Gospel Story Finder

In the summer of 2012, Palakiko C. had just graduated from high school in Hawaii, USA, and was looking forward to attending Brigham Young University and serving a mission. Palakiko had done a lot to prepare for his mission already—he had accompanied the full-time missionaries all day three times, and he often went with them to visit and teach the gospel to families.
One evening Palakiko and the missionaries began teaching a part-member family with five children, ages 8 to 14, who hadn’t been baptized.
“We visited with them for six weeks,” Palakiko says. “Each week, I saw their faith increase as we taught them doctrinal principles that would help them receive eternal life.”
Soon all five children had accepted the invitation to be baptized and asked Palakiko if he would perform the baptisms. He enthusiastically agreed. Baptizing them would be a privilege and an honor. But for Palakiko, there was a more difficult challenge: they also asked him to give a talk about the Holy Ghost at the baptismal service.
Palakiko was more than a little nervous. “How was I supposed to give a talk on a day that they would remember for the rest of their lives?” he asked. “What would I say?”
In spite of his anxiety, Palakiko knew he should do it, and he started preparing for his talk that very day.
“I did everything in my power to make sure everything would go well,” he says. He prayed, read scriptures for guidance and comfort, and rehearsed the baptismal prayer in his mind. On the day of the service, the baptisms went fine. And as he gave his talk and focused on striving to have the Spirit, he felt guided in what to say.
“At no other time in my life have I felt the Spirit more than during that talk,” Palakiko says. “I’m glad I was able to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands.”
Palakiko was able to do what he needed to do because he was strengthened by the grace, or enabling power, of the Atonement.

One of our greatest needs is for true witnesses among our youth. Young people need models from their own generation. Thankfully we have a tremendous army of latter-day sons and daughters of Helaman, stripling “Saturday’s warriors,” who are not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Rather, they have turned this commitment to the Lord into an advantage. Let me tell you of one.

Steve Hawes is the student body president at New Canaan High School in Connecticut. Of its twenty-three hundred students, only twenty-four are Latter-day Saints. Steve ran unopposed in a landslide election. This is impressive. But even more impressive is Steve’s moral courage—his commitment to living the principles of the gospel.

The Hawes family lived for a time in Tampa, Florida. Steve played junior high football and basketball. When his family was preparing to move to Connecticut, the coach told Steve’s father how much he appreciated and admired Steve, not just because he is a fine athlete, but because of his deep religious convictions.

“He doesn’t preach sermons; he just quietly lives his religion each day. I remember,” said the coach, “a group of us were in the squad room, and one of the boys pulled out a copy of Playboy magazine. They opened to the centerfold and began to make some vulgar comments.

“I noticed Steve walk away, so I followed him and asked if anything was wrong. He said, ‘I’m okay, Coach, but that just isn’t my kind of thing.’”

The coach said, “Steve made us all better people. When he joined us, most of the guys were swearing. Then they stopped swearing around Steve, and after a while, they pretty well stopped swearing altogether.”

When I heard this tribute, I thought of Paul’s counsel to Timothy: “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity.” (1 Tim. 4:12.)

I really wanted to help with my family history, but my father had seven generations in his family tree, and all the temple ordinances were complete. For 11 years he found no new information about his family. My desire and hope disappeared. I told myself with frustration, “All my family history is done. Where am I going to get names to take to the temple?”
I decided to look at all the information my father had on his FamilySearch tree and a voice told me that there was still much to do. I began to search for information all over the internet. I was able to find many people with my surname, but I could not find my relationship to all those people.
When my hope was exhausted, I decided to fast with my mother to have success in our family history. The next Sunday morning as we were getting ready to go to church, I did my typical internet search, and suddenly I found a page with information I had never seen. It was a miracle!
With the help of new information, I, at age 14, took a total of 400 family names to the temple. I was so happy. My favorite part was sharing those names with the youth and seeing their happiness at having so many cards in their hands.
I testify of this great and marvelous work. When we do family history, the Spirit helps us have success and touches our hearts.
Guillermo T., Chile

Speaking many years ago in general conference, I told of a phrase that entered my mind as I wondered if I was prepared to serve a mission. The phrase was “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!”9 A young woman sitting in general conference that day told me that she was praying over a proposal for marriage, wondering how well she knew the young man. When I spoke the words “You don’t know everything, but you know enough,” the Spirit confirmed to her that she did know him well enough. They have been happily married for many years.

God expresses his love for us by providing the guidance we need to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. Recently, a young man purchased a used computer but could not get it to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short and he threatened the inanimate object with painful destruction unless its performance improved. A wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor, where they obtained an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a complex computer than the person or company that created it? Who would know most about its capacity and potential? Who would better know the safeguards required to avoid damaging or ruining this fine instrument? Soon the boy enjoyed the full potential of his computer by working within the guidelines given in the instruction book provided by its creator.

No one can accuse Corey Killpack of the Spencer Third Ward, Magna Utah East Stake, of being in over his head when it comes to swimming. At last year’s state high school swim meet, Corey received first place awards in the individual medley (50 yards of each of four strokes), the 100-yard butterfly, and was a member of the freestyle relay team that also placed first. Later that spring he finished 14th in the 200-yard butterfly at national competition in Austin, Texas. Although he usually spent four hours a day in practice (beginning at 4:45 A.M.), Corey also served as seminary president at Cyprus High School in Magna, and developed his skills in photography, tennis, and skiing.
Following a summer spent training in California, Corey and his teammates sent five copies of the Book of Mormon to people they met during their stay there. These same teammates were among those Corey swam with on the Cyprus High swim team, which placed first at the state meet. Of that successful group, Corey says, “Our unity as a team was largely dependent upon our similar motives and drives to serve the Lord.” Corey currently attends Brigham Young University and is preparing to serve a mission soon.

