Gospel Story Finder

Natalie dipped her brush into the orange paint and put the finishing touches on her newest picture. Orange swirled together with red, yellow, pink, and lavender watercolors to form a sunset behind majestic mountains.
“There! I’m finally finished,” she announced as she placed the painting on the kitchen counter to dry.
“It’s beautiful, Natalie,” Mom said as she admired the painting. “No wonder you won the school art contest again this year.”
Just then, Jared, Natalie’s nine-year-old brother, zipped through the kitchen. “Bye! I’m going to practice for the big race!” he yelled as the screen door slammed shut. In the next instant, he was in the kitchen again. “Hey, Natalie! You’re still going to paint my go-cart for me, right?”
“Sure, Jared. I’ll do it after lunch. You’ll be back by then, won’t you?”
“I’ll make sure I am!”
In the meantime, I’ll go try out my new bike tires, Natalie thought. Jared had put new tires on her bicycle, and in return, Natalie had agreed to paint bright red flames on the sides of his go-cart for the race on Monday afternoon.
As she started to pedal down the street, she heard her friend Nicole calling her. “Natalie, my parents are taking me to the amusement park today, and they said I could bring a friend. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to!” Natalie squealed. Then she remembered Jared. “Wait—I can’t go. I promised Jared I’d paint his go-cart for the race on Monday. Tomorrow is Sunday, so I can’t do it then.”
“We can wait a couple of hours for you if you want to paint it now.”
“Jared has it with him. He’s practicing for the race and won’t be back until after lunch,” Natalie said sadly.
“Well, it will go just as fast without paint as with paint,” Nicole pointed out. “Your painting it isn’t going to help him win the race.”
Natalie thought, That makes sense. Besides, does he expect me to wait around all day for him? “OK, I’ll go!” she told Nicole. “Mom’s gone to the store, so I’ll tell Dad. We can go right away!”
At the amusement park, smells of food filled the air, and clowns carried bouquets of bright red balloons. The girls went on every ride, but for some reason, Natalie wasn’t having much fun. Even when she rode the carousel, her favorite ride, she didn’t enjoy herself. As she sat on a beautiful white horse with sparkling jewels in its trappings, all she could think about was how disappointed Jared was going to be when he found out she had broken her promise.
That evening, Natalie dreaded going home. She opened the door as quietly as she could, hoping nobody would hear her come in. But Mom was sitting on the couch. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Natalie answered halfheartedly. “Where’s Jared? I really need to talk to him.”
“He and Dad are out practicing for the race. They’ll be home late,” Mom said with an “I’m disappointed in you, but I’m not going to say anything” tone of voice. “You’ll have to wait until morning.”
On Sunday morning, Jared didn’t mention the go-cart, but Natalie could tell he was hurt. She was glad when it was finally time to go to church.
After a prayer, her Primary teacher, Sister Parker, began to explain the lesson. “Today we are going to talk about covenants. A covenant is a promise, or an agreement, between two people.”
Natalie slumped in her seat.
“As long as one of them keeps the agreement,” Sister Parker continued, “the other is also bound to do what he or she has promised.”
Just like the deal I made with Jared. Natalie squirmed in her chair.
“We all make covenants when we are baptized. We promise to take upon us the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This means we are willing to live as he would have us live.”
Jesus would not have wanted me to break my promise to Jared, thought Natalie.
“We also promise to always remember him and keep his commandments. In return, he promises to send his Spirit to always be with us. The sacrament is a time for us to remember what the Savior has done for us and to renew our baptismal covenants.”
During the sacrament, she thought about what Sister Parker had taught in Primary. She listened carefully to the sacrament prayers. She remembered Jesus and how he had suffered and died for her. Then she thought about the covenants she had made at baptism. “Heavenly Father, I promise to do better,” she prayed silently.
On the way home, she apologized to Jared. “I’m really sorry I didn’t paint your go-cart. How can I make it up to you?”
“It’s OK, Natalie. I can still race. Don’t worry about it.”
But Natalie did worry about it. She wanted to make things right. After praying again, she knew what she would do.
Monday morning, Jared was astonished. When he went to get his go-cart, it had been painted a sleek black, and bright red flames raced along the sides. He ran into the house. “Hey, Natalie!” he shouted.
“Shhh!” Mom said with her finger to her lips. “I’m going to let her sleep for a while longer.”
“Did you see it?” Jared asked, barely able to hold still long enough to hear the answer.
“Yes, I did. It looks great! She got up at three o’clock this morning to paint it for you.”
The time for the race finally came. Friends and families crowded along the course, waiting for the go-carts to come racing down the hill. Natalie waved to Jared as he slipped into the red and black go-cart. “Good luck, Jared!”
As he waved back he had a huge, happy grin on his face. Natalie’s grin was just as huge and happy.

