Gospel Story Finder

Five-year-old Cammie liked to color. When her brother Ryan was sick in the hospital, she drew a picture of a smiling nurse for him. The doctor hung it next to Ryan’s crib. “Ryan will feel better knowing you are thinking about him,” Mommy said.
Sometimes Cammie’s friends asked her to draw pictures for them. “Please draw a princess that looks like me,” Rachel said. So Cammie did.
Cammie even liked to color rocks. Grandma often came to see rows of Cammie’s colorful pebbles laid neatly on the porch. “Can I buy a few?” Grandma asked. She handed Cammie two coins, then picked up a big striped rock and a pebble with blue polka dots.
Cammie was glad that her artwork made others happy, but she wanted to make Heavenly Father happy too. One Sunday after church, she decided to draw a picture just for Him. First she drew her family. She colored green grass and flowers below their feet. Then she drew clouds and a big shining sun. Above the clouds, she drew smiling angels looking down on earth. She knew Heavenly Father was in heaven watching her too. Sighing happily, she put away the crayons.
Now what? Whenever she drew a picture for Mommy and Daddy, they hung it on the fridge or put it in a scrapbook. Cammie wondered how she could give her special picture to Heavenly Father.
That night before bed, she placed the drawing on the middle of her tidy bedroom floor. Then she said a prayer. “Heavenly Father, I made this picture just for you.”
The next morning, Cammie hopped out of bed, hoping the drawing would be gone. But there it lay, right where she had left it. She frowned, tears tickling the corners of her eyes. “Maybe Heavenly Father doesn’t like my picture,” she worried.
All day Cammie wondered. If Heavenly Father didn’t want a picture, how could she show Him that she was thinking about Him? Cammie thought and thought.
That night, she said her prayers again. She thanked Heavenly Father for a beautiful day and for her family and the fun things she did. She asked Him to watch over her as she slept, and she told Him she loved Him. Then she crawled into bed.
As she lay there, her blankets seemed to grow warmer. They grew warmer and heavier until Cammie realized the feeling wasn’t from her blankets at all—it was inside her heart.
“I can pray to show Heavenly Father I’m thinking of Him!” she realized.
And this warm feeling from the Holy Ghost was her answer—Heavenly Father was thinking of her too.

by Kevin Livingstone
We had all heard stories about the pioneers. We were told of their perseverance trudging through miles of mud, of their intense suffering crossing the barren plains, and of their ever present hunger and incredible sacrifices. Remembering them, we felt a variety of emotions: interest, excitement, a touch of fear. The reason? The Taber Stake of Alberta, Canada, would be participating in a pioneer trek.
The group, youth and leaders, were divided into “families.” Each family selected a handcart and assembled it, loaded it with gear, and left civilization behind.
The first few miles weren’t bad; then we began to get hungry and tired. A couple of miles later we considered rebellion, but then the handcarts ahead of us started singing songs the pioneers might have sung. We pulled some more.
After a day and a half of pulling a handcart, we arrived at base camp, where a variety of activities had been planned. It started to rain, but that didn’t dampen any spirits. We ate roast turkey, learned new games, made candy, and danced the Virginia Reel.
Sunday was a special day with church meetings and an afternoon devoted to quiet times alone in study or meditation.
After returning home to the prospects of hot water and soft beds, good-byes were said and promises made to keep in touch. And tears were shed. Tears for friends we had grown to love; tears for the experiences we had just been through; and tears for the strength of the pioneers. But most of all, we shed tears because we had come to know our Heavenly Father and his deep love for each of us as individuals.

A ward mutual was having a swimming party. The bishopric attended, dressed in suits. Many of the youth had already been in swimming. Everything stopped while a great old high priest gave an opening prayer. During the prayer there was a splashing in the pool. The counselor in the bishopric said: “I think I have always been practical enough, so I opened one eye to see who it was that was so irreverent as to swim during the prayer. A twelve-year-old Spanish boy, who could not swim, had somehow gotten into the deep end of the pool and was drowning. His eyes reflected fear and terror. I took two steps, dove into the pool, suit, shoes and all, pulled the young man to the side and helped him out. He sat on the edge of the pool and I waited in the pool. The good old high priest prayed on and on.”
The counselor continued, “I think the young man would have drowned if we had waited for the prayer to end to save him.” Then he concluded by saying, “I think we have to keep an eye open and be ready to do whatever is necessary to save our youth. And by the way, the bishop never did open his eyes, even when I dove in.”

