Gospel Story Finder

1 One day Tanner got a picture of Jesus. He loved the picture. He wanted to share it with somebody. He knew that not everybody knows about Jesus.
2 “Mom, can I give my picture of Jesus to somebody?” Tanner asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Who will you give it to?”
“I’m going to give it to my teacher, Mrs. Young. I like her because she reads me lots of stories.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said. “I’m proud of you.”
3 When Tanner got to preschool, he gave the picture to Mrs. Young. She was happy to get a picture of Jesus. Tanner was happy she liked it.
4 A few days later, Tanner and his family made a book that looked like the Book of Mormon golden plates. Then they wrote their testimonies in the book.
“Mom, can I take our book to school to show Mrs. Young?” Tanner asked.
“Yes, you can,” Mom said.
5 The next day at school, Tanner carried a backpack with his family’s golden plates inside. He told Mrs. Young about the book his family had made. Tanner’s teacher was very interested.
6 When Mom picked up Tanner from school that day, his teacher went to talk to Tanner’s mother.
“Tanner brought something very interesting today,” Mrs. Young said. “Can you tell me more?”
“How would you and your husband like to come to dinner at our house?” Mom asked. “We can talk more then.”
“That sounds great,” Mrs. Young said.
7 A few months later, Tanner and his mother went to Mr. and Mrs. Young’s baptism.
“I’m very happy I shared my picture of Jesus with my teacher,” Tanner said.
“I know that she is too,” Mom said. “You are a big reason why Mrs. Young and her husband are being baptized today.”
8 Tanner had a happy feeling as he watched Mrs. Young be baptized. He smiled as Mom leaned over and whispered, “Four-year-olds are great missionaries!”

Mary Elizabeth breathed deeply as she walked down the streets of Independence. Though she missed her uncle’s store in Kirtland, she admired his new red brick store on the corner of two of the widest, loveliest streets in Independence. She enjoyed the excitement of building up Zion.
After a few months in Independence, Mary Elizabeth felt lucky when a man named Mr. Boggs hired her to work as a seamstress. She was only 14 years old, and the extra money she earned would be a blessing for her family. And besides, she liked to sew! The Boggs family lived just a short distance away from Mary Elizabeth’s new home. Mr. Boggs had just been elected to an important political position in the state of Missouri, and he needed new clothes for official occasions. One of Mary Elizabeth’s assignments was to sew Mr. Boggs’s shirt collars.
Mary Elizabeth liked the Boggs family with their many children. She was especially fond of one of the little girls. The Boggs family liked her too. Often Mrs. Boggs sewed with Mary Elizabeth for hours at a time.
One day Mrs. Boggs asked, “Mary Elizabeth, you know we are not Mormons as you are, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mrs. Boggs,” Mary Elizabeth said.
“Mary Elizabeth, your church is wrong,” Mrs. Boggs said. “Being a Mormon will only bring you pain and disappointment.”
Mary Elizabeth sat silently.
“I have spoken with my husband,” Mrs. Boggs went on. “We like you. My husband has power and money, more than your people do. We want to take you in as one of our own. We will provide for you and educate you. You will be one of us.” Mrs. Boggs smiled hopefully.
“I am sorry, Mrs. Boggs, but I cannot abandon my faith or my people,” Mary Elizabeth said. “But thank you for your kindness to me.”
A few months later, things indeed became more painful for the Saints in Missouri. Mobs were starting to attack more frequently. They were even destroying crops and buildings.
One day Mary Elizabeth and her younger sister Caroline were near Brother Phelps’s printing office when a mob began destroying the press and dumping large piles of printed paper out the window. Mary Elizabeth recognized the paper right away. The men were destroying the Book of Commandments!
“Caroline, we must save those papers,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “Follow me.”
“They will kill us,” Caroline said. “But I will come.”
Waiting until the men had turned away from the girls, each sister grabbed a large armful of papers and began running toward a cornfield. The men saw the girls and began to chase them, yelling at them to stop. The girls ran into the tall corn, laid the papers on the ground, and lay on top of them to protect them. The sisters could hear the men crashing through the corn stalks nearby. Mary Elizabeth and Caroline’s hearts pounded, but to their relief, the girls were not found.
After waiting in the corn for a long time, the sisters carried the papers back to the printing office. They were grateful to be safe and that they had helped the Lord’s work.

