Gospel Story Finder

WESLEY: In 2012, I was skiing with a group of friends, and I went off a jump, and I came down 15 feet onto my neck. That completely changed my life. I broke my neck, rendering me a quadriplegic for the rest of my life. My father was there, and so I actually called out to him and told him I needed help, and he came and was able to give me a blessing right there on the mountain. And it comforted me. It comforted me for the rest of that day and even the rest of the time in this injury. I was told that I would be able to shrug my shoulders and only turn my head for the rest of my life, but I had a great surgeon, and he was able to fix my neck and then a few days later realize that I would be able to actually gain more back. And I was actually able to start moving my arms and get into a manual wheelchair. Another blessing I saw in this was that I was able to graduate a year early. About a year before, I had decided to graduate a year early and do all the work to do that. And from then on, I was able to focus more on my injury.

Each of us is headed down a ski slope called life. And at times, we’ll fall--either spiritually or physically--and we’ll have to turn to our Heavenly Father to get back up and turn to those people around us, and they’ll help us get back up. And just like I got back up on skis within a year, we can get back up and continue on with our life.

I’ve learned so much from this injury. I’ve learned how to see people better. I’ve learned how to come closer to our Heavenly Father and that He’s always there for us. No matter what happens in our life, He is there for us.

At a young age, Elder L. Whitney Clayton learned to love work and family. Early every Saturday, his father, a physician, would leave to attend to medical duties. Before he left, he would write on a chalkboard a list of all the chores to be done that day. When he returned he would join his sons and work side by side with them. From his father, Elder Clayton learned a work ethic that has blessed his life.

“We explained at a fireside what we planned to do at the conference,” Jacie said. “We told them we were going to work and work hard, but we explained how they could help and how much good it would do for the farm.”

Evidently the appeal was convincing. “This is the biggest turnout we’ve ever had for a youth conference,” Jacie said. And Gary, who served on the steering committee with her, noted that more than 500 attended an activity originally planned for 300. “At first we were afraid people would be turned off by the idea of working, but it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever.”

My third example highlights the importance of recognizing and accepting the will of God in our lives. Several years ago there was a young father who had been active in the Church as a boy but had chosen a different path during his teenage years. After serving in the military, he married a lovely girl, and soon children blessed their home.

One day without warning their little four-year-old daughter became critically ill and was hospitalized. In desperation and for the first time in many years, the father was found on his knees in prayer, asking that the life of his daughter be spared. Yet her condition worsened. Gradually this father sensed that his little girl would not live, and slowly his prayers changed; he no longer prayed for healing but rather for understanding. “Let Thy will be done” was now the manner of his pleadings.

Soon his daughter was in a coma, and the father knew her hours on earth were few. Fortified with understanding, trust, and power beyond their own, the young parents prayed again, asking for the opportunity to hold her close once more while she was awake. The daughter’s eyes opened, and her frail arms reached out to her parents for one final embrace. And then she was gone. This father knew their prayers had been answered—a kind, compassionate Father in Heaven had comforted their hearts. God’s will had been done, and they had gained understanding. (Adapted from H. Burke Peterson, “Adversity and Prayer,” Ensign, Jan. 1974, 18.)

“Things go fast when you work together, and when you work hard.” That’s the lesson Gail Morgan, 14, learned, when the Young Women of the Thetford Ward, Norwich England Stake, turned a port-a-cabin into a Young Women’s meeting room.
The cabin, located in the parking area adjacent to the meetinghouse, is a temporary solution to overcrowded facilities. “Before, we were meeting on the stage, with other classes all around, and it was very noisy,” said Tamaron Cary, 17. “Now, we’re separated from the noise.”
The Laurels made posters and used Mormonads to decorate the room, the Mia Maids made curtains, and the Beehives, who were busy on a Book of Mormon marking project of their own, joined the others as the curtains were hung and flowers placed in the room.

