Gospel Story Finder

I soon learned that in the United States, most children my age had many things that I didn’t have. One of those things was a bike, and I wanted one badly. Somehow, my dad got me a bike for $5. Unfortunately, it had one major defect: it was a girl’s bike! It was humiliating for me to ride it. I found my shiny new dream machine in a mail-order catalogue, and it cost $65. I decided to earn the money to buy the bike myself, so I started working in the cotton fields every day after school. I would drag a long canvas bag up and down the rows of plants, filling it with cotton. Each afternoon, I could usually pick between twenty and forty pounds of cotton. I was paid two cents a pound, so I could usually make at least fifty cents a day.
As the end of the harvest drew near, I realized that I was not going to earn enough money for the bike. I told my dad, and he agreed that if I could raise half the money, he would pay the other half. Even after I had earned my part, the bike didn’t show up immediately. But then on Christmas morning, I got my beautiful new bike. From that experience, I learned that sometimes when we work very hard to reach a goal but fall short of reaching it, we can ask someone for help. Just as my father helped me, our Heavenly Father will help us, too.

“I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.
“When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.
“Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?”

The positive effect of our worldwide commitment to missionary service is demonstrated in my own family. My father served three years in Samoa. I grew up loving the Samoan people, their customs, their food, and their language. My brother served in Alaska. Our son served in Germany. Our daughter served in Argentina. My husband and I served in New England. We’ve also spent much time in Israel and had extended visits to Yugoslavia, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. So in two generations my family has been all over the world, delivering a message but also bringing home a message of kinship and love for many peoples. Do you think Samoans, Alaskans, Germans, Argentines, Israelis, Yugoslavians, Chinese are welcome in our homes? I wish you could see in your mind’s eye, as I can, dear Sini Salanoa, our Samoan brother, his first time away from his beloved islands, a half a world away, as he asked us in his broken English to “be his family” while he was stationed in Boston in 1953. Or beautiful, little, fourteen-year-old Julie Wang whom we met in K’Liao, a tiny fishing village in Taiwan. She described her encounters with our Heavenly Father, in her quiet Chinese manner. Her early prayers began, with sweet familiarity, “Hello, God, this is Julie Wang.” When I heard her say that, I had the feeling that I was going to hear the response immediately. She taught me things about prayer that I had never known before. Or fine, spiritual, clear-eyed Gunther Mayer from Germany, who joined our family for scripture study on Sunday evenings all last year. They represent many who have enriched our lives. Somehow we see no divisive differences. Our commitment to the gospel becomes the great common denominator. We know whose we are, all of us.

My sister was in the hospital after surgical complications.
My friend had a devastating miscarriage.
Another friend was facing limiting effects of an autoimmune disease.
Both my mom and mother-in-law were both facing recurring health challenges.
My parents’ beloved dog passed away.
Other loved ones were plagued with mental health issues.
A few more were undergoing taxing fertility treatments.
My cousin unexpectedly passed away.
And another person I care about was struggling with her faith.
All within a few weeks.
I was feeling my loved ones’ problems like they were my own. I felt the crushing weight of looming helplessness—because no matter how much I offered my love and support, I couldn’t fix their problems.
I am a helper. And believe it or not, this can be a toxic trait in some instances. By wanting to help everyone solve their problems, I sometimes stretch myself too far. I neglect my own needs. I measure my worth based on how much I have served others. Even after I offer support, I often feel like I still haven’t done enough.
As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are all encouraged to love our neighbors (see Matthew 22:39) and to “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8). But it can be difficult to know how to be empathetic without becoming too overwhelmed with other people’s problems and feeling helpless.
Thankfully, we also know “it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength” (Mosiah 4:27). I’m learning a lot about how to offer Christlike empathy and support to those I love without feeling helpless and overwhelmed.
When someone shares their struggles with me, I try to put myself in their shoes and understand their point of view.
But the problems come when I (metaphorically) forget to take their shoes off. I often continue to dwell on the challenges of my loved ones to the point where I feel helpless and disheartened. At the time when everyone around me was struggling, I was wearing dozens of my loved ones’ figurative shoes and neglecting my needs as I scrambled to do everything I could to help them.
I’m learning that healthy empathy is, as social-science researcher Brené Brown teaches, “understanding what someone is feeling, not feeling it for them. If someone is feeling lonely, empathy doesn’t require us to feel lonely too, only to reach back into our own experience with loneliness so we can understand and connect.”1
Empathy isn’t about fixing others’ challenges—it is helping them realize they have support as they face them. Sister J. Anette Dennis, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, has taught, “When we seek to empathize with others who also experience challenges and imperfections, it can help them feel that they are not alone in their struggles.”2
I’m learning that I can listen to, support, and sit with someone in their struggle, but I do not have to take on their challenge as my constant companion. I can “mourn with those that mourn” (Mosiah 18:9), but I also need to step back into my own shoes and take charge of my own challenges and responsibilities. I have to take care of myself if I’m going to have any energy and compassion left to give others!
I’ve learned that offering support and compassion doesn’t require extravagant efforts to fix problems. Simply reminding others of your and Heavenly Father’s love can do wonders. Sister Susan H. Porter, Primary General President, taught, “When you know and understand how completely you are loved as a child of God, it changes everything.”3
For example, a few months ago, a loved one was struggling with her faith. One night she tearfully explained her feelings to me. I wanted her to believe in the gospel so badly and to fix every doubt she had.
In my preferred reality, I would answer every question perfectly, and we would both leave the conversation with a sense of renewed faith and joy, complete with sunshine and rainbows!
But I knew that wasn’t likely.
So I said a prayer in my heart to know how to help her. And I felt a distinct impression from the Spirit:
Just listen.
Through listening, I let go of my instinct to fix and instead saw that she simply needed to know that she is loved. I testified of the love I and Heavenly Father have for her. And although that conversation didn’t end with her renewed faith, it did end with a renewed sense of Heavenly Father’s perfect love—which is often the greatest help we can offer those who are struggling.
When I am feeling burnout from watching those I love suffer, I have to remind myself that while I can’t resolve the pain of everyone I care about, there is someone who can.
Jesus Christ “descended below all things” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:6)—meaning He suffered for and understands all the pains, afflictions, and unfairness we face—including all the specific challenges and accompanying emotions of my loved ones I mentioned above.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said: “Our best and most selfless services are often not adequate to comfort or encourage in the way people need. … But Christ can help. God the Father can help. The Holy Ghost can help, and we need to keep trying to be Their agents, helping when and where we can.”4
I am not the Savior.
I don’t have the capacity to be there for every person who needs a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, or instant solutions to their challenges.
I am simply one of Christ’s disciples.
I can share inklings of His love and shed glimmers of His light in darkening corners of the world.
I can help others come unto Christ and can remind them of His atoning sacrifice when what I give isn’t sufficient, because “[His] grace is sufficient” (Ether 12:27).
I am grateful for my inherent desire to care deeply about Heavenly Father’s children. I am starting to see that it’s a strength that offers me just a glimpse of the perfect love the Savior and Heavenly Father have for each of us.
And trust me, if the love I feel is just a fragment of what They feel, then Their love truly is incomprehensible.
The Savior knows fully how to succor both my sorrows and the sorrows of those I love. He gives me strength to serve and support them.
I’m grateful for the infinite hope Jesus Christ offers us in “good things to come” (Hebrews 9:11)—for the day when all the seemingly unfixable parts of life will be resolved through Him.
I can’t wait for that day.
But until then, what I give, combined with what He gives, will always be enough.

