Gospel Story Finder

Usually Jennifer loved library time at school, but today she was confused about something the librarian said. Mrs. Miller said that books like biographies and science books are nonfiction, while adventure stories and fairy tales are fiction. Jennifer had never thought about the difference between fiction and nonfiction.
“But shouldn’t writing something that isn’t true be illegal?” Jennifer’s classmate Adam asked.
Mrs. Miller smiled. “No, Adam. We have lots of books that aren’t true that we all love—like all your favorite novels and storybooks.”
After school, Jennifer was still puzzled. She knew that a lot of the stories and fairy tales she loved were make-believe, but it was still fun to pretend they were real. As Jennifer thought about fiction and nonfiction books, she wondered where the Book of Mormon would be shelved. Was it really true, or was it just a nice story that was fun to believe was true?
Jennifer thought a lot about the Book of Mormon over the next several days. She spent a lot of time reading it too. If people could invent enough stories to fill up the large fiction section of the library, was it also possible that someone could have made up the Book of Mormon? Jennifer wasn’t sure how she ever would know the truth.
When Sunday came, Jennifer was still worried about whether or not the Book of Mormon was a true book. She was worried that she was even asking the question. Everyone else at church seemed to know the Book of Mormon was true. How could they feel so certain when she felt so unsure?
During the sacrament, Jennifer said a silent prayer. It felt good to pray. Jennifer felt warm inside. She felt like Heavenly Father was telling her it was OK that she wanted to know about what was true.
As Jennifer took the sacrament, she started thinking about her baptism. She thought about how happy she had felt. She thought about how taking the sacrament renewed her promise to Heavenly Father to keep His commandments. She thought about how the feelings in her heart let her know that Jesus lives, even though she had never seen Him.
Then Jennifer began thinking about the Prophet Joseph Smith, and she had that same warm, peaceful feeling. It was the same way she felt as she read the Book of Mormon. She knew that Heavenly Father was telling her through the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.
Sacrament meeting went on as usual that day, but Jennifer felt different. She felt grateful that Heavenly Father was willing to answer her questions, and that she knew for herself that the Book of Mormon was true.

You have just been blessed to hear from my wife Cindy, my companion and dearest friend—the love of my life. She is a precious gift to me in every way.

Cindy literally walked into my life when I was a 23-year-old returned missionary and student at BYU–Provo. Toward the end of the fall semester of 1976, I was studying with some friends on the fifth floor of the Harold B. Lee Library when I looked up from my reading material and saw Cindy walk into the room between two friends. She immediately caught my attention, and, after watching her walk to a table across the study hall, I turned to my best friend and said, pointing in Cindy’s direction, “Do you see that girl?”

My friend, looking across a crowded room, was not sure to whom I was pointing. He responded, “What girl?”

I looked back at him, convinced that he was either daft or confused and said, “You don’t see her? Well,” I said, “I am going to ask that girl out for a date.” Suddenly, another thought came to my mind, so I said, “And I think I am going to marry her.”

Immediately, my friends seized on the impetuous boldness of my words and urged me to act. Soon, the boys at my study table were pulling nickels and dimes from their pockets with a few crumpled one-dollar bills and putting bets on the table. I was trapped by my own words.

After a few minutes of mounting pressure, I stood up with the resolve to walk over to Cindy’s table and introduce myself. Taking a deep breath, I started toward her table. But with each step, the beating of my heart quickened and I could feel my face begin to flush. The lyrics from an old Beatles’ song comes to mind: “Well, my heart went boom when I crossed that room.”

I turned away at the last moment and went into the men’s room where I doused myself with cold water and recommitted to my plan. Perhaps by divine design, when I emerged from the men’s room, I saw to my complete surprise that Cindy had gotten up from her table and was standing at a large dictionary, perched on a stand in front of her.

I won’t take the time today to describe the awkward details of that first introduction, but it did yield results. We had our first date a day or two after Christmas 1976; got engaged in September 1977; and were married in the Provo temple on February 3, 1978.

I look back now after 43 years, five children, 18 grandchildren, and a lifetime of precious, shared experiences, and I realize that Cindy has been a gift from heaven to me, to our children, and to our growing posterity. She has also made a gift of herself to all of us and those around her by her devotion to God and His kingdom, and her selflessness in serving others. We look forward to sharing the next life and enjoying the felicity of God’s promises forever.

