Gospel Story Finder

Brother Cox learned to appreciate the culture when he served as a missionary in Samoa, beginning in 1973. But it wasn’t always easy, recalls Daniel Betham, first counselor in the Apia Samoa Temple presidency. “His mother told him that whatever the Samoans place in front of you, you eat it all to show your respect. The first village he went to was in Savai‘i. He was given breadfruit, the whole breadfruit, cooked. So he ate everything in the breadfruit, even the seeds.
“He didn’t understand that inside the breadfruit is a part Samoans don’t eat—they throw it away. They call it fune. But he ate it all. While he was eating, the kids in the village were laughing, and when he went out to proselyte that day, everyone was calling him ‘the palangi (white man) who eats the fune.’” However, people were touched by his willingness to try to adapt to their culture. “From then on he became very popular with the people here,” Brother Betham recalls.

We may experience hunger, for instance, but if so, we can still respond as did the widow who used the last of her meal to feed Elijah (see 1 Kings 17:8–16). Such sharing amid real deprivation and poverty is always touching. Earlier in his life, a wonderful bishop of my youth, M. Thirl Marsh, repeatedly tried to be hired at the mines during the Depression. Being underage but large of stature, he persisted and was hired, but several friends were not. Apparently, on more than one occasion after his hard day’s work, generous young Thirl shared his earnings equally with these friends until they too were hired. No wonder he was such a caring shepherd of the flock later on.

The challenges that face us and our families as disciples of Christ are somewhat different than those of Joshua’s Israelites. Let me illustrate with an experience. Our family lived for many years in the state of Florida. Because Florida has a high concentration of sand, lawns there are planted with a large broadleaf grass we call Saint Augustine. A formidable enemy of a Florida lawn is a small, brown insect called a mole cricket.

One evening as my neighbor and I stood on the front steps, he noticed a little bug crossing my sidewalk. “You better spray your lawn,” he warned. “There goes a mole cricket.” I had sprayed the lawn with insecticide not too many weeks previously, and I hardly felt that I had the time or money to do it again so soon.

In the light of the next morning, I examined my lawn closely. It was lush and beautifully green. I looked down into the grass to see if I could see any of the little bugs. I could see none. I remember thinking, “Well, maybe that little mole cricket was just passing through my yard on the way to my neighbor’s yard.”

I watched my lawn for more than a week, looking for signs of invaders, but none was evident. I congratulated myself that I had not overreacted to my neighbor’s warning.

The story, however, has a sad ending. I came out the front door one morning, about 10 days after the conversation with my neighbor. Shockingly, as if it had happened overnight, brown spots covered my lawn. I ran to the garden store, bought the insecticide, and sprayed immediately, but it was too late. The lawn was ruined, and to return it to its former state required a new crop of sod, long hours of work, and large expense.

My neighbor’s warning was central to my lawn’s welfare. He saw things I could not see. He knew something I did not know. He knew that mole crickets live underground and are active only at night, making my daytime examinations ineffective. He knew that mole crickets did not eat the leaves of the grass but rather found nourishment in the roots. He knew that these little inch-long creatures could eat a lot of roots before I would ever see the effect above the ground. I paid a dear price for my smug independence.

Many years ago, while attending a stake conference, I noticed that a counselor in the stake presidency was blind. He functioned beautifully, performing his duties as though he had sight. It was a stormy night as we met in the stake office situated on the second floor of the building. Suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder. The lights in the building almost immediately went out. Instinctively I reached out for our sightless leader, and I said, “Here, take my arm and I will help you down the stairway.”
I’m certain he must have had a smile on his face as he responded, “No, Brother Monson, give me your arm, that I might help you. You are now in my territory.” The storm abated, the lights returned, but I shall never forget the trek down those stairs, guided by the man who was sightless yet filled with light.

