Gospel Story Finder

I recently had a nonmember friend who wanted to come to camp with me. As camp got closer, I didn’t really want her to come for fear she might not like it. After I read the article “I Wasn’t Alone” (July 1992), I felt a warm feeling in my heart. So I quickly called my friend and gave her all the camp information. She did go to camp with me, and during the testimony meeting at camp, she whispered to me through her tears that she felt a comforting feeling. I told her it was the Holy Ghost. Thanks so much for this article.
Name WithheldReno, Nevada

It was on one of my last trips when I had a really neat experience. I was just reading my scriptures before going to bed, and my host (the girl on the team assigned to me for the recruiting trip) asked me about what I was reading. That opened up an incredible conversation in which we ended up talking late into the night. After that, she thanked me and explained how much she had needed to hear what I had to say at that time. I know without a doubt that the conversations I had on my other trips had helped me prepare for this time, and since I was ready, I was able to say the things I needed to by inspiration.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

Maria Vashchenko from Kyiv, Ukraine, noticed the impact of a woman who became aware of her 13-year-old son’s music abilities. The woman invited him to play the piano for the cultural celebration before the dedication of the Kyiv Ukraine Temple. He had been strongly considering quitting music at the time, but he agreed to accept her invitation.

“This was a turning point in my son’s life,” said Maria. “The concert was great! Afterward, we told our son that he could now quit music, but he replied that he would not. He graduated from music school with excellent grades, mastered several more musical instruments, began to write music and songs, and created a music group. When he went on a mission, he organized musical activities, played hymns at sacrament meeting, conducted a missionary choir, and taught investigators to play the guitar and piano. We will always be grateful for the sister who helped our son develop his talents.” The influential sister made a difference simply by knowing the young man’s skills and inviting him to use them to bless others.

In 1878 my great-grandfather George F. Richards was 17 years of age. As was sometimes the case in those days, he had already been ordained an elder. One Sunday his mother was groaning in intense pain. As his father was not available, the bishop and several others were invited to give her a blessing, but no relief came. Accordingly, she turned to her son George and asked him to lay hands on her head. He wrote in his diary, “In the midst of my tears for my mother’s suffering and the task of performing an administration such as I had never yet done, I retired to another room where I wept and prayed.”
When he became composed, he laid his hands on her and gave her a very simple blessing. He later noted, “My mother ceased her groaning and received relief from her suffering while my hands were yet on her head.” He then recorded in his diary this most insightful observation. He said he had always felt that the reason his mother did not get relief from the bishop’s blessing was not because the Lord failed to honor the bishop’s blessing but because the Lord had reserved this blessing for a boy, to teach him a lesson that the priesthood in the boy is just as powerful as the priesthood in the man when exercised in righteousness.

I wanted to stand up in testimony meeting and tell everyone I knew the Church was true too, but when I tried to stand up, Mama and Daddy held me down.
“The children will laugh at you, Cindy,” they said. I would cry until Mama had to take me out.
Every testimony day I tried to stand up, and Mama kept taking me out. One Sunday night after fast meeting, after I had cried all afternoon, Mama said she didn’t know what to do about me; maybe they shouldn’t take me to fast meeting anymore. No one seemed to understand. The turmoil inside me was more than I could stand, and I didn’t know what to do about it, but I knew I had to stand up and bear my testimony. Then all of a sudden there was a light in my room, but I knew Mama had turned out the lights. I got up to see if the moon was shining. I felt so strange; the light around me was warm and I got on my knees and prayed. Then I felt a hand touch mine, soft and warm like the light in my room.
“Cindy, Cindy, what is it?” I heard Mama’s voice. She helped me up, and Daddy put his arms around me because I was crying. For a long time Daddy and Mama sat on the bed talking about how they could help me; I wanted to tell them about the light and the hand that touched mine.
“If Cindy feels that deeply about bearing her testimony,” Daddy said, “then next month she must stand up. We surely can’t deny her the right or privilege to share her testimony with others.”
I felt calm inside and went to sleep.
It seemed like a long long time before testimony meeting came around again, and I sat there calm and listened. Then Mama handed me the microphone and smiled. I stood up.
“I love my Daddy. I love my Mother and I love my brothers and sisters. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
I said it just like I’d heard the other children say it. No one laughed. It was quiet for a long time. Mama was crying. Daddy too. Then a man stood up in front.
“These spirits are special in God’s eyes,” he said. “They are sent to earth for their mortal bodies in such a way they can’t be tempted by this world. Cindy will return to God as pure as she came. We don’t know how deep their emotions run, but we do know these special children hold hands with God.”
I felt a warm soft hand close over mine. This time is was my daddy’s hand.

