Gospel Story Finder

In circumstances such as these, one’s searching thoughts go back over all of the years of one’s life and even beyond. I am of only the third generation in the Church. My grandfather as a boy was baptized in the summer of 1836 in Ontario, Canada. His widowed mother eventually brought her two boys to Springfield, Illinois. From there my grandfather walked to Nauvoo, where he listened to the Prophet Joseph Smith. When the exodus of our people occurred in 1846, he was an eighteen-year-old youth of strength and capacity and faith. He was a skilled builder of wagons and a blacksmith. He was among those whom President Young requested remain for a time in Iowa to assist those still on the westward trail. He married in 1848 and set out for this valley in the spring of 1850.
Somewhere along that wearisome trail, his young wife sickened and died. With his own hands he dug a grave, split logs to make a coffin, lovingly buried her, then tearfully took their eleven-month-old child in his arms and marched on to this valley.
He was among those who repeatedly were called by President Young to undertake a variety of difficult assignments incident to the establishment of our people in these mountain valleys. He served as president of the Millard Stake of Zion when there were only a handful of stakes, and when it included a vast area of central Utah, traveling thousands of miles by horse and buggy in the discharge of his ministry. He gave so generously of his substance in the establishment of schools that his once substantial estate was small at the time of his death.

1 I was living in Germany, and World War II had just ended. We had little food and few clothes, especially shoes. My mother felt that it would be safer and less lonely if she, my sister, and I moved to my grandparents’ home in Tubingen.
2 Our first winter there was very cold. We didn’t have enough coats and shoes for everyone, so family members took turns going out for wood and food.
One winter morning new snow had fallen. The sun was shining, and everything looked downy soft. I wanted to go outside and play, but I knew that I couldn’t because I had no shoes.
3 Whenever I had wanted to go outside before, Grandpa had carried me on his back. Once, Aunt Bertha had wrapped me in blankets and taken me on a short sleigh ride. But I wanted to go out in the snow all by myself and play.
4 I could hear other children playing outside. I pressed my face against the frost-covered window and dreamed of being with them. Softly I said, “Oh, please let me have a pair of shoes.” I heard the door behind me close, and I wondered who else had been in the room.
5 That night I prayed very hard for a pair of shoes, and I dreamed about shoes all night.
6 When I woke up the next morning, a heavy brown package was on the foot of my bed. I carefully opened it. Inside was a beautiful pair of wooden shoes just my size! No one in my family seemed to know who had left them there.
7 I begged to go outside right away. Mother put a heavy pair of socks on my feet, then the new shoes, and out I went.
Grandfather stood on the porch, watching me play in the snow. He had a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. His secret present had been made with a great deal of love.

As a young man, I had many questions about the Church. Some of my questions were sincere. Others were not and reflected the doubts of others.
I often discussed my questions with my mother. I am sure that she could sense that many of my questions were sincere and from my heart. I think she was a little disappointed in those questions that were less sincere and more argumentative. However, she never put me down for having questions. She would listen and try to answer them. When she sensed that she had said all that she could and that I still had questions, she would say something like this: “David, that is a good question. While you are searching and reading and praying for the answer, why don’t you do the things you know you should and not do the things you know you should not?” This became the pattern for my search for truth. Through study, prayer, and keeping the commandments, I found that there are answers to all of my important questions. I also found that for some questions, continuing faith, patience, and revelation are needed.
Mom put the responsibility of developing faith and finding answers on me. She knew that the important answers would come from my seeking truth the way that Heavenly Father has prescribed. She knew that I needed to find the truth. She knew that I needed to be sincere in my questions and be willing to act on what I already knew to be true. She knew that I needed to study and pray and that I needed to develop greater patience as I sought answers from the Lord. Willingness to be patient is part of our search for truth and part of the Lord’s pattern of revealing truth.
Over time I came to know that my mother was teaching me Heavenly Father’s pattern for seeking truth. Faith grew, answers began to come, and I accepted a mission call.

Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.

