Gospel Story Finder

It had been only a few months since Peter’s father, Dr. Mattias Koteles, a professor at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, had attended an important scientific conference in Austria. On his return, he had told his family an exciting story that had nothing to do with the conference but that he had heard from one of the American doctors. It was about a young boy named Joseph Smith who had been visited by God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ. And it was claimed that the Church that Joseph Smith had organized was God’s true Church.
What if it’s true? Peter had hoped, excitedly. Only a few weeks before, his teacher at school had told the class that there was no God and that the worth of religion was just something that people imagined. While he was listening to his teacher, it had seemed to Peter that a voice in his mind was telling him that his teacher was wrong. That night he had knelt beside his bed and prayed that he would know for sure. Afterward, he had been filled with a warm and happy feeling, and he knew that God lives.
Dr. Koteles had brought back a pamphlet that explained about Joseph Smith, and Peter had read it over and over with growing excitement. He wanted with all his heart to find out more about Joseph Smith and this church. The pamphlet said that an angel had given Joseph some ancient records and that the translation he had made of them with the help of God was published in a book of scriptures called the Book of Mormon. If he could get a copy of this book to read, he would be able to find out if Joseph Smith’s story was true. He thought of the promise that he had read in the pamphlet: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and 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” (Moro. 10:4).
Peter’s mother had listened to Papa with tight lips, and Peter could tell that she was angry. He heard his parents talking that night when they thought that he was asleep. Peter felt ashamed to be listening, but he was anxious to hear more about the Church …
“Mattias, how could you do this, filling Peter’s head with this nonsense? He’s only ten years old. It’s not only useless, but it could be dangerous for him as well as for us. The government is being very understanding right now, but things could change any moment. Remember that we are Hungarians. Such things are discouraged. Have you forgotten the revolution and the foreign tanks in the streets? You must know that this American church would never be approved by the State Office of Church Affairs.”
“Mama, I am a patriotic Hungarian. My father gave his life for Hungary. But above every man’s duty to his country is his duty to God.”
“But, Mattias,” protested Mama, “an American church? Everyone would think the same. How could you favor an American church and be a loyal Hungarian? It could only mean trouble.”
“There are members of this church all over the world. It is not an American church. I listened to Dr. Jensen talk about its teachings far into the night. I asked many questions. What he told me is just what the Bible teaches. If the story is true, and I feel in my heart that it is, then this is God’s church. Would you have me turn away from God?”
“Mattias, it is only an impossible dream, this idea of yours about a true church. I refuse to hear any more about it. When the State Office of Church Affairs recognizes this church of yours, then I will discuss it. Until then I want you to promise that you will say no more about it to me or to Peter.”
“All right, Mama,” replied Peter’s father, but his voice was filled with sadness.
Neither of his parents mentioned the matter the next day. Peter knew that his mother had not read the pamphlet and that she did not intend to read it. After supper, when he was helping his mother put away the dishes, he asked, “Do you believe that there is a God, Mama?”
“When I was a little girl, my mother taught me about God. I felt that He was very near. As I grew older, I saw much that was wrong in the churches, but this feeling of God’s closeness was something apart from going to any church. Nothing has changed for me since then. But even if this church that your father has found is God’s church, it would be better for us not to know. We could never be a part of it. It would take a miracle. We are Hungarians, and it is no use.”
Perhaps she’s right, Peter thought, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He decided that if there was a true church, God would want him to find it, and only God could help him. He began to pray every night to know if the church described in the pamphlet was true and, if it was, to be able to become a member of it.
Then the miracle happened! It was the end of June, and the streets of Budapest were filled with people enjoying the warm summer sunshine. After school Peter lingered on the bank of the Danube River for a long time. The river seemed especially beautiful that day, and he had been late getting home from school. His mother said nothing about it, though, and all through supper she was strangely silent, her cheeks glowing pink with excitement.
Papa watched her curiously and finally asked, “Mama, what is it? Tell us.”
Silently she left the table, returning with the strudel for dessert and a page of the government’s daily newspaper. She handed the paper to her husband, and he read silently, then passed it to Peter.
Mama had circled a small article in the middle of the page that said: “The State Office of Church Affairs has concluded its investigation and announces full recognition of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a legal institution and authorizes citizens of the Hungarian People’s Republic to be members and attend meetings of this religious organization.” The article went on to say that the Church was holding a meeting that night and another on Sunday and that representatives of the First Presidency of the Church would be there.
“I checked your pamphlet,” Mama said, “and it is the same church. I thought that I would never see it happen. Even now I do not understand how such a thing came to be. Surely God must be with this church.”
“What does it mean, Papa?”
“It means that the State Office of Church Affairs has said that it will allow this church to have meetings in Hungary. It is allowed to teach people about Joseph Smith and the gospel and to baptize people who wish to be members.”
“The miracle,” breathed Peter, staring at his mother.
“Yes, the miracle,” she said.
“Now we will talk of this!” exclaimed Dr. Koteles, and his eyes shone with excitement.
“Yes,” said Mama simply. She took the pamphlet out of her apron pocket and began to read it aloud. As she read, Peter felt as if he would burst.
They went to the meeting on Sunday and were surprised at how many attended—almost sixty people. Peter listened to all that was said, but it was hard for him to understand everything. After the meeting, Dr. Koteles and Peter shook hands with some of the Church officials, and one of them wrote down the Koteles’s name and address. He said that he would send some elders to visit them and bring them a copy of the Book of Mormon.
A couple of days later Peter heard their doorbell ring and ran to answer it. How he hoped that the Latter-day Saint elders had come so that he could know for sure that they represented God’s true church!
Peter’s heart was pounding as he opened the door and saw two men in dark suits. They introduced themselves, and as they smiled and shook hands with Peter, he suddenly realized that he already knew the truth: These elders were members of the true Church; they had been sent by a prophet of God, and he, Peter, was going to be a member too.

