Gospel Story Finder

“I have seen that promise fulfilled in my own life and in the lives of others. A friend of mine served as a mission president. He told me that at the end of every day while he was serving, he could barely make it upstairs to bed at night wondering if he would have the strength to face another day. Then in the morning, he would find his strength and his courage restored. You have seen it in the lives of aged prophets who seemed to be renewed each time they stood to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. That is a promise for those who go forward in faith in their priesthood service.”
President Henry B. Eyring, “Faith and the Oath and Covenant of the Priesthood,” Liahona, May 2008, 62.

In social studies, we were talking about different kinds of religions and churches. It seemed like everybody was really mixed up about Christian beliefs. A boy asked the teacher how a Mormon can be a Christian. The teacher asked if there were any Mormons in the class who could answer the question. I wasn’t afraid to raise my hand, even though I knew that I was the only Church member in the class. I said, “A Mormon is a type of Christian.”
Then a girl asked, “Did Jesus die for our sins, or for something else?”
I said, “Jesus suffered for our sins before He was crucified, and He died so that we could be resurrected.”
Another boy said, “My priest told me that Mormons don’t believe that Jesus is the Son of God.”
I said, “That isn’t true. We do believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that He is the Savior.”
Then all the other kids had questions. The teacher did say that LDS stands for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That was the first time that I was able to answer all the questions with ease. I was happy to have had a chance to share the gospel with others. I hope that someday they will feel the Holy Ghost near and understand what I told them.

In 1975, the Bollbachs were surprised by another mission call, this time to the Germany Frankfurt Mission. About the same time, Elli discovered she had cancer. “No one can imagine the fear we felt,” Fritz explains. “Within one week, she underwent three operations. The curious thing was the blessing the bishop gave her. He said to her, ‘Elli, you will recover, and you will again go into the mission field with Fritz to serve God.’ We wondered how he could say such a thing.”
Sister Bollbach recuperated from the operations, and they served an eighteen-month mission in Pirmasens, Germany, near the French border.

Time passed. Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army. I swelled up with pride. And this one man became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.

Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.

And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have a Mutual Improvement Association. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their voices singing:
“It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea;
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me;
But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.”
(Hymns, no. 75.)

I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension when I’m no good any longer, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.

After we arrived at our mission assignment in Florida, I said to myself, “What am I doing here? I’m homesick. I can’t stand all of these trees so close in around me; I need more open space. If only I had never told the bishop I’d do this! What good can I possibly do here?” I felt completely out of place.

One evening, the branch president asked us if we could visit a couple who had received the missionary lessons two or three times. They were good people, but they hadn’t joined the Church.

“Take me to them!” I said.

We went over to see them, and in less than thirty minutes we had set a baptismal date with the husband. Three weeks from the time we arrived in our field of labor, we baptized him.

When our mission president heard about it, he was delighted. There hadn’t been a baptism in our mission area for more than a year, and only six in the last five years. This gave me the encouragement I needed.

Things really started happening after that; people started coming to church who hadn’t been there in years; we noticed a greater feeling of love and unity among branch members; and we baptized the wife of that first contact.

Thirteen years ago, as a mission president in Japan, I received a call from a young serviceman’s wife who needed to see me. Her husband, an air force pilot, had just been shot down and had died in combat over Vietnam. As she was ushered into my office, I saw her hugging a large picture. We sat down to talk and she showed me the picture of her husband, a handsome pilot with his helmet in his hands, standing proudly beside his jet fighter plane.
She sobbingly said how much she loved him and couldn’t believe that he was gone. She continued by saying that she was a convert of nearly two years. She had met her husband while in college, and it was he who had introduced her to the gospel. Later she was baptized, and they were sealed in the temple for time and all eternity.
Her life with him had been beautiful and everything a person could ask for. She had looked toward the future with great joy and anticipation. But now, all too soon, it had come to a sudden, crashing halt.
She had a great adjustment to make in her life and wanted assurance that all would be well. What would your counsel be to her?