When my wife and I had only been married a year and a half, she was ready to deliver our first baby. We had decided that she would have the baby in the Chihuahua colonies, where she had been born. At that time I was working in Mexico City, and we decided that she would be there a month ahead of the delivery date. I was planning to join her later.
The delivery date arrived. I was at work when I received a call from my father-in-law. The news was good: “Octaviano, your wife has given birth, and you now have a little daughter who is beautiful.” So, in my happiness, I began to announce this to my friends and partners at work, who in turn asked me for chocolates to celebrate the birth of my little one.
The next day I began to give out chocolates throughout the four floors of our office building. When I reached the second floor, I received another call from my father-in-law. This time the news was different: “Octaviano, your wife is fine, but your daughter has passed away. The funeral will be today, and you don’t have time to come. What are you going to do?” I asked to speak with Rosa, my wife, and then asked her if she was OK. She replied that she was fine, depending on how I was feeling. Then we talked about the plan of salvation, remembering this scripture:
“And I also beheld that all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (D&C 137:10).
I asked her, “Do you believe that?” And she said, “Yes, I do.” Then I replied, “We should be happy then. I love you. And if you are OK with that, I’ll take my vacation in two weeks, spend some time with you, and return back together to Mexico.”
We knew that one day we would be reunited with our daughter because we were sealed by the power of the priesthood in the temple. We ended the telephone call, and I resumed giving out the chocolates in my office building.
Seeing me do this, one of my co-workers was surprised and asked me how I could do this after such terrible news. I answered, “If you have three hours, I can explain to you why I am not feeling too sad and about my knowledge of what happens after death.” He didn’t have three hours at that moment but did later. We ended up talking for four hours. He accepted the gospel and, together with his mother and brother, was baptized into the Church after receiving the discussions.
I know that thanks to the power of godliness manifested in the ordinances of the temple, I will now be able to know my daughter. I will embrace her, and we will be with her for eternity, just as we are now with our three surviving children.

Another important quality to emulate is humor in the face of challenge. Hannah Cornaby, another member of the 1853 migration, wrote:
“It was three years, to a day, from that memorable first of June … , when our oxen having arrived, we left Keokuk. I wish I could afford a page to a description of our starting. The oxen were wild, and getting them yoked was the most laughable sight I had ever witnessed; everybody giving orders, and nobody knowing how to carry them out. If the men had not been saints, there would doubtless have been much profane language used; but the oxen, not understanding ‘English,’ did just as well without it. But it did seem so truly comical to witness the bewildered look of some innocent brother, who, after having labored an hour or more to get [an ox] secured to one end of the yoke, would hold the other end aloft, trying to persuade [the other ox] to come under, only to see [the first] careering across the country, the yoke lashing the air, and he not even giving a hint as to when he intended to stop.”

It was a hot and humid June day in Brooklyn, New York, USA. I was touring a Hasidic Jewish community with several other Brigham Young University communications students. Despite the weather, the man giving us the tour was covered from head to toe in dark clothing—from his black top hat to his dark suit to his formal shoes. As we walked around the neighborhood, we passed other members of the community, all similarly dressed. We then traveled to the wig shop, where we learned that Hasidic Jewish women wear wigs and long dresses.
I could only imagine how hot and uncomfortable that all would be, especially during a humid New York summer. And yet this was their lives—every single day. They dressed like this as part of their religion to show their devotion to God.
In a way, I could understand their commitment. We had those among us who had been endowed in the temple and were wearing the temple garment beneath their clothing. We all had made covenants with God through baptism and did things regularly that showed our devotion to God and to our beliefs. But it was interesting to see devotion shown in a different way than I was used to.
And it made me really think about how much I could learn from other people’s religious practices—and how that could help me be more intentional in how I worship and show my devotion to God.
We entered our tour guide’s home and saw his family’s kosher kitchen, consisting of two ovens, two stovetops, and two sinks. This was to keep the meat and dairy separate while cooking, since the two food groups are not allowed to touch.
I have often reflected on that hot and humid day in New York. I was so inspired by our Jewish tour guide’s devotion to live his religion not only on the Sabbath but every single day. That experience, and others, has allowed me to contemplate how I can better show God my devotion to Him and His gospel through my everyday actions.

Members are eager and open in sharing their newfound faith with others. Dr. Clement Nwafor, for example, was introduced to the gospel by Reuben Onuokoa, the father of one of his patients. Dr. Nwafor is the chief medical officer for more than one million Nigerians and is a prominent and popular citizen in the Aba, Nigeria, area. When Brother Onuokoa took his daughter to Dr. Nwafor for a medical examination, he told Dr. Nwafor that, despite his titles and positions, he still lacked one thing: “serving the Lord who has brought you into this universe.”

