Gospel Story Finder

But you know something, I have great faith in the young women and young men of the Church. Everywhere I go I find them standing for what is right. Modesty is still popular. Good manners are still to be found and Christ-like behavior is still the model. All over our young people are saying, "Enough is enough." Another group, this one consisting of young men and young women, decided that they had had all of the improper high school dances they wanted. Their message to the school administration was clear: "Bring the dances up to our standards or we'll start holding our own." Large numbers of young men have returned to the standards of conduct the world has now abandoned. They treat the young women in their lives with courtesy and respect -- and the young women are doing the same. Things are changing and it's young people like you who are changing them. That's why I have faith in you and in your tomorrows.

Fredrick A., 17, says that when his friend Robert invited him to church, he felt the Spirit so strongly that he couldn’t deny it.
“When I got to church, the Spirit of God was sent upon me,” Fredrick says. “As I was given the Book of Mormon, I started reading it. If I don’t understand, I always ask my branch president and pray.”
Robert (left) and Fredrick have remained friends since Robert introduced him to the gospel.

My seven-year-old son was pedaling furiously and going nowhere. The chain had fallen off his bike. I went over to help him out of his predicament, flipping the bike over so I could access the chain. As I worked, he said, “Dad? When I die, will I be all covered in blood?”
Somewhat shocked, I looked up at him. He was in tears.
“What? No!” I said. “You’re not going to die.” I sat on the curb, and he sat on my lap. He cried and cried. Where had this come from?
“Will my insides fall out?” he asked.
Had my little boy been watching horror movies or something? “No!” I said. Again I told him he wasn’t going to die.
“No, Dad. Everybody is going to die, right?”
I took a deep breath. This was not a conversation I expected to have with such a young child.
When I became a father, I promised myself I would never withhold the truth from my kids, but the thought of telling any of them that they would someday die was a nightmare. I tried to dodge his question. “You don’t need to worry about that right now,” I said. “You just be a happy boy and have fun and don’t worry. You’re going to be alive for a long, long time.”
“I don’t want to die,” he said.
“What do I do here?” I asked myself. Thoughts of saying the wrong thing and forever traumatizing him whirled around in my head. “What do I do?” I offered a silent prayer for help.
I began to tell him about the plan of salvation. I told him that we are all visitors to this world. I told him how each of us is a being made of two parts: a body and a spirit. I told him that when people die—and, yes, we all will someday have to die—it’s just our physical bodies that stop working. Our spirits are eternal and will never die (see Alma 40:11).
I told him that Jesus Christ is our Savior because He made it possible for us to all be together, even though we sometimes have to be apart for a while. I taught him that the Savior died for us and was resurrected and that because He lives, our spirits will someday return to our bodies, and we will never face death again (see Alma 11:43–45).
He asked if I had ever seen a dead person. I told him that I had been able to say good-bye to my grandparents at their funerals. I told him that even though their bodies have died, their spirits are still alive, and we can sometimes feel their presence near.
My son’s fears subsided, and sobs turned into his typical giggles. The idea of relatives visiting even though we couldn’t see them made him smile.
We walked together back to the house, pulling the repaired bike into the garage. I thought about what I had said. I thought about my desire to tell the truth to my children and the answers I had given my son.
In that moment I felt enormously grateful for my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Because I already knew that the plan of salvation is real, I was able to speak to my son confidently and honestly and give him the strength to overcome his fears.
My preparation for this moment began long before my son was born. When I was preparing for a mission, I had a goal to gain a testimony of every aspect of the gospel that I might be required to teach. The part I had struggled with the most was the Resurrection of the dead.
I studied, pondered, and prayed. I fasted and asked for a testimony. After a while, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that the Resurrection is real, that there truly is life after death, and that the promises of the plan of salvation are real. (See 1 Nephi 10:19.)
That testimony became important on my mission, but it became one of my most treasured gifts when my son needed to find peace.
I’m so grateful for that witness, and I testify that the plan of salvation is real. I testify of the importance of strengthening our testimonies so that when we or our loved ones feel fear, we can find peace in our testimonies and understanding of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The youth planned camp to include service projects, a testimony meeting, and activities designed to build spiritual strength and group unity—important things for leading any group, class, or quorum. For example, the youth replaced worn-out picnic tables at the camp so the young men and young women could work and serve together. Stephanie T. learned that leadership includes helping others use and develop their talents: “We put together new tables without power tools. We learned to let the ones with know-how lead and to include the others by having them measure and then stain the tables. It was a humbling experience and changed me for the better.”

