Gospel Story Finder

His invitation stuck with me, and ever since then, I have been seeking to know for myself. I have been trying to know—really know—that President Nelson is God’s prophet here on the earth.
And let me tell you, it has been quite the journey.
Study and prayer have played a big role in this process. For example, I decided to read all of President Nelson’s general conference talks since he became a General Authority (there are a lot of them). I also studied all the devotional addresses he has given to young adults, university students, and other audiences. This helped me know more about President Nelson and what is important to him.
I also searched the scriptures for guidance. One verse that stuck out was Matthew 7:16, where Christ gives us the ultimate way to discern whether someone is His prophet: “Ye shall know them by their fruits.”
When I read this, I realized that the best way to know if President Nelson is a prophet is to follow his teachings and then watch for the fruits. I decided to study each general conference talk President Nelson has given since becoming the prophet and identify at least one thing in each talk that he has asked us to do. Here are just a few examples:
October 2020: “As you study your scriptures during the next six months, I encourage you to make a list of all that the Lord has promised He will do for covenant Israel. … Ponder these promises. Talk about them with your family and friends. Then live and watch for these promises to be fulfilled in your own life.” 1
April 2020: “Let us fast, pray, and unite our faith once again. Let us prayerfully plead for relief from this global pandemic.” 2
October 2019: “I entreat you to study prayerfully all the truths you can find about priesthood power. … As your understanding increases and as you exercise faith in the Lord and His priesthood power, your ability to draw upon this spiritual treasure that the Lord has made available will increase.” 3
April 2019: “Identify what stops you from repenting. And then, change! Repent!” 4
October 2018: “I promise you that if we will do our best to restore the correct name of the Lord’s Church, He whose Church this is will pour down His power and blessings upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints, the likes of which we have never seen.” 5
April 2018: “I plead with you to increase your spiritual capacity to receive revelation.” 6
As I reviewed these invitations from President Nelson, I realized that I didn’t take all of them seriously when I first heard them. In some cases, I had even forgotten the invitation altogether. I resolved to do better and set specific goals for myself to follow President Nelson’s counsel.
As a result, I have experienced many fruits. I feel an extra measure of priesthood power; I feel closer to my family; and I feel closer to my Savior, Jesus Christ. I am definitely not perfect and still have a long way to go in following all of President Nelson’s counsel, but my efforts thus far have only made my life better.
In order to understand the answers I’ve received, it has been useful for me to study teachings about personal revelation from Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He likens the first pattern of revelation to a light switch, which allows light to flood a room immediately. Similarly, revelation can come suddenly, in one moment. And the second pattern of revelation he likens to a sunrise, in which the light comes more gradually and steadily. 7
For me, as I’ve been studying President Nelson and his teachings, I have noticed the sun rising gradually.
As I’ve studied, as I’ve prayed, and as I’ve done what President Nelson has asked me to do, my faith has grown “line upon line, precept upon precept” (see 2 Nephi 28:30). I may not have experienced a light-switch moment of revelation, but as a result of my praying and studying, I can truly say that I have faith that President Nelson is the Lord’s prophet here on the earth.
Finding answers to our questions will take work on our part, but I know that all of us can receive a personal witness of President Nelson’s divine calling and answers to any other questions we might have about the gospel.
Throughout this experience, I have learned and gained so much faith. And I am forever grateful that the Lord has blessed us with modern prophets on the earth. I know that if we hearken unto their words, great blessings are in store for both us and our families.

A short time ago I attended the funeral of a friend’s son. Earlier in the week, the young man was traveling home late at night with friends when the driver of another car fell asleep. The second car crossed the median and smashed head-on into the first. The accident occurred with such swiftness that few, if any, brake marks showed on the highway and both cars were demolished. The accident took three lives, including my friend’s seventeen-year-old son.

Second, death reminds us that there is a spirit in man. As we viewed the remains of our young friend, it was obvious that more than blood had left his body. The light of his spirit no longer animated his facial expression or twinkled in his eyes. He too had given up the ghost, but at a tender, young age.

Another lesson taught by death concerns the importance of eternal families. Just as there are parents to greet a newborn on earth, the scriptures teach that caring family members greet the spirits in paradise and assist them in the adjustments to a new life (see Gen. 25:8; 35:29; 49:33). While I was standing before the casket, the thought came that separation was not only a shock for the parents but also for the young man as he suddenly found himself on the other side of the veil. I suspect that he would like to tell his parents once more how much he loves them. Brothers and sisters, heaven only exists if families are eternal.

Death teaches that we do not experience a fulness of joy in mortality and that everlasting joy can be achieved only with the assistance of the Master (see D&C 93:33–34). Just as the lame man at the pool of Bethesda needed someone stronger than himself to be healed (see John 5:1–9), so we are dependent on the miracles of Christ’s atonement if our souls are to be made whole from grief, sorrow, and sin. If grieving parents and loved ones have faith in the Savior and his plan, death’s sting is softened as Jesus bears the believers’ grief and comforts them through the Holy Spirit. Through Christ, broken hearts are mended and peace replaces anxiety and sorrow. Last week I received a letter from the boy’s parents telling me of the peace they have found through their faith in Christ. They know that they will see their son again and be with him in the eternities. As Isaiah stated concerning the Savior, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isa. 53:4–5).