Not long after that bold declaration, Dr. Nwafor accepted the gospel. “I felt like a new person,” he said. “I felt like somebody who was born again.” Less than six months after Dr. Nwafor’s baptism, he was set apart as a high councilor when Elder Neal A. Maxwell organized the first West Africa stake in Aba, Nigeria, on 15 May 1988.

When I first started on campus, I worked in the chemistry department as the Chemistry Stockroom Supervisor. The majority of my responsibilities involved the preparation, set up, and take down of all of the labs that were run in the chemistry department. A large part of that process was preparing the chemicals that were used in the labs as well as setting up the necessary equipment. Most of the chemicals we used were relatively harmless, but there were enough hazardous chemicals that one of the rules of the stockroom was that all who entered the stockroom through the “gate” must have the proper PPE, including closed toed shoes.
I was not able to complete all that this job required of me by myself, so I hired many students to help me get the job done correctly. One student that worked for me did not like the policy of having to wear closed toed shoes and it seemed like it was a constant battle to get them to come to work wearing the proper PPE. I finally convinced them to bring a pair of appropriate “work” shoes to the stockroom and store them in a specific drawer so that they could come wearing whatever shoes they liked, change into their work shoes for their shift, and then switch back to the preferred shoe of the day at the end of their shift. This system worked very well and we all felt confident we would be safe in fulfilling the required tasks. One day right at the end of the last semester this student worked for me (if I remember correctly), I was working on something separately from my student employees and I heard from behind me, “Brother Gilbert, look!” I nervously turned around to see this. This student employee, who had changed into their proper shoes at the beginning of their shift, according to the policy that we had developed, had spilled a drop of glycerin onto their shoe. Had they not put on the right PPE, the drop would have landed right on their toe. Thankfully, glycerin is not a very hazardous chemical, but we all were able to have a good laugh about the experience because even if the drop had been more hazardous, the toe would have been protected.

“Have fun,” Mother called to Christy from the doorway. “Run quickly so that no one catches you. If they do, you’ll get a kiss.”
Christy smiled and waved to Mother as she walked slowly up the hill pulling her little wagon.
Soon Christy stopped in front of Lisa’s house and counted the May baskets in her wagon. She had one, two, three, four, five small ones and a special basket with a big frilly bow.
Christy parked her wagon behind a bush and picked up one of the small baskets. She tiptoed up to Lisa’s front door and carefully hung the basket on the doorknob. Then she rang the doorbell and ran quickly back to her wagon.
As Christy stood behind a bush and held her breath, Lisa’s door opened. But there was no sound. Christy began to wiggle with excitement. She wiggled this way and that. Finally she peeked around the bush.
“I see you!” Lisa called from the porch. Christy jumped up and started to run, but Lisa ran faster and soon caught her.
“Happy May Day,” Lisa said, kissing Christy on the cheek.
“Happy May Day,” Christy answered. “Have you delivered your May baskets yet?”
“I was just starting,” Lisa replied. “Let’s go together.”
Christy helped Lisa arrange her baskets in the wagon.
“Let’s go to Gary’s first,” Lisa suggested.
The two girls hurried to Gary’s house. They set their baskets next to the door. As soon as Lisa rang the doorbell, they ran around by the side of the house to hide.
Gary opened the door and they could hear running steps.
Christy ran to catch up with Lisa who was already pulling the wagon down the sidewalk as fast as she could.
Gary watched them a minute and then called, “Thanks for the May baskets!”
Lisa and Christy stopped running. “You’re welcome,” they shouted together as they hurried away.
Finally all the baskets were delivered but the one with the big frilly bow.
“Who’s that basket for?” Lisa asked.
“It’s a special basket for a special person,” Christy answered, “and we’re almost to her house.”
Christy and Lisa tiptoed up to the door of one more house. They carefully hung the special May basket on the doorknob, rang the doorbell, quickly ran away, and hid at the side of the house.
The door opened, and Christy’s mother stepped out onto the porch. She smiled when she saw the May basket.
“Who could this May basket be from?” she asked as she looked all around. “I’ll bet I have some milk and cookies for whoever brought me such a nice May Day surprise.”
Lisa and Christy ran out from the side of the house.
“We’ve delivered all our baskets, Mother,” Christy said. “I made a basket just for you, and Lisa helped me bring it.”
Mother leaned down and gave both girls a big hug. “You’ve had a happy May Day, and you’ve made it a happy May Day for me too. Thank you.”