When I was 17, I began taking philosophy classes in high school. One day the teacher said to the class, “Surely there isn’t anyone here who believes that Adam really existed!” Then he scanned the room with the look of an inquisitor, ready to pounce on whoever dared to admit to such belief. I was petrified! However, my desire to be loyal to my faith was even stronger. I glanced around to see that I was the only one of those 40 students to raise a hand. The teacher, taken by surprise, changed the subject.

As a teenager he got away from religion but found a new passion- “About this time, my father (who was a lawyer) was doing some work for one of the big TV stations in London and he took me to their studios. I’ve never forgotten how exciting I found the atmosphere– a mix of paint, electricity and sheer adrenaline! I resolved there and then that I wanted to work in TV, preferably as a director and doing ‘live’ shows.”
He stayed on that path, graduating from Durham University and began a career at the BBC in London. He said, “I worked my way up from the most junior production job on the studio floor to become a director, then a producer and eventually an executive producer. I found the work vocational– early on, I decided to focus on children’s programmes as I believe so strongly they need the right kind of quality content to challenge, stretch and inspire them. ‘Blue Peter’ was the best and most popular of them all and it gave me so many opportunities– travel all over the world, incredible experiences and encounters. And the shows were live, which was always exciting.”

When I was a missionary in the Marshall Islands long ago, I, along with my Samoan companion, Tuiletefuga, were initiating the work in a small, but historically significant village on Majuro Atoll. We had been working hard to learn the language upon our arrival and to establish positive relationships in the village, especially with the high ranking individuals. Our work was progressing slowly and in fact, we had become the target of some persecution that moved from verbal taunts to stones thrown at us as we rode our bikes at night on the dirt trails, and even attempts to use sorcery against us. My very robust and towering companion had little patience with such gestures, and I had some curious event filled moments ensuring he did not exact corporal punishment upon our antagonists (and he would have done so with vigor and efficiency I have no doubt). During this time of un-ease in the village we began teaching an old man, Labwujtok Lane, who as the son of a paramount chief held significant title and rank. We had baptized his wife some months before and she was numbered among our three congregants. We met often with Labwujtok, teaching him all the lessons at least four times over a six-month period. We considered taking him off our teaching list, nonetheless we would call on him for friendly visits and attend to him as he was quickly deteriorating with severe diabetes. During this time, the infections necessitated amputating his right leg just above the knee.

We prayed for Labwujtok, not just that he would come to accept gospel truths, but for comfort in the waning days of his mortality. Then one morning, we rode our bikes out to his compound, and when we called through the door he enthusiastically invited us into his hut to sit on mats next to him. He told us, “Elders, I had a dream the night before last, that I was outside my house near the trail leading towards the lagoon. People in white clothing were passing by me headed toward the lagoon. When I stopped them to ask what they were doing, they told me they were going to be baptized. So I followed them to the shore. Thousands of people were standing on the beach in white clothing, and as I pressed through the crowd I could see a man standing in the water, baptizing one person after another. When I asked who it was they told me it was the Apostle Peter. I was curious for which church he was baptizing, and they answered it was for the true church of Christ. And then I awoke wondering about the dream and which Church was that of Christ. Then last night I dreamed again, and it was the same dream. I followed the people in white down to the shore, and I asked again who was doing the baptizing. This time I was told it was Moroni, that he too had the power to baptize for the true Church of Christ. And then I awoke, and I knew then you young Mormon missionaries had this same authority and the true Church was on the earth. You will see, thousands will come to be baptized.”

Two days later we carried Labwujtok down into the water of the lagoon. Because he could not stand or walk, Tuiletefuga and I made a cradle with our arms interlocked, and setting him upon it we descended into the water. A senior missionary performed the ordinance. We then submerged Labwujtok by both of us squatting down and immersing under the water with him. We confirmed him at the water’s edge. A week later, we sat and prayed with him, until he died. I could not help but think of the words of the prophet Joel, that in the latter-days your “…old men shall dream dreams…”12 At the time I could only grasp a semblance of what this event may mean. But after this experience with Labwujtok the persecution stopped, and we began to teach, baptizing many converts every month, a pattern that continues to this day. When I was a missionary there were only four to six missionaries in all the Marshall Islands, and we were 2300 miles from the mission home in Guam. Today, a mission headquarters for the Marshall Islands and Kiribati is located on this atoll, and the first stake from the old Micronesia mission was organized there with thousands of members. The Lord had His time-table and His purposes for which He prepared a way. I had supposed that our missionary labors were stuck, that the people would not be receptive due to certain traditions and an entrenched Christianity. I had supposed wrong, but was allowed to peer into the Lord’s way of bringing about His purposes in His time.