Whitney is a very bright 14-year-old girl who joined the Church about a year ago. It was a magical moment as I looked at the girls’ soccer team who were there for her baptism. They had been there for each other many times. That’s the way it is with teams, and this team was one of the best, in soccer—and in life. Each girl was a Beehive, setting an example, standing as a witness of goodness, even on the playing field. Whitney liked being part of that. It felt good.
After her baptism, Whitney stood before us with her friend Elizabeth. Their faces were glowing, their eyes were bright, and their smiles sincere as they repeated these words they had learned by heart: “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love Him. We will ‘stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.’” Whitney already had the whole Young Women theme memorized. In fact, it was because Whitney’s friends had stood as witnesses that we were all there on that memorable day to welcome a beautiful daughter of God into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, unkempt, misshapen man lying on a bed. He asked them to come in and introduce themselves. He was pleased to know they were missionaries and wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati’s condition. He had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?
When they visited their new friend the next day, they were unprepared for the change in Atiati. He was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered and you [came] to me. … I have waited for more than twenty years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ.”
For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man the principles of the gospel, and he received a strong witness of the truth and the need for baptism. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles away. So they carried him to their car, drove him to the chapel, and set him on a bench. Their district leader opened the service by bearing a strong testimony about the sacred ordinance of baptism. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. As they did so, Atiati said, “Please, put me down.” They hesitated, and he said again, “Put me down.”
As they stood in some confusion, Atiati smiled and exclaimed: “This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!” So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him. He then asked to be carried from the font to the chapel, where he was confirmed a member of the Church.
Atiati continued to progress so that he gained the ability to walk only by a cane. He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.” I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

Jenay watched as Mommy set the freshly baked white cake on the kitchen table. Tonight was Christmas Eve, when her family would celebrate Jesus’s birth.
Jenay liked going caroling with her family, baking gingerbread men, and decorating the tree. But remembering Jesus’s birthday was her favorite thing to do at Christmas.
Can I help you put the icing on the cake?
We need to let it cool first.
Jenay helped Mommy clean off the counters and wash the dishes.
Do you think the cake is cool now?
I think it’s just about right.
Mommy and Jenay spread fluffy white icing on the cake.
After dinner Daddy asked the family to gather in the living room.
Even though we know that Jesus was born in the spring, we like to celebrate His birthday at this time of year.
Mommy read the story of Jesus’s birth from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Then Daddy bore his testimony of Jesus’s Atonement and Resurrection.
One by one, the family members opened their presents to Jesus and read what they had written on a slip of paper. With Mommy’s help, Jenay had written, “Be more reverent at church.”
I’m proud of each of you. All of your gifts show your love for Jesus Christ.
Mommy cut the cake and served it on fancy dishes. Jenay took a bite of cake and smiled.
I love Jesus, and I know He loves me.
A sweet feeling of peace settled over her like a cozy warm quilt.

In our quest for an example, we need not necessarily look to years gone by or to lives lived long ago. Let me illustrate. Today Craig Sudbury occupies a position of prominence in Salt Lake City, but let me turn back the clock just a few years to the day he and his mother came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred Sudbury, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed did not belong to the Church.
Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents. He shared his innermost hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. He pleaded earnestly with me for a suggestion. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be rewarded. Such inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents, and, on occasion, write to Dad personally and let him know that you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.”
He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office. I was not to see Craig’s mother for eighteen months. She came to the office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig departed for his mission. His faithful service has qualified him for positions of responsibility in the mission field, and he has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently, my husband, Fred, stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and said, ‘All of you know that I am not a member of the Church, but something has happened to me since Craig left for his mission. His letters have touched my soul. May I share one with you? “Dear Dad, Today we taught a choice family about the plan of salvation and the blessings of exaltation in the celestial kingdom. I thought of our family. More than anything in the world, I want to be with you and Mother in that kingdom. For me it just wouldn’t be a celestial kingdom if you were not there. I’m grateful to be your son, Dad, and want you to know that I love you. Your missionary son, Craig.”’ Fred then announced, ‘My wife doesn’t know what I plan to say. I love her and I love our son, Craig. After twenty-six years of marriage I have made my decision to become a member of the Church, for I know the gospel message is the word of God. I suppose I have known this truth for a long time, but my son’s mission has moved me to action. I have made arrangements for my wife and me to meet Craig when he completes his mission. I will be his final baptism as a full-time missionary of the Lord.’”
A young missionary with unwavering faith had participated with God in a modern-day miracle. His challenge to communicate with one whom he loved had been made more difficult by the barrier of the thousands of kilometers that lay between him and his father. But the spirit of love spanned the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, and heart spoke to heart in divine dialogue.
No hero stood so tall as did Craig when, in Australia, he stood with his father in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Fred Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
The prayer of a mother, the faith of a father, the service of a son brought forth the miracle of God. Mother, father, son—each qualifies in a Hall of Fame.

