Gospel Story Finder

That’s the type of intensity that builds in Arizona each time the Safford Bulldogs and the Thatcher Eagles meet in a rivalry that spans 80 years. So imagine what the Safford quarterback, Brandon McEuen, and the Thatcher quarterback, Teren Bingham, might discuss face-to-face the day before the big game.
How about baptism?
That’s right. On Thursday they reviewed plans for Brandon’s baptismal service. On Friday they faced each other as starters on opposing teams. Then on Saturday, Teren Bingham of the Eagles baptized Brandon McEuen of the Bulldogs.
The next day, both young men wore white. The congregation sang “Praise to the Man” (Hymns, no. 27), chosen by Brandon because Joseph Smith’s experience was key in helping him gain a testimony. Teren, limping on his broken foot, and Brandon, with a broad smile on his face, entered the baptismal font together.

The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

I joined the Church in May 2009. Since then I have quickly come to value the blessings that come from consistently attending family home evening. One memorable experience occurred when our young single adult ward played “chair soccer,” a variation of indoor soccer, in the cultural hall of a local meetinghouse. The point was to defend your chair while attacking other people’s with a rubber ball. I formed an alliance with two other players; by the end we were the only three still in the game, and we promptly turned on each other. Instead of getting upset about it, we couldn’t stop laughing! It was the most fun I have had in ages, and I know that I would be hard pressed to find an experience like that anywhere outside of the Church. Everyone was having a great time, even if he or she didn’t win, but that’s not what made the experience special to me. What really made it memorable was the spirit of friendship I felt at the activity.
Moments like this help me lighten the overwhelming stress of graduate school. No matter how the week has gone, I know that I will always feel better if I go to family home evening. I may not always be thrilled about the activity and I may not always want to take the time, but I never regret going.
Matt Adams, Nebraska, USA

The next day, when the kids came down the corridor of the church, they found my classroom door closed—not because I wasn’t ready for them, but because I was. A large sign taped across the entrance read, “NOTICE: This is a magic cave. Please enter quietly.” I invited them inside.
“This,” I held up the old music box, “this is magic.” As mysteriously as I could, I told Miranda’s story. By the end of the tale the class had unanimously decided my niece must be crazy.
“Why?” I zeroed in on one girl.
“Well,” she summed up the situation, “All that stuff in the box was just fake. She’s nuts.”
“Then aren’t we all?” I asked, pulling out some surprise visual aids. I held up a pair of jeans—the most popular brand; some shirts with all the stylish patches in all the stylish places; a popular magazine, complete with pictures of the latest haircuts, jewelry, and makeup.
“Do these have magical powers to make us beautiful? I thumbed the magazine open before them. “The only power they have is what we give them. Are we crazy?”
I stopped flipping pages at an appealing cigarette ad. “A magic potion to make us brave, right? All you have to do is hold this little roll of tobacco and just like that, you’re cool! You’re tough! You’re in! Right?” The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but my lesson was over. Three-year-old Miranda and I had made our point.

Dan wasn’t always as helpful as he is now. The “old” Dan didn’t like to work. He was sometimes disobedient and impolite, and he didn’t study very hard. Then one day his father, Jones, met two Latter-day Saint missionaries on the street. In time, the whole family joined the Church. Learning that he was a child of God who could grow up to be like his Father in Heaven gave Dan a new point of view. His baptism and confirmation helped it grow. “I felt forgiven and clean and good, and since then, the Holy Ghost has helped me do what I should. And when I repent, He helps me know that I’m forgiven.”
Seeing himself differently, Dan began seeing others that way as well. “I love my brothers and sisters like I love myself. I would do anything for them.” Dan changed in other ways, too. Barely able to read, he studied hard and became a good reader and a good student.
Brother Balyejusa has noticed a change in all his children. “Since we joined the Church, I don’t have as many problems with my family. We are now like one person. Before we were divided.”

We can also encourage our associates to do likewise. Where we have the courage to make a friendly request, like Elder Kimball, we will often receive a respectful and cooperative reply. Our married daughter who lives in Illinois had such an experience. As she took her turn carpooling the twelve-year-olds home from the soccer game, her noisy passengers filled the air with profanity. Firmly, but with good humor, she told the boys, “In our family we only use that name when we worship, so we ask you, please don’t say that name disrespectfully in our car.” The boys immediately complied, and, what is even more surprising, most of them still remembered the next time it was her turn to drive.

