Gospel Story Finder

The famous Santiago de Compostela Cathedral in the northwest region of Spain is the supposed final resting place of the Apostle James, the brother of John. It is an impressive structure with a world-renowned organ. Over 100,000 Catholics travel to the city each year to visit the Shrine of St. James inside the cathedral.
When Elder Tyler Clair Neel and his companion, who are serving in the Spain Bilbao Mission, visited the cathedral, Elder Neel asked for permission to play the “awesome” organ. The dean of the cathedral directed him to the organist and permission was granted.
“I’m probably the first Latter-day Saint to ever play the Santiago Cathedral organ, and I played hymns of the Restoration!” Elder Neel said about the experience. In fact, Elder Neel was able to play the organ three times. And the cathedral organist enjoyed the hymns so much that Elder Neel presented him with a large-size, spiral-bound copy of the LDS hymnbook as a thank-you.
In the photo above, Elder Neel is playing the organ at the cathedral in Leon, Spain, one of his previous areas.

I am grateful to Kristie for her introduction. I recognized her goodness and her loving heart within the first few minutes after I picked her up for our first date and began to get to know her. After we dated for a couple of months, she left to come here to BYU–Hawaii to attend school. It didn’t take me very long after she left before I realized that if I wanted any chance of being with her forever, I needed to take some action. In addition to the countless emails and phone calls, I recruited my brother and my auntie to come to Hawaii with me to visit Kristie, and then later that same semester I came again with her family for Thanksgiving.
It was on that second trip that we got engaged and I somehow convinced her to leave this place which she had grown to love, and to come back to Utah where we were married. We have been married now for more than 22 years, and she is my best friend. A constant source of strength and encouragement to me and to our family.

When I was growing up, one of my jobs was to burn the trash. I would gather the garbage from the house. I’d put it in a big metal barrel in the backyard. Then I would light a match and drop it in the barrel.
One day it was really windy, and the match just wouldn’t stay lit. I decided to make a torch out of newspaper. I thought that way the flame would last long enough to light the trash on fire. I remembered that it wasn’t smart to play with fire, but I ignored the warning feeling. I rolled up some newspaper into a cone, lit it with a match, and dropped it into the barrel.
Whoosh! The strong wind made the newspaper burst into flames, and the trash quickly caught fire. Big flames blew past my face. Luckily most of my hair was pulled back into a ponytail. But my bangs were singed into crisp little wisps! My eyelashes were gone, and my eyebrows too. It just happened so fast!
That taught me a lesson: if you play with something dangerous, you can get hurt! Our parents and the Holy Ghost warn us to avoid dangerous things like pornography and drugs. If we choose to ignore the warnings, there are harmful consequences.
I’m grateful that my hair grew back over time. That’s like repentance. When we make wrong choices, we can choose to change. We can be forgiven because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. No matter how young or old we are, our Savior is always there to help us. We can feel peace again, just like on the day we were baptized.
Heavenly Father gave us commandments because He loves us. He wants to protect and help us. What wonderful gifts Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ have given us!

When I had a chance to start graduate school in Florida, I was faced with another important choice. I had researched my professors and understood they would not share my ideals. One of my first classes was taught by a professor I knew did not share my political, educational, or religious values. Her first assignment was to write an essay describing our ideas for the best possible K-12 education policy. I knew honestly explaining my ideas for good education policy would be in direct conflict with hers.

To complicate matters, I was not yet admitted to the program and had to take a full-time student load for one semester, including her class, before the department would consider admitting me. I was working full-time, serving in a challenging calling, and was wholly unsure of success.

However, as an educator, I knew I would learn much more by honestly engaging with this and other similar activities. I decided to approach it honestly and was profoundly impressed when she and other professors chose to respect my ideas and challenge my reasoning rather than my integrity. This led to an amazing opportunity for growth that lasted throughout my graduate studies.

A recent missionary-for-a-day activity conducted by the young people in the Renton Washington Stake resulted in five baptisms in two states as the result of one referral.
Heidi Vikari and Claudia Judd of the Renton Third Ward were assigned a tracting district in an older part of the town. The two took copies of the Book of Mormon and knocked on 15 doors that day, and at the last one, a woman responded to the message. She and a nine-year-old son were taught and baptized. She then referred the missionaries to a brother in Oregon, who also accepted the gospel. He, in turn, sent missionaries to another couple who also joined the Church.
Thus, within three months of knocking on doors in the stake’s semiannual missionary-for-a-day program, one contact resulted in five baptisms.

