Gospel Story Finder

When I was in high school, I lived in Idaho. They dismissed school for a couple of weeks every fall for the students to help in the potato harvest. One day when I was picking up potatoes, the boy working with me began to tell me things about the Prophet Joseph Smith that I didn’t believe were true. I don’t think I discussed my concerns with anybody. I just naturally went to the Book of Mormon and began to read. Nobody told me to do this. It just seemed right. From what I read there, I knew that a bad man could not have written it.

One day at school before I was eight, they were inspecting our hands and nails to see if they were clean, and the principal saw my CTR ring. After the principal checked the rest of my row, she came back to me and said, “Rebeca, come with me to the principal’s office.” Then she said to my teacher, “Can I take Rebeca for a while?”
In her office, she asked me what the ring meant. I said, “Choose the right.” I explained that at church they teach us to do good, pray, and read the scriptures. She asked which church I went to, and I said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Then she asked me what that church was about, and I told her about Joseph Smith going into a grove to pray and seeing the Father and the Son. I told her about going to the temple to be sealed to my parents and that I would be baptized when I was eight. She said, “You can tell me more later because you need to be in math class right now.”
Later I took the principal a copy of the Book of Mormon with my testimony inside.
I have a goal to be a missionary when I grow up. But right now I am trying to share the gospel with my friends.

Maggie loved things that matched. She wore her dark hair in two matching braids almost every day. Her purple backpack matched her purple notebook perfectly. And she carefully sorted her food into matching colors at lunchtime.
One day after lunch, Maggie walked out to the playground. She was about to join her friends when she saw someone sitting alone by the slide. It was a girl with long blonde hair.
Maggie sat down next to the girl. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Anna,” the girl whispered. She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.
“No one will play with me,” Anna said, looking up sadly at Maggie.
Then Maggie saw that Anna had pretty green eyes. Maggie knew another girl who also had green eyes and blonde hair. The two girls would match perfectly!
“I know someone who can play with you!” Maggie told Anna.
“You do?” Anna asked with a hopeful smile.
“Yes! Sarah from my class.” Maggie pointed to a girl jumping rope. “See her over there? She would probably play with you.”
“Oh,” Anna said. Her face melted back into a frown.
Maggie didn’t know what to do next. “Well, I’ll see you later,” she said, standing up and walking over to her friends.
But Maggie couldn’t forget Anna’s sad eyes. That night at dinner, she told her family about what happened.
“She needed someone to play with?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Maggie said, “but she wouldn’t go ask Sarah to play, even though they both have blonde hair and green eyes.”
Dad looked over at Maggie. “Why didn’t you play with Anna?”
Maggie’s mouth fell open. “Because—because—Sarah and the girl matched!”
“Hmm,” Mom said as she wiped the baby’s face. “Do you remember what Jesus says about how we should treat other people?”
“We should love them?” Maggie said. Mom smiled and nodded.
“It doesn’t matter whether our body looks the same as someone else’s,” Dad said. “It doesn’t even really matter if they think the same way we do, or believe in the same things. The most important thing is that our actions match what Jesus taught.”
Maggie felt a warm tingling in her body, and she knew that Dad was right. “I’ll remember that,” she said.
The next day at recess, Maggie looked for Anna. She found her sitting alone by the sandbox.
“Hi,” Maggie said.
“Hello,” Anna said quietly.
“Do you want to come play with my friends and me?”
Now Anna looked up! Her green eyes sparkled brightly as a smile spread across her face.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really!” Maggie said, helping Anna stand.
This feels like a perfect match, Maggie thought as the two ran off to play.

My mother and my friend’s mother take turns driving us to school. One morning, my friend’s mother began asking questions about my religion and about our beliefs about the afterlife. I was surprised that she asked me, and I was a little scared because I hadn’t learned a lot about it.
As I began to talk, I remembered a seminary poster that was on the wall in my Primary room at church. It was about the veil between premortal life, mortality, and the spirit world. I told everything I could remember about the plan of salvation. My friend’s mother was impressed at the things I knew about my religion. I am grateful that the Lord gives me missionary moments.