It was already a bustling, growing city when the Spencer family arrived. Thousands of people lived there, and more were coming every day. There were hundreds of log cabins and many brick homes. People were building, buying and selling, planting, working everywhere! Aurelia had never seen so many people—and most of them were Latter-day Saints.
Her family had rented a room until Papa could build a house for them. He had chosen a lot on a hill above the town, a little northeast of where the temple was being built.
Their lot, like most in Nauvoo, was big enough to plant a large garden and some fruit trees. Ellen and Aurelia had helped Papa plant the trees that first spring—peach and apple trees, Papa said, although they looked like twigs to Aurelia. She had asked Papa why he planted the tiny trees so far apart.
“They are small now,” he had said, “but if we want them to grow large and give fruit, they will need space to grow.” Aurelia had watched them grow until last year they had finally blossomed and borne fruit!
All of Nauvoo blossomed in the spring. The mud in the streets was deep enough to suck the boots right off your feet, but flowers and fruit trees bloomed in every yard. Aurelia wished she could see spring come to Nauvoo again. But the Prophet Joseph was dead, and soon his beautiful city would be deserted.
George had been too young to remember the first time he and Aurelia met the Prophet. Aurelia remembered it clearly. She had met a real, living prophet! He had come to their home to visit, and he limped very slightly when he walked, just like Papa! Papa told her later it was caused by the same illness that had caused his limp—typhus fever, which had settled in his leg.
Lucy was born there, and when Joseph saw her, he exclaimed, “Oh, what a little black head!” Even as a baby, Lucy’s hair was thick and dark. Joseph had laid his hand on Lucy’s head and blessed her. Aurelia had loved the Prophet from that moment. He was God’s own prophet and the most important man in Nauvoo, yet he loved little children and liked to be with them.
Aurelia shivered as she remembered the terrible day two years later, when Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed by a mob in the nearby town of Carthage. Aurelia could scarcely believe that anyone could be so wicked as to kill a kind man like the Prophet.
Aurelia’s Papa had taken her to the Mansion House to see Joseph’s body. A great crowd was there, all crying and crowding to look. Aurelia couldn’t see, so Papa had lifted her up to the window from where she could see Brother Joseph one last time. That had been nearly two years ago.
Things had been hard since Joseph’s death. Nauvoo wasn’t allowed to use its police force, so bad men did what they wanted. They burned farms outside town and caused trouble in Nauvoo. Then some of the Latter-day Saint boys formed the “Whittling and Whistling Brigade.” When one of the bad men came to town, the boys followed him everywhere, whistling and whittling pieces of wood with their pocketknives. There were too many boys for the man to fight, and they wouldn’t let him out of their sight long enough for him to do anything bad, so finally he would leave and look for mischief someplace else. Howard and George couldn’t wait to join the brigade, but they were only six and four then, and Mama wouldn’t let them use her knives to learn to whittle. They practiced whistling, however. Finally, though, even the brave boys couldn’t keep the bad men away.
Aurelia squeezed George’s hand and pointed to show him the temple across the river. Even on this cold, gray day, the tall building seemed to shine on the hill. She remembered when its roof had caught fire one day. She lived only a block away and had run with a bucket of water to help fight the fire. It had been put out, and work on the temple had continued. Just two months ago, Mama and Papa had gone to the temple to be sealed together. Mama said that that was the hardest part of leaving Nauvoo—leaving the temple they’d worked so hard to build. It still wasn’t quite finished. “Heaven only knows when we’ll have a temple again,” Mama had said. “We’ve been blessed to have this one.”
Aurelia looked to the left of the temple to see if their house was visible from here. She couldn’t see it. But she did see Mary Ann Stearn’s house. Mary Ann and her cousin Ellen Pratt were Aurelia’s best friends. They had gone to school together and played together. Aurelia stared at Mary Ann’s house, but she knew that Mary Ann wasn’t there. She, too, was going west with her family. Aurelia wondered if they’d meet again on the way to the Rocky Mountains. Oh, she hoped so! It was hard leaving everything and everyone to travel to a strange land. Why shouldn’t the bad men have to leave instead? It wasn’t fair to be forced to leave friends, homes, gardens, orchards, the temple!
Thinking of Mary Ann made Aurelia remember something else. At the last general conference, in October, Mary Ann’s stepfather, Parley P. Pratt had spoken to the Saints. People had crowded into the temple to listen. Elder Pratt spoke about how hard the Saints had worked to build a beautiful city and temple and how hard it was to leave it all behind. But the Lord had other plans for this people, Elder Pratt had said. He explained that a small nursery could produce many thousands of fruit trees, but that as they grew, they must be transplanted. They need room to grow if they are to produce fruit. He promised that the Lord had a place for the Saints to grow, where they wouldn’t be crowded and where they would enjoy liberty and equal rights.
Aurelia knew that it was true. She thought of those tiny twigs of fruit trees she and Ellen and Papa had planted. She had seen them grow and blossom and produce sweet fruit. It was hard to leave Nauvoo, but it was time to be transplanted to a place where she and her family and all the Saints could grow strong and bloom.
Aurelia murmured, “Farewell, Nauvoo,” and turned with George to face the west. It would be a long journey to the Rockies, but she had her family and the true gospel. She was ready.
In February 1846, more than three thousand Latter-day Saints fled nauvoo, crossing the Mississippi River into Iowa. Many left without adequate food and shelter, and suffered terribly from cold and hunger.
One of those Saints was Aurelia Spencer. When her family had traveled only thirty miles, Aurelia’s mother died. The grieving family returned to Nauvoo to bury her before continuing their journey west.
Aurelia’s father, Orson, was called to preside over the Church in Great Britain, so she, her three sisters, and her two brothers spent the next winters in Winter Quarters with only kind neighbors to keep an eye on them. During the first, harsh, winter, their horse and seven of their eight cows died. Most of the money their father sent never reached them, and they suffered great poverty.
They left for the Salt Lake Valley in May 1848 with President Brigham Young’s company. In the Valley, they lived in a log room their uncle built for them, until their father’s return.
In 1851 Aurelia married Thomas Rogers. They settled in Farmington, sixteen miles north of Salt Lake City. There Aurelia gave birth to twelve children, only seven of whom lived to adulthood.
Concerned because Farmington’s boys were often getting into mischief, Aurelia asked Eliza R. Snow, the sister of Lorenzo Snow, if there should not be an organization to help little boys grow into good men. Sister Snow relayed the suggestion to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, the governing body of the Church following the death of Brigham Young. John Taylor, the President of the Quorum, gave his approval, and Sister Rogers was called upon to organize and serve as the president of the first Primary in the Church. She wisely decided that girls should also be part of the organization, and the first Primary was held in Farmington Ward on August 25, 1878.