Along with Brother Marsh, many have received blessings as they have sought to establish the Lord’s restored Church throughout the world. One example is Johann and Theresia Huber, who helped establish the Church in Austria in the early 1900s.
When the Huber family was baptized into the Church and left Catholicism, the dominant faith of Austria, many social and legal issues arose. When people learned that the Huber children weren’t attending confession, they threatened to remove the children from their home. Some even told Theresia to leave Johann.
After World War I, previous religious constraints dissolved, allowing people to practice their faith more freely. The Lord watched over the Huber family as they continued to share the gospel, and soon a small branch began to meet in the Hubers’ barn. Johann was called to serve as the first branch president in Austria. He served for 25 years.1

Konnichiwa! My name is Honoka, and I live in Chiba Prefecture, Japan. I like to play, jump rope, and draw. My dream is to be an illustrator someday. I was at school when a big earthquake happened.
When the earthquake hit, my first thoughts were, “This is scary!” and “I wonder if my family is OK.” I prayed in my heart that they would be safe and that people’s lives would be spared. Later I found out that none of my friends had been hurt. At that time, I felt that God had protected us. I know that God and Jesus live.

I once heard a story about an imaginary king whose wife gave birth to a baby boy. The parents knew that the lad would someday inherit the kingdom. Desiring that their son be a wise king, fully familiar with the needs of the people over whom he would reign, the king and queen took the infant into the country to be raised as part of a peasant family. He was to be told nothing of his secret destiny until he became a man.

At the appropriate time the king and queen returned to the country to confer on their son the kingdom. They were greatly disappointed. Having been told nothing of his appointed destiny, he was exactly that which life had prepared him to be. He understood the proper care of animals and the gathering of crops, but he knew nothing of armies and palaces and courtyards and presiding. He had lost his vision.

It should not be difficult for you to glean the truth in this story. Another King, your Father in Heaven, has sent you away from His presence to have experiences you would not have had in your heavenly home—all in preparation for the conferral of a kingdom. He doesn’t want you to lose your vision. You are children of an exalted being. You are foreordained to preside as kings and queens. You will live in a home and environment of infinite refinement and beauty, as reflected in the language, literature, art, music, and order of heaven.

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

One day, after we had reached the Coppermine River, we were paddling on the river during a blizzard. It was the end of July and the snow was flying! The current was powerful, but the head-wind was so strong we were struggling for progress. Bob said, “Dad, look at the shore.” I did … We were standing still. And when we stopped paddling, the wind blew us upstream! So we stopped and pulled over to the shore and gathered what wood we could for a fire to warm our hands.

Another time we were stuck on a boulder in a bad set of rapids, and it seemed as though we might stay there forever. But after a prayer and a quick maneuvering of the boat, we broke free.

Once we reached the river, we were determined to regain our lost time. We didn’t mind moving, because when we’d stop we’d start to chill. Even at night we slept cold. The ground was ice, and the wind was cold. We had some small containers of fuel, but just enough to warm our food. And so we paddled and rushed on. Our worst day on the river we traveled 5 kilometers. Our best day we traveled 80 kilometers, and we went over the falls and flooded our canoe at the last set of rapids out of eight we covered that day. The map showed eight sets of rapids, and we decided, because of our haste, to run them without studying them first, a foolish thing to do.

We slowly regained our lost time, and by the end of the trip, arrived in the small Eskimo village at the mouth of the river right on schedule. We had one half of a meal left. Our canoe was so badly damaged we had to abandon it (after notifying Canadian officials). We had sailed over every set of rapids on the river but one (whether we were tired or afraid of the one we carried our equipment around I’m not sure), so we didn’t claim any records. But Bob had been lost and now was found. The day after we returned home, he went to see the bishop and expressed his desire to serve the Lord. He is now serving in the Illinois Chicago Mission.

To any father who is trying to help his son decide to go on a mission, I would say that the most important thing is to know your son. Not everyone needs to go on a trip down the Coppermine River. The same kind of building experiences can take place at home, working in the garage together, playing a game of tennis, maybe just going for a walk where the two of you can be alone. I wouldn’t have gone on the Coppermine River if I hadn’t felt inspired to do so.