Working with youth can be difficult. How is your relationship with the young people of the Church?
Our youth in Russia seem to lack initiative, self-esteem, and confidence in social situations. We must develop all of these things in our youth and be able to reach their hearts. Going on picnics together, I felt a mutual understanding grow, and we became friends. The same thing happened when I began to invite youth from all the six St. Petersburg branches. Now our youth gladly come out to activities.

Photograph courtesy of Megan M.
When Megan M. of Utah, USA, was younger, she would often hear the same thing whenever her older brother and sister went to school dances. “They’d always go to the dances and then come home and complain about the music,” she says. “Dance after dance, I’d hear them complain.”
As she was approaching the age when she would be able to attend school dances, she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. One day, at a fireside where her stake president was talking about the influence of music, she “had a strong feeling that something had to be done about my high school dance music. I got straight to work.”
Megan, who plays alto saxophone in the school’s jazz band, noticed how much fun people had at their annual event featuring big-band music and dancing. The thought came to her, “What if the jazz band could play at the homecoming dance? Kids could then dance to an alternative choice of live music instead of disk jockey recordings. They could actually feel the influence of great music at a high school dance and have a great time!”
Her band instructor loved the idea and helped her get it approved through the school administration. Then Megan asked alumni band members to play so that current band members could enjoy the dance.
On the night of the dance, the DJ and the jazz band were set up in different areas. At first, only a few people wandered over to the jazz band, but eventually there was a huge crowd. Some of Megan’s Latter-day Saint friends came by to say hello and then went over to the area with the recorded music. But about five minutes later, they came back.
“I ran over to them and asked why they had come back,” says Megan. “They told me they couldn’t feel the Spirit listening to the DJ music, so they decided to return.”
They weren’t the only ones who had this experience. Megan says, “The next day, I got emails from some of my friends saying, ‘Can we please do that at every dance?? Please!!!’ I even heard that the administration said it was the best school dance they’d ever had.”

Just this past month, a mammoth 747 jetliner, while flying over the Pacific, sustained a gigantic tear in its side, ejecting nine passengers to their deaths and threatening the lives of all. When the pilot, Captain David Cronin, was interviewed, having brought the craft back safely to Honolulu, he was asked, “What did you do when the plane ripped open? How did you cope?”

Captain Cronin replied, “I prayed, then went to work.”

For eight years he served in the cabinet of the president of the United States. Before the first Cabinet meeting, then-Secretary Benson suggested to President-elect Eisenhower that they commence with prayer. President Eisenhower spoke of the weight of responsibility on the new administration and the need for divine guidance, then called on the Secretary of Agriculture to open the meeting with prayer. That practice continued throughout the Eisenhower administration.

