to accelerate. Getting up on the river, where the current was particularly strong, was not easy, but I managed, and I was soon gliding across the water’s surface. The wind pressed on my face. I closed my eyes and smiled up toward the sun. What a wonderful feeling.
But suddenly my ski struck something hard, and I crashed face down in the water. For some reason, I was being dragged rapidly toward shore. It took me a second to realize that I’d run into a jumble of logs and branches that were floating downstream, and my ski was hopelessly entangled. The current was pulling me toward the shore at the bend in the river, where a mass of sharp rocks and branches had piled up. “If the current drags me into that mess, I’m through,” I thought as I frantically tried to free myself from the entangled ski.
My cousins in the boat quickly realized the danger I was in, and circled back around to try to fish me out. Unfortunately though, the boat got caught in the current too, and I found myself sandwiched between the boat and the rapidly approaching pile of debris. Sharp branches and jagged rocks were only a few feet, a few inches, from my eyes, my throat, my chest. If only I could dive under the boat and put it between me and the ragged shore. I tried, but the buoyancy of my ski vest made that impossible.
I began praying desperately. It was the only alternative left. Immediately some force, like a huge hand, thrust me down into the water and under the boat. I was glad the boat had a jet engine, so I didn’t need to deal with a propeller. My ski had finally been wrenched from my foot, and with the new mobility that gave me, I was able to push out from under the boat and emerge on the other side, just in time to see it crash into the debris.
I could hear my cousins shouting and crying, sure that I had been skewered by a branch and was caught under the water. I shakily called out to them, and with great relief, they pulled me back into the boat.
I huddled in my towel and mulled over what had just happened as we headed back to the sandy beach where we had started. My mission had almost been finished before it began. How important the work must be! I felt the Lord had truly sent angels to be round about me, to bear me up, as it says in Doctrine and Covenants 84:88. I was grateful to have been spared to do his work.
It was then that I understood that my preparation tactics had been all wrong. If the work was that important, I shouldn’t be out grabbing at all the excitement I could before I left. I should be trying to embrace all the scripture study, all the prayer, all the service I could. Of course it wouldn’t hurt to get a little fun in, but I should have begun long ago to practice what I was going to preach.
I would definitely have to change my schedule for the next two weeks, and I’d have to work harder in a different way, than I’d ever dreamed. That realization was a cold, hard one, but actually, it felt good. I needed the sudden jolt to prepare me for the next two years of my life.

I pursued an education, both undergraduate and a law degree. I was married midway through my legal education. I had my first son the year after I passed the bar. I had babies, and my husband and I loved and nurtured them while we were both working. It was busy, sometimes hectic; we were stretched and sometimes tired. I supported him, and he supported me. Family was, and still is, our top priority. My husband and I sought inspiration in these choices and in the timing. It was what we felt impressed to do. We were trying to let God prevail.
From a financial and professional perspective, it would have made sense to put off having children until I was more established in my career. But in letting the Lord author our stories, we sometimes do things that the world can’t make sense of. I juggled pregnancy, birthing babies, nurturing children, carpools, little league, Church responsibilities, being a supportive spouse, and my professional pursuits. It was a joyful juggle I wouldn’t change. We felt confident in our course because we were letting God prevail.