Wilford Woodruff was a very influential missionary, bringing thousands of people into the Church. While serving in England in 1840, he met the Benbow family. After hearing his message, the Benbows talked with Elder Woodruff about the gospel until 2 a.m.
Brother Benbow: I thank the Lord that you have found us! We, and hundreds of our friends, have been searching for the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
Mr. Benbow told his friends about the missionary who would be preaching at his house.
On the first day, six people—including the Benbows—were baptized. On the second day, Elder Woodruff baptized 600 people!
Among those baptized were 45 preachers, who owned chapels and houses that could be used for teaching the gospel.
Wilford Woodruff: The Lord has truly prepared this place to receive His word.

It all started when I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon and later went to the Ohio State Fair in 1972 to get a copy for myself. That week I read about Joseph Smith and the golden plates. I was fascinated by the story, but I could not believe that the Book of Mormon was the word of God. College was to start in a week, and I knew I wouldn’t have time to read the book after returning to campus. On Friday I prayed to know if the book were true, and if it were, I asked the Lord to give me time to read it.
Two days later I was in an automobile accident. I had to stay in the hospital for a few days and have a pin put in my broken ankle. The doctor told me I would be unable to go to school that semester. That really woke me up. I remembered what I had asked two days before, and I immediately began reading the Book of Mormon and the pamphlets I had picked up at the fair.
Two months after the accident two elders came and knocked on our door. My sister and I decided to receive the discussions, and I invited a friend to the first lesson.
For the second discussion I invited another friend also. The elders were transferred and two others continued to teach us. My sister’s boyfriend joined us in taking the discussions. My two friends and I were baptized in March 1973.
I arranged for two of my cousins to take the discussions at my house. My cousins, my sister, and her boyfriend Larry were baptized in May. Larry talked his sister into taking the discussions. He baptized her in August.
In October my sister married Larry. While at the wedding reception one of the missionaries talked to another of my cousins. She started asking questions about the Church. She was baptized in December.
Two of my friends came out to the Young Adult activities, and I suggested that they listen to the discussions. They are now members of the Church.
Beginning with a Book of Mormon, a prayer, and two missionaries knocking on my door, there are now 11 converts in the Church. The missionary program is important to me.
“Before they came there was no light: when they left there was no darkness.”

On the day of our graduation from high school, two of my classmates, Bryan and Monte, and I decided to go waterskiing. But because the boat hadn’t been used since the year before, we spent all morning and part of the afternoon getting it ready. This included getting it out of the barn, cleaning out the winter garbage, getting gas and oil, and borrowing a battery from our car.
Finally at 2:00 P.M. we were ready to go. That would give us four hours of skiing with enough time to be back for commencement exercises at 8:00 P.M. However, I had forgotten the most important thing—to get my father’s permission. I ran into the house and called him at work. After I told him of our plans, he said, “I don’t think you should go today.”
“But why?” I begged. He wouldn’t say why; he just kept saying that he would rather I didn’t go.
After arguing with him for a few minutes, I disappointedly said good-bye and hung up the phone. When I told Bryan and Monte what my dad had said, they seemed upset and angry. But then I said, “Hey, we’re adults. We can take care of ourselves.” They both agreed, and we decided to go anyway. Besides, my dad didn’t actually say we absolutely shouldn’t go. So we jumped into the van and headed for the Ririe Reservoir.
After 20 minutes of driving, we arrived at the boat ramp for the lake. As we began unloading the boat, we noticed that there were no other boats on the lake. Of course, nobody was crazy enough to go waterskiing in the middle of May in Idaho. We were just seniors on graduation day, out doing something crazy and memorable before we graduated. When I felt the icy water, I wondered if I really wanted to ski on it. Needless to say, I was the first one to go. The water took a little getting used to, but once you were up it wasn’t so bad.
As we were taking turns skiing, we kept going further up the reservoir. Soon we were several miles away from the loading ramp. Then, as we were pulling Monte out on one ski, the engine sputtered and died. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to start it again, we went back to the engine to try to fix it. When we took the outer cover off, we noticed that the distributor had exploded. There was no way we were going to get it running again.
The only thing we could do was to start paddling back down the reservoir to the van. We began paddling with everything we had, but as heavy and awkward as it was, we barely made any progress. We spent nearly an hour going only 30 feet from where we started. Then, to top it all off, one of these wonderful Idaho winds began to blow in our faces. It was blowing us back up the reservoir, in the wrong direction. About that time, I began to panic. There we were, stuck in the middle of the reservoir. We were cold and wet, the engine was dead, and a cold wind was blowing us in the wrong direction. But the worst part of it was that graduation was less than two hours away. Boy, I wished then that I had listened to my father and not gone. But because of my disobedience, I was in a mess I couldn’t get out of alone. There was something I could do, however, and that was to pray to Heavenly Father for help.
We knelt down and gave a very humble and sincere prayer. In it, we asked for help in getting back to the van safely before graduation. After the prayer, I felt a calm, peaceful feeling come over us.
It couldn’t have been more than 15 minutes before we heard the sound of a boat engine echoing against the canyon walls. As the sound got closer, we finally saw the boat come around a bend. When it got close enough, we began jumping up and down and waving towels in the air.
When the boat pulled alongside us, we found that the occupants were also graduating that night. They said that they had seen us waterskiing and that they were about to leave, but something made them decide to first make sure we were all right. After they consented to tow us back, we gave both them and our Heavenly Father our deepest appreciation.
As they towed us back to the loading ramp, my thoughts were on the prayer we had offered. Now I knew for myself that Heavenly Father really does hear and answer our prayers. In addition, I realized the importance of obedience to parents, a lesson I will remember all of my life.