Before I met Ben, I was nearing the age of missionary service and had seriously considered serving a full-time mission. But then Ben entered my life, and I knew that Heavenly Father had a different plan for me.
When Ben and I got engaged, relatives who knew about my thoughts to serve a mission asked me about my choice, and I would tell them, “I decided that I wanted to pick my own missionary companion—and stay with him for eternity.”
When you’re married, you and your spouse have the chance to participate in the work of salvation together. Ben and I have found great joy in building a Christ-centered home, studying and living the gospel together, serving in the Church, and inviting others to come unto Christ. As we work together to build the kingdom of God, we grow closer, our love deepens, and life is more fulfilling.
Despite what the world may say, marriage is awesome and is worth making a priority. When you’re married, you have a teammate, you give and receive love, you enjoy life more fully, and you have someone to build the kingdom of God with. All of that brings us great joy, and because we were sealed in the temple, we can have this joy forever! If we keep our covenants, we will be together for eternity and receive the crowning blessings of the priesthood. We “have found in marriage the richest fulfillment of human existence.”4

Matt Bezzant learned about repentance during a service project at a nursery school. He would let the children clean the walls of the nursery as well as they could with the tools he gave them, and then he would come along afterwards to help them make the wall clean all the way. Cleaning the walls was like repentance, he said. “You do all you can to clean the wall, and God gives you the tools for that; then He does the rest.”

My name is Tyler, and I am eight years old. One day at camp I was walking with my dad, and we saw a newborn fawn lying under a car in the shade. I was worried about it because it seemed tired. I started petting it.
After a while I saw a mother doe with another baby fawn. I knew that the doe was abandoning the first baby under the car. A doctor came and helped me carry the fawn across the street to where the mother was. The doe was leaving, but we put the fawn on the grass and walked away, hoping that the mother would come back.
I was so worried about the baby deer all night, and I prayed three times to Heavenly Father that He would help the fawn. In the morning we checked where we had left the fawn and saw that it was gone. Then we saw the doe lying in some grass with her two babies.
I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

Another help that almost every person interviewed mentioned for bringing a new family close is showing physical affection. You’re not being disloyal to a natural parent by giving a stepparent a hug. You hug your friends, don’t you? “I remember one thing that really made me feel closer to my stepmom,” says Chris Smith. “I’d just gotten home from a trip, and she gave me a big hug—that made me realize she was really happy to see me. That was good.”

Four Generations, by Kwani Povi Winder
I became active in the Church when my Uncle Bill took my two sisters and me to Primary. My Primary teacher, Jean Richardson, was a kindly mother figure. I liked her and my new church friends, who were much kinder to me than the kids in my neighborhood. So, I decided to stay.
As I approached my 12th birthday, Bishop Dal Guymon invited me to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said yes. Then he said, “Why don’t you ask your dad to bring you here next Sunday, and we will ordain you.”
Dad and his family had stopped attending church when he was about 13. As an adult, he spent most weekends in the local bars or fly-fishing. He had served in the US Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He smoked cigars, drank, and swore, but he had a reputation in our small Montana town for being honest and fair.
When Dad took me to church the next Sunday, it was a big deal. When the time came, Bishop Guymon called me up and asked me to sit in a chair. Several men—but not my dad—put their hands on my head and performed the ordinance.
I felt the heavy weight of several big hands on me. Dad, sitting on a bench a few feet away, felt a different kind of pressure—in his chest. A voice spoke to him inside, saying, “You need to be there for your boy the next time this happens.”
In the weeks that followed, Dad turned his life around and started to attend church every Sunday. Soon, the Church became the central focus of our family life.
Dad became my deacons, teachers, and priests quorum adviser; my Sunday School teacher; and my basketball, softball, and volleyball coach. While we were home teaching companions, Dad helped other men and families return to Church activity.
Assisted by my dad, I experienced my own personal and transformative conversion. Since then, I have tried to be sensitive to men who, like my dad, might respond to an invitation to become the best dad they can be.
I will be forever grateful for what my Uncle Bill, a kind Primary teacher, a wise bishop, and my dad did for me 60 years ago.