In December 1967, Brother Ed Ka-mauoha was appointed to be the new headmaster at Sauniatu. For years, Sauniatu had been functioning as a school, but when he arrived, the future of Sauniatu was once again in question.
“There were real administrative questions about the efficiency and quality of the school,” he explained. Everyone in Samoa is required to take a standard government education test when they leave high school, and the Sauniatu scores were an average five points below the scores of students from the other Church schools in Samoa. In addition to the low test scores, it was costly to operate the remote school. Many of the students were from very poor families and could not afford to pay more tuition. Enthusiasm among students and teachers was low.
“I felt bad about the school,” he said. “As an administrator, I understood the problems, but I also understood what the tradition of Sauniatu means to the Saints in Samoa. I knew the place was not what it could be because it was not living up to President McKay’s 1921 blessing.”
Ed Kamauoha believed Sauniatu had a prophetic future yet to be fulfilled if each person living there cared. His mind remained restless and his wirey Polynesian body became charged with nervous energy as he began planning to meet the many requirements needed to make the students of Sauniatu self-sufficient and proud and to help the community of Sauniatu reap the promised blessings.
The projects he outlined for the betterment of Sauniatu were big projects. In many people’s minds, they were too big for a handful of teachers and a few dozen school children to handle. Yet Brother Kamauoha felt they could do it.
“Getting everyone to work on big projects is like starting a large machine. You just can’t let it idle; you have to really rev it up and keep it going,” said Brother Kamauoha.
He also felt that the students’ performance in school would improve and the morale among the teachers would also improve if they knew they had some control over their own future. “We had been waiting for others to help us at Sauniatu,” explained Brother Kamauoha. “I tried to teach the people that they had depended too much on outside help and assistance from others. I told them the Lord gives us brains and a pair of hands but they won’t help us unless we use them. And so we started building roads, and we did it by hand.”

I was born in Salt Lake City but raised in Whittier, California, a suburb about 30 miles east of Los Angeles. I was raised in a home where, during my early years, we were less active. When I turned 11, we moved to a new home and began to attend church more frequently. We were sealed in the temple when I was 13. Now my brothers and I are all active members of the Church. We have all served missions. My brothers and I were married in the temple, but these are not things you would have predicted based on our early years.

Let me present one last personal memento from my BYU experience. Every computer I have owned for the past twenty-nine years has had the same screen saver. It is a scrawling custom message that reads, “You gotta believe.” This memento helps me recall something I hope to always remember. While there are many more details to this experience, I will offer an abridged version due to our limited time together.

At the beginning of my senior year at BYU, I began worrying whether I was making the right decision about my future. I was taking entrance exams for graduate programs and even submitting applications, but nothing felt right. To find some guidance, I interviewed doctors, lawyers, businessmen and -women, teachers, and pretty much everyone who had a pulse. Nothing clicked. Lisa and I started fasting and praying for direction. Nothing happened. We kept on praying and fasting.

One day in the fall Lisa asked me if there was anyone who could possibly help me with whom I hadn’t yet already talked.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I said, “Yes. If I could only talk to the president of BYU, Jeffrey R. Holland, that would clear everything up.”

So Lisa, who possesses more passion, compassion, and faith than Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa, and Esther of the Old Testament—combined—said, “Then you should go and talk with him!”

“Are you crazy?” I thought. What would I say? “Um, excuse me, President. I am one of the 30,000-plus students at BYU. Will you please tell me what I should major in?” Oh please!

Instead I muddled my way through the next seven or so months trying to figure it out. But I couldn’t seem to get my bearings. I felt as if I were in a fog. It felt as if everyone else was receiving revelation, direction, and confidence.

The irony was that while I knew that God would answer the prayers of any who asked with sincere intent, I still wavered in knowing that He would answer my prayers. And when it seemed like it mattered the very most, I felt a little alone—abandoned and even hopeless at times. I reached a point in which I didn’t care so much about what I did for a living as much as I cared about receiving divine direction. It was clear that I wasn’t standing up very straight, my hands were hanging down, and my feeble knees needed strengthening.

Just several weeks prior to graduation, I attended my senior capstone classes in the basement of the Jesse Knight Building. As I prepared to leave the building, I noticed a crowd gathered at the west doors. I worked my way to the front of the doors and discovered that the reason no one was leaving was because it was raining—a complete downpour. Having taught at the MTC earlier that day, I was dressed in a suit. I can almost hear myself saying, “Typical, just typical,” as I looked outside at the rainstorm and sized up the situation.

I put a Daily Universe newspaper over my head and started running through the parking lot. The newspaper turned to a pulpy mush, and I was soaked almost immediately. So I walked—slowly.

“I might as well catch pneumonia and be sent to the hospital,” I thought. I was in a blue mood.

As I walked past the Brimhall Building, I heard someone yell out, “You need this more than I do!”

I looked across the street, and there was President Holland holding up an umbrella. I offered an exchange of my backpack for his umbrella. He responded by opening the rear passenger door and offering me a ride home. I ran across the street, got in, and immediately created a little puddle of water on the backseat. Sister Holland, who was already in the car, greeted me as President Holland got into the driver’s seat.