The year was 1876. Warren N. Dunsenberry, first principal of Brigham Young Academy, had just resigned after the first preliminary term of the academy’s existence. Karl G. Maeser, an experienced educator who was also the first convert to the Church in Germany, had been called to take his place. He dropped by President Young’s office before leaving for Provo and asked if there were any instructions.
“Only this,” the president replied. “I want you to remember that you ought not to teach even the alphabet or the multiplication tables without the spirit of God. That is all. God bless you. Goodbye.”
Karl G. Maeser went to Provo and became an unforgettable force in the lives of the 29 students awaiting him there and in the lives of the many students who were to come under his influence during the 16 years of his administration. The faculty that first year consisted of Dr. Maeser and two assistants. Classes were held in a vacant store, and the students were mostly from Utah Valley.
Ninety-six years later a tall, well-built, rather handsome, youngish but balding man walked into a cafeteria on the BYU campus and sat down at a table where two freshmen boys were discussing the vicissitudes of college life over their roast beef dinner and green punch. He began asking them questions about their feelings, their likes, their dislikes, and their hang-ups regarding their university experience.
Finally one of the young men asked him, “Do you teach around here or something?”
“Yes, I work here,” the man replied.
“What do you do?”
“I’m president.”
“President of what?”
And so Dallin H. Oaks, president of Brigham Young University, introduced himself to these students. “I’m glad to meet you,” the young man with the questions responded. “I come to assemblies, but you’re so far away I can’t see your face.”

“My blessing promised me that my husband and I would live with mutual respect and love for each other. But my husband distanced himself from the family and developed an addiction. I told the Lord that I would do everything in my power to make the promise in my blessing come true. But I told Him that He would have to guide my footsteps. It has taken years, but my husband and I have overcome the problems, grown closer, and remained faithful. I know Heavenly Father gave me that promise in my blessing to help me to survive.”

Sometimes we make poor choices when we yield to peer pressure. Kieth Merrill had such an experience when he was a young man. He and his friends were diving from sheer rock walls at the East Canyon Reservoir, northeast of Salt Lake City. It inevitably turned into a teenage contest when one young man climbed up to the top of the dam and dived 50 feet into the deep water of the reservoir. The rest of the young men all went to the top of the dam and made the same high dive. One boy wasn’t satisfied with that, so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. Not wanting to be outdone, Kieth climbed up beside him. After the other boy had dived into the water and seemed to be all right, Kieth took courage and made his dive. The contest was now down to these two boys. Kieth’s friend then climbed up to 70 feet and dived. He came up from the water laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes. He then challenged Kieth, “Well, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” And everybody on the shore said, “Of course, he’s going to do it!”

So Kieth swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. He knew if he jumped from the same height of 70 feet that his friend would want to go higher, so he scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. No one could go any higher than the top. As Kieth looked down, he was terrified to see the water so very far away. He had made a rash decision. It was not what he wanted to do nor what he felt was right. Instead he had based his decision on the prodding and dares of a half dozen young men whose names he cannot now even remember.

He backed up and ran as hard as he could toward the edge. He found the mark he had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. On the way down he remembered his parents teaching him to be careful when making decisions, because a wrong one could kill him. And now he thought, “You have done it, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.” When he hit the water, it even felt like concrete. How grateful he was when his head finally popped above water.

Why did he jump? What was he trying to prove? The young men who dared him didn’t care and probably don’t even remember that foolish act. But Kieth realized afterward that he had made what could easily have been a fatal decision. He had yielded to the pressure of friends expecting him to do what he didn’t want to do. He knew better. He said: “I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me, … and [I] had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep.”