May I express thanks to the nimble fingers that have produced thousands of beautiful blankets and a special thanks to the not-so-nimble fingers of our more senior sisters who have also crafted the much-needed quilts. One 92-year-old great-grandmother has produced several hundred blankets. In her case, both the creator and receiver have been blessed. As her son admired her handiwork, she asked, “Do you think anyone will ever use one of my blankets?” A letter from a young mother in Louisiana answers that question:

“I live in Louisiana, and I go to a local health unit for my children. While I was there, they gave me some outfits, diapers, wipes, and two beautiful baby blankets. One blanket has a yellow backing with footprints and handprints on the front, and the other blanket is tan with zebras. They are beautiful. My four-year-old loves the zebra one, and of course my seven-month-old can’t say much. I just wanted to say thank you to you and your Church members for your generosity. God bless you and your family.”

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

For Anabel R., 18, the toughest challenges have come from teachers and peers at school. She says, “I was the only member of the Church in my class. I had a teacher who would teach something about religion, and then say, ‘Let’s ask Anabel what she thinks about this,’ trying to make me look bad in front of my friends. And whenever I would say something, she would say, ‘You’re just getting confused.’ Once when the teacher tried to make me look bad in front of the other kids, they laughed at me.

“Later, when my classmates saw me out with the missionaries in the street, dressed like them, they said, ‘Here comes the Saint. She believes in Mormon; she’s the Mormon.’ Many times they would do things to offend me.”

Anabel found it hard to be so mistreated by her classmates. But she also found that as she responded with forgiveness—the way the Lord taught—she found peace.

“The Lord commanded us, ‘of you it is required to forgive all men’” (Doctrine and Covenants 64:10.) “He wants us to love others. He taught me not to be angry at them for treating me that way.

“The truth is, many times we hold onto resentment in our hearts. But I’ve realized that when we decide not to forgive someone, we are not happy. The Savior Jesus Christ suffered many things and even as the Son of God said to forgive them because they don’t know what they do. Truthfully, I don’t resent them because they really don’t know what they are doing, just like the Savior said. And as I’ve turned to Heavenly Father in prayer, He answers. He is listening.”

