Gospel Story Finder

I will never forget the summer and fall of 2009. On June 9 my father died after suffering from dementia for over 10 years. On June 25 our 22-year-old son died unexpectedly, and less than a month later, so did my cousin. On August 13 my 82-year-old mother had open-heart surgery and began a lengthy recovery. On October 18 my 41-year-old brother died. On October 31 my husband had a massive heart attack and flat lined for eight minutes. The firefighters, paramedics, and a priesthood blessing brought him back to us.
People often asked me how we handled all of these events. My consistent answer was that we would turn to the Savior, and He cared for us. He did not leave us alone in our trials. I felt ministered to and carried by the heavens. Truly, He “has borne [my] griefs” (Mosiah 14:4).

Prior to his mission young Ezra fell in love with a vivacious young coed. He first noticed her when he and a cousin were standing on a street curb in Logan, Utah, and an attractive woman drove by in a Ford convertible. A few minutes later she drove by a second time. “Who is that?” Ezra asked. “Flora Amussen,” his cousin replied.

Though Ezra was a homespun farm boy from Whitney, Idaho, who had rarely been off the farm, he asked Flora for a date. She accepted. Wearing his blue serge suit, shiny from much wear, he pulled up in front of her large, three-story home, took a deep breath, and wondered what he’d gotten himself into, calling on the most popular—and apparently one of the wealthiest—young women on campus.

Many of his friends were amazed that Flora even gave him the time of day. She was very popular at Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University) and involved in everything from tennis to drama. But once they became acquainted, their courtship proceeded smoothly, and it wasn’t long before Ezra felt he’d found the woman for him. Marriage, however, wouldn’t come immediately. First there was a mission for “Elder” Ezra Taft Benson to serve in Great Britain, and before he knew it he was saying good-bye to Flora at the train station and heading for Europe.

Two-and-a-half years later when he returned, Ezra was delighted and a little relieved to find Flora still available. Their dating resumed, and it wasn’t long before he felt ready to settle down on his Idaho farm with Flora as his wife and begin to rear a family.

Flora seems to have liked the attention of this handsome young farm boy and had entertained thoughts of marriage herself. At 23, she was certainly of marriageable age. But something held her back. For some reason she felt the timing wasn’t quite right for their marriage. She saw in Ezra Benson more than a hard-working farm boy who would make a fine husband and father; she had the impression that Ezra had potential that might not surface if he returned to the farm immediately.

Flora didn’t discuss her feelings with Ezra, but “prayed and fasted for the Lord to help me know how I could help him be of greatest service to his fellowmen. It came to me that if the bishop thought I was worthy, [he would] call me on a mission. The Church came first with Ezra, so I knew he wouldn’t say anything against it.”

Without telling her beau about her plan, Flora talked with her bishop. And before Ezra had a chance to formally propose, she made her own announcement: she was going to Hawaii, where she’d been called to serve a mission. Ezra was shocked. Another separation from Flora? It seemed too much to ask of him. “I was ready to settle down on the farm,” he recalled. “And I didn’t have too much briefing as to why she was leaving. It was really tough. She was the light of my life.”

Flora knew she was taking a calculated risk. Though convinced her boyfriend needed to finish his education and that both of them would profit by maturing spiritually before tying themselves down, she also recognized the possibility he might not wait two years. Nevertheless, she felt she needed to serve this mission.

On August 26, 1924, Flora and Ezra boarded the westbound train in Salt Lake City, and he rode with her as far as Tooele, where he said good-bye. It tore at him for her to leave, but he knew, somehow, that things would work out. Later he wrote in his journal, “We were both happy because we felt the future held much for us and that this separation would be made up to us later. It is difficult, though, to see one’s hopes shattered. But though we sometimes had a cry about it, we received assurance from Him who told us it would all be for the best.”

Things did work out. When Flora returned from Hawaii, Ezra lost no time in proposing, and on September 10, 1926, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

It was through experiences such as these that the young Ezra Taft Benson gained confidence in the Lord, and confidence in what happened when he tried to do what was right—even when it wasn’t easy.

I’ve been in the air force for about two years now and receive the New Era as a gift from my father. When I read the article “High Mountain Magic” in the June New Era, it brought back memories of some of the best weeks of my life. Once a year the young men in our ward (14 and older) would go on a 7-to-10-day excursion. Two of those trips were up in the high Uintas. I will never forget the 10-to-15 mile treks from camp to camp. Sunday was a day of rest. In the morning we would hold priesthood meeting and Sunday School, and then in the afternoon we would attend a special fast and testimony meeting. The closeness I felt with my friends and God is a feeling I will always cherish. I wish that everybody could spend some time in the many wilderness areas created by the Lord. I know that these trips have helped strengthen my testimony.
A1C Roger A. HoffmannLoughlin AFB, Texas