Now let me turn briefly to what I called in the recent "Ponderings" on our "thanksgiving temple". If you read it you'll remember that the Temple, our beautiful Temple in Laie, was dedicated on thanksgiving day in 1919. We talked about that in the "Ponderings" that it can make us be thankful for it and it can make us be knit together as sheaves. I wanted to talk about a little incident, this happened in 1915 when the sight was dedicated. This is also just a wonderful little story about our temple and how we got this wonderful temple here. It's really quite remarkable. This temple which was the fifth operating temple built in the Church was dedicated first as the one after the Salt Lake temple. It was very much a pioneer temple in a way. The first one outside of the continental United States, but how did it come about? Well the story is really a remarkable one. President Joseph F. Smith, Iosepa, who loved this Hawaii and loved this place was here with one of the Apostles, Reed Smoot, and the Presiding Bishop, Charles Nibley.

One night they were in the mission home, which was on the other side of where the current Temple President's home sits. He says come on a walk with me and they walked to a chapel which was near where the Temple is now. The I Hemolele Chapel. Now I want to tell you in the way that it was told in Reed Smoot's language. "President Smith came to me and said, 'Reed,I want you to take a walk with me.' As we went out the door, he said to Bishop Nibley, 'I wish you would accompany us.' I never saw a more perfect night in all my life..."

It was one of those I love Laie nights and I always think of this whenever I experience one of those nights, especially near the Temple. And he says, "...the surroundings were perfect. You who have been in Laie know the surroundings; and nature smiles. We walked toward the meeting house. Nothing was said of what we were going for until we stood at the back of the meetinghouse. President Smith then said, 'Brethren, this is the birthday of President Brigham Young, June 1, 1915. I feel impressed to dedicate this ground for the erection of a Temple of God, for a place where the peoples of the Pacific Isles can come and do their temple work. I have not presented this to the Council of the Twelve or to my counselors...'" imagine that! He hadn't even told the First Presidency or the Twelve that he was going to do this. He just felt the Spirit flowing up from the ground and the beautiful atmosphere. He says, "'...I feel impressed to...but if you think there would be no objection to it, I think now is the time to dedicate the ground.'" Then Reed Smooth continues, "I have heard President Smith pray hundreds of times. He has thrilled my soul many times with his wonderful spirit of prayer and his supplication to our Heavenly Father. But never in all my life did I hear such a prayer. The very ground seemed to be sacred, and he seemed as if he were talking face to face with the Father. I cannot and never will forget it if I live a thousand years."

I share that so that sometimes you may think of that as you walk those temple grounds. I also wanted to share the dedication because I wanted to talk in thanksgiving before I turn to Christmas. About what it means to have the Temple in our midst. That act of dedicating the ground for the temple changed Laie forever. It is really the reason that we are here. I'm convinced that David O. McKay established the university here to be in the shadow of the temple. It's the reason that so many people came here and that this continued to be a Zion place, a place of refuge and of gathering.

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place as United States marines were taking Kwajalein Atoll, part of the Marshall Islands and located in the Pacific Ocean about midway between Australia and Hawaii. What took place in this regard was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. In the 1944 newspaper article he wrote following the experience, he explained that he and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing we can do for this boy.”