You know, it wasn’t long after my “you look holy” experience, however, that I painfully realized as the great poet Robert Frost so eloquently put it that I had “miles to go before I sleep.”[9] There were multiple personal exhibits, of course, but I learned how just how far I yet needed to go in my discipleship and real conversion one terrible night years ago as a young father.
Early in my married life, one of my toddler sons would not go to bed without several hours of painstaking coddling every night. All our efforts that worked with our other children were fruitless with him. As the days, weeks, and months went by I came to dread bedtime and one night I snapped. After several hours of trying to settle him without success I caved in to the frustration and roughly picked him up, yelled in his face, and tossed him back down onto the bed. As I strode out of the room broiling with anger, the horror and shame of what I’d done washed over me as I collapsed on the stairs and openly wept. I felt utterly hopeless and weak – all my worst fears over being a father seemed to be confirmed. It was awful. As I groped around in my mind for something, anything, to answer this terrible weakness toward anger and frustration that I had dealt with since I was a child, I felt the gentle tugging of the Spirit. As I listened with my freshly broken heart, I received a key gospel insight about how to receive the Lord’s help, along with a spiritual invitation. Wonderfully, my helplessness turned to hope as I began that night to ponder and apply His invitation.
I had come face to face with the crushing truth that Elder Oaks taught so well in his landmark address aptly titled “The Challenge to Become” in the October 2005 General Conference. He said, “Jesus’ challenge shows that the conversion He required for those who would enter the kingdom of heaven (see Matt. 18:3) was far more than just being converted to testify to the truthfulness of the gospel. To testify is to know and to declare. The gospel challenges us to be “converted,” which requires us to do and to become” (Ensign, Nov. 2000, 33). While I had testified of and knew and even loved the gospel truths, they had not yet worked their acceptable conversion in me, because somehow I was missing the Savior in all my doing.
Very soon after this experience, I found an exciting statement about how to become truly converted by President George Q. Cannon. His fervent exhortation seemed to confirm what the Spirit had invited me to do the night of my extremity. Pres. Cannon urged us to be “seeking for [the] gifts that God has promised to bestow” instead of
That night I had come so close to my imperfection and a life-changing accident that I felt sick! But, the Lord knows exactly each of our weaknesses and capacities as unique children of God. And so, as I began more earnestly and faithfully to seek for the Lord’s perfecting gifts for me specifically, I learned that He often responds to our pleadings with very specific directions detailing an invitation for us to enter the next phase of our conversion. As we’ve discussed today, since our bodies are constantly recording and registering, it only makes sense that the Savior will know perfectly what we need to do in order to receive more of His image in our countenances.[11]

Kim wanted to write that she and her father went to the library and discussed the books that they chose. She wanted to write that no matter how busy he was, her father always stopped to answer her questions, that he always kissed her good night and gave her a big hug.
Instead, Kim wrote the truth. She put down sentence after sentence about how lovingly her father cared for his crops, how his tenderness brought calves into the world, how often he had saved kittens from starvation. She told how he had grieved when disease killed half the chickens and a hailstorm destroyed most of the oats. She didn’t write about how she hoped that someday she would know that he loved her too.
Kim and her father made a lovely couple the night of the Daddy-Daughter dinner. Kim wore her favorite blue dress with the white lace trim, and her father looked ruggedly handsome.
During the dinner Kim’s father leaned toward her and said, “Pretty good supper. Not nearly as good as Mother makes, but pretty good.”
As they finished their dessert, the Primary president stood to announce that Kim would now give a talk about her father. Kim’s heart fluttered as she spoke.
When she had finished, the Primary president introduced Kim’s father and invited him to speak.
“I’m not used to talking much,” Kim’s father began, “except to my cows. But I would like to say that I’m proud of my daughter. I don’t tell her that often, though. You see, I was raised in a very strict home. My mother died when I was younger than Kim, and though my father was a wonderful man, he believed that showing affection made you weak. I don’t remember that he ever hugged me in his life. I guess that’s why I feel awkward about showing affection to Kim. But I’d like to tell a little story that I hope will show that I do love her.
“Kim was born in the winter months, and she caught pneumonia when she was only two months old. I tried to do the household chores because her mother had to care for her constantly. One night it was particularly hard for her to breathe. I took my little girl in my arms and blessed her and prayed for her … as hard as I’ve ever prayed for anything. Then, because her mother was totally exhausted, I sat in the rocker next to the stove and put my baby on her stomach across my lap and rocked her all that night. The doctor came the next morning and said that my rocking her in that position had given Kim’s little lungs a good night’s rest and that he thought that she was going to get well. So you see, that little girl is very special to me—she always has been, and she always will be.”
Kim’s eyes were full of tears. She wondered why she had never heard about that night before. Running to her father, she hugged him long and hard. When he put his arms around her and hugged her back, Kim felt that her heart was about to burst with joy.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect, the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.” They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.

Brother Snederfler recalls another unforgettable moment: On 20 May 1991, the phone rang. The caller was President Thomas S. Monson, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “He said: ‘Jirí, you have been called as the president of the Freiberg temple. You will begin this office on 1 September of this year. What do you say?’ At first I was not able to say anything at all because of my astonishment. President Monson inquired, ‘Are you there, Jirí?’ I told President Monson, ‘I accept humbly this calling.’”