When the First Presidency announced that a new temple would be built in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, México, Church members rejoiced. One young girl was so excited she told the news to almost everyone she knew.
“Temples are where dads and moms can be married for eternity!” she told them. “Temples are where families can be sealed together forever!”
Each time she passes the temple, she announces, “That’s where I’m going to be married someday.”
Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City D.F. México Temple. The trip took 18 hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Íngrid is thankful now to have a temple just minutes away in her own city.
Even though the long journey to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Many Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’” says Íngrid’s dad, Javier. Several members who traveled on the bus thanked the children for helping make their journey more enjoyable.
Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home he was able to get a better job.
While Íngrid was waiting to be sealed to her parents, she helped the temple nursery workers care for the younger children and babies. When it was time for her to leave, the workers said, “Oh, don’t take her! She helped us so much. She put the babies to sleep.”
A couple of years after they went to the temple, Íngrid’s mother, María Carmelita, gave birth to a baby boy. Later, Íngrid’s parents had a baby girl. “Luis Fernando and Mari Carmen are children of the covenant,” Íngrid says proudly. She explains to her nonmember relatives that since her family was sealed in the temple before her baby brother and sister were born, the babies are also members of their eternal family. Íngrid loves her brother and sister and helps her mother take care of them. “She often puts them to sleep by singing Primary songs to them,” says her mom.
Her dad says with a smile, “She tells us that when she grows up, she wants to be whatever she is thinking of at the time—a doctor, an artist, a teacher.”
“But mostly she wants to be a mother,” her mom adds. “Besides helping me with the babies, she holds her dolls and hugs them and sings to them. She has told me, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to study a lot so my children don’t lack anything.’”
Íngrid enjoys drawing pictures of animals, running races, playing ball, and riding her bicycle. She especially loves to dress up in costumes and perform folk dances.
Her bishop, Juan José Albores Gallegos, of the Las Lomas Ward, Tuxtla Gutiérrez México Stake, says Íngrid participates with great energy in Primary and in ward activities. Bishop Albores especially appreciates the care Íngrid gives younger Primary children. “She loves them and gives them her time and attention,” he says. “She plays and sings songs with them.”
Never at a loss for words, Íngrid has told her nonmember friends and relatives about the Church and has invited several of them to attend. Although none of them have joined the Church yet, she isn’t discouraged.
“Wherever we go,” her dad says, “she tells people about the Church.”
For example, when her family was invited to a picnic one Sunday, Íngrid said, “No, we can’t go on the picnic because it’s Sunday, and we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When someone offers her a drink that is not in keeping with Church standards, she says, “No, we can’t drink it.”
“Íngrid has learned a lot in Primary and in our family home evenings,” her mother says. “She is often the one to remind us to say our prayers before going to bed. ‘Did you say your prayers, Papi, Mami?’ she will ask. And at mealtime, she will say, ‘Let’s bless the food before eating.’ She is teaching us all the time.”
“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”
Íngrid’s parents are thankful for her strength and example. “She makes sure we obey the commandments,” her dad says. “Maybe she understands the gospel better than I do!”

Jean would always remember the night when she really learned that her Heavenly Father hears and answers sincere prayers, even when uttered by a weary 17-year-old in the backwoods of southern Georgia.
At graduation time, Jean learned that her trials had only begun. Mother remarried and moved far away. Jean had no choice. She had to go live with our father in rural Georgia. He lived in a tiny, isolated town where he was the minister of the only church.
Our father had always been bitter toward the Mormons, and that bitterness had turned to hatred when all three of his daughters had been baptized. Jean was his baby, his special pet, and it cut him to the quick to see her not only in a religion different from his but as a Mormon and a devout Mormon at that. He looked upon her move to his house as an answer to prayers. Now things would be different. Now he would be able to show her the error of her ways.
Although I live more than 200 miles away, I came as often as possible during the summer and took Jean to my home in Columbia. However, the summer soon ended, and Jean had to start commuting to college. Jean had a car to make the drive back and forth to school but not for her personal use on weekends. The nearest branch was 30 miles away, and even if she could get there, Dad wouldn’t let her go. There wasn’t an institute at her small college, and it just seemed that there was no way for her to have any contact with Church members.
Days turned into weeks, and then months had gone by since she had attended a meeting. She read her scriptures, wrote daily in her journal, and spent hours on her knees. As she grew closer to her Heavenly Father through earnest prayer, Jean’s testimony of the gospel grew. She began to realize how often she had taken the opportunity to attend meetings and functions of the Church for granted, how she had even wished meetings would hurry and be over. During this time, Dad made every effort to break her testimony. He quoted scripture after scripture, but Jean’s seminary scriptures stood her in good stead. She was able to parry with scriptures of her own. Sometimes he threw things at her that she couldn’t or, to stop an argument, wouldn’t defend. While her testimony wasn’t harmed, it did make Jean weary as she faced each day on the defensive, knowing that everything she loved and considered holy would be denounced in her father’s booming voice at mealtimes, in discussions with her stepmother, or in his verbal prayers.
Some nights only hours on bended knees kept her from total despair. She fought back the desire to rage against her Heavenly Father for deserting her. Soon even the scriptures she loved were difficult to read because they produced such a terrible longing for her old friends, teachers, and bishop. Often she lay in bed at night with tears streaming down her face trying to remember that she wasn’t the only Latter-day Saint in the world. She tried to be strong, but she was young and alone and there had been no contact with members for so long.
One night in January, Jean reached rock bottom. Her father and stepmother had baited her and prayed aloud for her soul until she was ready to scream. No one understood the trials she was going through. Her sisters sympathized, but we were too far away to be any help. Finally Jean knelt by her bed and poured her heart out as she had so many times in the past. She told her Heavenly Father that she knew he loved her and that he had promised no burden heavier than she could bear. She begged for some sort of help because the burden had grown so heavy that she could not bear it any longer.
When Jean left Natchez, her records had been sent to the nearest branch. Once the records were received, she was assigned home teachers. However, as no one had ever met Jean and she lived so far away and had never attended a meeting, the home teachers didn’t visit her. In their minds, she was probably someone who had joined the Church at age eight but had never been active. Someone in the branch had heard that a Mr. Swilley in Egypt, Georgia, was the Baptist preacher there, and this Jean was probably his wife. No way were they going to drive all that way to get a door slammed in their faces!
In a small branch, the work load is heavy for each member. The home teacher lived 15 miles on the other side of the town where the branch was located, a total of 45 miles one way on country roads from Jean. Months went by, and each month his home teaching report was complete except for Sister Swilley. Being a good and conscientious man, this bothered him. He decided to go at least once just to see what sort of circumstances she was in.
The night came when he couldn’t rest until he had made the effort to see this sister. He called his companion, a young boy of 16, and they began the long drive. As they drove farther into the countryside, they began to be uneasy and wished they could turn around and go home. Yet something urged them on. Little did they know that at that moment, Jean Swilley was on her knees begging her Father in Heaven to throw her a lifeline. As her prayer ended and she dried her tears, Dad knocked on her bedroom door. “Jeanie, there are two men outside, and they are asking for you. They are Mormons, and I won’t ask them in, but you can go talk to them on the porch.”
Jean flew through the house and onto the porch. She stood on the steps, and tears fell again as the older of the two men stretched out his hand and said, “We are your home teachers …” He didn’t have to say anything else because Jean fell into his arms and cried out all the pain and loneliness that was there. Finally someone had come. God had indeed heard her prayers.
As Jean told her story to these wonderful men, I know that their hearts were touched. They expressed sorrow for not having come sooner and promised to make the branch president aware of her situation. They prayed with Jean and told her to call them when it got too hard and left with the most beautiful words Jean had ever heard, “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Jean is still not allowed to go to church, but her spirit is so much stronger now that she knows her Father in Heaven is aware of her needs and answers her prayers. Dad said the home teachers could keep coming as long as they had a talk with him first. When Jean explained the situation to the home teachers, they told her that they would talk with him and do it gladly.
Jean’s home teachers had every excuse in the world not to visit her. It was inconvenient—one and a half hours just in driving time. She had expressed no interest in seeing them. They did not think she would welcome them, and they were busy with other church responsibilities. Still, they obeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
Those home teachers will never know just how happy they made my sister nor will they know how thankful they made me for a Heavenly Father that heard my sister’s prayers. How can they know what will come of their talk with my dad? Or that Mother, who had drifted so far away that she denied the Church on every opportunity, would cry when told that her baby girl wasn’t quite so wretched anymore and why. How could they have known that Mother would say through her tears, “I knew He would take care of her and hear her prayers.” I know that more good will come because those two men listened and obeyed. I hope that I will learn to listen and obey. I hope we all will.