In a recent general conference message, President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, spoke about the perilous times in the world: “The Apostle Paul wrote to Timothy, ‘This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come’ (2 Timothy 3:1).
“… And so it will become more difficult, not easier, to honor the covenants we must make and keep to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.”1
As I heard these words, I felt anxious. I was already dealing with challenges in my home in Venezuela. So questions like, “How can I stay optimistic when the world is so dark?” and “How can I look forward to a bright future in such a blackened present?” were in my heart at the time.
But President Eyring offered the solution. He quoted Helaman 5:12, which speaks about building our foundation “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ.”
I have always believed that this scripture was true, but building my foundation on the Savior seemed a lot easier said than done. Nonetheless, as I have drawn closer to Christ, I have seen that everything works for your good when your faith is firm in Him (see Doctrine and Covenants 90:24).
A couple of months ago, I received devastating news from my family. My world seemed to be crumbling in front of me. I felt numb, confused, and so anxious that I even got sick!
I did not understand why we were facing such hardships when I was trying to be faithful. I wondered if I’d done something wrong. The future looked bleak, and I felt abandoned by Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
In the middle of my affliction, I talked to a good friend. He told me something I will never forget: “I think this situation is a good opportunity for you to ponder on your personal relationship with the Lord. No matter what happens, it is up to you to turn to Him for help. If you do, He will provide you with the love and relief you need right now.”
Those words changed my perspective. I was angry and hurt and confused by my circumstances, but I had a choice. No matter what we’re going through, what fears we have, or what difficulties we are facing, Jesus Christ is always right beside us. We have the choice to turn toward Him with faith, not away from Him, in troubling times.
That is how we strengthen our foundation of faith in Him and withstand the hardship in the world. By choosing Him.
As Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “In the midst of this refiner’s fire, rather than get angry with God, get close to God. Call upon the Father in the name of the Son. Walk with Them in the Spirit, day by day. Allow Them over time to manifest Their fidelity to you. Come truly to know Them and truly to know yourself.”2
Christ was waiting for me to turn to Him for help. That didn’t mean He would make all my problems go away or fix everything in my life and family instantly, but He helped me become better, find joy, and become more refined.
And over time, as I sought the Savior through prayer, scripture study, and faith, He helped me forgive my family members and invite joy into my life again, even though some challenges are still not solved.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.
This was the pep talk I recently gave myself the day before my 30th birthday. (It was a melodramatic day, to say the least.) But crying about my birthday is not out of the ordinary for me. I’ve never been a fan of growing up.
(And, in case you’re wondering, my pep talk didn’t work.)
Shocking, really.
I would turn 30, and the world would keep spinning.
So why did I feel like it was about to end?
Well for one, I struggle with anxiety. So there’s that. But I always felt like turning 30 would seal the door to my youth forever. I felt like I hadn’t accomplished enough during my 20s. And after facing challenges during that decade, I was scared of the new responsibilities and trials heading my way (possibly motherhood, a worsening chronic illness, and who knows what else).
As my anxious thoughts spiraled, I said a prayer asking God for comfort, and I started to ponder my past decade of life as a young adult.
What had I accomplished? What had I learned? How had I changed?
And that’s when I focused in on the most important thought that came to mind:
“How did I deepen my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ during this time?”
This changed my perspective.
Being a 20-something-year-old can be a very confusing, heartbreaking, and just plain hard time. Many seem to be thinking the same thing: “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
My early 20s consisted of an ebb and flow of feelings of aimlessness, fear, loneliness, and sometimes even a sense of abandonment from Heavenly Father when my life wasn’t going the way I thought it would.
When I was 24, I felt like I was in the darkest season of my life. But words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf struck my soul and triggered the start of a deep change in me.
At a worldwide devotional for young adults, he said:
“When I was your age, I had no idea where my life would take me. I definitely didn’t see any dots connecting in front of me.
“But I did trust God. I listened to the advice of loving family and wise friends, and I took small steps of faith, believing that if I did the best I could in the moment, God would take care of the big picture.
“He did. …
“In Proverbs, we find this great promise: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths’ [Proverbs 3:5–6].
“I don’t believe there is a question mark at the end of that verse. No, I think there should be an exclamation point!”1
After hearing Elder Uchtdorf’s words at 24, I committed to using this time of life to trust in the Lord.
And, six years later, on the day before I turned 30, I was hit with the profound truth that, despite the melodrama (and the actual, difficult drama) this is what young adulthood has been for me:
Sacred.
We can make young adulthood one of the most sacred seasons of our journey in mortality. It’s a time for discovery, deepening faith, true conversion, and realizing our divine identity and potential.
I can see that as I made choices to seek Jesus Christ and to keep choosing faith (especially when it was difficult), this season helped me start to understand what He has done for me—and continues to do for me.
It’s the season where I’ve had to take responsibility for my testimony.
It’s the season where I received my endowment, cherished my temple covenants, and witnessed the power that comes from attending the temple.
It’s been a season of facing questions and wrestling with Heavenly Father to find answers (even if that answer is to trust Him).
It’s a season where I may not have always recognized the Savior and Heavenly Father in my life but later saw that They were always with me.
It’s been a season of learning that the grace of Jesus Christ can always make up for my sins and imperfections as I turn to Him in humility and sincere repentance (see Ether 12:27).
It’s a season of unknowns and learning to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
Yes, young adulthood is filled with hardships. I faced stressful college courses, struggles in my career path, the heart-wrenching pains of dating, family difficulties, and other challenges that could have filled up an “end-of-the-world”–themed bingo card.
But I’ve learned that it was these hard moments that gave me an opportunity to cling to truth, choose faith, and seek the healing and enabling power of Jesus Christ—all things that ultimately made this a beautifully sacred time of life. This season is about allowing Him and Heavenly Father to refine us and help us start building the masterpiece of a life we desire.
That doesn’t sound so bad.
With our focus on Jesus Christ, we can make young adulthood—and every year beyond—a sacred space full of hope, triumph, and true joy.
That is what it’s been for me.