I have just finished reading “Taking upon Us His Name” in the April 1982 New Era. It is exactly the article I needed to read at this time. Thank you!
My only daughter, Audrey, and I were both baptized in 1976. She was 15 at the time. She went on to Ricks College, where she met her husband. They were married in the Idaho Falls Temple in December of 1980, and they are expecting their first child in late June. I’m so very happy for them.
On the other hand, since Audrey is gone, I’m all alone in the Church. I have gone to church alone and prayed alone. My spirituality has slowly dwindled away. It’s not much fun when an individual doesn’t have anyone in the family to communicate with on a spiritual level. I have prayed for my spirituality to come back. This article by Sister Ardeth Kapp has increased my testimony quite a bit.
How frail our mortal testimony can be when we are not encouraged by others, be it family or friends. I realized while reading that article that I don’t really need outside help. What matters most is what I feel deep in my heart. All I need is to know that our Heavenly Father loves me unconditionally.
I will continue to pray that other members of my family will be touched by the Holy Spirit as Audrey and I were. I pray that they will someday soon know all about the only true Church here on the earth. I read the New Era from cover to cover every time it comes.
Marina DouganCalgary, Alberta, Canada

I was serving as a missionary when I met Susie (name has been changed). She and her family had been taught the gospel by two missionaries who worked in the mission office with me. They had received all the lessons and had accepted the invitation to be baptized and confirmed. It was my privilege to interview this wonderful family of four: mother, father, younger brother, and Susie.
I had completed the baptismal interviews for the other three family members and had found them wonderfully prepared and excited to be part of the Lord’s kingdom. But when Susie walked in, she seemed quiet and somewhat hesitant to meet with me.
I began asking questions about what she had been taught. She knew the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith and believed it; she had read the Book of Mormon and knew it to be true; and she accepted the Church as the only true and living Church on the earth and wanted to be part of it. I asked Susie about her willingness to live the law of tithing, the Word of Wisdom, and other commandments. She said she understood these and was willing to live them for the rest of her life. Indeed, the interview was much like those I had had with the rest of her family.
Then I asked, “Can you tell me what the law of chastity is?” Her countenance immediately changed. I quickly recognized this must be why she seemed hesitant to meet with me. Before I could say anything, she covered her face with both hands, put her face and hands in her lap, and began to sob uncontrollably.
We sat without speaking for several minutes. I was unsure of what to say, and Susie could not stop sobbing. I prayed for the Lord’s help and asked Susie what was wrong. She finally lifted her face and told me that several weeks before meeting the missionaries she and her boyfriend had done things the missionaries had taught her were wrong according to the Lord’s law. She had already told her boyfriend what she had learned and had told him she would no longer be involved in such a relationship. She had even suggested to him that he meet with the missionaries and hear what she now knew was true. Still, the guilt for having engaged in these acts weighed down her soul.
My heart hurt with hers. I wanted so much to help her because I felt that her remorse and her desire to do right and be baptized were sincere. At that moment, the answer to my prayer came clearly. I asked her, “Susie, would you like to be free of the guilt and pain of this sin?” Once again her hands covered her face, and her head bowed. She uttered only one word: “Yes.” Her tears came even more freely, and I consoled her by talking about the Atonement and how she could apply it to her life. I explained that one purpose of baptism and confirmation is to heal the souls of those who are sincere in repentance, and without question I found her to be sincere.
We completed the interview with a prayer. The Spirit of the Lord was clearly present, more powerfully than I had ever before felt in an interview.
My companion and I arrived at the chapel shortly before the baptism. There was no time to speak to Susie or her family prior to the service. After the singing and the talks, they were baptized—first her mother, then her father, then her brother, and finally Susie. She walked down into the font, and her smile told the story—the healing balm of the Master was working in her heart. As she came out of the water, tears were in her eyes and mine. Her smile was even bigger than before, and her countenance was radiant. I understood at that moment why the Savior taught, “Come unto me, all ye that … are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
We spoke only briefly after the service. I welcomed the family as new members of the Lord’s kingdom. As I shook Susie’s hand, I wanted to tell her how much this experience had meant to me. I had repented in my life and felt the power of the Atonement, but I was grateful to have felt it more powerfully than ever before because of my association with her.
Joining the Church is a challenge in and of itself. Joining under such personally strained circumstances had to be an even greater challenge for Susie, as it is for many new members. But the Atonement of Jesus Christ made the challenge surmountable and led this wonderful daughter of God to conversion and a healing of the soul. It also taught an impressionable young missionary an important lesson about applying the Atonement in his own life.