It was only a shadow moving under water near a sunken rowboat in a small pond near our home in Rome, Georgia. I had been fishing for bass, bream, and crappie when the shadow caught my eye. It was moving under the boat when a quick jerk on my line shifted my attention. Pulling in my line, I could see something was stealing my bait.
“The shadow?” I asked myself out loud. In the next hour, I offered my underwater friend crickets, worms, and pieces of a chicken sandwich. Each time I pulled the bait closer to the surface. The shadow turned out to be a turtle—a very smart and very large snapping turtle.
I was fascinated watching my reptilian neighbor use its beaklike jaws to dine on the cuisine being served, without ever touching the hook. How easily and gracefully it moved; how safe and in total control this leathery looking aquatic creature appeared. Nothing could ever harm the turtle or lure it from the pond.
One day the shadow was gone, and I wondered why. “I reckon it’s pretty easy,” Mr. Owens, the resident sage of Little Sand Mountain, told me when I asked him what happened to the turtle. “My dogs won’t touch them if they ever catch one on land, and you shouldn’t either. They are terribly mean, but you can catch them and make great turtle soup.”
He smiled as he told me how. “Take a 2-by-12 piece of wood and pound 16 penny nails through it, beginning one foot from the end. Bend the nails over about a quarter of an inch until the nails are parallel to the wood and facing the same way. Lay the finished plank down into the water on a small bank with the nails pointing up.
“Place chicken parts or hamburger on the top quarter of the wood and make as much meat juice as possible run down the wood into the water. Just sit down and wait. It’s just too tempting,” he added. “The turtle will follow the smell right out of the water and up the wooden plank.
“When you see the turtle climb out of the water and reach the bait, move quickly towards the turtle. As the turtle pulls into its shell and starts sliding down to the safety of the water, its bottom shell will catch on one of the nails, and it’s trapped. Unable to get back to the water or defend itself, it is at the mercy of man. And the Georgia snapping turtle becomes turtle soup.”