In the temple, the Snederflers opened prison doors to generations of deceased persons who had never had an opportunity to hear the gospel. And they also opened temple doors to patrons who—having had no religious freedom—had languished in spiritual darkness on earth. They welcomed members of the Church from such former Communist nations as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Croatia, Poland, Hungary, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and the DDR.

“It is so, so good to be in the temple,” Sister Snederfl er says simply. After four years of faithful service there, the Snederflers have returned home to Prague to continue family history research so that more of their own ancestors may enjoy temple blessings.

Not many children serve in a Church calling before they graduate from Primary. But George N. from Uganda was only five years old when he was called to be the chorister in his branch.
The chorister is the person who stands up in front of everybody during sacrament meeting to lead the singing. It’s an important job!
“I used to be very nervous when I was younger,” George says. But even then he always did his best. He improved every week. Before long he was leading the music confidently.
George enjoys serving in his calling. “I feel good,” he says. “I feel like the Spirit is inside the room.”

For many years, Faustina Antwi was living with the effects of a stroke, for which there was no cure. Her husband had taken her to many hospitals, but nothing was done to get her back on her feet. Many friends and acquaintances would often prescribe or suggest medicine to help her. Her husband and family felt as if they should buy everything that was suggested, whether they had the money for it or not. If they didn’t have the money, they would work to get it.
One day, she realized there is a peaceful and healing place called the temple. She wanted to go there. She discussed it with her husband, and even though her husband doesn’t go to Church, he believes in God. He told her to give it a try if that is where her faith was. She prepared herself and left for the temple.
It takes three and half to five and a half hours to travel from Twifo Praso to Accra. She arrived at the temple too late to go inside that day, so she slept nearby. Early the next morning, she entered the temple. She put her faith to work and prayed to her Heavenly Father to heal her from her stroke. She spent three days at the temple and on the last day of her visit, she could feel there was a change in her body.
She is now able to move the arm that had been affected by the stroke. Her mouth has improved, and she is able to speak to her friends at the temple and at home.
She knows Heavenly Father has healed her. She wishes the temple were closer so that she could go there every week. She wants to share her testimony of the temple so that it can strengthen others. She loves the Church and the Book of Mormon and knows they are true. She is thankful for a living prophet.
This testimony was shared by Faustina Antwi of the Twifo Praso District in the Cape Coast Coordinating Council during fast and testimony meeting and later told to Prince Baah for the Liahona Local Pages.

An experience Elder Thomas S. Monson had in the German Democratic Republic in 1968 illustrates. It was his first visit, and no diplomatic relations had been established. No one in the government yet understood the Church’s mission or trusted its integrity.
Elder Monson traveled to Görlitz to meet with the Saints there. He came with a heavy heart, knowing the members did not have the blessings that come with being part of a stake—no patriarch, no wards offering the full program of the Church, and no access to a temple. Yet they filled the hall with their faith in the Lord. As Elder Monson stood to address the congregation, the Spirit prompted him to make them a promise: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That evening in his hotel room, the full impact of his words hit him. He knelt and pleaded with the Lord to honor the promise he had been moved to give. As he prayed, there came to his mind the words of the psalm, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10).7
Today, just 20 years later, Germany is united under a democratic government, the nation has two temples, and the Saints are organized into 14 stakes.

Elder Donald L. Hallstrom (USA): On Christmas Eve in years past we would gather to have a sweet and memorable period of testimony bearing. Each family member was given opportunity to express his or her feelings about the Savior and about our Father in Heaven. Those deep feelings of love would then turn us to one another, and expressions of love for family members would be most heartfelt. My father would then express his vision for the family and give powerful encouragement to each family member to remain true to the faith. Then in unity we would kneel together in a closing family prayer.