Annie Clark Tanner wrote this about her mother’s needlework: “Mother was an accomplished artist at needle work. Her industry in this line, as she plied her needle when crossing the ocean in a sailboat, attracted the attention of the captain and his wife for whom my mother sewed, and thus she enjoyed the best accomodations on board. When she was traveling across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, she made yards of fine muslin embroidery with which she trimmed her first baby clothes. I noticed a small mark of yellow on the embroidery and asked her what it was.
“‘That mark,’ she said, ‘is a little iron rust from a wire on the bow of the wagon where I tied my work when crossing the plains.’”

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

I’ve always been a curious person.
Growing up, I had big questions about how the earth was created, how human life was formed, and why we’re on this planet. When I learned about and accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ at age 14, I found so many answers and greater meaning for my life. I did my best to keep God’s commandments and felt real joy living the gospel.
I continued progressing in many exciting ways—I served a mission, attended university, and more. But as I approached age 30, I became discouraged that I hadn’t had the opportunity to get married. Although I saw many people around me choose to live contrary to the law of chastity, I was firm in my commitment to keep my covenants and prepare for a temple marriage.
I believed that happiness comes from obedience (see Mosiah 2:41). But as I looked around at my friends who chose not to keep the law of chastity, they seemed happier than me. They were having new experiences with dating and relationships, and I felt a sense of unfairness. As a curious and well-educated person, I was frustrated that my friends now seemed wiser and more mature than me.
The commandments began to feel less like a blessing and more like a roadblock keeping me from living my best life.
I was tempted to walk away from the idea of a temple marriage and a gospel-centered life after a while. The law of chastity just felt too hard to keep when I was surrounded by a world that didn’t view physical intimacy the same way I did.
When I was struggling the most, my institute teacher shared a story about having the missionaries over for dinner. He shared how his whole family prepared for and participated in the spiritual thought the missionaries shared.
In that moment, I realized that more than anything, I wanted to raise a family that could enjoy the blessings of the gospel all together.
It all clicked. The law of chastity wasn’t a roadblock keeping me from experiencing the gift of sexuality—it was a blessing keeping me pointed toward the temple and my eternal family.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Is it wrong to have rules? Of course not. We all need them every day. But it is wrong to focus only on rules instead of focusing on the Savior. You need to know the whys and the hows and then consider the consequences of your choices.”
When I remembered the Savior and His sacrifice for me, I decided that the blessings of keeping my covenants, including the law of chastity and being married in the temple, would be worth the wait. True happiness isn’t about doing whatever you want. It’s about being worthy to have the companionship of the Holy Ghost.
There can be other instances when we feel tempted to break our covenants. Living the gospel isn’t always easy! But the covenants we make and the commandments we keep were put in place by a loving Heavenly Father who has our best interests at heart. We can trust that He knows so much more than we do and that following Him over the world will always lead us to joy.
I feel grateful that I recently fell in love and was married in the temple. I’m glad I was dedicated to the commandments so I can now enjoy the blessings of eternal marriage.