Some years ago while our family was eating dinner with another couple from our ward, we received a phone call from the emergency department of our local hospital. An official asked my husband, who was serving as stake president at the time, if someone from our Church could come see a 17-year-old youth who had suffered a serious head injury.
Upon arriving, my husband learned that the young man had fallen from a balcony onto a cement sidewalk 30 feet (9 m) below. He was unconscious and not expected to live.
My husband and the brother who ate dinner with us gave the young man a blessing. His family, who lived a thousand miles (1,610 km) away, was contacted and apprised of his condition.
Miraculously, after a few days of intensive care, the young man regained consciousness and began to heal. For four weeks his parents visited him daily in the hospital. Then they flew him home to Arizona, USA, so he could complete his recovery.
How marvelous it was to witness the healing power of the priesthood work in a way to give this young man a second chance at a healthy future. And how grateful I was for a husband and other ward members who are prepared to perform priesthood service and act with divine authority.
I felt deeply for the young man’s parents, who were so far from their son during his crisis. I was glad, however, to know that they felt somewhat reassured when they learned that their son had received a priesthood blessing and that Church members were glad to help.

As she became more active in the Church, Sharon had a great desire to go to the temple. “After many months, my bishop assured me that I had done all possible to [qualify for] a temple recommend,” she says. But she wondered: “Was I really worthy? Would I be able to live up to the covenants I would make? …

“Upon entering the temple that day, I felt a definite warmth and comfort. My loneliness eased away because I felt that many seen and unseen sisters and brothers stood near. … Tears filled my eyes as feelings of uneasiness and unworthiness slipped away.”

I love to feel the Spirit. It’s a feeling I can confidently say I recognize now.

But that took work. Where I grew up in the north of England, it was often hard to place myself in an environment that allowed me to feel the Holy Ghost. There are so many great young adults there who grew up in the Church, yet it was sometimes difficult to align our behaviors with the doctrine and truths we knew in our hearts.

For a long time, I attended church on Sundays but felt frustrated and sad knowing that the things the Spirit was communicating to me were not getting through to others whom I love and care for.

However, I’m learning the importance of making room for the Spirit in all areas of my life and helping others do the same.

After graduating from secondary school, I faced a lot of difficulties. For example, there are lots of activities and conferences for young adult members of the Church where I live. But after these activities, some young adults would go to clubs or places that weren’t aligned with our values.

That shocked me!

Drinking alcohol and clubbing are common here, but I didn’t expect friends I sat by in church to do those things too.

I was confused.

Seeing friends make these decisions made it really hard to know who would help me stay spiritually strong. Eventually, because I saw others living the gospel casually, I was led away from the gospel too. I wasn’t going to church or praying, and I was doing things I shouldn’t have been doing.

But one day, when I was feeling particularly miserable, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him my feelings. I told Him I wanted the Church to be true and I wanted to understand His commandments, but it was so hard to even consider standing alone. But I told Him that if I could find reassurance of the truths of the gospel, I would listen and put my heart into living it again.

A few days later, I felt a distinct spiritual impression that I needed to serve a mission.

The thought really came out of nowhere. But I could feel the Spirit nudging me in that direction. I knew that preparing for a mission would enable me to remember my testimony, to rebuild my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and to rely on my own faith—not anyone else’s.

And that was my desire.

So, I started to change. It took a lot of spiritual work. I had to stop hanging out with certain friends, I broke up with the person I was dating, and I had to replace my bad habits with better ones. I worked with my bishop and relied on Jesus Christ’s enabling power to help me move forward.

Before my mission, I didn’t understand commandments and covenants. My friends were treating these blessings like burdens, and I had started seeing them that way too. But after serving a mission and rebuilding my faith, I now see covenants and commandments as blessed responsibilities that help me maintain divine, direct connection with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—every day.

Sometimes it makes me sad that others don’t see the exquisite blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. At times, I just want to shake them by the shoulders and remind them of the miracle their covenants are! I want them to realize what the Savior can enable them to do and become!

But while I can’t control others, I can keep my testimony strong. I can know when to step away from some people’s influence and also know how to be a good influence on them.

I think that is what brought me back after I struggled with my faith: remembering the love of my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I know I wouldn’t have gone on a mission if I hadn’t asked Heavenly Father for divine direction in a time of deep confusion. As much as I wish I hadn’t had to go through those painful experiences, I learned so much about repentance, about Heavenly Father’s perfect love, and about the importance of prioritizing good relationships (especially with Him and our Savior) that keep us connected to the Spirit.

Despite the hard parts, rebuilding my faith in Him was worth everything.