Then, nearly a century and a half later, on April 4, 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley said in his final remarks at General Conference, "I feel impressed to announce that among all of the temples we are constructing, we plan to rebuild the Nauvoo temple."[31]

President Hinckley's grandfather, Ira N. Hinckley, was a young man in Nauvoo. His father, Bryant S. Hinckley, served as president of the Northern States Mission which included Nauvoo. In 1938, his father wrote that Nauvoo would rise again and, "annually, thousands . . . will visit it."[32]

In 1939, President Hinckley's father led a 100th anniversary celebration of the founding of Nauvoo. President Hinckley has said that his father "wished with all his heart to see the temple rebuilt and worked to that end."[33]

Many things had to come together in order for that to happen. The property needed to be acquired. In 1937, hearing that the property was going to be offered for sale, the Brethren sent Brother Wilford C. Wood to see if he couldn't purchase it for the Church. This was during the Great Depression and the First Presidency authorized him to spend no more than $1000. Brother Wood was distressed when, visiting with bank officials, he learned that the bidding for the property would start at $1000 and probably sell for $1500. Brother Wood felt impressed to ask, "Are you going to try to make us pay an exorbitant price for the blood of a martyred prophet, when you know this property rightfully belongs to the Mormon people?"

Brother Wood later said that he "felt the spirit of the Prophet, Joseph Smith in that room. [One of the officers] said, 'We will sell the lot for $900.'"

In 1948, a chance meeting between LDS missionaries and a descendant of William Weeks, the architect of the Nauvoo Temple, led to the acquiring of the plans for the original temple. After President Hinckley's announcement, members of the Church brought forward journals from that period that described the temple. A rare photograph taken in 1847 surfaced, providing researchers with additional materials.

It was the day of my first race and I had come early to register and stretch out. I planned to run the 5K alone because I wasn’t very fast.
Then I saw the first counselor in the bishopric of my college ward, an experienced runner, among the gathering crowd. Just as he recognized me, the officials called all runners to the starting line. He asked if I was running with anyone. I said I wasn’t and admitted that, although I had been training for two months, all I hoped for was to finish the race. He offered to run with me and I accepted. I was delighted to have some company.
The gun sounded and we started off slowly. He was by my side the entire time. We talked about future races, the upcoming term in school, and his past races. He told me how he had used the “Boy Scout pace” to finish his first few races. He would run 50 steps, then walk 25 steps, until he could run the entire distance. It sounded strange to me, but since he was a much more experienced runner, I agreed as I got tired to finish the race this way.
As we rounded the final corner it was obvious that we were the last two runners. I sprinted to the finish line. But my running companion must have sensed my fear of being the last runner because he stayed behind. When we met after the race, he smiled and congratulated me on a good run.
I was touched that he was willing to take last place, so I wouldn’t have to. My ward leader taught me a lot about humility, service, and the pure love of Christ during that short race. Moroni’s words now have greater meaning for me when I read, “And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own. … Wherefore … if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth” (Moro. 7:45–46).

My family was flying from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to a town in the north of that country called Posadas. I was 15, and although I had been on airplanes before, I was not used to flying in a plane as small as that one was. It held about 50 people and must have been about 50 years old. I got a shiver down my back at the thought of crashing but dismissed the idea. The plane was a little shaky, like me at that moment, but I was not terrified because I was with my family
As we began to cross over a large body of water, the plane started to tremble and shake a lot. The terror I had been keeping at bay suddenly overwhelmed me. I closed my eyes and, almost instinctively, said a prayer. I had learned to always pray when in trouble.
As I was asking my Heavenly Father for protection, I felt a calm assurance that everything would be all right. I opened my eyes and looked out my window. It was early morning, and while I had been saying my prayer the sunlight and the lake had merged to make the sky and water a deep blue—both foaming with puffs of heavenly white. It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever beheld.
My fear left, and the clouds that once caused the plane to tremble now seemed like Heavenly Father’s loving arms,
Feeling safe, I began to study the water and the sky, imagining the raging storms that must occur in both. I thought about my own life, with all of the daily problems, or storms, that I am constantly getting caught in.
Though I had heen a member of the Church all my life, I had never realized before the great influence Heavenly Father can have. I knew then that he truly has provided an escape from the storms of the world. I realized that by praying and by holding to the iron rod, I could rise above the storms and reach spiritual heights where I could feel his love.
I have prayed every day since I was old enough to know how to without ever knowing my prayers were heard. But that day in the sky over Argentina, a simple prayer opened my eyes. That new awareness was only a starting point, but it helped me understand how much love Heavenly Father has for me. That’s one of the many ways I kow that he lives and that I should always call on him in prayer.