During a summer visit to my boyhood home in southern Alberta, one of the old-timers who was teaching a Sunday School class related an incident that occurred in nearby Waterton National Park in 1922. It was a happening with which most of us were familiar.
A young man who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood was employed during the summer by the park administration. One August morning he was given the responsibility of packing fingerling trout to the Belly River Lakes for the purpose of stocking those waters with fish. It would require a day-long hike along a poorly defined mountain trail. His pack consisted of several gallons of water, into which hundreds of fingerlings were placed.
It was a beautiful day for a hike, and the young man was excited to begin the journey. He followed the course of the river, and as he rounded one bend and approached a wild berry patch he found a large grizzly feasting upon the ripe berries. The bear stretched on its hind legs to its full eight feet and roared disapproval at the sudden intrusion.
The young man was unarmed. The terrain and heavy growth of the mountainside was such that he could not make his way around the grizzly. He knew that it would be foolish to challenge the bear directly. At this point the young teacher could have cast the fingerlings into the bushes and beat a fast retreat to camp, and he probably would not have been criticized for his conduct. But this thought did not seriously enter his mind.
Almost without thinking he dropped to his knees on the mountain trail, in full view of this giant bear, and offered a simple prayer to his Heavenly Father. He explained in simple, but urgent, words that he had been given an assignment to deliver fingerlings to the lakes. There was no other possible trail for him, and in order to continue his mission, it was necessary that the Lord intervene to remove the bear.
When he finished the prayer he rose slowly and looked squarely into the eyes of this huge creature. The grizzly swung his head from side to side a time or two, then dropped to all fours and lumbered off through the berry patch, leaving the trail free for the young teacher.
This young man undoubtedly felt fear, but displayed rare courage. He had lived his life in such a way that at the very moment he needed help, he knew that he could be in immediate touch with Heavenly Father. His safety did not depend upon a high powered rifle, but on unwavering faith that he could count on the Lord for protection.

In 1983 his beloved wife, Clara Jeffs Hunter, passed away. She had suffered a devastating stroke several years before that had left her very much diminished. President Hunter tended to her needs, providing loving care with respect and an uncommon devotion for many years, with a complete disregard for his own health. But there was a reward, for as diminished as she was, Claire would smile and respond only to him. The tenderness so evident in their communication was heartrending. We have never seen such an example of devotion of a husband to his wife. Theirs was a many-splendored love affair. Love is service.

