Gospel Story Finder

Elder Kimball called on another occasion. “Bishop Monson,” he said, “I have learned that there are two Samoan boys living in a downtown hotel. They’re going to get in trouble. Will you make them members of your ward?”

I found these two boys at midnight sitting on the steps of the hotel playing ukuleles and singing. They became members of our ward. Eventually each of them married in the temple and served valiantly. Their influence for good was widespread.

While my older children were at school and the little ones napped, I spread the household bills across the kitchen table. I began this dreaded monthly task by praying for wisdom and ability to stretch our meager income. The tithing check, as always, would be the first one written.
When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a young wife and mother, I had committed to pay tithing. I had never wavered from that promise. I was deeply distressed, however, by inadequate funds to cover yet another month of utility, mortgage, and insurance bills.
Now I was a single mother of six young children. I frequently felt overwhelmed by the constant workload, financial worries, and endless decisions involved in my efforts to be both mother and father with no extended family to give me relief or support.
As I sat at the table pleading with the Lord for His help and mercy, the Holy Ghost opened to my view a beautiful and comforting manifestation of the Savior’s love. I was able to see the money owed for household expenses with a new perspective as the sacred priorities of life were brought to my remembrance. I knew that our Heavenly Father wanted me to have the blessings promised to those who faithfully paid tithes and offerings. I also knew that tithe paying should be a joyful act of love, devoid of fear and worry.
As the Spirit of the Lord filled me, I found myself bearing testimony of convictions I had long held firm and sacred. My voice broke the silence of the kitchen as I declared that I would rather lose the water source to my house than lose the living water offered by the Savior. I would rather have no food on our table than be without the Bread of Life. I would prefer to endure the darkness and discomfort of no electricity than to forfeit the Light of Christ in my life. I would rather abide with my children in a tent than relinquish my privilege of entering the house of the Lord.
The burden of worry immediately lifted. My love for the Lord overcame the weakness generated by my fears. Our Heavenly Father is our deliverer, our benefactor, and our protector. He truly does supply all our needs. His promises are sure and unfailing. He commands us to pay tithing on our increase so that He may shower down blessings from heaven—including peace of mind, freedom from worldly and material worry, and confidence in His holy name.
From that day forward I have counted it a joy to pay my tithing, without reservation or fear, to Him and for Him who first loved me.

As a young man, I served a 30-month mission in France, from 1955 to 1958. During the last eight months of my mission, I was called to serve as branch president in Cannes. The Cannes Branch was small, with fewer than 10 active members.
Our mission president informed us that he planned to close the branch shortly if we had no baptisms. Miraculously, three elderly ladies soon requested baptism. After their baptism, one of them moved to Dijon, where there was no branch of the Church, and the other two struggled to remain active in the Church. Nevertheless, these new Church members helped us keep the branch open.

I have always been ambitious about education and leap at every opportunity. One year in high school, I took courses at the local community college through a program funded by my school. I really like computer science, and I was excited to take a computer programming class so I could learn more.
When I got my schedule from the college, I realized that my programming class was at the same time as my Young Women activity every week. I tried to ignore it at first and tell myself that education was encouraged by the Church and that I was doing the right thing. As the time for classes to start drew nearer, I felt more and more uncomfortable about taking the class. When the time came that I had to tell my Young Women leader that I wouldn’t be making it to any of the activities, she sounded devastated. She told me that I would be sorely missed, and she would do anything to help me.
After talking to her, I felt bad that I thought the class was more important. When I got home, I went to my room and looked at the goal board I had made for Personal Progress. I had written on it, “If you want something, you’ve got to prove it.” I read my scriptures with that in mind and came across Mosiah 2:21. I realized I had to prove that I was going to serve God and not myself by letting my desires get in the way. I cancelled the class the next day. I had a wonderful year of Young Women activities, and I was able to set a higher priority for the Church in my life. I know it was the right thing to drop that class, and I am really glad that I did.

Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.

After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”

I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”

He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”

The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.