Thud! Kristi plopped down on the ice. For a moment, she sat looking at the skates she’d found in the attic. They were wrinkled, black, and three inches longer than her feet. Someday she would be a figure skater and sail across the rink in a glittering blue skirt. But right now all she had were old skates, a coat that was too small, and a patch of ice in the horse pasture.
“Hey, ballerina! Where did you get those ugly skates?”
Kristi looked up and saw her 17-year-old brother, Jake, sitting on the fence. She wondered how long he’d been watching her. “Go away!” she yelled.
“You should’ve seen your face, like you were a famous skater or something. Then—crash!” Jake laughed.
Kristi scrambled to her feet, slipping on the ice. “Just you wait. Someday I’ll be famous.”
Jake backed away from the fence, still grinning. “OK, OK. I believe you. But you’ll need better skates.”
That evening, Kristi told her mother that she wanted ice skates for Christmas.
Mother leaned over and hugged her. “We’ll have a wonderful Christmas this year just because it’s Christmas.” She looked serious. “But try not to get your hopes up about skates. What money we have has to buy things we need.”
Still, Kristi hoped.
Three days before Christmas, she noticed a box under the tree without a name tag. It was shaped like a big shoe box. She knew it had to be skates! Kneeling under the tree, she picked it up and shook it.
Just then, Jake walked in. He smelled like hamburgers because he worked at a fast-food place after school. Quickly, Kristi set the box down.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, trying to look innocent.
He had a funny look on his face. “You probably think …” he started to say.
“Think what?” Kristi asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
On Christmas morning, Kristi sat by the tree while her father passed around the gifts. She got a new coat, socks, and a mystery book.
Kristi waited, watching the box with no name tag. Finally, her mother leaned over, picked it up, and handed it to Kristi’s father. “Merry Christmas, Dear.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You’ve needed these for a long time.”
It was a pair of work boots.
Kristi bent her head over her new book, seeing just a blur of words. She wasn’t going to cry and ruin everyone’s Christmas.
The next day, Kristi went sledding with her friends. She wore her new coat and had so much fun she almost forgot that she had wanted skates. Later that afternoon she sat curled up in a chair reading her book when Jake came in the door. He was still wearing his work uniform and he smelled like french fries.
“I’m going to the store,” he said. “Do you want to go with me?”
Surprised, Kristi closed her book. “OK.”
Soon they were driving downtown in his old car. It stalled at a stoplight and people behind them honked while Jake restarted it. The car sputtered down the road to a sports equipment store.
“You have to come in and try them on,” Jake said.
“Try what on?”
“Skates,” he said. “I thought I’d get you some, since—”
“Skates?” Kristi cried. “Skates? Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his ear.
They went inside and the salesman pulled out a box. Nestled in blue tissue paper were the skates, their silver blades shining. Kristi sniffed their newness and tried them on, balancing carefully on the blades.
When they got home, it was almost dark. But there was a full moon. “There’s enough moonlight to go skating if you want,” Jake said. He picked up the old black skates. “Maybe I’ll skate too.”
Together they walked out to the pasture. With trembling fingers, Kristi laced up her skates and stepped onto the ice. They were firm around her ankles. She glided across the ice and did a smooth turn, amazed at how much easier it was.
Jake put on the old skates and joined her. They skated a long time, sometimes falling down and laughing. Over by the fence, the horses watched.
“The horses probably think we’re crazy,” Jake said.
Kristi looked at the horses, then stopped to watch her tall brother as he wobbled across the ice. It was then she noticed his pants were too short, and his coat sleeves were frayed at the cuffs.
Kristi watched as Jake took long, awkward strides around the ice. “He could have gotten himself some clothes,” she thought, “or maybe fixed his car.” But he bought her skates. A warm feeling started in her chest and grew until she felt so warm she could almost take off her coat. Suddenly, Kristi wanted to do something kind for someone else. She wanted to be as kind to everyone as Jake was to her.
Kristi looked toward the fence where the horses were quiet and watching. “Do you want to know what the horses really think?” she asked Jake. “They think you’re the best brother ever.”
“Giving, not getting, brings to full bloom the Christmas spirit.”President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, “Christmas Gifts, Christmas Blessings,” Ensign, Dec. 1995, 2.

The other visit was to the North Carbon stake in Price, Utah, also many years ago. I noted during my visit that they had rescued 86 men from the prospective elders in one year and had taken them and their wives to the Manti Temple. I said to Cecil Broadbent, the president, “How did you do it, President?”
He said, “I didn’t. My counselor, President Judd, did.”
President Judd was a large, ruddy-faced Welsh coal miner. I said to him, “President Judd, will you tell me how you were able to rescue 86 brethren in one year?”
I sat anticipating his answer, and he said, “No!”
I was stunned. I’d never had anyone say no so directly in my life. I asked, “Why not?”
He said, “Then you’ll tell the other stake presidents you visit, and we won’t lead the Church in reactivation.” He was smiling, though, so I knew it was half in jest. He said, “I’ll make a deal with you, Brother Monson. I’ll tell you how we rescued 86 men in one year if you’ll get me two tickets to general conference.”
I said, “You’re on!” And so he told me. What he didn’t tell me is that he intended to collect interest every conference for the next 10 years. He came faithfully every six months for his two tickets.