“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”11

"Hello! This is Radio Halton. Jenny speaking. Are you happy and ready to go? I’ve got great things lined up for you today. But first, let’s hear some music.”
This cheery message greets patients in Halton General Hospital, Runcorn, England, as they tune in to seventeen-year-old Jenny Ireland, their disk jockey for several hours each week.
Jenny sends out messages of comfort and hope along radio waves to hospital patients. But many of those patients don’t realize that Jenny operates the complex radio equipment without arms.
At Jenny’s birth, when her father saw only hands at her shoulders, his thoughts were, “Oh, how we shall miss hugs from this lovely daughter.”
Now, he says, “I have never been more wrong. Jenny’s hugs are whole body hugs. She couldn’t have been a more loving child.”
And this love for others now motivates Jenny in all areas of life. “I’d like to be everyone’s friend,” she admits. “My greatest ambition is to have my own radio program—and broadcast to the public. A lot of lives can be touched that way.”
Touching lives is something she’s already doing. Nothing is too great an obstacle. She even completed the physically demanding requirements for a national fitness award, setting an amazing example to the rest of her school friends. The final hike in Snowdonia, Wales, was grueling—days of trekking over mountains in all kinds of weather, with only a compass and map to guide her. Jenny also has no ligaments in one knee, which causes problems. But sheer determination keeps her going.
Jenny’s sociable nature helps her to reach out to others to share her strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. She doesn’t mind who knows.
Jenny also knows how to make people feel special—even those embarrassed by her disability.
“Sometimes children will point at me and talk behind my back or make fun. It really doesn’t bother me one bit. I just laugh. My lack of arms is no problem to me. If I believe in myself, then I can accomplish as much as the next person.
“There was no medical explanation for my being born this way. No one is to blame. I’ve learned a lot about myself in seminary. I feel I have things to do; and my disability is not a trial, but somehow a help to others. It’s making me a much stronger, more patient person and keeps the family close together.”
Jenny has a younger brother, Jared, age fifteen, and two sisters—Maxine, thirteen, and Kirsty, nine.
“The only chore I get out of is washing dishes,” laughs Jenny, “because I get a little wet—more like soaked! But, like Jared, I love to cook, and I really don’t need any help.”
Jenny once watched a video of herself and understands how people feel when they see her. “My immediate reaction was, ‘That girl needs assistance; she looks so clumsy.’ But when I’m doing things, I don’t feel clumsy. I’m just getting on with it.
“Of course there are days when I feel down and sorry for myself,” Jenny admits, “but my parents have taught me that my best friend is my Heavenly Father, and he’s always there when I need him.
“I can remember at primary school when everyone could write much faster than I. The teacher would be dictating, and I never could keep up. I’d come home crying. Mum said, ‘Ask Heavenly Father to help you.’
“Well, he didn’t seem to be helping—at first. Then a few weeks later I noticed I could do it! And I’ve kept up ever since, writing faster than others at times.
“When I was even younger,” she recalls, “I couldn’t reach to put on socks. So I sat there trying for hours until I could.”
School has presented many challenges for Jenny. But Church programs and loving parents and leaders have helped develop her self-esteem so that nothing can threaten her progress.
“I can remember a school debate,” she smiles, “when we had to speak on a favorite subject. I chose the Church. When I mentioned ‘Church is fun,’ everyone gasped. During question time someone asked, ‘Do you really get up at six o’clock every morning for seminary?’ At the end, the teacher commented, ‘That was an excellent advertisement for your church.’
“On another occasion,” Jenny continues, “during the fitness award practice walks we had to carry a backpack, and I felt so weighed down that I nearly quit. Usually, before such a big trial, I ask Dad for a blessing. This time I realized I’d forgotten. I was just about to look for a phone to call Mum to come and get me when a line from my patriarchal blessing came into my head: ‘You can achieve anything you set your heart to do.’ And with help from my Heavenly Father, I did it.”
Accepting President Spencer W. Kimball’s challenge to “do it” has taken Jenny wherever she want to go. She hikes, swims, skates, dances, camps, and paints. She also plans to graduate from seminary, learn to drive, save money for a trip to the United States, and be married in the temple. But foremost is her goal of conquering the waves—radio waves.
Jenny’s voluntary work as a hospital radio disk jockey has developed in her a desire to share music and words with anyone willing to listen. She loves all types of music from classical to modern and has a calm, humorous approach to the microphone.
“I think giving talks at church from an early age has helped me feel comfortable speaking into microphones,” she smiles.
The chairman of Radio Halton, Derek Owens, agrees. “She originally joined us as an assistant. Then one day the other disk jockey was absent, so Jenny took over his time without hesitation and put on a great show. Now she has her own show each week.”
With such praise from the boss, it’s no wonder Jenny feels an obligation to set the best possible example of being a Latter-day Saint.
Sometimes temptation to let down her standards can be almost overwhelming, especially when a cherished goal comes in sight. Like the time Jenny was invited to meet with well-known disk jockeys from a major radio station—on a Sunday.
She wanted so much to be there, supporting her hospital team and meeting influential people, possibly improving her career opportunities. Workmates kept pressuring her to go. But she refused, at the same time explaining her feelings for the Sabbath.
“I felt awful letting them down,” she says, “but I’d have felt even more awful letting myself and Heavenly Father down—and my workmates, too, because eventually they would have seen me as a bad example.”
And Jenny knows bad examples can break down channels of communication. She’s more interested in building them, which is obvious as she broadcasts another cheery message.
“Time to close for today. But before we go, I’d like to interview the lady who’s been interviewing me for the past two hours. She, too, is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes known as the Mormon Church. Let’s ask her a few questions about the Church.”