Billy Fisher pushed his cap off his forehead and wiped the beads of sweat off his warm brow. It was a good five miles from Horse Water Junction to his place on the flats, and the road under his feet was hot. But aching as he was to stop and rest under the shade of a big cottonwood tree, he knew he’d best keep traveling the rutted stage trail that pointed toward the sod house.
The sun was more down than up, and Billy had chores waiting for him, and he needed to study for a big test the following day at school. Mr. Beecher’s a tolerable enough schoolmaster, Billy pondered, but he’s awfully strict—especially toward me. “Is it because I’m a Mormon, Ma?” he had asked one day as he helped fetch water for washday.
“We are the only Mormons in all of Spillman County, but only God and Mr. Beecher know for sure, Billy,” his mother had replied as she dragged the huge black kettle into the yard.
“Why do the Saints get so tromped on sometimes, Ma? It doesn’t seem right.”
Billy’s mother had walked with him back down to the creek that trickled by the family’s vegetable garden. “Now, Billy,” she had started, with a gentle wisdom that the boy often stood in awe of, “the Lord doesn’t backhand a good person, but He just might bless him with a little trial and tribulation every now and again to keep him meek and humble. Like the bumps on the road between our place and town, there’s just enough of them to keep a body watchful.”
Billy’s mother had sat down on a fallen tree by the creek and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. Billy had plopped down beside her and let his bare feet dangle in the cool water.
“I do believe,” she had continued, “that if the righteous could stack all their hard times under them, they could rise almost to heaven.” She had brushed at the tangles in the boy’s matted hair. “I suspect a rose without a thorn is only half a rose, honey. And if the rain can make the flowers grow, why not the rest of us too?”
Billy sighed as he plodded along toward home. What his mother had said made sense, just as it had when she’d talked about a light shining its brightest when surrounded by the blackest black and about having to fight and maybe even die for what’s right. Yet, the knowledge that what Ma said was true didn’t always make life any easier.
Billy stopped to rest a moment and to pat his dog, Banjo. The dog was hitched to a travois loaded with supplies from J. D. Hollins’s mercantile store. Billy dug into his huck shirt and withdrew a crumpled list his mother had given him. “I’d better make double sure we got everything Ma wanted, Banjo,” Billy said. “It’ll be a long walk back to town if we forgot anything, and I just have to study for that test Mr. Beecher is giving us tomorrow. Let’s see. We got the flour, hardtack, dried beef, salt, four yards of gingham, the new bullet pouch for Pa, the whetstone, and the—”
“Hey, Holy Joe!” a derisive voice shouted. “You haven’t shown me your horns yet!”
Billy whirled around. The voice belonged to Silas Marsh. Twelve-year-old Silas had taunted Billy on more than one occasion, and the jeers were usually followed by shoving and blustery threats. Besides being considerably larger than Billy and most of the other children in and around Horse Water, Silas had a mean streak in him. Billy had seen the effect of that meanness more than once. He stiffened as Silas swaggered up, grabbed him by the shirtfront with one hand, and rumpled his hair with the other. “Where’d you stash those horns, Mormon?”
Banjo growled.
“You’d better let go of me,” Billy sputtered weakly, “or my dog will—”
“What could that mutt do,” Silas snarled, pulling a knife from his boot, “with this toad-sticker between his ribs?”
“Please don’t hurt him, Silas,” Billy pleaded.
Gloating because he had the upper hand, Silas slit the leather straps binding the mercantile goods to the travois and dumped the bundles out onto the road. “Looks like you had a little accident, Mormon,” he sneered, grabbing Billy by the arm. “And you’re going to have an even bigger one tomorrow after school if you don’t give me the answers to that test. I’ll pound you so far into the ground that they’ll have to drop a light to find you!” Giving Billy one last shove, Silas tromped off down the road.
Billy kicked his foot in the dirt. He didn’t like the idea of looking at the world through a couple of black eyes. He’d seen it happen to Stanley Jackson, the boy who sat three seats behind him. Silas had told Stanley to give him the piece of cherry cobbler packed in his lunch. Without thinking, Stanley had said no, and Silas had blackened both of Stanley’s eyes and had taken the cobbler too.
Won’t slipping Silas a few answers be better than taking a beating? Billy wondered.
In school the next day Billy felt a breeze on the back of his neck from the open window. It was a welcome relief as he sweated over the test questions. He had studied the night before, and although the questions were difficult, he was prepared.
Then Billy felt something else on the back of his neck—Silas Marsh’s eyes.
Silas sent a note saying, “Write the answers on this paper and slip it back to me. Or else!”
Sweat trickled off Billy’s forehead and salted his eyes. He blinked back the sting and stared numbly at the slip of paper, then glanced at Mr. Beecher. The schoolmaster was seated at his desk, busy with paperwork. Billy’s heart pounded, and his lips were dry.
The memory of Stanley Johnson getting a beating skittered across Billy’s mind. Still, Billy thought, if I cheat, I’ll have to live with my conscience a lot longer than with two closed eyes and a swollen lip. Then he remembered what Ma had told him about trials and tribulatons. Finally he wrote on the back of the note, folded it, and slipped it back to Silas.
Silas, grinning from ear to ear with cocky assuredness, opened the paper. His grin disappeared as quickly as Billy wished he could after school. On the paper Billy had written, “I won’t give you any answers. It’s just not right. I’ll meet you out back after school. I know what you are going to do to me. I can’t stop you. But I won’t let you do it without fighting back. Billy.”
An hour later the class began to file out of the sweltering one-room building. As Billy reached for his cap hanging on a wooden peg by the door, a hand rested firmly on his shoulder. Billy’s muscles tensed and he turned around, expecting to see Silas’s fist. Instead, it was Mr. Beecher grasping him. “William Fisher,” he intoned.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Beecher,” Billy responded with an unmanageable lump in his throat.
The schoolmaster displayed a piece of crumpled paper. “I procured this from the trash bucket. Silas Marsh passed this note to you.”
“You saw him pass it?” Billy blurted out with surprise. “But you were—”
“Mr. Fisher,” the schoolmaster clipped, “there are two things that rarely elude me: One is mischief, and the other is good judgment—though in relation to the latter, I must admit I have badly misjudged you.” He gestured toward the paper, and a smile trickled across his face. “I also read your response to Mr. Marsh’s demands. You did well, William. Very well indeed.” He started to turn away, then hesitated, looked back at Billy, and added, “May God be with you. Judging from the tone of that note, you’ll be needing Him.”
“Yes, sir,” Billy replied. He put on his cap, girded himself up, and walked out.
Mr. Beecher sat back down at his desk and stared at the door that closed behind Billy. That boy has more gumption than I thought he did, he mused. Then he smiled and went back to his work.
Silas was waiting for Billy when he came walking around the corner of the schoolhouse. Billy stopped a few feet from his adversary, doubled up his fists, and looked the big, brawly youth right in the eye. “Well,” Billy got out in an as-bold-as-he-could-muster voice, “let’s get it over with. I have chores waiting for me at home.”
Silas just stared at him. Then he twisted his face up like a tree knot and stared some more. “Just what is it with you Mormons?” he finally said, looking as perplexed as anyone could be. “Don’t you remember what I said I was going to do to you?”
Billy nodded.
“Well, aren’t you afraid?”
Billy nodded again. “My ma says that the time comes when a body has to face up to his fears. So here I am.”
Silas shook his head. “You’re really something, you know that?” He threw up his arms and started to walk away.
“You mean you’re not going to beat me up?”
Silas looked back, scratched his head, and said, “Maybe tomorrow.” Then he fidgeted a little and looked questioningly at Billy.
“What is it?” Billy asked.
“Nothing,” Silas returned, “except … well, you and me, we take the same road home. I was wondering if we could walk together.”
Billy tried to swallow his surprise. “Sure, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”

