Gospel Story Finder

This story happened in the USA.
Maya sliced the strawberries and added them to the bowl of fruit salad. Fruit was her favorite food. She loved all the bright colors. And she never had to worry about eating it!
Maya had a lot of food allergies. She had to be careful because eating the wrong food could make her really sick. When she was little, she drank some cow milk by accident and had trouble breathing. She had to go to the hospital. She didn’t want that to happen again.
Sometimes it was hard to have to eat different things than her friends and family. But she knew it was important to stay safe.
Maya carried the fruit salad to the counter. “The salad’s ready.”
Dad looked up from the pot he was stirring. “Great! Our guests will be here soon.”
Maya heard a knock at the door and ran to open it. The Johnson family and the missionaries smiled at her from the porch. The Johnsons were family friends. Maya was happy to see them again. She opened the door wide for everyone to come inside.
While they waited for dinner, one of the missionaries showed Maya a magic trick. She couldn’t figure out how he was pulling the coin out of her ear!
Soon it was time to eat. Brother Johnson said a prayer. Then they all lined up to fill their plates.
When it was Maya’s turn, she got a big scoop of fruit salad. She skipped over some food she knew had milk in it.
Then she picked up a big bag of chips and poured some onto her plate. They looked like the same kind of chips she had eaten before. She put one in her mouth.
But as she started to chew, she had a strong feeling. Check the ingredients, a voice said in her mind.
Maya stopped chewing. She looked at the list of ingredients on the bag. The chips had milk in them!
Maya grabbed a napkin and spat out the chip as fast as she could. Her eyes filled with tears. She hadn’t swallowed it. But would something bad still happen?
“Mom! Dad!” Maya rushed over to her parents. “I put a chip with milk in it in my mouth!”
“It’s OK,” Mom said. “Let’s get some medicine.” Maya swallowed the pill Mom handed her and took some deep breaths. Dad held Maya while they waited for the medicine to work.
After a few minutes, Mom said, “How do you feel?”
Maya still felt scared. But nothing felt wrong with her body. “I think I’m OK. But could I have a blessing?”
“Of course,” Dad said. “Let’s ask the missionaries to help.”
Maya sat in a chair, and Dad and the missionaries placed their hands on her head. They blessed her to be safe. Maya felt calm. All her bad feelings were gone.
“How did you know to check the ingredients on the bag?” Mom asked.
“I felt a warning from the Holy Ghost!”
Dad gave her a big hug. “I’m so glad you listened.”
Maya nodded. She knew that Heavenly Father loved her and cared about her.
Illustrations by Chrisanne Serafin

During a previous spring term at BYU, I attended a training class for would-be Book of Mormon teachers. It was a spring as beautiful as this one, and we were expected to reread the entire Book of Mormon. During the middle of the term I had to leave for several days to attend a law school conference in Florida. I thought I would see a beautiful new place, but monsoon-like rain kept me in for three days. After my meetings adjourned each day, I spent my time alone in the hotel room reading Ether, Mormon, and Moroni. I walked the floor reading to stay awake, as beds mean sleep to me. After completing the Book of Mormon this time, I wrote the following in my journal:

I feel to sing a song of thanksgiving for the Book of Mormon. I have spent hours reading and thrilled at the message of the brother of Jared, the prophet Ether, and the prophets Mormon and Moroni. I have thought deeply about faith, hope, and charity and how they interrelate. I have hope in Christ’s appearing and in my resurrection. That hope gives birth to faith and is likewise fed by the same—that he is my Redeemer and the Redeemer of all mankind. And through that faith and hope, I will continue to pray to be filled with His pure love—even charity. I want to be a participant in the covenant of God with his children that a Savior would be provided to redeem them from their sins. I want to be a part of the proclamation of that message.