Much of my early testimony was formed through music. I adored bouncing up in “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam”. I popped along to “Popcorn Popping”. I could perform “Book of Mormon Stories” in my sleep. But it wasn’t just fun. I distinctly remember learning “Love Is Spoken Here”, and becoming emotional as we sang it in Primary. Music hadn’t affected me like that before—I didn’t understand how I could be crying whilst being happy. It wasn’t just the lyrics—the melody itself, the voices of all my friends—it shocked me.
I realised that these songs had power. As I’ve gotten older, I still often turn to these songs when I’m in need. The second verse of “How Firm A Foundation” has been my companion through any scary experience, even if it was just venturing downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water.
“Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed, / For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.”1
Singing these lines has always brought me comfort. I truly feel Heavenly Father’s presence in those moments. The effect wouldn’t be the same if I just spoke the words—the act of singing aloud, a musical prayer, brings me the most comfort.
As an adult, music still plays a part in my testimony. I was lucky enough to see a concert of Rob Gardner’s Lamb of God a few years ago, as my sister Lauren was part of the choir. Individual performers, a choir, and an orchestra come together to recount the Saviour’s last days on earth. In the song “Gethsemane”, a narrator tells of the Saviour entering the garden of Gethsemane. The choir sings in Aramaic as the music swells. Of course, the effect of this cannot be accurately portrayed in writing—it is absolutely beautiful and brought me to tears. Now, when I think of Him, suffering so much in that garden, I hear that music. He suffered for us, out of the purest love. It is beautiful and mournful, awe inspiring and heartbreaking. “Gethsemane” helped me tap into those emotions at a slightly deeper level, as I tried to empathise with what our dear Saviour went through.
Music is another tool we can use to help strengthen our faith. It helps us to understand things in a different way, and sometimes in a deeper way. I feel spiritually enriched when I am able to listen to such music—for a brief moment, I am able to truly cast other things aside and just reflect on the gospel. It’s a blessing that I often forget I can use.
In October 1936, President J. Reuben Clark stated “We get nearer to the Lord through music than perhaps through any other thing except prayer.”2
As I teach my daughter those same Primary hymns I enjoyed years ago, I am happy to know that they can be a guide and a comfort to her. They certainly have for me. I am truly grateful for all the ways Heavenly Father has provided to bring us closer to Him, and to feel His presence in our daily lives.

I was guilty of offering such a selfish prayer toward the end of my time at the Provo MTC. I decided that it would be powerful to have a personal story of forgiveness to share with investigators of the Church. In a kneeling prayer, I asked Heavenly Father to give me an Enos-like experience. I wanted to testify authoritatively, based upon something more than the good feelings I enjoyed when reading the scriptures or saying personal prayers.

Of course, nothing came of that prayer, which was inherently selfish and vain. Nothing came because I needed nothing more—except greater humility and increased appreciation for the plan of salvation. I already had a testimony of the Church, conveyed to me first by my parents, as well as Primary and Sunday School teachers. As I recognized many years later, my sharing an Enos-like experience with investigators would have unintentionally made them feel that their more modest spiritual manifestations were inadequate.

That spiritual realization in the MTC led me to re-examine the source of my testimony. As a young boy, I trusted my mother’s declarations of faith. As I grew, the Holy Ghost touched me in similar moments of spiritual confirmation, such as bearing my testimony. I could feel the confirming burning of the bosom described in section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants, a revelation given to Oliver Cowdery through Joseph Smith as they translated the Book of Mormon. Even more convincing for me was the feeling of receiving forgiveness of my sins. Those moments of spiritual healing, which I still enjoy often, help me feel closer to the Savior and Heavenly Father. They bolster my testimony.

Name: Raisa
Location: Samoa
Goal: Get to know the young women in her class better
“I may have known every young woman’s name in my ward, but I did not know who they were or what they liked. So I started one by one with each young woman, and for an introvert like me, I enjoyed how I found so many things we have in common. The more time I took to get to know them, the more I saw these beautiful young women the way Heavenly Father sees them.”

