Gospel Story Finder

Recently, my daughter Kimberly called to ask me about buying a car. The one she has is several decades old, and she wondered if it was time to look for a replacement. She was concerned that her car might not last; it might cost more to repair than buying a newer car. I encouraged her to avoid a car payment, to save her money and then purchase a car with savings. She wrote her script; she decided to not buy a new car but to continue a savings plan to replace the vehicle in the future. Some months later, the car is running as good as ever, and she is focused on a savings plan for the future. She is a good example of how we harvest the blessings we choose. It doesn’t always work out just as we would like, but as we follow God’s plan and apply sound counsel, we make room in our lives for Heavenly Father’s blessings to shower down upon us. At times, the blessings will pour out until there shall not be room enough to receive them.

My experience applying to PhD programs was the opposite of my experience of finishing up my undergraduate degree. This time I felt very clear direction that I needed to get a doctorate, and I received some of the most distinct line-upon-line16 guidance of my life in the process. Because of how strong those promptings were, I figured that getting my PhD must be really important for me.

After I was accepted to Johns Hopkins University, I decided to visit the campus in Baltimore before making a final decision. I flew in on a Sunday so that I could visit a ward and get advice on where to live. I arrived at the Inner Harbor Ward church building early and took a seat on the back row of the chapel. As I waited for the service to begin, I heard a distinct voice in my mind say, “Ali, your PhD is important, but your experiences in this ward will be more important.” Because of this prompting, I made sure to find housing in the ward boundaries.

I learned so much from my associations with people in that ward. And I am so grateful for that prompting because I made sure that I prioritized the friendships and service opportunities that were extended to me. Otherwise, I think it may have been easy to put too much time and energy into my PhD and neglect building relationships with the people around me. There is not time to share the experiences I had with my ward, but I will say that it was because of the things I learned while serving with my ward family that I came to my dissertation topic. I believe I would have been far less successful in my program if I had not accepted both formal and informal opportunities to serve that allowed me to get to know the wonderful people in my Church community better.

One of my most memorable days included a 13-mile hike, great scenery, and some one-on-one time with my dad. The day started early as we headed off to hike the west rim of Zion National Park in southern Utah. After we hiked for a while, we stopped to take a break on a large boulder overlooking the gorgeous canyons.
In that tranquil moment my dad related to me the story of the Creation. I sat there listening to him and basking in the beautiful workmanship of my Heavenly Father’s hands. Dad finished the story and told me to really look at the masterpiece in front of me.
He then explained that no matter how wondrous and beautiful this place might be, I was God’s greatest masterpiece. I am His daughter, and He loves me. He made this world for me, for all His children, and gave us dominion over it (see Gen. 1:26–28; Moses 2:26–28). So, my dad told me, in those moments when I was discouraged, when I felt I had no worth, when I didn’t want to go on, I needed to remember how much I am loved.
Dad’s little sermon couldn’t have come at a better time. I had been so blue and so discouraged. As I walked down the trail, I was filled with a sweet peace and a sure knowledge of my Heavenly Father’s love for me. That day I gained a greater appreciation for this world, a deeper love for my dad, and a stronger testimony of the love of my Father in Heaven and our Savior, Jesus Christ.