Regardless of one’s opportunities for formal education, a person can engage in lifelong learning. This wrench belonged to my grandfather. He was only able to go to school through the eighth grade. He worked as a mechanic. He brought books about diesel engines home from work, and he read them. Eventually he became the supervisor over all the diesel equipment for a company in the San Francisco Bay Area. Although his opportunity for formal education was limited, he kept learning on his own.

After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so excited to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms while I waited for my parents to complete the temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple to my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

Let me share an experience of a Relief Society sister who made a difference and exemplified the objectives of our organization.
This young adult sister, who was teaching English language classes in Japan, found herself on the playground surrounded by a group of Japanese children who were full of questions. “Do you like Japanese or American kids better?” “Do you eat sushi?” “How do you say basketball in English?” Amid the commotion, the young Relief Society sister felt someone tapping her arm. She turned around to see a little girl with pigtails and glasses. “I bent down to look her in the face and waited for what was sure to be some trivial question,” she says. “It was as if all the commotion stopped when she asked in a soft, almost timid voice, ‘Do you know Jesus?’ I was stunned by such a poignant and important question. I smiled and felt amazing love as I told her, ‘Yes, yes, I know Jesus.’”
Dear young adult sisters, you know Jesus. And with that knowledge you bring a clarity, a freshness, and an energy that our sisterhood needs. We value your membership in Relief Society, and you bless us with your faith in the Savior and in His work. An older sister described you in these words: “We are spiritually nourished as we observe you younger, vibrant women who not only have so much vigor and vitality but also who are spiritually mature, with tremendous inner strength of character and testimony—just beautiful to behold. We count our blessings because you are the ones who reassure us and give such faith and ‘a perfect brightness of hope’ for the future” (see 2 Ne. 31:20).

May I share with you an experience about a young man? He left Canada to go on a mission and was assigned to our mission, but on the way to Salt Lake City he kept asking his companion what he was doing; he did not really want to go on a mission. When he got to the mission home he told me very candidly that he really did not want to be there, that pressures had brought him to the mission field. And for the first fifteen months of his mission he proved that what he said he felt was really true, that somehow he could not commit himself. One day, while he was tracting in one of the old cities of Europe, he found a man with the same name as his and later learned in conversation with him that this man was his uncle. His father and this good uncle had both left the eastern countries at the same time, and one had immigrated to Canada and the other to France. After he had given his opening tracting speech: “Nous sommes les missionnaires”—that was about all he could say—his uncle asked, “How long have you been in France?”
He said, “Fifteen months.”
“You mean you’ve been here that long and that’s all the French you have learned? I am ashamed of you.”
This young man somehow that day met his Waterloo. He went home and from the next day on throughout the remaining fifteen months of his mission he committed himself to 5:30 a.m. arisings and two-and-a-half-hour study periods. Within several weeks he had memorized all the French discussions and begun to know and feel the power of the gospel in his life. Now picture this young man calling his mission president at 10:30 at night, saying, “President, I just left the most beautiful family I’ve ever known. They’re my own. We taught them this tonight. Please tell me if there’s anything I need to know to do, because I just cannot lose them. They are so great! This is what I plan to do tomorrow night!” I have never seen such a dramatic change in an individual in my whole life.