And to you young men who know you should be going on a mission, I would remind you that for every person there will be wilderness areas, Gethsemanes, Sacred Groves—places where we learn to rely on the Lord completely and call on him in fervent prayer. Don’t try to tempt the Lord by placing yourself in a dangerous situation, but be prepared to follow the promptings of his Spirit, wherever they may lead you.

Look at fasting as a blessing, not a forced and dreaded chore. I used to focus on my hunger pains on fast Sunday until my mom told me to fast with a purpose. She said every time you have a hunger pain, think of what you’re fasting for and say a silent prayer. I tried that the next fast Sunday, and it really helped! I didn’t feel hungry, and I saw the effects of my fast when I received the help I had fasted for. I gained a testimony of fasting that day, and ever since, fast Sunday has always been a blessing to me.
Janae S., 15, California, USA

It begins as a big, fleecy bundle. Ruth Kandler, 14, and her sisters, Helga, 17, and Petra, 11, are often waiting at the door when their father brings the wool home. He has traveled high into the Austrian Alps to purchase it from the shepherds, who have already sheared it from the backs of their flocks, washed it, and carded it to remove burrs and align fibers. Straightening the fibers allows the wool to be spun into yarn.
This time, there is a surprise. Along with the usual white and gray wool from the milk sheep, Brother Kandler has brought back a smaller bale of dark brown wool, the wool of the mountain sheep. The young ladies are excited, because even though the short black fibers are more difficult to spin, they add variety and color when the homespun yarn is knitted into clothing for school and work.
One of the most prized possessions in the Kandler household is an antique spinning wheel more than 100 years old. There are several other spinning wheels of varying ages to accompany it, enough so that everyone in the family can spin at the same time and still invite one friend to join in.
The spinning itself, once learned well, is not a difficult art. “I learned to do it in three days,” Petra says. Brother Kandler, watching his wife teach his daughters, learned the technique in just one day and seems to enjoy spinning as much as the rest of the family.
“It’s relaxing just to sit and spin,” Ruth says. “You can talk or just think and still be making something at the same time.” It’s also obvious the daughters enjoy spending a little time occasionally practicing the craft with their parents. They smile, laugh, and tell jokes. When Petra’s yarn doesn’t seem to wind quite right, her older sisters help her remedy the problem as Sister Kandler nods her head approvingly.
Electricity is expensive in the small town of Eugendorf where the Kandlers live, so the work is done by the sunlight that filters through the windows and reflects from the walls, setting the room aglow. Helga strums her guitar as the others pump foot pedals up and down and carefully twist the wool through their fingers, guiding it onto spools. Her chord patterns and clear voice seem infinitely more appropriate than a blaring radio or a chatty television set. “We share the real experience of doing things together,” Brother Kandler says, “We don’t have a T.V.” Sometimes friends, like 11-year-old Michele Make who lives nearby, come over to join in the fun.
Today, because it’s a special occasion (a photographer has come to take their picture), the entire family has put on costumes typical of their region. Like most Austrians, they wear the traditional clothing from time to time during the year as part of their regular wardrobe. But it is fairly rare to find all of them in costume on the same day. Helga says that having the costumes is practical, “It’s handy, because they never go out of fashion,” she adds. “Teenagers, children, parents—everyone wears them. But we wear other things, too, like dresses and jeans.”
The wool is for making sweaters, gloves, mittens, and stockings. Helga says it’s enjoyable to be able to wear homemade clothing to school, “Most of the other children are enchanted by it,” she says. “They go home and try to make theirs in the same way.” Sister Kandler, who began spinning just a few years ago (she learned how from friends), says hand-knit clothing is popular throughout Austria, but buying it in the stores is much too expensive. (It costs about 2,000 shillings, or $150, to buy a handmade sweater in a store. Brother Kandler buys an entire kilo of wool in the mountains for 500 shillings.) The Kandler’s make their yarn from pure, natural wool (it’s not dyed, so the lanolin, which waterproofs the fiber and makes it a good insulator, is preserved). Add to that the fact that the clothing they make serves as a constant reminder of hearth and home, and it becomes nearly priceless.
Helga says the Kandlers have found that their talent has helped them make friends and fellowship Church members in the Salzburg (Austria) Ward, Germany Munich Stake, where they attend church, and elsewhere. During the winter, which is the season when most of the spinning is done, a group of Church families from Germany and Austria (Eugendorf, near Salzburg, is about 30 kilometers from the German border) gathers for instruction and for the pleasure of working together. “Many people return home with a new skill and with a more valuable way to spend their spare time,” Helga says. Sister Kandler also features spinning instruction as part of her Relief Society homemaking lessons, and her daughters help her demonstrate.