Young Women in the Shoreline Ward, Richland Washington Stake, found an unusual way to learn about genealogy research. They pieced together a history of a six-day-old baby that had been buried in their city’s cemetery in 1909.
Not much was known about the baby’s family, and the grave didn’t have a headstone. Starting with the name “Baby Boy Lair” and a few fragments of information about the baby’s life, the girls and their adviser, Maureen Hales, found living family members (a nephew and his children and grandchildren), got information for a small headstone, and made arrangements for a short graveside service. The service was open to the public and all the youth in the stake were invited. The youth say that doing the project has changed their ideas about doing genealogy.
“At first, the baby seemed like a story from a book. Finding some of the details about the baby’s family and learning about his short life made it more realistic. There were no pictures of the baby, and I wonder what he looked like,” says Laurel Mindy Lee. “I’m now working on learning about my own ancestors, especially my great-grandmother.”

All of these fundamentals—telling, showing, and involving—were dynamically present in the life and work of a truly great University of Utah football coach of a generation ago. He was the unforgettable Ike Armstrong, for at least 25 years the unexcelled mentor of the Utah Redskins. As a youth I found the utmost exhilaration in playing football at the university under Coach Armstrong. I found an outlet for my love of athletics. To him football not only provided a vehicle for the development of skills, ideals, and leadership, it personified life—and life at its best. To him the game afforded an unrivaled opportunity to teach not only football prowess, but also courage, duty, dependability, perseverance, integrity, and enthusiasm, which resulted in physical, emotional, and even spiritual conditioning at the highest level. Coach Armstrong was a fierce competitor and loved to win, but even more he loved to see his players become responsible, honorable, and goal-oriented young men, faithful to the loftiest ideals. The end product was to be nothing less than character of the most solid kind.

Beyond these ideals Coach Armstrong taught basic, fundamental, hard football. He emphasized the fact that if each play were perfectly executed, it would result in a touchdown. But achieving that perfect play, he stressed, was only possible if each player performed his responsibility and assignment perfectly. This meant that each lineman and backfield man would have to do a perfect job of blocking out his opponent, that the center would have to pass the ball to the quarterback with bull’s-eye accuracy and timing, and that the ball carrier would have to execute the play as called.

I can assure you that it didn’t always work this way, anymore than life itself can be directed or lived without some trial and error. However, if ultimate success is to be achieved in either football or life, there can be no compromising of the ideals or the effort. And, as in all things, it is frequently necessary to pick up the pieces, reevaluate the resources and the goals, never tiring of making the second effort.

I recall a glorious November Indian summer afternoon at the Ute stadium in 1937. Our opponent was the University of Colorado. The star of that team was Byron “Whizzer” White, a versatile, fast, powerful, and innovative quarterback. He has since been a Rhodes Scholar and is presently Associate Justice on the bench of our country’s Supreme Court. Utah kicked off to Colorado. Whizzer plucked the ball out of the air five yards behind the goal line and with enormous speed side-stepped every one of Utah’s 11 players, each one of whom touched him as he sped past. He ran the entire length of the field, plus five yards, to a roaring touchdown. It was a heart-stopping, hair-raising performance, the longest, most spectacular run of the year in our conference.

At our post-game evaluation session, Ike demonstrated how it might have been possible for any one of the Utes to stop Whizzer, if he had played up to his potential. I recount this unforgettable experience to emphasize that success in life depends upon the development of qualities that are often neglected. A let-down in morale and high purpose is usually a forerunner of failure.

With flexible, low-cost online courses available through BYU-Pathway Worldwide, obtaining an education is possible for more people than ever, including Samantha Winterdal.
Samantha, from the Dominican Republic, always planned to go to university, but her plans didn’t work out the way she envisioned. After high school, she got a job but felt like something was missing. “Every year that passed, I saw my schoolmates graduating, and I was just working,” Samantha said. “I thought, ‘What am I doing with my life?’”
She decided to pray for guidance. One Sunday, a sister from church mentioned BYU–Pathway to her. Samantha registered and began her first course. Although she couldn’t complete it at that time, she returned to BYU–Pathway years later to resume her studies.
When Samantha was ready to start classes again during the COVID-19 pandemic, she enrolled at a local university. However, the school wasn’t designed to run online and wasn’t accommodating of her schedule, so she left. With the encouragement of her husband, Mario, she decided to go back to BYU–Pathway—she loved it so much that Mario enrolled too!
“We love the flexibility of BYU–Pathway because it allows us to work and take care of my 94-year-old grandfather, who has cancer,” Samantha said. “I know that I will continue to climb to the work level I want, and it will also help me with my own business.”