The story is told of a man who simply would not work. He wanted to be taken care of in every need. To his way of thinking, the Church or the government, or both, owed him a living because he had paid his taxes and his tithing. He had nothing to eat but refused to work to care for himself. Out of desperation and disgust, those who had tried to help him decided that since he would not lift a finger to sustain himself, they might as well just take him to the cemetery and let him pass on. On the way to the cemetery, one man said, “We can’t do this. I have some corn I will give him.”
So they explained this to the man, and he asked, “Have the husks been removed?”
They responded, “No.”
“Well, then,” he said, “drive on.”

Before I joined the Church, my life was full of unhappiness. Following my parents’ divorce when I was seven years old, my father went to prison. My mother was an alcoholic and lost everything that was important to her. I was sent to live with a foster family.
Because of these things, I grew up a lot faster than many of my peers. I never quite felt that I could find my place, and consequently I was constantly in a state of rebellion. When I was still very young, I began smoking and doing other things that I now understand are contrary to the Word of Wisdom. I was certain I was doomed to fail in life.
The one thing I did find happiness in was helping people—whether it was cleaning alongside them or listening to their life stories. I desperately wanted people to know they could depend on me. One year I went on vacation and met an elderly woman I decided to serve by listening to her. She was a Christian and started to talk to me about religion.
I had never really believed in God. At times, when I had thought that maybe He existed, I blamed Him for the troubling things I had experienced. But as this woman described the importance of faith in God, I found myself intrigued. Before I left, she said something that was particularly interesting: “The Mormons follow God’s commandments.”
I had never heard of the Mormons, so I went home, got online, and searched. I arrived at Mormon.org and ordered a free copy of the Book of Mormon. Missionaries delivered it a few days later.
I wasn’t sure I could start to believe in God, but the missionaries helped me discover that I could not only believe in Him but also know Him. As I began to pray and study the Book of Mormon, I found myself on a beautiful journey of finding happiness. I quit smoking. I stopped blaming God and started thanking Him for the good things in my life. I came to know that His Son had suffered for my sins and for all the pain I had ever felt. On October 28, 2007, I was baptized into His Church.
If I hadn’t personally experienced the change from disillusionment to happiness, I wouldn’t believe it is possible. Today I love my calling in Primary and am grateful to have had the opportunity to help organize a service project at a young single adult conference in Poland. To be able to regularly help others through Church service has added to the happiness I have found in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Everything I do now, I do with pure love because of Jesus Christ. I believe that life is beautiful and that even when we have challenges, if we follow the Savior, we won’t be lost.
The woman I met was right: having faith in God is crucial. We cannot find our place in this world if we don’t know Him. I am grateful to finally have a place where I know I belong.