“Where can I take you?” President Holland asked as he looked at me through the rearview mirror.

My wife and I were managing apartments south of campus, and I hesitated telling him where I lived because I didn’t think he would be very impressed. But with the president of the university looking me in the eye, albeit through the rearview mirror, I confessed the name of the complex.

President and Sister Holland chuckled, and President Holland said, “Pat and I managed those apartments when we were undergraduates at BYU.”

I was stunned and speechless. My tiny brain couldn’t comprehend that President Jeffrey R. Holland had actually lived in the same apartments that I was living in. Impossible! You see, I had long admired President Holland and had placed him and Sister Holland in the “Born with a Life” category. I imagined that his life was charmed. He had been a perfect high school athlete, had been a perfect missionary, and had a perfect wife—just perfect. So to think that I actually lived in the same apartments was incomprehensible.

“Are you married?” they asked.

“Yes,” I answered, my head still spinning.

“Do you have children?”

“We have a son,” I said.

“Our first son was born while we were in those apartments,” they explained.

“Really?” I managed to blurt out.

We drove south on Campus Drive past the Maeser Building. As I sat in the car, I suddenly realized that seven months previous I had told my wife that if I could only talk with President Holland, then I was confident I would receive helpful direction. I mustered my courage and asked, “Did you ever worry about your future?”

“Oh yes,” he replied.

I was stunned, and all I could say was, “Really?” After all, I thought this was a man who had never had a worry in his entire life.

I asked several other questions and found my response to be “Really?” every time.

I finally asked, “President Holland, have you ever been so discouraged that you didn’t know if things would ever work out? Did you ever worry that you might not make it after all?”

He looked at me through the rearview mirror and answered, once again to my surprise, “Yes, I did.”

True to the pattern of our conversation, I managed an incredulous “Really?”

I recall Sister Holland saying, “Yes, Matt. Really.”

We drove to my complex (without any directions given, I might add), and I moved toward the door to get out. But President Holland put the car in park, and he and Sister Holland turned in their seats to face me. We talked.

At one point he said, “Matt, part of your problem is that you don’t believe.”

I admit I felt a little badly, as if my testimony was considered subpar.

“Oh, I’m not talking about your testimony,” President Holland said. “You just believe that God will work His mighty miracles for everyone but you.”

His assessment was right.

And then he said with his typical fervor, “You gotta believe, Matt. You gotta believe.”

He offered me sound counsel and heaps of encouragement, and then I got out of the car. I stood and waved until they were out of sight.

Upon entering our apartment I shared my experience with my wife. We wept together and then wrote the experience down—so that we would always remember.

So why the screen saver? While I will always be grateful for President and Sister Holland, I want to make sure that I never forget that God is aware of each us. I want to remember every day that BYU is a place in which students can turn to the mountains, look heavenward, and be filled with light. This is who we are. I want to remember every day that no matter what happens, you gotta believe.

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.

A Scout council was accustomed to arranging its summer camp schedule so that the Scouts were moving to the camp on one Sabbath and returning home from camp on the next Sabbath. Latter-day Saint youth were being deprived of religious activities for two successive Sundays. A friendly suggestion to the council authorities brought about a change, so that the camp period ran from Friday to Friday. The Sunday in between was planned so that there were religious services offered for the boys who were in the camp.

Would you have been absent from that upper room if you had been invited to be there with the Savior on that occasion just prior to His crucifixion? Will we ever be absent from those occasions each week when we are invited, even as the apostles, to eat and drink and remember the Savior, the Son of God, and keep His commandments so we can have His spirit to be with us? Think of how we would feel if these sacred emblems were not available to us because there was no authorized authority to administer them or because of our lack of worthiness to partake of them. Would we be more ready, more reverent, more thoughtful and grateful when the opportunity was restored for us? How would you feel if you wanted with all your heart and soul to partake of those emblems and to witness anew that you were willing to take upon you the name of Christ; that you wanted to show that you would always remember Him and you would keep His commandments so that you might have His spirit to be with you always—but because of wrong choices in your life you were deprived from that blessing for a time?

I know someone in this situation. He tells me that each week he hears the words of that prayer with a clarity, a fervor, a commitment that he never felt before. But as the emblems of the bread and water are offered him, he must pass them on to others who often seem not to feel the full impact of what they are doing and his heart cries out, Do you realize the blessing that is yours?