To help supplement the family income, young Joseph and others of the family went to work as day laborers from time to time. In October 1825 Joseph went to work for Josiah Stowell of Bainbridge, New York, who directed his employees to dig for treasure supposedly buried in the abandoned Spanish silver mine. Joseph finally convinced Stowell to give up the fruitless search, but the young man’s participation soon prompted rumors that he possessed psychic powers to locate buried treasure. The incident is significant because there resulted the first of a long line of legal challenges Joseph Smith faced at the hands of those who tried to discredit him.

Of course there are many different kinds of traps that wear out the lives, wipe out the courage, exhaust the hope, and destroy the happiness of men and women. I recently attended a funeral for a friend of mine who died at age 58 with lung cancer. He had been trapped by nicotine. This man had once been a faithful member of the Church. And then he had been attracted by some cigarette bait, the danger of which did not seem to him very serious at first. But once established, the nicotine habit kept calling for the amount to be increased. After a few years he had become a chain smoker. As the amount of nicotine grew larger, my friend’s taste bud became impaired. As his appetite deteriorated, his work load had to be cut to correspond to his decreased vigor. Soon he wasn’t feeling very well. Over a period of months his family physician didn’t seem to be able to help much, and he was finally sent to a specialized medical clinic in San Diego. They told him that he must quit smoking immediately and get back to regular vigorous work in an attempt to recover his appetite and normal body functions. But he couldn’t get rid of nicotine’s trap that had fastened itself to him.
If we could look into the lives of many of the people living in this great free land of America, of which the eagle is the emblem, we would find that many are dragging toward their graves the galling, wearisome traps of alcohol, immorality, ignorance, and disobedience to God. These dangerous traps are usually concealed under some attractive bait to draw the attention of the intended victim. But when they are touched off by being stepped on, they snap shut on whoever puts himself in their range.
One good way to catch a mouse is to put a little cheese on the tongue of the trap. The mouse will be very anxious to get the cheese, but if he gets the cheese he must also take the trap.
The dictionary says that a trap is a device set to capture, defeat, confound, or ensnare. Think how many people are caught in this trap of mediocrity. In earlier days every man was his own master. The philosophy of going the second mile, of doing more than we were paid for, was popular. Now a well-meaning government sets out the snares of unemployment insurance, minimum wages, and paid vacations. We have a certain kind of tenure where we cannot be fired, either for our sloth or disloyalty. The prizes for excellence have been done away with and the government puts the cheese on the trap labeled maximum pay for minimum effort. In some cases it also gives out a near maximum pay for no effort at all.
Human activities of which we formerly would have been ashamed are now perfectly honorable, and we satisfy our consciences by merely saying, “Everyone’s doing it.” Different groups are trying to outdo each other in getting the most from the government while giving the least. So many people have lost the spirit of old-time excellence, and instead of maintaining the vigorous, enthusiastic superiority, we settle down to the low level of average.
Most people accept average as being a respectable objective. However, the dictionary says that average is halfway between something and nothing. When one is average he is mediocre, which means to be in the middle. When he is average he is as close to the bottom as he is to the top. He may have in his program as much of failure as he does of success. If one who is average desires to give himself a compliment, he might either say that he is the best of the worst or he is the worst of the best.
No matter what failure or sin he may want to participate in, he may find ample grounds for saying, “Everybody’s doing it.” Our great crime waves are setting millions of traps. We might say to ourselves that everybody steals from his employer, so why shouldn’t we? Millions of people break the Ten Commandments, so why shouldn’t we? There are millions who lie and steal and cheat. In marriages there are about as many miserable failures as there are outstanding successes. So we pick out our favorite sin and then justify ourselves by saying, “I’m no worse than the average.”
Recently a man was discussing his problems with a marriage counselor. He had about every problem of immorality, alcoholism, nicotine addiction, self-induced mental illness, and unemployment. But he justified himself by saying, “Everyone has his little problems.” But this man had traps, not only on his feet, but on his heart, his personality, and his ambition.
We sometimes think that it is just too difficult to live the religion of Christ and be honest, faithful, and hardworking with lives filled with excellence. We sometimes delude ourselves into thinking that it is more fun to be immoral, lazy, and live on some kind of government or community handout. Everyone ought to be a taxpayer and pay his own share of the nation’s upkeep, but we have our foot in the trap of our own government support. We also carry the additional burden of a large government organization, hired at our expense, to pay us back our own money. Think what would happen if we all took our feet out of the traps and gave ourselves the great power and ambition of free, industrious, self-supporting, and self-sustaining citizenship.
The great American eagle is a symbol of power, courage, intelligence, and responsibility. With these qualities of freedom and opportunity he becomes an inspiring symbol for us to follow. But with a heavy steel trap snapped onto his festering, broken foot, he soon has the heart taken out of him and may become a vegetable likely to die of discouragement.
I would like to paint for consideration three word pictures that may be suitable to hang on the walls of our minds. The first is the picture of a beautiful American eagle, the symbol of power and courage, the emblem of freedom, with a vicious steel trap dangling from his broken, swollen, festering leg.
The second is a picture of a great human being who has allowed himself to be trapped by sin, one who has been pitted and pocked by the evil which he himself has initiated. The picture may show him to be unfaithful, disobedient to God, and poisoned in his principles. He is tortured by guilt, worn out by discouragement and despair, and he drags himself toward eternity with an accumulation of Satan’s traps still punishing his fretful, fearful soul.
The third picture is one of ourselves. Each of us is a child of God, formed in God’s image and endowed with his attributes, heir to his kingdom, with an understanding of our own eternal potentialities. There is everything in knowing our origin and destiny and in constantly reaffirming them in our lives. We are the offspring of divinity. We have inherited the creator’s wisdom and power. We should cling to our inheritance. We should think of ourselves as children of omnipotence. We should never let the thought escape us, even for a moment. We should keep our feet out of the traps, and we should never let evil destroy this inspiring picture of ourselves.