When Grandma and Grandpa Johns left to serve a mission to the Bern Switzerland Temple, their family members resolved to follow their example. In their own way, they would be missionaries, too.
Kyle was in the fourth grade and took the challenge very seriously. When he asked his mother what he could do to be a missionary, she answered, “You have to find someone, be a good friend to him, and then wait and see what happens.”
When the new school year began, Kyle looked around at the members of his class. Pedro, a boy from Mexico, looked like he needed a special friend. Soon Kyle and Pedro were talking and playing together. Kyle invited Pedro to his home to play, and he often went to Pedro’s home.
Because Sunday was a special day for Kyle and his family, he and his brothers did not play in their neighborhood or have friends over to their home on that day. Instead, their family went to church and enjoyed family activities together afterward.
Pedro didn’t understand. His family didn’t have rules like Kyle’s family, and he could do whatever he wanted to on Sunday. Kyle’s mother suggested that he invite Pedro to Primary. Maybe then he would understand why Kyle’s family chose to do what they did on Sunday. Kyle told Pedro, “Come with me to Primary, and we can be together on Sunday mornings. You can ride with us, and we’ll take you home afterward.”
Pedro was interested. He asked Kyle to come with him to ask his father for permission.
When Kyle asked Pedro’s father, he answered, “If Pedro wants to go, then it is all right with me.”
The next Sunday found Kyle and Pedro together in Primary. The teacher was very kind and welcoming. When the class was ending, he gave an assignment to the class from the scriptures for the following Sunday. Kyle had his own copies of the scriptures and took them to Primary each Sunday. He was eager to do the assignment the teacher made. So was Pedro, but he didn’t have any scriptures of his own. He went to his father and asked if he could have a set. Even though Pedro and his family were not members of the Church, his father saw how much it meant to him to have his own set of scriptures. He decided that they were all good books and bought them for Pedro.
The boys continued to attend Primary together. One Sunday, the teacher gave the boys a list of scriptures to study and asked them to have their parents explain the meanings to them. He made new scripture assignments each week for several weeks.
As they studied, Pedro and Kyle became more and more interested in the gospel. They had a lesson on baptism and learned that the Lord requires it of everyone. They also learned how it is administered and by whom. As they helped Pedro with his reading assignments in preparation for his Primary class each week, Pedro’s family found this information new and interesting.
One day, Pedro asked Kyle, “Do you think my dad would let me be baptized?”
They decided that they would go ask Pedro’s father together. Imagine how surprised Pedro’s father was when they walked up to him and Kyle asked, “Can Pedro be baptized into my church?”
Pedro’s father said, “I’ll have to think about it before I give you an answer. I know a member of your church. I’d like to talk with him before I give my answer.”
Pedro’s father talked with his friend, who happened to be serving in Kyle’s ward as the mission leader. Soon an appointment was made for the missionaries to begin teaching Pedro’s family the gospel. The family studied and worked with the missionaries to gain testimonies. Pedro and his brother were ready to be baptized first. As their father and mother watched them enter the waters of baptism, the Spirit whispered to them that what was taking place was true and correct. They decided to prepare themselves for baptism.
As Kyle rode home with his family after the baptism of his friend, he told his mother, “Tomorrow Pedro and I will look around our class and find another person who needs a friend. Then we will invite him to Primary!”
Kyle was very happy to write to his grandma and grandpa in Switzerland and tell them of his experience as a missionary. He ended his letter by saying, “Everyone can be a missionary. You just have to be a good friend and then wait and see what happens!”