One reason I desired to serve a mission was that I had seen the impact that serving a mission had on my father and mother. Many times in our family home evenings Dad would mention his mission. He told us about his call. He had a desire to serve a mission, but when he expressed that desire to his father, his father discouraged him from going. My dad grew up on a chicken farm in American Fork, Utah. Because of failing health, his father didn’t feel that he would be able to maintain the farm, and there would be no money to finance a mission.
Bishop Melvin Grant came to discuss the matter with my dad’s family. When Dad’s father told the bishop that his son couldn’t go, Dad’s mother stood right up from her chair and said, “I’ll take care of the chickens. My son George is going on a mission.”
And so he went to England. My dad told me that a few months into his mission he received a letter from his mother that said, “I think the chickens know where you are, because they’ve never laid as many eggs as they are laying now.”

When I finished telling this story in the Sunday School class, a member who had recently returned from his mission asked me where I had served.

“In the Japan Sapporo Mission,” I answered.

“Was it in Asahikawa that you helped this child?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

Then he said, “The child in your story was baptized by my companion. One week after the baptism, I was transferred to Asahikawa and I met him. He mentioned that a missionary had saved him from drowning in a river.”

The Lord guides us in miraculous ways. It was not mere chance that my companion felt inspired to work in a distant area that afternoon despite his difficulty with walking or that we walked along the river at just the right moment.

Now the young man who was saved wants to be a missionary, just like the one who saved him. I thought I had completed my mission 14 years ago, but when this young man goes on a mission, in a sense my mission will continue.

I am acquainted with a family that came to America from Germany. The English language was difficult for them. They had but little by way of means, but each was blessed with the will to work and with a love of God.

Their third child was born, lived but two months, and then died. The father was a cabinetmaker and fashioned a beautiful casket for the body of his precious child. The day of the funeral was gloomy, thus reflecting the sadness they felt in their loss. As the family walked to the chapel, with Father carrying the tiny casket, a small number of friends had gathered. However, the chapel door was locked. The busy bishop had forgotten the funeral. Attempts to reach him were futile. Not knowing what to do, the father placed the casket under his arm and, with his family beside him, carried it home, walking in a drenching rain.

If the family were of a lesser character, they could have blamed the bishop and harbored ill feelings. When the bishop discovered the tragedy, he visited the family and apologized. With the hurt still evident in his expression, but with tears in his eyes, the father accepted the apology, and the two embraced in a spirit of understanding. No hidden wedge was left to cause further feelings of anger. Love and acceptance prevailed.

Toward the end of World War II, my father was drafted into the German army and sent to the western front, leaving my mother alone to care for our family. Though I was only three years old, I can still remember this time of fear and hunger. We lived in Czechoslovakia, and with every passing day, the war came nearer and the danger grew greater.
Finally, during the cold winter of 1944, my mother decided to flee to Germany, where her parents were living. She bundled us up and somehow managed to get us on one of the last refugee trains heading west. Traveling during that time was dangerous. Everywhere we went, the sound of explosions, the stressed faces, and ever-present hunger reminded us that we were in a war zone.
Along the way the train stopped occasionally to get supplies. One night during one of these stops, my mother hurried out of the train to search for some food for her four children. When she returned, to her great horror, the train and her children were gone!
She was weighed down with worry; desperate prayers filled her heart. She frantically searched the large and dark train station, urgently crisscrossing the numerous tracks while hoping against hope that the train had not already departed.
Perhaps I will never know all that went through my mother’s heart and mind on that black night as she searched through a grim railroad station for her lost children. That she was terrified, I have no doubt. I am certain it crossed her mind that if she did not find this train, she might never see her children again. I know with certainty: her faith overcame her fear, and her hope overcame her despair. She was not a woman who would sit and bemoan tragedy. She moved. She put her faith and hope into action.
And so she ran from track to track and from train to train until she finally found our train. It had been moved to a remote area of the station. There, at last, she found her children again.
I have often thought about that night and what my mother must have endured. If I could go back in time and sit by her side, I would ask her how she managed to go on in the face of her fears. I would ask about faith and hope and how she overcame despair.
While that is impossible, perhaps today I could sit by your side and by the side of any who might feel discouraged, worried, or lonely. Today I would like to speak with you about the infinite power of hope.