One of the things that has shaped Matt’s life is diabetes, discovered when he was 12. He had to spend Easter in a hospital, badly dehydrated. How has it shaped him? “There’s a scripture that I like that could explain it better than I can. It’s in Ether, chapter 12, verse 27: ‘I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; … for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.’” Matt sits in thought for a minute. The night has deepened and warm, yellow light from the kitchen spills onto the porch. In the pasture below the house, a horse whinnies softly. The talk turns to the qualities of wood again—about the problems with the big knots in wood like pine, how hard and brittle they are and how difficult they make it to shape the wood. And how difficult it must be for the Lord to shape us if our hearts are hard and brittle. Matt sees the process of shaping people as a joint effort between the Lord and the individual. “You live your life and live the principles you have been taught, and the Lord will take you and show you things that you wouldn’t otherwise think He could do.” Each of Matt’s carvings starts out pretty rough. But bit by bit, piece by piece, he turns it into something. “I have a vision of what I want it to be. And I make the rough cuts. And when I get it carved out, I change a couple of things to make it better. And then I make a few more coarse cuts and make it still better.” And so the process goes. But it takes patience. “Sometimes you can get really involved in a piece and you ruin it because you haven’t stopped to look at what you are doing. You have to stand back, be patient, and wait,” Matt says. It’s like the experience he had with some of his investigators in the mission field. For example, one woman didn’t think she could give up smoking. “We had to be patient with her and give her blessings. But in the end, she made it and she, her husband, and their son and daughter were baptized.” Thinking back, Matt speaks fondly of his mission presidents and how they helped to shape him as a missionary, making him a sharper tool in the Lord’s hand. “I had a lot of spiritual guidance,” he says. And the people he helped the Lord shape? “I think about them a lot, and about how they are doing. I miss the people, the interaction with them.” Considering how much he cares about people, it’s no wonder Matt has been teaching sculpting at an area art center, even as his future is still being shaped. After all, a piece of wood is still just a piece of wood. But a life—now that’s a real work of art.

I got to know of the Church in 1993 through a classmate while a law student at Rivers State University of Science and Technology (RSUST) Port Harcourt Nigeria. I visited with him and saw the book Jesus the Christ by Elder James E. Talmage. I read a portion of the book titled “Christ’s Tabernacle in the Flesh.” I was touched by the gospel insights in the book and asked where I could get one. He then told me about the Church that he joined in 1987.
I asked Brother Amadi more about the Church. I was desirous to find answers to questions I had as a young man. I eventually arrived at the nearest meetinghouse, the Port Harcourt 3rd Ward, located close to the university entrance which was also within walking distance from my hall of residence. I arrived late and sat at the Sunday School class, which was the first meeting of the day, as was the pattern then. A few moments later, I was invited to the Investigators class. The bishop later gave me a copy of the Ensign magazine, and specifically referred me to a talk by Elder Russell M. Nelson, attending the Parliament of the World’s Religions. I read the story and it changed my attitude about marriage and family as he brought with him Primary children who sang “I Am a Child of God” in the meeting.
In the investigators’ class, I was taught about the Prophet Joseph Smith and was asked if I had heard about him. The name seemed familiar, but I could not recollect where I had come across it. But now I know that it was the Spirit telling me about the Prophet Joseph Smith.
Bishop Kalu was a source of strength and inspiration and a great gospel teacher. I sincerely wanted to teach the restored gospel with a testimony like his. I eventually got baptized on December 26, 1993. The following Sunday, I was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. And during sacrament meeting, I was asked to bless the sacrament.
The message of the restored gospel appealed to my heart, though born Anglican to humble parents and, as the tradition of the Anglican Church, was given infant baptism with my other siblings in 1973. The Book of Mormon changed all that as the copy I was given in the investigators class and with marked portions to read, I tried my best in reading it not with a desire to obtain a testimony but with my student legal mind. I was searching for faults because nothing compares to my Holy Bible. I had been doing critical Bible study before coming to the Church. I finished the Book of Mormon in no time and diverted my love for secular books to love of scriptures, particularly the Book of Mormon.
My bishop extended a call to me the Sunday after my ordination in the Aaronic Priesthood as a Sunday School teacher. I was also called as a seminary teacher, and I enrolled in an Institute of Religion class. While I taught the Old Testament in seminary, I studied the Book of Mormon in the institute class. This connection to the scriptures changed my life as that was the beginning of a lifelong love for the standard works of the Church and other writings that I have accumulated over the years a large library of Church literatures and scriptures. I even went on to teach institute classes for years even as a stake president.
While I was in Lagos, Nigeria, where I did my National Youth Service, I received the strong feeling that I had a mission to establish the Church in my hometown. I felt inspired and decided to fulfill the mission. I began with my wife, who was not a member at the time. With her unique testimony, she joined the Church and I baptized her like I did our five children.
We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.
Missionaries who taught us the gospel of Restoration and eternal families inspired us tremendously and helped to inspire our infant children to love missionary work.
The gospel of Jesus Christ means everything to me and my family. The principles of the gospel are true and life-changing when we apply every word therein. As a branch president in a new place, it naturally imposed a new life on me. They must see the change in me to believe and follow. This is a religion with everlasting promise, hope, and blessings.
The Aba Nigeria Temple was dedicated on August 7, 2005, by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008). Our family of five then—me, my wife, Justina, and our children (Joy, Daniel, and Gabriel)—were overjoyed. We got sealed as a family on September 22, 2005. Our sons John and Joseph were born in the covenant. My life is about family, Church, and community.