There was snow on the ground and decorations were everywhere. Christmas music played on the radio and people smiled and laughed and shouted, “Merry Christmas!” But this year there was an added excitement for Breana, who told her mother, “I can’t wait!”
Mother laughed. “You say that every year, but somehow you do.”
“But this year is different!” Breana exclaimed. “For nine long years I’ve wanted to be a sister, and now I’m going to be one for Christmas.”
“The baby could come after Christmas,” Mother teased.
“No,” Breana said confidently. “This Christmas I will finally be somebody’s sister.”
Mother hugged Breana to her. “I’m glad you’re so happy.”
“I’ll feed the baby and change its diapers. I’ll be the best babytender in the whole world!” Breana promised.
“I’m sure you will be.” Mother smoothed her daughter’s curly black hair as she walked over to the kitchen sink to start dinner.
Breana sat down at the table and watched. She remembered how graceful and slender her mother used to be. Now she was big and moved awkwardly about the room. Sometimes she stopped her work and rubbed her back.
Breana’s eyes drifted until they settled on the paper-sculpture nativity scene she and Mother had carefully cut out and arranged on the buffet. The figure of Joseph was hovering over Mary as though trying to protect her. Mary was sitting on piled hay with the baby Jesus held tenderly in her arms. The shepherds seemed to be afraid to come too close, yet strained to be as close as they dared. Breana almost thought she could see them moving slightly forward to get a better look at the precious baby.
“Do you want salad with dinner?” Mother interrupted Breana’s thoughts.
“That sounds good,” Breana answered. “Can I help you make it?”
“Of course,” Mother answered.
Breana walked to her mother’s side and began tearing apart the lettuce.
“Just four more days,” Mother said. “Do you really think the baby will get there before Christmas?”
Breana’s eyes turned again to the nativity scene. There was something tender about the way Mary looked at her baby.
“Yes,” Breana said slowly. “I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mother sighed and rubbed her back again.
“Are you all right?” Breana asked.
“Yes,” Mother answered. “I just feel tired.”
“You go sit down,” Breana said. “I can finish the salad.”
Slowly Mother walked over to the kitchen table. Breana watched as she awkwardly braced herself against the table and then slowly lowered herself into a chair. She must hurt, Breana thought and once more looked at the paper statue of Mary.
“How do you think she ever rode the donkey all that way?” Breana asked.
“Who?” Mother asked.
“Mary—before Jesus was born. How could she have traveled all the way to Bethlehem on a donkey? She must have been big and uncomfortable too.”
A tear appeared in the corner of Mother’s eye. “I’m sure it was hard for her,” Mother answered. And she, too, stared at the nativity scene.
For a long moment neither said anything. The tear in mother’s eye slid onto her cheek and she wiped it off with her hand.
“I feel so close to Mary and Joseph and the Christ child,” Breana said. “Closer than I’ve ever felt before. I just know this is going to be the best Christmas ever.”
It was nearly morning when Breana’s father tiptoed into her room and gently shook her shoulder until she opened her eyes.
“Breana, you’re a sister!”
“What?” Breana jerked around and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“You have a brand new baby brother.”
Breana threw her arms around her father’s neck. “At last! I’m finally a sister,” she said. “How’s Mother? When can they come home from the hospital? What are we going to name the baby?”
“Wait, Breana, honey. One question at a time. Your mother is fine and the doctor said she could come home Christmas Eve day.”
“That’s wonderful!” Breana exclaimed.
“And your mother said to ask you for suggestions about names,” Father said.
“That’s easy,” Breana responded. “I think we should name him Joseph.”
Father nodded his head thoughtfully.
“That’s a good suggestion. And now, young lady, back to sleep.”
Father left the room, but Breana was too excited to sleep. Finally she tiptoed into the kitchen and turned on the small light over the stove. It seemed to give the nativity scene on the buffet a luminous and dreamy appearance. “I waited so very long to be a sister,” she whispered. “But the whole world waited for this baby.”
Breana walked over to the nativity and traced the outline of the tiny baby with her finger and stared once more into Mary’s face. “You must have been the first person on earth to love Jesus,” she said softly. “And I’m going to be one of the first people on earth to love our new baby.”
She ran her finger once more over the blue blanket (see Luke 2:7) and as she did a thought struck her, almost jolted her. Breana smiled. “All the time I was waiting to become a sister, but I already was one and didn’t realize it!” she murmured.
Breana looked once more at the baby in Mary’s arms, then turned out the light and went back to bed.
The next two days seemed as though they would never end, but at last it was Christmas Eve day. Father and Breana went to the hospital to get Mother and the baby.
Mother kissed Breana’s cheek and asked, “Do you want to hold Joseph?”
“Joseph?” Breana cried.
“What better name for a Christmas brother!” Father said, smiling.
Breana held out her arms and Mother gently placed the baby in them. A warm and loving feeling filled Breana. “It feels so good to be a sister,” she said. Carefully she pulled the blanket back from Joseph’s red pudgy face and smiled at him.
“He’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. Already she knew she loved him. Already she felt that she had known him forever and ever.
Suddenly she was aware of “Silent Night” being played on the car radio. She remembered the nativity scene and Mary holding her baby, a baby who was also her Brother! They would celebrate His birthday tomorrow.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some interest to you. You know that as General Authorities we are called and assigned by the President of the Quorum of the Twelve to go to stake conferences. If you have been following what has been happening in the Church you know that the First Quorum of Seventy has now been extended the privilege of organizing stakes. I had been with members of the Twelve and experienced reorganizations as I did last weekend with Elder Richards, but just three weeks ago I was sent alone to reorganize a stake presidency—just me and the Lord and a Regional Representative. That is an awesome experience. It is an awesome assignment to find yourself sitting across the desk interviewing all the priesthood leaders in the stake, recognizing that ultimately the man that the Lord has in mind has to be called. Put yourself into my shoes for a moment and you can sense my great concern. I fasted, I prayed, I sought the guidance of the Lord—and then a very interesting thing happened to me. As we were interviewing all of these priesthood leaders, a man came in, about the fifth from the last to be interviewed, and as he walked through the door I stood up, shook his hand, and said “I know you. Where do I know you from?” He was as familiar to me, my dear friends, as anybody that I have ever known.

And he said, “Brother Ballard, I’ve only met you once, and that was only for two or three minutes eleven months ago at a regional young adult conference where you spoke.” But as he walked through the door, I want to testify to you that the Lord made it manifest to me that he was to be the stake president.

Now an interesting thing unfolded. After he had been called and sustained in the Sunday morning session we called on him to bear his testimony and this is what he said to the Saints: His father was a patriarch in the neighboring stake, and his mother was president of the stake Relief Society in the neighboring stake. He called his mother and father to talk to them—I had given him permission to do that—and he said, “Hello mother.”

She said, “Son, you don’t need to tell me. You’ve been called to be the stake president.”

“How did you know?” he asked.

“At 12:30,” she said, “I was in the kitchen, and it simply became known to me by the power of the Spirit that my son had just been called to be a stake president. Your father had gone to the store, and when he came home he walked into the kitchen and said, ‘You know, mama, I have a strong feeling that our son has been called to be a stake president.’”

He was a patriarch, and she was a Relief Society president. They had no communication with their son until he called on the phone. That was a great reassurance to me that the Lord’s will had been manifested and that the impressions I received were correct.

When I was almost 16 years old, my inspired bishop asked me to teach our youth Sunday School class about gaining a testimony of the gospel through prayer. As I grew up, I had taken the time to study the Book of Mormon and always felt that the Church was true. I had always believed in the Savior Jesus Christ, but I had never taken to heart Moroni’s promise, found in Moroni 10:4–5, and prayed about the truthfulness of the gospel. I remember feeling that if I was going to teach about how to gain a testimony through prayer, I should pray for a testimony myself. My soul hungered—perhaps in a different way from Enos, but I still felt a spiritual need.
As I prepared the lesson, I knelt and prayed with all my heart. When I asked the Lord if the gospel is true, there came to my heart a very sweet feeling—that still, small voice confirming to me that it was true and that I should continue doing what I was doing.
The feeling was so strong that I could never disregard that answer and say I didn’t know. I felt so happy! The following Sunday, I stood in front of my classmates and testified that Heavenly Father would answer their prayers if they had faith.
Elder Soares as a young man
This testimony has stayed with me. It has helped me make decisions, especially in challenging moments. It has allowed me to testify to people, with conviction, that they can get answers from Heavenly Father if they pray in faith. This has been true for me as a teacher in that youth Sunday School class, as a missionary, and even today as an Apostle.