Parañaque City, near Manila, was hit by Tropical Storm Ketsana in late September. At the height of the storm, the bishop of one of the four local wards floated across neck-deep floodwaters on a Styrofoam cooler lid to help evacuate three families. The next day sacrament meeting was canceled; however, many members of the affected ward, though dealing with the effects of the storm themselves, met at the meetinghouse in pajamas, shorts, and jackets, carrying food and clothes to be given to those in need. In about two hours, all the families in the ward were visited, checked on, and helped.
Then, only two nights after many of them had been wading through the wreckage of their own villages, members from the Parañaque area gathered at their local meetinghouse and assembled 26 bags of clothing, which they had donated, all sorted and individually packaged.
“It was one of the most memorable home evenings for many families in our ward,” said Bishop Franco Advincula.
A sister from a family in need called the bishop to ask when they could give their contributions. “I was stunned, and I couldn’t find the right words,” said Bishop Advincula. “However, I was inspired that I should not deny this good sister the opportunity to help.”

An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a Seattle, Washington, refugee camp. While he was trying to learn English so he could enter the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and address on it. He kept it for some reason, and when he was later asked where he wanted to live, he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to an LDS family in Salt Lake City. He learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he reached into his wallet and showed the card. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.

In the middle of the Pacific Ocean lie 118 islands created from underground volcanoes or coral atolls. Filled with palm trees, black pearls, and Tiaré flowers, these islands are home to about 275,000 Tahitians (as inhabitants of French Polynesia are commonly called).
Gerry Huuti, a 29-year-old convert, is one of those people. He relishes the national sport, va’a, or outrigger canoeing, which has been an important part of his life since age 16. Five years after he began racing, he met Laydreane—a champion paddler and a member of the Church. Thanks to her example, Gerry was baptized and served a mission in New Caledonia while Laydreane served in Tahiti. They married six weeks after Gerry returned home.
Now, several years and one son later, Gerry still participates in va’a tournaments—but he supports his family by creating paddles for va’a outriggers. “My business is right next to my house,” he explains. “I go out and look for wood to cut up and glue together to create paddles.” It sounds simple, but each of these beautiful wooden paddles takes five full days to make. And with about 20,000 paddlers on the Huutis’ island of Tahiti, paddles are always in demand.
Though Gerry and Laydreane are both busy with Church callings, they still make time to go to the temple. “Because of our temple attendance, we have a better relationship,” says Gerry. “We are also blessed on the work side of things. Selling paddles by yourself might work well enough, but if you do it with the Lord, it’s better.” That divine aid is vital to the Huutis. Gerry and his wife also have a strong testimony of tithing. “We never worry that Heavenly Father is going to bless us,” Gerry says. “If you pay your tithing, you’ll end up with more than what you have.”
For the Huutis, va’a is more than just a sport. The principles of dedication and commitment necessary to be good paddlers have helped both Gerry and Laydreane be more dedicated to the gospel. “In va’a, the physical counts for a lot,” Gerry says, “but it’s not the most important thing. What’s more important is the mental—being determined to finish your race. When you have to paddle for four-and-a-half hours, your body can tell you that you can’t make it, but your mind tells you that you can. In the gospel, determination is very important. Sometimes you get discouraged, but faith can help you succeed by following God’s plan for your life. We can always learn something from va’a that applies to the gospel.”

When temple visits for my branch were announced, I attended. Even though I could not yet enter the temple, I often walked the temple grounds. I prayed to Heavenly Father expressing my deepest desires to one day enter the temple. Some of these visits were only 10 minutes, but they had a profound impact on my spirit.
On one particularly cold and rainy evening, I arrived at the temple late. Although the grounds were closed, temple security allowed me a few moments on the grounds. I had with me a copy of the temple’s dedicatory prayer. I was impressed to read it.
I was filled with emotions as I read the following words: “Wilt Thou whisper peace to Thy people by the power of Thy Spirit when they come here with burdened hearts to seek direction in their perplexities. Wilt Thou comfort and sustain them when they come in times of sorrow. Wilt Thou give them courage, direction, and faith, when they gather, as to a refuge, from the turmoil of the world. Wilt Thou reassure them of Thy reality and divinity, and of the reality and divinity of Thy resurrected Son.”1
I knew then that my visits to the temple grounds meant something to the Lord, even though I was not inside the temple.

I had the opportunity to serve a full-time mission. When my call came to the Utah Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission—the only all-female mission in the Church—I admit to feeling nervous about being surrounded by so many women. I needn’t have worried. My testimony of sisterhood grew exponentially as I interacted with countless women who each testified of the Savior in their everyday actions.
My first holidays in the mission field, my mission president gathered all our mission together to watch an uplifting movie. At one point, the film depicted two sisters helping each other overcome daunting circumstances. I felt touched by their unity. As I watched the film and looked around at all the radiant sister missionaries, the Spirit testified strongly to me that sisterhood is an eternal bond prescribed by our Heavenly Father, and I was included. What a wonderful truth: we are never alone, for the Lord has given us all sisters.