Brad came into this life as innocent as any child, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that he was different. He couldn’t go to nursery without my husband or me with him because he was too aggressive. As he grew older and played with other children, he needed constant supervision. When we sought help, we were told that we just had to be more consistent with him. We did everything we could think of: we researched online, read parenting books, and asked doctors and family members. Finally, when Brad started school, he was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, as well as a host of other problems.
For the first time we felt we had hope. Now that we had a diagnosis, we could start a treatment plan. We were hopeful that Brad would respond well to a medication that had helped others. Unfortunately, Brad’s behavior on medication was worse than without it, so he had to stop. I felt the last bit of my hope drain away.
One day when Brad was six, I faced one of his many daily tantrums. I wanted to give up. I went to my room for a moment to myself, and tears rolled down my cheeks. I prayed for the strength to be able to face the approaching bedtime routine. How could I keep doing this, day after day? I felt like I was past what I could endure. Did Heavenly Father understand how hard it was? If He truly loved me, I reasoned, He would remove this burden from me and give my son a normal life. Those thoughts and feelings surrounded me as the trial I faced seemed to get worse instead of better.
I thought I understood trials. We were supposed to go through them like a pot being heated in a kiln. We’d go in and out of the fire, and then life would go back to normal until the next round of heating and tempering. But I had been facing this trial for years, and it was not going away. I felt the weight pressing down on me, and the feeling of helplessness brought me to my knees.
I then knew that the place I needed to go for comfort and understanding was the temple. By inspiration, I realized that we do not get to pick what trials we have in this life or how long they last. What we can control is the way we think and act when trials come.
I realized that the reason I was feeling sorry for myself was because I was allowing self-pity to fill my mind. The first thing I decided to do was stop any negative thoughts that crept in, such as “This is unfair,” “I can’t do this,” “Why can’t Brad be normal?” or the worst culprit, “I am such a bad mother.” I worked hard to stop the negative voice in my head, and I saw that my real voice became more patient and loving when I was dealing with all of my children.
I also encouraged positive thinking. I began to think, “You are doing great,” and I would give myself a compliment, such as “You kept your voice low and didn’t yell. Way to go!”
After a particularly hard day, I asked my husband to give me a blessing. During the blessing I was reminded that I am a daughter of God, that He is aware of me and my needs, and that my son is a son of God. Brad was God’s son first, and my husband and I have a partnership with God in Brad’s behalf. I realized that I had not been using all the tools that the partnership provides for me. My husband and I had researched and discovered many resources to help us, but we forgot the most significant one: prayer.
I began to pray daily about how I could help Brad. When he was having an emotional meltdown, I would say a quick prayer for inspiration before approaching him. As I relied on God for my support and for inspiration for my son, I got a glimpse of what I could be and what I could do for him. I strived to follow Alma’s words: “And this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God” (Alma 29:9).
The changes were immediate. I was flooded with ideas and ways to help Brad. I used family home evening as a tool and prayed for ideas about what to teach. I also read the scriptures with more intent and recognized the great parenting advice they contain. I began to be filled with hope and comfort.
As I continued to put into practice the idea that my husband and I are partners with God in parenting our children and using the tools that He has given us, I began to rely on God more and more. I realized that my knowledge of parenting could only go so far, but a loving Heavenly Father, who knows all things and loves my son more than I do, could help me become a better and stronger mother. And though I still sometimes falter, I know where to look for help. I understand now that some trials may not have a time limit on them, but if I keep my eye on eternity, God will help me.
When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.
We are an eternal family, and with the help of people who love us and our loving Heavenly Father watching over us, I can appreciate the small gifts given to me daily and feel the joy and happiness that we are meant to have. And with those small blessings and the help of the Lord, I can become who I am meant to be, no matter how long it takes.