Elisa M., 15, who lives in Germany, will never forget the first time she met a refugee family. Her family decided to participate in a community Patenschaft, a mentoring program where they would befriend a family that had had to move from Syria because of the war. The two families met in a park to get acquainted.
“I was nervous,” Elisa says. “I didn’t know what to expect.” The Syrian family had three children, ages 7, 4, and 2, and a baby on the way. “My parents and their parents talked a little, but the children were kind of shy. They didn’t speak. They were just observing.”
Then her brothers, Alexander, 12, and Joseph, 6, started kicking a soccer ball. That broke the ice. Soon the seven-year-old and the four-year-old started kicking the ball too. “We just had to show them where to start,” Alexander explains, “and Fußball [soccer] is a ‘language’ that we have in common.”
The families became friends. “We have helped them to better understand German, and to get settled in their apartment,” Elisa says.
Assisting others comes naturally to Elisa, who has already helped to make school kits for refugee children. “This summer at youth conference we sewed cloth bags and then filled them with pencils and other supplies they would need for the first day of classes.” Helping also comes naturally to Alexander, who recently became a deacon. “Holding the priesthood means we should always pitch in,” he says.
Elisa and Alexander agree that actually meeting refugees increased their compassion for them. “Getting to know them makes you want to help them even more,” Elisa says. “They’re always thankful and have a smile on their face. Their example teaches me to be more grateful.”
“We keep finding out they’re like us,” Alexander says. “They joke, sing, laugh, and eat. And they know more about enduring tough things in life than we do, because they had to flee from war. By being friends with them, we’re doing what the Savior would do. He cares about everyone, and we should too.”

My parents weren’t very happy about my baptism. My father even made me give him my word that I would never preach “Mormonism” to him.
Ten years passed, during which time I met a young lady, taught her the gospel, baptized her, and married her in the Idaho Falls Temple. All that time, even though we were active in the Church, I kept my word and never mentioned the Church to my father.
Then one day he said to me, “You never are going to mention it, are you?”
We both knew what he meant.
“No,” I replied.
“Well then, would you answer a couple of questions?” he asked.
His questions indicated that he had done some serious thinking. After I answered them, I kept quiet, even though I could tell he wanted to know more.
“Well,” he said impatiently, “aren’t you going to tell me any more?”
“No,” I answered. A long quiet followed. Then I said, “I can tell you have been doing a lot of thinking about the gospel. Since we’re so close, I don’t think I should try to teach you. But I know two fine young men who can answer your questions and tell you about the gospel.”
“Ray, I’ve heard about those two fine young men. One minute you’re having a few questions answered and the next minute you’re being baptized.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, “I’ll let them know that these will be informational discussions only, and that if they try to pressure you in any way, I’ll personally ask them to leave. And if you don’t mind, I’ll sit there during the discussions to make sure they keep to the agreement.”
“All right,” he said, “but if they pressure me to be baptized I’ll show them out of the house.” I assured him there would be no pressure.
The following Tuesday evening, my parents and I sat and listened to the missionaries present the gospel. I was pleased and a little surprised when my father said that everything they said was just common sense and that he believed it. After the second discussion, which both my parents accepted, the missionaries did what they were not supposed to do but which the Spirit prompted them to do: They challenged my father to be baptized. Before I could say anything, he answered, “Yes, I will.” Mother agreed. Appointments were made for the next discussions the following week.
That Sunday, I received a phone call from my youngest brother. His voice choked with tears. All he could say was, “Ray, … father is dead … Auto accident. …” I wept at the loss of my good friend, confidante, companion, and father.
A year later we went to the temple to do my father’s work. During the session, as I acted as proxy for him, good feelings told me that I was doing something he wanted me to do.
When we were in the sealing room to have him sealed to his parents, a warm glow came over me as we knelt around the altar. I knew my father was there in spirit. Looking at the temple president, I saw tears in his eyes. “Brother Snelson,” he said, “tell me about your father.” I started to tell him of the love and closeness I felt for him, but he interrupted me: “No, no—what did he look like?” As I described father, a gentle smile came across the temple president’s face.
After completing the sealing, he asked everyone but me to step out of the room for a moment. Taking me by the hand, he led me to the side of the room and we sat down next to each other. By then both of us had tears in our eyes, and the room felt as if it were filled with electricity. The temple president asked, “You know, don’t you?” “Yes,” I replied quietly.
He continued, “Your father was standing right behind you.”
Again I wept, this time for joy.

While I was serving as president of the West European Mission I had the opportunity of association with some of the servicemen stationed there. The president of the servicemen’s stake told me an interesting story.
He said that while he was executive secretary in the stake, the general of his army unit called him and told him he would like to have him serve as his assistant, which would require him to accompany the general wherever he went. Recognizing how this would affect his Church position and his responsibilities to his family, the brother told the general he would have to forego this assignment.
The general said, “Do you mean you would turn your back on this promotion because of your family and your Church?”
The brother said, “Yes, that is what I mean.”
The general said, “Well, then, forget it.” But he called back in a few days and said that he still wanted him for the job, that he would make the necessary adjustments for the man to carry out his responsibilities to the Church and to his family.
Another of the servicemen who had served a full-time mission told me he had baptized more converts during a year in the service than he had in two and one-half years on his mission in France. This is how we remember who we are and act accordingly.