Caleb slid out of his bed to greet another golden autumn morning. His big brother, James, was already outside working, probably helping Pa mend fences. When he heard his mother fixing breakfast in the room below, Caleb hurried to dress. But where was his favorite brown wool shirt?
He dug through the blankets, then searched under the bed. No shirt. So he just pulled on his pants and shoes and climbed down the ladder from the loft.
“I can’t find my brown shirt,” Caleb told his mother.
Ma looked up and smiled. “That shirt was getting so worn out that I made you a new one. Here, try it on.”
Caleb took the shirt from his mother and examined it closely. It didn’t have as many thin places as his old one, and no buttons were missing. But something was familiar about it. Quickly Caleb slipped on the shirt, buttoned it up to his chin, then huddled close to the stone fireplace to warm himself. He didn’t say anything to Ma, but he knew that James used to wear this shirt. Ma had cut it up and made the shirt smaller. Caleb couldn’t remember, but he suspected that Pa had worn the shirt before that, just as he had the old brown one.
After breakfast, Caleb kept so busy with his chores that he forgot all about his comfortable old brown shirt. At the end of the day, while Caleb’s sister, Dorcas, washed the supper dishes, Ma brought out her scrap bag. One by one she pulled colorful pieces of cloth from it. They fluttered down noiselessly, covering the wooden floor like a rainbow. Caleb watched with wonder.
Because women in the frontier settlement traded fabric swatches, some of the bright pieces in Ma’s scrap bag had once belonged to the neighbors. Caleb recognized nearly every scrap. One strip was from a petticoat that Dorcas had outgrown. Another piece came from James’s old black Sunday trousers. Caleb spotted parts from Grandpa’s winter coat and a few inches of his friend Willy’s knit cap. On top of the pile lay Caleb’s favorite brown wool shirt.
Ma announced, “I’m going to make a quilt.”
Caleb had already figured that out. Often when Ma sorted through her scrap bag, she had a patchwork quilt in mind. So he wasn’t surprised to see her cut his old brown shirt into several pieces. In fact, Caleb expected the shirt he was wearing to be cut up for a quilt when it was worn out and too small for him.
Night after night, when the day’s farm work was done, Ma and Dorcas sat by the fire, sewing the cloth pieces together. Moving smoothly, Ma’s practiced hand worked the needle in and out in tiny, even stitches. Every scrap was precious.
“Isn’t this one too small, Ma?” Caleb asked, picking up a little square of flowered cotton.
“No piece is too small, Caleb,” Ma assured him. “We’ll need every one.”
One afternoon Caleb came in from feeding the chickens to find Ma in her rocking chair with the patchwork pieces.
“This gives me a chance to sit down,” she told him, “while still keeping my hands busy.”
Caleb gently fingered an odd-shaped piece of Grandpa’s green winter coat. In his imagination, it still smelled of smoke from the campfires Grandpa used to build on his hunting trips. Last fall, when Caleb turned seven, he was allowed to go with Grandpa and Pa and James to hunt for food for the winter. Rubbing the green wool against his cheek now reminded Caleb of Grandpa and his stories around the campfire. He was glad that his mother had saved the old coat. Caleb watched her fit a piece of it into the patchwork quilt top.
“Who are you making the quilt for, Ma?” Caleb asked.
“Someone special.”
As soon as the quilt top was finished, Pa and James set up the heavy wooden frames. Dorcas helped Ma tack the backing of the quilt to the frames. It was a piece of coarse homespun cloth Aunt Polly had made—a bright strawberry red that made Caleb think of summer. Ma and Dorcas pinned the thick wool batting to the cloth. Finally they spread out the patchwork top and stretched it over the batting.
Caleb stood back and gazed at the quilt top. It was a wonderful kaleidoscope of patches, all sizes and shapes, fitted together with neat little stitches. In the center, Ma had sewn a square of brown wool cut from Caleb’s shirt. He knew what came next: a quilting bee!
Aunt Polly and several ladies from neighboring homesteads gathered to help Ma sew the three layers of the quilt together. Sitting around the frame, the ladies chatted as they worked their needles up and down through the layers of fabric. Caleb and his friend Willy crawled under the quilt and watched the thread make a fine white trail all across the red backing.
Every time a needle ran out, the boys rushed to thread it. By the end of the day, when the sewing was done, Caleb and Willy had each earned a shiny penny for keeping the ladies’ needles threaded.
It was almost dark when Willy and his mother and the other women rode off for home. Then, with Pa’s help, Ma carefully removed the quilt from the frames. “Tomorrow I’ll bind the edges,” she said.
When Caleb scurried down from the loft the next morning, Ma was already sitting in her rocking chair, with the quilt overflowing her lap. Caleb settled on the floor next to Dorcas, who, like Ma, was folding under the edges of the backing and the top and stitching them neatly together.
“Can I help?” Caleb asked.
Ma smiled at him as she patiently worked her fine little stitches. “How about your chores, Caleb?”
Caleb went outside to help James stack the wood Pa had cut. As he worked, the boy thought about the quilt. Its large and small patches of red, blue, and green, some plain, some fancy, reminded him of Grandpa, Ma and Pa, James and Dorcas, Aunt Polly, and all the neighbors. He thought of his own brown wool square in the center. “We will need every patch,” Ma had told him.
That night when Caleb climbed up to his bedroom loft, Ma was waiting to tuck him in bed under the new quilt. “I told you I was making this quilt for someone special,” she said, kissing him good night.
Caleb wrapped himself in the quilt with its comfortable old patches and smiled.