During the Great Depression, the homeless, the downtrodden, the unemployed “rode the rails” that passed not far from our home. On numerous occasions, there would be a soft knock on the back door. When I opened the door, there I would see a man, sometimes two, ill-clothed, ill-fed, ill-schooled. Generally, such a visitor held in his hand the familiar cap. His hair would be tousled, his face unshaven. The question was always the same: “Could you spare some food?” My dear mother invariably responded with a pleasant, “Come in and sit down at the table.” She would then prepare a ham sandwich, cut a piece of cake, and pour a glass of milk. Mother would ask the visitor about his home, his family, his life. She provided hope and words of encouragement. Before leaving, the visitor would pause to express a gracious thank-you. I would note that a smile of content had replaced a look of despair. Eyes that were dull now shone with new purpose. Love, that noblest attribute of the human soul, can work wonders.

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
As a boy, David O. McKay wanted to know for himself that Joseph Smith was a prophet. One day while looking for cattle, he got off his horse and knelt under a serviceberry bush.
He asked Heavenly Father for a spiritual witness, then waited for something wonderful to happen. Nothing did.
David: If I am true to myself, I must say I am just the same “old boy” that I was before I prayed.
Disappointed, he got back on his horse and rode away.
Still, he continued faithful and in time served a mission in Scotland. One day while there, he saw an unfinished building with a stone carving over the front door. He read the inscription: “What E’er Thou Art, Act Well Thy Part.” This advice inspired him to work harder.
David: I am here as a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. From this moment on I will do my part.
Later, during a missionary priesthood meeting, President McMurrin, his mission president, made a prophecy.
President McMurrin: Brother David, … God is mindful of you. If you will keep the faith you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.
During that meeting, Elder McKay received the sure witness he had prayed for as a boy. He knew the Church was true. He also knew that Heavenly Father answers our prayers in His own time and His own way.
As President of the Church, David O. McKay taught that every member of the Church is a missionary. Latter-day Saints responded by sharing the gospel with their neighbors.
If you’d like to learn more about President McKay, do the “President David O. McKay Crossword” on page 23.

Edson S., age 16, Georgia, USA
Likes marching band, playing sports of any kind, and spending time with his family.
My freshman year of high school was very difficult. I was doing online school because of COVID-19. During that year, my dad got COVID and passed away. I had to deal with that loss the whole year. Exactly one year later, my grandfather passed away. During my junior year, my grandmother passed away. I was in the room with her when she passed.
I always had a feeling of emptiness because of these things that happened in my life. I felt like maybe I was doing something wrong or was paying for my mistakes or something. During that time, I wasn’t doing the best things either. I wasn’t letting Christ’s light shine through me.
One day, while reading the lyrics of the hymn “I Stand All Amazed” (Hymns, no. 193), the line “Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?” hit me. When I read that, I felt my emptiness be filled. The words “can I forget” made me stop and think. Throughout my life, with all the stuff that I’d been suffering and going through, I wanted to forget. I wanted to find an easier way, to have fun, and to do things that weren’t right, all while not relying on Jesus Christ.
Even though I was in a dark place and trying to go astray, Jesus Christ didn’t let me forget His mercy and love. When I was down, He didn’t forget me. So, if He didn’t forget me, I shouldn’t forget Him.
I believe that even if you’re in a dark place and you think God’s not going to give you a second chance, He will. He loves you and cares for you.

My Aunt Debbie has always been one of my best friends. On my special birthday, when I turned 8, I was baptized. After my baptism, we had a great party and my family and friends came over. It was a big celebration! My Aunt Debbie and her family haven’t come to church for a long time, but I invited her to my baptism and party anyway, and they came.
At my party, I had two birthday cakes. One came from a bakery, but the other one was homemade and it was extra special. It had pure white frosting, and on the top was Captain Moroni. He is one of my favorites, and Mom knows I like him.
When we were serving Aunt Debbie her slice of cake, she asked for a piece of my Captain Moroni cake. I told her that if she ate a slice of that cake, she would have to promise to go to church with me on Sunday and sit beside me. She said, “Brian, I promise!” My branch president was sitting beside her, and he said, “I heard that!” Everyone laughed. I was so happy because I love Aunt Debbie, and I know she loves Heavenly Father. I want her to be happy, too.
My mom told me later that I am the best missionary in our family. My dad said that I am a good example, just like Captain Moroni. I hope I can always follow the Savior like he did.
I know that Heavenly Father has blessed my family and my branch. Since my birthday, Aunt Debbie and her family have been coming to church. As a matter of fact, Aunt Debbie is now my Primary teacher and everyone in her class loves her. I’m so glad she comes to church now and that we can all learn together how to follow Jesus Christ.