Thirty-five years later, long after I had finished my military duty, I received a phone call from a branch president of the Church in South Korea. He asked me if I remembered a Mr. Park from my military service.
“Of course I do,” I answered. I had served with Mr. Park, and he had respected my beliefs and had often protected me in difficult situations.
The branch president gave me Mr. Park’s phone number, and I called him right away. As I spoke with him, Mr. Park told me that during our time together as presidential guards, he had seen a light emanating from me and had felt that he should help me. Afterward, whenever he had a hard time, he said he thought about me.
Mr. Park told me that he had two sons he wanted to be like me. He had even taken his sons to church at a Latter-day Saint chapel. One of them had been baptized, though Mr. Park had not. That son, however, was now less active. Mr. Park wanted my help and advice.
I went to see Mr. Park a week later. We had a nice visit, and I soon began to meet with his son and encourage him to return to the Church. He humbly accepted my counsel, became active, and served a full-time mission. Through his letters home while serving a mission, he motivated his father and helped prepare him for baptism. On a summer day the year following our first visit, I baptized Mr. Park a member of the Church.
What a great miracle! Their lives had been changed because of the faith exercised by a young man 35 years before.

Guests often begin feeling the excitement of family history work as they see hundreds of patrons searching four floors of genealogical records. During one memorable visit, a guest of Eastern European ancestry who had felt only lukewarm interest in family history was shown ships’ registers and immigration records of his ancestors. “Two and a half hours later,” recalls Sister Shumway, “we told him we had to leave, and he said, ‘Go ahead and leave. I’m staying.’”

I will never forget that family night. My dad taught the lesson. He sat down at the piano, raised his hands in the air, and then brought them down hard on the keys, banging out a terrible sound. We all covered our ears and frowned. The noise was terrible.
After a moment, he lifted his hands to the keys again. This time he played a beautiful melody. The sound was lovely and refreshing. Then he turned and faced us.
“Harmony,” he said, “is a group of notes working together. It creates a beautiful sound.” We all agreed. He challenged us to make our home a house of harmony—working together, avoiding contention, and creating beautiful music.
That lesson left a profound impact on me. Even today when I hear quarreling among family members, I remember the terrible noise he made on the piano and the beautiful contrast of harmony.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
The power of our teacher’s words has been a source of inspiration to me because of the emphasis she placed on gospel study. The scriptures guide us to a standard of truth by which we can judge the knowledge we are receiving, whether it be true or false. True doctrine comes from God, the source and foundation of all truths. The teachings and concepts of true doctrine are found in the gospel of our Lord and Savior. False teachings come from Satan, the father of all lies. His desire is to pervert, change, and alter revealed truths. He wants to deceive us so some of us will lose our way along the journey back to our heavenly home.
My Primary teacher instilled in me a determination to study the doctrines of the kingdom. She taught me to seek the deep meaning contained in these simple Articles of Faith. She promised me that if I would invest in learning these sacred truths, the knowledge I acquired would change my life for the better, and I testify to you that it has.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

Car horns blared and taxis and buses jostled for a place in the traffic. As Benjamin Misalucha sat in the marketplace watching the automobiles roll by, he reached for a handkerchief and mopped his brow. He hoped his wife would be done with the shopping soon. The weather was hot and muggy, as it often is in the Philippines, and he was eager to get home and relax with his children.

Then he noticed a sign, high on the side of one of the buildings overlooking the square. “No other success can compensate for failure in the home,” the sign read. He found himself contemplating the message and believing in its truth.

“During those times I was young, about 30, and had four children. We had everything, comparatively speaking, compared to other Filipinos, but I was not satisfied with my life. In my heart I knew I was searching for something more,” he said.

He didn’t guess that the quotation from President David O. McKay had been inscribed on the sign by missionaries living in the building, the same kind of Mormon missionaries who had already visited with him for three weeks when he lived in Manila, the capital city. He had also been visited twice by the elders here in Davao, another large city in the south.

A short time later, Benjamin Misalucha was transferred by his pharmaceutical company to Cebu City, an important community on one of the central islands. It was in Cebu that Mr. Misalucha and his family would discover the secret of what had been lacking in their lives.

The Misaluchas were excited about their new home. Cebu and the region surrounding it are important in the history of the Philippines. It was here that Ferdinand Magellan, who sought to circumnavigate the earth, first introduced Christianity to the islands. What is reputed to be Magellan’s wooden cross still stands in the city plaza. From 1565 to 1571, Cebu was the Spanish colonial capital, and Cebuanos later played key roles in the fight for independence from Spain. During World War II, in reprisal for guerilla action, Cebu City proper was almost entirely razed. But the port remained intact and the city was rebuilt. Today Cebu remains an inter-island trade and domestic airline center. Its citizens are a conglomeration of farmers, factory workers, and businessmen. The Misaluchas soon discovered that, like Filipinos everywhere, the people of Cebu are quick to smile and just as quick to lend a helping hand.