Two years ago, when I was 14, I went to visit some relatives in another city in southern Germany. I was traveling alone by train, so I was a bit nervous but also excited. After my visit, I got on the train to go home. It was getting late at night as we approached the station where I was supposed to get off the train. I looked out the window and saw the station, but I suddenly had the feeling that I should stay seated.
Though the train wouldn’t be traveling on (this was the final station), I wanted to get home because it was getting late and I was nervous. But the impression to wait was very distinct. So I did it, though I wondered why.
After a few minutes I finally did get out. I had walked only a short distance when a policeman stopped me and said, “You were lucky. If you had come five minutes earlier, you would have been in the middle of a big fight.”
There had been a soccer game that evening between two archrivals. Some fans of one team had been in the front of the train and some fans of the other team in back. When they had gotten off, a couple of them had started provoking one another, and then everyone had started fighting. I later heard that by the time the police came to break it up, over a dozen people had been injured and taken to the hospital. The police had then blocked everything off and taken all the suspects with them.
One policeman came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, saying, “Wow. If you had been there, we probably could have hauled you off as well.” I realized that if I hadn’t followed that impression, something very bad could have happened to me.
As I went home, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him that I was thankful that I had listened to the Holy Ghost and hadn’t gotten off the train. I knew that He had protected me.

This is a good question. There are a number of such episodes in my life, but I will describe only one that occurred when I was 14 or 15 years old. It was an event that burned into my soul the importance of controlling the "natural man" in all of us. It was an experience in which I learned that a single impulsive action or "letting it all hang out" could easily have devastating, even eternal consequences.

I was standing in front of our home in St. John's Arizona talking with two friends, when my 10 year old little brother, Nick, threw a rock that struck me in the back of the head. Enraged, I took after him, breathing out threats as I ran. But Nick eluded me, jumped into one of Dad's old cars, locked the doors and rolled up the windows.

Blood began to trickle down my neck. "You had better open the door," I yelled, "or you are going to get it."

Far from being terrified, Nick began to taunt me through the window with that exaggerated mockery of "You can't get me, eh, eh, eh." We children would sometimes practice that on one another. Perhaps Nick felt he was entitled to a little fun he had seen his older siblings have.

Conquered and frustrated, I could not abide Nick's teasing and laughter. In a burst of anger I doubled up my fist and punched the glass with a force that shattered it into a spray of shards. There was no shatter proof glass in those days.

As I withdrew my fist I pulled my arm across the jagged, razor sharp shards still clinging to the window frame. The result was a deep gash that severed all the blood vessels in my arm.

The sight of so much blood and ragged flesh was profoundly sobering to me. Indeed, despite the pain and shock, I had clarity of mind and instant regret. I saw immediately the cause and effect of my stupid behavior.

Apparently, a piece of glass caused a slight wound on Nick's forehead. He began to scream bloody murder. I walked over and leaned on one of the several elm trees that lined the irrigation ditch by our house. The blood flow eased a bit as I tried to apply pressure on my upper arm.

Hearing Nick's scream, Mom came flying out of the house to find him more frightened than hurt. When she saw my condition, she did not try to conceal her panic. She put me in the back seat of our family Studebaker and took off for the hospital in Springville, 30 miles away. She made it in less than 24 minutes.

Those 24 minutes in a speeding car and the two hours on the operating table gave me ample time to reflect on the enormity of what happened. It was my first full recognition of what self-defeating behavior entails, when in a moment of passion one can damage body and soul forever. Never mind that Nick could have been blinded by shattering glass, or that Mom could have rolled the car in her mad dash to the hospital. I learned my lesson. It was imprinted indelibly on my consciousness. It's ever with me.

So now, whenever I feel a numbing sensation in my forearm, or whenever a child stares at the still very visible scar and asks, "What happened to you? Does it hurt? Ooh that's ugly," I am reminded again that calm self control is one of the great virtues in this world.