It was 1973. Struggling with some challenges, I deeply desired to know God, so I decided to read the Bible. One day I read about Solomon’s temple in 2 Chronicles 2–5, and I felt that such a holy place could be on the earth. So I fasted and prayed that I might be guided by the Holy Ghost to find it. I felt that if I found a temple, I would be able to tell one of the Lord’s servants about my problems, and he would help me solve them.
So I set out to find a temple. At the time I lived in Fontenay-sous-Bois, a suburb of Paris, so I started driving toward the city to find a temple. I saw many buildings, including churches and synagogues, but I did not find a temple. Upon returning home, I prayed and wondered why I couldn’t find a temple. Wasn’t I pure enough? Or was I simply unprepared?
I forgot all about my failed search until sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my home in February 1980. They taught me that the closest temple was in Zollikofen, Switzerland—the Bern Switzerland Temple.
I was baptized on April 12, 1980, and I went to the temple for the first time just over a year later, on May 5, 1981. There I was able to do the temple work for several women in my family, including my grandmothers, aunts, and cousins.

I’ll start with a small confession. I had never read the entire Book of Mormon until I was in the Missionary Training Center. Oh, I had made valiant efforts before—even using the seminary student manual to guide me. But I always lost interest or got bogged down by mid-Alma.
But in the MTC, I caught on fire when it came to the Book of Mormon. I used every free moment I had to read—sometimes 20 pages a day. For me it was all new and exciting. My patriarchal blessing had promised me that I would be “surprised at the satisfaction” I could gain from reading the scriptures, and I was beginning to see the fulfillment of that promise.
Several weeks later, I was in Penns Grove, New Jersey, with my first companion, Elder Rumsey. We had been teaching an older, single woman who always had the most unusual concerns, worries they don’t teach you about in the MTC. For instance, she wondered that if men changed and corrupted the Bible as they translated it, couldn’t Joseph Smith have done the same thing with the Book of Mormon? Her questions always kept us on our toes.
One day, she had been reading toward the end of 2 Nephi when she became disturbed by some of Nephi’s statements. In 2 Nephi 30:18 and 31:1 [2 Ne. 30:18; 2 Ne. 31:1], she had noticed Nephi had used phrases like “my sayings” and “my prophesying.” To our investigator, it sounded like Nephi was taking the credit for the marvelous things he had written instead of acknowledging that the Lord had inspired him. She declared that Nephi, therefore, must not be a true prophet.
“Let’s look at the end of 2 Nephi,” I said.
If you had asked me right then what was at the end of 2 Nephi, I couldn’t have told you. I had read 2 Nephi 33, of course, but not in several weeks, and I certainly hadn’t memorized any verses from it. I stepped out on a limb, but with amazing confidence. I wasn’t the least bit afraid that I wouldn’t be able to find an answer to our investigator’s problem. I know it was the Spirit that caused me to suggest looking there because I certainly wouldn’t have thought of it on my own.
As soon as we turned to chapter 33, a verse I had previously marked caught my attention. I read aloud the second half of verse 10. [2 Ne. 33:10]
“And if ye shall believe in Christ ye will believe in these words, for they are the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me.”
There! Pow! Nephi gave credit to the Lord exactly as our investigator thought he should.
Doctrine and Covenants 84:85 [D&C 84:85] sayss to “treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man.”
I know that through my study of the scriptures the Lord was able to bless me with the perfect answer to our investigator’s question. That day I was able to say, with Nephi, that my words were “the words of Christ, and he hath given them unto me.”

I was in Idaho Falls and was the guest in a home of a typical Church family. There were a dedicated set of parents and many children. The oldest was in military duty in the dreaded South Pacific, and the hearts of the family followed him from place to place. They handed me his latest letter from the war zone. I read this:

“There have been times when we were so scared, we would tremble, but the fear was out of our minds with prayer and the knowledge that we were being guided by the Lord.
“Dad, I love my religion and I am proud that I had someone like you and Mother to teach me to pray. Then I also know that you are praying for me each morning and night. …”