After my husband passed away, loneliness enveloped me. A heaviness pressed on my chest. Each time I served in the celestial room, I prayed to find solace. Little by little, grief lifted, and peace crept into my heart as I began to see a celestial view of life. I now find it a privilege to see couples holding hands, friends embracing, and families gathered in a circle, enjoying the Spirit. Because of the Savior’s Atonement and my covenants, I know the blessing of a forever family will be mine in eternity.

A few weeks ago, just before 6:00 a.m., my wife and I boarded a taxi to begin the last lap of our trip to Salt Lake City from Australia. Our driver, who had been on duty since 3:00 a.m., was anxious to talk with us, his first passengers of the day. We learned his parents were born just outside of Mexico City. They moved to Chicago, where he was born, and then moved to New Mexico. Twenty years earlier our friend had come for a short visit to San Francisco and had never left. During our trip to the airport, this man related a few incidents from which some great truths were reemphasized.
One other important point was made by this unusual taxi operator. He told us that some of his unmarried friends who are also taxi drivers are often out of money. They come to him to borrow. He indicated that he is generally able to help them over tight money spots. When his companions asked how he is able to support his family on his salary when they can’t even keep themselves, he said, “I tell them I don’t waste money at the races or on liquor or tobacco. My wife fixes our meals at home, and we don’t have to pay for expensive restaurant food.” He smiled when he added, “We do our partying with our family.” This man’s objectives are family-oriented, and he has learned the folly of serving the gambling, drinking, and momentary expensive habits.