In my Aaronic Priesthood years in Hawaii half a century ago and as a missionary in England, we would gather in meetinghouses and (with intense effort) listen to the priesthood session using a telephone connection. In later years satellites allowed broadcasts to selected Church locations with those enormous dish receivers so we could both hear and view the proceedings. We were in awe of that technology! Few could have imagined today’s world, where anyone who has access to the Internet with a smartphone, tablet, or computer can receive the messages of this meeting.
However, this vastly increased accessibility to the voices of the Lord’s servants, which are the same as the Lord’s own voice (see D&C 1:38), has little value unless we are willing to receive the word (see D&C 11:21) and then follow it. Simply stated, the purpose of general conference and of this priesthood session is fulfilled only if we are willing to act—if we are willing to change.
Several decades ago I was serving as a bishop. Over an extended period I met with a man in our ward who was many years my senior. This brother had a troubled relationship with his wife and was estranged from their children. He struggled to keep employment, had no close friends, and found interaction with ward members so difficult he finally was unwilling to serve in the Church. During one intense discussion about the challenges in his life, he leaned toward me—as his conclusion to our numerous talks—and said, “Bishop, I have a bad temper, and that’s just the way I am!”
That statement stunned me that night and has haunted me ever since. Once this man decided—once any of us conclude—“That’s just the way I am,” we give up our ability to change. We might as well raise the white flag, put down our weapons, concede the battle, and just surrender—any prospect of winning is lost. While some of us may think that does not describe us, perhaps every one of us demonstrates by at least one or two bad habits, “That’s just the way I am.”
Well, we meet in this priesthood meeting because who we are is not who we can become. We meet here tonight in the name of Jesus Christ. We meet with the confidence that His Atonement gives every one of us—no matter our weaknesses, our frailties, our addictions—the ability to change. We meet with the hope that our future, no matter our history, can be better.
When we participate in this meeting with the “real intent” to change (Moroni 10:4), the Spirit has full access to our hearts and minds. As the Lord revealed to the Prophet Joseph Smith, “And it shall come to pass, that inasmuch as they … exercise faith in me”—remember, faith is a principle of power and of action—“I will pour out my Spirit upon them in the day that they assemble themselves together” (D&C 44:2). That means tonight!
If you think your challenges are insurmountable, let me tell you of a man we met in a small village outside of Hyderabad, India, in 2006. This man exemplified a willingness to change. Appa Rao Nulu was born in rural India. When he was three years old, he contracted polio and was left physically disabled. His society taught him that his potential was severely limited. However, as a young adult he met our missionaries. They taught him of a greater potential, both in this life and in the eternity to come. He was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. With a significantly raised vision, he set a goal to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and to serve a full-time mission. In 1986 he was ordained an elder and called to serve in India. Walking was not easy—he did his best, using a cane in each hand, and he fell often—but quitting was never an option. He made a commitment to honorably and devotedly serve a mission, and he did.
When we met Brother Nulu, nearly 20 years after his mission, he cheerfully greeted us where the road ended and led us down an uneven dirt path to the two-room home he shared with his wife and three children. It was an extremely hot and uncomfortable day. He still walked with great difficulty, but there was no self-pity. Through personal diligence, he has become a teacher, providing schooling for the village children. When we entered his modest house, he immediately took me to a corner and pulled out a box that contained his most important possessions. He wanted me to see a piece of paper. It read, “With good wishes and blessings to Elder Nulu, a courageous and happy missionary; [dated] June 25, 1987; [signed] Boyd K. Packer.” On that occasion, when then-Elder Packer visited India and spoke to a group of missionaries, he affirmed to Elder Nulu his potential. In essence, what Brother Nulu was telling me that day in 2006 was that the gospel had changed him—permanently!
On this visit to the Nulu home, we were accompanied by the mission president. He was there to interview Brother Nulu, his wife, and his children—for the parents to receive their endowments and be sealed and for the children to be sealed to their parents. We also presented the family with arrangements for them to travel to the Hong Kong China Temple for these ordinances. They wept with joy as their long-awaited dream was to be realized.
What is expected of a holder of the priesthood of God? What changes are required of us to become the manner of men we ought to be? I make three suggestions:
We need to be priesthood men! Whether we are young men holding the Aaronic Priesthood or men bearing the Melchizedek Priesthood, we need to be priesthood men, showing spiritual maturity because we have made covenants. As Paul said, “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things” (1 Corinthians 13:11). We should be different because we hold the priesthood—not arrogant or prideful or patronizing but humble and teachable and meek. Receiving the priesthood and its various offices should mean something to us. It should not be a perfunctory “rite of passage” that automatically happens at certain ages but a sacred act of covenant thoughtfully made. We should feel so privileged and so grateful that our every action shows it. If we seldom even think about the priesthood, we need to change.
We need to serve! The essence of holding the priesthood is to magnify our calling (see D&C 84:33) by serving others. Avoiding our most important duty to serve our wives and children, not accepting or passively fulfilling callings in the Church, or not caring about others unless it is convenient is not who we should be. The Savior declared, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind” (Matthew 22:37) and later added, “If thou lovest me thou shalt serve me” (D&C 42:29). Selfishness is the antithesis of priesthood responsibility, and if it is a trait of our character, we need to change.
We need to be worthy! I may not have the ability of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland when he spoke in a priesthood session a few years ago to “get in your face … , nose to nose, with just enough fire … to singe your eyebrows” (“We Are All Enlisted,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2011, 45); but, dear brethren, we need to wake up to how commonly accepted practices in the world choke our power in the priesthood. If we think we can even flirt with pornography or violations of chastity or dishonesty in any form and not have it negatively affect us and our families, we are deceived. Moroni stated, “See that ye do all things in worthiness” (Mormon 9:29). The Lord powerfully directed, “And I now give unto you a commandment to beware concerning yourselves, to give diligent heed to the words of eternal life” (D&C 84:43). If there are any unresolved sins preventing our worthiness, we need to change.
The only complete response to the question posed by Jesus Christ “What manner of men ought ye to be?” is the one He succinctly and profoundly gave: “Even as I am” (3 Nephi 27:27). The invitation to “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him” (Moroni 10:32) both requires and expects change. Mercifully, He has not left us alone. “And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. … Then will I make weak things become strong” (Ether 12:27). Relying upon the Savior’s Atonement, we can change. Of this I am certain. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I’m not good at basketball. Call it genes, call it natural ability, call it whatever—it always seems like everyone else on the court has it, and I don’t. This often makes me feel out of place.
This fact didn’t stop my friends from inviting me to play basketball. I would just run up and down the court, pretending I knew what I was doing. I don’t think I fooled anyone. But, to their credit, my friends did their best to include me.
During one game, I took a shot and the ball flew toward the basket. It hit the backboard, the rim, then fell through the hoop. I couldn’t believe it. Purely by luck, I made the shot!
Understanding the uniqueness of this moment, my friends congratulated me. I didn’t contribute much to that game, but I felt like I belonged, and that meant a lot.