Vienna. What a magnificent, historic city, but what a huge place in which to be looking for a missionary companion! Elder Thomas Biesinger, age 39, just off the train from Germany, looked in vain for Elder Paul Hammer, who was to arrive by train about the same time. November 25, 1883. 5:30 A.M. He waited in the railroad restaurant until daylight, then walked outside the station and from an elevation looked out at the Austrian capital. He was awestruck as he thought about his difficult mission, and in his mind he conversed with Vienna:
“Thou City of Vienna, thou boasteth thyself as being one of the proudest cities of the East and the beauties of thy gardens and parks are perhaps not excelled in the world. Thou also containeth many ancient relics amongst the abode of a monarch who sways his proud sceptre over a dominion containing nearly forty millions of inhabitants.”
Vienna, he recalled, had 20 years before expelled one of the most noble and intelligent Apostles of the Restoration, Orson Pratt. “Again God has extended his mercy unto thee,” he warned Vienna in his mind, “and has inspired his servant the prophet to send to thee other messengers. One of these has just entered the city, though much inferior in wisdom and intelligence to the one thou rejected.” The lonely elder then prayed for God to have mercy on Austria, to “soften the heart of the emperor and officers of the land, that thy servants may be permitted to stay and [be] given liberty to search for the honest in heart.”
His prayer, however, would require decades for fulfillment. For Austria-Hungary, an empire old and mighty, was not a land of freedom. In order to keep its different states and nationalities from breaking away, a police state prevented anyone from preaching new ideas, political or religious.
He rented an inexpensive room with cooking facilities, then checked with the Vienna police to see if his companion had registered with them. No sign of him. Because Elder Hammer was the senior companion, Eider Biesinger did not start his actual missionary labors yet, except to enter into conversations with people he met as he went back and forth to the railway station. They finally found each other on December 3 and discovered that for a week they both had been living in different quarters on the very same street!