One of my favorite times during childhood was Holy Week, even though I didn’t understand its significance and sacredness.
I loved the traditions my beloved mother had established, especially those related to food. My mother, Doña Negra, was a devout Catholic. During Lent (a 40-day period of spiritual preparation for Easter celebrated in the Catholic Church and other Christian churches), we followed certain practices.
During this period, we didn’t eat meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. The menu at my house always included rice, pigeon peas, fried eggs, fried eggplant (torrejas), green salads, and codfish. My mother would also prepare sweet beans. I loved the food my mother made, but it wasn’t until I grew up and was baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that I began to understand and value the importance and sacredness of this time and why we celebrate Easter.
From one of the Apostles, President Jeffrey R. Holland, I learned that the Passover feast, instituted in ancient Israel, reminded the people that “the Lord brought [them] out from Egypt, from the house of bondage” (Exodus 13:14). Thus, this annual celebration helped the Israelites remember that the Lord had delivered them from death and captivity.
With the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, the Lord delivered us from physical and spiritual death by providing the opportunity to be cleansed from our sins. Therefore, the ritual of Passover, which involved sacrificing the firstborn of the flock, was replaced by the ordinance of the sacrament. By partaking of it, the “children of the promise have been under covenant to remember Christ’s sacrifice in this newer, higher, more holy and personal way. …
“With so very much at stake, this ordinance commemorating our escape from the angel of darkness should be taken more seriously than it sometimes is. It should be a powerful, reverent, reflective moment. It should encourage spiritual feelings and impressions. …
“… Do we see it as our passover, remembrance of our safety and deliverance and redemption?”
For most people, Easter is just a holiday. It is often used to do many worldly things that take us away from the true spirit of Easter. We should strive to establish practices in our families that promote understanding of the Savior’s Atonement and fill our homes with gratitude for the gift of the Father and the Son.
These words from the Prophet Joseph Smith add additional context to the importance of the events related to Easter: “The fundamental principles of our religion are the testimony of the Apostles and Prophets, concerning Jesus Christ, that He died, was buried, and rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven; and all other things which pertain to our religion are only appendages to it”
In his message “The Greatest Easter Story Ever Told”, Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles exhorted us: “Perhaps the question we have asked ourselves is one we could all contemplate: How do we model the teaching and celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Easter story, with the same balance, fulness, and rich religious tradition of the birth of Jesus Christ, the Christmas story?”
We are all trying. I see an increasing effort among Latter-day Saints to celebrate Easter in a more Christ-centered way, which includes a greater and more contemplative recognition of Palm Sunday and Good Friday. We could also adopt appropriate, Christ-centered Easter traditions found in the cultures and customs of countries around the world.
N. T. Wright, a New Testament scholar, suggested: “We should take steps to celebrate the Resurrection Easter in new creative ways: with art, literature, children’s games, poetry, music, dance, festivals, bells, special concerts. [. . .] It is our greatest festival. If we removed Christmas, in biblical terms, we would lose two chapters at the beginning of Matthew and Luke, and nothing more. If we removed Easter, the New Testament would disappear; we would have no Christianity.”
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said:
“No words in Christendom mean more to me than those spoken by the angel to the weeping Mary Magdalene and the other Mary as they approached the tomb to care for the body of their Lord:
“‘Why seek ye the living among the dead?
“‘He is not here, but is risen’ (Luke 24:5–6).
I pray that the Lord will bless us so that we can understand the magnitude of what our Lord Jesus Christ did for us. It is necessary to establish in our hearts and in the hearts of our posterity a greater understanding and gratitude for the Lord’s Atonement and for the celebration of the Passover.
President Monson continued:
“Our Savior lived again. The most glorious, comforting, and reassuring of all events of human history had taken place—the victory over death. The pain and agony of Gethsemane and Calvary had been wiped away. The salvation of mankind had been secured. The Fall of Adam had been reclaimed.
“The empty tomb on that first Easter morning was the answer to Job’s question: ‘If a man die, shall he live again?’ (Job 14:14). To all within the sound of my voice, I declare, If a man die, he shall live again. We know, for we have the light of revealed truth.
“‘For since by man came death, by man [Jesus Christ] came also the resurrection of the dead.
“‘For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive’ (1 Corinthians 15:21–22). …
“… Two weeks ago, I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and ‘always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.’
“Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether his son was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. ‘Jason,’ he said, ‘I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.’ He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, ‘Never!’ in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
“His father wrote: ‘In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. . . . As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. . . . [That] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.’
“Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
“In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. The caption was written beneath the photograph: ‘Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.’
“Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: ‘I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again. . . . We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. . . . If we strive our best to obey and be better in this life, we will see [him again].’ She continued: ‘[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. . . . [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’
“My beloved brothers and sisters, in our hour of deepest sorrow, we can receive profound peace from the words of the angel that first Easter morning: ‘He is not here: for he is risen” (Matthew 28:6).
God lives; He is our beloved Heavenly Father. I am very grateful to now understand a little more of what my Savior willingly did for me. He was wounded, bruised, and chastised. He suffered my pains, afflictions, and illnesses. He is my Savior. And I share this in His sweet name, the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
For ideas on how to celebrate a Christ-centered Easter, see “Making Easter a Time to Remember the Savior” in the April 2023 Liahona.