Among many unsigned letters I have received was one of particular interest. It contained a twenty-dollar bill and a brief note which stated that the writer had come to my home many years ago. When there had been no response to the bell, he had tried the door and, finding it unlocked, had entered and walked about. On the dresser he saw a twenty-dollar bill, took it, and left. Through the years his conscience had bothered him, and he was now returning the money.
He did not include anything for interest for the period during which he had used my money. But as I read his pathetic letter, I thought of the usury to which he had subjected himself for a quarter of a century with the unceasing nagging of his conscience. For him there had been no peace until he had made restitution.

As a young man growing up in South Africa, I was blessed with a beautiful vegetable garden. It brought forth plentifully. Among the wonders of the garden were three lovely eggplants. Each was over three feet tall and produced large purple fruit of the highest quality.
One warm summer day I entered the garden to examine the plants and tend to the garden. Imagine my surprise as I approached the formidable eggplants to discover that one was missing! Upon closer examination I found only a short stem; the rest of the plant, leaves and all, was no-where to be seen. By and by I located the culprit: a six-inch armored caterpillar sporting bright yellow spots on each of its green segments. In a few short days it had consumed the entire plant. On that day my reaction was, “What a nasty, destructive caterpillar!” However, since then my understanding of science and the Creation has grown. I now understand that this was a necessary part of the caterpillar’s life cycle so that it could reach its full potential.
This concept of a metamorphosis interested me as a young boy: the possibility that a creature could change its appearance and abilities by obtaining nourishment and spending some time in a cocoon. The large caterpillar that ate my eggplant would become a beautiful butterfly. Instead of its slow crawling, it would soon fly. Instead of burdening my garden, it would soon contribute to the garden’s beauty and fruitfulness as it visited each flower in search of nectar, thus aiding pollination.

Going to a national jamboree may not seem like such a big deal for some Scouts, but for the Scouts of Troop 469, Fairport Ward, Rochester New York Palmyra Stake, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They were the first LDS troop from the northeast region to attend.
It took the Scouts and their families almost a year of hard work to raise the funds. But finally after many of the Scouts had participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant, the day arrived when they would hop in the car and camp with over 50,000 other Scouts and leaders from all over the world at Fort A.P Hill in Virginia. Not only did they have the opportunity to work on merit badges, compete in sports, and participate in a number of other activities, but they also enjoyed Church meetings with General Authorities who attended the jamboree. “I wish all young men in the Church could have heard their powerful message,” said Scout Jeff Rotz.
“Though the showers were cold and everyone had to get up at 6:30 A.M., it was really fun!” Jeff continued. “I felt as if every leader and Scout was my brother. If I hadn t come to this jamboree, I would have missed out on the chance of a lifetime.”

Though some friends were openly critical of Tiffani’s investigation of the Church, Catlin was genuinely curious. When Catlin started asking questions, Tiffani simply invited her to come to church and see for herself. Catlin left the meetings that first Sunday with a copy of the Book of Mormon and an appointment to meet with the sister missionaries. Catlin’s testimony grew steadily, and soon she wanted to be baptized. On March 3, 2007, Catlin was the first of the five to be baptized and confirmed.

I have experienced this for myself. I remember a time when a personal disappointment had left me exquisitely lonely. One day while searching the scriptures for consolation, I had the impression that I needed to focus on one particular verse. That verse led me to hundreds of others in what became a period of intense searching. But it wasn’t until three years later that another passage leaped out at me as if in neon. Only then was I given to understand what the Lord had been trying to teach me all that time about the power of the Atonement to ease our burdens. Some of the clearest promptings I have ever received have come while being immersed in the scriptures. They are a conduit for revelation. They teach us the language of the Spirit.

One day when I was quite young, I became unhappy with my mother and father and told them that I was going to run away. My wise parents helped me put together a little pack—a handkerchief with some clothes in it—and let me go. I walked down from the hill a little way from the house, feeling very brave. But the farther I got, the slower I walked. We lived out in the country, and it started to get dark and I started to get hungry. I decided home was pretty good. I turned around and went back home.
I’ve always admired my parents for allowing me to learn that lesson by myself. When my mother tells the story, she describes watching me go and crying. But she wanted to let me have that experience. When I got home, there was no punishment, just a loving welcome. I never needed to try that again, and I gained a greater appreciation for my parents and home.