The third temple to be topped with an angel Moroni statue was the Washington D.C. Temple, dedicated in 1974. Avard Fairbanks sculpted a graceful angel holding a trumpet to his lips and a replica of the gold plates in his left arm. Brother Fairbanks’s one-meter model was taken to Italy, enlarged, cast in bronze, and covered with gold leaf.

When the clay enlargement was finished, Brother Fairbanks invited the temple architects to Italy to see it. One of the architects, Keith W. Wilcox (who later became a member of the Seventy), mentioned that the angel looked as though he were drinking from the horn rather than blowing it. Brother Wilcox demonstrated how a trombone player “buzzes” with his or her lips to make a tone. With Brother Wilcox posing, Brother Fairbanks changed the angel’s mouth.7

Once we had finished visiting the facilities, Madame Amaru regretted leaving us, as she had to attend a meeting “with a young man from your church who is going on a mission”.
It was in fact a vigil during which the future missionary was to open his call letter. We asked her if it’s a member of her family. “No!” she replied. “But I go wherever I’m invited.”
“Then we’ll be delighted to accompany you!”
When we arrived, we found a branch filled with love for this young future missionary who had lost his mother a year earlier. What’s more, he’s the first missionary from this branch . . . in 40 years!
The branch president asked to the mayor and her husband to address a word. They both gave “parent” advice, encouraging him to be obedient and respectful, to remain humble, and especially not to stay there (Salt Lake City Mission) after the mission.
Before we left, we learned that this couple, who are very close to the people of their community, had recently attended the dedication of the meetinghouse. What’s more, during the seven-month construction period, they welcomed the entire branch into their home (not the municipality’s premises, but their own) for Sunday meetings!
It was with hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for such generous and humble people that we set sail again to leave them.

In high school, Walt and Liz had the greatest influence on me. I wasn’t LDS when I was a high school student, but I was a serious athlete. And because I took sports seriously, I didn’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. Neither did any of my friends, until our sophomore year. Suddenly, the guys I used to play basketball with on weekends were spending their weekends getting drunk at parties. I went to a few of the parties, but I didn’t like what I saw, so I stopped hanging around with my old friends.
That’s when I really got to know my Mormon buddy, Walt. He made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either. If anything, Walt pressured me to keep living what he called “The Word of Wisdom” and also to shape up in other ways.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studied hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other LDS kids.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. I started opening doors for girls. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be awfully bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be awfully good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.
A woman I know has a placard on her desk that says, “You can’t soar with eagles when you hang around with turkeys.” It’s true. None of us can help being influenced by our friends, and that’s why it’s important to associate with people who build us up rather than drag us down. Peer pressure isn’t so bad, especially if you’ve got friends like Mike, Bill, Jerry, Walt, and Liz.

Due to financial difficulties from my parents, I had to drop out of primary school at the age of eight in a rural area in the east of the country. At the age of 18, I married a young man from my village whom I loved very much and with whom I had four children.
As a young couple, life was difficult, but I had small gainful side jobs to support my husband. Subsequently, he was recruited into the national army with the corollary of a better and more stable life for my children and me.
Once, a young man came to our house and wanted to be a tutor at home for my children. Oddly enough, I had sympathy for him, but my husband didn’t want it. I had to undertake to pay the young man myself with my meagre means. I later learned that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This would prove to be precious for later.
After several years of marriage, my husband ended up leaving our home, leaving me alone with six young children. My whole world turned upside down. I had no sufficient source of income to take care of my children and me.
Depressed and seeing no prospect in front of me, I decided one morning to end my life. My last-born son was five years old at the time came to me unexpectedly (probably sent by God) and said, “No mom, don’t do that. What do you want us to become without you?” I hugged my son Martin and we cried together. I felt a sense of guilt and shame. But I had decided to live.
Life was still difficult, so much so that I left home for a brief time to give myself moments of reflection. I went to a friend’s house outside of Abidjan. One day around 6 am, a voice said to me: “Get up quickly and join your children in Abidjan”.
When I arrived, my children taught me that they should be baptized at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, whose missionaries had previously taught my children, but to whom I paid little attention because I was not attracted to religions. I was therefore invited to attend the baptism of my children at the Quatre Etages Ward.
Bishop Etian’s speech had a positive impact on me. It was the story of the “King with the Severed Finger” told by Muslim folk wisdom. A king had a finger cut off during the hunt and imprisoned his advisor who told him to let Allah (God) prevail in all things. Sometime later the king and his retinue were captured in the bush by cannibals who did not want him because of his disability. He was therefore the only one released and his life spared. He ran to deliver his servant, apologizing profusely. The latter replied that God is never wrong and that everything works together for our good. He said, “If you hadn’t put me in jail, I would be with you, captured, devoured by the cannibals, and probably dead today.”
From that moment on, I made a firm resolution to take my life and that of my children totally into my own hands by being baptized. From then on, I decided to forgive my husband for the wrongs I had suffered. My husband is still not in our home, but I have a more brotherly and kinder relationship with him through the power of forgiveness. I undertook income-generating activities that have allowed me to provide for my family and especially to ensure the schooling of my children for more than 15 years. Today, two of my daughters are starting careers as teachers in public schools. My last son has just been admitted to the university for which I am looking for ways to finance the courses. They make me proud. I have been able to go to the Accra Ghana Temple where I was endowed and sealed to my deceased parents.
I hope one day to be able to remarry in the temple to have an eternal marriage. The lessons I draw from my life is that everything works together for the good of one who believes in God.
As told to Sadia Zouzou, Côte d’Ivoire communication director