Amanda hurried toward Rebekah’s house, watching her feet carefully and making some steps short and some long. She almost hit her friend head-on as she neared the gate of one of their neighbors, because Rebekah was walking along and looking down too. They saw each other’s shoes and stopped just in time.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going?” Rebekah teased.
“I’m missing the cracks,” Amanda replied, adding with a grin, “What’s your excuse?”
“I’m looking for textures. Want to help me win the prize?”
“What prize?”
“The box of crayons the teacher promised for the one who finds the most textures.”
“Sure, I’ll help. What are textures?”
“Oh, you know, how something feels when you rub your hand over it. Or how it looks like it would feel. A carpet is fuzzy or loopy or shaggy or carved looking. Tiles can be shiny or rough or patterned. And most glass is clear and smooth, but some bathroom glass is cloudy and bumpy so people can’t see through it.”
Amanda looked down again. “Like the sidewalk is different from the grass?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How about the bark on that tree over there?”
“That’s a good example!” Rebekah exclaimed. “It’ll make a good rubbing.”
“Rubbing?” questioned Amanda.
“Lots of textures make nice designs on paper. I’ll show you.”
Rebekah took some crayons out of her pocket.
“Looks like your little brother has been playing with these,” Amanda said. “They’re all broken, and the paper’s peeled off.”
“Oh, I did that.”
“What for?”
“So I can use the sides,” Rebekah explained, “like this.” She put a sheet of paper against the tree and rubbed the long side of the crayon over it.
The design of the bark showed on the paper.
“Hey, that looks like fun!” Amanda said. “Let me do one. How about a tire?”
“Sure,” Rebekah answered. “Which one do you want, Mom’s or Mrs. Rakich’s?”
“I was looking at the one on your bike.”
“Why don’t we do all three?”
“OK. You could probably win the prize just with tire treads from the cars parked on this street. They all look different.”
“So do the tree trunks!” Rebekah added excitedly. “Wow! I’m sure we’re going to find the most!”
All afternoon Amanda and Rebekah discovered different textures: bricks and boards, walks and walls, fancy fences, shingles, corn shucks, stones, gravel, grass, and grease. They made rubbings of some and lists of others.
Then Rebekah took a magnifying glass out of her pocket, and the two friends looked at skin and fingernails, leaves and flower parts, insects and feathers.
When the sun went down, they went into Rebekah’s house. In her mother’s scrap bag they found slippery satin, rough and tweedy wool, ribbed corduroy, smooth velvet, lace, linen, and polyester knits in many patterns. With Mother’s help they cut samples and made a booklet of the different fabrics.
Mother showed them wallpaper, sandpaper, paper towels, and napkins. They found textures on baskets, towels, dishes, and furniture. By the end of the day, they had found 211 different textures.
“Do you think that’s enough to win?” Amanda asked.
“I don’t know if it is or not,” Rebekah answered, “but if anyone else found more textures than we did, he deserves the prize.”
“No matter who wins,” Amanda said, “no one could have had any more fun than we did!”
“That’s true—but I sure need those crayons. Mine are all used up!”

Lisa and I met in the latter part of 1985. The first day I saw her, I thought, “Wow, she is really cute!” After a few dates, I was so impressed that I wanted to see her every day. By April 1986, I knew I was in love. The big challenge was that marriage was not in my plans. I wanted to play golf.

But I quickly found out that when it’s right, it’s right!

We were married four months later. Over the next 39 years and 10 months, I came to realize just how strong, independent, hardworking, determined, and caring Lisa truly is. So often she had the responsibility of caring for our family on her own. She is a champ! She is a loving, kind, and devoted mother. Now, as a grandmother, she brings that same love, devotion, and kindness to her grandchildren. Their eyes light up whenever they see her face or hear her voice.