Be original. Make the most of the road show theme by avoiding any obvious connections or trite treatments. For example, suppose the general road show theme is “Halos, Heroes, and ________.” First think of all the approaches that other wards or branches might use—angels, devils, pioneers, space heroes, etc. Then think of something different, something original. How about “Halos, Heroes, and HEADHUNTERS!”
How about a team of missionaries trying to convert savage headhunters in the jungle? The headhunters earn their “halos,” the missionaries become the “heroes,” and you’re off!
Back to “Halos, Heroes, and Headhunters.”
The problem: (Presented in the prologue in front of the curtain through a song, dance, and a few short lines.) A team of lady missionaries (“Salvation Marmees”) are off to the jungle again to convert the savage headhunters. The prospects look grim: “We’ve been trying for ten years and haven’t converted them yet!”
The conflict: Curtains open as a safari expedition enters the “jungle” from audience, looking for big game (song and dance). Safari is captured by headhunters and thrown into a stew or shrinking pot (another song and dance). Missionaries show up to convert headhunters (song.) Savages are angered and decide to eat missionaries (song and dance) as well as safari people.
The resolution: The terrifying ape of the jungle crashes through fake vines onto “jungle stage” and carries off savage chief. “That’s the fifth chief we’ve lost this week, and you’re gonna be next.” “Not me, you!” “Not me, you!” etc.
In desperation, savage headhunters decide to join the missionaries rather than be dinner for the gorilla (song and dance). They earn their “halos” just in time to take safari folks from shrinking pot. Of course the safari people now consider the missionaries their heroes for saving them and converting the headhunters, and everyone is happy (finale; song and dance). Curtains close.
Notice that this road show has a main plot (missionaries versus savages) and a subplot (savages versus safari) for added excitement. But the story and action are still simple to follow.
On paper, this plot (of an actual award-winning road show) may sound “corny.” On stage, with fluorescent-painted scenery, fluorescent makeup, black lights, and clever costuming, it was an audience winner.
Countermelodies are impressive too, that is, when two groups are singing different melodies and different words at the same time.
For example, the childhood tune, “Horsey, Horsey” was used effectively in “Halos, Heroes, and Headhunters.” The missionaries sang the first verse alone:
Natives, natives, join our group.
Before you make us into soup.
So let us shake your hand
And be your friend,
You’ll get a halo in the end!
Then the headhunters sang:
We’d like to take our salt and pepper,
We’d like to sharpen up our knives,
We’d like to have you for our dinner,
You’d better run to save your lives.
Then both groups sang their own verses at the same time.
A ward in Norfolk, Virginia, used simple effects like a carbon dioxide tank (these can be rented inexpensively) to make “smoke” appear at the base of a spaceship. The “Halos, Heroes, and Headhunters” crew had steam boil up and over the stew pot as the safari men were thrown in!
The use of a black light is very effective also. As the curtains opened on “Halos, Heroes, and Headhunters,” the scenery painted in fluorescent paint shone so beautifully under the black lights that the audience applauded the set!
9. And finally, remember imagination and creativity. Use appropriate humor. Puns are effective because they are short and easy to understand. The action should produce meaningful humor, not slapstick comedy. For example, the “Headhunter” script called for a stew pot or “shrinking pot,” into which three large safari men were thrown at the show’s beginning. At the end of the show, out came the three boys—only this time they were replaced by three short boys wearing the larger clothing so it dragged on the floor. The only dialogue was one line to their rescuers, “You came just in time!” No other explanation was necessary. The audience got the point and the humor, and they loved it!

Early in our marriage, my husband and I went running together—an activity I loved but he did not. When I ran alone, I would often play a game to help me push myself to run farther. I would tell myself, “You only have to run to that stop sign.” And once I would get there, I’d realize I could go a little farther and run to another checkpoint.
During our first run together, I thought this game could help my husband. I told him, “We have to run just to that stop sign, and then we can stop.” Once we got there, I pointed out how we still had some extra energy and could go a little farther. But he was not thrilled by the idea.
So, we stopped running.

This story happened in Ghana.
I am a child of God, and He has sent me here …
You have a loud voice, Eric.
I think it’s a nice voice.
Thanks! I want to learn to sing better.
The next week …
I have a gift for you. It’s a hymnbook so you can learn more Church songs.
Wow! Thank you.
Teach me to walk in the light of His love …
Hope of Israel, rise in might! With the sword of truth and light …
Sister Kaku just called. She asked if you two wanted to sing in the choir for stake conference.
Yes!
We’re so happy you are in our choir!
Thanks!
We love to sing about Jesus.
You did a great job.
Singing makes me happy. I think it makes Jesus happy too!
“For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me” (Doctrine and Covenants 25:12).
Illustrations by Jared Beckstrand