“Filipinos are basically close,” Benjamin’s wife, Avelina, explained. “We maintain close family ties, and ties with other Filipinos as well. We share experiences, even material things.”

In a society in which sharing is so accepted, it might seem unusual that someone would stand out as being particularly kind and generous. But such was the case with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA) president. Right from the start she went out of her way to help the Misaluchas adjust to their new city. Soon Mr. Misalucha was serving on the PTA board. He eventually found out that the PTA president was also the wife of the local Mormon bishop. His curiosity grew and grew.

“One day I saw both of them walking home, and I ran over to catch up with them,” Mr. Misalucha explained. “I told him I wanted to know more about his church. He said he could recommend a couple of nice young men who could teach me about it.”

For the next ten months, the elders became a regular fixture in the Misalucha home. Benjamin Misalucha would entertain them with stories about previous encounters with missionaries, before he fully understood who they were: “They knocked on my door and asked me if I was the head of the house. I was all hot and perspiring from doing some chores, so I told them, ‘No, I’m just the janitor here.’ It’s something I say jokingly to my family all the time, but the missionaries believed me!”

Avelina would always provide cold water or juice, cake, or even siopao (doughy, white, steamed Chinese bread stuffed with sausage and eggs). And of course, the children, who numbered five by now, would have fun teasing the missionaries and telling jokes before the serious gospel discussions began.

“I wanted answers from the Bible,” Benjamin said, “because I didn’t believe in the Book of Mormon yet. And they showed me answers in the Bible. I was totally perplexed by how they could always get answers to questions I couldn’t even answer myself.” Slowly his perplexed state gave way to understanding. The missionaries could find the answers because they knew the truth. He summoned a family council.

“Take this individually into prayer,” he told his wife and children. At the next family council, they all voted in favor of becoming Latter-day Saints. The family was baptized on April 29, 1978, a Saturday.

“Ever since we’ve been members, we’ve been blessed,” Brother Misalucha said. He began working for an insurance company, and his business has grown steadily, “in spite of the fact that some of my friends were hostile. They told me I’d return to my former church within two years. But I had found the true church, Christ’s church. Our family bonds were stronger. The children were becoming more pronounced in developing their skills, learning to speak in public and overcoming their shyness. I knew I was following the Lord’s way.”

Jennifer stared at the door. Soon it would open and her baptismal interview would start. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How could she tell Bishop Anderson that she didn’t want to get baptized? She’d tried to tell Mom, but Mom got that disappointed look on her face.
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew larger. Bishop Anderson was going to be disappointed in her. She looked away from the door and stared at her dress. The material faded before her eyes. If only this interview was over!
“Jennifer, are you ready?” Bishop Anderson asked, smiling at her.
She darted a quick glance at him, then looked down. Staring at the carpet, she followed him into his office and slid onto the chair next to his desk. Under the desk was a little dust ball. Her eyes focused on it. Normally she loved talking to Bishop Anderson; he was always kind and smiled at her. But today the lump in her throat was too big.
“What’s wrong, Jennifer?”
Bishop Anderson’s loving face gave Jennifer courage. She lifted her head. The warmth in his face brought sudden tears to her eyes. “Everyone else in my Primary class is being baptized by their father, but Dad can’t baptize me because he isn’t a member. It isn’t fair!” Her voice trembled, and she stared down at the dust ball.
“It doesn’t seem fair, Jennifer,” Bishop Anderson said in a kind voice. “But let’s look at the reasons for this special ordinance. Do you know why we get baptized?”
“Because it’s a commandment?”
“That’s right. In 2 Nephi 9:23, Jacob tells us that we are all commanded to be baptized. Baptism is the ‘door’ that lets us into the kingdom of God. Now, what happens if you try to unlock a door with the wrong key?”
Her finger’s crumpled the edge of her dress. “The door won’t open?”
“Exactly. But the right key opens the door. Baptism is the door, but the priesthood is the key. Only one who holds the priesthood worthily holds the right key. Someone who baptizes without the priesthood doesn’t have the authority to perform this sacred ordinance. It is like trying to use the wrong key to unlock the door. It doesn’t work, and the door stays shut.”
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew bigger. “But my dad is a good person,” she whispered.
Bishop Anderson nodded his head. “I know he is, and I feel that someday he will accept the gospel and receive the priesthood. In the meantime, he deserves your love and respect and obedience.”
Jennifer tried to smile, but a tear ran down her cheek.
Bishop Anderson reached for his scriptures. He opened the black leather cover and carefully turned the pages. “You see, even Jesus had to be baptized by someone holding the right key. Here, Jennifer, read verses thirteen to fifteen in Matthew, chapter three.”
Jennifer took the heavy book from the bishop. “‘Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him.
“‘But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?
“‘And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered him.’”
Jennifer looked at the bishop, who asked her, “Why did Jesus go to John the Baptist?”
Jennifer smoothed her dress across her knees. “Because John had the authority.”
“Exactly. Now I want you to think of something else. Was Jesus baptized by Joseph, His father while He was on the earth?”
Jennifer caught her breath. The lump in her throat started to dissolve. “No, He wasn’t.”
“He wasn’t,” agreed Bishop Anderson. “But His baptism was still special. It isn’t important who baptizes you as long as that person has the right key to do so. If he does, Heavenly Father will accept your baptism and He will be as pleased with you as He was with Jesus.”
For the first time in days, the big lump in Jennifer’s throat was gone. A smile broke through. She still wished her dad could baptize her, but it was going to be OK. “Bishop Anderson, would you baptize me?”
The bishop gave Jennifer a big smile. “I’d love to, Jennifer.”
Jennifer’s smile grew. She was eager now to get baptized. She would show Heavenly Father that she wanted to go through the door the right way, just like Jesus did, by being baptized by someone holding the right key.