“What do you want to do today?” Camille asked as she ran inside with her friends Jasmine and Deryn.
“My cousin showed me the funniest video!” Jasmine said. “We should watch it.”
“Awesome!” Camille said as she hurried to tell Mom that her friends were here. I wonder if I should tell Mom we’re on the computer, Camille thought. But she was already on her way back to the family room.
By the time she got back, Jasmine had already logged on to her favorite online video site. Deryn and Camille crowded around the computer, and the girls giggled as they watched a puppy chase after a tennis ball. When the video ended, the screen filled with links for other videos.
“Click that one!” Deryn said, pointing to a music video. “I love that singer!”
As the video played, Camille started to feel uncomfortable. She didn’t feel very good about the words or the dancing. She had liked the dog video, but this wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to watch.
“Let’s watch another one!” Deryn said, and Jasmine clicked another link.
Camille started to feel sick, but Deryn and Jasmine seemed to really like the videos—they were singing along and dancing—so she didn’t say anything while Jasmine and Deryn watched more and more videos.
When her friends went home, Camille wandered back to where Mom was working at her desk. “How are Jasmine and Deryn?” Mom asked.
“They’re good, but …” Camille paused.
Mom raised her eyebrows. “But what? Is something wrong?”
“We started watching videos online,” Camille said. “And at first they were OK, but then we started watching videos I didn’t feel good about. I just wanted to go play, but Jasmine and Deryn wanted to watch more. I didn’t know what to do.” She slumped down in a chair.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Mom said. “The Internet is good for lots of things, but sometimes just one click can take you somewhere you don’t want to be. We can also waste a lot of time without realizing it. What can we do to fix this for next time?” Mom asked.
Camille thought for a second, then said, “Watching a few videos is fine, but maybe after that I could come up with something else for us to do.”
“Great!” Mom said. “And if a video makes you uncomfortable, it’s important to say something. Never be afraid to stand up for yourself.”
“OK,” Camille said.
“That’s how you can do your part. But I can do my part too. How about we make a new family rule? Whenever your friends want to watch videos online, Dad or I have to log you on to the computer and be in the family room with you. That will help keep you and your friends safe. Can you agree to that?”
Camille nodded. “I think I know what to do next time.”
A few days later, Jasmine and Deryn came over after school again. “Hey, I found more music videos,” Deryn said. “We should watch them!”
Camille took a deep breath. “I don’t really like those videos,” she said. “But we can watch something else instead. I’ll go ask my mom to log us in.”
“I can just find them,” Jasmine said.
“No, Mom needs to,” Camille said, “She wants to make sure we watch good things online. And I do too.” She ran off to find Mom. After they’d watched a few videos, they could make smoothies or paint their nails. This way they could all have fun.

As you move from one priesthood service to another, you will see the Lord is in the work with you. I learned this from meeting an elders quorum president in a stake conference years ago. In the conference there were more than 40 names presented of men who were to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.

The stake president leaned over to me and whispered, “Those men were all less-active prospective elders.” In amazement, I asked the president what his program was to rescue these men.

He pointed to a young man in the back of the chapel. He said, “There he is. Most of these men have been brought back because of that elders quorum president.” He was on the back row, dressed casually, his legs stretched out with his battered boots crossed in front of him.

I asked the stake president to introduce me to him after the meeting. When we met, I told the young man I was surprised by what he had done and asked him how he did it. He shrugged his shoulders. He obviously didn’t think he deserved any credit.

Then he said softly, “I know every inactive guy in this town. Most of them have pickup trucks. I have a truck too. I wash my pickup where they wash theirs. In time, they become my friends.

“Then I wait until something goes wrong in their lives. It always does. They tell me about it. I listen and I don’t find fault. Then, when they say, ‘There is something wrong in my life. There just has to be something better than this,’ I tell them what is missing and where they can find it. Sometimes they believe me, and when they do, I take them with me.”