Because my father was baptized in 1963, more than 30 years ago, it might not seem too unusual that all three of his daughters were serving missions at the beginning of 1993. But those simple facts don’t tell the real story.
Although my father, Ignacio Beruben, was baptized as a young man, he drifted away from the Church. Later, he married a Catholic girl named Esther Modad, and in time, they had three daughters and a son. I am the third of those children.
Growing up in Guadalajara, Mexico, I often heard talk about the “Mormons” but never knew much about them. One day a friend told me that the real name of the Mormon church is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. What a lovely name, I thought. It gave me a beautiful feeling, and for days I kept hearing it in my head.
When I spoke to my father about my interest in the Church, he invited me and my brother, Ignacio, to go to a Church meeting with him—his first after many years. How well I remember the services held that day! I even remember the music that was sung. I especially remember the feeling of love that radiated from my father. When the meeting was over, I told him I wanted to hear the missionary discussions. Two missionaries arranged to meet with my brother and me the next Tuesday.
When I told my mother about the meeting, she replied, “Think it over carefully. Changing religions is not a game.” But I was sincerely—even desperately—seeking the truth. I had attended meetings of other religious denominations, but never in any of them had I felt the beautiful spirit I had felt in that meeting with my father.
From the very first discussion, I knew I had found what I was looking for. When the missionaries asked me if I would be baptized, I said yes without hesitation. When they asked me to pray, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm my decision.
On 29 April 1990, Ignacio and I went down into the waters of baptism. What a clean, pure feeling I had! What a sensation of spiritual freshness! My heart felt as if it would explode with joy. As I came out of the water, the first people I saw were my parents. They were holding hands and had tears in their eyes. From that day, blessings began to be poured out upon our family. Mama was baptized, then my sister Claudia, and finally my oldest sister, Labibe. On 23 July 1991, our family was sealed together in the house of the Lord. It was the most beautiful experience of our lives.
In June 1992, my sister Labibe received a call to the Mexico Monterrey North Mission. In November, Claudia submitted papers for missionary service and was called to the Mexico Veracruz Mission. Although I was not old enough to serve full time, beginning in December, I was called to serve a three-month mission in the city of Manzanillo. And so, as 1993 began, all three of my father’s daughters were serving the Lord as missionaries. My sisters and I wrote to each other frequently, expressing our happiness in the work we were doing.
How we three sisters came to be serving missions is a miracle. But it is the kind of miracle that occurs again and again among the Saints. The Lord provides a way for each of us to find the right path—or to return to it. I am filled with gratitude for my father. Because he chose the right path more than 30 years ago—and then returned to it after losing his way—I am part of an eternal family today.

Last year I went on a hike with my dad and brother. We hiked deep into the canyon. We soon started exploring a side trail. We found large caves and great lookout points. We climbed higher and higher over loose rocks and steep hills.
After a while we were completely lost. We didn’t know which way to go to get to the bottom of the canyon. We got stuck in thick brush, losing sight of both the top and bottom of the canyon. I started to get really frustrated. I did not know where to go, and neither did my dad!
It was getting dark and cold, and we were far from getting out of the canyon. I knew that Heavenly Father knew which way to go.
I said, “If we want to get out of here, we need to pray!” So the three of us knelt down in prayer, asking Heavenly Father to lead us out of the canyon.
As we started to walk, a feeling told me that when I saw a straight tall tree, I should turn left. After I turned left, I saw our car. I knew that Heavenly Father helped us get out of the canyon. Heavenly Father answered our prayer, and we made it out safely—just as the sun was setting.
I am so thankful for the power of prayer and for Heavenly Father’s listening ear.

In a recent Sunday Relief Society meeting, I listened to a young mother share part of her journey of conversion. She had grown up in the Church, with parents who taught her the gospel. She attended Primary, Young Women, and seminary. She loved to learn and discover truths. Her constant quest was to know why. Elder Russell M. Nelson has said, “The Lord can only teach an inquiring mind.” And this young woman was teachable.

After high school she attended a university, was sealed in the temple to a returned missionary, and was blessed with beautiful children.

With the spirit of inquiry, this mother continued to ask questions. But as the questions grew harder, so did the answers. And sometimes there were no answers—or no answers that brought peace. Eventually, as she sought to find answers, more and more questions arose, and she began to question some of the very foundations of her faith.

During this confusing time, some of those around her said, “Just lean on my faith.” But she thought, “I can’t. You don’t understand; you’re not grappling with these issues.” She explained, “I was willing to extend courtesy to those without doubts if they would extend courtesy to me.” And many did.

She said, “My parents knew my heart and allowed me space. They chose to love me while I was trying to figure it out for myself.” Likewise, this young mother’s bishop often met with her and spoke of his confidence in her.

Ward members also did not hesitate to give love, and she felt included. Her ward was not a place to put on a perfect face; it was a place of nurture.

“It was interesting,” she remembers. “During this time I felt a real connection to my grandparents who had died. They were pulling for me and urging me to keep trying. I felt they were saying, ‘Focus on what you know.’”

In spite of her substantial support system, she became less active. She said, “I did not separate myself from the Church because of bad behavior, spiritual apathy, looking for an excuse not to live the commandments, or searching for an easy out. I felt I needed the answer to the question ‘What do I really believe?’”

About this time she read a book of the writings of Mother Teresa, who had shared similar feelings. In a 1953 letter, Mother Teresa wrote: “Please pray specially for me that I may not spoil His work and that Our Lord may show Himself—for there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead. It has been like this more or less from the time I started ‘the work.’ Ask Our Lord to give me courage.”

Archbishop Périer responded: “God guides you, dear Mother; you are not so much in the dark as you think. The path to be followed may not always be clear at once. Pray for light; do not decide too quickly, listen to what others have to say, consider their reasons. You will always find something to help you. … Guided by faith, by prayer, and by reason with a right intention, you have enough.”

My friend thought if Mother Teresa could live her religion without all the answers and without a feeling of clarity in all things, maybe she could too. She could take one simple step forward in faith—and then another. She could focus on the truths she did believe and let those truths fill her mind and heart.

As she reflected back, she said, “My testimony had become like a pile of ashes. It had all burned down. All that remained was Jesus Christ.” She continued, “But He does not leave you when you have questions. When anyone tries to keep the commandments, the door is wide open. Prayer and scripture study became incredibly important.”