It was December 22, and after finishing my two-year mission in Guatemala, I was finally coming home. The only gift I wanted that Christmas was to see my family—in person—and hug my parents.
But as my layover flight landed in Chicago, Illinois, USA, things got a little crazy. A blizzard hit that part of the country and flights were getting canceled left and right.
I raced to my next gate only to find out I wasn’t getting home anytime soon.
It was nearly Christmas and I was stuck in the airport. No cell phone, no place to go but hard airport seats, and my family wondering when I’d get there. I was really disappointed.
But then my luck changed. After only six hours, I boarded a plane and got home to Kentucky, USA. It wasn’t that long of a delay after all!
As Christmas came and I thought about the Savior, Jesus Christ, I realized something really important. Yes, He suffered for my sins, but He also took upon Himself my pains, my sorrows, and even my small disappointments like being stuck in an airport for a few hours.
In the big scheme of things, getting home a little late for Christmas wasn’t a that big of a deal, and not just because some people endure far worse things. It was also because the Savior had already paved a way for me to find eternal peace, even from my small frustrations.
And that really is the sweetest Christmas gift.
Joshua P., Utah, USA

Let me give you some background about the proclamation as a core message of what we believe.
In 1994, a year before the proclamation was presented, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles discussed how society and governments were pulling away from God’s laws for family, marriage, and gender. “But that was not the end of what we saw,” President Russell M. Nelson later explained. “We could see the efforts of various communities to do away with all standards and limitations on sexual activity. We saw the confusion of genders. We could see it all coming.”
The Twelve determined to prepare a document, an official proclamation, summarizing the Church’s position on family. During that year, these Apostles, seers called of God, prepared a declaration about the family. President Dallin H. Oaks recalled they prayerfully turned to the Lord for “what [they] should say and how [they] should say it.” They presented it to the First Presidency—Presidents Howard W. Hunter, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson—for their consideration.
Just months later, in March 1995, President Hunter passed away, and President Hinckley became the 15th President of the Church. The proclamation was now in his hands. When would be the right time to make this declaration to the Church? That time came six months later.
Days before the September 23 general Relief Society meeting that preceded general conference, President Hinckley and his counselors met in counsel with the Relief Society General Presidency. The sisters, like the Apostles, had been weighing concerns about women and families. They had focused the upcoming meeting on families.
President Hinckley was scheduled to address the women at the gathering. He had been pondering the direction of his remarks. As the discussion progressed, he referred by name to the newly created but not yet public “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” Was this women’s meeting the right setting to make the decisive declaration about family?
Relief Society General President Elaine Jack later explained: “We didn’t know what the proclamation on the family was at that time. … [W]e could tell by the title, but we felt anything on the family … would be a positive thing. … I felt very positive that we had members of the Quorum of the Twelve that were receiving revelation.”
The Relief Society meeting that Saturday was historic. President Hinckley introduced the family proclamation with these important words: “With so much of sophistry that is passed off as truth, with so much of deception concerning standards and values, with so much of allurement and enticement to take on the slow stain of the world, we have felt to warn and forewarn … of standards, doctrines, and practices relative to the family which the prophets, seers, and revelators of this church have repeatedly stated throughout its history.”
He then read the proclamation in its entirety. As the Lord has said, “Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”

In our search for families, this story is typical. For several months we had been searching and praying to find a Latter-day Saint family we had heard lived somewhere in our town. One morning my husband had a sudden inspiration to ask a man who worked for the town water supply department if he knew anyone by that name. “Sure, I know him,” the man said, and told us where the “missing” member worked. Ben found the man and learned that he had joined the Church several years before but had been inactive for the past four years. His wife and three children were attending another church. When we invited him to come to church, he was reluctant because he smoked and liked to drink. But Ben did not give up. He contacted him several times at his work and assured him that we would love him even if he did smoke and drink. We visited his family and got the eight-year-old and the thirteen-year-old to join us at church. Soon this man stopped smoking and drinking, and his family attended all our meetings faithfully. His two children were baptized. Several months later he was ordained an elder and became the teacher of the investigator class.

I grew up in a little town called Raymond, in the Western Canadian province of Alberta. As a boy, I always enjoyed it when my father invited me to ride with him in the car. It didn't really matter where we went, it was just fun to go someplace with my Dad. Dad was the town doctor, so sometimes he took me to his office or the hospital with him. Occasionally he would take me with him when he traveled to the neighboring towns of Magrath or Lethbridge. I especially liked it when we went to the town of Magrath because it usually meant we would get to stop at Denny's Ice Cream Parlor.