“Abrams, Frank.”
“Here.”
“Bellerose, John.”
“Yeah.”
“Brown, Cindy.”
“Yo.”
“Cassady, Michelle.”
“Present.”
“Crandall, Alan.”
“Here.”
Mr. Rodenburg, my sixth-period English teacher, paused, just like all my other teachers had, looked up from his roll book, and stared at me.
“Are you Jim Crandall’s little brother?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.
“He sure was a great football player. What’s he doing now?”
That was the fifth time that day I’d heard the exact same question.
“He’s at BYU.”
“You think he’ll play much this year?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
He eyed me curiously. “Do you play football?” Somebody in the back of the room snickered, and I felt my face redden as it always did when people asked me that.
“I, … ah, used to, but I don’t anymore.”
Mr. Rodenburg looked surprised. “Really? Jim Crandall’s little brother doesn’t play football? I guess he must have hogged up all the football genes in your family, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I muttered.
He finally left me alone and continued calling the roll.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love my big brother, Jim, but I hate being referred to as “Jim Crandall’s little brother.”
I can’t blame people, though, because Jim is pretty great. Before he graduated last year he broke every school football record a linebacker can break. He was all-state and all-America in football, lettered in basketball and track, and had football scholarship offers from everywhere in the universe. He was also in the National Honor Society, the Key Club, and was the senior class vice-president.
Jim was the kind of guy every teacher wants for a student, every coach wants for a player, every bishop wants in his priests quorum, every parent wants for a son, and every little brother doesn’t want for a big brother. Jim was Mr. Perfect, and as Mr. Perfect’s little brother, I was stuck trying to follow his act.
And Jim was a tough act to follow. Where he got A’s, I was lucky to get B’s and C’s. At 6 feet, 4 inches, and 220 pounds, Jim was built like a Greek statue; at 6 feet, 1 inch, and 160 pounds, I was built like a flimsy scarecrow. Before he went to BYU, Jim was the bishop’s Joseph (you know, the kid with the coat of many colors): priests quorum first assistant, seminary president, and Mr. Model Premissionary. He read the scriptures, lived the commandments, and earned his Eagle Scout Award when he was 16. I wanted to follow in his footsteps—who wouldn’t?—but I knew I could never measure up to my big brother.
Not that that bothered Jim.
“Hey look,” he told me after I got cut from the junior varsity football team, “it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. You’ve got to be your own man, Alan. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Alan Crandall and,” he pointed upward, “Him.”
Sometimes, Jim reminded me of our bishop. Can you believe that—an 18-year-old kid who sounds like a bishop? I looked at Jim without smiling. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got cut.”
“Maybe so, but believe me, Alan, football, basketball, all these high school sports are short-term stuff. You can’t play forever.”
“I still wish I had made the team.”
He stood up and slapped me on the back. “Well, it’s not the end of the world. There’s always next year, and there are other sports too, but life doesn’t revolve around sports. Remember that, Alan.”
I tried to remember that all football season as I watched Jim play the hero’s role in game after game.
I tried to remember that when I was cut from the JV basketball team two months later.
And I tried to remember that in the spring of my sophomore year, Jim’s senior year, when Coach Kerby talked to me after practice.
“Look, Crandall,” he said, “even though you’re Jim Crandall’s little brother, I don’t think you’re going to have much chance at running in any of our meets this season. You’re welcome to stick it out, but I wouldn’t blame you if you hung it up right now.”
He paused, looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, waiting for my answer.
I didn’t know what to say. “Let me think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He nodded and headed for the locker room.
“What’d Coach want?” Jim asked on our way home from practice.
“He said he wants to cut me.”
“No way. He’s never cut anybody from the track team.”
“Yeah, but he’s never had me try out either.”
“Knock it off, Alan. You know he won’t cut you if you want to stay on the team. What did he really say?”
I told him.
“So what are you going to tell him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got to think about it.”
I ended up deciding to stay on the track team, not so much for the competition, but for the exercise. I didn’t participate in a meet all season, but I enjoyed it anyway. I was on the team because I wanted to be on the team, not because I thought people expected me to be.
And that same spring, Jim managed to find time between track meets and awards banquets, to accept a football scholarship from BYU. His choice didn’t surprise anybody. Where else would Mr. Perfect want to go?