Considering the horrific event that took place in Littleton, Colorado, in April of this year, you may wonder why we are writing about a shooting that took place in an Oregon high school in May of 1998. We had just finished this story and scheduled it for publication when the tragedy took place at Columbine High School. We knew then that this story needs to be told more than ever. This story is not about violence; it’s about the comfort and perspective the gospel offers. Here are thoughts and experiences shared by those who know both the pain and the healing firsthand.The Editors
It’s been just over a year since a tragic shooting occurred at Thurston High School in Springfield, Oregon. Two students were killed and 23 others wounded when a fellow student opened fire in the crowded school cafeteria.
Some 60 seminary students were in school at Thurston on the day of the tragedy—one of whom helped to stop the shooter. Of course, the seminary students wish the tragedy had never happened. But they also say they’ve learned priceless lessons they’ll never forget.
Although they’ve been reluctant to talk with the media about the shooting, the students were eager to share their testimonies with the youth of the Church through the pages of the New Era.
More than anything, the students talk about how they’ve come to know just how much they love—and are loved by—their families. Just after the shooting, students were instructed to go to enclosed rooms of the school until the situation was secured. In that long period of waiting, teens with brothers or sisters at Thurston found themselves consumed with thoughts of their siblings.
“When I thought that the last thing I said to my little brother was, ‘Don’t be late to class today’ instead of ‘I love you’ … You never understand how important someone is to you until you think they are gone,” says Lacy Stockwell, 18. Lacy had spoken to her freshman brother, Taylor, in the cafeteria just seconds before the shooting erupted. As she ran from the cafeteria, she’d been unable to find him.
Like Lacy, Melissa Piepgrass was also terribly concerned for her brother. “We were taken into the gym, and all of a sudden I was really scared about my older brother, because I know he goes into the cafeteria a lot. I was crying and praying for him.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the students were released. All around the school, emotional reunions took place as students found their siblings and their parents who had gathered outside. Melissa found her brother in a park across the street. “I ran over and gave him a big hug.” Her voice trembles as she says, “That’s the first time I ever really felt how much my older brother loves me.”
Of her reaction at finding her brother safe, Lacy says, “It was incredible when I saw him. We yelled each other’s names and ran down the hall to each other and hugged. I can’t express the emotions I felt.”
Kawika Lawther, 17, describes the reunion that took place between worried parents and their children. “When they let us out into the parking lot, I looked around and saw people hugging their parents. When I saw my dad I ran to him and gave him a big hug. The men in my family don’t really show their emotions, but when he hugged me my dad started to cry. I really felt how much he loves me.”
Adam Buchanan, 15, remembers a similar experience. “I didn’t realize the extent of what had happened until I saw my mom and dad in the parking lot. They were praying for me.
“That really stands out in my mind because it’s one of the very few times I’ve seen my dad cry. It’s meant so much to me that he loved me so much and that they were so worried about me.”
Perhaps Lacy speaks for all the students when she says, “I’m so grateful for an eternal family, because now I realize they are so essential to my life!”
The seminary students say they’ve also felt the love of their Heavenly Father. After 15-year-old Chad Durfee ran from the cafeteria to his classroom, he became even more frightened when he learned that his father, who teaches at Thurston, was in the cafeteria. “I realized then that I wanted to talk to my Heavenly Father. I dropped to my knees in front of everybody and prayed. I was so comforted and I felt the Spirit so much even after what had just happened.
“I probably prayed about 500 times that day. It totally strengthened my testimony of prayer,” says Chad. “Every time I’ve had a problem from that time on, the first thing that comes to my mind is talking to my Heavenly Father. It makes me feel so good to know He lives and loves us and wants us to be happy.”
Like Chad, many students talk about the comforting influence of the Spirit in their lives. Fourteen-year-old Kirk Blair was at his junior high school when he heard about the shooting at Thurston, where his sister, Katie, is a student. “We were worried for her, but I knew through the Spirit that she was okay.”
The Holy Ghost helped Tiffany Austin, 16, regain her sense of security. Several days after the shooting, “I was sitting in the pew at youth conference and felt the Spirit come over me. Then I knew that Heavenly Father wasn’t going to leave me alone no matter what happened. I finally got my security back.”
The example of the Savior and the power of His Atonement have helped students forgive and become whole again after such a trying experience.
“I was so mad that someone could do something like this, and I couldn’t make it go away,” says Alisha Stott, 16. “Forgiving is really hard, but I’m working on it. Being around others going through the same process and watching them forgive makes me feel that I can also. And remembering that Jesus Christ forgives our sins. He forgave people who wronged him, so I should be able to forgive also.”
“No matter what we go through, Jesus Christ knows how to heal us,” says Corwin Lewis, 17. “He can do that because of the Atonement.”
Many students gained stronger testimonies of the power of the priesthood. “The day they let us go back to school, I was afraid to go, so my uncle gave me a blessing,” says Jena Johnson, 16. “It gave me a sense of peace that I knew we were going to get through this. Then I had the confidence to face my fear.”
Adam tells how he felt as he watched his father administer a priesthood blessing. “My dad and I are the Rogerses’ home teachers, so Brother Rogers asked my dad to help him give his daughters a blessing.
“The Spirit was so strong. It was a really humbling experience. I was thinking, I’m going to be 19 in a few years. Will I be ready for the Melchizedek Priesthood? It’s such an awesome responsibility, but I think having it would be the best thing in the world.”
The seminary students also talk about their deepened appreciation for each other, for their ward families, for the scriptures, and for the gospel.
Fortunately, most of us will never experience the kind of tragedy the youth in Springfield have. But from their experience we can learn what matters most in life, and know that a loving Father in Heaven can bless us no matter what the trial.
“I had always taken things for granted before,” says Chad. “I went to church but didn’t really think about it. But now I’ve started to get very spiritual. I love the Church, every aspect about it. Sometimes at night I look up at the stars and think how wonderful it is to know our Father in Heaven lives.”
Melissa remembers, “On the night of the tragedy, I saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. I just knew that Heavenly Father was showing his love for us, telling us that everything would be okay.”
After the tragedy in Littleton, Colorado, the Springfield seminary students wanted to do something to help. They wrote letters to the seminary students in Littleton, sharing their testimonies and messages of hope and encouragement.
The Springfield youth weren’t the only seminary students to give their support to Littleton. Letters, e-mail messages, and posters have poured in to the Columbine High School seminary from seminaries and Church members all over the world.
“It’s helped the kids to see that there are people all over the world who care about them,” says Rob Hildebrandt, seminary teacher at Columbine. “It has really hit them that in this Church we are truly a worldwide family.
“With every new poster, the first thing the kids want to know is where it’s from. When I tell them, they say ‘Wow! They know about us there?’ They’re overwhelmed at the people who love them whom they don’t even know.”
Brother Hildebrandt says the students have also felt the many prayers of support that have been offered for them.