When I was a recent convert and living in Colombia, a very special family from my ward invited me to family home evening. It was the first time I had attended home evening, and the spirit of love and faith I found there surprised me.
Once everyone had gathered together, we had a prayer and then shared what we had done during the past week. After we talked, we had an activity.
With the lights turned off, we wrote certain phrases onto colored paper hearts. When we had all finished, we turned on the lights and displayed what we’d written. Some had done not so well, some terribly, and others like me wrote with much difficulty; I think my writing was the worst of all. Of course, the lesson was very clear: when we don’t have the light of the gospel in our lives, everything looks dark, is distorted, and difficult.
This lesson reached me deeply. And in the years since that day, I have tried to ensure my life has taken a course filled with gospel light especially so that I can be an example to my children.
Dina del Pilar Maestre, California, USA

When my sister’s in a good mood, she calls me James Herriott. That’s because I’m going to be a veterinarian.
My name is really Jeannette, but everybody calls me Jetty. I’ll be twelve on my next birthday—small but strong for my age.
Mom and Sis and I live in a big old house at the edge of Bone Hollow. There are lots of farms around here. Most of the farmers are so busy they don’t like to fuss with an animal that needs a lot of care.
Somebody brought me an orphan lamb when we moved here a few years ago, and I raised it. Now anything is apt to turn up on our doorstep.
Just this spring I was keeping a lonesome cat, Gorgeous George, in the basement while its owners were on vacation. A runt pig named Pigwig was living in a cardboard box in the storeroom. In another box were twin orphan lambs so small that I called them Minutes.
Mom works long hours at the clinic and doesn’t mind my pets as long as I keep everything clean and the animals out from under her feet. Sis is another story.
One evening I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework while some milk for Pigwig’s eight o’clock feeding was warming. Mom and Sis were doing dishes. They were having a discussion about some dumb dinner Sis wanted to have. It was to impress the parents of her boyfriend, Ted, who were coming to visit.
The discussion woke up Pigwig. He started to squeal, and Sis let out a shriek about as loud. “That kid and her weird menagerie. I can’t invite the Austins to this—this zoo!”
About that time Gorgeous George started to yowl, and the uproar woke the Minutes. It took Mom and me a while to get them all quieted down.
The next day Mom had a talk with me. “You know, Jetty, your sister’s right. It’s her home, too, and it’s only fair that she should be able to entertain her friends here without embarrassment.”
“OK, OK,” I muttered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find another place for your pets that evening.”
“But, Mom,” I persisted. “I can’t put them just anywhere! It’s too cold outside. They could get sick.”
“Jeannette, with your ingenuity I’m sure you can find a comfortable place.” When Mom starts using big words in that tone of voice, I don’t argue.
Finding a place wasn’t easy. I had to promise to give Betsy Lewis, my best friend, my very favorite record before she finally said she’d watch the animals—on the condition that her mother approved. Mrs. Lewis agreed to let Betsy keep Pigwig and the Minutes in a heated room off their garage.
Gorgeous George’s owners were back home by then so it looked like everything would work out. Sis was all excited. You’d have thought the president of the United States was coming to dinner.
I had just come back from taking Pigwig and the Minutes over to Betsy’s house when a car pulled into the driveway.
Mom and Sis weren’t home from work yet, and I was trying to decide whether I should let anyone in when I heard Curt Marsh calling, “Jetty, are you home?” He and his wife, Brenda, are good friends of ours.
When I opened the door, Curt came charging in carrying something in his arms. “Jetty, am I glad you’re here! I’m taking Brenda to the hospital. Moonbeam’s calf has pneumonia so I brought it over. We knew you’d take care of it.”
I just stood there. I mean I couldn’t even stutter!
“What’s the matter, Jet? Is something wrong?” Curt looked so worried and upset, I couldn’t tell him.
“It’s—it’s OK,” I finally stammered. “I’ll get a box.” And I rushed to find one so he wouldn’t see my face.
“Thanks, Jetty. We knew we could count on you,” he called as he hurried back to his car.
I looked at the calf. It was the size of a large dog and pure white with soft silky hair and long dark lashes. Its nose was bright pink. I promptly named it Snow White. It looked completely helpless stretched out on its side, breathing hard.
I didn’t have much time to get it out of sight before the party. I carefully placed the calf in a box. Just then Mom came rushing in, so I quickly shoved it to the back of the big coat closet.
“Hurry now,” she said. “Change your clothes and set the table.”
Everything looked super nice by the time the Austins arrived. Sis looked really neat too. She was so happy she was all sparkly.
I was eating my second piece of chicken when I noticed Sis was awfully quiet. Mrs. Austin was looking our house over like she was at a yard sale and couldn’t find anything worth buying. Mr. Austin was talking about the business he owned and how he thought Ted was wasting his time in such a small town. Ted was just sitting there. He wasn’t even holding Sis’s hand like he usually does, and I felt kind of sorry for her.
About then I thought I heard the sound of feet slipping and sliding. Suddenly through the closet door staggered the wobbly and bawling white calf. I froze for a moment.
Mrs. Austin screamed as her mink stole slid off the calf’s back and onto the floor. I had one glimpse of the stunned look on my mother’s face before I was out of my chair and dragging the calf out of the room.
The dinner party was over. I heard my mother and sister apologizing. Ted left with his parents.
Sis was crying. “Where did that thing come from?” she wailed. “Mom, I thought you told Jetty—no animals!”
“I did, and I have no more idea than you where she got it, but I intend to find out.” My mother’s voice told me I was in real trouble.
I was dragging myself out of the storeroom when the telephone rang. Sis answered it. When she turned from the phone, she had a funny look on her face. “That was Curt Marsh. Brenda had a seven-pound baby girl and they are going to name her Jeannette because Jetty is always so helpful—like tonight with that prize calf of theirs.”
Later I heard Sis say, “The Austins really are pretty stuffy, aren’t they?”
Mom said something I couldn’t hear. Then Sis giggled. “Only Jetty’s pets get to wear mink stoles,” she said. Then they both cracked up laughing!
I mean, who can understand grown-ups?