Our family rotates family home evening duty. My husband’s was the Monday following the conference. During Sunday afternoon’s session, Elder Zwick gave a lesson on maintaining our standards. My husband used this talk to emphasize the need to maintain our standards. I had downloaded the MP3 file from the Web site. We sat together as a family and listened once again to the talk. This gave us an opening to bring up the topics of choosing friends, making good decisions, and making a life plan with our 14-year-old son.
Gwen D., Washington, USA

Staff meeting in the Louisiana Baton Rouge Mission offices had just ended when the phone rang. Elder Olson, who was working in New Orleans, sounded near panic. His junior companion, Elder Freeman, had been run over by an 18-wheel truck and was on his way to the hospital. Unable to contact his zone leaders, Elder Olson was calling his mission president to find out what to do.
I reassured him that within two hours my wife and I would join him. When we got to the hospital, we were greeted by Sister Margaret Simmons, who worked as a nurse in the facility. She described the damage Elder Freeman had sustained. His pelvis was broken in two places and cracked in a third. He had a ruptured spleen, cracked and broken ribs, a broken hip, and a massive blood clot lodged in the intestinal area, along with many lesser injuries.
More than an hour passed before Elder Freeman was wheeled out of surgery into the intensive care unit. “I’ve done all I can,” the doctor said. “If he can make it 24 hours, he might have a chance to live, but there is little hope of that.”
A bone specialist arrived to put Elder Freeman in traction. When he was finished, I pulled him aside to ask for information I would need in making a full report to Salt Lake City. The specialist told me the breaks were clean, as if the bones had been snapped in half. Proper healing would take time—intensive care for a week, traction for eight weeks, six months to a year of waiting and analysis be fore a decision could be made about whether or not he would ever walk again.
I asked for permission to visit my young missionary and give him a priesthood blessing. Permission was granted, and I joined five concerned elders in a circle around him. His companion anointed him, and I pronounced the blessing, feeling inspired that he would heal and live. As we lifted out hands from his head, he roused and looked up at me. “I don’t have to go home, do I, President Lemmon?” he said. What faith! I replied simply, “You haven’t finished your mission yet.”
As we left the room, I noticed the doctors standing nearby. They had a look of puzzlement on their faces; it was, perhaps, the first time they had seen the power of God’s priesthood at work. Sister Simmons pulled me aside and said they had all watched intently and listened silently as the blessing was performed.
On the third day in the hospital, Elder Freeman was released from intensive care, beating the odds by five days. The next few weeks he spent entangled in traction equipment designed to pull his bones back to their normal positions. Even though in extreme discomfort, he used his time to memorize the missionary discussions, to teach hospital employees about the gospel, and to share his testimony of the Restoration with them. Everyone knew who he was, even the hospital president.
During the sixth week following the accident, Elder Freeman was released from the hospital and came to serve on the mission office staff in Baton Rouge. When we pulled into the driveway, he got out of the car and, using crutches, walked into my office. Again he had beaten the doctor’s prediction—this time by close to nine months—though he had lost so much weight he even had to put a triple combination under his belt to help hold his pants up!
After one month’s service in the office, Elder Freeman asked to be reassigned. I sent him to Baker, Louisiana, as a district leader. Shortly after his arrival there, he used his crutches for the last time. Elder Freeman finished his mission in Hammond, Louisiana, serving as a zone leader. When he walked or ran, it was with a slight limp, but he enjoyed a normal range of activities. He returned home and married his high school sweetheart. They now have two children.
Elder Matthew Freeman is a living example of the power of the priesthood and a walking example of the power of faith. I thank the Lord for the priesthood, and I thank him for fine young men like Elder Freeman, who serve with all their might, mind, and strength.