The operation on the infected leg of the Prophet Joseph Smith gives us a story about nobility and the comfort that comes from faith in a loving father. There is also another, less well-known lesson hidden in this story. The doctor attending Joseph at the end of the ordeal is sometimes portrayed as a humble country doctor with uncertain skills. But Elder Neal A. Maxwell pointed out that this was not the case, citing Dr. LeRoy S. Wirthlin, a Latter-day Saint doctor who researched the event:
The medical doctor in final attendance . . . was Dr. Nathan Smith, founder of the Dartmouth Medical School. He brought two doctors and several medical students with him to attend to young Joseph. . . . Dr. Nathan Smith was highly qualified, and he was using a very advanced technique. Thus “the only man in America who could save [Joseph’s] leg was just five miles away.”1
Elder Maxwell then went on to explain how Dr. Smith happened to be in the vicinity of Joseph Smith’s home because his plans to leave the area were “delayed by a typhoid epidemic.”2
In addition to the academic and spiritual knowledge you are gaining at BYU, the skills you are developing are also very important—though, like Dr. Smith, you probably do not now understand how important they will be, nor to whom they will be valuable. When Dr. Smith’s skills were needed, the Lord managed the circumstances to make them available to Joseph when and where they were critically needed.
Skill, even specialized skill, plays an important role in the Lord’s plans. We are told that the Lord often answers our prayers through the ministrations of our family, friends, neighbors, and church leaders. In the case of Joseph’s leg, it was a stranger who had the necessary skill to save his leg.

A Dog Came, Too “Our Dog” traveled across the American continent in 1793 with explorer Alexander Mackenzie. Not a pet, Our Dog retrieved game, guarded the explorers at night, and warned them of bears, wolves, even a two-footed intruder! There wasn’t room for him in the canoes, so he ran along the shore, through forests, and over rocky ground, often miserable from bugs, sore feet, fatigue, and hunger.Ainslie Manson6–10 years

Wendy Feliz, 14, and her twin brother, Wellington, do not have the luxury of being able to talk with their mother. Wendy and Wellington are both deaf.
Wendy and Wellington both know that their mother loves them. She takes excellent care of them and kisses them every day. But they can’t really talk to her in any significant way because their mother only speaks Spanish. Both Wendy and Wellington know American sign language and can read and write only in English.
A few months ago, Vanessa Bruno came into their lives. Vanessa had returned from her mission and had just been called as the Young Women president in the Manhattan Deaf Branch. Vanessa is originally from Colombia and, of course, speaks Spanish. Having lived in the United States for half a dozen years, she also speaks English. And she has learned sign language, so she can talk with Wendy and Wellington. As a new YW president, Vanessa was visiting every girl in the deaf branch. When she came to Wendy’s house, it soon became clear to everyone that Vanessa was something of a miracle. For the first time, Wellington and Wendy could talk with their mother. Wellington wanted to know why they were born deaf.
Vanessa said, “He began to ask questions about the family. Why are they deaf? Why was he losing his vision? Their mother began to explain that her father’s family have people that are deaf and blind. She said she was so grateful I was there because I can let them know how much she loves them and how grateful she is that the missionaries came to their house.”
Through Vanessa, their mother was able to tell them stories about their great-grandfather from Puerto Rico, the one who had 43 children. Wendy explains, “My mother spoke it in Spanish to Vanessa. Vanessa interpreted and told me the story. She changed it from Spanish to English and helped me write it down and everything. That’s the first time I had heard that story. Wow, I couldn’t believe it. I was quite shocked. I really liked it a lot to have Vanessa talk to my mother and interpret for me.”
Wendy and Wellington were baptized more than two years ago after being taught the gospel by missionaries. Wendy says, “I felt wonderful. I felt proud to be a daughter of Heavenly Father. I didn’t know that I was a daughter of God until then. I felt chills. All the sins in my life were just washed away.”
Through the gospel, Wendy is learning more about her family here on earth and about being part of a great eternal family in the gospel.