As a sophomore moving to a new high school, I wanted to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, hazing was the norm at this school; thus no sophomore was safe from any number of abuses from the upperclassmen.
On one occasion, as I was preparing in the locker room to get ready for tennis practice, a senior and two juniors came barging in looking for any sophomores in the vicinity. Since I happened to be the only sophomore around, they wrestled me to the pool area and threw me in. They thought it was funny, and, frankly, so did I.
What happened in the aftermath, however, was anything but funny. One of the boys who grabbed me was caught and made an example of by being suspended from the basketball team. So much for keeping a low profile. I was blamed, and suddenly the school seemed more like a war zone than a place of learning and friendship.
This turned out to be one of the most difficult experiences of my life. I was yelled and sworn at, and I constantly felt humiliated. No one would believe the truth about the situation, so the ill treatment against me continued. I’m not exaggerating when I say I cried more during that time than the rest of my life combined.
In the midst of my suffering, I felt a deep need for comfort, and I turned to the scriptures to find counsel that might help. On one occasion I talked with my mother about the Book of Mormon and how I might develop my own testimony. We read one of her favorite scriptures, Alma 32:28, in which Alma compares gaining a testimony to planting a seed. He says, “If it be a true seed, or a good seed, … it will begin to swell within your breasts.”
After the discussion with my mother, I decided that I, too, wanted to know for myself. Over the next couple of months, I read in the Book of Mormon nearly every night, prayed, repented, and begged for my own witness of the truth. As I began to feel the spiritual “swelling motions” described by Alma, I began to know that the word was “good” and “delicious,” as the scripture said, but I wondered whether or not I had really received my answer. I wasn’t sure about what I was feeling until one day at church during a Sunday School lesson.
As I sat in my class and listened to my teacher, Brother Millard, speak by the power of the Spirit, I was overcome with the warmest and most beautiful feeling I had ever experienced. I cried through most of his lesson. When it was over, I went to sacrament meeting. Before the meeting began, Brother Millard put his arm around me and said, “Victor, you’ve had a special experience, haven’t you?” I replied that I had.
As sacrament meeting began, the feeling returned and tears again streamed down my face. For the first time in my life, I knew I had really felt the Holy Ghost and learned how to organize my life in such a manner that I could obtain the Spirit on my own.
I was amazed! I now knew for myself that God lives and that Moroni’s promise is true (see Moro. 10:3–5). I will forever be grateful for a Heavenly Father who, in the midst of my trials, allowed me to cry out in anguish for knowledge and understanding and who answered my prayers.

When I was in my late teens, I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a Church dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
A group of brethren took me under their wing, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary taught me the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

The Twelve love President Hunter, and President Howard W. Hunter loves the Twelve. President Hunter’s gentle, persuasive leadership invites the Spirit of the Lord into all of their meetings. I hope President Hunter will forgive me for relating an experience which portrayed to me the great love the Twelve have for each other, which love brings the Holy Spirit into their quorum meetings.

Many will remember a number of years ago President Hunter was informed that he would not walk again. However, his faith and determination were greater than that message. Daily, without fanfare and the knowledge of others, he went through some very strenuous physical therapy exercises with determination, faith, and the vision that he would walk again. During those difficult months, his Brethren of the Twelve were praying for him daily in their quorum meetings and in their private prayers.

Months later, on a Thursday morning, I went to President Hunter’s office to discuss an agenda item for the temple meeting that morning. I found he left early and was informed that he was walking to the temple. I questioned that information and then hurried to catch up with him. When I caught up with him, he was walking with the help of a walker. We walked together to the elevator and then up to the fourth floor. We went down the hall to the upper room of the temple. When their president walked into that room, the Twelve stood and began to clap their hands. They tenderly watched him walk over to his chair and let his body down into the chair. Then with magnificent love, honor, and tenderness, each of the Twelve went up to him and extended to him an affectionate touch, kiss on the forehead, and a hug, showing their great love and admiration for him. They all sat down, and President Hunter thanked them and said, “I was not supposed to walk again, but with the Lord’s help and my determination and, most important, the faith of my Brethren of the Twelve, I am walking again.” President Howard W. Hunter is an example of maintaining faith and determination in the face of adversity. The Twelve are examples of maintaining faith and prayer in behalf of those who are experiencing adversity.

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. When his first wife, Lucy Stringham Grant, lay critically ill, he called his children into her hospital room and told them she was going to die. His daughter Lutie pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her mother’s behalf and not let her die. When the children left the room, Elder Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer, he later said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, `In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”