Photo illustration by Allan Davey
“Write down all of your talents, and pick one to tell us about,” Sister Jensen said to our Laurel class. I proudly explained that volleyball was my greatest talent and that our next season—my last year of volleyball—was going to be the best one yet.
“Talents come in many forms. Some are spiritual gifts,” Sister Jensen taught. “I think that Heavenly Father has blessed me to be able to love everyone around me.”
Sister Jensen radiated love everywhere she went and shared her testimony in everyday conversations. Her love was genuine, kind, and Christlike. She had become more than a Young Women leader to me—she felt like a second mother, a sister, or a best friend during my high school years. We went to concerts together, went shopping together, and made strawberry jam together. She brought me homemade pudding when I got my wisdom teeth pulled, and she liked to visit me at the snow-cone shack where I worked. She worked at my school, so she went to all my volleyball games too.
A few months later, near the end of summer vacation, I woke up at 3:00 a.m. to the phone ringing. My mom answered and then came to my bedroom. “The Jensens were in a car accident coming home from their family reunion,” she said. “The car rolled off the freeway, and Sister Jensen didn’t make it.”
My heart sank. “This isn’t real,” I thought. “She texted me earlier today. How could she be gone now?”
I felt shocked, confused, and sad all at the same time. After a few minutes, the tears came, and my mom held me while I cried. Sleep was impossible, so I lay there with my thoughts and tears for the rest of the night.
In the coming weeks, I dropped into a sadness I’d never felt before. Volleyball wasn’t a priority, and I no longer looked forward to starting the school year. Everything I was so excited about before was now buried by sadness. “I feel completely overwhelmed with grief,” I wrote in my journal one night. “I can’t stop crying and I’m always tired.”
The night before the first day of school, I lay in bed crying and thinking about Sister Jensen’s death. I was sick of being sad, and I realized that I needed help to overcome the pain. I needed to pray.
“Please help me understand why she died and how I can cope with this,” I prayed.
I knelt there in silence, wondering if He would answer. After a few minutes, my mind started making connections between everything that had happened. My heart felt warm and my mind felt elevated. I realized that these thoughts weren’t my own; the Spirit was teaching me.
The plan of salvation—the flow chart I’d been taught since Primary—was real. Sister Jensen was born, she experienced happiness, she endured trials, she shared her love, and now she was in the spirit world. Her spirit still existed, and I would see her again. I realized that this plan, the plan of happiness, was designed to help us return to our Heavenly Father, to our families, and to our friends. In that moment, I wanted more than anything to live righteously so I could see her again.
During those first few weeks of school, I focused on trying to develop Sister Jensen’s talent of loving everyone. As I concentrated on loving other people, my pain began to slowly subside and I felt happier. I learned that we can show our love for others in many ways—by listening to them, by smiling at them, by taking them a treat, or by complimenting them. These are the small things that Sister Jensen did for me, so the best way to keep her memory alive was to spread her kind of love.
Although Sister Jensen died, I will always feel her love. As I strive each day to show a little more love for other people, I’m living the kind of life she did—and taking one step closer to seeing her again.

A young man tumbles from his sled into a snowdrift. Friends run to offer help. Waving his snow-covered arms and legs, he laughs, “No, no, I like the snow!” He is part of an enthusiastic group of young people in Rexburg, Idaho, who meet together for outdoor activities—snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, horseback riding, ice fishing, scuba diving, and water skiing.
But this is no ordinary group. Most of its members suffer from profound physical handicaps—spina bifida, cerebral palsy, deafness, and blindness. They are part of the Ricks Outdoor Cooperative Handicapped Association—a program pioneered in 1984 by Brother Steve Anderson.
Steve knows firsthand about meeting the challenges of physical handicaps. Steve himself is a victim of severe cerebral palsy. After earning a master’s degree in educational psychology, he found it impossible to convince an employer to hire him. Finally, he approached two of his former professors from Ricks College, a Church-owned college in Rexburg, Idaho. They agreed to supervise him in developing an activities program for handicapped students at Ricks and handicapped people from the Upper Snake River Valley in Idaho.
Through the program, people confined to wheelchairs now take part in a bowling league, using a ramp made especially for them. Those with limited use of their legs can ski with “sit-and-ski” sleds. “Handicaps do not stifle a desire for recreation,” says Steve. “We are helping people overcome a built-in reluctance to participate.”
Accompanying the handicapped people on camping trips, river runs, and skiing trips are Ricks College students volunteering as aides. “Both the able-bodied and the handicapped give and receive service, spirit meeting spirit,” says Steve.
Steve loves the Hopi Indian story of a great bird who fell from the heavens, too weak to fly. As time passed, the bird gathered strength, stretched his wings, and one day began to fly. It flew with such beauty and grace that even stones wept with joy.
Steve considers it a miracle that he and his friends have been able to stretch their wings and begin to fly. “Our Father in Heaven has promised to make weak things strong,” says Steve. “In this promise lies our hope.”