“Well, Alan,” he said late one August evening a few days before he left for BYU, “it’s going to be different going to school without my little brother. What’ll you do while I’m gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You planning on trying out for football again?”
“No, I think Madison High’s football team can survive without me this season. Besides, I don’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
Jim frowned. “I’m not worried about that. You’re one little brother any guy would be proud to have.” He was quiet for a minute. Then he smiled and said, “At least you won’t have to worry about being Jim Crandall’s little brother anymore, will you?”
“It’s not easy being a legend’s brother, but I think I’ll live. It doesn’t bother me anymore, honest, Jim.”
He jumped up, wrapped me in a headlock and messed up my hair. “Well, the school may forget me, but you better not. And I don’t want you getting any ideas about moving into my room. That’s off limits, you know, until I leave for my mission.”
“I know, I know.”
I remember the phone call clearly. Jim had been at BYU for three months, and according to his letters, he had been doing quite well. The coaches told him that if he continued to improve, he’d see some action before the end of the season.
The call came during dinner. “Hello?” said my dad as he answered the kitchen phone. “Yes, this is Mr. Crandall. Yes, Jim’s my son. Oh hello, Coach. This is a surprise. How’s he doing?” Dad’s face grew serious as he listened.
“I see. You say it happened this afternoon? I understand. Thanks for calling.” He carefully hung up the phone and turned to face Mom and me.
“That was Jim’s coach,” he said quietly. “Jim hurt his knee in practice today, and it looks bad. He’s in surgery now, so they won’t know how bad it is until tomorrow morning.”
It was bad. The next morning, a coach from BYU called and said Jim’s knee was so badly damaged that the doctors doubted he would play football again. Jim planned to finish out the last few weeks of classes and come home to prepare for his mission.
When he arrived at home, Jim looked the same, except for the cast and the crutches, of course, but he didn’t act the same. He wasn’t the same old Jim I had known, admired, and envied before he left for BYU.
The injury had changed my brother—almost as if it had knocked his usual rock-hard confidence and steadiness right out of him. He spent most of his time on the family room couch watching TV, reading, or lying on his back staring blankly at the ceiling. He rarely spoke, and when he did, he limited his speech to sighs, moans, and one word sentences like, “Yeah,” “Uh-uh,” and “Maybe.”
For a while, Jim’s friends visited him regularly, but he was so distant, so depressed that their visits became less frequent.
“Alan,” he told me as we sat watching TV one night, “this is crazy. I was second string, on the traveling squad. Everything was going great, and wham—it all fell apart. I just can’t believe it.”
“I don’t even know about a mission anymore,” he said tiredly. “With a bum leg, I doubt if they’d take me anyway. Who wants a handicapped companion to drag around from door to door?”
That surprised me. “What do you mean? You’ve always planned on going on a mission, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but I always planned on playing college football too. Now that this has happened, I don’t know what I’m going to do, even what I can do. Everything I’ve planned for, worked for, seems like it’s gone to pieces.” He looked at me in misery. “Alan, what should I do?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. Almost all my life, I had been looking up to him, following his example, and now he was lying there, asking me, his little brother, for advice.
Then I had an idea. “Hey look, Big Brother,” I said reaching over to mess up his hair, “it doesn’t make any difference to me, or anybody else who matters, if you play football or not. There are only two people you really need to worry about pleasing: Jim Crandall and,” I pointed upward, “Him.”
When he recognized his speech, Jim grinned, for the first time in a long time. “Why you little smart aleck. That’s my sermon you’re preaching. Haven’t you ever heard about copyrights?”
“Nope.” I tapped his cast lightly. “Jim, I’m really sorry about your knee and everything, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less of a brother to me. Your injury hasn’t changed you or the way I feel about you.”
Jim was quiet for a few minutes, looking at me, his leg, the TV. Finally, his smile faded and he sighed, “I know that, Alan, but still … it’s hard.”
“If it helps any, Jim, I know how you feel. I really do.”
He stared at the plaster cast for a few minutes without speaking. Then he looked back up at me, a faint glimmer of the old warmth in his eyes. “Thanks, Alan. It does help. It helps a lot.”
Jim’s in Ecuador now. In his last letter he wrote, “I give thanks every day for this bum knee. It’s made me a lot faster—at least when it comes to feeling other people’s hurts and seeing their needs.”
On my desk I have a snapshot of Jim in his cast. He’s smiling and pointing to the spot on the plaster where I wrote a little note and signed it in big, proud letters: JIM CRANDALL’S LITTLE BROTHER.