Her first step to rebuild her faith was to start with basic gospel truths. She bought a Primary songbook and began reading the words of the songs. They were treasures to her. She prayed for faith to lift the heaviness she felt.

She learned that when she came up against a statement that caused her to doubt, she “could stop, look at the whole picture, and make the gospel personal.” She said, “I would ask, ‘Is this the right path for me and my family?’ Sometimes I would ask myself, ‘What do I want for my children?’ I realized I want them to have temple marriages. That’s when belief came back to my heart.”

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland has said, “Humility, faith, and the influence of the Holy Spirit [will] always be elements of every quest for truth.”

Though she had questions about how the Book of Mormon came to be, she could not deny the truths she knew in the Book of Mormon. She had focused on studying the New Testament to better understand the Savior. “But eventually,” she said, “I found myself back in the Book of Mormon because I loved what I felt when reading about Jesus Christ and His Atonement.”

She concluded, “You have to have your own spiritual experiences with the truths in that book,” and she was having them. She explained, “I read in Mosiah and felt completely directed: ‘Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.’”

About this time a call came to serve as Primary pianist. “It was safe,” she said. “I wanted to have my children in Primary, and now I could be with them. And I wasn’t ready to teach yet.” As she served, she continued to feel from those around her the invitation “Come; we want you, whatever stage you are at, and we will meet you there. Give us whatever you have to offer.”

Playing the Primary songs, she often thought to herself, “Here are truths I love. I can still bear testimony. I will just say those things that I know and trust. It may not be a perfect offering of knowledge, but it will be my offering. What I focus on expands inside of me. It is beautiful to get back to the essence of the gospel and feel clarity.”

On that Sunday morning, as I listened to this young sister share the story of her journey, I was reminded that “it is upon the rock of our Redeemer” that we all must build our foundation. I was also reminded of the counsel of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland: “Hold fast to what you already know and stand strong until additional knowledge comes.”

During my life I have found that it is very important for children to listen carefully to their parents. They can learn much from them. My father was a music student in Boston. He sat at a rented piano and played the music of Edvard Grieg, Frederic Chopin, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Robert Schumann. I can still hear that music and over the years I have learned to play most of it myself. It has added greatly to my appreciation of the world into which I was born. Those beautiful sounds have made a great contribution to my life, crowding out many of the uglier sounds we occasionally hear.

A few years ago, while sitting with our children at tithing settlement, our bishop invited our 10-year-old son to take a small picture of the Savior and decide where in our home to place it, where it would be a constant reminder of our family’s commitment to follow Him. After returning home, he placed the picture on the front door, where, our son said, “each of us would see it the most.” This has been a great blessing and constant reminder to all of us every day in a small but powerful way of our promises to follow Jesus Christ.

A vivid example of the position of members of the Church in relation to the world was portrayed to us one evening in our sacrament meeting, now many years ago, when a man named Brother Smith came to speak. He told us of his experience in working to rehabilitate men in the state penitentiary. A mother had asked him to reach out to her boy who was in prison.

In approaching the young man, Brother Smith was rudely rebuffed: “Leave me alone,” was the tone. However, Brother Smith noticed a rather crude painting in the prison one day and on inquiry learned that this young man had drawn it. This inspired a new approach:

“Did you paint that picture?”

“Yes, I did it.”

“I was impressed with it. I wonder if you would paint something for me.”

“I don’t know. What picture do you want?”

“I have never seen it,” said Brother Smith. “I have only read about it.”

“Where is it?” inquired the young man.

“It is here in this book,” responded Brother Smith. “The Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi, chapter 8. Will you read it and see if you can see the picture?”

Later Brother Smith inquired if the young man had read it.

“Yes, I read it,” he said.

“Did you see the picture?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“Will you paint it for me?”

“I don’t know if I will or not.”

Brother Smith then obtained the necessary materials for painting a picture and presented them to the young man, who for the first time responded with warmth and appreciation to be able to use good equipment, and he painted the picture. Brother Smith brought it with him to our sacrament meeting, and so I have seen it. It is, of course, the picture of Lehi’s dream.

Now, will you try to see the picture in your own imagination? All you who have read 1 Nephi, chapter 8, will recall the scene. If you have not read it, I wish you would do so and get the feeling and the vision of this picture.

The description is as follows: First, Lehi wandering through a dreary waste, then coming to a spacious field; the tree with the most desirable fruit to be happy, the love of God; Lehi’s desire to share the fruit with his family; the rebellion of two of his sons; the pressing forward of many people to receive the fruit; the mists of darkness, which arose to obscure the path; the river of water along the path, which could mean destruction; the rod of iron, which represented security in staying on the path; the huge building across the river filled with scoffing people; the susceptibility of those who had followed the path to succumb to the scorn and pride of those of the world; and the wandering away of those who had partaken of the fruit of the tree of life into forbidden paths of destruction.

I know of no more graphic description of the condition of those who call themselves Latter-day Saints in relation to the influences of the world than this great vision. This story is reality. It is a great prophesy. It is a vivid warning.

Let me complete the story of the young man in prison. Brother Smith pointed to an angel the young man had painted hovering over the chasm of filthy water and asked him: “Where did you get that angel? I don’t remember any angel when I read about the picture.”