I watched through the window as lightning flashes illuminated the valley below me. I had to drive home soon, but as the storm raged outside, driving was the last thing I wanted to do.
Finally I left, knowing that the weather would not improve and that I needed to get home. The short walk from my friend’s door to my car left my clothes and hair dripping. Lightning was still flashing several times a minute, and thunder droned ominously in the background.
I began the familiar drive home. A few moments later, I realized I had missed the road to the main highway. I was alone in unfamiliar territory, with only the glare of my headlights to light the way.
I reached for my cell phone, only to find its battery had died. Thunder boomed so loudly my car actually shook, and a bolt of lightning struck the hilltop to my right. Then I noticed a set of headlights coming straight at me.
I swerved back into my lane seconds before the other car zoomed past. My entire body was shaking, and tears poured down my cheeks as heavily as the rain poured down my windshield. I just wanted to be home, but I had no idea how to get there.
Without thinking about it, I started to sing the words from one of my favorite Primary songs: “Heavenly Father, are you really there?” My shaking and tears subsided, even though the storm did not. I prayed to find a familiar road and to be protected as I drove. I started to sing again, and as I sang, I knew the Lord would lead me home.
What was normally a 20-minute drive took 45 minutes that night, but I made it. When I locked my door behind me, safe at last, I sank to my knees. The shaking was back, and I sobbed a prayer of gratitude. I might have been driving in dangerous weather on an isolated road, but I hadn’t been alone.

Alta Loma, California—The following report tells what it was like to be in the middle of one of the biggest West Coast fires of recent years. It is from the students of the Alta Loma (California) Institute of Religion:
“The recent September–October 1970 Meyer or Lytle Creek fire in San Bernardino County, the worst fire to date in the history of our region, has proven to be an unforgettable experience for many of us. Fanned by the Santa Ana winds, the spark from a carelessly thrown firecracker produced a devastating blaze that refused to be quieted for over three weeks. The fire consumed 33,920 acres of forest, caused over $15 million of watershed damage, and destroyed five private homes.
“Assistance in fighting the fire was required from forty-one local city fire departments as well as forestry personnel from California, Wyoming, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and Oregon. Help also came from Indian firefighters in those areas.
“With a detached attitude, we watched the fire burn for several days on the mountain range that lies north of our Chaffey Community College. We thought it would never get to us. In the words of Brent Bliss, one of eight institute students who stayed to help protect our new elev-en-month-old institute building, ‘I thought it was a big joke. But then we watched the fire run down across the foothills. It came faster than anything I had ever seen.’
“On Thursday, October 1, the days of ‘spectator’ fascination were over. A fifty-to sixty-foot wall of flame raced unmercifully toward us. We were in the center of its path. Some officials estimated the fire’s speed at fifty to seventy miles per hour. Duff Snider, another institute student, said, ‘In the instant it took me to turn around, the fire was blown across the four-lane highway and had engulfed the entire north side of a building. It must have traveled 350 yards in a matter of seconds.’
“Almost instantaneously the fire surrounded the institute building, licking up the dry brush that encompassed our property. Suddenly we were alone; moments before, CBS, NBC, and ABC television newsmen had been in and out of our building, using phones, taking pictures, and asking questions. Now the Alta Loma Institute of Religion building was shared by only nine—eight students and our institute director, David Garner. As Brent Bliss later related, the firemen watching us from a distance called over their bullhorn, ‘It’s no use! Leave the building! It will burn!’
“The noise was deafening, as if we were completely surrounded by great jet engines. To breathe was labor, even though we had wet clothes wrapped around our heads; and our clothing, which we had soaked with water from some hoses, became dry in a matter of minutes from the terrific heat.
“Fierce winds ripped at our bodies, making standing possible only with great effort. Flying debris of all sizes and shapes filled the air, and smoke so saturated the area that visibility beyond a few feet was impossible. We worked in the light from the blazing wall of flame surrounding us. No words can describe our feelings; no thought is so imaginative that it can capture the truth of the reality we shared.
“At this moment of peril, our whole institute building was threatened by an ominous ball of fire that seemed ready to snuff us out. Jim Thomas, who was on the roof, reported, ‘I saw a great ball of fire come down toward us from overhead, but as I started to cover up with a blanket, the fire retreated—just like a movie film being run backward.’
“We heard, at this point, an audible explosion. A great eruptive force from ‘inside our ball of fire’ burst upward and outward, driving back the fire on all four sides of the building.
“Only minutes earlier, Norm Perdue had driven his car down the street to get it away from the fire. Returning, he saw it this way: ‘As I ran back to the institute, it was completely obscured with smoke and fire. I thought that perhaps it wasn’t even standing, but suddenly the smoke cleared away and the fire burned on toward the west, and there it was, still standing! It reminded me of when Francis Scott Key wrote the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ after the British had attacked Fort McHenry—when, after a night of fighting and bombing between the two military forces, Key was thrilled to see the flag still flying.
“A custodian who had been on the roof of a building at the college told us, ‘It was fantastic! I wouldn’t have believed it! I just knew you were gone. But the fire jumped over you and went on. I can’t understand it. You sure were lucky!’ We pointed upward and said, ‘Yes, we sure were.’
“We who had remained to help were deeply impressed with the answer to a prayer voiced by one of our students earlier, while many of us knelt together in one of the classrooms. What was amazing to everyone was that surrounding our institute was a ten- to twenty-five-foot ring of brush and undergrowth that did not burn! The explosive force within the ball of fire had simply stopped the fire in its tracks.
“Some of our nonmember friends who had been taking institute classes with us said they couldn’t believe it. For some of them, it was the only faith-and-prayer type experience they had ever had in their lives.
“We had a testimony meeting afterward with our students. Everyone’s expression was different, but the testimony was the same: Heavenly Father had heard our prayers and answered them in such a way that all of us could see the result. The memory of the fire seems to most of us just like a vivid dream or a dramatic experience of nightmare proportion. But the feelings of testimony and conviction linger on, building trust and love in our Heavenly Father.”