My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.

During World War II, a friend of mine was serving in the South Pacific when his plane was shot down over the ocean. He and the other crew members successfully parachuted from the burning plane, inflated their life rafts, and clung to those rafts for three days.
On the third day they spotted what they knew to be a rescue vessel. It passed them by. The next morning it passed them by again. They began to despair as they realized that this was the last day the rescue vessel would be in the area.
Then the Holy Spirit spoke to my friend: “You have the priesthood. Command the rescuers to pick you up.”
He did as prompted: “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, turn about and pick us up.”
Within a few minutes the vessel was beside them, helping them on deck. A faithful and worthy bearer of the priesthood, in his extremity, had exercised that priesthood, blessing his life and the lives of others.

“Look! Look what you’ve done!” Akiko shouted at her little brother. She held up the broken Japanese semi (cicada) cage Tadomi had accidentally broken. “I’ll have to build this one all over again,” she said, gathering the bamboo pieces into a pile. She held up the other cage that was unbroken to hear the sharp chirp of the semi inside. “I’m going to show Mr. Ohashi this one,” she told Tadomi.
“May I come along? I could carry the cage for you,” Tadomi offered eagerly.
“No, thank you. I can carry it myself. I don’t want this one broken too,” said Akiko. She turned and skipped down the lane, admiring the pink cherry blossoms as she passed. Stopping for a moment, she picked up a few pink petals from the ground and added them to her semi cage.
Soon Akiko arrived at Mr. Ohashi’s outdoor fish market where she saw him hanging up a line of dried fish out in front. He still had a big box of fish left to hang up.
“Hello, Akiko. What do you have there?” asked Mr. Ohashi.
Akiko held up her bamboo cage with the chirping semi inside. “Listen,” she said as she held the cage up to Mr. Ohashi’s ear.
“Your semi sings beautifully. That’s a nicely built cage too,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Ohashi,” said Akiko.
“Would you like to help me display the rest of the fish? You can hand them to me out of the crate,” said Mr. Ohashi.
Akiko set her cage down and took a stack of dried fish out of the box. As she held them under her arm, two long pieces fell out of the stack into a muddy puddle.
“Oh! Look what I’ve done,” cried Akiko, close to tears. She tried to pick up the two dirty pieces of fish.
“It’s OK, Akiko. I know you didn’t mean to,” comforted Mr. Ohashi, patting her shoulder gently. “How about helping me finish?” he asked.
Akiko was surprised that he still wanted her help after what she had done. While she helped Mr. Ohashi hang up the rest of his fish, she thought about how she had acted with Tadomi.
“Come again soon,” called Mr. Ohashi, as Akiko handed him the last fish.
When she arrived home she saw Tadomi, looking very unhappy, rolling a small red ball back and forth near their doorstep. “Tadomi, can you help me rebuild the cage?” Akiko invited. “I know it was just an accident that you broke it.”
Tadomi looked surprised. “Do you really want me to help?” he asked.
“Of course I do, silly. I need you to hand me the bamboo pieces.”
So Tadomi began to hand Akiko the pieces she needed as she worked. Soon the cage was half finished. As Tadomi was waiting for Akiko to ask for the next piece, he rolled some long pieces back and forth. He did it faster and faster on the stone path. Then, without meaning to, Tadomi snapped the bunch in half.
“Oh, no! Akiko, I didn’t—” Tadomi began, trying to explain.
“I know you didn’t mean to do it,” Akiko said understandingly.
Tadomi’s face brightened. Then they both laughed and went into the house to get more bamboo for the cage.

At the age of 12 years Anders Peter Anderson was orphaned. He had begun working in a woolen factory at age 10 because his family was poor. When he was 14 he heard the message of the missionaries, and in January 1878 he was baptized. As soon as it became known that he was a Mormon, the family that had taken him in when he was orphaned and treated him like a son drove him out. Called as a local missionary, Anders was frequently summoned before the Lutheran Church councils. In one city he was sentenced to 14 days in prison on bread and water, but he secretly moved to another area and escaped the punishment. During his mission he baptized 85 people. In the company of 270 other emigrants he came to America in August 1881. In 1889 he left America for another mission to Scandinavia, eventually serving as president of the Stockholm conference and baptizing 66 people.19