As a young elder, I had been in the mission field about one year, and while reading scriptures and words of the latter-day Apostles about revelation and the Holy Ghost, I had a stunning awakening. I did not have a testimony of my own, specifically of the Father and the Son. I went on my mission living on the borrowed light of my wonderful parents. Never doubting their words, I had not thought about seeking my own spiritual witness. On a February night in San Antonio, Texas, in 1962, I knew that I had to know for myself. In our small apartment I found a place where I could quietly pray out loud, pleading, “Heavenly Father, are You there? I must know for myself!”
Sometime later that night I came to know for myself for the first time in my life that God and Jesus are real. I did not hear an audible voice nor see a heavenly being. I knew in the same way you too may have come to know—which is “by the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 121:26) and the spirit of revelation (see D&C 8:1–3) speaking peace to my mind (see D&C 6:23) and assurances to my heart (see Alma 58:11).
From that experience I witnessed the results of Alma’s counsel to “awake and arouse [my] faculties … to [conduct] an experiment upon [His] words” (Alma 32:27). These words or seeds have grown into trees, indeed giant trees of testimony. The process continues with more experiments upon the word, resulting in additional trees of testimony, now a veritable forest based on revelation through and by the Holy Ghost.

D. J. Holland doesn’t have a zigzag haircut anymore. Nor does he have any scars from the lightning that struck him a few summers ago in Daniel, Wyoming. But he still has a testimony of the power of prayer and of the priesthood.
He remembers the dark sky and the distant lightning flashes as he worked on his grandfather’s ranch that August afternoon when he was 17. He had just brought in his last truckload of baled hay from the wide, open fields.
“I knew it was going to rain,” recalls D. J., “but it never crossed my mind that the storm would threaten my life. I just wanted to get as much work done as I could before the rain came.”
D. J. parked his semi behind another hay-filled truck, driven there by his younger cousin Ross Varner. Then he hurried into the barn. There he helped Ross and their grandfather Ron Wagstaff hoist the bales into place with a huge hay fork on a backhoe tractor.
“After a few minutes Grandpa asked me to go out to the cattle feeder, which was about 100 feet away, and clean out the strings,” says D. J. “These are plastic ties which are taken off the bales and left in the feeder. They need to be cleaned out before spring so the animals can use the feeder before the grass grows high enough to graze.
“The bars on the feeder were metal, a perfect target for lightning,” says D. J. “But I didn’t think about that until it was too late.”
While D. J. cleaned up the strings, Ross and his grandfather worked fast to get the hay unloaded before the rain came and the lightning grew worse.
“Storms come up quick there,” recalls Ross. “And after what had happened in the past, we usually headed for cover any time we saw lightning. Lightning killed a white horse that Grandpa had given to me about two years before,” he continues. “It also hit a big barn that was full of hay and expensive tools. It burned to the ground.
“That day as we unloaded the hay, we heard a few faraway rumbles of thunder. Then suddenly we heard a big one that was really close,” remembers Ross. “It kind of spooked us, and we said we’d better go in. We looked around for D. J. and couldn’t see him. We decided he’d probably gone back to the house.”
Ross and his grandpa jumped into the small Honda and started for the ranch house about a city block away. As they pulled out, they saw something startling—two boots sticking up from a pile of dirt. D. J.! Quickly they drove there, fearing the worst. There lay D. J., unconscious. Most of his shirt was gone. A zigzag mark on his bare chest looked as though it had been drawn with a black marker. His baseball cap lay several feet away.