Eighty-three-year-old Luella Boyd, a widow, would leave her home in Basin, Wyoming, at five o’clock in the morning, drive seven hours to the temple in Idaho Falls, arriving about noon, and then participate in four endowment sessions. The next morning she would be at the temple as it opened and attend eight more sessions, going without lunch. On the third day she would start at 5:00 a.m., and complete four endowments by noon—then drive home to Basin, Wyoming, arriving at 8:00 p.m. Sixteen sessions—six hundred miles—three days—eighty-three years old! One year she did this eleven times, missing only one month because of bad weather. The most exceptional part of this story is that she currently is serving as a Family History missionary right here in Salt Lake City. Remember, Sister Boyd is eighty-three years old. And you and I think we are busy! What a marvelous spirit and dedication! She is one of 365 full-time Family History missionaries serving in Salt Lake having a remarkable spiritual experience.

When my stake president first asked me if I would be willing to serve a service mission, my first thought was, “Yes!”
I trusted that the Lord had a work for me to do, and I believed that whatever He wanted me to do would bring me growth and happiness because He loved me and wanted what was best for me.
My second thought was, “What’s a service mission?”
My stake president explained what a service mission was as we met together in his office on that Sunday, but I didn’t really understand it or the importance of it until much later. At the time I even wondered if this calling meant there was something wrong with me, because I didn’t yet see the bigger purpose behind service missions.
I received my call to serve about a month before my mission actually started. This meant that I met my service mission leaders, attended a service mission conference in my area, and was even asked to lead companion study for the other two sisters in my area before I had been set apart.
I used the month between getting my call and giving my “farewell” talk (even though I didn’t go anywhere) to learn about service missions and the service missionaries around me.
At the service mission conference I attended, I learned that a lot of service missionaries, when they are first called, feel like they just weren’t good enough to serve a proselyting mission. I sheepishly recalled my own initial reaction to my call.
Ultimately, I realized that I wasn’t called to a service mission because I was inadequate, but because this was Heavenly Father’s direction for me. I wasn’t “less than” proselyting missionaries; rather, He needed me to help build His kingdom through other means of service. I received a strong testimony that all missions are important to Heavenly Father and important in His work, because all missionaries desire to serve Him and serve His children.
After learning about the other service missionaries in my area, meeting them, and hearing their stories, I knew they were wonderful, righteous servants of the Lord. I realized that even though some of us had felt a little sorry for ourselves at the beginning of our missions, we all came to the same conclusion: the Lord loves service missionaries and that we are right where He wants us to be, learning and growing while serving Him as His hands on the earth.

I recall a true story from our pioneer heritage that illustrates how we can choose our response to adversity. Over one hundred years ago a Swedish family who had joined the Church faced a long ocean voyage to America, a train trip from New York to Omaha, and then a trek by wagon train to Salt Lake City. During their train trip they rode in stock cars used to haul hogs. The cars were filthy and filled with hog lice. On their wagon trip across the plains, a healthy baby was born, but their three-year-old contracted cholera. During the night, the father went to a neighboring wagon to borrow a candle, but was told they couldn’t spare one. This angered him, and he fumed as he sat in the dark with his son’s limp, feverish body in his arms. The boy died that night.
The next morning the wagon master said they would hold a short funeral and bury the boy in a shallow grave. They were in Indian country and didn’t have time to do more. The father insisted on staying behind and digging a grave deep enough so the animals would not disturb the body. They experienced other hardships before they reached Salt Lake City.
Now, both the mother and the father experienced the same trials, but the father became withdrawn, cantankerous, and bitter. He stopped going to church, found fault with Church leaders. He became caught up in his own miseries, and the light of Christ grew dimmer and dimmer in his life.
On the other hand, the mother’s faith increased. Each new problem seemed to make her stronger. She became an angel of mercy—filled with empathy, compassion, and charity. She was a light to those around her. Her family gravitated toward her and looked to her as their leader. She was happy; he was miserable. (See Steve Dunn Hanson, Ensign, Feb. 1981, pp. 54–55.)