Garrett felt a terrible fear in his heart when he watched the news. There was always something sad or scary in the stories that the reporters told each night. Somewhere in the world there was a war; there were children who didn’t have enough to eat or a place to sleep. Somewhere in the world someone had been killed, or there were tornadoes or earthquakes. All these things made him worry that something bad was going to happen to him or his family.
It was nighttime, but Garrett couldn’t sleep. Although it was dark outside, the moon shone through his window and he could see all the corners of his room. On the desk was a picture of his brother and him. He wished that he was Allen. Allen was older. He was stronger and smarter. Garrett knew that if he was Allen, he would not be afraid. He thought that if he shut his eyes tightly and wished hard enough, maybe he would be Allen.
When he opened his eyes, he was still Garrett. And he was still afraid. He tried to think of something else. It would be his birthday soon. He and his mother had looked through the toy catalog together just the other day so that he could show her some of the things that he really liked. He tried to think of them now. Still, the frightening thoughts would not leave his mind.
He tossed and turned until he could think of nothing else but being with his mother and father. He always felt safe with them. They were in the room right next to his. He could sleep on their floor, and they would protect him.
All was quiet in the house as he made his way to their bedroom.
Garrett’s dad rubbed his face sleepily as he awoke to Garrett’s nudges. “What is it, Son?”
“Dad, can you give me a blessing? I’m afraid.”
Mom was awake now, too. “Garrett, are you all right?”
“I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of?” Mom asked.
“I can’t stop thinking about the news.”
“It’s all right,” Dad told him. “Of course, you can have a blessing.”
His father got out of bed and slipped on his robe. They sat quietly for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Then he placed his hands upon Garrett’s head to give him a father’s blessing.
Garrett listened carefully as his father told him that everything would be all right. He reminded Garrett that because he had been baptized, he was entitled to have the Holy Ghost, who is a comforter, with him. If he listened closely enough, his father explained, he would be able to feel the Spirit and feel peace and calm. And, his father added, Heavenly Father was aware of Garrett and was watching over him and would protect him.
Garrett remembered his baptism day. He remembered being confirmed a member of the Church. His father had said, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
Garrett thought about the times when he had felt the Holy Ghost. There was always a good feeling in the chapel, and he usually felt the same way when he listened closely in Primary and when he prayed at home or read scripture stories with his family. He knew that what his father was saying in the blessing was true.
When his father had finished, Garrett kissed his parents good night.
“Do you want to sleep in here with us?” his mother asked.
“I think I’ll be all right now,” he replied. “Thanks, Dad. I love you both.”
Garrett’s room was still dark when he returned. He lay in bed, quietly trying very hard to listen. Then the still small voice came to him and he knew that everything would be all right. He was glad that he had chosen to be baptized so that he could have the Holy Ghost as a companion! He slipped into a peaceful sleep.