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “I was called to be a class president of seventeen girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared of such responsibility. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?

“I wrote seventeen names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

It is appropriate for her and for you to recognize and witness the power of the Holy Ghost as you seek inspiration concerning the calls you have received from your Heavenly Father through your bishop.

Robert Gardner Jr. was baptized into the Church in January of 1845 in a frozen pond in the backwoods of eastern Canada. Faithful and industrious, he made his way with his family to Nauvoo and, after much hardship, arrived in the Salt Lake Valley in October of 1847. After entering the valley, they camped at a place called Old Fort, located a few blocks from this Conference Center. In his handwritten history, he recorded, “I unyoked my oxen and sat down on my broken wagon tongue, and said I could not go another day’s journey” (“Robert Gardner Jr. Self History and Journal,” Church History Library, Salt Lake City, Utah, 23).
Starting with nothing, Robert began to create a new life for himself and his family. The first years were hard, but gradually things improved as he and his brother Archibald began to develop mills on Mill Creek and the Jordan River. A few years later he suffered a reversal of fortune. The water powering his mill was taken upstream, leaving his portion of the stream dry. An attempt to build a six-mile (10-km) canal to the mill failed.
Again from his history: “The canal kept breaking until it proved a failure. The failure caused me to lose all my crops and my mill would not run. My stock was all gone and I was flat broke” (“Robert Gardner Jr. Self History and Journal,” 26).
If that was not test enough, his next entry in his history informs us he has been called on a mission to Canada. A few months later he left his family and with a contingent of missionaries traveled by handcart, steamboat, and railroad to his field of labor.
He completed this mission, returned to his family, and through hard work and diligence once again established himself and began to prosper.
Just a few years later Brother Gardner was entertaining some friends at his farm in Millcreek in the Salt Lake Valley. One remarked, “I am glad to see you so well recovered from being broke. You are nearly as well off as you were before you lost your property and went on your mission.”
Robert’s history records: “My reply was; ‘Yes I was well off once and it all went off, and I am almost afraid of another [mission] call.’ Sure enough, a few hours later some of my neighbors, who had been to a meeting in Salt Lake City called in and told me that my name was amongst a number of names who were called today to go south on a mission to make a new settlement and raise cotton. We were to start right away.”
He records, “I looked and spit, took off my hat and scratched [my head] and thought and said; ‘All right’” (“Robert Gardner Jr. Self History and Journal,” 35; emphasis added).
Robert Gardner knew what it meant to deal with change in his life. He followed the counsel of the Brethren, accepting calls to serve when it was not convenient. He had a great love for the Lord and demonstrated strong, unbending faith with amazing good humor and grace. Robert Gardner Jr. went on to become a leading pioneer in the colonization effort of southern Utah. It is he and countless pioneers like him who give us inspiration to carry on and confront fearlessly the many changes and challenges which come into our lives. As we move forward and “get on with our lives,” may we be obedient, faithful, and cheerful is my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was seven, I learned one of the greatest lessons of my life. We were studying the environment in school. We discussed pollution and ways we could help decrease its terrible effects on the world. We talked about the oceans and how, even in little ways, we could change some of the things we do at home to make the world safer for all creatures.
I was still pretty young then, but I really took what we had been learning to heart. To me, the environment is a very important thing. The more I learned about why we should conserve our natural resources, the more I wanted everyone else to know the same things and think they were just as important as I did. I became a seven-year-old warrior fighting in the everyday battle to save Mother Nature.
One day, I came home from school having just finished drinking a soda. We had a recycling bin, which we used regularly, and with my newfound enthusiasm for caring about the environment, I went straight to toss my empty bottle in.
“Stop,” my mom said over her shoulder. “Our recycling company doesn’t allow us to recycle green plastic.”
I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The recycling companies were supposed to be the heroes; why would they say we could recycle some things and not others? It didn’t make any sense to me. Disappointed, I dropped my bottle in the trash and headed back toward my room.
At that moment, I had an impression I’d never had before. Coming from a family that was not very religious, we had never had family prayer or even knew what prayer was, other than what we had seen on TV. But right then that was exactly what I felt I needed to do: get on my knees by my bed and pray about it. So I slipped into my room and, not really knowing how to begin, gave it a simple try.
“God,” I started quietly, “this is Ace. Thank you for the environment. Please let us recycle green plastic bottles in this area. It’s really important.” I closed with an “amen” and waited. I didn’t know what to expect. Although I wasn’t visited by angels or struck by lightning, I did feel something I had never felt before. As I sat there, I felt good. I felt like I wasn’t alone in the room anymore, although there clearly wasn’t any other person I could see. Something told me that what I had just done was right.
Life continued the same as it always had. In fact, by the next afternoon I had been so involved in usual things at school that I had mostly forgotten about the green bottle episode and the prayer.
When I got home, I went back to my room, but before long my mom called my name and asked me to come to the kitchen. When I did, I saw that she had a letter in her hand. She explained that it was from the recycling company stating that now we could recycle green plastics in addition to other things.
She handed me the letter. I looked it over, but I couldn’t believe it. The same feeling I had had the day before came rushing back to me. It was an answer.
That was an experience that has never left me. Every time I think about it, I’m still amazed that it could have happened at all. And it was this experience that, three years later, helped me to feel the truth of the gospel when the missionaries came knocking at our family’s door. It was the same feeling.