Photograph from Getty Images
While on my mission in the Philippines, my companion and I taught a particularly powerful lesson about the importance of studying the Book of Mormon daily. At the end of the lesson, my companion bore one of the most powerful testimonies of scripture study that I had ever heard. She testified that reading the Book of Mormon added a new power into her life that was impossible to explain.
It was obvious that her experience with the Book of Mormon had changed her life, and I wanted that for myself.
I decided that night that I would read the Book of Mormon again. From the beginning.
I spent a lot of time on my knees explaining to God that I wanted to experience the conversion and power that comes from the Holy Ghost.
The answer I received was: Read. Just read.
So that’s what I did. I threw myself into reading with a new vigor. I paid special attention to each verse, chapter, and page. As I read, I found verses that answered my questions, soothed my worries, and helped lift the burdens of those I was teaching.
After about a month, I realized that something inside of me was changing. My capacity to love others increased; I had more hope in the future; I was able to work harder and longer each day; I was more focused on the work; and I started to feel so much joy.
One day in my studies I came across a quote from President Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), former president of the Church: “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. … When you begin to hunger and thirst after those words, you will find life in greater and greater abundance.”1
As I continued to study, I began to really understand what he meant. I was finding life in greater abundance.
Looking back, I am convinced that one of the reasons I was put with that companion was so I could be there that night to hear her testimony. I felt like all the good parts of life—love, hope, trust, hard work, determination, and joy—were amplified.
There was a new light in my life, and I knew that it was real.

When they moved to Palmyra, New York, in 1816, they had been tried in every possible way. Two of their 10 children had died. They had been impoverished by a national economic downturn and a dishonest business associate. Poor weather had caused crop failures three seasons in a row. Lucy came near death from the consumption that had killed her two sisters. A typhus epidemic attacked all of Joseph and Lucy’s children. Little Sophronia’s life was spared only after her parents poured out their hearts on their knees by her bedside with “grief and supplication.” And young Joseph, age seven or eight, suffered a bone marrow infection—a complication that required almost-crippling surgery. The family’s good reputation had also suffered along with their fortunes, and they were “warned out” of the Vermont village where they lived so that the town would not be required to provide assistance.

Sister Endang, now thirty-five, was one of the missionaries who visited the Suwarnos at the time they lost their daughter. She had been introduced to the Church by Latter-day Saint friends. When Sister Endang asked for something to read, “They gave me a pamphlet that outlined the plan of salvation. I became very interested. I asked my friends if I could join the Church. Of course, they were very happy to hear that. They said if I wanted to learn about the Church, they would have the elders come to my home. I first got permission from my father, and the missionaries came and presented the gospel to us.

“My father and my brother also listened to the discussions. I was baptized in March 1974. A month later, my father was baptized; and a month after that, two of my brothers were baptized. Later on, my mother was baptized, and my other brothers and sisters were baptized when they reached the age of eight. Out of nine children, five of us so far have served missions in Indonesia.

“I was one of the first native sister missionaries to be called. I served eighteen months as a welfare missionary. One of my companions was Mary Ellen Edmunds, who is now associate director of training at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. She would teach me English every morning by saying such things as ‘This is a wall,’ ‘Drop your pen,’ ‘Pick it up.’”

Sister Endang now works full-time for the Church Educational System, teaching three seminary classes with a total of forty-five students from four branches. She also teaches three institute classes for young married couples, returned missionaries, and college students. She also serves as the district’s Single Adult president.

When I was about seven years old, living with my parents in Arabia, a children’s film called Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was released. The film is about a magical car that can drive itself, float on water, and even fly! I knew that back home in England they made a miniature toy car just like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and oh, how I wanted one! You could pull a lever, and the toy car’s wings would pop out! My father went on a business trip to England and asked if I wanted him to bring anything back for me, and I told him how very much I would like to have one of those Chitty Chitty Bang Bang cars.

He came back from his trip, and no car appeared. I was very sad and thought he must have forgotten. But about 10 days later was my birthday, and a little package, beautifully wrapped, was waiting for me. With great anticipation, and hardly daring to hope too much, I opened the gift and found my car. I was so happy that I cried. I pulled the lever, and the wings popped out, just like the car in the film! How I thanked my father for this most treasured gift. I played with that car for years and kept it for many more. I think my dad loved giving me that car at least as much as I loved receiving it.

In 1945 President of the Church, George Albert Smith, called Elder Kimball into his office. “I want you to look after the Indians,” he said. “They are neglected. Take charge and watch after the Indians in all the world.”
Elder Kimball traveled thousands of miles to visit the Indians, to teach them, and to bless them. Discovering they needed and wanted more schools, he tried to help. Finding them sick or sad, he blessed them and taught them how important they were to their Father in Heaven. Finding them cold and hungry, he went to those who could help.
Traveling throughout the world to help these people he loved, Elder Kimball also spent weeks and months visiting Lehi’s children in Central and South America and in the Pacific Islands. He taught them about the Savior, Jesus Christ, and helped them with their problems. No matter how tired he was, he was never too tired to help.