Our parents hadn’t encouraged us to go. They said it was too early to be climbing in Echo Canyon, that we should “wait until spring was really here.” But the winter had been long and cold, we were 16, and we couldn’t wait any longer. Though it was just mid-March, the invitation from the brilliant sun light and the soaring temperatures could not be turned down.
Glenn, Marvin, John, and I settled into Glenn’s Chevy Bel Air. We didn’t relax much in the car for the ten minutes or so it took us to drive to Echo Canyon.
I climbed out of the back seat, stretched, and looked up at the rock formations surrounding us. The prehistoric waters of Lake Bonneville once covered this area, and the currents had eroded the cliffs and pinnacles into exotic shapes. Now the almost continual wind worked on the job of rock carving. Its blasts had slashed grotesque caves and chutes and chambers into the sandstone and shale walls. Echo Canyon was a place of eerie beauty.
In our years of going to Echo Canyon, we never climbed up any of the “real” cliffs. We didn’t have the equipment or experience for that. But several times each summer we tried our strength against the intermixed “almost” cliffs—they were close enough to being straight up and down to suit us fine.
We settled down to climb one of the major “almost” cliffs that glowered down on the main canyon and spent almost an hour getting to the top. Our ascents—though requiring more endurance than skill—were always marked by caution. Even though nature had already gouged hundreds of hand and foot holds out of the rock, it was a long way to the bottom for a foolhardy climber.
The view from the top, though familiar, was invigorating. From the valley floor, the blue sky seemed to arch overhead. Here on top, we were in the sky, a part of it. Climbing today was more than an adventure—it was a celebration of the radiance of the sun, a celebration of our youth and vitality—a celebration of life.
Going down the “cliff” took longer than climbing it did. Between us and the car, still almost a quarter of a mile below us, was a rock slide. Since we had run down similar slides on earlier trips, we knew that we could throw caution away and rashly blast down the hill without much danger of a twisted ankle or a small avalanche of cascading rock, as long as we ran without stopping.
We scattered out along the top side of the immense slide, littered with tons of shale and sand stone, threw our hands high in the air, whooped and screamed, and started running for the car. We were cheered by our own echoing voices as the sliding rocks and our churning legs started us down the hill.
One of the best parts of these lunatic runs was jumping over any sagebrush we could find. We purposely headed for any of the sparsely-spaced bushes that punctuated the shale for the incredible ecstasy of soaring over them. The momentum of our bodies would carry us over them with hardly any effort. I would feel like a lunar astronaut, bounding into the air against gravity, landing—still running—below the bushes I hurdled.
Halfway down the slide, I headed for a grand sagebrush. It was almost three feet higher than any other I had seen on the slope, and I knew I could jump it with dramatic speed. As I approached it, I calculated how I would maintain my balance—and speed—as I landed on the other side of it.
As I hit my final approach, my energy seemed electrified, yet I was in absolute control. Just before I jumped, a voice in my mind commanded, “Stop! Stop right now!”
There was no time to consider the source of the voice—I just felt impelled to stop. My legs stopped churning and dug into the shale like anchors. I leaned backwards and skidded to a stop in a shower of stones.
As the dust swirled around me, I felt foolish. My friends were still running, oblivious of me in their own descent. I lay there on the sharp rocks on the uphill side of the bush, catching my breath, wondering how long it would be until inevitable scrapes and bruises from the rock would start to sting my currently numbed body.
Some of the retinue of rocks I had loosened as I ran down the hill caught up with me and rocketed through the sagebrush and on down the slope. Then I heard the buzzing—fierce and steady. There was a rattlesnake somewhere close!
My breath stopped momentarily with fear. We all knew that a few rattlesnakes showed up here and there in our area, but not here in Echo Canyon! I wondered what I should do and warily looked around, being careful to not move anything but my eyes. I couldn’t see anything.
I listened intently to the buzzing and determined that it was coming from the downhill side of the bush. I slowly got to my feet and skirted the sage, keeping back from the sound, until I could see the downhill side clearly.
Until interrupted by me and my rocks, a big rattler had been sunning itself in the shale. Now it was coiled to strike—its defiant head was matched by its angry tail. I watched it for several minutes until it uncoiled and slid back into the security of the bush. It was a diamondback, at least three feet long. At its thickest part, its brown and gray body was as big around as a baseball.
I felt no anger for the snake. I had disturbed it; it hadn’t sought me out. The unusual warmth of the last few days had undoubtedly brought it prematurely out of hibernation. Its venom would be a thick concentrate, incredibly potent after not being used for killing prey during the winter months of hibernation. If I had jumped the bush, I would have landed inches away from its fangs. My heart was still beating like primitive drums from my downhill exertion and my astonishment. This rapid heartbeat would have scattered the poison throughout my body in a few seconds. My only chance for survival came in the voice: “Stop! Stop right now!”
I was overwhelmed as I realized, with a startling and clear perspective, that God was aware of me as an individual. He really was a Heavenly Father—and he knew Layne Dearden, one of his sons. He knew what I was doing on that March afternoon. And he knew that my careless exuberance would end my life unless he helped.
That day was more of a celebration of life than I ever imagined it could be, even when I had stood at the top of the cliff. I basked in the warmth of my Father’s love as I slowly walked down the remaining shale slope.