It was Thanksgiving Day. My mother’s kitchen was comfortably warm from the cooking and was filled with the fragrance of apples, cinnamon, sage dressing, and roasting turkey.
“Smells good,” I said. “When will it be ready?”
“About an hour.” My mother was slicing bananas for a fruit salad.
I reached over and took a piece of banana.
“You can wait.” She looked up and smiled and then handed me a bowl filled with potatoes.
“Peel these and cut them up.”
I sat at the table and started peeling. The potatoes were from our garden and had a sweet, earthy smell.
“Who’s coming?”
“Eric and Tammy.” She took a roll pan from beneath the stove. My mother is famous for her rolls. They are lighter and better tasting than anything you could ever imagine.
“Carol and June.” She hesitated. “Grandma’s coming.”
I looked out the window. It had been raining, but now it had stopped, and the sky was clearing up. There were patches of blue, and the shadows of clouds were drifting silently over the soft brown and gray colors of early winter. A few leaves were still clinging to trees, as if they couldn’t accept the coming winter.
“It’s stopped raining. I didn’t think Grandma was well enough.”
“She’s been a lot better lately, it’s good for her to get out. She doesn’t like being there.”
With a spoon she dropped sticky dough into the pan. When it was filled, she covered it with a cloth.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her, hasn’t it?”
I nodded. It had been a long time, almost two years. They’d put her in the rest home while I was away from home for my first year of college.
“You should have gone to visit her.”
“Why? She wouldn’t even know who I am.”
“She knows,” she said, washing flour from her hands. “She forgets names sometimes, but she still knows who comes to visit her and who doesn’t. And even if she can’t remember anything, you should still go to see her.”
It was an old conversation, and I had known my mother was right the first time we’d had it. I should have gone, but I hadn’t. I had even avoided it. The stories I’d heard—my grandmother fighting with nurses, not recognizing her own children. Somehow the words senile and old didn’t fit my grandmother. She had always been so strong and self-reliant. She never forgot anything. She sent birthday cards to her children and her grandchildren, all 42 of them. She never forgot. I didn’t want to see her changed. I’d always looked up to her.
During the summers, when I was young, I would work with her in her garden. It was one of the largest and best kept in the area. The furrows were all neat and even, and it was filled with almost every vegetable that would grow in our climate and even a few that weren’t supposed to. The outside edge of the garden was surrounded by flowers and berry bushes. I can still see her moving along the furrows, the hoe coming down fast and hard, her head covered with a wide-brimmed straw hat tied down with a red scarf.
That is how I wanted to remember her. I didn’t want to see her any other way.
My mother was taking the turkey from the oven when they arrived. My aunt Carol set pies on the table and then helped my grandmother into the room. Grandma was thinner and paler than I remembered. My mother put her arms around her. Grandma smiled. I thought about leaving the room, but I didn’t. My mother, my aunt, and my sister started setting the table. Grandma was standing near the table. She was looking at me. I tried to look away. My mother was putting the turkey on a platter. They were all talking and laughing. I looked back at grandma. She was still looking at me. I tried to smile. She raised her hand, motioning for me to come to her. The hand was shaking. She reached up and put her hand on my shoulder. She smiled and looked into my eyes. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
“It will be all right,” she said, comforting and counseling me like she’d done a hundred times before.
Her eyes still held the fire they’d always had. They were still strong and full of love. I knew then that what she was inside would never change. The body might grow old and weak, the mind might fail, but the spirit never stops existing.

We all willingly serve. Sometimes we feel underwhelmed with our calling and wish we were asked to do more. Other times we are grateful when it is time for our release. We do not determine the callings we receive.24 I learned this lesson early in my marriage. As a young couple, my wife, Kathy, and I lived in Florida. One Sunday a counselor in the stake presidency explained to me that they felt impressed to call Kathy as an early-morning seminary teacher.
“How will we do it?” I asked. “We have small children, seminary begins at 5:00 a.m., and I am the ward Young Men president.”
The counselor smiled and said, “It will be OK, Brother Andersen. We will call her, and we will release you.”
And that is what happened.

Football is my favorite sport. I have been playing Little League football for six years. The position I play is running back. For the past five seasons we have not had many games on Sunday. This year was different. Almost half the games were on Sunday.
At the beginning of the season, my family had a family home evening on Sabbath day observance. We read in the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet that Sunday is not a holiday or a day for recreation or athletic events. I know it is important to keep the Sabbath day holy. My dad and I went to the coach and told him that I would not play football on Sunday. The coach was frustrated by our decision. He did not understand because he is not a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Throughout the season I tried to be a good example. It was hard for me at times because I love to play football and hated to miss so many games. When I did play with the team at Saturday games, I played my best.
I have been blessed. Many of my teammates and coaches have asked questions about the Church because of my decision. This was a great missionary experience, and I know that I made the right choice.

President Grant was always ready to give. After an energetic conference talk in San Diego, the President invited Joseph to play golf with him. “I had never played golf, … but I couldn’t very well turn him down,” Elder Anderson reminisced. The President arranged for a lesson and a pail of golf balls to practice with, and then they played a number of holes. The next day in Los Angeles President Grant suffered a debilitating heart attack. On the way to the hospital, he whispered, “‘Joseph, you made some very good strokes yesterday.’ I said, ‘Yes, President, I’m afraid you’ve converted me. I will have to get some clubs and get busy.’ ‘Don’t you worry about the clubs,’ he said, ‘I’ll take care of that. I’ll buy them.’”