My teacher was out of the room, helping other students. Some of the rest of us who didn’t need to use the computers were messing around—walking around, reading, goofing off. I was at my desk, quietly drawing a comic page I had been working on.
Jason* came over and said, “Will you draw this for me?” He pointed to a picture in our social studies book that he wanted to use for an assignment.
When I asked why, he replied, “I can’t draw very well, so can you draw this for me? The teacher won’t know it was you, I swear.”
I thought, What should I do? He knows I’m a good artist, but this just doesn’t seem honest.
“Ehhhh, no,” I said.
“Why not? Please, man,” he begged.
“Because this isn’t right. I don’t want to,” I told him.
“OK, if you can tell me five reasons why it’s not right, I won’t bug you anymore.”
“Look,” I said, “why can’t you do it? Just do your best. It isn’t like he’s going to give you a bad grade for a not-so-good picture. Just try.”
“But …” he started, then trailed off and walked away from my desk.
It was really hard to make that choice. I thought that if I didn’t draw the picture, he wouldn’t like me and I couldn’t be his friend. But now he’s just like normal. I’m glad I made the right choice.
Austin Lee Ballard, age 11Rexburg, Idaho

When I was eight years old, Papa died. It wasn’t easy without Papa there anymore. Even with my older brothers and sisters, who helped out a lot, there were still eight children to feed and take care of. Mama worked long hours with us in the cornfield. Sometimes when the rest of us were eating supper, Mama went outside and shucked corn. We didn’t know it, but she was using that time to pray and fast. She didn’t want my older brothers to see her fast, because sometimes they made fun of her religious beliefs.
One day while Mama was outside meditating and shucking corn, she was prompted to go and visit an elderly widower who lived down the street. She found two missionaries there, and they taught her the gospel. She received answers to her concerns about the death of my father and about what happens after death. She came home very excited.
When my brothers found out about it, they were upset and began to laugh at her. And when Papa’s folks found out about it, they, too, were bitterly opposed. I couldn’t understand why they caused so much trouble about it.
Mama decided to give up the new religion. It was causing too much friction in our home. The beautiful truths just were not worth it.
Mama was never the same. She could not deny the things she had heard. She tried hard to convince my brothers, but they just wouldn’t listen. I did. And I had a warm feeling inside me when I went into the waters of baptism the same day Mama was baptized.

In March 1939 the German army swiftly occupied Czechoslovakia. Regular missionary activity again ceased. In May, as the Prague Branch was meeting to celebrate Mother’s Day, a young German officer entered the room. The congregation froze, expecting the worst. But the officer explained that he was a member of the Church and had come to worship. He bore his testimony—not to enemies of his country, but to friends of his religion.

It was on Monday, 10 August 2020—around 8 p.m.—I was in a hurry to leave the office and rush home before the 9 p.m. curfew, which was set by the government as a safety measure to reduce the spread of the coronavirus.
I changed into my riding gear: beginning at my feet, then my knee guards, my jacket, and then reflector straps. I grabbed my helmet and headed out of the office. My motorbike was all alone in the dimly lit parking lot. Everyone else had already gone home, I thought, “maybe they are having dinner with their families right now”. I put on my helmet and the gloves, sat astride my motorbike, and turn on the ignition—Oh, I loved the sound of that Suzuki engine. Off I went as I waved goodbye to the security guard.
Over the years I have been riding the same road to work—I have ridden it so long that I have memorized the entire route, the bumps, a corner, even where the potholes are. That night, time was not on my side so I figured I should rush to the supermarket next to my house before it closed so that I could grab something to eat. Down the hill I descended—I think I was doing 70 kph—when suddenly I saw a monkey in the middle of my lane. I wanted to swerve but there was an oncoming vehicle in the other lane, also in a hurry to get home before curfew. I stepped on the rear brakes and gently tried to slow the bike, but I lost control, went airborne, and landed on the tarmac—flat on my stomach. The bike made several rolls and slid off the road.
For a moment I couldn’t hear anything but a buzzing sound. I could not feel my body. I tried to raise my head, but it was too heavy. I thought to myself, “I am either dead or paralyzed.” A few moments later, I heard someone ask if I was okay, and another surprised voice declared, “It’s a lady rider!” I tried again to raise my head and managed to look up. But all I could see were pieces of my beautiful motorbike scattered over the tarmac.
These good Samaritans helped me up and took me on the side of the road. They asked me to sit, relax, and to confirm if I was feeling pain anywhere in my body. They picked up my motorbike and moved it off the road, and I could hear one of them saying, “From the look of the bike, the lady must be badly injured.”
I stood up and noticed I was not in pain. I could walk, I could talk, I could also move my hands without feeling any pain. I was perfectly fine.
It dawned on me that I miraculously had escaped any injuries—even worse, death. I sat back and asked myself “If I were to die today, am I prepared to meet my maker?” Well, the honest answer was, “No. I wasn’t.” That part scared me the most, not the idea of dying but the fact that I was not prepared.
As a Latter-day Saint, I remembered how many times I have been counseled by leaders of the Church to be ready at all times just like the five virgins described in Matthew 25:1–13. I realized I had put more focus on worldly things than on things eternal. “It was time to change all this,” I reckoned. “So, what do I need to do, Lord?” I asked.
Elder Kim B. Clark of the Seventy once said, “‘Look unto Jesus Christ in every thought. Doubt not. Fear not’. This is a call to trust the Lord completely, to surrender our will and to yield our hearts to Him and through His redeeming power to become like Him.”1
I determined that what I need to do is to offer a sincere prayer to the Lord, to repent of my sins every day, to feast on His word, to keep His commandments, to partake of the sacrament, to keep His Sabbath holy, and to worship in His holy temple as often as I can.
Since that day of the crash, I strive to do these simple acts of faith—following Elder Clark’s advice: “Look unto Jesus Christ in every thought. Doubt not. Fear not.” I testify I have felt the love of my Heavenly Father drawing me closer and closer to Him and I have felt the sanctifying influence of the Holy Ghost as the days go by.