Anthony was surprised when he woke up. This was his third time having the same dream! In the dream, a tall man showed him a beautiful building. What could it possibly mean?
As a schoolteacher, Anthony had visited many places outside his village in Nigeria. The building from his dream didn’t look like anything he had seen before. Maybe it didn’t actually exist. But there was just something special about it.
As years passed, Anthony still thought about his dream, but he was worried about other things. A war started in Nigeria. It wasn’t safe for Anthony and his wife and children to leave their house. It was hard being inside all day. Anthony missed seeing his friends and students.
One day Anthony found an old magazine in his house. When he opened it, he saw something that looked familiar. It was the beautiful building from his dream! It was real.
The building belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’ve never heard of that church before, Anthony thought. He wanted to learn more about it, but because of the war, he still couldn’t leave his house. He would have to wait.
When the war finally ended, Anthony sent a letter to the Church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City. He asked if they would send missionaries to teach him and his family. “Can you build your church in my town?” Anthony wrote. “Please send me scriptures so I can teach the other villagers.”
Anthony was sad when he received a letter from Church headquarters: “Right now we don’t have any missionaries in your country.” Back then, black men couldn’t hold the priesthood. And the Church wasn’t organized in much of Africa.
But Anthony was good at being patient. Even though he couldn’t get baptized yet, he kept his faith strong.
The Church sent Anthony and his family the Book of Mormon and other Church books. Anthony studied the books and taught what he learned to his neighbors.
So many people were interested in the gospel that Anthony needed a place for everyone to meet.
On a road lined with banana trees, Anthony built a little chapel with a blue door and shutters. A sign on the building read, “Nigerian Latter-Day Saints.”
Years went by. Then one day Anthony heard wonderful news. God told the prophet that all worthy men could have the priesthood. The Church was sending missionaries to Anthony’s village!
The missionaries were surprised to find a church building and so many people ready to be baptized. They were amazed at the faith of Anthony and the other villagers.
“It has been a long, difficult wait,” Anthony told the missionaries, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Anthony was the first person baptized in the Ekeonumiri River in Nigeria. When the new branch was organized, he was called to be the branch president. His wife, Fidelia, was the Relief Society president. They were sealed together in the temple years later. After dreaming about a temple, he finally got to go there!
Anthony continued sharing his faith with others. He often told people that the seed of the gospel planted in Nigeria would grow into a great tree. The world would be surprised by its growth.
Anthony was right. Today there are more than 170,000 members of the Church in Nigeria—and a beautiful temple! The gospel seed Anthony helped plant continues to grow around the world today.
Anthony Uzodimma Obinna (1928–95) served as president of the first official branch in Nigeria. He said, “God is great and performs wonders. No human power can withhold God’s work in this world.”

In March 1997, while living in the Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, my husband and I were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied the doctrines of the Church, many of my questions were answered. It was interesting to learn about the plan of salvation, including the practice of baptism for the dead. I was surprised to learn that we could be baptized for our deceased ancestors.
A year after our baptism, the mission president invited us to prepare to go to the temple. As part of our preparation, we started doing family history research. One day as I was thinking about doing this work, the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. I asked her if she would send me a list of the deceased ancestors on my husband’s side of the family. She was amazed and told me that baptism for the dead was not Christ’s doctrine but rather something the Mormons had made up. I wasn’t sure how to answer her because I wasn’t familiar with scriptural references that supported the doctrine.
As I was thinking about how to respond, the phone switched off. I was unsure for a minute what had happened, but I hung up the phone and went to my bedroom. I took the New Testament into my hands, knelt to pray, and asked Heavenly Father to show me where I could find the answer.
At the end of my prayer, I opened the Bible. I felt as if someone had told me to read the 29th verse on the very page I had opened. I was in the 15th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which talks about the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
I was touched and surprised that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer at that very moment. It was a wonderful feeling.
I was thinking deeply about this experience when suddenly the phone rang again. It was my mother-in-law, asking me why the phone had switched off. I told her I didn’t know but then asked her to open her Bible and read 1 Corinthians 15:29.
A few days later a list of deceased relatives was on my table. My mother-in-law had read the scripture and now believed that the Savior, through the Apostle Paul, had taught the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
God has promised great blessings to those who do this redemptive work. I know this to be true.