I have always enjoyed nature and the outdoors. I grew up in Boise, Idaho, and one of my favorite things to do when I was out of school in the summer was to go to my aunt’s ranch. There I herded cows, rode horses, swam in the canal, and often slept in the haystack under the stars.
Oh, how I admired the boys and girls who lived on ranches and farms! They had opportunities that those of us who were raised in the city never had.
However, within a half mile of where I lived in Boise was a river that ran through the city. There was a wooded area there that I loved to go to after school or on Saturdays. My dog was my pal, and we went there together and sailed boats or made whistles out of willows. We watched the beavers make dams and the fish swim in the water. We watched the birds build nests and hatch their young.
As I grew older, I joined the local Boy Scout troop and enjoyed hiking and camping in the summertime with my friends. Many of these boys were in Primary with me. My mother was Primary president, and my younger sister, Dorothy, and I were regular attenders.
My father, however, was not a member of the Church, and when I had my eighth birthday, I was not baptized.
I did have a testimony, though. I knew that God lived. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for all the things that I enjoyed. I often thanked him for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask him for the things that I wanted or needed.
I went to all the Church meetings and activities, but it wasn’t until I was twelve that I really missed not being baptized. By that time, all my friends had been ordained deacons. Because I wasn’t an official member of the Church, I wasn’t able to do many of the things that they did. Passing the sacrament and building a fire to warm up the meetinghouse were only two of the responsibilities that I watched my friends do without me.
So my sister and I began coaxing our father to allow us to be baptized. We also prayed that he might say yes. We were overjoyed when he finally gave his consent, and I was baptized when I was thirteen years old. A whole new world opened up to me as I learned the responsibilities of being a member of the Church and holding the priesthood.
I’m grateful for the influence of the Church in those early years and for my mother’s teachings. Even though I wasn’t baptized until later than many children, I knew that God loved me and listened to me.

Such a fracture developed between two heroes of the Restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ in these latter days. Parley and Orson Pratt were brothers, early converts, and ordained Apostles. Each faced a trial of faith but came through with an unshakable testimony. Both sacrificed and contributed greatly for the cause of truth.

During the Nauvoo era, their relationship became strained, culminating in a heated, public confrontation in 1846. A deep and prolonged rift developed. Parley initially wrote to Orson to resolve the rift, but Orson did not reply. Parley gave up, feeling that correspondence was over forever, unless initiated by Orson.1

Several years later, in March 1853, Orson learned about a project to publish a book on the descendants of William Pratt, the brothers’ earliest American ancestor. Orson began to weep “like a little child” as he glimpsed this treasure trove of family history. His heart melted, and he determined to repair the breach with his brother.

Orson wrote to Parley, “Now my dear brother, there are none among all the descendants of our Ancestor, Lieut[enant] William Pratt, who have so deep an interest in searching out his descendants as ourselves.” Orson was one of the first to understand that Latter-day Saints have an obligation to research and compile family histories so that we can perform vicarious ordinances for our ancestors. His letter continued: “We know that the God of our fathers has had a hand in all this. … I will beg pardon for having been so backward in writing to you. … I hope you will forgive me.”2 Despite their unshakable testimonies, their love for their ancestors was the catalyst to heal a rift, mend a hurt, and seek and extend forgiveness.3

When God directs us to do one thing, He often has many purposes in mind. Family history and temple work is not only for the dead but blesses the living as well. For Orson and Parley, it turned their hearts to each other. Family history and temple work provided the power to heal that which needed healing.

About two months before prom is an awkward time in the life of high school girls. We want someone to ask us to the dance! For that to happen, you sometimes have to send some subtle hints in the direction of a few likely candidates.
I was starting to feel some possibility vibes from an old friend. He was not a member of the Church, but we had been square dance partners in fourth grade—a weak but definite connection. The old strategy of “his friends telling my friends to tell me” was in full force. And there was a tension, a new electricity, when we actually did talk to each other.
One night after a basketball game, we saw each other at a party. We met as I was on my way out and he was on his way in. My friends and I had realized immediately that this was not a party we should be attending. Most of the kids were drinking, and we had decided long ago not to drink or be where others were drinking.
For a moment, he stopped to talk to me. My friends waited patiently a few steps away. But I could feel the “remember who you are” message being sent from their anxious faces. He asked me to stay. Momentarily, I thought of the coming prom and my need for a date. I knew this was his first move and my next words would determine mine. But then I said, “Oh, you know I can’t stay here.”
“I know,” he said. “I just thought I would ask anyway. That’s okay.”
I left with my friends. And he did not ask me to the prom. I went with a good friend from another ward.
A few years later, my new husband and I were attending Brigham Young University. During the holiday break, I was working at a bookstore in my hometown that sells Latter-day Saint books. One day before Christmas, my old friend—the square dance partner, not the prom date—walked in. Excited at seeing old friends, we chatted for a few moments. Then I suddenly realized that he probably thought this was a typical bookstore. People often made that mistake. After all, why would he be looking for books related to the Church? So as politely as possible I said, “You know, we only sell things related to my church.”
“Oh, I think you can help me,” he said, “because I am looking for a set of scriptures to take on my mission.”
He told me that after high school, he had attended a small college to play ball. Several Latter-day Saint players had invited him to some institute classes. The rest was history.
For a moment, my thoughts went back to that night standing outside the party. I was once again glad for making the right choice. And I was grateful for some college ball players who had made a difference in the life of my friend.