I was born in a small southern Mississippi town in 1950. My father was a career army officer. As a result, although not completely due to his career, I became the product of a broken home. It was not until my teens that I became aware of this. It was a traumatic period in my life.
My parents were strict, and I often was denied opportunities that many youth take for granted. One privilege I was allowed was to attend a local Baptist church where I gained an independence of thought and action. I felt I was somebody and had something to contribute to the world. I became a youth minister and had hopes of gaining a scholarship so I could attend a ministerial school. But the deteriorating conditions at home and diminishing faith in my religious beliefs changed that. I had increasing questions about life. I suppose at this point I simply felt sorry for myself.
At 17 I left home. All I took with me was the memory of ruined yesterdays and a fear of uncertain tomorrows. I left in anguish and bitterness. Later I joined the United States Air Force. The first place they sent me was to Vietnam. This was a startling contrast to the sheltered environment I had experienced as a child. Needless to say, rather than helping to find peace and remedy my doubts, the futility and endless agony of life there served only to create more questions and to reinforce my defeatist attitude. I began to doubt there was a God or that there was any dignity or purpose in life. Was life just the means to an uncertain end? Where and why did it all begin? I found myself wishing that I had never been born.
I left Vietnam physically well, but I was almost spiritually dead. However, something inside seemed to urge me to give God another chance, and I did in hopes that he would do the same for me.
Upon my arrival in Misawa, Japan, I went to a Baptist missionary, but he was unable to answer my questions. He encouraged me to rely on faith, but I could no longer live on the innocent faith I had as a young man. The reality I found in the world as an adult was simply too great. I had to find the answers and I had to find them now.
I was becoming desperate, so a friend asked me to accompany him to the Far East Conference of the Southern Baptist Convention in Shimoda, believing that these learned men would be able to answer my questions satisfactorily. Enroute to the convention, my friend made what he later determined was a great mistake. We stopped in Tokyo to see his friend, Bill Head, whom he had met in Thailand. Upon meeting Bill for the first time, I realized that he was different. Without him even saying a word I knew that he had something that I wanted. He radiated confidence, peace of mind, a love for life, and a love for people. He seemed to know who he was and where he was going. He had the answers I needed so desperately.
I asked him why he was unique. Bill replied, “I am a Mormon.” He gave me some pamphlets to read, and I took them with me to that convention in Shimoda. I read the material. At first the Joseph Smith account seemed ridiculous, preposterous, almost absurd. I wanted to believe that God spoke to men today. I wanted to believe that the heavens were not closed and that God was real. I wanted to believe that he lived and cared about his children and had not left us alone to drift aimlessly through life for some mysterious end. I also knew that if ever the world needed another witness of Jesus Christ it was now. But because it was so new and because it had been such a long time since God had manifested himself to the ancients, I was skeptical.
The next morning I attended a seminar at the convention. The seminar’s purpose was to discuss the anti-Christ ideologies. The first religion they attacked was not communism or some other godless ideology, but Mormonism. They had decided among themselves that Mormons worshiped Joseph Smith and ignored the fact that the formal name of the Mormon church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If that name implied anything, it implied that Mormons were Christians of the highest degree, for they were the only people I had found who claimed the name of Jesus Christ. It wasn’t the Church of Joseph Smith, John the Baptist, Paul, Mary, John Wesley, or Martin Luther. It was the Church of Jesus Christ.
I felt the Mormons were being misunderstood so I attempted to defend them. Now I probably made somewhat of a fool of myself in the minds of those learned people, but in the process of this defense, a still, small voice said, “You’d better find out more so you can do better next time.”
I left the convention that day and returned to Tokyo. I found Bill and told him I wanted to learn more. He introduced me to a young couple, the Fredericks, who taught me the missionary discussions in two days. During that glorious two-day period the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in my mind fell together and I found myself and my true identity.
“I am a child of God!” I exclaimed to myself. “I began with him. There is purpose and dignity to life, and a great destiny beyond!” I began to realize for the first time that I didn’t have to doubt, worry, be confused, or tossed to and fro by every wind of doctrine because there is a prophet of God and twelve apostles on the earth today, just as there was anciently in the Church of Jesus Christ. I had found his Church!
Less than two weeks later, on August 12, 1970, I was baptized in Kunsan City, Korea. I know that the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that we are sons and daughters of God.
Since my conversion I have been reunited with my family and ordained an elder in the Lord’s Church. I am currently serving as a missionary in the Idaho Pocatello Mission. Like Bill, now that I am converted, I am strengthening my brethren.

I’m going to share an experience I had with President Kimball to help you understand what a choice human being he is, besides a powerful prophet, and perhaps base the rest of my remarks on this incident. I stood alone in the basement of the Church Office Building about two years ago, waiting for an elevator. It was very early on a Monday morning, well before the influx of office workers. As the elevator lowered into place, suddenly two Church security officers appeared from out of somewhere and held back the opening doors. Now, nobody does that for me, so I looked around just in time to see President Kimball and his personal secretary, Brother Haycock, entering the area. They moved quickly into the secured area, and I quickly moved out of the way. Well, as President Kimball turned and faced the front of the elevator, he saw me standing out there waiting for the next one. And he said to me very graciously, “Good morning.” And I said, “Good morning, President Kimball.” And he said, “Aren’t you going to get on?” And I said, “Well,” and hesitated for a few moments, “I didn’t think I was supposed to under the circumstances.” And then he said, “Aren’t you going up?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, tell me, how do you intend to get there?” And then he said, “Come along.” So I got on! At the prophet’s invitation I was happy to ride up with him.

Tonight President Kimball extends an invitation to all of us, with some specifics, I am sure, for us as women to follow him as he follows the Savior. If we want to “go up,” we must “get on.” It is that simple. He is our leader; in all the world of would-be leaders, who can guide us back to the presence of God.

When people told Melissa* to snap out of it, it only made her feel worse. She would try but would still wake up the next day feeling awful. “I didn’t know what to do. I would sleep the day away because I felt totally worthless.”
“I didn’t even realize I was depressed,” she says. “I didn’t even think to turn to my Heavenly Father for help.”
She also didn’t want to talk to her mom about what she was feeling. “I thought my mom would not like me for opening up and letting her know I was hurting. But once I talked to her she was really supportive, and I needed that.”
When Melissa was 14, her mom took her to a doctor. “At first I thought, No way! I don’t need a counselor. I’m fine! But I guess I wasn’t fine. When you’re depressed you don’t really realize there’s something wrong with you. And when you finally do recognize it, you’re so immune to it that it’s hard to deal with.”
Melissa has been in counseling for more than a year, and she looks forward to her once-a-week therapy sessions now. She’s glad she decided to get help. “I didn’t think I would ever need help. I didn’t think I would ever go through the things I went through. After a while I finally realized I needed to get down on my knees and ask for help. And that help came. I turned to my scriptures more often, and there would always be something there I needed to hear.”
Melissa has suffered a lot because of depression, but she feels her reactions to her trials have made her into a better person. “When I say a prayer I thank Heavenly Father for my challenges because they make me stronger and they strengthen my testimony and help me grow closer to Him.”
Things are still not easy for Melissa, Becky, and Anna. But since they have turned to the Lord and requested help from other sources as well, they are doing much better, and they now feel their lives are worth living. Becky says, “Even if you feel like no one else has ever gone through this, Jesus Christ has. He has felt every single thing.”

Several years ago I picked up the desk pen in my office at Brigham Young University to sign a paper that had been prepared for my signature, something I did at least a dozen times each day. That document committed the University to a particular course of action we had decided to follow. All the staff work had been done, and all appeared to be in order. But as I went to sign the document, I was filled with such negative thoughts and forebodings that I put it to one side and asked for the entire matter to be reviewed again. It was, and within a few days additional facts came to light which showed that the proposed course of action would have caused the University serious problems in the future.