Twenty-five years ago I found myself in my first nursing course at St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ogden, Utah. My clinical instructor, Dr. Helen Farr, lined me and other students up against the wall to inspect our clean, white, crisp nursing uniforms early that first morning. With stethoscopes around our necks and confidence abounding, we were assigned our first patients. We could hardly wait to care for our patients—to do those skills that we had practiced so long and so hard in the nursing lab. We were excited to take our first blood pressure, give our first medication, and start our first IV.
I remember my first patient, a man in his fifties who had been diagnosed with bladder cancer—a terminal disease. I completed the technical skills with precision and, after giving what I thought was good care, walked out into the hallway to be met by Dr. Farr. She asked how I was doing. I reported all the tasks I had completed, including giving her a report of the patient’s current blood pressure and pulse.
With a worried look she asked me if I had taken the time to talk to the patient and really listen to understand his concerns and worries about his health problems. She told me to go back into the room and not come out until I had talked and then listened intently to my patient.
With my tail between my legs, I turned around and headed back into his room. I felt uncomfortable as I entered. I cannot remember what was said to break the tension, but I soon found out this patient’s physician had told him of his terminal condition that morning. The man shared with me his concern and his fears about the terminal diagnosis. How was he going to be able to talk about this to his wife? He told me he was scared of being in pain. He shared his concerns about leaving his wife and told me how important she had been to him. Tears came to his eyes as he spoke about how much he wanted to be with his children and grandchildren, to go fishing and camping with them. We spoke for a long time that day. At times no words were spoken, but communication occurred soul to soul.
Even though I felt I had been scolded by Dr. Farr that morning, I was taught an important and valuable lesson that day: to be still and listen. That lesson has helped me more throughout my nursing career than anything else I have learned since.

In stark contrast, consider the example of another young man. Through the years I have watched how his parents have taught him from infancy to unwaveringly live the commandments of God. By example and precept, they nurtured him, together with their other children, in truth. They encouraged the development of discipline and sacrifice to obtain worthy goals. This young man chose swimming to instill in his character those qualities. Early-morning practice sessions required discipline and sacrifice. Over time he excelled in that sport.
Then came the challenges—for example, a championship swim meet on Sunday. Would he participate? Would he rationalize an exception to his rule of not swimming on Sunday to help his team win the championship? No, he would not yield, even under intense peer pressure. He was called names, even physically abused. But he would not yield. The rejection of friends, the loneliness, and the pressure brought times of sadness and tears. But he would not yield. He was learning firsthand what each of us must come to know, the reality of Paul’s counsel to Timothy, “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution” (2 Tim. 3:12). Over the years this consistent pattern of righteous living—woven from hundreds of correct decisions, some in the face of great challenge—has developed a character of strength and capacity. Now, as a missionary, he is appreciated by his peers for his ability to work, his knowledge of truth, his unwavering devotion, and his determination to share the gospel. One who earlier was rejected by his peers now has become a respected leader of his peers. Is there a message for you in these examples?

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back of the room, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to Him for a very long time. Ask Him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures now and again. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in His hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw Him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you coming with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

Some mothers, some fathers, some children, some families are called upon to bear a heavy burden here in mortality. Such a family was the Borgstrom family in northern Utah. The time was World War II. Fierce battles raged in various parts of the world.
Tragically, the Borgstroms lost four of their five sons who were serving in the armed forces. Within a six-month period, all four sons gave their lives—each in a different part of the world.
Following the war, the bodies of the four Borgstrom brothers were brought home to Tremonton, and an appropriate service was conducted, filling the Garland Utah Tabernacle. General Mark Clark attended the service. He later spoke with tenderness these words: “I flew to Garland the morning of June 26. Met with the family, including among others the mother, father, and two remaining sons, … one a lad in his teens. I had never met a more stoic family group.
“As the four flag-draped coffins were lined up in front of us in the church, and as I sat by these brave parents, I was deeply impressed by their understanding, by their faith, and their pride in these magnificent sons who had made the supreme sacrifice for principles which had been instilled in them by noble parents since childhood.
“During the luncheon period, Mrs. Borgstrom turned to me and said in a low voice, ‘Are you going to take my young one?’ I answered in a whisper that as long as I remained in command of the army on the West Coast, if her boy were called I would do my best to have him assigned to duty at home.
“In the middle of this whispered conversation with the mother, the father suddenly leaned forward and said to Mrs. Borgstrom: ‘Mother, I have overheard your conversation with the general about our youngest. We know that if and when his country needs him, he will go.’
“I could hardly contain my emotions. Here were parents with four sons lying dead from wounds received in battle and yet were ready to make the last sacrifice if their country required it.”
It is the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ that touched home and heart that ever-to-be-remembered day.