One Saturday, I was very excited when my father invited me to accompany him as he drove to visit a farmer friend who lived several hours away near the town of Rosemary. It was a beautiful spring day and I thought life was pretty wonderful as we drove across the countryside, passing the many farms and ranches. Dad would always point out important and interesting things to me as we drove along. We had a new white and green 1955 Plymouth that I thought was just the best looking car around. I thought, "How can life get any better than this?" just Dad and me in the new Plymouth.

When we arrived at the farm, we were greeted by the farmer and his children. Several of the children were about my age and they were happy to have a playmate for a couple of hours. As the fathers went one direction and the kids went the other, my father turned to me and said: "Bill, Have fun, but don't take your shoes off."

A spring thunderstorm had passed through the area earlier in the day leaving puddles of water in the pastures. It was warm and the prairie grass smell that comes after a rain storm was energizing. Soon we were playing tag in the horse pasture and having lots of fun. Running and splashing in the puddles got my running shoes and socks all wet so I decided I would just take them off and try to dry them out. I leaned them up against a fence post and pointed the inside so the sun would dry them out. Besides, running through the wet grass felt good on my feet. From my 10th year to my 11th year, I had grown taller and stronger and I remember being impressed with myself and how fast I could run. I was having a great time running around that pasture barefoot.

Suddenly I headed off in a different direction, running as hard as I could go. In a split second my delight turned to panic as I looked down and realized I was entering a prairie cactus patch. I tried to slow down, but it was too late. Barefoot, I ran right into the middle of that cactus patch. Prairie cactus grows low to the ground, and you can't really see it until you're on top of it.

Well, I was on top of it. So there I stood. In the middle of a cactus patch. Barefoot. In real pain. Embarrassed. Wondering why I had taken my shoes off. I also wondered why my Dad hadn't told me about the cactus. You see, we didn't have prairie cactus around my town, but my Dad knew it was different around Rosemary. Why hadn't he told me about the cactus? Why did he just tell me "Don't take your shoes off?"

Dad carried me to the car and laid me down in the back seat of the Plymouth. He told me we'd be home in a couple of hours when he would work on my feet. I had cactus thorns all over the bottom of both feet. The ride home was different than the ride to the farm.

I had plenty of time to think about why I hadn't followed the counsel my father had given.

When we got home, Dad didn't need to take me to the doctor, because he was the doctor. He just carried me into the house and laid me on the kitchen table. He got out his brown leather doctor bag and went to work on the bottom of my feet. I recall that he spent several hours with his tweezers, needle, razor blade and antiseptic as his slowly extracted every thorn from the bottom of my tender feet.

I know Dad thought I was pretty stupid for not heeding his warning. I'm kind of embarrassed to tell you this story, because you probably think I was pretty stupid, too.

However, the experience was a real blessing for me, because it helped me to focus on advise my father gave me from that time on.

In later years, I don't remember my father ever saying: "Remember the cactus patch."

However, I said it to myself many times. Especially when I got advice that didn't seem all that important, or when I could see no harm in ignoring the advice.

Quite often, I would say to myself: "Maybe my Dad knows something I haven't thought of." or "You're a stupid kid if you don't 'Remember the Cactus patch.'"

Full-time missionaries are expected to study the scriptures for an hour each day. In English, our Church uses the King James version of the Bible. In Spanish, our Church uses the Reina Valera. And it is a beautiful version, lyrical even. One day, my companion and I were studying a passage where the Spanish translation held a different meaning than the English translation. If you've studied another language, then you realize that some languages have a keener ability to express a certain nuance than others. In this particular case, the difference was substantial, and I wondered which version was closer to the original language. I decided to dig into the footnotes during my individual scripture study in order to solve the mystery. I did not find a complete answer that day, so subsequent study periods found me searching again and again. To no avail. Apparently, the clarification I needed was not to be found in English or Spanish. Yet I had no other printed sources available to aid my study. But I did have prayer.
Enos tells us, in Enos 1:10, that his prayer was answered with a "voice in his mind " And so it was with me! One brisk Spanish morning, as I neared the end of what had seemed to be another fruitless search for answers, I suddenly felt knowledge flow into my mind. It was as though a floodgate had been opened and pure intelligence poured in, clarifying the passages I had been studying for days. The insights came so quickly and with such depth that I struggled to assimilate the information. I remember closing my eyes and asking the Lord to "slow down" because I could not comprehend all that I was being taught at such an incredible speed. It is wonderful to know that God will provide answers to those who seek.