Ross and Grandpa lifted his limp six-foot-four frame into the little Honda as quickly as they could.
“It was pretty scary,” recalls Ross. “Grandpa dropped me off at the house, and I called the doctor in Pinedale to tell him Grandpa was bringing D. J. in. Then I called Salt Lake City to tell his mom and dad and also my mom and grandma. I was really nervous.”
On the way to the clinic, D. J. gained consciousness.
“When I woke up in the back of the car,” says D. J., “I was confused and didn’t know what was happening. I was numb. I couldn’t move. I asked, ‘What happened? Where are we going?’ My grandpa kept patting me and saying that I was going to be all right.”
At the clinic, medical personnel put D. J. on a gurney, they cut his shredded shirt from his body, and they stuffed cotton into his bleeding ear.
“They put me in a restraint that clamped around my forehead and down my body in case I had neck and back injuries,” says D. J. “Apparently the lightning had knocked me a few feet.”
The Pinedale doctor suggested that an ambulance transport D. J. to a larger clinic in Rock Springs for further treatment. By the time he arrived in the nearby Wyoming city, D.J’s parents, Douglas and Jennifer Holland, were there to meet him.
When the emergency room physician examined D. J., he found a severely burned right ear, much of his sandy-colored hair above the ear melted off, and a face scarred with burns. Finger-like projections all down his body resembled burst capillaries. The physician, amazed that D. J. had survived, arranged to have him taken to the University of Utah Medical Center burn unit in Salt Lake City.
During the 90-minute ride to the Salt Lake hospital, D. J. was awake and aware of the trip. In his room a few hours later—in the middle of the night—a crowd of worried family members gathered around his hospital bed.
“The room was full,” D. J. fondly remembers. “My parents and four sisters and my grandparents were there. Ross and other cousins and aunts and uncles were there. My grandpa gave me a priesthood blessing. Grandpa blessed me that I would completely recover from the accident, and that I would have no scars or ill effects. After the blessing I had no doubt that I would be okay.”
During his 24-hour hospital stay, D. J. learned that besides the extensive burns on his body, he had a seriously damaged eardrum. He later learned that sometimes the eardrum will rupture because of the loud percussion of thunder.
But that didn’t worry D. J. He did know he needed to do something about his burned-off hair. The barber had an appropriate idea. He shaved D. J.’s head, except for a zigzag, lightning-bolt strip down the center.
During the next few weeks D. J. returned to the hospital several times to have his burns checked. They were healing. Then he went to an ear specialist. This doctor told the family that the burned-out eardrum probably wouldn’t mend and that he might have to graft in a new one. Only time would tell.
Just two weeks after the first visit with the specialist, D. J. went back.
“This time the doctor was really surprised,” D. J. says. “He found that my eardrum was actually growing back. It wasn’t completely healed yet, but it was growing back. It was a miracle.”
Today, D. J.’s burns have completely healed. He has no scars on his face or body, and he has no hearing loss. He even has to stop to think which is his damaged ear. His hair also has grown out. But most of all, he has a very strong testimony of the power of prayer and of the priesthood.
“I said a lot of prayers back then, and so did my family,” says D. J. “But mostly I knew that Grandpa had given me an inspired priesthood blessing.”
Editor’s Note: D. J. is now married and living in Salt Lake City. Ross recently finished his freshman year at Pepperdine University in Malibu, California. He is preparing for a mission.