“The Japan Fukuoka Mission! I knew the call came from God, but how was I ever going to learn the language?” That question ran through the heart of Gary E. Stevenson, who was in his first year of college when he received his mission call.
“I felt anxious about learning Japanese,” he recalls. “And my concern continued to mount in the missionary training center. I knew I would have to rely on the Lord, and I hoped I could be equal to the challenge.”
After about six weeks, fervent prayer and diligent study led the young elder to a sense of peace that the Lord would bless him to learn Japanese—but not without hard work. “This taught me that the gift of tongues is like faith and works and other gospel principles,” he says. “After you have done all you can do, then you are endowed with the blessing.”
With time and effort, his language ability increased. He served faithfully, learned to communicate well, and developed a love for the culture and the people. Today he sees many reasons why he was called to serve in Asia and to learn Japanese.
Gary Evan Stevenson was born on August 6, 1955, and raised in Cache Valley, Utah, USA. One of four children, he says, “My mother and father anchored our home in the teachings of the gospel. It was the foundation of our lives.”
The children also learned to work and to do so without complaining. Elder Stevenson recalls, “I remember my father saying more than once, ‘Don’t you realize a shovel isn’t something to lean on?’”
As an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, young Gary regularly joined with quorum members to assist the widows in the ward. His father was the bishop, and Gary often accompanied him on visits to the widows. “I always felt good afterward because we had helped someone,” he remembers.
After his mission, Gary met Lesa Jean Higley during an Old Testament class at the Logan Utah Institute of Religion at Utah State University. “She is the sunshine in and of my life,” he says. They were married in the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple in 1979 and became the parents of four sons: Craig, Bryan, Brett, and Kyle. The family shares a love for outdoor activities and water sports.
As a university student, Gary also developed a passion for Church history, studying the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants and delving into historic journals and family histories. He took particular interest in Joseph Smith and his family, the Whitmer family, Oliver Cowdery, and Martin Harris. He researched the translation and publication of the various editions of the Book of Mormon.
Once again he learned that faith and hard work go hand in hand. “Every answer to every gospel question does not come immediately,” he counsels. “The Lord expects us to read, study, ponder, and pray. And when we do this with faith and a righteous desire, over time a sweet witness will come.”
While at the university, Gary and two lifelong friends started selling gift accessories imported from Asia. This evolved into a business that sold fitness products and that eventually employed more than 2,500 people. Gary continued using his language skills, and his business required regular travel to Asia, which he now refers to as his “second home.”
In 2004, Elder Stevenson was called as president of the Japan Nagoya Mission. In 2008, he was called to the Seventy and assigned to the Asia North Area Presidency. In March 2011, an earthquake and tsunami struck Japan, killing 20,000, displacing thousands, and destroying 550,000 homes. Elder Stevenson, as Area President, worked closely with local priesthood leaders and community officials to provide help and comfort. “Over and over again our hearts were touched as we witnessed the healing balm of our Savior’s love,” he says.
Called as Presiding Bishop in 2012, he continued to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (D&C 81:5).
Then, just before the October 2015 general conference, President Thomas S. Monson extended a call from the Lord to Gary E. Stevenson to serve in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Elder Stevenson felt overwhelmed, but President Monson calmly told him: “The Lord will qualify those whom He calls.”1 And because Elder Stevenson has learned to see the hand of the Lord in all things, he is prepared to be a “special [witness] of the name of Christ in all the world” (D&C 107:23).

Everybody loves Peanuts, according to Joyce Ensign, Logan, Utah. So she invited guests to a Peanuts party with Snoopy cards instructing each guest to bring his own security blanket and to come representing his favorite character from this famous cartoon series. The place was decorated with Peanuts posters, stuffed toys, and bowls of peanuts, of course. People sat on the security blankets and had a sing-along with music from “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” Reading aloud from Peanuts wit and wisdom, and munching on frosted grahams and gigantic lollipops topped off the party.