Jordan hadn’t seen his sister Kirsi for over a year—it felt like forever! Soon she’d be coming home from her mission to have surgery. Jordan was sad that she was sick, but he was happy that they’d be together soon.
When he came home from school the next day, Kirsi was sitting on the couch. Jordan ran and hugged her.
“Hi, Jordan! I missed you!” Kirsi said.
Jordan smiled. “I missed you too! I’m sorry that you’re sick.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Kirsi said. She was holding the Book of Mormon in her lap.
“Can I read with you?” he asked.
“Why don’t you go get your Book of Mormon, and we can start at the beginning together.”
Jordan ran to his room and grabbed his copy. “Got it!” he yelled as he ran back. He scooted in next to Kirsi.
They opened to the title page. “The Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ,” Jordan read. They took turns reading.
“On my mission I studied the scriptures with my companion every day,” Kirsi said. “Would you be my study buddy until it’s time for me to go back to my mission?”
“Yeah!” he said.
A few days later, Kirsi had her surgery. She came home from the hospital to rest and heal for a few weeks. She and Jordan studied the Book of Mormon together every day.
Before she went back to her mission, Kirsi said, “Jordan, I want to challenge you to finish the Book of Mormon before you are baptized.”
Jordan thought about that. His eighth birthday was only a few months away. He would have a lot of reading to do. But he wanted to do it. “Yes,” Jordan said.
“As you read, will you pray and ask if it’s true?” Kirsi asked. “Moroni promised that if we do that, the Holy Ghost will tell us that it’s true.”
“OK,” Jordan said.
By the time Kirsi went back to her mission, they’d reached 2 Nephi together.
Jordan really missed Kirsi. He especially missed being her study buddy. But then he got a great idea!
At school the next day, he walked over to his best friend Jake’s desk.
“I’m going to read the whole Book of Mormon before I get baptized,” Jordan said. “Since we’re getting baptized on the same day, do you want to do it too?”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “I’ve never read the whole Book of Mormon before.”
Every day at school, they asked each other the same question.
“How far along are you?”
“The end of Jacob. How far along are you?”
Soon they didn’t even have to ask the question anymore! They gave each other a look, and they knew the question.
“I think we’ll finish just in time for our baptisms,” Jordan said.
Finally the day of their baptisms came.
“I finished last night,” Jordan whispered.
“Me too!” Jake said. “And I prayed to know if it was true, and I felt really warm and happy.”
Jordan smiled. “Same. I felt really happy when I prayed.” He was so thankful for Kirsi’s challenge. Now he was building his very own testimony.