The young man replied: “I know. I put it there. It is my angel. As I painted the picture, I began to realize that God had placed an influence in my way which could bring me to safety and redeem me from the course I have been pursuing.”

This experience, of course, was the beginning of his recovery.

Growing up in a small village in Côte d’Ivoire, Elder D. Martin Goury dreamed of becoming a clergyman and serving others.
In October 1992, while in London, England, learning English and getting an education, he met Latter-day Saint missionaries. The missionaries, one of whom was the only native French-speaking missionary in London, gave Elder Goury a copy of the Book of Mormon in French.
He started reading the book and soon received a witness of its truthfulness. When a new pair of missionaries came to his apartment a few months later, he joined the Church. “I remember being very happy,” he said.
His joy increased as the missionaries taught him about the priesthood. “They explained the meaning of the priesthood and how I could use that to serve other people. For me, that was my dream coming true,” Elder Goury said. “I was delighted.”

A spy? Seven-year-old Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes. She traced her finger over Mosiah 9:1 again, just to make sure.
“I, Zeniff, having been taught in all the language of the Nephites, and having had a knowledge of the land of Nephi, or of the land of our fathers’ first inheritance, and having been sent as a spy among the Lamanites …”
A spy! There it was.
Amanda closed her Book of Mormon. She knew she should be listening to Brother Anderson’s sacrament meeting talk, but she couldn’t help but giggle. She knew lots of Book of Mormon stories, but she never knew there was one with a spy in it.
She sank down on the bench and peeked at the page again. Zeniff the Spy. It sounded mysterious. And important.
I could be a spy! she thought excitedly. She knew all about spies. Spies noticed everything. Spies used secret codes. Spies wrote down important information with special pens.
Amanda knew some secret codes. And she had a special pen—well, a very special pencil. She rummaged through her scripture case and pulled out the sparkly yellow pencil she had earned in Sister Wooster’s Primary class for perfect attendance. Then she pulled out her little purple notepad. It had pages and pages just waiting to be filled with important information.
Amanda the Spy! she thought. It sounds mysterious and important!
The closing song and prayer captured her attention. She loved to sing the hymns, and she always wanted to mean it when she added her own “amen.”
Normally Amanda would have hurried to Primary. But today she peered over the back of the bench and watched.
Brian Fisher tripped on his shoelaces. Three babies were crying. And … and … something small and gray was under the last bench.
It was an envelope. A heavy envelope that jingled.
It sounds like money, she thought. She peeked inside. It was money!
Amanda hugged it to her chest. Wow! she thought. I could buy a doll. Or a new book. Or lots of candy! She pulled out her notepad and pencil and wrote, “Found money.”
Then she wondered, It’s all right to keep it, isn’t it? After all, it isn’t that much money. If she’d found a million dollars, that would be different. But this was just a few dollars. Whoever had lost it probably wouldn’t even miss it.
Amanda gave the envelope a quick kiss—then gasped. The letters seemed to jump right off the paper: “Bishop Johansen, Creek Ward.”
It was a tithing envelope!
She plopped down on the bench, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach. It wasn’t fair! She had already planned what she was going to buy.
It was hers! Wasn’t it?
She looked at her notepad. What would Zeniff have done? she asked herself. Spies were experts at staying out of trouble. Amanda thought she knew what to do.
She glanced around. Brother Campbell was just leaving the chapel. He was a member of the bishopric.
Stuffing her notepad into her pocket and dashing toward the doors, she called to him, “Brother Campbell, I found this envelope in the chapel.”
Brother Campbell shook Amanda’s hand. “Thank you, Sister Pratt,” he said. “I’ll make sure the bishop gets it.”
Turning toward the Primary room, she thought, Amanda the Spy knows how to stay out of trouble, too! She got out her notepad and wrote, “Turned money over to Brother Campbell.”
“Oh, no!”
Amanda looked up to see the box in Sister Kelly’s hand bounce onto the floor, spilling crayons.
“What next?” Sister Kelly despaired as she balanced her crying baby on her hip and desperately grabbed at pictures slipping from her fingers.
Without even thinking, Amanda dashed down the hall toward her CTR teacher. “Don’t worry, Sister Kelly,” she said as she started to pick up crayons. “I’ll help.”
“I can help, too,” her friend Melanie said.
Amanda and Melanie quickly filled the box with crayons.
“Thanks so much,” Sister Kelly said with a grateful smile. “Everything’s been going wrong today.”
“No problem,” Amanda and Melanie said together.
“Come on, girls,” Sister Kelly whispered, glancing toward the Primary door. “We’d better hurry.”
Amanda and Melanie slipped quietly into Primary and sat with their class. Amanda quickly wrote, “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” in her notepad.
“Sister Kelly,” the Primary president said, interrupting Amanda’s thoughts, “Randy could not come today. Would someone else in your class like to give the prayer?”
Sister Kelly glanced at the four children in her row. Amanda did, too. She knew Jared wouldn’t do it. He was scared. And she knew Wayne wouldn’t do it—he never volunteered for anything. That left Melanie and her. But Melanie was holding Sister Kelly’s baby.
“I’ll do it,” Amanda volunteered. She walked quietly to the podium. When she sat down again, she wrote in her notepad, “Said opening prayer for Primary,” and drew a smiling face.
“What’s that?” Melanie whispered.
“It’s my spy book. I’m writing down important information.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it was a CTR book or something.”
Amanda read all the things she’d written. “Found money,” “Turned money over to Brother Campbell,” “Helped Sister Kelly pick up crayons,” and “Said opening prayer for Primary.” It was like a CTR book. The entries showed she had chosen the right.
She wrote “CTR” in large letters on the cover of her notepad. It’s like a secret code, too, she thought happily. Amanda the CTR Spy! Being this kind of spy really is wonderful and important.