Spirituality is born in the home and is nurtured in the home evenings, in the twice-a-day and oftener daily prayers, in the weekly meetings when the family goes en masse. That spirituality as the foundation of one’s life comes to his rescue when emergency strikes.
Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith. And generally that kind of faith is born and nurtured in the home and in childhood.
Prayer is the passport to spiritual power.
From World War II comes a story of a young Utah boy who was called to serve his country in the faraway places across several time zones.
On his wrist he wore the conventional wristband watch to tell him the time in the area in which he was living. But strangely enough, he carried a larger, old-time heavier watch in his pocket, which gave another time of day. His buddies noted that frequently he would look at his wrist watch, then turn to the old-fashioned one in his pocket, and this led them, in their curiosity, to ask him why the additional watch. Unembarrassed, he promptly said:
“The wristwatch tells me the time here where we are, but the big watch which Pa gave me tells me what time it is in UTAH. You see,” he continued, “mine is a large family—a very close family. When the big watch says 5 a.m. I know Dad is rolling out to milk the cows. And any night when it says 7:30, I know the whole family is around a well-spread table on their knees thanking the Lord for what’s on the table and asking Him to watch over me and keep me clean and honorable. It’s those things that make me want to fight when the goin’ gets tough. … I can find out what time it is here easy enough. What I want to know is what time it is in UTAH.” (Adapted from Vaughn R. Kimball, “The Right Time at Home,” Reader’s Digest, May 1944, p. 43.)
I knew this family well. I knew the sailor slightly. I knew this father. His cows had to feed a large family, but his greater interest was the growing children who needed more than milk and bread. I have knelt in mighty prayer with this wonderful family. The home training has carried through to the eternal blessing of this large family.
O my beloved hearers, what a world it would be if a million families in this church were to be on their knees like this every night and morning! And what a world it would be if nearly a hundred million families in this great land and other hundreds in other lands were praying for their sons and daughters twice daily. And what a world this would be if a billion families through the world were in home evenings and church activity and were on their physical knees pouring out their souls for their children, their families, their leaders, their governments!
This kind of family life could bring us back toward the translation experience of righteous Enoch. The millennium would be ushered in. Enoch was asked questions about himself; he answered, among other things, “… my father taught me in all the ways of God.” (Moses 6:41.) And Enoch walked with God and he was not, for God took him.
Enoch and his people dwelt in righteousness in the City of Holiness, even Zion. And Zion was taken up into heaven.
Yes, here is the answer: righteous, teaching parents; obedient, loving children; faithfulness to family duties.
These qualities in a home make for security and character in the lives of children.
The following verses of Ethel Lynn Beers, written more than a century ago, emphasize unity of the family and real parental love.
A childless man of wealth offers ease and security in exchange for one of seven children. Which shall it be?
“Which shall it be? Which shall it be?
I looked at John, John looked at me,
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed strangely low and weak:
‘Tell me again what Robert said,’
And then I, listening, bent my head.
This is his letter:
‘I will give
A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven,
One child to me for aye is given.’
“I looked at John’s old garments worn;
I thought of all that he had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,
Which I, though willing, could not share;
I thought of seven young mouths to feed,
Of seven little children’s need,
And then of this.
“‘Come, John,’ said I,
‘We’ll choose among them as they lie
Asleep.’ So, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band:
First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby, slept.
Softly the father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in a loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said: ‘Not her!’
“We stooped beside the trundle bed,
And one long ray of twilight shed
Athwart the boyish faces there,
In sleep so beautiful and fair;
I saw on James’s rough, red cheek
A tear undried. E’er John could speak,
‘He’s but a baby, too,’ said I,
And kissed him as we hurried by.
“Pale, patient, Robbie’s angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering’s trace.
‘No, for a thousand crowns, not him!’
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
“Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son—
Turbulent, restless, idle one—
Could he be spared? Nay, He who gave
Bade us befriend him to the grave;
Only a mother’s heart could be
Patient enough for such as he;
‘And so,’ said John, ‘I would not dare
To take him from her bedside prayer.’
“Then stole we softly up above,
And knelt by Mary, child of love;
‘Perhaps for her ’twould better be,’
I said to John. Quite silently
He lifted up a curl that lay
Across her cheek in a wilful way,
And shook his head: ‘Nay, love, not thee,’
The while my heart beat audibly.
“Only one more, our eldest lad,
Trusty and truthful, good and glad,
So like his father. ‘No, John, no!
I cannot, will not, let him go.’
“And so we wrote, in courteous way,
We could not give one child away;
And afterward toil lighter seemed,
Thinking of that of which we dreamed,
Happy in truth that not one face
Was missed from its accustomed place;
Thankful to work for all the seven,
Trusting the rest to One in heaven.”
May we in the Church and in this world come to know the Lord’s ways and follow them explicitly, I pray.
I add my solemn witness that President Harold B. Lee is the Lord’s divinely called prophet to this world. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.