I had always dreamed of having family home evenings like the ones I saw in Church pictures. But after my husband and I adopted a beautiful little girl, she did not want to join in. So we realized we had to make some changes in our family home evenings to reach her.
How grateful I am for the family home evening ideas published in the Liahona. Now our daughter is the first to want to hold family home evening and wishes we held it every day.

My first glimpse of Craig Record was from a distance. He was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, leather breastplate and kilt, sandals and shin guards (also of leather), a blue cape, and a tall, white-plumed helmet. In any other crowd, he would have stood out just a little. But he was on stage at the Hill Cumorah Pageant, portraying Moroni. I watched quietly with thousands of others as he received the gold plates from Mormon (played by his own father) and carried them up and off the stage and into the darkness.
All day long, I had been looking for him among the crowd of cast members. “Sure, I know Craig. But I haven’t seen him today.” Everyone knew him. Nobody had seen him recently. Now he had disappeared again. And after the performance? Gone in the crowd of cast. Finally, late that night, I reached him by phone and we arranged to meet.
The next day, Saturday, last day of the performance, I met the Record family under a tree at the foot of the hill. Craig wasn’t there yet, so his dad and I talked for a while.
I started with one of the deep, probing questions for which I am famous: “So, what is Craig like?”
His answer reads like it was equally deep. But his tone of voice told me he actually meant it: “Craig’s just a real neat guy.”
We talk a lot about sons respecting fathers, but here is a son who has earned his father’s respect. As Craig’s dad talked, I learned something about how and why. For example, when the missionaries call, Craig drops what he’s doing and goes out with them. Then there’s the fact that by applying himself last year in school, Craig raised his grade point average one whole point.
But mainly, Craig’s dad respects him for what he is, for what he has become at a fairly young age. “He’s faithful; he’s honest; he’s true. He has good goals in life.” Then, like any dad, he has to add: “Of course, he’s an everyday guy, too. We still have to tell him to pick his shoes up. And his room looks like a hurricane hit it. He’s far from perfect,” Brother Record laughs. “But if I were like him, at that same age, I think I could be pretty well pleased with myself.”
We had been sitting on a bench at the foot of the Hill Cumorah. Pageant cast members were constantly streaming by on the asphalt path, coming back from lunch, going to a devotional, etc. When Craig arrived, the midday sun had grown too warm, and the background noise was too distracting. So we moved off the path to a shady patch of lawn beneath a tree.
Craig is tall—at least he’s taller than my six-foot-two height by a couple of inches. And he loves basketball. “It’s high on my list of priorities,” he admits with some understatement. His skills, honed by countless hours of practice, have earned him a spot in the starting lineup of his high school team. And he has gained some local notice as a valuable player. But he also reminds himself that he lives in a small town where there is less competition. “It keeps me humble,” he grins.
Another challenge to Craig’s humility might be the role he has played in the Hill Cumorah Pageant for the past several years. As Moroni, he is not on the stage very long. But when he is, there are just Craig and his father (playing Mormon) on that huge stage. And finally, there is just Craig/Moroni, carrying the gold plates upward from level to level and into the darkness beyond the spotlights. It’s an important moment.
“How do you like being in the pageant with your father?” I wanted to know.
“It’s super; it’s just great. I can’t often look him in the eye while we are on stage because I am supposed to be looking toward the audience. But when I do look him in the eye, the emotion is there and it’s hard to hold back. He’s saying that tomorrow will be the last battle of the Nephites and they’ll be destroyed. And when my father says that, I feel it. It’s like it’s real. And then I have to go and do my part as best I can.
“I wasn’t very confident with the part at first. I was very nervous. But after four rehearsals, and getting my lines and actions down, everything just worked out from there. Now it’s great. I can go up there and think about the audience and try my hardest to share my testimony—Moroni’s testimony—with them.”