A Fruit & Vegetable Man “Six mornings a week, long before the sun was up, Ruby was.” He went to the market to choose the very best fruits and vegetables for his store. He juggled the potatoes and other things as he stacked them in beautiful displays, and he let his customers sample new things. He did all this for fifty years. When Sun Ho came to watch him, Ruby taught the boy all that he knew. Then, one day, Ruby was so sick that he didn’t even think about his store. But Sun Ho did, and he took very good care of it.Roni Schotter4–8 years

I can’t believe that my parents named her Angela! They’re both teachers, so you’d think that they’d know better than to call the terror of the kindergarten an angel. Being her eleven-year-old brother is hard. I have to baby-sit her on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. The other days I have soccer or my first-aid class for Scouts. That and my homework keep me “legitimately” busy until suppertime.
The thing is, Angela has a vivid imagination. She’s always pretending to be a world-famous astronaut or world-famous ballet dancer or something else “world-famous.” She also likes to talk a lot, which drives me bonkers. And she loves animals. You’d think they were people, to listen to her.
Last Tuesday Mom was just leaving for a class as I walked in the front door after school. She gave me a quick kiss and said good-bye. I sighed and headed for the kitchen. It was too quiet! Angela was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a gooey peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. Except for the grape jelly around her mouth, she looked like one of those kids in a TV commercial. But she didn’t fool me! I looked around the kitchen for signs of damage. I didn’t have to look far. Max, our sometimes-troublesome mutt, was under the table, having a great time finishing off the grape jelly—right out of the jar.
“He was hungry, too, Jeff. How could I eat in front of him?” Angela asked as I glared at her.
I shooed her next door to play with her friend Carrie so that I could clean up. Carrie has a swing set, and I figured it would help if Angela wore off a little energy. I used some wet paper towels to mop up the rest of the grape jelly, then curled up with my latest book, Invader from the Unknown.
Not even five minutes later I heard Carrie screaming at the top of her lungs. “Angela’s stuck! She’s going to fall! Hurry, Jeff!”
I tore out of the house and over to Carrie’s swing set. Angela wasn’t making a sound, but she had a panicky look on her face. She was hanging upside down from the swing set by one foot.
As soon as I helped her down, she gave me a mischievous grin. “The swings were gone, so we’ve been practicing for the Olympics. We’re going to be world-famous gymnasts.”
I gave Angela a threatening look. “You’re going to be a world-famous prisoner if you keep it up. One more caper like that, and you’ll stay in your room until Mom gets home.”
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I’ll be really good now. Carrie and I will have a tea party for our dolls.”
A few minutes later, all was quiet. Keeping one ear tuned for trouble, I stretched out on the couch with my book again. The alien ship had just set down on planet Earth, and billows of smoke were rising from the craft. …
All of a sudden I realized that there was real smoke and that it was coming from the kitchen! I made it there in record time. Carrie was hightailing it out the door for home, and Angela was staring sadly at a cookie sheet with several little black mounds on it.
“I did it just like Mommy did the peanut-butter cookies the other day,” she told me, “but I didn’t know what number to put the oven on, so I just turned the knob as far as it would go. I guess that was wrong, huh?” Seeing the fury on my face, she added quickly, “I turned it off as soon as I saw the black smoke.”
I looked at the clock, and my anger turned to panic. Mom would be back soon! “Angela,”—I spat out the ultimate threat between clenched teeth—“if you don’t help get this kitchen cleaned fast, I will never give you a piggyback ride again!”
Angela’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the sponge. She started wiping the counter, making big doughy streaks in the flour she had spilled while making the cookies. While we worked to get the worst of the mess cleaned up, Angela talked a blue streak about how she and Carrie were going to be world-famous cooks. I looked at the black blobs in the garbage can and had to admire her optimism. I was awfully glad that I had my first-aid class the next day, though. I didn’t think I could take another afternoon like this one.
“Angela, how about another snack?” I figured food would keep her quiet, and I didn’t know how much more of her jabbering I could take. I opened a can of little hot dogs. The food didn’t slow her down a bit; she was still talking a mile a minute. I growled, “Angela, if you don’t stop talking while you’re eating, you’re going to choke.”
All of a sudden, Angela got very quiet. She had a funny look on her face, and she was turning blue!
Without thinking about it, I reached over and whacked her on the back. Nothing happened. Then I remembered the Heimlich maneuver. It’s to help someone who has something caught in his throat and can’t cough it up. I’d just learned it last week in first-aid class.
I was scared. I’d only tried the maneuver on the dummy there, and I knew it should only be used in a real emergency or the person could be hurt badly. But Angela looked like she was going to pass out any minute. I heard my voice saying, “Don’t be afraid, Angela. I know what to do. I’m going to stand behind you like this. …”
I put my arms around her in a bear hug from behind, right below the rib cage, as the instructor had demonstrated. I made a fist with my left hand, thumbside against her stomach, and grasped the fist with my other hand. Taking a deep breath, I gave a sudden squeeze.
Angela made a funny choking sound, and the meat popped out onto the floor. She started breathing and crying at the same time and wrapped herself around me like a pretzel. That was OK with me—I was so glad to hear her breathing again that I wouldn’t have cared if she’d hung on all day.
Now both Mom and Angela think I’m terrific—or, as Angela says, “a world-famous hero!” And Mom said that as a reward for my heroism I don’t have to do the dishes for a week.
I’ve decided that Angela isn’t such a bad kid after all. She’s just different. “Unique,” Mom says. But then so am I. Unique, I mean.
And I’ve decided something else: Angela can have all the piggyback rides she wants—this week anyway.