After dinner, Dad called everyone together for family home evening. “Tonight,” he said, “we’re going to learn about one of our early pioneers—Jesse Nathaniel Smith.” He opened a small red book and showed them a photo of a white-haired man with a big, bushy beard, a long nose, big ears, and thoughtful eyes.
“Who is he, Dad?” Jay asked.
“Jesse N. Smith was a young cousin of the Prophet Joseph Smith. His father, Silas, was a younger brother of Joseph Smith, Sr., the Prophet’s father.”
“Wow!” Jay exclaimed. “I didn’t know that the Prophet Joseph Smith had any cousins in the Church.”
Dad smiled. “The Smith family is a big, wonderful family, Jay. Jesse N. Smith has many descendants in the Church today, and we are some of them. He was an influential mission president in Scandinavia and an early settler in Utah and Arizona. But tonight I want to tell you something about Jesse when he was a boy.” Dad turned to Susan. “His birthday is very close to yours, Susan. He was born in New York State on December 2, 1834.”
“My birthday’s December third—we’re almost twins!”
Dad turned a few pages, and began telling about their ancestor. “Things were not easy or comfortable for Jesse and his family. He was only three years old when they had to leave Kirtland with the rest of the Saints and make the long journey to Missouri. His brother Silas was seven, and his brother John was five. They traveled for six months to reach their new home in Far West. Even before they got there, they were forced to flee from angry mobs on the trail. They had to live one winter in a crude log cabin, and they ate mostly boiled, dried corn because there was no mill to grind the corn into meal. Life was so hard that John died before the winter was over.”
Susan looked at Jay. What would it be like if Jay or Greg died? she wondered.
“Less than a year later,” Dad continued, “the family was in Illinois. There was a lot of illness, and Jesse’s father died in September.”
“Oh no!” Susan jumped up to snuggle beside her dad. “What did they do?”
“They moved to Nauvoo, and the Prophet Joseph and Hyrum helped for a while. When they were killed, Jesse and his family moved across the river to live near his Uncle John Smith in a settlement called Zarahemla. Uncle John helped them, but they had to earn a living for themselves.”
“You mean Jesse had to go to work when he was a little boy?” Susan asked.
“That’s right. When he was ten, he went to work for a farmer who wasn’t very nice to him. He had to live on a farm away from his mother and brother. Every morning he had to get up very early and go a quarter of a mile to get all the water for the day from a well. He worked the rest of the day in the fields. Then he had to bring home the cows. He said, ‘This was the most lonesome and tedious part of my service, as I was sometimes gone in the woods until after dark.’”
“When did he rest?” Susan asked.
“Only on Sundays, when he was allowed to visit his mother.” Dad looked down at the page. “Sometimes Jesse had special chores. He said, ‘On washing days, I carried water the whole day.’ What do you think it was like to carry water all day, a quarter of a mile each trip?”
“Pretty hard,” Jay said. “But I bet I could do it.”
“Not me,” Susan grumbled. “I’d just sit down and not go at all.”
“Well,” Dad said. “Maybe you’re strong enough for one trip. Let’s find out. Everybody come outside with me.”
“So,” Dad said when they were all inside and Mom was passing out cupcakes for a treat. “How was that?”
“It was awful!” Susan admitted. “And I think it was awful that Jesse had to do it every day. Why did he have to work so hard? It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Well, they needed money, Susan. But I think working was good for him, too. Hauling all that water made his arms grow strong,” Dad said. “And some things soon happened to him that made that a very good thing.” Dad opened the journal again. “He wrote, ‘During the summer of 1845, I took a job of hoeing corn, thus earning the first pair of boots I ever owned.’ Your arms have to be strong to hoe all day long. Then, not long after that, Jesse and his family went west with Uncle John Smith. He had two wagons, and Jesse’s mother had one of her own. Who do you think was assigned to drive one of those wagons?” Dad asked, looking at Susan.
“Jesse?”
“That’s right. Even though he was only twelve, Jesse drove a wagon with four big oxen all the way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. His Aunt Clarissa rode with him. His arms had to be pretty strong to control the oxen, to keep them pulling that wagon day after day over rivers, through mud, up rocky mountains, and down steep canyons. He even had to hold them steady when the buffalo came thundering by. I’m sure his muscles grew even more, driving the ox teams. And that was a good thing, too.”
“Why?” It was Jay’s turn to be surprised.
“His work wasn’t over just because he had arrived in the valley. He wrote, ‘I herded the cows the whole [first] winter through for Uncle John and … a few others. I was exceedingly hungry, [being] at an age when my appetite was very keen; but there was no help for it. We voluntarily put ourselves on rations; we had about half a pound of flour per day for each person, without any vegetables, and but little meat; sometimes no meat. For months my desire for food was not satisfied.’”
“I can’t imagine working all day when you’re so hungry,” Jay said.
“And herding wasn’t all he had to do, either.” Dad continued reading: “‘As the Spring approached, preparations were made for farming and gardening. I drove the team to break the land for [two neighbor men] and [for] my brother and myself a patch of ground. … We planted considerable corn, … also … beans and peas and some few other vegetables … and an acre of wheat.’ Then,” Dad said, looking up, “he had to tend all those crops—weeding, irrigating, and harvesting them. It was hard because he was inexperienced. He said, ‘Our wheat did poorly, not having sufficient water. As we were unused to irrigating, we did not apply the water properly. We had to pull the most of it, as it was too short to cut—’”