It was a long night, but the youth of the Bloemfontein Branch of the Sandton South Africa Stake kept skating. The youths sponsored the 15-hour roller skating marathon to raise money for their camp programs. Several nonmembers were participating in the marathon, giving the youth lots to talk about as they made the rounds of the basketball court.
The event drew local media attention as well as support from branch members.

Mary Hobson, the eighth of nine children born in Farmington, Utah, in 1853, kept house for her older brother Alma. He had a store in Richmond, Utah, and was the first telegraph operator there. He taught Mary, age 15, telegraphy and sent her to a special school for this in Logan. She helped him and was the first woman telegrapher in Richmond. Then Alma moved to Franklin, the oldest town in Idaho, and kept a store, post office, and telegraph office there. Mary helped him and thus became the first woman telegrapher in Idaho. When Alma moved back to Richmond, Mary stayed in Franklin and managed the store, post office, and telegraph office for several years.

My father and mother believed firmly in the principle of work, and they saw to it that their six boys had plenty to do.
Although I was the youngest in our family, I had my share of jobs around the house and yard. To make sure I wouldn’t run out of work and to help me develop a sense of responsibility, Father had some chicken coops and runs built in our back yard. He filled these with a flock of about fifty chickens, and my responsibility was to feed and water the chickens, keep the coops clean, and gather eggs.
In the summer I gathered lawn clippings and put them to dry on the roof of the chicken coop. When they were dry, I put them in bags. Then in the winter I emptied these clippings into pans, poured hot water over them, and fed them to the chickens.
By giving the chickens such good care, we had more than enough eggs to supply the needs of our family. Father told me I could have the extra eggs to sell and could use the money for my own needs.
I found the neighbors were glad to have good fresh eggs, and I soon established an egg route with regular customers. These customers became my good friends. This was the beginning of many happy associations that have lasted for years.
Although I was only a young boy when I started in the egg business, I felt pretty grown up having my own money to spend. I also earned some extra money by doing errands and odd jobs for people in the neighborhood, and Father paid me for helping on the ranch in the summer. So I began to save what seemed to me to be a lot of money.
My parents had taught me about tithing. They told me that tithing is giving to the Lord one penny out of every dime I earn, or one dime out of every dollar. They also taught me that tithing is a commandment of our Father in heaven, and paying tithing is a good way for us to show our love for Him and our appreciation for all the blessings He gives us.
At the end of the year I took my tithing in a big envelope filled with nickels, dimes, and small bills to the bishop for tithing settlement. I still have the tithing receipt (it was then called a Bishop’s Store House receipt) that was given to me when I was eight years old. It was for $7.50 and was dated December 31, 1908.
I am grateful that I had a father and mother who taught me as a young boy the joy of work and the importance of paying tithing. I am sure that many of the blessings I have enjoyed throughout my life have come to me because I have been obedient to the law of tithing.