A few days ago there came to my office a man from Las Vegas, Nevada. His wife and married daughter were with him. When we had accomplished the purpose of his visit, the younger woman asked if I would accept something from her thirteen-year-old daughter. She unwrapped a painting of two butterflies around a flowering shrub.
The mother explained that her daughter had been struck by a car in a terrible accident when she was four years of age. Her body was badly broken. She was left paralyzed from the shoulders down, a quadriplegic—without the use of arms or legs. She had painted this picture holding a brush between her teeth and moving her head.
As I listened to that story, the painting grew in beauty and value before my eyes. It became more than a portrayal of butterflies. It represented remarkable courage in the face of blinding adversity; tenacious practice in holding and moving the brush; pleading prayers for help; faith—the faith of a child, nurtured by loving parents, that she could create beauty notwithstanding her handicap.
Some might say that this is not a masterpiece. Without knowledge of its origin, that could be the judgment. But what is the test of art? Is it not the inspiration which comes from looking at it?
I will hang this small painting in my study so that during occasional hours of struggle there will come into my mind the picture of a beautiful little girl, robbed of the use of her feet and hands, gripping the handle of a paintbrush in her teeth to create a thing of beauty. Thank you, Krystal, for what you have done for me. I hope the telling of your story will bring a new measure of strength to others who, facing discouragement, have felt they could not go on. I hope that your example will be as a polar star to lead them in the darkness through which they stumble.
It may not be easy. It may be fraught with disappointment and challenge. It will require courage and patience. I remind you of the faith and determination of the thirteen-year-old girl who, holding a paintbrush in her teeth, created the painting I showed you earlier. Love can make the difference—love generously given in childhood and reaching through the awkward years of youth. It will do what money lavished on children will never do.

I shut the little black book. A feeling of success surged within me. I actually had finished it. I had read the whole book. Now what was supposed to happen? I recalled the words that were written in one of the book’s last chapters. “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moro. 10:4).
Okay. I knew that I was supposed to feel a burning in the bosom or an overwhelming knowledge of truth. At least that’s what other members of the Church said in their testimonies. They all felt it when they knew that the Church was true. They were sincere. So why wasn’t I feeling anything? Why wasn’t God appearing to me? How will I know if it’s true? How will I know if it’s not? How did they know?
I looked at the little black book. It was torn and tattered, the once-white pages now a stale yellow. The black leather cover bore ugly creases running up and down the length of it. The binding hung limply by the little glue that was left. I opened the cover and read the inscription. “To Michelle Glenetske, from Mom with love.”
When my mom first gave me this copy of the Book of Mormon, I treated it as a souvenir from her visit to Utah. I was too young then to really understand what it meant. Little did I know the true meaning behind those hard-to-read words. Little did I know the faith and courage it had taken the authors to record their day-to-day lives, their revelations, and their spiritual knowledge, even during times of pain and suffering. At that time I did not see, or care to see, the value of this little black book.
During early-morning seminary my freshman year, we read the Book of Mormon together as a class. We had read most of it, and now I had finished all of it—on my own. I did it without my parents or Church leaders pushing me. I did it to fulfill that unknown prompting that wandered within my soul. It was a quest for knowledge and understanding—and now I had finished the race. So where was my reward? Why wasn’t I feeling the way the Church leaders said I should? Was it really not true? I didn’t think I could bear the thought of the one thing that I based my life around not being true. I had to know.
I stepped into the warm spring air and wandered slowly to the big oak tree behind the shed. There I sat on the mossy earth, looking at the cloudless, blue sky. I silently put my little black book next to me and stared blankly into the large branches of the beautiful tree. I saw and felt nothing. I heard nothing except for the unceasing pounding against my chest. I began to pray in my mind. Is it true? I asked.
A few minutes later, a loud chirp broke me out of my reverie. I shook my head and then looked up. I saw a faint rustle among the leaves. But I heard a chirp of a mother robin, and soon heard many delicate cheeps. A feeling of total peace overcame me. “God made all these wonderful things for us,” I said in a whisper. “All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small.” I remembered the song I was taught in Primary. “All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God, made them all” (Children’s Songbook, no. 231). Tears formed in my eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.
I was finally realizing what God had done for me. I began to understand who I was. But more significantly, the knowledge of what I had been searching for had finally come. I wasn’t sure how it had. All I knew is I had experienced a feeling of peace that I had never felt before. I knew.