My name is Kathryn Fifield, and I live in Moscow, Idaho. I’m eleven years old, and I think temples are wonderful! I know a little bit about them because when I was eight, I got to go inside the Portland Oregon Temple.
When the Church leaders announced that a new temple would be built nearby, everyone was very excited. My parents were especially happy because they knew that they could go to the temple more often.
We drove to Portland when the temple was being built. It was standing in the middle of a grove of fir trees. The trees were so tall that I had to lean way back to see the tops. But the temple spires were just as tall! The spires were only metal cages then, but to me they looked like arms reaching to heaven, and I knew that this temple would be a holy place.
Finally the workers finished putting marble on the outside, and it really looked like a temple. My mom and dad said that when it was all finished, we would get to go inside. There would be an open house so that anyone who wanted to could see the inside of the temple. After that, there would be a special meeting called a dedication that worthy members were invited to. After the dedication, only members of the Church who had recommends from their bishop/branch president and stake/district president could go inside.
I felt really special to be able to go to the open house. My family drove to the temple on Saturday morning. When we arrived there, we had to stand in a long line that went halfway around the building! I guess a lot of people wanted to see the temple. I know that most of those people in line didn’t know what a temple was, because I heard them asking each other questions. Some of them thought that we went to church every Sunday at the temple.
It wasn’t too hard to wait in line, because all along the way there were television screens set up for us to see. A program on them told about what temples are and how we use them. I guess those people learned that we don’t use the temple for our Sunday meetings.
When we finally reached the door, some helpers put white paper booties over our shoes. That was to keep the new carpets clean and to show respect.
Inside the temple it was very quiet. Nobody talked or even whispered. There were special guides to show us where to go, but they didn’t talk to us. They just smiled as we walked by. We looked, and we read the information on the signs that explained what each room was, but we didn’t say anything.
When we walked through the big chapel, we heard soft music being played on the organ. The tour included the baptismal font with the sculpture of twelve white oxen holding it up (that was my favorite). We also saw the sealing rooms, where people get married for eternity. Inside the sealing rooms were mirrors on opposite walls. When I looked in one mirror, I could see my family going on forever.
The most beautiful room was the celestial room. It was all white and gold, with pretty couches and chairs. In the middle of the ceiling was a huge, sparkling gold chandelier. It had gold “arms” with tiny light bulbs surrounded by pieces of crystal. I thought it looked like sunshine sparkling through icicles.
The thing I remember most about the inside of the temple is how reverent I felt. I didn’t want to go back outside, because it felt so nice to be in that beautiful, quiet place. It made me feel warm and happy to walk through the rooms of the temple. After we were outside again, I heard a man say it made him feel like he was already in heaven. I felt that way too.
A few weeks after the temple open house, Mom and Dad and I went to the dedication. I was eight years old, and I had been baptized, so I was old enough to go.
We sat on chairs in the hall right by the celestial room. There were people in nearly every room in the temple. Television screens were put in them so that the people could watch the meeting—we wouldn’t have all fit into the celestial room, where the prophet was seated. The choir sat in front of us, and when it was time for them to sing, they walked around a little wall and went into the celestial room, where President Benson was. It was exciting to think that President Benson was just on the other side of the wall from me!
I watched the meeting on the video screen and listened carefully to the talks. When the choir sang, the music made me happy all over. When President Benson talked, he told us that he loved all of us. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, too, but I didn’t say anything. I just smiled all over.
During this meeting, I felt even more reverent than I’d felt at the open house. After the special prayer, the temple was God’s house and not just a building anymore. I felt that Jesus and Heavenly Father were right there with us.
When I’m twelve, I’ll be able to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. I can hardly wait until then! But if I try really hard, I have that special reverent feeling in other places too. If I find a quiet place to pray and really think about Jesus and Heavenly Father, I feel that way. In church, when I try my hardest to listen to the speakers or to my teacher, I feel that way. I can even feel reverent when I walk in the forest or sit under the tree in my backyard. I’m practicing being reverent now so that when I go to the temple again, I’ll know just what to do.