I hadn’t been home from my mission for very long when my parents told me that my 19-year-old brother didn’t want to go to church anymore. I was shocked—I had never imagined my brother would leave the Church.
I remember emailing him about gospel topics while I was on my mission and asking him if he wanted to serve a mission. He was never sure, and looking back on these emails, I realized there had been signs that he wasn’t certain about the gospel.
I started thinking about what I could have done differently. And I questioned why this was happening right now. I was upset because I really wanted him to have a testimony for his own sake, but I also realized I maybe wanted it for me. I wanted him to attend church with me, as well as go on a mission, so we could talk about our experiences together. So it was challenging for me when he didn’t want any of those things.
I had just spent two years on my mission talking about religion and beliefs with people, so I didn’t understand why it was so much harder to talk to my own brother about these things, but it was. It challenged my faith in a new way. On my mission, the challenge was to work hard, to enjoy every day, and to have faith that everything was going to turn out well. But with my brother, it felt completely different.
My mission had taught me to ask inspired questions and ask for understanding. But I didn’t know the people I had taught on my mission beforehand. My only relationship with them was one of teaching and helping them come closer to Christ. I had known my brother for his whole life, and I had never had a relationship of trying to help bring him closer to Christ.
I remember a conversation we had one day when I asked him about the Church. He said he didn’t have a testimony about some of the teachings. If this had been someone I met on my mission, my response would have been one of respect and acceptance that he or she simply wasn’t ready at the time, and maybe some other missionaries would teach them later. But because of my love for my brother, it was harder to show that same level of understanding. I just wanted him to know what I knew, and I wanted him to feel the same Spirit and love from God as I had felt. It was hard for me to accept that he didn’t choose the gospel.
It took some time for me to get used to the situation, but now, almost two years after I’ve returned from my mission, my relationship with my brother is still good. We don’t talk about the gospel much, but we talk about other things. I still wish that we could have the gospel in common, but we do have a lot of other things in common. We still hang out and do things together, and I love him for who he is, because he’s a really good guy.

David Haight was busy as the young merchandise manager of a large Salt Lake City department store one day in the mid-1930s when a distinguished visitor walked into his office—President Heber J. Grant.
Was it true, the Church president inquired, that Brother Haight was preparing to leave Salt Lake City for a position in California? Yes, the younger man answered, wondering if President Grant was about to tell him not to go.
President Grant’s reply was a surprise. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said, commenting that more faithful young Latter-day Saint men should leave Utah and get out where their influence could be felt.
“He said, ‘May the Lord bless you,’ and shook my hand and turned around and walked out of the office,” recalls Elder David B. Haight of the Council of the Twelve.

The only construction project Kalene Rice, 14, had ever been involved with was when she helped her father build a birdhouse. Cassie Rudy, 17, also couldn’t remember even holding a hammer. “I might have used one once to hammer a nail in the wall to hang a picture, but I’m not sure,” she says.
If Cassie wasn’t sure then, she is now. She joined Kalene and about 180 other young people from the Frederick Maryland Stake in Chestertown, Maryland, to build two houses in two days. Cassie has the callouses on her hands to prove it.
“This whole project depended on our attitude,” said Cassie. “We could have sat here the whole time and not worked. But that wouldn’t have been any fun. It’s a really good feeling to know we can do things like this.” Adds 14-year-old April Hough, “This has taken more time and more work, but it has been so useful because we’re helping someone who is less fortunate.”

That same brother, Phineas, was the first of the Young family to see the Book of Mormon, though even before it was published, they had all heard and read of the Prophet “Joe Smith” and his “gold Bible” over in Palmyra less than 15 miles away. In April 1830, Phineas was given one of the first copies by the Prophet’s brother Samuel, and because he felt responsible to his little religious society to expose any such things “got up to lead people astray,” he read it carefully. But he could not find the errors he expected, and when he appeared before the group the next Sabbath, quite certainly with Brigham present, he “had not spoken ten minutes in defence of the book when the Spirit of God came upon me in a marvelous manner, and I spoke at great length on the importance of such a work, quoting from the Bible to support my position, and finally closing by telling the people that I believed the book.”22

Phineas lent his copy of the Book of Mormon to his father, who thought it “the greatest work he had ever seen,” then to his sister Fanny, who declared it “a revelation.” Fanny passed it on to Brigham, who was more reserved:
“When the Book of Mormon was first printed, it came to my hands in two or three weeks afterwards. Did I believe, on the first intimation of it? … ‘Hold on,’ says I. … The mantle of my traditions was over me, to that degree, … it was almost impossible for me to see at all; though I had beheld, all my life, that the traditions of the people was all the religion they had, I had got a mantle for myself. Says I, ‘Wait a little while; what is the doctrine of the book, and of the revelations the Lord has given? Let me apply my heart to them;’ and after I had done this, I considered it my right to know for myself, as much as any man on earth.
“I examined the matter studiously for two years before I made up my mind to receive that book. … I wished time sufficient to prove all things for myself.”23

On another, later occasion Brigham further explained this reserve:
“Upon the first opportunity I read the Book of Mormon, and then sought to become acquainted with the people who professed to believe it. … I watched to see whether good common sense was manifest; and if they had that, I wanted them to present it in accordance with the Scriptures. … when I had ripened everything in my mind, I drank it in, and not till then.”24