Later, Christopher’s Primary teacher, Sister Woolett, gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost. She told about when the still, small voice warned her to check on her sleeping baby. When she did, everything seemed all right.

But as she turned to leave, the voice again told her to check on her little boy. This time she went over to the crib and looked closely at him. There, next to him, was a large, jagged piece of glass. A framed picture that had been hanging above the crib had fallen. Most of the glass and the frame were behind the crib, but the large, jagged piece had fallen next to her sleeping son.
Sister Woolett also related an incident from the lesson manual about one of the prophets being warned of danger by the still, small voice.
Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that after his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.
“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

“I thought that when I got baptized six years ago, my parents would become interested in the gospel and agree to be baptized, but that didn’t happen. One day I read the scripture, ‘He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me’ (Matthew 10:37). I adored my parents, so I wondered how I could love the Lord more than them.
“My parents weren’t against me joining the Church, but sometimes they would feel bad when I would spend more time reading the scriptures or going to church instead of doing things with them on the Sabbath. And explaining why I didn’t do certain things on Sundays anymore was hard.
“We had a bit of friction, but the more I read the scriptures and the more I got to know the Savior and my Heavenly Father, the more my love for my family grew. And I knew that if I followed Jesus Christ, my family would be blessed. I decided to put Him above all other things. Needless to say, things between my family and me continue to get better. I know that if I am obedient to the Lord, He will continue to bless my family and me.”
—Magaly Perez, Coahuila, Mexico

Sister Beck: I met with a group of women cabinet ministers and parliament members from West Africa who asked me how we help African women. I explained that in their countries we have many organized groups of women, called Relief Societies. We send the Church Handbook of Instructions to the president of each group. The women gather together often to study the gospel and to learn how to care for their families.

The president divides the Relief Society women into pairs that visit the women in their homes, where they assess needs. Is anyone sick? Do they have enough food and clothing? Do they have the education they need? After the visits the women report what they found. Someone needs shoes, someone is having a baby, and one of them needs work. They ask if within their group they have the needed resources. Most of the time they do. That is what we do for our women in Africa.

As I talked, these women nodded their heads and smiled. One said to me, “That model would work for our women.”

I believe that Relief Society is a model that works throughout the world and that our sisters are the finest, most capable, greatest force for good on the earth today. I have confidence in our ability to further the Lord’s work of salvation together.