Soon I had brought many names to the temple, but I still questioned if my ancestors on the other side of the veil were accepting these ordinances. I wondered if I was making a difference.
So I prayed for reassurance. And the next time I went to the temple, as I was finishing a sealing for one of my ancestors, the temple sealer turned to me with tears in his eyes. He told me that he could feel my ancestor’s excitement in receiving the ordinance.
I knew that God had answered my prayer and that my proxy work was indeed making a difference.

The Vershinin family from Nizhniy Novgorod first visited the Stockholm Sweden Temple in 2000. After traveling to St. Petersburg, Sergey, Vera, and their daughter, Irina, joined a group of Russian Latter-day Saints from various cities and traveled by bus and ferry to reach the temple. At the temple, Irina participated in baptisms for the dead and was sealed to her parents. “The trip gave us testimonies and many blessings,” she recalled. “They were small testimonies received individually by each person. But as a whole they helped us and gave momentum for further spiritual growth.”12

There is no dinner like a Christmas dinner in France. The food comes in courses, at least seven of them. And we had feasted on each course, from hors d’oeuvres to entrées to pièces de résistance. And to top it all off, dessert. Not some ordinary cake, pie, or pudding. Not even flaky pastry from the local patisserie. Sister Gournillon had made a bûche de Nöel.
To say a bûche de Nöel is a Christmas cake is to say the Eiffel Tower is some building in Paris. A bûche is the culinary crown of a French Christmas. It is composed of layers of butter frosting, cream custard, and light, white cake swirled together in the shape of a Yule log, from which it gets its name. Sister Gournillon had made hers herself and had even pushed a tiny plastic hatchet into the chocolate frosting.
“Nobody is going to say the branch president’s wife didn’t feed the missionaries well on Christmas,” she said. Nobody would.
It was thanks to the bûche, I guess, that I fell asleep on the couch. We had told President Gournillon that we could only stay a short time for Christmas dinner, and he understood. But when I sat down after such a huge meal, I must have dozed for a minute.
It didn’t take me long to wake up. The kids, all seven of them, were playing soldiers. Stephan, age 6, was the commandant. He was chasing Natalie, age 5, around the couch when she tripped and fell. Her forehead popped against my cheekbone just below my eye, hard. She was so startled she didn’t even cry. I was amazed at how fast my ruptured blood vessel produced swelling.
We left for home a few minutes later. By then, my eye was swollen so much I felt like a prize fighter.
“Oooh, Frère Romney, cette beurre noir va vous fair du mal,” Sister Gournillon said. (“This black eye’s going to hurt.”)
“I’ll live,” I said.
President Gournillon held Natalie up next to me so she could kiss it better. “Je suis triste (I’m sorry),” she said.
“Ca va, ça va (that’s okay),” I smiled. “Next time pick on someone your own size.”
When we got out to our bikes, I gathered up some snow and held it to my cheek. It felt better.
How does a missionary with a black eye go tracting? I wondered. The same as any other missionary: one door at a time. Some people gave me funny looks, as if they wondered who would punch a foreigner and why. One man even asked me if I had hit the other guy first. But the embarrassment really deepened when the zone leaders arrived for their visit.
“You know, Elder Romney, for a brand-new missionary you’ve really come out swinging,” Elder Zoelfelt said, grinning. “Just don’t think you’ve got to fight your way to the top.”
“I’d rather fight than switch,” I joked back. By now my black eye was purple and yellow—and all over the side of my face.
Elder Zoelfelt and I were assigned to go tracting together that day. I was a little intimidated to be out alone with a zone leader, but I wanted to do my best.
“You decide where we’ll go,” he told me following a word of prayer.
“Let’s head for the Z. U. P. de la Cité (government housing area),” I said. “It’s not far and we only did about half of it the last time we were there.”