My husband and I had a hard time getting married in the temple—and not because we didn’t want to! There were many things that kept preventing us from making this sacred covenant.
But through this journey of hardship, growth, and love, I have gained a greater testimony of the temple and the blessings that sacred place can bring into our lives.
Things were hard soon after we got engaged. For a while, a lot of unfortunate circumstances prevented us from moving forward to marriage in the temple. So after what seemed like forever, we finally set our endowment and sealing dates for May 2020. Almost everything was planned out. This was finally the time!
But then the world was hit by the COVID-19 pandemic, and our country, South Africa, went into full lockdown.
Once again, the temple and our marriage were postponed.
I started to think I wouldn’t ever be able to enter the temple. And I wondered if it was even worth all the effort. My husband and I still hadn’t even received our endowments, and I felt discouraged because after preparing for most of my life to be worthy to go, things still weren’t working out.
But I thought of everything that prophets had taught about the importance of attending the temple and the many blessings we receive when we make covenants with the Lord. President Russell M. Nelson taught that “the supreme benefits of membership in the Church can only be realized through the exalting ordinances of the temple.”1
So I was still determined to go when the time was right.
Over the next few months, my husband and I fasted, prayed, and exercised faith that we would remain worthy and be able to get married in the temple. And miraculously, in September 2020, the Johannesburg South Africa Temple had a limited opening that allowed my husband and me to receive our endowments.
Words can’t express how much closer I felt to Heavenly Father and the Savior inside the walls of the temple. It was a spiritually intimate moment that I will never forget. And it was worth the wait.
Soon after, my husband and I were finally able to get sealed for time and all eternity in the Lord’s house.
Our sealing day was so sacred. We were the only couple in the temple at the time, making that eternal covenant to each other and the Lord. I was beyond happy. I felt as if the Savior were sitting beside both of us, saying, “I’m pleased with your faith—you finally made it!”
And we are excited to start a new journey together, in which we can return to the temple again and again.

May I bear humble testimony to that fact? I was once in a situation where I needed help. The Lord knew I needed help, as I was on an important mission. I was awakened in the early hours of the morning and was corrected on something that I had planned to do in a contrary way, and the way was clearly defined before me as I lay there that morning, just as surely as though someone had sat on the edge of my bed and told me what to do.
We as individual members of the Church may receive personal revelation by the power of the Holy Ghost. The Lord said to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the early days of the Church, “Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall dwell in your heart. Now, behold, this is the spirit of revelation” (D&C 8:2–3). The Prophet Joseph Smith said, “No man can receive the Holy Ghost without receiving revelations. The Holy Ghost is a revelator.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 6, sub-heading 64, paragraph 2, p. 328.)
May I change that about and give it emphasis to the Latter-day Saints and say, any Latter-day Saint who has been baptized and who has had hands laid upon him from those officiating, commanding him to receive the Holy Ghost, and who has not received a revelation of the spirit of the Holy Ghost, has not received the gift of the Holy Ghost to which he is entitled. Therein lies a very important matter. Let me refer to what the Prophet Joseph Smith said about revelation:
“A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation, for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; that is, those things that were presented into your minds by the Spirit of God will come to pass, and thus learning by the spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation until you become perfect in Christ Jesus.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, Section 3, subheading 2 from the end, p. 151.)
On what matters may you receive a revelation? Is it startling to you to hear that you—all members of the Church who have received the Holy Ghost—may receive revelation? Not for the president of the Church, not about how to look after the affairs pertaining to the ward, the stake, or the mission in which you live; but every individual within his own area of responsibility has the right to receive revelation by the Holy Ghost.
Every man has the privilege to exercise these gifts and these privileges in the conduct of his own affairs, in bringing up his children in the way they should go, in the management of his business, or whatever he does. It is his right to enjoy the spirit of revelation and of inspiration to do the right things, to be wise and prudent, just and good, in everything that he does. I know that this is a true principle and that is the thing that I would like the Latter-day Saints to know. Now then, all of us should try to strive and listen to and obey the sudden ideas that come to us, and if we’ll obey them and develop the ability to hear these promptings we too—each of us—can grow in the spirit of revelation.
Now there’s one more way by which revelations may come, and that is by dreams. Oh, I’m not going to tell you that every dream you have is a direct revelation from the Lord, but I fear that there are those of us who are prone to disregard all and say they have no purpose. And yet all through the scriptures there were recorded incidents where the Lord, by dreams, has directed His people.
Let us see what Parley P. Pratt said about this matter:
“In all ages and dispensations God has revealed many important instructions and warnings to men by means of dreams. When the conscious mind and physical senses are released from their activity, the nerves relaxed, and mankind lies asleep, it is then that the spiritual senses are at liberty in a certain degree to assume their functions, to recall some faint outline, some confused and half-defined recollections of that heavenly world, and those endearing scenes of their former estate. Their kindred spirits then hover about them with the fondest affection, the most anxious solicitude. Spirit communes with spirit, thought meets thought, soul blends with soul, in all the raptures of mutual, pure, and eternal love. In this situation the spiritual organs (and if we could see our spirits, we would know that they have eyes to see, ears to hear, tongues to speak, and so on) may converse with deity, or have communion with angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect.” If we will learn not to be so sophisticated that we disregard that possibility of impressions from those who are beyond sight, then we too may have a dream that may direct us as a revelation.
The revelations of God are the standards by which we measure all learning, and if anything does not agree with the revelations, then we may be certain that it is not truth.
I come to you as one who sits in the company of men who live close to their Heavenly Father. I have seen matters come before the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve in our weekly meetings on which decisions have been reached that were not based upon reasoning, but were based upon an impression which, after that decision had been made, has been found to have been a heaven-sent direction to protect and to guide.
After an important decision has been made, it has been a thrilling thing to hear the president of the Church say, “Brethren, the Lord has spoken.”
The thing that all of us should strive for is to so live, keeping the commandments of the Lord, that He can answer our prayers. If we will live worthy, then the Lord will guide us—by a personal appearance, or by His actual voice, or by His voice coming into our mind, or by impressions upon our heart and our soul. And oh, how grateful we ought to be if the Lord sends us a dream in which is revealed to us the beauties of the eternity or a warning and direction for our special comfort. Yes, if we so live, the Lord will guide us for our salvation and for our benefit.
I want to bear you my humble testimony that I have received by the voice and the power of revelation the knowledge and an understanding that God is.
It was a week following a conference, when I was preparing a radio talk on the life of the Savior and read again the story of His life, crucifixion, and resurrection, that there came to me a testimony, a reality of Him. It was more than just what was on the written page, for in truth, I found myself viewing the scenes with as much certainty as though I had been there in person. I know that these things come by the revelations of the living God.
I bear you my solemn testimony that the Church today is guided by revelation. Every soul in it who has been blessed to receive the Holy Ghost has the power to receive revelation. God help you and me that we will always so live that the Lord can answer the prayers of the faithful through us.