I have a very good friend who sends me a new tie to wear during the session I speak at each general conference. He has excellent taste, don’t you think?
My young friend has some difficult challenges. They limit him in some ways, but in other ways he is extraordinary. For example, his boldness as a missionary rivals the sons of Mosiah. The simplicity of his beliefs makes his convictions incredibly firm and steady. I believe that in Scott’s mind it’s unimaginable that everyone isn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that everyone hasn’t read the Book of Mormon and doesn’t have a testimony of its truthfulness.
Let me tell you of an event in Scott’s life when he was making his first airplane flight alone to visit his brother. A neighbor who was seated nearby overheard Scott’s conversation with the person next to him:
“Hello, my name is Scott. What is yours?”
His seatmate shared his name.
“What do you do?”
“I am an engineer.”
“That’s nice. Where do you live?”
“In Las Vegas.”
“We have a temple there. Do you know where the Mormon temple is?”
“Yes. It is a beautiful building.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should be. It is a great religion. Have you read the Book of Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. It’s a great book.”
I agree wholeheartedly with Scott—the Book of Mormon is a great book. The words of the Prophet Joseph Smith cited on the introduction page of the Book of Mormon have always resonated with me: “I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”
This year in our Sunday School classes, we are studying the Book of Mormon. As we prepare and participate, may we be motivated to follow Scott’s bold example to share our love of this special scripture with others not of our faith.
A dominant theme of the Book of Mormon is expressed in the final verse of the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Nephi writes, “But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance” (1 Nephi 1:20).
I wish to speak about how the Book of Mormon, which is a tender mercy of the Lord preserved for these latter days, delivers us by teaching us in a pure and “most correct” way the doctrine of Christ.
Many of the stories of the Book of Mormon are stories of deliverance. Lehi’s departure into the wilderness with his family was about deliverance from the destruction of Jerusalem. The story of the Jaredites is a story of deliverance, as is the story of the Mulekites. Alma the Younger was delivered from sin. Helaman’s stripling warriors were delivered in battle. Nephi and Lehi were delivered from prison. The theme of deliverance is evident throughout the entire Book of Mormon.
There are two stories in the Book of Mormon which are very similar and teach an important lesson. The first is from the book of Mosiah, starting with the 19th chapter. Here we learn of King Limhi living in the land of Nephi. The Lamanites had waged war against the people of Limhi. The result of the war was that the Lamanites would allow King Limhi to rule over his own people, but they would be in bondage to them. It was a very uneasy peace. (See Mosiah 19–20.)
When Limhi’s people had their fill of Lamanite abuses, they convinced their king to go against the Lamanites in battle. Three times Limhi’s people were defeated. Heavy burdens were laid upon them. Finally they humbled themselves and cried mightily unto the Lord that He would deliver them. (See Mosiah 21:1–14.) Verse 15 of chapter 21 tells us of the Lord’s response: “And now the Lord was slow to hear their cry because of their iniquities; nevertheless the Lord did hear their cries, and began to soften the hearts of the Lamanites that they began to ease their burdens; yet the Lord did not see fit to deliver them out of bondage.”
Soon after, Ammon and a small band of men from Zarahemla arrived, and with Gideon—one of the leaders of Limhi’s people—they worked out a plan which was successful, and they escaped from the Lamanite abuses. The Lord was slow to hear their cries. Why? Because of their iniquities.
The second story is similar in many respects but also different. The account is recorded in Mosiah 24.
Alma and his people had settled in the land of Helam, when an army of the Lamanites came into the borders of the land. They met and worked out a peaceful solution. (See Mosiah 23:25–29.) Soon the leaders of the Lamanites began to impose their will on the people of Alma and placed heavy burdens on them to bear (see Mosiah 24:8). In verse 13 we read, “And it came to pass that the voice of the Lord came to them in their afflictions, saying: Lift up your heads and be of good comfort, for I know of the covenant which ye have made unto me; and I will covenant with my people and deliver them out of bondage.”
The people of Alma were delivered from the hands of the Lamanites and safely made their way back to be united with the people of Zarahemla.
What was the difference between the people of Alma and the people of King Limhi? Obviously, there were several differences: the people of Alma were peaceful and more righteous; they had already been baptized and entered into a covenant with the Lord; they humbled themselves before the Lord even before their tribulations started. All these differences made it appropriate and fair that the Lord would deliver them quickly in a miraculous way from the hand which kept them in bondage. These scriptures teach us of the Lord’s power of deliverance.