Some years ago, I was afforded the privilege to serve as a mission president and became intimately acquainted with more than 400 missionaries. We had one young missionary who was very ill. After weeks of hospitalization, as the doctor prepared to undertake extremely serious and complicated surgery, he asked that we send for the missionary’s mother and father. He advised there was a possibility the patient would not survive the surgery.
The parents came. Late one evening, the father and I entered a hospital room in Toronto, Canada, placed our hands upon the head of the young missionary, and gave him a blessing. What happened following that blessing was a testimony to me.
The missionary was in a six-bed ward in the hospital. The other beds were occupied by five men with a variety of illnesses. The morning of his surgery, the missionary’s bed was empty. The nurse came into the room with the breakfast these men normally ate. She took a tray over to the patient in bed number one and said, “Fried eggs this morning, and I have an extra portion for you!”
The occupant of bed number one had suffered an accident with his lawn mower. Other than an injured toe, he was well physically. He said to the nurse, “I’ll not be eating this morning.”
“All right, we shall give your breakfast to your partner in bed number two.”
As she approached that patient, he said, “I think I’ll not eat this morning.”
Each of the five men declined breakfast. The young lady exclaimed, “Other mornings you eat us out of house and home, and today not one of you wants to eat! What is the reason?”
Then the man who occupied bed number six answered: “You see, bed number three is empty. Our friend is in the operating room under the surgeon’s hands. He needs all the help he can get. He is a missionary for his church, and while we have been patients in this ward, he has talked to us about the principles of his church—principles of prayer, of faith, of fasting wherein we call upon the Lord for blessings.” He continued, “We don’t know much about the Mormon Church, but we have learned a great deal about our friend; and we are fasting for him today.”
The operation was a success. When I attempted to pay the doctor, he countered, “Why, it would be dishonest for me to accept a fee. I have never before performed surgery when my hands seemed to be guided by a Power which was other than my own. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t take a fee for the surgery which Someone on high literally helped me to perform.”
Such is the house of God.

President Hinckley tells of a time he learned about having the courage to make his own decisions.
The year we enrolled in junior high school, the building could not accommodate all the students, and so our class was sent back to the elementary school. We were furious. We’d spent six years in that building, and we felt we deserved something better. The boys of the class all met after school. We decided we’d go on strike.
The next day we did not show up. But we had no place to go. We couldn’t stay home, because our mothers would ask questions. We didn’t think of going downtown to a show. We had no money for that. We didn’t think of going to the park. We were afraid we might be seen. We just wandered about and wasted the day.
The next morning, the principal, Mr. Stearns, was at the front door of the school to greet us. He told us that we could not come back to school until we brought a note from our parents. Striking, he said, was not the way to settle a problem. If we had a complaint, we could come to the principal’s office and discuss it.
I remember walking sheepishly into the house. My mother asked what was wrong. I told her. She wrote a note. It was very brief. It was the most stinging rebuke she ever gave me. It read:
“Dear Mr. Stearns,
“Please excuse Gordon’s absence yesterday. His action was simply an impulse to follow the crowd.”
I have never forgotten my mother’s note. I resolved then and there that I would never do anything on the basis of simply following the crowd. I determined then and there that I would make my own decisions on the basis of my standards and not be pushed in one direction or another by those around me. That decision has blessed my life many times.

Let me tell you how I met my wife. We were both students at BYU and lived in the same ward—but I did not know her. For several weeks I noticed a very pretty girl walk into Sacrament meeting, usually during the opening song. The doors to the chapel were in the front of the room, so she had to walk in front of everyone to take her seat. I noticed her as she walked in. She was very attractive, but for some reason unknown to me, I did not pursue getting to know her. This scenario was repeated on many Sundays.

During this same time I was serving in the Elder’s quorum presidency. Each month I interviewed a particular home teacher who went faithfully to his homes every month. Whenever he reported visiting with a certain Lynne Cowan, it made a big impression on me. Her name stuck in my mind—Lynne Cowan. I did not know who “Lynne Cowan” was. Now I had two mysteries that plagued me—who was Lynne Cowan and who was the pretty girl that came into church during the opening song?

By the end of the semester I was determined to discover exactly who Lynne Cowan was. My roommate was a know-it-all kind of a guy—kind of like the home-teacher-at large to all the girls in the ward. I said to him, “Larry, who is Lynne Cowan?” He burst out laughing and said, “You don’t know who the prettiest girl in the ward is?” He was nearly aghast that I didn’t know her. He said, “She is that attractive girl that comes into sacrament meeting during the opening song.” In that explanation he quickly solved my two mysteries in one statement—who was Lynne Cowan and who was the pretty girl at church.

At the ward closing social, as I was leaving with another girl, Lynne was arriving. I spoke to her for the first time. I said, “Hi, Lynne.” She appeared shocked that I knew her name. At that moment I wished that I was not committed to leaving with the other girl.

Two weeks after I graduated from BYU I returned from Idaho to the BYU campus to get certified as a school teacher. Immediately I called Lynne and asked her out. We had a date every night for three weeks, and then I proposed to her. She accepted. We were married two months later. We were so happy!

It was not until sometime after we were married that it came clear to me how carefully I had been guided and prompted by the Spirit to find her. It had never occurred to me during this long process that I was receiving thoughts and feelings from the Spirit. I see it now. It is obvious to me. I am so grateful for the guidance I received then and have sought diligently to more readily recognize the promptings of the covenantal gift of the Holy Ghost.