At the end of World War II, I was seated in my office in Salt Lake and received a telephone call from a man in New York, a multimillionaire who had made 30 million dollars by the time he was 30 years of age. He had a son in a military camp just outside Salt Lake City. This boy had expected to be shipped overseas, as many others had been. Then the war ended and so they were crowded into that camp, like sardines in a can. This boy was discouraged, and his father was worried about him. So he called and said, "Would you please call him on the telephone and see if you can cheer him up a bit?" I said, "Of course, I’d be happy to." And I called him and said, "Would you like to come into the office for a little visit?" And he said, "I sure would." He was a bit delayed in coming, and I was just ready to leave for home when he arrived.
I said, "Would you like to go out to the house with me and eat with the family? My wife doesn’t know you’re coming, but you’ll be welcome." So he said, "I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do tonight than that." So we went out, and we had our dinner, and we had our prayer. We gathered around the piano afterwards and enjoyed ourselves with some singing. Then after we visited for awhile, I drove him down to his bus. In a few days I got a letter from his father, and you know, you’d have thought I’d saved that boy’s life. The father quoted a letter from his son in which the son had said, "Father, I didn’t know there were any people in this world who lived like that." Yes, we take it all for granted. Here was a man worth millions of dollars—could buy his son anything that dollars could buy and never miss the money—and yet this simple thing of prayer and devotion in the home had passed him by.

If you’re retired and wondering what to do with those extra years, there’s a world out there of excitement. I think of Talmage Nielsen here in Salt Lake City, a retired doctor, and his wife, who served missions in both South America and in Frankfurt, Germany, helping us there with medical problems, as well as assisting with medical problems in Russia. After being home long enough to kiss the grandchildren hello and good-bye, they were then called to serve in Hawaii, where he was director of the visitors’ center. I know the great time, experience, and blessings that they have had serving together in these three missions.
When I talked with him recently, I said, “Now what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”
And he said, “Well, I’m 72.”
And I said, “You’re 72? Well, I have 20 years on you! And when I think of what has happened to me in the last 20 years, Talmage, think of what you can still do as you go out into the world.”