When I was a teenager, I developed faith that marriage could be a wonderful and eternal experience. It was difficult for me to always believe, however, because the examples of marriage I had growing up were not strong ones, and I kept a fear of marriage in my heart. But I determined that failure and unhappiness didn’t have to be the rule and that Heavenly Father would help me know how to have a happy marriage.
When I was 26 years old, I married Sidnei in the São Paulo Brazil Temple. While we were still dating, we tried to prepare ourselves spiritually and emotionally for the most significant event of our lives. We decided what type of marriage we wanted, we established goals together, and we shared our thoughts—our testimonies of the gospel, our wishes and worries, and our dreams. We also read together the counsel of the prophets on marriage. We did everything we could to prepare, wishing to provide happiness and security to each other and our future children. We asked the Lord to give us wisdom to live a happy life.
Now we have been married for 18 years. During these years, we have continued to learn from the precepts of the gospel, the counsel of our leaders, and, of course, the Spirit. Some of the things we have done to have a strong, happy marriage are:
Pray together every day. When we pray at night, we thank Heavenly Father for our marriage, for the love we have for each other, and we ask that our feelings will be strengthened and that we can become strong individually in the face of the designs of the adversary, who works to destroy families.
Ask for forgiveness. We work to never allow pride to keep us from asking for forgiveness or admitting we are wrong. Love and unity are more important than who is right or who is wrong.
Never speak evil of each other. It is obvious that neither of us is perfect, but we don’t say bad things about each other, and when we’re with others, we speak positively about each other.
Defend the institution of marriage. Whenever we have a chance—and especially if we are around people who are criticizing the institution of marriage—we stand up for families and what we believe in.
Talk a lot and listen. We stop what we are doing to really listen when the other person is talking.
Treat each other with love and consideration. We do not insult, accuse, or criticize each other.
Continue to seek help and counsel about marriage from the scriptures and the words of modern prophets. We do not know everything. We are imperfect and prone to forgetting and making mistakes. We prefer not to wait for problems to afflict us, but instead we work to build a strong marriage before a situation can hurt us.
These things have been instrumental in strengthening the relationship between my husband and me. I know that if we share our lives and our feelings with Heavenly Father and seek counsel from Him, the Holy Ghost will inspire us and we will be able to become an eternal family, overcoming all difficult times. We also know that Heavenly Father will help us as we seek to know and do His will.

As long as I can remember I have always searched for God. I have never just believed in the possibility of a God. I knew that he existed. I knew that he had to be a person and not some vague, undefined spirit. But I had trouble trying to imagine what he looked like. My impression was of a stately old gentleman, with white curly hair and a beard, a friendly face and sparkling blue eyes. He lived among the stars, which, as a child, I assumed were the lights in his living room.
Based on the devotional cards I received from my local minister, I had an understanding of what His son, Jesus Christ, looked like. The Savior was depicted as a handsome man with wavy brown hair, and big, bright eyes. He was shown pointing with a slim, pierced hand to the cruel wound in his side, inflicted by a cowardly Roman guard. Through his white robe could be seen the red glow of his loving heart.
But how did I make contact with God and the Savior? I recognized that the way I lived was not the best introduction to them. I did almost everything the Lord had specifically prohibited.
The years passed and I married a wonderful woman, and we had responsive and loving children. We were richly blessed in the material things of life and in good health. But more and more I felt bitter self-reproach because of the sinful life I had led and because I showed the Lord so little thankfulness.
One night I couldn’t stand the feeling any more. I went to a secluded place and poured my heart out to the Lord. I pleaded for forgiveness and for guidance to know which path to take. My problem was that I knew which path to take, but I didn’t have the strength to completely walk that path.
I had tried walking the path now and then. For example, I had read the Bible, prayed in my own way, investigated several religious organizations, and had often listened to a group of gospel workers who used to preach on the street corner.
The leader of the group, a sincere person, had advised me to come to Jesus and believe in Him. “That’s all you have to do” he had said. “His blood will save you and will cleanse you from all your sins.”
That seemed too easy to me. I felt that I couldn’t come before the Lord stained with sin. First, I had to be completely clean and then not sin any more. And that was what was hard for me because I didn’t know how to do it.
However, after that prayer I tried very hard to become “friends” with God. For instance, after reading about tithing in Malachi 3:8–10 [Mal. 3:8–10], I started paying a tenth of my income to non-profit charitable organizations.
I tried to bring about a change in my behavior. I tried to be honest and not tell a lie. I tried to stop swearing and using bad language. And some unusual occurrences made me start living a more healthy life. When I was having a drink, the alcohol suddenly tasted like muddy water. When I drank coffee I felt sick. Tea gave me indigestion. My addiction to smoking a pipe ended when I had a vivid dream of a dirty brown substance going through my pipe into my mouth and throat.
Following these occurrences, I happened to be looking through a private library when I came across the Book of Mormon. Out of curiosity I began to read it, and I was very excited. Unfortunately I wasn’t a member of the library and couldn’t take the book home.
But that was not to be my only contact with the book. Fourteen days later, I met two young men with American accents. One of them asked if I believed in Jesus Christ. I said no, because I didn’t believe, I knew that He existed. He took a book from his briefcase and asked me if I wanted to read it. Much to my surprise it was the Book of Mormon!
I took the book home where I was forced to rest in bed because of a sudden attack of influenza. I used the time to read the Book of Mormon. When I got to 2 Nephi chapters 31 and 32 [2 Ne. 31–32] I found what I had been searching for for so long. There I learned of repentance and baptism as the gate to the strait and narrow path, of keeping the commandments, and of the Holy Ghost as a companion to help us. As I read those chapters I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew that if it was the last thing I did in my life I had to be baptized. But, I thought, what if the influenza killed me before I could be baptized? If I had to, I decided, I would ask the young men to baptize me at home in my bathtub.
Frantically I looked for the address of the missionaries, but couldn’t find it. The only thing I knew was that the Church had a small building somewhere in the neighborhood.
My good health quickly returned, and on a beautiful spring morning two Elders were astonished when I approached them with a Book of Mormon in my hand urging them to baptize me as soon as possible. In an interview, they discovered that I already met all the conditions of faith, repentance, paying tithing, and keeping the Word of Wisdom.
So on 18 May 1977, I was baptized and became a member of Christ’s true church. In August of that year, despite some initial doubts, my wife was baptized.
My conversion and baptism was not a matter of chance. I know for sure that the Lord led me to His church. And I know that the Book of Mormon was the capstone of my conversion. Reading it led me to the strait and narrow path which I gladly walk.