Illustration by Nate Gines
Photograph courtesy of Cornell F.
Location: Western Australia
Experience: activation of quorum members
Sets an example through simple acts of service. Makes sure every quorum member is contacted.
Well before sacrament meeting started, the president was already there. He always is. Now, before you assume we’re talking about a stake, district, or branch president, let’s clarify. Cornell F. is a deacons quorum president.
Every Sunday he magnifies his calling. This particular Sunday is ward conference, and Cornell is here early, placing hymnbooks on the benches where the deacons will be seated. He wants his quorum to benefit from the sacred music that should be a significant part of worship.
Another Sunday, he is pleased to report that all of the deacons in his ward are in attendance, six who are active and three who haven’t been coming regularly but are being fellowshipped.
“Every Sunday,” he says, “I give deacons assignments to call or visit less-active quorum members or friends who are investigating the Church.” He also notes that “every Tuesday evening before our youth activities we invite all the deacons to come.”
At the ward conference, the deacons pay special attention to inspiring messages from the stake president and the bishop. Then after the meeting, “the deacons stay to make sure that the chapel is clean and tidy,” Cornell says. They also look after the rest of the meetinghouse. “We take out the bins and sometimes we help to clean the nursery room,” he explains.
“We are ‘can-do’ deacons,” he says, “and each deacon plays a big role in our success.”

How do we come unto Him? Last April, President Russell M. Nelson and Elder M. Russell Ballard encouraged us to study “The Living Christ” as part of learning about the Savior. Many have accepted the challenge and been blessed. Not long ago a dear friend gave each of her adult children copies of the document with gospel pictures to illustrate each phrase. She encouraged her children to help her grandchildren understand and memorize it. Sometime later my friend shared a video of her six-year-old granddaughter, Laynie, reciting her memorized version with enthusiasm and poise. I realized that if a six-year-old could do it, so can I!

As I have studied the life and teachings of Jesus Christ with more focus and committed “The Living Christ” to memory, my gratitude and love for our Savior have increased. Each sentence of that inspired document contains a sermon and has enhanced my understanding of His divine roles and earthly mission. What I have learned and felt through this period of study and reflection confirms that Jesus truly “is the light, the life, and the hope of the world.” Ancient scripture and latter-day prophets’ words written or spoken in praise of Him bear witness that “His way is the path that leads to happiness in this life and eternal life in the world to come.”

Gérald Caussé was still establishing his career in the food-distribution industry in France at age 33 when the president of his company called him aside. He had noticed Gérald’s spiritual convictions and his ability to make sound judgments and unify employees—traits developed through activity, service, and leadership in the Church. The president concluded that Gérald was a man he could trust.
To his surprise, Gérald was soon given the responsibility of managing 1,800 employees. By the time he was called to serve as a General Authority Seventy a decade later, in April 2008, he was managing several food-distribution companies.

Another person whose light greatly influenced my life was Jeff Thomason, my teammate and fellow tight end with the Eagles. The whole team loved Jeff because he earned their respect through hard work. He had a magnetic personality that made all of us want to be around him.

Jeff took his job seriously and was a professional in every way. He could handle mistakes on the field and keep his chin up better than anyone else I knew. A great example of this happened during a play at training camp. Jeff ran “22 Texas Y Out,” which required a ten-yard vertical sprint with a sharp cut to the outside. He ran a nice route, and Donovan McNabb threw a sweet pass. When Jeff reached for the ball, it jammed his left pinky finger, which caused him to drop the ball and also resulted in a boutonniere deformity. That’s when the pinky remains bent down; it’s fairly common among football players.

Andy Reid blew up. He yelled that Jeff had just run the worst route he had ever seen. It was not typical of Andy to do that. Jeff smiled through the pain and even laughed behind his face mask as he held his finger. He knew Andy really liked him, and he didn’t lose confidence over Andy’s outburst.