Martin, who mortgaged—and later lost—his farm to finance the publication of the Book of Mormon, was rebaptized in 1842 in Kirtland, Ohio. He didn’t move to Utah, however, until 1870.
During the final five years of his life, Martin had ample opportunities to share his witness with the Saints. During the last year of his life, he testified: “I tell you of these things that you may tell others that what I have said is true, and I dare not deny it; I heard the voice of God commanding me to testify to the same.”11
George Godfrey, a longtime acquaintance, sat up with Martin for many nights while he battled the illness that eventually claimed his life on July 10, 1875, in Clarkston, Utah. Just a few hours before Martin’s death, Godfrey said, “I asked him if he did not feel that there was an element, at least, of fraudulence and deception in the things that were written and told of the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, and he replied as he had always done, so many, many times in my hearing, and with the same spirit he always manifested when enjoying health and vigor.”
Martin then declared: “The Book of Mormon is no fake. I know what I know. I have seen what I have seen and I have heard what I have heard. I have seen the gold plates from which the Book of Mormon is written. An angel appeared to me and others and testified to the truthfulness of the record, and had I been willing to have perjured myself and sworn falsely to the testimony I now bear, I could have been a rich man, but I could not have testified other than I have done and am now doing, for these things are true.”12

I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.

Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

When I was about 10, we were on vacation in Mexico with another family. My friend and I made a lunch and took some games. Then we pushed ourselves out into the bay in a little rubber yellow raft. We ate lunch in the raft.
We finally looked up and realized we’d drifted a long way from shore. We were passing the edge of the bay. We thought, Oh no, the tide is going out! We knew we had to hurry and get back. We started rowing and rowing.
All of a sudden I saw a fin pop out of the water. Right away I knew it was a shark!
I thought, We need to tell Heavenly Father we’re in danger. So we said a prayer and kept rowing.
Soon two other fins popped up. But their shape was different, and their color was lighter. They were dolphin fins!
The dolphins swam around our boat until we reached shore. They kept the sharks from coming close. Then the dolphins drifted onto the sand, and we were able to get out of our raft. Our families hurried and helped the dolphins back into the water.
To me, the dolphins were Heavenly Father’s answer to my prayer. I’ve never forgotten that. It’s given me the courage to pray, no matter where I am.

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.
This episode came to life again on Sunday morning as Elder Gordon B. Hinckley highlighted the May 29, 1977 Special Combined Conference at the Philippine International Convention Center.
Elder Hinckley’s opening statement was a vividly recounted narrative on how David came as the only Filipino member early in the morning of May 28, 1961 to the American Battle Memorial Cemetery at Fort Bonifacio, where a small LDS group led by Elder Hickley gathered to initiate missionary work in the Philippines.
As he listened to Elder Hinckley’s testimony about him, tears welled in the eyes of David, recalling that thirty-one years before, a worn-out magazine and a chance meeting ushered into his life the greatest moment of truth.
This is the story of David D. Lagman of San Fernando, Pampanga and how he found it—the truth—long before we did.—P. Ocampo, Jr.

When my father was about three years old, he was diagnosed as deaf. From that point on, his parents did all they could to learn American Sign Language (ASL), and my grandmother fought for rights for her children and deaf children especially. She knew that mothers and fathers have the responsibility to provide for their children’s needs. Because of her efforts, my dad and his siblings had successful schooling experiences, and all communicate in ASL. When the family gets together, almost everyone signs and feels accepted and understood. Though this unique family unity certainly required a lot of effort and was not easy to achieve, my dad and his siblings have been blessed by their parents’ efforts.
My father (pictured with his sister when they were young) was about three when he was diagnosed as deaf.
Photograph courtesy of the author

As a young man, Ezra Taft Benson (or “T” as he was called) was an assistant Scoutmaster in Whitney Ward in Whitney, Idaho. One of his duties was to prepare a young men’s choir for a stake competition.
Ezra: Tenors, you’re a little bit flat.
They won and moved on to compete against winning groups from six other stakes. It was a big challenge for a small ward, but T knew how to inspire boys.
Ezra: If you win this competition, I’ll take you on a thirty-five-mile hike over the mountains to Bear Lake.
Scout: Hurray!
Scout: Let’s win it!
They sang their hearts out and finished in first place! A promise is a promise, and they met to plan the hike.
A promise is a promise, and they met to plan the hike.
Scout: Mr. Scoutmaster, I’d like to make a motion. We should all clip our hair off so we won’t be bothered with combs and brushes.
The motion passed, which was all right with T—until another Scout spoke up.
Scout: How about the Scoutmasters?
They all went to the barbershop together.
Barber: I’ll tell you what, T. If you and the Scoutmaster will let me shave you bald, I’ll cut everyone’s hair for free.
Twenty-four short-cropped boys with their bald Scoutmaster and his bald assistants had a wonderful time on the hike.
Ezra Taft Benson stayed in touch with those boys his whole life, inspiring them to make right choices.