You can see why he was modest. It was because he knew he had done his small part and the Lord was doing the rest. It was the Lord who had touched the hearts of those men in their troubles. It was the Lord who had given them the feeling that there must be something better for them and a hope that they could find it.

The young man, who—like you—was a servant of the Lord, simply believed that if he did his small part, the Lord would help those men along the path to home and to the happiness only He could give them. This man also knew the Lord had called him as elders quorum president because he would do his part.

I love to read Latter-day Saint religious books. And because these books are not readily available in Nigeria, I borrow them from a friend. Desiring to return my friend’s books within a few days, I always carry them with me and use spare moments to read.
One Sunday I had a borrowed book with me as I attended sacrament meeting in the ward where I am assigned as high councilor. I read the book while I waited to give the bishop a message from the stake presidency. When the bishop arrived, he asked me to speak to his first counselor since he needed to greet some visitors. After passing the message to the first counselor, I took a seat on the stand.
No sooner had I sat down, however, than I realized my friend’s book was gone. With about five minutes before the meeting was to begin—and with the presiding authority seated on the stand—I thought I shouldn’t leave. Sick about disappointing my friend, I thus started my ordeal in the longest sacrament meeting I have ever attended.
I hoped that time would pass quickly, but every item on the meeting agenda took what seemed like a lifetime. I was restless, praying silently that God would keep the book safe. Truly, the talks were not long, but an unreasonable anxiety had taken over my mind. Five minutes before the end of the meeting, I could bear it no more. I passed a note to the first counselor asking if I had left the book by him. I wished he would nod his head yes. He shook it instead.
I did not close my eyes during the benediction but closely monitored the two remaining places where I thought the book might be. Meanwhile, I decided that, if necessary, I would go to the Sunday School classes to announce that I had lost a book.
Surprisingly, however, when sacrament meeting concluded, my feelings had changed radically, and I wasn’t worried about the book. The Holy Spirit showed me—in just a few short moments of spiritual enlightenment—that my concerns were misplaced. I learned that what truly mattered was whether or not I would protect those things that God had put into my care. My mind immediately listed what I could remember God entrusting to me: my soul, my family, those I home teach, those I should share the gospel with, ward members I serve, my departed ancestors who need temple work, and so on.
I did find the book after what became an important soul-searching experience. But at the end of the longest sacrament meeting, I also found areas of my life that needed improvement. And I found the commitment to work on the priorities Heavenly Father desires.

Based on this knowledge of the Lord’s mercy and power, my husband, children, and I chose this family motto: “It will all work out.” Yet how can we say those words to one another when deep troubles come and answers aren’t readily available?

When our delightful, worthy, 21-year-old daughter, Georgia, was hospitalized in critical condition following a bike accident, our family said, “It will all work out.” As I flew immediately from our mission in Brazil to Indianapolis, Indiana, USA, to be with her, I clung to our family motto. However, our lovely daughter passed into the spirit world just hours before my plane landed. With grief and shock running through our family like a current, how could we look at one another and still say, “It will all work out”?

Following Georgia’s mortal death, our feelings were raw, we struggled, and still today we have moments of great sorrow, but we hold to the understanding that no one ever really dies. Despite our anguish when Georgia’s physical body stopped functioning, we had faith that she went right on living as a spirit, and we believe we will live with her eternally if we adhere to our temple covenants. Faith in our Redeemer and His Resurrection, faith in His priesthood power, and faith in eternal sealings let us state our motto with conviction.

My younger sister, Hannah, was also studying about the Godhead that week. She said that when her teacher talked about God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost being one person, she knew that it was not true. She tried to shut out what was being said by not listening. After Bible class, she went up to her teacher and said, “Joseph Smith said he saw two Personages.” Her teacher was taken aback and asked her to explain what she meant. Hannah explained our church’s teaching about the Godhead, and her teacher listened and was respectful. Afterward, the teacher told our mom that she was proud of Hannah for sharing her beliefs with her. Her teacher even came to watch Hannah get baptized at the beach later that year.