I think of a young man who was recently convicted of automobile homicide because he killed an innocent victim while driving drunk. He was a young man of great potential. There is no telling what he might have become, but today he sits in prison, not only in the misery of his surroundings but also in the torture of his conscience. Our Father in Heaven, who loves us, has reminded us of the evils of these things and has warned us against them.

As one of many examples, a translator was needed for the translation and recording of Church materials in Mam (pronounced “mum,” a descendant of the Mayan language, spoken in Guatemala). Among the first missionaries called to Guatemala was an elder whose grandfather had spoken Mam. The missionary had been raised in a city and spoke only Spanish. But every night his grandfather would come to him in dreams and teach him the Mam language. This young elder became the primary translator of Mam in the Church.

Family prayer and scripture study are also important preparation. Each morning when the parents wake up the children, they all gather on the parents’ bed. There they sing a hymn, kneel and pray, and take turns reading scriptures aloud before having breakfast and getting ready for school. They talk about the principles in the scriptures.
“It’s really a challenge to get everybody up so early,” says their mom. “But since we’ve been studying the scriptures every morning, the children are understanding them better. When we didn’t do it, we felt we were sending our children out to school unprotected. But now they are going out into the world more prepared. We hope that during the day they might think of something we read about.”

John Howell suggested I meet with the full-time missionaries. Instead, I opted to have my brother and one of his friends, another returned missionary, teach me. As they taught me, I wanted external, incontrovertible evidence that what I was learning was true. Without that proof, I didn’t want any further discussions.
When I asked how they knew the truth, they replied, “We have read and prayed and felt a witness from the Holy Ghost.” They told me I needed that same witness.
That night I went into a grove of trees near my neighborhood. I don’t know how long I prayed, but I did so with absolute intent. I repeatedly asked God the same four questions: “Is the Book of Mormon the word of God? Did You and Your Son appear to Joseph Smith? Is this the true Church of Jesus Christ? Am I good enough to be a member?”
The answer to each question came in a whisper to my soul—“Yes”—four times. Those whispers were accompanied by serene and sublime feelings.
With my head bowed, kneeling in prayer and drenched with tears, I exclaimed: “If this is the answer You will give to me, then I accept it and will commit my life fully to You and this gospel as You reveal it to me.” Words cannot express the thoughts, feelings, and truths that enveloped me.
The witness I received that night was incontrovertible, and it’s as strong now as it was then. Since that prayer, God has proved those answers to me in thousands of miraculous and practical ways.

Some time ago I received a letter from Brother Rafael Pérez Cisneros of Galicia, Spain, telling me about his conversion. Part of his letter said the following:
“I had no concept of the purpose of life or what the family really is. When I finally allowed the missionaries to come into my home, I told them, ‘Give me your message, but I warn you that nothing is going to make me change religions.’ On this first occasion my children and my wife were listening attentively. I felt separated from the group. I felt afraid, and without thinking I went to my bedroom. I closed the door and began to pray from the depths of my soul like I had never prayed before. ‘Father, if it is true that these young men are Your disciples and have come to help us, please make it known to me.’ It was in that very moment that I began to cry like a small child. My tears were abundant, and I felt happiness like I had never before experienced. I was absorbed in a sphere full of joy and happiness that penetrated my soul. I understood that God was answering my prayer.
“All of my family was baptized, and we had the blessing of being sealed in the Swiss Temple, making me the happiest man in the world.”
I think this story should motivate us to do “all we can do” to share the blessings of joy that come from living the gospel of happiness.

Even some of the most difficult clients responded differently than expected.
Shelly is deaf and blind. She can’t talk, can’t communicate. In her dark world, she only knows how to scream when she gets alarmed or frustrated or disoriented. Staff expected to quietly take her back to her room after a very short time. But she was assigned to three girls as her friends for the day. They held her hand, patted her, touched her, stayed with her constantly.
“We were amazed at Shelly. Those girls managed to communicate a sense of love and caring that penetrated her darkness,” said Brother Holmes-Gull. Shelly was seen quietly laying her head near the girls while they sat on the grass.