Prophecies foretelling the life and mission of Jesus Christ promise us the deliverance that He will provide. His Atonement and Resurrection provide all of us an escape from physical death and, if we repent, an escape from spiritual death, bringing with it the blessings of eternal life. The promises of the Atonement and Resurrection, the promises of deliverance from physical and spiritual death, were declared by God to Moses when He said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39).
In contrast to the beautifully designed beliefs for us in the holy scriptures, we find the opposing forces of secularism engaged in challenging the long-standing beliefs in the holy writings—writings which have given us guidance through these many centuries in defining the eternal values and standards for our conduct through life. They declare that the teachings in the Bible are false and the teachings of the Master out of date. Their voices cry that each person must have the freedom to set his or her own standards; they attempt to alter the rights of the believers, contrary to that which is taught in the scriptures and in the words of the prophets.
What a blessing it is to have the account of the mission of our Lord and Savior declared in the Book of Mormon to add a second witness to the doctrine declared in the Bible. Why is it important for the world to have both the Bible and the Book of Mormon? I believe the answer is found in the 13th chapter of 1 Nephi. Nephi records: “And the angel spake unto me, saying: These last records, which thou hast seen among the Gentiles [the Book of Mormon], shall establish the truth of the first [the Bible], which are of the twelve apostles of the Lamb, and shall make known the plain and precious things which have been taken away from them; and shall make known to all kindreds, tongues, and people, that the Lamb of God is the Son of the Eternal Father, and the Savior of the world; and that all men must come unto him, or they cannot be saved” (verse 40).
Neither the Bible nor the Book of Mormon in and of itself is sufficient. Both are necessary for us to teach and learn about the full and complete doctrine of Christ. The need for the other does not diminish either one of them. Both the Bible and the Book of Mormon are necessary for our salvation and exaltation. As President Ezra Taft Benson so powerfully taught, “When used together, the Bible and the Book of Mormon confound false doctrines” (“A New Witness for Christ,” Ensign, Nov. 1984, 8).
I want to close by noting two stories—one from the Old Testament, the other from the Book of Mormon—to show how the books work harmoniously together.
The story of Abraham begins with his deliverance from the idol-worshipping Chaldeans (see Genesis 11:27–31; Abraham 2:1–4). He and his wife Sarah were later delivered from their sorrow and promised that through their posterity all the nations of the earth would be blessed (see Genesis 18:18).
The Old Testament contains the account of Abraham taking Lot, his nephew, with him out of Egypt. Given a choice of land, Lot chose the plain of Jordan, and he pitched his tent facing Sodom, a city of great wickedness. (See Genesis 13:1–12.) Most of the problems that Lot later encountered in his life, and there were several, can be traced back to his early decision to position the door of his tent to look upon Sodom.
Abraham, the father of the faithful, experienced life differently. Certainly there were many challenges, but it was to be a blessed life. We do not know which way Abraham’s tent door faced, but there’s a strong hint in the last verse of the 13th chapter of Genesis. It reports, “Then Abram [or Abraham] removed his tent, and came and dwelt in the plain of Mamre, which is in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the Lord” (Genesis 13:18).
While I do not know, I personally believe the door of Abraham’s tent faced the altar he built unto the Lord. How do I draw this conclusion? It is because I know the Book of Mormon story about King Benjamin’s instructions to his people when they gathered to hear his final address. King Benjamin instructed them to position the doors of their tents facing the temple (see Mosiah 2:1–6).
We can be delivered from the ways of evil and wickedness by turning to the teachings of the holy scriptures. The Savior is the Great Deliverer, for He delivers us from death and from sin (see Romans 11:26; 2 Nephi 9:12).
I declare that Jesus is the Christ and that we can draw close to Him by reading the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. The first testaments of our Savior are the Old and New Testaments—or the Bible.
Again, let’s remember my friend Scott’s description of the Book of Mormon: “It’s a great book.” I testify to you that much of the Book of Mormon’s greatness stems from its harmony with the Holy Bible, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Richard Rancie, 14, Melbourne. Richard runs. Right now it’s competitive running (track) and his own neighborhood car wash business. Later, it may be in a political race. He wants to be Australia’s prime minister.
Richard doesn’t train or compete on Sunday. He gave up a place in the national cross-country championships because they were held on the Sabbath. He also took himself out of competition in the Victoria state championships in his best event, the 1,500 meter. Instead, he settled for competing in the 800 meter. “I didn’t expect to make the final,” he says, “but I won a bronze medal.” The great thing is, he doesn’t sound disappointed about missing out on the 1,500. He just feels blessed and compensated.