Growing up, I thought my family history work was done. By the time I was old enough to go to the temple, all my recorded ancestors’ ordinances had been completed. It didn’t seem like there was anything else I could do.
Then I found the records for my great-great-grandma Elva Butler.
Elva was born in Utah after her parents moved there with the pioneers. She made all her own covenants while she was alive, so I didn’t think I could do anything for her. But discovering her records turned out to be a huge blessing—for me!
I never met Elva, but after looking through her photos, journal entries, and letters, I felt like I knew her. She loved books and poetry, just like me! I admired how she trusted God during her personal hardships.
Because of her faith, my faith has been strengthened. I feel that she and my other ancestors are watching over me.

Several years ago I met one of our sons in the mission field in a distant part of the world. He had been there for a year. His first question was this: “Dad, what can I do to grow spiritually? I have tried so hard to grow spiritually, and I just haven’t made any progress.”
That was his perception: to me it was otherwise. I could hardly believe the maturity, the spiritual growth that he had gained in just one year. He “knew it not,” for it had come as growth, not as a startling spiritual experience.

The words God, Heavenly Father, and Jesus Christ were almost never mentioned in my home when I was growing up. My father didn’t really believe in God, and my mother didn’t attend the Christian church in which she had been baptized. When I was six, I wanted to go to church, but my parents decided not to allow me. To remedy my disappointment, I decided to hold my own church services on Sundays.
My knowledge of church and prayer was limited to what I knew from television and stories my friends had told me. The first thing I thought I needed was a Bible. I knew the Bible was a large book with a lot of important words and stories in it. We didn’t have a Bible, so I used the thing we had that fit the description best—the Encyclopaedia Britannica Junior. My congregation consisted of my stuffed animals and dolls. However, my church eventually dissolved, as reading from an encyclopedia can be very frustrating for a six-year-old. Though my church was over, my prayers to God continued.
When I was 13, my mother decided to return to her church. I went with her every Sunday for several months and soon joined the church’s youth group. I loved many things about this church, but I always felt like there was something missing. I continued to go until one day at a youth activity the other youth found out I was not a member of the church. The teenagers in the group began shunning me, and I eventually stopped going to church altogether.
Later, in high school, I took a comparative religions course. I learned a lot about many religions and realized there are a lot of good people with the best of intentions. But no religion ever seemed quite right.
I had convinced myself that no church was right and decided to live by my conscience, read the Bible (by this time I had bought my own), and do my best to live in accordance with the teachings of Jesus Christ. After all, no one in my family went to church, and they were all honest, good people.
In May of 2000, after seeing a movie about the life of Jesus Christ, I was so deeply touched that I earnestly prayed to God. I knew if I was patient, while continuing to do my best to follow Christ, I would receive answers to my prayers. I faced many tests in the months that followed. Through these tests, I became better at receiving the Spirit’s promptings.
Later that year I felt I should go to the visitors’ center at the Washington D.C. Temple to see the Christmas lights. I had been to the visitors’ center to see the lights before but had never inquired about the Church or its beliefs.
As I strolled through the visitors’ center, looking at the many displays, I thought of my cousin and another friend who were planning to serve missions for this church. I had studied about many religions but never this one. I was a little curious.
In my head I asked, expecting no answer, “Why in the world would those two men, or anyone for that matter, give up two years to serve missions—and at their own expense?” Much to my surprise, I received a humbling response. The soft whispers of the Spirit pierced my heart as my eyes fell upon a replica of gold plates. I was drawn to them. As I looked at them, I felt a powerful feeling of love, safety, and comfort, and in my mind I heard the words, “These are important. Learn about them.”
Immediately, I found a missionary and asked her about the plates. She told me about Joseph Smith translating the Book of Mormon. She also suggested I meet with the missionaries, but I declined.
The next day I went to the library to read all I could about the plates and the Church. I bought a copy of the Book of Mormon from a used-book store and began reading. I also read about the Church, but I wanted to learn more, so I decided to attend a church meeting.
I knew if I studied and prayed, God would confirm to me that this is the right church. So that’s what I did. I watched and waited patiently. And sure enough, my prayers were answered. On March 25, 2001, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
This is the Church of Jesus Christ. There are many good churches with many good people, but The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the church of our Lord and Savior, and it is the church with which our Heavenly Father is well pleased (see D&C 1:30). Our Heavenly Father loves us, has a plan for us, and will guide us back to Him if we earnestly seek Him.