Anthon stepped from his doorway onto the cobbled street, hesitated, and turned back to his wife—“the best in the land” he called her.
“Are you coming, Ibine?”
His wife stepped out of the doorway. She was wrapped in woolen scarves and a heavy coat. The February night was icy cold. Their destination was the seashore, a few blocks from their home. The children followed Ibine out the door. Thorvald and Astra were too young to be baptized but not too young to be excited for their parents. Only Anthon didn’t feel excited. He was quiet and pensive while walking along the clean-swept streets of Aalborg, Denmark.
As he passed his little garden, now covered with the white of winter, he remembered the first time he had met the missionaries almost two years ago. It was in the summer of 1893. They had come by and talked with him as he stood bent over, pruning bushes.
“Those missionaries planted a sweet seed in my heart that day. It all seemed sensible,” he remembered. As he walked slowly along he remembered other things, too. “The next day the minister came, and I told him what the missionaries had told me. He tore every word to pieces, and he filled me with his talk again. The next time the elders came, I told them what the minister told me. They taught me the gospel again and planted the seed again. It soon became obvious that I had to know for myself.”
The night was very dark. The children cuddled close to their parents. The hand of tiny Thorvald squeezed his father’s and pretty little Astra clung to Ibine. Anthon looked down at Thor and remembered his own childhood. He remembered the cows he had herded, the wooden shoes he had worn in winter, his own sister who died in a terrible blizzard too far from home to get help. He remembered the worried look of his father who couldn’t support his family of nine during the mid-1800s war with Germany. He remembered working from 2:00 in the morning until 11:00 at night on a farm in order to help. He remembered crying in bed at night. “I wondered what I was sent on this earth for. I couldn’t see what good I was doing. All I could see ahead was endless work to no real worthwhile end.”
The frigid cold gripped Anton’s face, and he wondered if the children or Ibine were uncomfortable. The chilling breeze made him think of glacier ice, and he remembered learning that ice-age glaciers had left his Denmark an undulating flatland well suited to farming and agriculture. He was grateful that at least a few years of formal education were mandatory—that his country believed in the virtues of learning and working. He saw ships’ masts in the harbor poking above the fields.
He and his family were nearing the place where they would be baptized. A sick feeling of loneliness hit him in his stomach. “My homeland, my forefathers, all that has been good to me—am I giving up their trust in me for a far-fetched religion sprouted in a distant; new country?”
Then he and his little family turned the corner of the last block. They could see the ice-covered water clearly. Anthon felt the whitened wool next to his skin. He had been ordered to wear it constantly since his illness. His illness! Yes, he remembered the birth of his testimony. He had been healed after 12 months of life and death struggle with pneumonia. The elders had said that with faith and a special blessing called administration he could be healed. He had submitted to their counsel and believed. Shortly after, Anthon had resolutely cleared away the dark clouds that had been gathering around his search for truth. He told the ministers of the other churches that he could not serve two masters. (See Matt. 6:24.) They had been good neighborhood friends, but with his decision to join the Mormons, that friendship ended—the ministers gave him up as a lost soul.
Every member of the Mormon church who lived in Aalborg was there on the seashore, some holding lanterns. It was a small but cheery group. They sang hymns and smiled. But Anthon was still quiet. He looked into the faces of his beautiful children and wondered if he was doing what was right for them. He knew he would have to find a private school for them because the prejudice in the public schools against the few Mormon children was too much for such young children to bear.
The singing was over. A prayer was given to open the meeting. The missionaries asked a blessing on Brother and Sister Jensen that as they were baptized they would not fall ill from the freezing temperatures. A hole was chopped in the ice. The sacred ordinance was performed for both Anthon and his wife, Ibine. The two new members were welcomed with hugs and handshakes and sent quickly home to their warm fireplace. It was then that Anthon noticed something special—something unexpected. On their way home he found himself walking, almost skipping, with lightened step—his wife and children smiling at him all the way. The heavy burdens of worry had been lifted. He knew he had done the right thing, and above all he knew now that there was something important for him to do in life.
“I went to my former friend and minister the next day to bear him my testimony. I was so happy that I felt I could convert the whole world, and I wanted to,” he later recorded. “I wanted everyone to feel the peace and the joy that came from my baptism. And the most wonderful thing of all, I had an assurance that greater joys and greater knowledge were yet in store—not only for me but for my beautiful family.”