May I tell you about an experience of another young man, whom I will call Bill. At eighteen, he was in his first year at the university. He was on scholarship and was anxious to maintain a good grade point average. So he signed up for a speech class that he supposed would be easy.
One day the teacher said, “Students, in my last twenty-five years of teaching, I’ve given only five A’s, the top grade.” Bill was very disappointed. He tried to transfer from the class, but it was too late to do so. Over the months he received B’s, B-minuses, and once in a while, a B-plus, but never an A. He was discouraged.
Then came the last talk of the semester which would determine half of the final grade. The assignment was to speak for twenty-five minutes, defending a stand on a controversial subject. The class would be allowed to critique the talk orally, and each class member would give a written critique.
As the day he was to speak approached, Bill could not seem to decide on a topic. He prayed about it. Then an impression came to him: “If you’re looking for a controversial subject, choose the Book of Mormon.”
Bill was fearful, knowing that he was the only member of the Church in the class. His teacher, an active member of a Protestant church, had quoted from the Bible throughout the semester and made it clear that she considered the Bible the only revelation from God to man.
The day of his presentation, as Bill announced his subject, the class became very silent. Hoping not to offend anyone—especially his teacher—he began talking about the Book of Mormon within an historical and academic framework. Then, about halfway through, the Spirit came upon him. “I can’t just tell them historically about this book,” he thought. “I don’t care what they think of me, or what happens to my grade. The Book of Mormon is true, and they all ought to know it.”
He began teaching as he had learned to teach investigators while he was a stake missionary. He bore his testimony frequently and even concluded in the name of Jesus Christ.
He waited for the attack. To his astonishment, not a word came from the students. The teacher encouraged them to attack, but they would not. Not one word was spoken. Finally, in frustration, the teacher said, “Be seated, Bill.”
The written student reviews were all positive. Four or five wrote, “You have almost convinced me of the truth of what you said.” One student, who had been particularly critical of the other students’ presentations, wrote, “I really would like to know more about your church.” To Bill’s delight, he received an A in that class. But even if he had failed the class, he still would have been blessed for his efforts to follow the Spirit’s promptings. The Lord has commanded all of us “to stand as witnesses of God at all times, and in all things, and in all places that you may be in.” (Mosiah 18:9.) Truly he blesses those who, in faith, are “not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.” (Rom. 1:16.)