When I was a baby, I was baptized into the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. Growing up, the fact that I never made the choice to be baptized unsettled me. I started to think that religion didn’t allow me the freedom to choose for myself.
So I eventually stopped believing in God or anything spiritual.
One day, I was talking to my friend who was in Czechia doing a study program affiliated with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She invited me to do the program too. I wasn’t interested originally, but after a while, I decided to check it out.
I liked the school’s overall message of positivity, so I gave in and applied.
But I had no interest in the program’s focus on Jesus Christ.
Or so I thought.
This academy made me live differently than I was used to. First, I learned that I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee on campus!
My freedom was already slipping through my fingers.
Along with that, every morning started with a mandatory devotional. I would mostly sleep through them because I wasn’t interested. I was just there to learn and then live my life the way I wanted to.
But after a while, I noticed the people around me who were taking Jesus Christ’s teachings seriously. In Ukraine, many people only went to church a few times a year, but here, everyone was always talking about Christ. They were kind, good, and positive about life.
I started to wonder what my life would be like if I believed in Him too. Sometimes I even caught myself thinking, “What would Jesus’s perspective be?”
I felt confused. I told one of my friends at the academy about how I was feeling torn. He invited me to try praying about my feelings.
On one foggy morning, I decided to find a quiet place to meditate outside. I don’t know what came over me, but instead of meditating, I gave God the benefit of the doubt. I said, “OK, let’s talk.”
And I said the longest prayer of my life.
I just wanted to know if God and Jesus Christ were real.
As I was praying, the sun pierced through the fog. I felt its warmth on my skin and warmth in my heart. I felt like someone’s hand was on my shoulder, telling me They were right there with me.
The message was clear: They were real. They were aware of me.
I also realized something else.
Looking at those who were living the gospel of Jesus Christ, I didn’t see anybody being forced to do things they didn’t want to do or feeling restricted by their faith. I saw them choosing to live like Jesus Christ because they wanted to.
In the Book of Mormon, the prophet Moroni extends his promise through an invitation, not a command: “If ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
I realized I wanted to choose Him too.
From then on, I took learning about Jesus Christ seriously. I accepted missionary lessons. I studied the Book of Mormon. I prayed every day. I even got baptized! (My choice this time!) This was all so new to me, but I felt my heart changing.
I still have a lot to learn, and I am so imperfect, but I always say to myself, “Let’s just try to be like Christ today. Just keep trying.”
Elder Joaquin E. Costa of the Seventy beautifully taught: “At times, having faith in Jesus Christ may seem like something impossible, almost unattainable. We may think that coming unto Christ requires a strength, power, and perfection we don’t have, and we just can’t find the energy to do it all. But … faith in Jesus Christ is what gives us the energy to begin the journey.”
Jesus Christ can change us if we give Him the chance and keep trying. He doesn’t limit our freedom. Instead, He offers us even more through His Atonement: joy, healing, and hope.
We have the freedom to choose Him every day, and I’m grateful for the miracles my choice to follow Him brings into my life.
The author is from Kyiv, Ukraine.

When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. I returned to Berkeley, California. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion by myself.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Was I going to be all alone here, too? I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. Furthermore, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony of the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to Brigham Young University. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The thing that held me back was the principle of eternal progression. “It just can’t be right.” I said, “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
I finally understood! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my heart and changed my life.

Several years ago I was visiting with a friend—Dale Andersen—from Mesa, Arizona. At the time Dale was serving as a stake president in Mesa, and he shared a personal experience with me that, with his permission, I’d like to share with you this morning. He said:

I was preparing for our stake conference and having a bit of a stupor of thought on what I should share with the members of my stake. On the Friday night prior to conference I had a most peculiar dream—one of those dreams that was as real as any experience I have ever had while awake.

I dreamed I was at a family reunion with my entire family—my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. We were all gathered in the backyard of our home and enjoying a wonderful spring afternoon together.

And then I saw a most amazing and beautiful sight. It was a flock of blackbirds—but not an ordinary flock of blackbirds. This was one of those flocks that must have had tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of birds, all flying gracefully in perfect unison.