When I was a young man in the Aaronic Priesthood, we boys used to stand in our quorum meetings and repeat in unison, “Priesthood means service. Bearing the priesthood, I will serve.” This was our weekly pledge. It was part of every quorum meeting. Most of us began to understand that honoring the priesthood required our being active and serving in the Church.
In those days we played a lot of tennis. We knew that in tennis, if we didn’t serve well, we usually didn’t win. Our priesthood leaders taught us the same concept insofar as the Church was concerned. They helped us learn to serve at the proper time and in the proper way.
No boy or man fully possesses the priesthood until he learns to serve others and the Lord. It is true that someone with authority may bestow the priesthood by the laying on of hands, but until we do something by way of service to others, the priesthood lies dormant within us and is of little value. We must not fail to magnify the callings we receive.
During the past few months, I have felt that I might best serve by encouraging and helping all members to feel the necessity of keeping the simple doctrines of the gospel simple. I strongly feel that the gospel was given to us in a simple, plain, and clear manner. My mission president taught us that the gospel of Jesus Christ is beautifully simple and simply beautiful. The tendency of many is to complicate these lovely, simple requirements that the Lord has given to us.
Nothing is more simple than prayer. The Savior, while upon the earth, gave the example and commanded all to follow in His footsteps. If we have faith that our Heavenly Father lives and that we can commune with Him in a very direct way, then prayer becomes one of the most beautiful, lovely, simple acts that we can do.
I have a strong testimony that the Lord does hear and answer prayers. We are obligated to thank Him. We are obligated to converse with Him in such a way that there are no obstacles between us and our Father in Heaven. From the very beginning, the Lord has instructed His earthly children to remember Him in prayer.
One morning a good many years ago, a member of the Council of the Twelve came to my office and told me of a beautiful, touching experience that had happened to him that day. He had gone to the old Deseret Gym to enjoy the steam bath for a while. As he sat there in the heavy steam, he heard the door open and looked upward toward the door to see who was entering. He could not see anyone, but he had a feeling someone else was there in the room with him. After a few minutes he saw a young Primary-age boy about eight or nine years old who had seated himself two or three feet away. The boy gradually slid closer to the Apostle, and they finally said “hello” to each other. Then the boy moved even closer until he could look up into the face of the Church leader. The little boy said, “Mister, I think I know who you are.” The Apostle said, “Who am I?” The boy said, “I think you are one of the Apostles of the Church. I think you are the one who travels all over the ocean on big boats and little boats and all kinds of airplanes—and you are the one who never gets sick or hurt in any wrecks.” The Apostle acknowledged that he was the one who was having those great experiences. The boy then said to him, “Do you know why it is you don’t ever get killed or get hurt?” The Apostle said, “No, why is that?” The little Primary boy said, “That’s because I pray for you.”
What a touching, lovely expression of faith in a simple, wonderful way! This experience happened forty years ago, but I think of it frequently. There is far more power in simple prayer than many of us think possible.
My brothers and sisters, thousands, and even hundreds of thousands, of people pray for their loved ones each and every day. Great numbers pray for the leaders of the Church, particularly for our prophet, President Benson. I am convinced that the Lord hears the simple prayers of all people. I am sure He hears the prayer of the aged widow as well as the little child who prays with simple, plain, and understandable faith. I am also certain that a loving Heavenly Father appreciates the sincere, regular prayers of the faithful much more than the hurried, urgent appeals given only in times of crisis.
May the Lord bless and help us all to have the courage to pray with our families. Nothing is more wonderful than for parents to gather their children around them and enjoy the special, tender moments of communing with our Heavenly Father in family prayer. Nothing binds a family together more; and nothing puts us in a position to receive His blessings more than compliance with that wonderful commandment and privilege. Even for those of us who no longer have children at home, the blessing of praying together as companions is wonderful. The faithful person living alone is also lifted up and richly rewarded through humble, secret prayer.
Jesus said, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).
May the Lord bless us and help us all to serve Him with simple, childlike faith, simple forgiveness and repentance, and especially with simple prayer, that we may enjoy the strength, power, and beauty that come from the plain and simple things of the gospel, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Wendell M. Smoot, president of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, was in his office that day, April 29, 1991, talking about the upcoming June 8 Tabernacle Choir tour to middle Europe and Russia.
He was basking in the assurance that though the tour had not yet begun, he knew everything was going to be all right, that the tour was going to be a success.
“Let me tell a remarkable story,” he said. “As in any such tour, you have to sign ahead of time your contracts for the airlines that will fly you to your destination, the halls where you are going to perform, the hotels where you are going to house and feed 510 people. It is customary to have certain payment dates at stated intervals, with some contracts requiring very heavy payments. The date of February 7, 1991, became a very important date, because on that day we had to put down a substantial amount of money. Late in January, I began to be very concerned.
“Do people remember what was going on in the world at that time?” he asked. “The air campaign against Iraq had started on January 16, a projected ground war was imminent, and fear of terrorism and hostage-taking was prevalent all over Europe. Individuals and organizations were canceling various plans and events due to the fear associated with the war. The people abroad with whom we were making arrangements feared that we, too, might cancel out.
“So, on Friday, February 1, I called President Gordon B. Hinckley of the First Presidency, the man I report to. ‘President, I need to see you,’ I said. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come on over.’
“I went over and laid it all out to him. I then said, ‘President, the reputation of the Church is at stake if we cancel and this war stops soon. You can imagine what will be thought of us if we default on all our obligations, after pleading and begging to get into these prestigious concert halls and getting the promoters behind us. On the other hand, how tragic it would be to blindly go and put at risk all these people, their lives and their families. President, if there is any possibility whatsoever that the First Presidency would think of canceling this trip, I need to know now because of the big amount of money we need to put down Thursday, February 7. President, I’m here to get counsel.’
“The weekend passed, and on Monday morning I called and said, ‘President, I wonder if you have made a decision with the First Presidency concerning the matter I discussed with you last Friday.’
“President Hinckley said, ‘Wendell, I have thought about little else since you were here.’ There was a moment of silence. Then he said, ‘I will say this. The choir will go to Europe this coming summer. The war will be over.’
“I said, ‘President, that’s all I needed to hear.’ At the conclusion of our conversation, I took steps to fulfill our financial commitment, and we moved ahead.
“That day was February 4. The ground campaign of that tragic war didn’t start until February 24! And after it did start, the fighting ended with a cease-fire on February 28.
“But from those two conversations, I learned that this tour that we are about to go on is ordained of the Lord, that the Lord wants this tour. He wants us to go, and we will go and be preserved and be successful because this is a call from the Lord.”
The day was April 29—still forty days before the Tabernacle Choir’s scheduled departure.

When 14-year-old Ken Welty of Centerville, Utah, learned that people in Africa needed food desperately, he decided to raise money for seeds to send to Africa.
First, Ken handed out fliers explaining what he was doing and which seeds needed to be purchased. After checking with seed companies about growing requirements, Ken assembled and sent seed packets for tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, corn, and other foods to contacts in Mali and Botswana.
The project was a real eye-opener for Ken. “My mom and dad have jobs, and they bring home the food for us to eat,” Ken explains. “It was weird to think that there are people over in Africa who are a lot older than me, but because of my service project I am helping them feed themselves.”