Can you imagine a 25-hour-long meeting that was actually a good experience? Young men and women in the Madison Third Ward, Madison Wisconsin Stake, can. They met together on a holiday weekend—all day Friday and Saturday—to read the entire Book of Mormon.
They met at a leader’s home and read from 9:00 in the morning until 9:00 at night, stopping only long enough to say the blessing over dinner. After that, the young men camped out there, and the young women spent the night at a neighbor’s house. They reconvened the next morning for a similar schedule.
But there was no excited cheer when the last verse was read: “I bid unto all, farewell … until … I am brought forth triumphant through the air, to meet you before the pleasing bar of the great Jehovah, the Eternal Judge of both quick and dead. Amen” (Moro. 10:34). The evening ended with a very solemn and united “Amen.”

Katherine Kitterman has always been curious about her great-grandmother, Clara Turner, who died when Katherine was just a baby. She found some taped interviews of her great-grandmother and began transcribing them. Eventually this became her Individual Worth Value Project. She has spent dozens of hours at the computer recording her great-grandmother’s history so other family members can read and enjoy it.
“Some people might think it is boring, but it’s fun,” says Katherine. “The first thing to do is to ask questions. Then you become more curious. The more you find out about someone, the more you get to know them.”
Katherine says this project taught her how important it is to keep a journal. “I’m really interested in the everyday things my great-grandmother did, like chores and school, sewing rag rugs, or making silk from cocoons on mulberry trees. This made me realize that things we don’t think are very out of the ordinary or exciting would be very interesting to our posterity.”

When I was in sixth grade, my family moved. One of my new friends was not a member of the Church.
One Sunday, my friend called me. He wanted me to come bowling with him and his parents that afternoon. I had only been bowling once before, and I had really liked it. Bowling again would be really fun, especially with my new friend. I immediately went to ask my mom.
“Well,” she said, “it’s Sunday, so I don’t think you should go. But you can make your own decision.”
I was shocked! I thought that she would say no. Instead the choice was all mine. So I chose to go bowling with my friend.
Pretty soon my friend, his parents, and I were at the bowling alley. I did really well! My friend and I had fun. But the whole time, there was a sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew in my heart that my mom was right. I had learned at church and at home that making Sunday a holy day was important. Going bowling with my friend wasn’t the best Sunday activity.
That day, I learned an important lesson. It is good to have fun and be with friends! But choosing to make Sunday special is more important.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity of traveling with the President of the Church to attend a series of area conferences. I will never forget the contrast between two conferences that were held just a few days apart.
The first area conference was held in a large arena, and as we sat on the stand, we noticed continuous movement by the people. We saw individuals throughout the arena leaning over and whispering to family members and friends seated next to them. Giving the members the benefit of the doubt, we thought that maybe the large building helped cause the lack of reverence.
A few days later, we were in another country attending another area conference in an arena much like the first. When we entered the building, however, an immediate hush came over the congregation. As we sat through the two-hour general session, there was very little movement among the people. Everyone listened intently. Great attention and respect was shown all the speakers, and when the prophet spoke, you could hear a pin drop.
After the meeting was over, I asked the priesthood leaders about what they had done to prepare the people for the conference. They told me their preparation had been simple. They had asked priesthood holders to explain to the members of their families, and also the families they home taught, that at an area conference they would have the privilege of hearing the words of the prophet and the Apostles. The priesthood leaders explained that the reverence their people felt for God and His servants was the basis for their reverent behavior at the conference.