It was a beautiful, clear day, and 28-year-old Aircraft Commander Brent Young was doing what he loved best: flying a C-141 for the United States Air Force. He and his crew, including his copilot, a flight engineer, and two load masters, were on a routine run from North Dakota to Utah.
The flight was uneventful until Commander Young began his approach to Hill Air Force Base. Then, out of nowhere, the thought came to him, “Hold 20 knots above approach speed.”
“Why would I do that?” he wondered. “It goes against everything I know about flying.”
As the plane sped toward its destination, he agonized over the decision he must make in the next 60 seconds. “If I drop 20 knots now,” he reasoned, “the plane will be at just the right speed for the approach. I can’t hold 20 knots. I’ll overshoot the runway.”
But the impression persisted. “Hold 20 knots above approach speed.”
“What are you doing?” his copilot suddenly blurted out. “You’re going too fast!”
“We need to hold 20 knots above approach speed. I can’t explain it,” Commander Young replied.
The plane hurled toward the runway. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. His heart beat wildly, and his hands clenched the steering column. “Will we overshoot the runway? Will we survive?” he thought.
At that moment, with the plane just 250 feet above the ground, the speed suddenly dropped 20 knots. Commander Young stared at the gauge in disbelief. It had dropped to 145 knots. What had happened?
Within seconds the plane touched down, and Commander Young completed the landing.
The flight was over, but he couldn’t leave the cockpit yet. He sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But he could find no logical explanation. Without the extra air speed, he and his crew probably wouldn’t be alive. If he hadn’t held 20 knots above the approach speed, the plane would have dropped to 125 knots—stall speed. He wouldn’t have had time to fly out of the stall. Likely the plane would have crashed.
“Why’d you let me do it?” Commander Young quizzed his copilot.
“I’ve flown with LDS pilots before,” he replied. “I know they are guided by a force I don’t understand.”
Commander Young uttered a silent prayer. “Thank you, Heavenly Father. Thank you for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

When I graduated from college I was just like many other Chinese young men: I called myself a scientist. I did not really believe in God. I could not believe that the universe was created by God. I often accepted invitations to “Bai-Bai” (traditional Chinese family worship), but I mostly wanted to enjoy the company and the wonderful food offered to their gods as part of the ceremony, but eaten by the participants. I was not the only one with such feelings; sometimes neither the sponsor of “Bai-Bai” nor the guest knew which god or gods they were worshiping that day.
My family worshiped their ancestors only during Chinese festival days, but despite lack of a strong religious tradition in the family, Christianity was unthinkable as an alternative. We felt that accepting a “foreign” God would make us traitors to our ancestors. Furthermore, like many Chinese, I disliked Christian missionaries because their governments had, for the last two hundred years, invaded my country, selling opium to my countrymen, and almost destroying China just as they destroyed India, Egypt, and the Incas.
Nevertheless, one day a Latter-day Saint schoolmate, Young Ho Chin, told me he was going to visit two sister missionaries who lived close to his house. One was from Canada, he said. I went with him to see this Canadian because I had never seen one before. When I was introduced to Sister Moirg Blackmore, who was from Cardston, Alberta, and Sister E. Julia Smith from Salt Lake City, they began teaching me the gospel immediately, even before I could ask which one was from Canada.
For the first three lessons I did not fully understand the Christian terms they were using, and I had so many questions it was hard for the sisters to answer all of them. And many of these teachings seemed to contradict the “scientific” knowledge I had obtained in school. But not wishing to be rude, and touched by their enthusiasm, I continued to investigate the restored gospel. Eventually I was more interested in it than in anything I had ever studied before.
Then they asked me to be baptized. I knew this would be a turning point in my life. I knew the gospel was true, but the traditional Chinese concept of God was so deeply planted in my mind that I could neither get rid of it nor adjust it to the truth. I knew I must kneel down and pray, but when I started to, a strange force bound me and I could not utter one word. When I stopped praying, I was free from that force. After twelve unsuccessful attempts, I was finally able to pray. I was soaking wet with perspiration.
When I rose from my knees, it was 2:30 in the morning, but I had no doubts in my mind. My decision was made and I was baptized. My faith could not become complete in one day, and sometimes a doubt would flash over my mind. Nevertheless, the more I studied the scriptures the more I believed.
For instance, God told us to have our genealogy worked out, and the Chinese are a race that keeps genealogical records. My family’s record goes back to 1,000 B.C. I also found some parallels between Chinese tradition and Christian teachings. For example, Chinese lore preserves the story of Pan Ko Shi, who lived in heaven and died so his body could become the world. This legend has similarities to the mission of Christ, who was crucified so man could have eternal life. There are other examples: The Chinese character for ark can mean eight persons in a boat; Noah’s ark had eight persons on it. (See 1 Pet. 3:20.) We put red papers on the door frame to get luck and to cast out evils; the ancient Israelites put blood on their door frames to protect them from the destroying angel. (See Ex. 12:13.) Chinese records indicate that their ancient kings and emperors lived about eight hundred years; Genesis indicates very long lifespans for its early patriarchs. Chinese describe heaven and hell in multiples of three, each with a different glory or punishment. The Church teaches the three degrees of glory. Whenever we Chinese had a tyrannical leader, the people would say that a true heavenly son would descend, save the people, and become their new king. Chinese also know the definition and necessity of opposition.
When I found all these things, I knew that my people had once had the truth. Since those ancient times, Chinese have retained only a blurred idea of all these teachings. But they keep and honor them in their own way. I now know I am not a traitor to my ancestors in joining the Church, nor am I worshiping a “foreign” God.
In the many years since I was baptized, my parents and friends have finally accepted me as a Latter-day Saint: a funny man who drinks no wine, smokes no tobacco, has no mistress, and sometimes, incredibly, even eats no food. They think I have no pleasure in life. But I have gained pleasure and peace in my heart that is beyond their understanding.