The birds would dart one direction, and then, as if cued by their leader, they’d immediately dart the other direction. Not a bird missed a beat. I stood there with my family—eyes transfixed. It was beautiful and captivating.

President Andersen continued:

As we watched this spectacle, the birds came closer and closer to us. It was all very exciting to see. And as we watched, we noticed the birds were pairing off two by two, and it appeared as though they were landing in the yards of all of the homes in my neighborhood. I thought this was rather peculiar. And then, as they got closer to my own backyard, the scene began to come into focus, and I realized in an instant that these were not blackbirds after all. These were dark, evil spirits!

Immediately I panicked and yelled to my family to run into the house and to lock the doors and windows. I was frantically trying to make sure all the members of my family were accounted for and safe—my sweetheart, my children, and their children. We ran through the house slamming the windows and shutting the doors and locking them tight. I gathered everyone together in our family room, where we would be safe, but then, as I turned around, there they were. I found myself standing between these two terribly evil beings and my precious family.

President Andersen said:

A window had been left ajar in the basement, and they had found their way into our home.

You know and I know that the adversary and his evil spirits are descending upon our families and trying to find their way into our homes, our apartments, and our dorms. At first they appear to be beautiful, enticing, and captivating—even to the point that, if we are not careful, our families will stand right in their path gazing upon them as though we were extending an open invitation to them to enter our homes.

President Darryl Harris, Seoul Mission President, and I had just concluded a fireside for investigators in the Seoul Stake Center. Following the meeting, two sister missionaries came up to introduce themselves, one, a Korean sister, and the other, Sister Kristi K. Fielding. They were delightful, full of sparkle, as most lady missionaries tend to be. Following our conversation, they exited, hurrying back to their apartment before the "witching hour" of 9:30 p.m. You returned missionaries know what I mean.
A few minutes later, an Elder came running into the chapel to tell us that something had happened to Sister Fielding. We hurried outside only to find her screaming, her body jerking in strange gyrations. When she saw us, she screamed at us. She wanted nothing to do with us. This was not the same Sister we had just been speaking with.
President Harris and I decided to try to get her into the mission van. She resisted. Finally, we were able to force her into the van, but she crawled down into the space between the back seats with her back toward us. We determined that we would attempt to give her a blessing. For what followed, I read from a letter Sister Fielding wrote to me on March 21, 1998.
I would like to write a letter of thanks for the blessing you gave me on Friday, March 20. It's hard to describe the feeling that was inside me, but it was almost identical to the feeling of Joseph Smith when he went to the grove to pray.
Then she quoted from Joseph Smith's account in Joseph Smith-History 1:15, one with which you are all familiar:
"I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction."[7]
She, then, writes:
I don't remember much of your blessing, but I remember you saying, "In the name of Jesus Christ." The minute I heard that name, everything went calm. I felt at peace- I felt the light come back . . . I love my Savior, Jesus Christ. I'm grateful for his atonement . . .This gospel is so true. I love it! Love Always, Sister Kristi K. Fielding

Many years ago, in a stake conference meeting I attended, the visiting Area Seventy asked the question, “At what point in your day do you allow the Holy Ghost to communicate with you?”
He pointed out that many of us turn on the radio, the news, sports, or other media immediately upon waking, then, throughout the day, we are either listening to the same media events or we are engaged in school, work, or other pursuits.
We typically end our day, again, with music, TV, movies, social media, or other distractions. This inspired elder then challenged us to find time in our day when the Lord could actually communicate with us.
As a result of this challenge, I quit listening to music when I was in the car. It was not easy at first. At the time, I was teaching here on campus three mornings a week, and I had 30 minutes, round trip, alone in the car on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I decided to use that time to just listen and try to hear what the Lord wanted me to know that day. I have since come to sincerely appreciate the “quiet” times in my day that I create deliberately for the purpose of trying to hear the Spirit communicate the Lord’s messages to me.