Elder Pierre Sewell and Elder Keown Dyson, whose mothers are sisters, received their calls in March 2020 just as the country was going into lockdown. Elder Dyson was excited to receive his call to serve in the Jamaica Kingston Mission, which is where he had always wanted to go. Elder Sewell had also wanted to serve somewhere far away but thought there was little chance of that, now that his cousin was going to Jamaica! However, just a few days later, he was thrilled to see he would serve in the Philippines Legazpi Mission, Tagalog speaking.
Having started his mission 21 July 2020, Elder Sewell’s day now consists of getting up early, personal study and language study with a long wait before companion study because his companion is in Wyoming! Two three-hour Zoom lessons follow, finishing at 10 p.m. Elder Dyson’s day also starts early but with teachers based in their homes near the Preston MTC, the lessons do not finish so late. His companion is from Poole, UK and the other members of the district are in seven other European countries. Elder Dyson has already had the opportunity to teach remotely.
Many mission experiences now are using technology to teach, and the physical distance does not seem to matter.
Elder Sewell says this is the generation of technology and the Church has been prepared for this time. Due to current restrictions and visa hold-ups, the two cousins are to be temporarily assigned to missions in the UK, Elder Dyson to London and Elder Sewell to Manchester. Both are happy to serve and work on the Lord’s timetable.
Both elders received their temple endowments on 25 August 2020, saying it was a very special experience and they really felt the spirit. They felt blessed to attend the London England Temple, which had just reopened for live endowments. The only patrons in attendance were the two of them and their respective parents.
Despite the pandemic, missionary work is progressing. We can see the Lord’s hand not only in providing well-prepared missionaries but also in providing tools to reach more of our Heavenly Father’s children than ever before.

Things were going wonderfully as the first year of my mission went by. Then, when I was serving in Córdoba, Argentina, I received some sad news from home: my father was very ill. He had recently undergone surgery, and the doctors had found that his illness was much advanced, in the terminal stage.
The mission president decided that I should go home, visit my father, and return to the mission field the next day. So I went home and found my father on the verge of death, most of the time unconscious and immobile. I spent most of my time at his bedside. Those were hours of sorrow, of peace, and of the abundant companionship of the Spirit. All my thoughts were centered on the Lord and His great plan.
At some point my father regained consciousness. He looked at me but did not recognize me. However, as I began to express how much I loved him and how grateful I was to be his son, he realized he was listening to his eldest child, the missionary. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and making great effort to communicate, he said, “Your mother is a saintly woman; she is our example.” Then I clearly heard these words from his lips: “Even if you don’t have anything to eat, always pay your tithing.”
He did not say much more. I wrote down his words in my journal, left the house, and returned to the mission field. A few hours later my father passed away.

I also understand Joseph Smith’s wanting to be alone as he prayed. On another occasion a few years later, I was in a similar situation, this time with a young man I didn’t know. I was nervous about praying in front of him, so I waited for him to go to bed so I could kneel and pray without him watching me.
But he wouldn’t go to bed, so I finally knelt and prayed and got into my sleeping bag. When he got into bed a few minutes later, he said, “Lynn, do you always pray like that?”
“Yes, I try to. If I ever hurry and get into bed forgetting to pray, I get out of bed and kneel and pray.”
He said, “I should do that.”

One such moment came to me as a young basketball player. The game was close—hotly contested—when the coach called me from the bench to run a key play. For some reason which I shall never understand, I took the pass and dribbled the ball right through the opposing team. I jumped high toward the basket; and, as the basketball left my fingertips, I came to the abrupt realization that I was shooting for the wrong basket. I offered the shortest prayer I have ever spoken: “Dear Father, don’t let that ball go in.” My prayer was answered, but my ordeal was just beginning. I heard a loud cheer erupt from the adoring fans: “We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson … OUT!” The coach obliged.