When Brigham Young and his brother Joseph Young went to see Joseph Smith in 1832, they found him chopping wood, for, as Wilford Woodruff said, “he was a labouring man, and gained his bread by the sweat of his brow.” The Prophet, according to the account of this meeting, “received them gladly, invited them to his house, and they rejoiced together in the Gospel of Christ, and their hearts were knitted together in the spirit and bond of union.”8

Mark had been working for a railroad, counting freight cars, but what he really wanted to do was be a newspaperman. The city editor of the Deseret News became accustomed to the sight of the tall, slender young man who presented himself before his desk every afternoon asking about a job. Mark’s shy demeanor hid an iron determination. He approached the editor nearly every afternoon for six months asking about openings at the newspaper. His persistence paid off. The reporter assigned to cover the Church Office beat quit. Mark was offered the job at a lower salary than he was making at the railroad, but he jumped at the chance to be a reporter.

I conclude with another story from my experience at Harvard. While there I unofficially audited a class jointly taught by three Harvard professors: a lawyer, a theologian, and a scientist. The title of the course was intriguing: “Thinking About Thinking.”

The format of the class was to introduce subjects of societal interest, such as Religion and Violence or The Role of Dissent, and then examine each subject rigorously from the perspective of each of these three disciplines. In each session one of the professors would introduce the subject, and then each professor would explain the perspective of his discipline on it. The three professors would engage one another directly, often pointedly criticizing the lack of relevance or outright error he found in the other disciplines. These exchanges sometimes spilled over into the several hundred students gathered in the amphitheater classroom. I found it a remarkable experience.

One such session focused on the sources of authority in law, religion, and science—especially on matters of morality. Following the introduction by the theologian, the scientist simply observed that science creates moral dilemmas; it doesn’t answer them. He noted, for example, that without science there would be no transplanting of human organs and therefore no black market for such organs. He had little to say thereafter.

The lawyer then stood and declared that there are only three sources of knowledge or authority: revelation, discovery (of something already existing), and invention. He then began a vigorous line of questioning, wanting to know from the theologian, in essence, the difference between religion and philosophy. The theologian’s reply was, frankly, anemic. He acknowledged the contributions of philosophers and defined religion as a belief system and a body of believers. The lawyer was not satisfied, and with great animation he questioned why he or anyone else should consider religion’s voice any more authoritative than philosophy’s voice. He also demanded to know where there was any religious voice on earth even claiming to speak authoritatively in the name of God.

A few moments of awkward silence ensued as the theologian considered how he might respond. His next words were, for me, both unexpected and remarkable. He said, in essence: “Well, there was a man by the name of Joseph Smith who lived in the 1800s and claimed that God spoke to him, and he printed a book entitled the Book of Mormon that he claimed came from God and contains God’s word for the world today. And the church that he founded, the Mormon Church, is directed today by those who claim to be prophets and apostles to whom God speaks.”

The lawyer was momentarily silenced as he attempted to process what he had just heard. He then asked, in essence, “Well, is there anyone else?”

The theologian responded, “No.”

The lawyer then continued his critique of religion, essentially ignoring what had just been “placed in evidence.”

Although the response of this capable theologian was inconsistent with his own belief, in the press of the moment he had unwittingly identified the singular place where revealed truth and the preeminence of spiritual enlightenment in learning are found and taught. He had also affirmed their validity.

Surprising though this interchange was, especially in the environment in which I sat, the significance of what I had just witnessed was not lost on me. Nor was it lost on my nonmember colleagues, who, following the class, wondered why the lawyer had not engaged the response more directly. Not knowing the mind of the lawyer, I could only surmise that he was attempting to not give added attention to the one voice that directly and authoritatively refuted his premise.