“As I was growing up in Provo, there was another boy my age in my grade at school. His name was Walt Hansen. He and I were great friends; there was a great bond between us. His family did not attend Church, but Walt came because of the influence of his friends who reached out to him. Years later he became a bishop in the Provo Sunset Ward, and I’ve often heard people say that Walt Hansen was the most kind and helpful bishop that they had ever known. I hope that you children will realize that you may be a good influence in the lives of your friends and help someone else discover the gospel.

You will find examples of them around the world—like Lisa. Lisa, age eleven, lives in England. She came home from school one day feeling very excited. She had been asked to read a part in the school devotional assembly the following morning. She said to her mother, “But some of the words are wrong.” Her mother discovered that one paragraph referred to God and the Holy Ghost as being one and the same person. Lisa and her mother decided to write a letter to Lisa’s teacher explaining that this paragraph was contrary to Lisa’s belief, and that she would feel much happier leaving it out.
The next afternoon her mother waited anxiously for Lisa to return home from school. She came home with a big, bright smile on her face. Not only had the teacher let her leave the paragraph out, but she had asked for more information about the Church. In addition, the teacher asked Lisa to present an assembly about the Church. All this came about because Lisa lived up to the covenant she had made and was willing to witness to the world her own beliefs.

“I know the Church is true because when I pray, He answers,” says Nicole, who is 10. “When I ask Him for help, He helps me.”
Nicole tells about a time when her friend got very sick and the doctors decided to fly her to Peru’s capital city, Lima, because they didn’t know how to treat her. “I didn’t want her to go because she was my best friend,” Nicole says. “I asked Heavenly Father to bless her. He heard my prayer, and she was healed.”

This Christmas story occurred in the middle of the summer some years ago at a naval training center.
The man opposite me in the room had the many stripes on his uniform that signified long and distinguished service; I was an apprentice seaman in basic training. Nonetheless, Commander Hamilton, as he had greeted me at the door, had been most gracious—he called me “Mr. Hanks,” seated me with cordiality, and we talked as equals.
The commander, senior chaplain at the great training center, had invited me into his office to discuss the possibility of my becoming a chaplain. I was quick to explain that because I had interrupted my university training to serve as a missionary, I had not finished an academic degree and didn’t qualify to be a Chaplain under the navy’s standards. He replied that he felt he might be able to do something about getting the navy to disregard that requirement, if my qualifications were good.
Commander Hamilton was a tall, strong-looking man for whom I had immediately formed a feeling of respect and admiration. I had learned that he was one of the survivors of the aircraft carrier Yorktown when she was sunk by enemy action in the war and that he had been in the water for many hours before he was rescued. I was complimented and humbled that such a man would be considering his proposed action after having visited our group of LDS servicemen at the base.
“Before I recommend you to the Chief of Chaplains, Mr. Hanks, do me a favor, please. Talk to me about your experience in your Church, about what you think may help me in my recommendation of you as qualified to represent the Lord as a military Chaplain.”
I began to explain to him the lifelong experience of a young man in the Church that had helped me prepare for such a significant opportunity. We went back to the beginning—the early participation, the 2 1/2-minute talks, the service as deacon, teacher, priest, elder, seventy; Scouting, seminary, institute, Sunday School teaching, leadership opportunities, missionary service.
As I talked, he who had been so courteous and kind and interested began to fidget, to lose interest, and I realized, as we do when we are seeking to communicate person-to-person, that I was not reaching him, that I was losing the battle, and became more anxious. Earnestly I tried to tell him what there is in the stage-by-stage opportunity in the Church for a young person to develop the quality to be a servant of God.
After a time his demeanor completely changed, and he interrupted me, saying very brusquely, “Say, Hanks, do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
“Yes, sir!” I said, “Everything I believe relates to Jesus Christ. My faith, my life, center in him as my Savior. The Church I belong to is founded on him and follows him as its living head. It is named in his name.”
He said, looking at his watch, “Well, you have been talking for seven minutes, and you haven’t said so.”
I think I have not made that mistake again.

Shortly after the end of World War II, Elder Benson was assigned to preside over the European Mission. From the headquarters in London he traveled throughout Europe, reopening missions and alleviating the suffering in war-torn countries. He was particularly moved to see the conditions under which members had remained faithful during six years of war.
Addressing a congregation in Scandinavia, Elder Benson said, “Tears have been shed today; it is not a sign of weakness, but of the power of the Holy Ghost. Here is a place where the Savior could come. I love you all because you love the work of the Lord.”
“For each of us there that day,” a member later said, “the war was finally over.”