“Come on downstairs, everyone!” Mom called. “It’s time for family home evening!”
Sarah reluctantly closed her book and joined her sister and brother as they went into the family room. Family home evening was fun, but she didn’t think it was as exciting as the adventure story she was reading.
After Dad welcomed everyone, Audrey led the family in a song and Tyler gave the opening prayer. Sarah waited for Dad to announce who was giving the lesson. Instead, he said, “We’re going to practice what we would do in an emergency. You have two minutes to get ready and be in the car. Get whatever you would need if you were going to be gone for three days. Go!”
Dad, Mom, Audrey, Tyler, and Sarah jumped up. Sarah dashed to her room, and then stood in the middle of it looking around. What would she need? Clothes! She pulled clothes out of her drawer and put them in a small bag. There wasn’t room for much more, but she stuffed her pajama pants in too, and then remembered her glasses case and the elastic bands for her braces. Would she need a blanket? Or a pillow? She grabbed both.
Two minutes isn’t very long, and Sarah didn’t feel ready when Dad said, “Get in the car, everybody! Bring whatever you have and let’s go!”
Sarah, Audrey, and Tyler ran out to the car, threw in their stuff, and piled into the seats.
Audrey called back into the house, “Mom, I forgot my tennis shoes—will you grab them on your way out?”
Tyler spilled sunflower seeds into his seat-belt buckle, and Dad had to help him dig them out so the seat belt could fasten. “Why did you bring an open bag of sunflower seeds?” Dad asked.
“That’s my food,” Tyler said.
The family van pulled out of the driveway a moment later. “How did we do?” Dad asked. “We got out in good time, but are we prepared for three days away from home?”
“Mom, you got me two different shoes,” Audrey complained. “I can’t wear these.”
“Sorry,” Mom said. “I was trying to pull all the coats out of the closet, and I couldn’t see the shoes very well. At least there’s a right and a left shoe, even if they don’t match.”
“I got some clothes and a blanket, but I forgot my contact lens case and a brush,” Audrey said. “I did remember my toothbrush, though.”
“Oops,” Tyler said. “I guess I’ll have to borrow yours. But I got clothes and a Book of Mormon—except it’s in French. I picked up the wrong one off the bookshelf.”
“I brought my coat too, because I didn’t know where we were going,” Sarah said. “I saw a flashlight in my room, so I brought that, but I didn’t get anything to eat.”
“We have food in the 72-hour (3-day) kits I put in the car,” Dad said. “Do you remember we put those together last year? And there are tents in the duffle bag. Those are always by the back door.”
“Dad, I know we have things ready, but I don’t know where everything is kept,” Audrey said. “Maybe you should show us where to find stuff in case you aren’t at home and the rest of us have to leave.”
“That’s a very good idea, Audrey,” Mom replied. “I’m not sure that I could find everything in a hurry myself. I knew I wanted to get important papers and my scriptures, but I wasn’t very organized. I grabbed bread and peanut butter and apples, but I didn’t have time to fill the cooler with water, so I just pulled jugs of apple cider and milk out of the fridge.”
“Ugh, warm milk?” Tyler asked.
“We’d have to drink it up fast,” Mom said. “Maybe we ought to put some sealed water containers in the garage, in case we need to leave quickly. I’d never thought of that before.”
“Why don’t we go get an ice-cream cone and talk about what we learned tonight?” Dad said.
“I know one thing I want to do,” Sarah said. “It took me a while to decide what to get. Even though I knew it wasn’t for real, I was still scared, and I had a hard time thinking of what I needed. I want to plan what I would gather up ahead of time.”
“I would definitely want a brush,” Audrey said.
“And I would want something more than sunflower seeds,” Tyler said.
Dad nodded. “Let’s all make a list this week of the things we would need if we had to leave suddenly and be gone for three days. Next Monday night we can go over our lists and decide how to get organized so we are prepared to grab items and go. We will probably never need to do that—but if we do, we’ll be ready.”
While she was eating her ice-cream cone, Sarah decided she had been wrong about something. She didn’t miss her exciting book at all tonight; family home evening could definitely be an adventure!