by Lynn Radnedge
Having just landed a part in one of the London West End theatres’ newest and most lavish productions, “Bugsy Malone,” 15-year-old Amy Wilkins knows she is on the threshold of something really exciting. She was selected out of 10,000 who auditioned for one of the three parts. But she is emphatic about one thing: nothing is going to endanger her church life.
Declares talented Amy, a member of the Wandsworth Ward in the London England Wandsworth Stake, “If my participation in the play threatens my church activity, I’ll give it all up.”
She has enormous confidence in the faith that has kept her and her family of five brothers and sisters firmly rooted in gospel principles all of their lives.
Already she has refused to participate in certain forms of dancing at the world-famous Italia Conti Stage School in London, where she studies. “Surprisingly, my teacher didn’t mind,” said Amy, whose father Reg is a former bishop at the Wandsworth Ward and is an international photographer. “I told her my reasons, and she just accepted my decision.”
Amy is convinced that the path she is treading towards success in show business is the right one because she and her family discussed it at great length and prayed about it before she set out to audition for the stage two years ago. Two thousand young hopefuls auditioned for the school and only 20, including Amy, were accepted.
“Most of my friends are members, and those at school know I am a Mormon and know what I stand for,” she continued. “I hope it’s always going to stay this way, and I’ll certainly do my best to see that it does.”

Last Easter during general conference, President Russell M. Nelson called on us to increase our faith.1 These last few months have been rather challenging for my family—physically, emotionally, financially and spiritually. Between March and May this year, a second surge of the pandemic hit Madagascar, my home country, in an unprecedented way, completely overwhelming the health system. Many people and even doctors were asking questions like, “What is happening to us?” “Where is God?” and “Are we such bad people to deserve such a calamity?”
Our family has not been spared, as my wife and I, most of my siblings and their spouses, and my parents were infected. My mother, my wife and I, having a more serious form of the disease, had to be hospitalized and were put together in a single room. After ten days of treatment and improvement, my wife and I were discharged with a recommendation to rest in bed for several more weeks.
My mother was left alone. Her feeling of loneliness turned to depression, as none of us could visit her. She then requested to be brought home and treated by me, a medical doctor. We all reasoned with her, as it was impossible to meet her oxygen needs at home. As her condition worsened, she became angry with all of us, and her desire to go home became a command. We finally were all convinced to bring her home as we miraculously found a solution to her oxygen supply needs. Once home, she slowly improved each day. But on the following Sunday morning, she suddenly went into cardiorespiratory arrest before my eyes. I immediately started, with the help of my brother, the best—and longest—resuscitation I have ever provided. We finally had to resign ourselves to the fact that she would pass away. With my eyes filled with tears, I signed the official medical death declaration for the woman who gave birth to me.
After comforting my loved ones, my mind became filled with questions and doubts. Had I, as a doctor, done something wrong in the care I had provided to my mother? Did we make the wrong decision in bringing her home? Those moments of doubts and questioning required me to work on increasing my faith to feel peace.
I received a call from Elder S. Mark Palmer, the Africa South Area President, who ministered to me with so much love. As I reported how my mother passed away for a reason I did not understand, he said: “As a doctor, you do not understand. But as a servant of the Lord, you do.”2
I have always had a strong faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, but what Elder Palmer said helped me get back on the right track.

May I share a letter from a grateful recipient of their loving service. He writes:
“The young women [of my ward] very literally saved my life. I was a young bishop, just 29, the father of four beautiful little girls, including a small baby, when Heavenly Father called my wife home to Him. As I met with each of our little girls and asked them what impact this change would mean to them, the concerns of six-year-old Emily, the oldest of the four, were many, including, ‘Who is going to comb and curl my hair for church and put ribbons and clips in it?’ That was a good question to me as well. Who? I was consumed with the idea that life would be as ‘normal’ as possible for all of us—which meant that I would have to learn a whole new way of life. I was their father, and I was going to be the only parent. I realized that I was not equipped with the motherly skills that I needed. I called upon the young women of the ward to train me to be able to satisfy at least the needs of hair care. They came to my home, numerous times, to begin my training. They even showed me how to care for my six-month-old Natalie as far as washing her hair without so much trauma. By the time I ‘graduated,’ I could whip up a mean (but simple) hairdo. Much more than the skill, those young women gave me confidence as a father of daughters—that I could love them, care for them, be there for them, no matter how the rest of my life continued.” Thank you, Brother Michael Marston, for your tender letter.

A year ago at Flagstaff, Arizona, a special banquet for Eagle Scouts was held. There were 1,150 Eagle Scouts. John Warnick, the director of Mormon Relationships, invited all those who would commit to go on a mission to stand. All 1,150 stood.
Later, one of the young men, a Catholic boy, went to the bishop and said, “I am not a Mormon, and I committed to go on a mission. What do I need to do?”
The bishop said, “Let’s talk to your parents.” During the visit with the family, it was decided that the family should hear the discussions. The family, including the Eagle Scout, are all members of the Church now.