Jeff’s reaction caused me and the other tight end, Mike Bartrum, to crack up. Even though Andy was on fire, it was a humorous scene. We were exhausted from training camp, and anything funny was made funnier by the sheer physical and mental exhaustion we were experiencing. Jeff’s ability to smile and laugh in times of trial and even pain lifted the spirits of those around him.

My weakness as a player was in blocking. Jeff not only helped me improve my physical technique by showing me how to do it but also always encouraged me to get better. Even in the highly competitive culture of the NFL he took the time and made the effort to help his teammates.

When Michele and I would go out to dinner with Jeff and his wife, Blake, Jeff would ask me to share stories of my mission in Taiwan. He said he loved hearing those stories. We gave them a copy of The Other Side of Heaven, the movie about Elder John H. Groberg’s mission in Tonga, and he loved it. After watching it he said, “I wish I could have played at BYU and gone on a mission to Tonga!”

We gave the Thomasons a leather-bound copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimonies written to them inside the cover. Since we loved them, we wanted to share what meant most to us and what brought us peace and joy.

People will love to hear your stories. Don’t be afraid to reach out and share them. Your stories did not just happen for you; they are meant to be shared. Sharing them is a great way for you to let your light shine for others.

Jeff finished his career and went to work for a national construction company. Two years later, when the Eagles played the Atlanta Falcons in the National Football Conference Championship Game, I broke my foot at the very end of the game, which made it impossible for me to play in the Super Bowl.

Andy called Jeff and signed him out of retirement to play in the world’s biggest football game! The next two weeks were a media circus for Jeff. His story of going from construction worker to the Super Bowl was a big hit. He was on The Today Show, Good Morning America, CBS’s The Early Show, and a 60 Minutes special. He handled it all with class and humility.

The Eagles did not win Super Bowl XXXIX against the New England Patriots, but Jeff played a great game. It marked the end of our football careers together. The game is over, but we will be friends forever.

The light of friendship I felt from Jeff in challenging situations was illuminating—like a car driving at night with the headlights on high beam! I saw how important it was to be around someone who could maintain a positive outlook no matter the situation of the game, if there was a setback, or anything else. I learned it was vital to surround myself with greatness, and I invite you to do the same.

When he was 14 years old, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was asked whether he had read the Bible all the way through. “I had read many books by that time, the funny papers, and light books, but my accusing heart said to me, ‘You, Spencer Kimball, you have never read that holy book. Why?”1 From that point on, President Kimball made it a point to “feast upon the words of Christ” (2 Nephi 32:3).

The bishop was puzzled. A young man tempted by homosexuality was following the bishop’s counsel about prayer, fasting, scripture study, Church involvement, and self-mastery but was still struggling. As they talked, the bishop learned that the young man had been attending group therapy sessions. No guidance had been offered, the young man said; the sessions mostly consisted of detailed, drawn-out discussions of the problem. He found it disturbing, like “adding fuel to the fire I’ve been trying to put out,” he said. In the past, other ward members had been strengthened by therapy sessions. What was the difference?

Pondering the problem during the week, the bishop was led to these words by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve: “The study of the doctrines of the gospel will improve behavior quicker than a study of behavior will improve behavior. Preoccupation with unworthy behavior can lead to unworthy behavior.” He also read this statement by President Benson: “The Lord works from the inside out. The world works from the outside in. … Christ changes men, who then change their environment. The world would shape human behavior, but Christ can change human nature.”

Feeling the direction of the Spirit, the bishop typed up every statement about rising above homosexuality that he could find in general conference talks over the past 30 years, then asked the young man to read these as part of his gospel study. A week later, the young man told him: “Bishop, the strength and power of those words gave me the will to go forward and a desire to do better. A witness has come to me this week that I can do it.”

The bishop learned from this experience that there is no substitute for the power of the Savior in helping people turn from sin, and that to change lives, counseling must focus on applying principles of the gospel rather than dwelling on the sin.