Eighteen-year-old Chris Garrett has made a dramatic recovery from drug addiction so severe that he is considered lucky to be alive. He first drank alcohol as a small boy, was smoking marijuana by his early teenage years, and, within a few years, was using anything he could find: marijuana, cocaine, LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide), opium, crack, speed, and many types of prescription drugs. He even grew marijuana among his mother’s house plants. To finance his habit, he burglarized people’s homes, picked pockets, and took money from purses left in parked cars during church services. Three years ago, Chris entered a treatment program that took him fourteen months to complete.
Chris did not look like what most people think a drug abuser looks like, which is perhaps part of the reason his habit escaped his parents’ notice for a time. He was neat, well-dressed, and well-groomed. “You don’t have to look like a drug-user or associate with the ‘bad’ kids anymore to get into trouble,” says Carol White, a community leader in drug prevention. “I know one boy who started using drugs at work, and he used drugs with his closest friends and their parents. Many of those friends were leaders at his school.”

True rough-and-tough camping is alive and well deep in the heart of Texas, where girls of the Boerne Ward, San Antonio Texas Stake, went on a three-day high adventure.
“The trip began with a training meeting where the girls divided themselves into teams of two or three for sharing tents and cooking meals. They learned how to stay safe and comfortable in a primitive environment,” says their leader, Linda Bohman.
While they were on their campout, the girls went swimming, canoeing, rappelling, had devotionals, and went exploring.
After such a rigorous activity, everyone was ready to come home.
“Wow, it was hard, but I did it!” said one girl.

My aunt sent me a crisp one dollar bill for my birthday. It was in a card with an unusual message:
Dear Matt,Please share this dollar with as many people other than your family as you can. Try to do it without them knowing it. I know that you’ll have a happy birthday if you do. Please let me know what happens.
Love,Aunt Maureen
I was very puzzled. How could I share one dollar with many people? When I asked Mom about it, she said it might help if I traded the dollar bill for change. Then I’d have more pieces of money to share. So I gave her the crisp dollar bill and she gave me ten pennies, two quarters, two dimes, and four nickels.
First, I took two of the nickels and put them into a tithing envelope. I knew that my tithing could help a lot of people and that they wouldn’t know who it came from. So I felt good about that. Now I had ninety cents left.
Aunt Maureen wanted me to let her know what happened, so I asked Mom for a card and wrote:
How I spent my birthday dollar
10¢ for tithing
I looked at the rest of the money and thought hard, but I couldn’t figure out what to do with it.
Mom needed to run some errands, so I put the money in my pocket and went with her. I hoped some ideas would come to me while we were out.
We had just gotten on the bus, when the man in front of us tried to give the bus driver a dollar bill. The driver told him, “It’s fifty cents in exact change only, sir.”
I guess the man didn’t have it, because he looked sad and turned to get off the bus. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my two quarters, and gave them to him. “Here’s the money,” I said.
The man looked surprised but then smiled at me and said thank you twice!
I felt great! After Mom and I sat down, I pulled the card out of my pocket and wrote:
50¢ to a nice man for bus fare
Now I had ten pennies, two dimes, and two nickels left. I wondered what I would do with them.
When Mom and I got off the bus, we walked to the market. On the way, one of the parking meters changed from white to red. A woman was frantically searching her purse for change to put into the meter. I heard her mutter, “Why can’t I find that dime—I know I had one!”
I knew just what to do! I gave her one of my dimes. When she protested, Mom explained why she had to take it. She did, and even though I hadn’t done it without her knowing, I still felt good inside.
While mother was shopping, I wrote on my card:
10¢ for a lady at a parking meter
Now I had ten pennies, one dime, and two nickels left.
Since it was my birthday, we stopped at the ice-cream shop on the way home. I ordered a double-scoop of mint chocolate chip. While we were waiting for our cones, I heard a little girl crying. I turned and saw a lady cleaning up spilled ice cream on the floor. “I’m sorry you dropped it, honey,” she was saying to the little girl. “You can have the rest of my cone.”
“How much is a child’s cone?” I asked the man serving ice cream.
“Twenty-five cents,” he said. So I gave him my two nickels, my dime, and five pennies. I asked him to get the little girl another cone and to promise not to tell her who bought it. The little girl was so excited to have another cone, she did a dance. I grinned so hard I thought my face would break.
When we got back on the bus, I wrote on my card:
25¢ for ice-cream cone
Mom leaned over and patted me on the knee. “I’m proud of you! I know that Aunt Maureen will be too. And Heavenly Father is always pleased when you’re kind to others. Has this been a happy day for you?”
“Yes—I didn’t know I could help so many people with just one dollar!” I pulled out the rest of my money. “But what can I do with my last five pennies?”
Mom tapped me on the arm and pointed out the window of the bus. We were coming to our stop, and there on the corner was a lemonade stand. A little girl and boy were sitting behind a sign that said: 5¢ A GLASS.
“Do you think the bus driver likes lemonade?” I asked my mother.
“I’m sure he does.”
She was right. And so was Aunt Maureen. My dollar was gone, but giving it away made it one of my happiest birthdays ever.