When Lisa Berkle of the Whittier Third Ward, Whittier California Stake, saw that her school newspaper was doing a series on cults, she decided to take advantage of an opportunity to show the truth about the gospel. As a member of the journalism staff, she got permission to do an article on the subject “Is Mormonism a cult?”
The article was a popular one, and Lisa learned a lot researching it. She is now at Ricks College, and is preparing to serve a mission.

Freddie worked his way up and down the wall. Mom preceded him, using the brush to do the trim work along the molding and ceiling and in the corners. One especially dark smudge on the wall caught Freddie’s attention. “This is a really bad mark, Mom,” said Freddie. “How did it get on the wall?”
Mom squinted, trying to remember. “I think you made that one. Remember how angry you and Brad got at each other last month?”
“I sure do. I called him a poor sport at the ball game, and he called me a baby. I came home so mad that I wanted to kick him.” Freddie frowned. “I kicked the wall, instead. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, and I felt bad about what I’d done.”
“And as I recall,” Mom added, “Brad came over later, and you two made up.”
“Well, we both said we were sorry. Besides, we couldn’t stay mad forever. That’s why Brad and I are best friends.” With one quick stroke, Freddie’s roller covered the ugly mark with wet paint.

Jamie and Sara picked up rocks while Dan and Beth raked the new garden that Father had plowed for them. Then they marked the soil off in rows.
“The garden is ready!” they all shouted at once when they were finished.
Father held out a shoe box as everyone gathered around. “Since this is going to be your money-making project for the year, you must all plant your own seeds and tend your own part of the garden. You may choose two kinds of vegetables. Whatever you grow you can sell at our roadside stand down by the gate.”
Dan grabbed a packet of tomato seeds and one of pumpkin seeds out of the box. “I’m going to grow the best tomatoes and pumpkins in the whole county!” he declared.
Beth chose green beans and cucumbers. “I’ll make lots of money growing these. Everybody likes them.”
Sara reached for carrots and yellow summer squash. “These are easy to grow,” she said. “I’ll have lots of vegetables to sell.”
Jamie looked at the rest of the seed packets in the box for a long time. She wished that there were more seeds to choose from.
“Why don’t you grow beets and green onions,” Beth suggested.
Jamie shook her head. “I don’t like beets and green onions,” she protested. “And I want something that grows tall.”
“Hurry up and decide so that we can get our seeds planted,” Dan said impatiently.
“You like lettuce, Jamie,” Mother suggested.
“Lettuce is good,” Jamie agreed as she picked up the packet of lettuce seeds, “but it’s not tall.” Then she discovered a fat white packet that had been folded over at the top. Jamie picked it up and shook it. “What kind of seeds are these?”
“Sweet peas,” Mother answered. “I didn’t have room for them in my garden.”
“I like peas,” said Jamie. “Do they grow tall?”
“Yes, very tall,” Mother said, “but—“
Jamie grinned. “Then I’ll plant them.”
Beth laughed. “You can’t eat sweet peas,” she said. “They’re flowers, not vegetables.”
“But I want to grow them,” Jamie insisted.
Father shook his head and smiled. “Let Jamie plant them,” he said. “She can grow whatever she wants in her garden. But, Jamie, you’d better plant the seeds next to the wire fence so that they’ll have something to climb on as they grow.”
Dan and Beth and Sara rushed into the garden to plant their seeds. Jamie got down on her hands and knees by the fence and poked her finger into the soft dirt to make little round holes like Dad had shown her. Then she dropped a sweet pea seed into each hole. After she planted the lettuce seeds, she watered her whole plot. She could hardly wait for the seeds to sprout!
Just a few days later Jamie noticed slender green shoots poking up through the soil by the fence. She watered the little plants every day. The round green leaves began to unfold on her lettuce plants.
One day while Jamie was pulling up weeds, Dan stopped and looked at Jamie’s garden. “You’d better thin your lettuce plants,” he said, “or you won’t have big round heads of lettuce.” He squatted down beside Jamie to show her how. “Leave the biggest, strongest plant, and pull out all of the little lettuce plants around it,” he explained, clearing a space around two nice-looking lettuce plants. Then he stood up and went back to his own garden.
Jamie looked at the little plants Dan had pulled out. She couldn’t bear to pull up any more. They would all die. So she left the lettuce row and went to look at her sweet peas. They didn’t need thinning. They had already put out little green tendrils that curled around the wire fence.
As the weeks went by, everyone worked hard, weeding and watering their gardens. Beans hung like long green fingers from Beth’s plants. Shiny green cucumbers peeked from among the broad leaves of her cucumber vines. Sara’s carrot tops were tall and lacy. There were crooked yellow squash all along her row. Juicy red tomatoes began to appear among the green ones on Dan’s plants, and fat green pumpkins dotted his pumpkin patch. Jamie looked at her own garden. There were only two round heads of lettuce. The rest of the row was filled with tall scraggly plants. The sweet peas had grown to the top of the fence and were covered with flowers in a rainbow of colors. They were pretty, but there were no peas.
One morning at breakfast Dan announced, “Some of our vegetables are ready to pick. May we open the roadside stand today?”
“Yes,” Father said, “but don’t pick more than you can sell in a couple of hours. You can always pick more, and your vegetables will stay fresh that way. I’ll put up the sign for you.”
“But my peas aren’t ready to pick yet,” Jamie protested.
“Those flowers aren’t going to turn into peas,” Beth said and rushed out the door after Dan and Sara.
Tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes. “My garden is no good,” she said. “It’s only flowers, not food.”
“Flowers are like food in a way,” Mother said, “food for the soul. When we see and smell them, they make us happy. I think that that’s why Heavenly Father made flowers so beautiful.”
Jamie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Then can I take some of my flowers down to the roadside stand too?” she asked.
“Of course,” Mother said. “Take these garden shears and cut the stems long enough to put the flowers in water to keep them fresh.”
Jamie hurried to the garden and filled a small bucket with the colorful flowers. Then she carried them to the roadside stand. “Have you sold lots of vegetables yet?” she asked as she divided the sweet peas into bunches and put them into jars with water in them.
Dan shook his head. “Lots of cars go by, but nobody stops.”
Jamie had just finished setting her flowers on the counter when a car pulled up and a lady got out.
“What lovely sweet peas!” she cried. She chose a bunch and held them to her nose. “My, those vegetables look nice and fresh too.” She bought something from everyone before she drove away.
More cars began to stop. Soon Dan and Beth and Sara had all gone back to the garden for more vegetables. There was only one bunch of sweet peas left when Beth came back with more beans.
“I’m glad that people like your flowers so much, Jamie,” Beth said. “Everybody who stops to buy them buys vegetables too. Better hurry and cut some more.”
Jamie grinned and ran back to the garden for more sweet peas.