On the morning of 6 April 1893, Wilford Woodruff entered the Salt Lake Temple through the southwest doors and proceeded to the fourth floor. At 10:00 A.M., with twenty-five hundred people in attendance, the first of a series of forty-one dedication services began. The dedication was the final step in a forty-year saga of sacrifice and labor surrounding the construction of the temple.
“The Heavenly Host were in attendance at the [first] dedication [service],” President Woodruff told the congregation in a subsequent dedicatory service. “If the eyes of the congregation could be opened they would [have] seen Joseph and Hyrum [Smith], Brigham Young, John Taylor and all the good men who had lived in this dispensation assembled with us, as also Esaias, Jeremiah, and all the Holy Prophets and Apostles who had prophesied of the latter day work. … They were rejoicing with us in this building which had been accepted of the Lord and [when] the [Hosanna] shout had reached the throne of the Almighty,” they too had joined in the joyous shout.

Now just to illustrate that: When I was back in the South, there was an itinerant preacher that came through Atlanta, telling the leaders of churches how they could get out of debt. He quoted the words of Malachi: “Prove me now herewith, … if I will not open you the windows of heaven” (Mal. 3:10). And he told those people that if they would pay their tithing for ten months, they could get out of debt. I talked to him afterwards, and I said, “Reverend, I would like to bear you my testimony, that you are getting pretty close to the truth.” I said, “We have been paying our tithing all our lives.” Then I said: “There is just one thing I can’t understand. You say it is the Lord’s law of blessing his people, and if it is, wouldn’t it be better to be blessed all their lives than just to be blessed for ten months?”
And he said: “Oh, Mr. Richards, we can’t go that far, yet!”

“Hey, Paul,” Joshua’s sunny voice came over the telephone. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Joshua paused. “Why aren’t you at church? Is something wrong?”
“No. I didn’t feel like getting up.”
“Well, do you want to come? My parents could come get you.”
There was a determined edge to Paul’s voice. “I’ve already missed sacrament meeting and part of Sunday School. I just need some time to relax, and it doesn’t really matter to anyone if I come or not. Maybe I’ll come some other time.”
“You could still come to teachers quorum today,” Joshua persisted. “Hey, we want you here. What’s the deal?”
“My mother says I’m old enough that if I don’t want to go to church I don’t have to.”
“So what do you do instead?”
“I don’t know. Watch TV, stuff like that. Sleep.” Paul laughed apologetically.
“Brother Powell says to tell you we’re going to have a really good lesson.”
“Oh. Did he make you call me?”
“No, no, I told him I was going to call you.”
Paul was quiet. “Why did you call me?” he asked finally.
“Well, ’cause I worry about you when you’re not at church. I wonder if you’re okay. You used to come all the time, till a couple of weeks ago.” His voice trailed off. “It’ll be a really cool lesson. I saw all this stuff that Brother Powell’s gonna show us. Want me to send someone to come get you?”
“Oh, I can just come on my bike, I guess.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, see you in a few minutes.”