As we talked, I couldn’t help but look around. This really was the Hill Cumorah looming behind me. Across the highway, just beyond the field and woods, were the Joseph Smith farmhouse and the Sacred Grove. To the right, just down the highway, was Palmyra, where the Book of Mormon was first printed. What would it be like to grow up in such a place? Craig had mentioned sharing his testimony. Had living here since he was seven made it easier to gain that testimony?
The following day, Sunday, Craig and I met at the Sacred Grove. There the thick canopy of trees keeps the grove in almost total shade, and we found some relief from the early afternoon sun as we walked and talked. The damp forest earth muffled our footsteps. The stillness was broken only by the whine of insects, bird calls, the occasional low voices of other visitors, and our own quiet conversation.
“Craig, do you remember the first time you came to this place as a young boy?”
“No. But I remember that when I was young, this was mainly a place to catch frogs and to look at the signs telling the ages of some of the trees. It started to make an impact on me when I was about 12. And then, when I hit 14, I realized that Joseph Smith had been my age when he had the First Vision.”
But living in the so-called cradle of the Restoration does not guarantee a testimony. “Before I reached out and made the effort, this was just another historical place,” Craig explains. “Before, I was going to go on a mission. But I was going to do it because everyone wanted me to go. I mean, I sort of wanted to go. But last year really decided it.”
Last year. It was during pageant time. Craig, as a cast member, had been assigned to one of the study groups. And in that same group was a young woman from Utah named Jana.
“We became great friends; there was kind of an automatic bond. I couldn’t believe she had such a strong testimony. To see how much she loved the Church, well, it just blew me away.” That level of spirituality became Craig’s goal, not only for himself but for the kind of woman he wanted eventually to marry.
One day, the study group went to the Sacred Grove. When they got there, they split up, and Craig went into the grove by himself.
“I was sitting there alone on one of the benches, thinking about what had happened here, and just started to cry. The Spirit witnessed to me that it was all true.”
The experiences of that summer were a turning point for Craig. For one thing, he saw the kind of young woman he would someday want to marry. And he realized that he would need to do better in school to prepare to someday support a family. He had always been able to do pretty well in school if he applied himself. Now he applied himself and raised his grades one full point.
His feelings toward his family were also affected. “It made me draw closer to my younger brothers and sisters. I had always considered them brats. Now I try to understand them a little more,” Craig says.
Does he have to work hard to maintain his testimony? Craig’s emphatic yes almost seemed out of place in our quiet surroundings. “You have to be active in the Church. It helps so much to be around other young people with the same standards. Reading the Book of Mormon is really important too. But you can’t just read it and then stop and say, ‘Okay, now I’ve read it.’ “ Craig is currently into his third reading. “And of course there’s prayer. You have to make a habit of it. Even on the nights when you are so tired you think you could just pass right out.”
One more question: “Craig, how do you feel about your priesthood now?”
“I believe in it a lot more. I believe in its power. The priesthood does work.”
We continued our walk, back out of the grove and down the path across the meadow toward the Joseph Smith home and the parking lot. The route to Craig’s house would take us within sight of the Hill Cumorah. His words came back to mind: “Before I reached out and made the effort, this was just another historical place.”
True. And before young Joseph Smith reached out and made the effort, he was just another young man. He was a young man of great promise, true, but he had to reach out. And it was the reaching out and the Spirit’s sweet answering witness that made the difference, not the place. That’s why it doesn’t matter if it’s a young man in Bangor, Maine, or a young woman in Bangkok, Thailand. The process is the same. And the effect.
And Craig Record in Upstate New York? In some ways, this article was about him because he is not unique. He is an average guy who loves basketball and motorcycles. Who is a pretty good student when he applies himself. Craig is just an example of what happens when you reach out for a testimony and then act on that witness. He’s an example of how a fairly average guy can also be pretty outstanding in the ways that matter most.
Survival Tips
Wherever you live, live righteously.
Study the Book of Mormon.
Make a habit of prayer.
Gain a testimony and share it.
Associate with those who bring out the best in you.