Along with setting goals, it’s important to Taylor to keep his priorities straight. He tells about one of his teachers at school who brought a glass jar to class one day. Taylor explains: “She filled it up with pretty good-sized rocks and held it up and asked, ‘Is this jar full?’ And we all said, ‘Yeah, it’s filled right to the top.’”

The teacher then filled the jar with smaller pebbles, shook it a bit to let them settle, then poured in more pebbles until they filled the jar. Again she asked the class, “Is the jar full?”

They said yes.

She then poured sand into the jar. Letting the sand sift to the bottom, she finally filled the jar to the top. Now it was full.

Her point was that the large rocks are the important things in life; you must put them in first, or they won’t fit. The smaller rocks and the sand—the less important things—can fit around them.

“To me, those important things in life are my family, the gospel, and my friends,” says Taylor. “The smaller ones are still important, like your schooling, your house. If we put the important things into our life first, and that’s our priority, then everything else will fall into place. If we put the other things in first, we won’t have room for the important things in life. And for me right now, the first one is serving a mission and living worthy to serve.”

I would like to share a personal experience from my life that illustrates this principle. In my early youth, pride and peer influence began creeping into my life as it does with many adolescents. I began to take offense easily and was quick to anger. In the 1980's the phrase "burn'd ya" was a way to shown how clever you were at putting others down in a way that made them feel frazzled and unable to defend themselves against your clever criticism. Being good at "burning" people fed one's pride and served to build an increasingly rebellious nature. I succumbed to these temptations and at times responded in hurtful ways to my parents and siblings. Despite this great weakness, I had developed a pattern of consistent personal scripture study and prayer which allowed the Holy Ghost to prick my conscience often. Each time I would get angry and arrogant I would feel disappointed in myself. I finally vowed with intense personal commitment that I would quit it.

Overcoming this weakness, however, was not that easy. Day after day I would try to control my anger by sheer will power. Day after day I would falter. My personal prayers began to include petitions to the Lord to help me with this weakness and these petitions became more and more sincere as they continued for perhaps 3 or even 4 years. By the time I was approaching 16 years of age I still hadn't completely overcome this weakness. Sure I had made some progress but came to the frightening realization that although I was doing my very best it just wasn't enough. I began feeling helpless against this obstacle and knew that it stood in the way of my exaltation. My prayers then began sincerely acknowledging that I just couldn't fix it and that I desperately needed his help. I humbly began asking for a miracle.

What occurred throughout the next months happened quietly and almost imperceptibly until one day I was in a situation that normally would have offended me and made me angry. I recall saying to myself "Wow, I don't feel offended or angry at all". When this continued month after month I realized that a miracle had occurred for me. Not only did I not get angry but I had become very patient -- my weakness had been turned into a strength. I humbly witness to you that it was the grace of my Savior that performed this transformation. I testify that "it is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do."[20]