Some years ago, while attending a luncheon, I sat next to a very able and perceptive young attorney. I had come to know this young man quite well. I knew him to be a member of a Christian faith other than our own. He knew that I was an active Mormon.
After a few superficial niceties, he asked me some serious questions. He first asked, “Is the Mormon Church Christian?” He added that his question was a theological rather than a moral one; he wanted to understand the role of Jesus in Mormon theology.
Such a broad question overwhelmed me. As I paused to collect my thoughts and to formulate an answer, I realized than any explanation of the role of the Savior in Mormon belief had to begin much earlier than with Christ’s mortal mission. I answered my friend by briefly telling about twelve roles of Jesus the Christ.
First, I explained in brief terms our belief in the eternal nature of man by paraphrasing and explaining several verses of the ninety-third section of the Doctrine and Covenants, where Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph Smith of the eternal nature of the intelligence of man: “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.
“Ye were also in the beginning with the Father …”
“Man was also in the beginning with God. Intelligence, or the light of truth, was not created or made, neither indeed can be.
“Behold, here is the agency of man.” (D&C 93:21, 23, 29, 31.)
Second, I described the great council in heaven where all the Father’s children met to learn of his plans to further our eternal development. Jesus was the Father’s advocate for that plan which protected that agency of man inherent in the concept of beings possessing an uncreated and eternal existence. Lucifer wanted to alter the plan and eliminate the agency of man. (See Moses 4:1–3.)
Third, we discussed the role of Jesus as the creator of this and countless other worlds, in furtherance of the Father’s plan, which was accepted by the majority of his children. I quoted from the great vision given to Moses:
“And by the word of my power, have I created them, which is mine Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth.
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten.” (Moses 1:32–33.)
This view of Jesus in relationship to the universe was entirely new to my friend and left him deeply impressed.
The next role of Jesus, though known and preached by the early church, again was foreign to my friend. I explained that Jesus was Jehovah, God of the Old Testament, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he who gave the Law of Moses. Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph of this fact in the Kirtland Temple (D&C 110:1–4) and had long before explained his role to the Nephites:
“Behold, I am he that gave the law, and I am he who covenanted with my people Israel; therefore, the law in me is fulfilled, for I have come to fulfill the law; therefore it hath an end.” (3 Ne. 15:5.)
This view of Jesus as Jehovah, the God of the Old Testament, prior to his birth in the flesh, was preached by the early church for four hundred years before being superseded by apostate doctrines. A constant affirmation of the early Jewish Christians as they were accused of subverting the Law and the Prophets, was that what was preached was not new but very, very old, having been preached by Jesus himself to the prophets from the beginning. Arthur Cushman McGiffert, (U.S. theologian, 1861–1933) in his edition of The Church History of Eusebius, notes that this first great church historian held to the same view as did all the early Fathers, that Jesus was the personage who appeared to the prophets in the divine appearances in the Old Testament.
“Eusebius (Palestinian theologian, church historian and scholar, A.D. 260?–340?) accepts the common view of the early Church, that the appearances of God of the Old Testament were appearances of Christ; that is, appearances of the second person of the Trinity. Augustine (early Christian church father and philosopher, A.D. 354–430) seems to have been the first of the Fathers to take a different view, maintaining that such appearances of Christ were not consistent with the identity of essence between Father and Son.” (McGiffert, ed., The Church History of Eusebius, 1890.)
It was only at the point of the fifth great role of the Master that my friend’s knowledge gave us a common background in our discussion of the role of Jesus in Mormon theology. We agreed in our belief that Jesus was born of a virgin, Mary, in fulfillment of prophecy; that he taught the gospel to the people of his day (in our belief, he once again taught the gospel to his people, in direct fruition and fulfillment of his earlier teachings to the prophets) and was crucified. I explained that Mormons believe that Jesus established his church with priesthood power while he was on the earth; that the church was not the creation, as some believe, of Jesus’ followers after the crucifixion. The Master ordained his apostles, sent out the seventy on missions, and had an organization of identifiable officers prior to the crucifixion.
The central role of the Master, of course, that role which could not be performed by another, was that of Jesus the Christ, who was crucified for the sins of the world. I bore testimony to my friend that I believed this is the most literal way. I told him that though I did not fully understand how one could take upon himself the sins of others and thereby bring into effect a universal resurrection, I knew with all my heart that it was so and that this part of the plan is self-operative and need nor be understood to be effective.
I knew that our belief regarding the sixth role of Jesus would be entirely new to my friend and, because of its peculiar nature, probably alien to his understanding or appreciation. I explained as best I could the mission of Jesus Christ to hades, or hell, or the underworld, the place of departed spirits. Once again I affirmed that this mission was well known to the members of the early church. This mission was true and of critical importance to the Father’s plan.
Jesus told of his intention to his apostles as he spoke to them at Caesarea Philippi just prior to the transfiguration. The Prophet Joseph Smith said that Peter, James, and John received important keys and endowments at the time of the transfiguration, which fact would make more meaningful the Master’s previous comments to Peter regarding binding and sealing powers. (History of the Church: 3:387). After hearing Peter’s great confession, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” in response to the Master’s question, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” The Savior said to Peter that the “gates of hell shall not prevail” against the church (See Matt. 16:13–19).
Hell did not mean to the King James scholars who translated the New Testament what it means to some people today. It did not denote the place where bad people go, the domain of Satan. Rather, it was a synonym for hades, the place of the dead, where all the spirits of all people went at the time of death. Further, “the gates” of a city referred to the outer defenses of the city, keeping those within it separated from those without. Therefore, what the Master was saying to those disciples was simply that the gates, or the outer defenses or boundaries of hades, the place of the dead, would not be able to prevent the church from penetrating hades and freeing those people there bound by death. He was, in effect, announcing his descent into hades, the introduction of the gospel there, and his triumph over the lasting effects of death upon mankind.
I reaffirmed that his belief was among the most ancient beliefs of the early church, the complete knowledge of which had been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. In one of the great priesthood sections of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord revealed to Joseph that he had a plan of salvation sufficient that “not only those who believed after he came in the meridian of time, in the flesh, but all those from the beginning, even as many as were before he came, who believed in the words of the holy prophets, who spake as they were inspired by the gift of the Holy Ghost, who truly testified of him in all things, should have eternal life.” (D&C 20:26.)
The same message was taught by Irenaeus, a second century Christian scholar, in language surprisingly close to that used by Joseph:
“For it was not merely for those who believed on Him in the time of Tiberius Caesar that Christ came, nor did the Father exercise His providence for the men only who are now alive, but for all men altogether, who from the beginning, according to their capacity, in their generation have both feared and loved God, and practiced justice and piety towards their neighbors, and have earnestly desired to see Christ, and to hear His voice.” (Irenaeus, book 4, “Against Heresies,” in The Writings of Irenaeus, vol. 1, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 454–55.)
I explained that this doctrine of universal opportunity of salvation involved the introduction of the gospel into hades. Clement of Alexandria writing in the second century, stated:
“Wherefore, the Lord preached the gospel to those in Hades. Accordingly the Scripture says, ‘Hades says to Destruction. We have not seen His form, but we have heard His voice’ … But how? Do not the scriptures show that the Lord preached the gospel to those that perished in the flood … The apostles, following the Lord, preached the gospel to those in Hades. For it was requisite, in my opinion, that as here, so also there, the best of the disciples should be imitators of the Master; so that He should bring to repentance those belonging to the Hebrews, and they of the Gentiles … the Lord descended to Hades for no other reason but to preach the gospel … For it is not right that these should be condemned without trial, and that those alone who lived after the advent [of the Savior] should have the advantage of the divine righteousness … If, then, He preached the gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent” (Clement of Alexandria, book 6, “The Miscellanies,” in The Writings of Clement Alexandria, vol. 2, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 328–34. Italics added.)
A similar knowledge was given by revelation to a modern prophet, Joseph F. Smith, as he earnestly sought the meaning of Peter’s account of Christ preaching to the spirits in prison (see D&C 138).
Many of the fathers of the early church emphasized time and again that Christ descended into hades and organized a missionary force from among the prophets, his disciples from the time of the Master’s mission as Jehovah.
I mentioned to my friend that an ordinance necessarily related to this function of the Master was that of baptism for the dead, or baptism by proxy. I noted that this was what Paul was referring to when he cited this ordinance to the saints at Corinth as proof of the reality of a physical resurrection: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29). This practice of proxy baptism survived in the rural parts of the Roman Empire, relatively uncorrupted by the philosophies of the urban centers, until well into the fourth century and perhaps longer.
My friend’s background permitted us to talk of the seventh role of Jesus with common understanding. We discussed the resurrection, the appearance of Jesus to Mary, to Peter and the brethren, to the two on the road to Emmaus, to Peter and others fishing in Galilee; and finally the ascension of the Lord. I pointed out to my friend that the Lord undoubtedly used this time to further instruct his apostles. Whatever the subjects of those teachings, he left indisputable lessons to us all on the literal nature of the resurrection (his appearance to the brethren: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have” [Luke 24:39]) and the promise of an equally literal return (at the time of the ascension: “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven” [Acts 1:11]).
The eighth great mission of the Master again found my friend in ignorance. I described the ministry of the Lord to the Western Hemisphere, in fulfillment of his statement to the Jews: “And 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.” (John 10:16). I told my friend that the Father introduced his Son to the people of this continent: “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne. 11:7.) I described how Jesus organized a church like that which he had established in the East. Twelve disciples were called and ordained; great miracles were performed—the blind were made to see, the lame to walk. Children were blessed with miracles not matched by those in the East. A dissertation was given by Jesus on the nature and functions of the House of Israel unequaled by any other single scriptural reference. The sacrament was instituted and the Holy Ghost bestowed. Finally, after a three-day ministry, Jesus ascended.
I mentioned a ninth mission of the Master about which we know very little other than that it occurred. Jesus, in speaking to the Nephites, stated that he had yet other sheep who would also hear his voice (3 Ne. 16:1–5). Consequently, there must have been other people who enjoyed a personal ministration of the Master, though we do not now have the records of such a ministry.
The tenth mission of the Master was the ushering in of the restoration through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I described, through my own testimony of the occasion, how Joseph Smith asked God to direct him to the true church. I related the events of the First Vision: that the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph, and from the time of that event other angelic ministrations occurred to Joseph Smith sufficient to restore the knowledge of the gospel and the priesthood power to again establish the Church of Jesus Christ upon the earth as it had been when the Master personally established his church at the meridian of time.
I grouped together as the eleventh mission of the Master several appearances of the Savior to different people, from Joseph Smith, subsequent to the First Vision, to others of the prophets, including Lorenzo Snow, pointing out to my friend the reality of the Master’s direction of his church today as in time past.
Finally, I described to my friend the final and yet unfulfilled role of Jesus Christ in the great plan of his Father. I stated that Mormons believe in the literal second advent of the Master, to rule over the earth that he, under the direction of the Father, created.