We pedaled the half mile, climbed off our bikes, locked them to a tree, and took out the flip-charts. As we approached the nearest building, I suddenly realized that I had no idea where Elder Norton (my regular companion) and I had left off. It had been about two weeks. There hadn’t been many people home, and we hadn’t made any teaching appointments. The only thing I remembered about the cold, gray complex was that in one building one lady hadn’t liked us at all. When we had told her we were Mormon missionaries, she hadn’t just said, “Non, merci.” She had said, “Non! Non! Non!” at the top of her voice and chased us down the stairs. Everyone in the building must have heard her yell at us.
I picked out an entrance to one of the nearest stairwells (they all looked alike).
“I feel good about starting here,” I said.
“Always follow your feelings,” Elder Zoelfelt said.
We walked up the five flights to the top floor and started our way down. Nobody home. Nobody home. Come back later. Nobody home.
“It’s your turn, elder,” the zone leader reminded me.
I rang the bell. We could hear someone inside.
“Un instant! (just a minute),” a voice said.
That voice!
I looked around me. The potted plant. The light switch. The color of the door. How had I picked that door? It was the door of the lady who had chased us down the stairs! Maybe if I ran for it I could get out before she charged us. What would a zone leader think of a missionary who flees from battle?
She opened the door.
“Bonjour,” I said. “I think we’ve met before.”
“Yes, we have,” she said. “But last time you were with someone else. And … you didn’t have that black eye.”
“Well … ,” I stammered, “Would you like to know how I got it?”
“Sure,” she laughed. “Come on in.”
Her name was Madame Barnet.
“I was quite rude to you the other day,” she apologized. “But you see, I’m the local catechism teacher. The priest told us the Mormons were in the area and that we should not make it pleasant for you.”
“All we want is to tell people about Christ,” Elder Zoelfelt said.
“But we already know about him.”
The silence was deadening, the kind of silence that happens when everyone knows the next word could set off sparks.
“Well … ,” I said. “Let me tell you about my black eye.” I started with the bûche de Nöel. Then we talked about the branch president’s family. Then I told her how Natalie had tripped and bumped me on the cheekbone.
“I thought someone must have hit you,” Madame Barnet said. “But I didn’t dream it would have been a little girl.”
We talked about Christmas in France and Christmas in Ohio. We talked about turkeys and roast chestnuts and caroling and sleigh rides. We talked about families and Christmas cards and being away from home. She told us about the children in the neighborhood and how she loved them. Since her divorce, teaching them about Jesus had been a great comfort to her.
“Would you like to tell them how Jesus came to America?” Elder Zoelfelt asked.
“Come on,” she said. “No fairy tales here.”
“Seriously,” he said. “That’s something we know about Christ that you may not know. Look at this picture.”
He showed her the picture of Christ appearing to the Nephites and bore his testimony that it had actually happened. I could feel the Spirit.
“That is something that I never heard before,” she admitted. “Et vous en êtes si convaincus (and you are so sure it’s true).”
We talked a few minutes more, and then she sent us on our way. She wouldn’t let us make an appointment to teach her, but she at least smiled and shook our hands.
When we got outside, Elder Zoelfelt looked at me and smiled.
“Elder Romney,” he said, “that was one of the most original door approaches I’ve ever seen. I wonder what you’d do with a broken leg.”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“I wish she would have invited us back to teach her more,” I said. “I bet she’d really like to see ‘Christ in America.’”
“Maybe someday she will,” Elder Zoelfelt said. “Maybe she will. For right now, you’ve helped her understand us a little better. She might even consider us friends. At least you didn’t give the Church a black eye.”
I groaned. I had to. But at least I felt like I’d helped someone know a little bit more about the Church. Maybe that bump on the cheek had been worth it after all.