I dreaded testimony meeting each fast Sunday. Time moved slower than Gertie, my pet turtle, especially on those sticky hot summer days when folks’d rather lean back and wait for somebody else to do the talking. The waiting always made me squirm in my seat. Sometimes I’d watch the big wall clock and time how long it took until somebody’s conscience finally dragged him up the aisle.
Most of the time, though, so many people wanted to bear their testimonies that the meeting went five or ten minutes over the usual time. Some of them would start crying in the middle of their testimony, and that really drove me nuts.
But the worst part was Molly Prentiss. She had been bearing her testimony almost every month for two years. She always used fancy words and went back to her seat with a contented smile on her face.
One day I got a great idea: I wrote up a testimony that even a returned missionary would be proud of and practiced it for days until I had it memorized. I even practiced how I’d walk to the front with just the right combination of confidence and humility. I hadn’t ever born my testimony before, but how tough could it be? I’d just walk up, deliver my brilliant speech, then go back to my seat amid gasps of admiration from the whole ward. Yup—that’d show Molly Prentiss, all right.
On fast Sunday, before we left for church, I stood in front of the full-length mirror and practiced one last time for good measure. Wow! Even I was impressed! For once even my braids stayed neatly in place.
I decided I’d save the best for last and give my performance right at the end of the meeting. What I didn’t count on was how many butterflies could hatch in my stomach in such a short amount of time. When the moment came, I tried to boldly walk up the aisle, but my confidence had become about as solid as warm gelatin.
It was when I was nearly to the pulpit that Sister Johnson and I noticed each other for the first time. Both of us had thought we were the only one headed for the front. I knew that I should let her go first, but I also knew that I would never make it back up that aisle if I had to sit down. Sister Johnson took matters into her own hands and with an understanding smile waved me on and sat in an empty seat on the front row.
When I stepped up to the pulpit, I was suddenly gripped with panic. There must have been a thousand people at church that day, and that meant that there were two thousand eyes staring at me! I opened my mouth, only to discover that the butterflies in my stomach had flown off with the wonderful speech I had prepared. I couldn’t remember one word of it. I closed my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, hoping I could find the words better that way. When that didn’t work, I opened my eyes again, and there was Sister Johnson down on the front row, smiling encouragingly.
That was when the ultimate humiliation happened. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. And try as I might to hold them back, they burst out and flooded down my cheeks. Knowing how bad my freckles stand out when I cry, and feeling a strand of hair suddenly spring from a braid, there was only one thing I could do. I turned and stumbled back down the aisle to the pew where my family was sitting. Mama put a comforting arm around my shoulders, and I heard Sister Johnson saying something about how her testimony affects her the same way sometimes. But there was no consoling the burning embarrassment I felt. I vowed then and there that I would never try to bear my testimony again for the rest of my life.
I was surprised that when church was over, no one from my Primary class teased me about what had happened. Molly Prentiss gave me a sympathetic look.
The next few weeks were busy ones. School started again, and then my eighth birthday came along almost before I realized it. After my baptism and confirmation, a few things began to change. I started getting up a little earlier each morning to read the Book of Mormon before I headed off to school. That was tough because I hate getting up in the morning, but I was determined to make it all the way through that book.
I also started fasting each month on fast Sunday. There aren’t many things I like to do more than eat, so I slipped up sometimes, but even so, I started noticing a difference in how I felt about testimony meeting.
I began paying more attention to what each speaker was saying, and that made the meeting a lot more interesting. I found out that Sister Johnson had joined the Church when she was twenty-six years old. I thought she’d been a member all her life! And I loved it when old Brother Badger bore his testimony. He had exciting stories to tell about his life and about miracles he had witnessed.
I finished the Book of Mormon early the next summer. There were great stories and teachings in it, and I was happy that I’d reached my goal. But Moroni had written in the last chapter that if you read the Book of Mormon and want to know if it’s true, you should ponder it in your heart and pray to Heavenly Father about it. He promised that if you do that with faith in Jesus Christ and with a sincere heart, the Holy Ghost will help you know that it’s true. I decided to try it out for myself.
The rest of that week I prayed every morning and night. Sometimes I even said a quick prayer in my head when I was at school, but I never saw a vision or even heard a voice that told me the Book of Mormon was true. I felt like giving up, but I really wanted to know, so I just kept on praying.
The next fast Sunday, I fasted to know if the Book of Mormon was true. I spent a lot of time on my knees, and I reread some of my favorite parts. It was amazing how seldom I thought about food.
Testimony meeting was going along great that day. I was even happy for Molly Prentiss when she went up and bore her testimony. Then Brother Badger went to the front to speak. His quiet voice trembled as he spoke of his great love for the scriptures and how he knew of the truth of the gospel.
As he spoke, a strange feeling started in a little spot in my chest. It got warmer and bigger until my whole body was filled with glowing, tingly warmth. When he finished, that warmth seemed to pick me up and carry me right to the pulpit. The lump in my throat loosened into a few words that came right from my soul: “I know that the Book of Mormon is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”