Toward the end of my studies, many of my friends were planning to continue their schooling and achieve a master’s degree. I loved studying and wanted to do the same thing, but the Spirit told me clearly that my mission in Hawaii was complete. It was time for me to return home to Hong Kong.
My wife and I followed the prompting. At the time I couldn’t understand why I was being directed away from continuing my education. But sometimes we follow the Spirit without knowing all the details. Though my wife and I didn’t know what to expect as we looked for jobs and an apartment, we were blessed and soon found success.
As I look back now, I understand why the Spirit was so strong in encouraging us to return to Hong Kong. It was very valuable to my family and me to be strengthened in the Church among the members there. I served as a bishop, as a counselor in the stake presidency, and as a stake president before being called as an Area Seventy. After retiring from my profession, I was able to earn a master’s degree. All of those experiences helped prepare me for my current calling.

In addition to my wonderful mother, I’ve had many mentors in my life. I first became acquainted with the process of mentoring when I was just nine years old. My Primary teacher taught me to cross-stitch “I Will Bring the Light of the Gospel into My Home,” a picture that hung in my room during my teenage years. My teacher guided me, corrected me, and always encouraged me along the way. Other mentors followed. Two excellent seamstresses in my ward taught me sewing. With their guidance, patience, and encouragement, I entered a dress in a sewing contest when I was 14, and I actually won a prize! The process increased my thirst for knowledge and excellence in other areas as well.

At 12:15 A.M. I left the police station and climbed into the blue Alfa Romeo of the Italian carabinieri. I was putting in my obligatory year of service required of all Italian young men. I had been assigned to the police. My duty for that day was patrolling the cities of Jesolo and Cavallino, just northeast of Venice, from midnight to 6:00 A.M.
Suddenly the familiar sound of the radio caught my attention. “Avanti dalla trentuno,” I answered. My heart accelerated, anticipating the potential danger. Headquarters informed us that a bank robbery had just taken place in a rural town north of Venice. The officer stated that a policeman had been shot during the robbery. Four men were responsible and were supposedly armed with Kalashinikovs, a Soviet-made automatic weapon. They were apparently heading at high speed toward Jesolo in a white Lancia.
“Ricevuto,” I signed off, automatically reaching for the Beretta M12 under my seat. I turned to my partner and asked, “What are we going to do if we run into them?” His answer was cold and direct, “Shoot.”
My partner quickly shifted gears. My mind started reviewing all the different circumstances in which I could find myself in the next minutes. I was aware that our lives were in danger and realized that if we confronted four armed men, our chances were not good of staying alive. My partner was showing little emotion, and since his answer to my last question, he had not said a word.
Am I willing to die for this job and my country? was the question that arose in my mind. It was quickly answered by the words of the oath I had taken at the beginning of my service. I had promised to serve the country and the people of Italy and to protect them from any criminal acts or injustice, even by offering my life.
As our car turned into the main street of Jesolo, my right hand tightened on the grip of the M12. Am I ready to die? Am I ready to go back to meet my Heavenly Father? were the questions in my mind. I started thinking about my family, my life, and my testimony of the gospel. I pondered my weaknesses and almost instantly realized that my conscience was clean. I had no major regrets in my life and felt that I had apologized to all the people I had been unkind to. That thought gave me an incredible feeling of peace.
We did not confront the robbers that night. I concluded my one year of service in the police a few months later, never having to fire my gun. But I will never forget that winter night. It helped me realize how our Heavenly Father can call us back home at any time. I realized I wanted to be ready to leave this earth with the peace of a repentant and clean soul.

Yves also found a way to help several of his friends who wanted to share with each other what they were learning in the scriptures. They were attending church and seminary or institute, speaking when assigned and participating in lessons. But they wanted to talk with each other, youth to youth. So once a week they started reading the Book of Mormon together for about half an hour, and they started inviting others, especially some youth who were less active, to join them. Now they’ve been reading together for months, sometimes at one person’s house, sometimes at another’s.
“It started with my friends Larry Roseval, who’s in the Wanica Branch, and Saffira Zeegelaar from my branch. But now there are eight of us,” Yves says. “We read a chapter, talk about it, bear our testimony about it, and share something we learned during the week.”
These scripture readers have also encouraged each other in additional ways. For example, they challenged themselves to make fast Sundays more meaningful by fasting with a purpose. “Last fast Sunday we thought about specific people who are less active and fasted and prayed that they might return to full activity in the Church,” Yves explains.