Peggy awoke on Christmas morning. She was excited to receive a fun new toy and eat a Christmas feast. But as she looked around, she knew this year would be different. Even though her father worked hard, money had been scarce for her family.
There were no signs of an upcoming Christmas feast. The vegetable trays were empty, and there was no food in the refrigerator.
Peggy and her brother, Malcolm, walked to the door of their parents’ bedroom and saw them kneeling next to their bed. They quietly listened as Mother and Father prayed that Heavenly Father would help the family have food.
“Come on,” Peggy said to Malcolm. “Let’s go outside.”
Peggy and Malcolm went out and collected some of the wild ferns that grew near the garden. Maybe there wouldn’t be any toys this year, but they could still make their home feel like Christmas.
They felt better after they decorated the house with green ferns, but there was still no sign of food.
“The Lord will provide,” Mother said. “Now let’s set the table.”
Father placed plates on the table while Mother set out forks and spoons.
The children looked at each other with confusion in their eyes. The table was ready, but there was still no food. Breakfast soon passed and lunchtime neared. Peggy was hungry! She wondered how her family would get food.
The clock ticked to 12:00, then 12:30, then 12:45. Still nothing. Then Peggy heard a knock on the door.
She rushed to open the door and was shocked to see the Kirk family standing there. They were holding ham, bread, chicken, salads, and sweets. Peggy couldn’t believe her eyes.
“We were just sitting down to eat our Christmas meal when we thought of you,” Brother Kirk said. “We hope you can use this food.”
Father shook Brother Kirk’s hand, and Mother began to set the food on the kitchen table. Peggy was still shocked. She looked with wide eyes at Mother and Father, but they looked like they expected this to happen.
Peggy knew the feeling she had in the morning was right. This Christmas was different. This was the Christmas that she learned that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. And that was the best gift she could have received.

In addition to collecting offerings, deacons have helped the needy by donating muscle power: painting houses, raking leaves, shoveling walks, running errands. Illustrative is a case that took place near the turn of the century when deacons aided two families in their ward:
“On the tenth of May, the Deacon’s quorum, with the consent of the Bishopric, assembled at the beet field of Sister __________, whose husband had recently died. The quorum with the aid of relatives, to the number of sixty-eight, went to work, and they cultivated and thinned nine acres of beets before they quit the field. This work lifted a heavy load off the family of Sister __________, was in great distress at the time.
“A few days later, the Deacons went to the farm of Sister __________, a widow, and thinned several acres of beets for her also.”

Some years ago I was working with the missionaries in Korea. We walked into a furniture store in downtown Seoul and were soon introduced to the proprietor. He was very kind to the elders. I listened to them encouraging him to accept a copy of the Book of Mormon. I do not speak Korean, but I understood enough to know the proprietor was friendly and open to the missionaries. In a few moments he invited us upstairs to his apartment. He walked over to what we thought was a window, where he drew back the curtain to reveal a bookshelf. It held at least 12 copies of the Book of Mormon in the Korean language. Obviously, someone had been there before us. My thought at that time was, “We need to place a copy of the Book of Mormon in this man’s heart, not on his bookshelf.”

Hannah sat on the train seat between her father and her sister, Bessie. Papa had let Bessie sit next to the window, but Hannah didn’t mind because that meant she could sit next to Papa. She snuggled up next to him, and he reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Today we’ll go inside the house of the Lord,” Papa said, his voice trembling a little.
“Yes, Papa,” Hannah said.
“Do you know why?”
Hannah nodded. “The Salt Lake Temple will be dedicated today. Then it will be a real temple.”
“Yes,” said Papa. “And why else do you want to go?”
“To see how beautiful it is inside,” Hannah answered.
Papa smiled. “Is that why we go to the temple?”
Hannah looked down at the pink ticket she was holding on her lap. It had President Wilford Woodruff’s own signature on it. She would show it at the door so she could go inside to see the temple dedication.
“To see President Woodruff?”
“We do love our prophet, but why else do you want to go?” Papa tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.
Hannah leaned back in her seat. What answer was Papa after?
“You think about that.” Papa patted her knee. “On the way home, you can answer again.”
The train ride went by quickly, and soon Hannah found herself staring at the Salt Lake Temple. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Looking up at the spires made her delightfully dizzy. The angel Moroni sparkled in the morning sun. “Holiness to the Lord,” Hannah read from the inscription on the wall. She felt a powerful joy in her heart. She promised herself that someday she would be married right here in the temple.
Hannah whispered to her father, “I know why I want to go to the temple. It’s because of Charley and Grandfather Bird and the rest of our family. It’s for Holiness to the Lord and for me too.”
Papa nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “That’s why I want to go too.”