Illustrated by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
Ever since he was a boy, Wilford Woodruff wanted to know which church was true. When he was 26 years old, he still had not joined any church. He lived with his brother Azmon on his farm.
Wilford: Heavenly Father, help me to know how to live my life.
On December 29, 1833, two Mormon missionaries stopped at Azmon’s house. He and Wilford were both away working, but Azmon’s wife was home.
Missionary: God has restored His Church upon the earth, and we would like to tell you more about it.
Azmon’s wife: My husband and brother-in-law are not home right now, but we would definitely be interested in hearing more.
The missionaries rented the local schoolhouse that afternoon. They passed out notices inviting anybody who wanted to learn more about the gospel to come to a meeting that evening.
When Wilford got home from working, his sister-in-law told him about the meeting. He immediately turned his horses around and started to the schoolhouse, praying the whole way to know whether or not the missionaries were true followers of Christ.
Azmon’s wife: But, Wilford, what about supper?
Wilford: These men could be the answer to my prayers! I must go.
Wilford arrived at the schoolhouse, which was packed with people. His brother Azmon was already there. Wilford couldn’t find an empty chair, so he sat on one of the writing desks where he could see and hear everything.
Missionary: I bear strong testimony of the divine authenticity of the Book of Mormon. I also know that Joseph Smith is a prophet who has come to fulfill a great mission here on earth.
Wilford: I can feel the Spirit telling me that these are men of God.
After the missionaries were finished speaking, they asked members of the congregation if they would like to stand and say anything. Immediately, Wilford stood up and told everyone that he knew the missionaries were speaking the truth.
Wilford: The Lord urges me to bear testimony of the truth of this message. Do not oppose these men, for they are true servants of God. They have preached to us the pure gospel of Jesus Christ.
Two days later Wilford and his brother Azmon were baptized.

Barbara Matovu remembers the first time the missionaries brought her to the center for an activity to meet other young single adults. She thought she knew what to expect.
“Throughout my life I’ve always had a group that I belonged to,” explains Barbara. “And the groups were always stamped with something—you were the sporty group or the international group or some other group. So when people started coming into the center, it was so strange because no one seemed to have the attitude of ‘I’m in the popular group, so I can’t talk to you.’
“At first, I thought, ‘Are they acting? Is this a show?’ But after a while I realized it actually doesn’t matter who we are or where we come from or which language we speak. The love of our Heavenly Father is for everyone. Usually it takes me a bit of time to find my group, but this time I felt like I didn’t need a group. I was just Barbara, and I could be Barbara for everybody.”

It was a mid-April snowstorm that started it all. Not necessarily an unusual occurrence for Utah, but still, I thought the snow-drenched tulips on Temple Square needed to be documented. So I created an Instagram account—one that featured not photos of my cats (as adorable as they are) but rather photos of the temple.
Thus began a year of daily posting (and a few more years of not-so-daily posting). Taking photos of the temple and posting them with temple-related quotes from Church leaders became a fun way to develop talents and deepen my appreciation for the temple.
But the more people I reached, the more I recognized my opportunity to be an influence for good. I’m no social media “influencer,” but I like to think that my efforts make a difference for someone somewhere.

Not long ago, one of my daughters came home from a date. I heard the garage door open, the car pull in, and the garage door close, but strangely, I could still hear the car running. Since I know this can be dangerous, I went to the garage to investigate. When I opened the car door, I found my daughter hunched over the steering wheel sobbing. She had just experienced a heart-wrenching break up with someone she cared deeply about. It was so hard for me to see this. I wanted to crawl into the car, take her into my arms, and just hold her. But somehow, I instinctively knew that she needed to be alone for a time. I turned off the car, quietly closed the door, and went inside. As I sat in the living room agonizing from a distance, the thought came to me that I was then experiencing, to a small degree, what the Father must have felt as he watched His perfect Son suffer when He withdrew His spirit. It was a meaningful lesson for me and one I doubt I could have learned with as much power and clarity in any other way.

In 1840, when Charles was twenty-one years old, he heard two Mormon missionaries preaching the gospel. He knew that what they were teaching was true, and he asked to be baptized. Charles was the only member of his family to join the Church. Not long after his baptism, Charles also became a missionary and was the companion of the missionary who baptized him! Charles served his mission in England and North Wales until 1843.