“Class, I have a surprise for you,” Mrs. Taylor said as she walked to the front of the room.
Evelyn looked up from her test, grinning. There was a big “A+” at the top.
“You all did so well on your tests that tomorrow we’ll watch a movie as a reward,” Mrs. Taylor said, writing three movie titles on the board. “Here are the options we can vote on,” she said over everyone’s cheers.
Evelyn bounced in her seat, trying to see what the titles were. The first two movies were some of her favorites. She leaned over to her friend Katy. “Which one are you going to vote for?”
“Definitely number three,” Katy said. “My parents wouldn’t let us watch it at home, so I never got to see it.”
Evelyn looked at the board again and saw the name of the third movie. Her heart started to pound. Evelyn had heard of this movie, and she knew it was one she wouldn’t feel right about watching. What if her class voted for it?
“Who would like to vote for option one?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
Evelyn stretched her hand high and looked around. She bit her lip nervously. Only two other people were voting.
Mrs. Taylor made tally marks on the board. “Option two?”
Evelyn’s heart sank. Only three hands went up.
“And option three?”
Fifteen hands shot up. Evelyn slumped down in her seat, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. How could she get out of watching that movie if everyone else wanted to?
When she got home, Evelyn went straight to her room and let her backpack fall to the floor with a heavy thunk. The sick feeling had stuck with her the entire day. “I wish I actually could be sick,” she thought. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to school tomorrow.”
Evelyn pulled her test out of her backpack and stared at it, clutching it in her hands. “The movie was supposed to be a reward, not a punishment!” she thought, angrily crumpling the test up and stuffing it under her bed. Tears welled up in her eyes. She knelt by her bed and started to cry. Then she started to pray. She choked out a few tangled sentences, asking Heavenly Father to take the problem away, but after a while her prayer changed. “Please help me to make this better. I don’t want to see a movie that will make me feel bad, and I hope that my friends and teacher will understand.”
Evelyn finished her prayer. The trembling, sick feeling had disappeared. She didn’t even feel afraid anymore.
Jumping to her feet, Evelyn raced out of her room to find Mom. She had an idea.
The next day, Evelyn walked into class. In one hand she held a note from Mom explaining how watching the movie would make Evelyn feel uncomfortable. In the other hand she carried three of her favorite movies. Evelyn handed the note to Mrs. Taylor and watched her read it.
“Thank you for letting me know how you feel,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“My mom says it’s OK for me to go sit in with another class while the movie is playing,” Evelyn said. “But I also brought some other movies in case everyone would like to watch one of them instead.”
Mrs. Taylor smiled and reached for the stack of movies. “A movie is not much of a reward if we can’t all enjoy it,” she said.
Mrs. Taylor wrote the new titles on the board. “Class, I’d like to vote again on the movie for today. I have some new options for you.”
Evelyn went and sat at her desk, happy she wouldn’t have to miss out on the class reward. But the best reward of all was knowing that Heavenly Father had taken away her fear and given her courage to do what was right.

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

Let me tell you a story of a great missionary in our stake. Tyler is a young man attending high school. He loves to share the gospel and is bold in sharing his faith. He started talking to one of his teachers in school about baptism, and there was some interest in learning more. Tyler made a referral to the sister missionaries in his ward, who made a referral to the elders in my ward. The missionaries quickly discovered that this teacher is a neighbor to the stake president. The elders showed up to my home, and the pressure was on. I immediately took them across the street, through the pasture, and to the home of Dave, Bidya, and their two daughters. The invitation was made to come over and continue the discussion about baptism. The missionaries taught all of the discussions, and they were baptized just a few months ago. They are doing well in their early efforts to live the gospel. It’s always a joy to see God’s children accept and embrace the restored gospel.

When I was in second grade, I went to choir on Thursdays at lunchtime with my friends. We sang songs, performed at assemblies, and had lots of fun.
One day we started learning a new song. When I listened to it, I heard Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It made me sad.
After school I told my mom about it. I told her that the song had Heavenly Father’s name in vain. She said I could ask the teachers if I could say something different. I knew that’s what I should do, but I was very nervous.
One Thursday I made up my mind to try. I told my teacher how I felt and how special God’s name was to me. I asked her if I could say something else. The teachers told me that I could say different words instead. I felt much better, and I knew Heavenly Father had helped me.
A few weeks later, my teachers said that the whole choir was going to sing the different words to the song during that part. At the assembly I stood tall as I sang. I was happy that I could help my friends and my choir to not say Heavenly Father’s name in vain.