I sat and stared in disbelief as Brother Jarman, a member of the branch presidency, waited for my answer.
Maybe he had meant to say teacher or counselor. But he hadn’t. What I heard was correct; he had called me as the Relief Society president in our small branch.
I sat still for some time reflecting on my situation. I was just 27 years old and had never been married. I had recently moved to the area and was beginning a new job as a journalist. My leadership experience was limited. I had served in several callings over the years but never one like this.
Silently I asked myself if I was old enough or experienced enough or if I even had the ability to serve. What could I possibly offer the women of the branch?
I went home that night, knelt in prayer, and asked Heavenly Father for direction. After I finished my prayer, I was instantly drawn to look at my patriarchal blessing. I read this sentence: “You are to be about that work which you were assigned to do now, even while you are young.”
As I read those words, I realized that this was not about my marital status, my age, or what I could do. It was about what the Lord needed me to do. I accepted the calling.

Missionaries taught my family the gospel in our home in Singapore. My father did not join the Church, but my mother did. She taught us of Jesus Christ and of His gospel. Even as a child, I proudly told my friends that I was a Latter-day Saint.
I always trusted my mother’s teachings. But when I became a young adult, a missionary asked me how many times I had read the Book of Mormon. I had been asked this question before, but this time I realized that because I had not read the Book of Mormon, I did not know whether it was true.
I could no longer dodge an undeniable fact: the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon are intertwined. If the gospel is true, then the Book of Mormon is true. Since I didn’t know whether the Book of Mormon was true, I now felt uncertain of everything I had grown to believe in. Confusion filled my mind, and the question—“Is the Book of Mormon true?”—remained in my heart.
My growing relationship with the Savior, Jesus Christ, also led me to a desire for the truth. The day I realized that I could not learn enough about Jesus Christ without seriously reading the Book of Mormon was the day I profoundly desired to know whether it was true.
I prayed for guidance. During this time, my branch president called me to teach about the Book of Mormon in the Gospel Doctrine class. I accepted the calling because I felt it might be the Lord’s answer to help me know the truth of the Book of Mormon and to draw closer to the Savior.
Teaching was hard. After the first few Sundays, I knew that I would never be effective until I believed in the Book of Mormon.
I began studying the Book of Mormon each week and soon found joy in my reading. The stories in the Book of Mormon unfolded chapter by chapter and drew me closer to Jesus Christ.
I read of Christ’s birth, which Nephi saw in a vision:
“And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white. …
“And [the angel] said unto me: Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh” (1 Nephi 11:13, 18).
I read of the plan of happiness and learned that faith in Jesus Christ is necessary for our salvation. Amulek taught:
“I do know that Christ shall come among the children of men, to take upon him the transgressions of his people, and that he shall atone for the sins of the world; for the Lord God hath spoken it.
“… For according to the great plan of the Eternal God there must be an atonement made, or else all mankind must unavoidably perish” (Alma 34:8, 9).
I read of Jesus Christ ministering to His other sheep in ancient America, and I knew that He is the God of all nations. He told the Nephites: “Ye are they of whom I said: Other sheep I have which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd” (3 Nephi 15:21).
As I read the Book of Mormon, my faith in Jesus Christ brightened and my understanding of His plan expanded (see Alma 32:28).
I testify that the Book of Mormon is the keystone of our religion. The Holy Ghost has revealed to me that Joseph Smith is a true prophet who restored the Church of God upon the earth and who translated the Book of Mormon from the gold plates. The Book of Mormon testifies of Jesus Christ and works hand in hand with the Bible. Together they testify that Jesus Christ is truly the Son of God and that He is the God of all nations, not just one.

About two months before his children turned eight years old, one father would set aside time each week to prepare them for baptism. His daughter said that when it was her turn, he gave her a journal and they sat together, just the two of them, and discussed and shared feelings about gospel principles. He had her draw a visual aid as they went along. It showed the premortal existence, this earth life, and each step she needed to take to return to live with Heavenly Father. He bore his testimony about each step of the plan of salvation as he taught it to her.

When his daughter recalled this experience after she was grown, she said: “I will never forget the love I felt from my dad as he spent that time with me. … I believe that this experience was a major reason I had a testimony of the gospel when I was baptized.” (See Teaching, No Greater Call, 129.)