I served a mission in South Africa, where, as with other missionaries, I told many people that if they prayed they would soon receive an answer from heaven telling them our teaching is true. They could ask directly if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, and if so, the restored gospel came through the Prophet Joseph.

My companion enjoyed his time when he could listen to music, it did not have to be Mo Tab. I had determined that I would use the Sunday night when he disappeared into his head phones to test the promise, the promise that I had been making to others. I had entered the mission field due to the prompting of great parents and good church leaders. I remember when I was 14 my Bishop, John Adams asked me if I was going on a mission. That day I told him yes, so nothing else mattered, I had made a promise. I would go.

I clearly remember that night in the mission field in great detail. I placed a pillow under my knees.
I knelt down; my companion was lost in his music, so I began to pray out loud. I explained to my Heavenly Father that I needed to know if the promise I was giving to others was valid. I told Him that I had faith in Christ as Moroni instructed. I had a sincere heart; I really wanted to know. I had real intent, I told Heavenly Father that if it were not a valid promise, I would go home. I told Him I would not get off my knees until I received a yes or a no.

I am so very grateful that Heavenly Father was kind to me. He might have even chuckled a little bit over my demand to know.

I cannot express what happened after that. What I can express is that without any doubt I was given an answer from Heavenly Father that The Book of Mormon is as it claims to be. It is the word of God, Joseph Smith is a prophet. The promise I had been giving to others is valid. I do not remember how long I had prayed before the answer came, nor do I know how long it lasted but I cannot deny the sweetness of that answer.

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.

Illustration by Sudi McCollan
One summer, I participated in an internship on an island in Bicol, Philippines. The view of the ocean was wonderful, and I looked forward to each morning.
I dreaded the evenings, however. That’s when the people in the camp would start drinking and having parties. Invitations to such parties were frequent, and my fellow interns and I had to attend, since not attending would be disrespectful.
The first party was a welcoming party for new interns. I was afraid to attend, because I was pretty sure that they would offer us drinks and I wasn’t sure how to decline. I called a friend in my home ward, and he gave me some wonderful advice that boosted my confidence.
When the party began, they offered us drinks but, fortunately, did not compel us to drink. Since my fellow interns accepted my stand of not drinking, refusing the next offers to drink was now easy for me—until one night. During one of the parties, the president of the company came. He was carrying a bottle of lambanog (a local wine made from coconut). Soon after his arrival, I saw him pouring some of the wine. He then said, “You must learn how to drink” and gave the glass to one of the interns. She quickly drank it.
My heart began to pound heavily. It would soon be my turn. I was whispering silently to myself, “I will not drink it. I will not drink it.” Then I saw the president extending the glass of wine to me. I didn’t know what to do. My fellow interns were looking at me, waiting to see what I would do. I smiled at the president and humbly said, “Sorry, sir, but I do not drink.”
I knew he was disappointed. He asked why I didn’t drink. I said, “I am a Mormon.”
He said, “I haven’t heard of that religion. It sounds like a type of food.” Everyone laughed.
I smiled too, not because of his joke but because I knew I had done the right thing.
No one ever offered me a drink again. But still the ridicule did not cease, even from my own friends. One even said that I was lying and that it’s unimaginable that members of the Church do not drink. During this time I felt the pressures that come to members of the Church.
My stay on that island taught me a lot of lessons, not just academically but spiritually. I learned that mockery may never cease, but the Spirit of the Lord will always guide you to do what is right.