I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon in my niece’s house in Ibadan, Nigeria. Being an avid reader, I was curious to understand why the book says it is “another testament of Jesus Christ,” so I took the book and read it.
The subtitle “another testament of Jesus Christ” opened my mind to the possibility of a universal Savior rather than just the Savior of the Israelites, which at that time was a great concern to me. His visit to the Nephites and the establishment of His laws and ordinances among those people got me wanting to know more about His ministry.
That subtitle led me to learn more about the Church. I started feeling the Spirit as I obeyed the admonitions written in the Book of Mormon, like praying to know the truth for myself (see Moroni 10:4). Now I know that the Savior lives and loves all of us.
Ezekiel Akeh, Idaho, USA

Carlos Yépez Yong of Lima, Perú, cannot move his legs or right arm, and he has difficulty speaking. But he is one of the strongest people I know. What makes him strong is the Spirit of the Lord. Whenever he speaks or teaches, his words are beautiful to the ear because they touch the heart.
Brother Yépez’s paralysis is the result of damage he received at birth. For most of his first five years he remained in a vegetative state, receiving nourishment through his veins. Some of the doctors treating him wondered if it was worthwhile keeping him alive. They did not know the Lord had a mission for him.
When Carlos was six years old, to everyone’s surprise he began to move part of his body. Medical treatments began, and his mental abilities developed to such a degree that in a few years he surpassed his classmates. His physical progress slowed somewhat after age 12. When he was about 18, his parents divorced, and his treatments stopped.
Carlos felt frustrated and was depressed, but he did not sink into despair. When he was 20 years of age, a neighbor invited him to hear the missionary discussions. Carlos received all of them, and after praying and pondering in his heart, he received a spiritual witness that what he had learned was true. He decided to be baptized.
Carlos says that when he was immersed at baptism, his life changed completely. “In my mind, I felt as though my useless arm and legs had become strong and vigorous,” he says. “I decided on that day that I would serve the Lord in any calling He gave me, that I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’” (D&C 89:20).
Although his physical paralysis remained, Carlos’s spirit soared, and the Lord blessed him. He was punctual at his meetings and attended adult religion classes sponsored by the Church Educational System. He was called to serve as the second counselor in the Young Men presidency of the Caja de Agua Ward, Lima Perú Las Flores Stake. Every day of the week, we would see him going from one house to another in his wheelchair, inviting the youth to Mutual.
Years have passed since then. He is now a member of Los Jardines Ward. He still has a firm testimony of the Lord and His gospel, attends the Lima Perú Temple regularly, does his home teaching, and helps the missionaries teach investigators. Because of his perseverance, testimony, and trust in the Lord, seven of his nieces and nephews and some of his friends are now members of the Church. Other members, both youth and adults, have returned to Church activity because of his influence. He never misses a meeting, he frequently attends firesides, and he goes to ward activities. Though some might think he is hampered by his disabilities, the youth in the stake admire him as one whose spirit soars.

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to an out-of-state university. I went to check out the school, the campus, the team, and the environment.
While I was there some of the girls on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes and then finally left.
Throughout the party I was very uncomfortable and wished we could leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (Ensign, Nov. 1998, 70). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was the odd one there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful that I decided long ago that I was never going to drink, and that decision helped me in my time of need.