Preparation—temporal as well as spiritual—has been a frequent theme of President Romney’s sermons. For decades he has been an important person in the Church’s welfare program. When, as a young bishop in the mid-1930s, he heard the Brethren urge the Saints to store food and other necessities, he immediately built shelves at home and in the basement of the meetinghouse and filled them with clothing and food. Later, as stake president, he developed a prototype of the new program on a stake and regional basis.

Wong Yun Tai remembers the warm September evening in 1984 when her life changed. The Wong family live on the 21st floor of the Wu Yuet House, a government housing project in the Tuen Mun area of Hong Kong’s New Territories. That evening, 15-year-old Wong Yun Tai, who goes by the English name Belle, was eating dinner when a knock came at her door. Two strangers wearing white shirts, ties, and curious black name tags were at the door. They talked to her through the metal gate that remained locked even though the door was open.
Belle was busy eating, so she told her two visitors to come back in an hour. “I was interested in religion, and I really wanted to know what was true. I was just like Joseph Smith. I really wanted to know which church was God’s true church,” recalls Belle.
When the missionaries returned, she listened politely to their message. Afterward, they gave her a Book of Mormon to read, said a prayer, and then left. It was a simple meeting, but it had a powerful effect on Belle. “When I prayed, I had a very unique, good feeling in my heart,” she says.
A month later, Belle was baptized. Then the real work began. Belle, the second oldest child of Wong Hong Tsuen and Wong Leung Nan Ho, wanted her parents and brothers and sisters to experience the same gospel joy that had become such an important part of her life. She began sharing what she had learned.
Now, more than a decade later, she’s still sharing. Since those humble beginnings, seven of the eight Wong children have joined the Church, as have Mom and Dad. Belle served a mission in Hong Kong. So did two younger sisters, Angela and May.
The example Belle set for her family has made a big impression on her youngest sister, Wong Cho Ho—who goes by the English name of Rambo—and her younger brother, Wong Wah Kan (Simon), both of whom are now teenagers.
“Before I was a member, I’d always notice Belle,” says Simon, who was baptized in 1992. “She wasn’t lazy. Every Sunday she’d get up and go to church. When Belle was a missionary, she was a good example to my family and she helped us.”
Rambo, who adopted her unique English name several years ago, also credits her sister’s influence in her own conversion. “When I was younger, I began going to church with Belle each Sunday, even though I hadn’t been baptized,” she recalls, “but I wouldn’t take the sacrament.”
This is where the story takes an ironic twist.
“A lot of members of the ward would look at me and think I was a member,” she continues. “They would ask me to be a fellowshipper for the missionaries’ investigators, even though I was still an investigator myself. As I got older, my testimony began to develop, and I learned more about the Church.”
When Rambo was finally baptized in 1990, she joined Belle in teaching gospel principles to their other sisters, Mandy, May, Angela, and Agnes, as well as to Simon. She also continued “officially” fellowshipping other investigators at church each Sunday. “When I was a kid, I liked to play and have fun. But when I got older, I received a testimony—a true testimony —and I wanted to share it,” Rambo says.
One of the first people Rambo wanted to share the gospel with was her sister Agnes. She invited Agnes to church. “When I first went to church,” says Agnes, who is two years older than Rambo, “I was pretty bored. I liked to talk to the missionaries, but I didn’t like to talk about the Church. But Rambo would try to help me understand more about the gospel. Finally I decided to investigate the Church because Belle was so serious and made so many sacrifices for the Church, and I could see what the Church was beginning to mean to Rambo.”
Rambo also talked about the gospel with Simon and helped him with his decision to be baptized.
And so the sharing went: Two missionaries talked to Belle. Belle joined the Church and began fellowshipping Rambo. Rambo was baptized and began talking about the gospel with Agnes and Simon. Agnes and Simon were baptized, and they were followed by Mandy, the Wongs’ oldest daughter, and May, Angela, and their parents.
Simon likes to think back to the time when he began seriously investigating the gospel. He remembers praying for the first time. “I didn’t know how to pray or what I should say,” he remembers. “But I always felt good when I prayed.”
Before Simon joined the Church, Sundays were reserved for rest and relaxation. He would generally sleep in, then get up and play soccer with his friends. These days, his friends don’t even bother asking him to play games on the Sabbath. “I’ve already told them I don’t do that, and they understand why I don’t and what I do instead,” he says. Sundays for Simon generally consist of attending church meetings and reading the scriptures. “I love studying in the Book of Mormon—especially about Lehi and the faith he had. My own faith isn’t great, so it’s good for me to read about someone who was so strong.”
Belle loves to talk about the positive impact the gospel has had on her family, but she deflects any credit given to her. Instead, she says, “I don’t know how much help I’ve been to my family, but I do know Heavenly Father has helped my family a lot.”
Her family disagrees with Belle’s assessment of her role. Each night as they sit down to dinner, they look at one another and see living proof of Belle’s gospel-sharing legacy.