One day it finally happened. Two young men stood at the front door of our little apartment.
“What is it?” I asked. After taking a quick look at them, I was ready to defend myself. No matter what it was, I wanted them to understand that I did not need anything and that I wanted to be left alone.
Then I took a second look at the two young men in front of me and found reason to question my first judgment. They were dressed with care. They were clean but not shiny or wealthy. Their eyes radiated dignity and peace. Their gestures were humble but not cheap. Their appearance represented politeness and readiness to listen, self-esteem, and willingness to respect my own right of privacy.
“We have an important message for you,” one of them said.
When I have tried to describe the appearance of the first missionaries at my door, I cannot help but say what they didn’t look like. They didn’t look like salesmen. Instead, they radiated something very different, something powerfully strong—the Spirit of the Lord. It became impossible for me to send them away.
Little did I know that from then on my life would never be the same—that I had already set my foot on a path that would eventually lead me toward becoming a member of the Lord’s Church.
I felt power and authority radiating from the missionaries during their visit to our home some thirty years ago. As I watch young members of the Church today, I think we have much reason to rejoice as we see many of them embracing this gift from Heavenly Father and standing firm in these days of challenge. I pray that we may all place our lives on the foundation of Christ through living close to the Spirit and following it always.

This lesson came full circle a couple of years later, when I was eight or nine years old. My father’s doctor’s office was downtown, and I would occasionally stop by to visit him on my way home from school. One day I stopped by, and my father invited me into his office. He said, “I have something I want you to do for me.”
“Sure,” I said. “What is it?”
My dad took from his desk four crisp twenty-dollar bills and said, “I want you to deposit these in the bank for me.” Now, $80 at that time would be worth about $300 or $400 today. That was a lot of money to a little kid.
My father filled out a deposit slip and gave it to me along with the bills. He then asked me to take the money with the deposit slip down the street to the Raymond branch of the Bank of Montreal. I remember thinking at the time, “This is a lot of money! I could buy anything with this much money!” but I quickly got rid of the idea. I knew my father had trusted me with the money, and I didn’t want to betray his trust.
I went straight to the bank and got in line to make the deposit. I remember being the only little person standing in that line. I received a receipt from the cashier, and when my dad came home that night, I proudly gave it to him. He was very kind and told me how much he trusted me and how proud he was that I’d done what he’d asked me to do.

Another lesson was learned from President Kimball as we visited a prison together.
One day a few years ago President Kimball said, “Marvin, I’d like you to take me to visit the Utah State Prison.” He remembered that when I was in charge of the Social Services programs for the Church I had had the responsibility for prisoners.
I said, “President Kimball, I don’t want you to go to the prison. I am afraid for your safety. There are some men confined there who would do anything to attract attention by embarrassing, injuring, or insulting you. I just don’t want you to go.”
That was once when I felt I couldn’t grant his request. He took my advice, and we didn’t go.
However, about two months later, D. Arthur Haycock, President Kimball’s personal secretary, phoned me and said, “Elder Ashton, President Kimball wants you to go to the Utah State Prison with him.” The next day we went. My delaying tactic had lasted only a few weeks.
I called Warden Morris and said, “May we come and visit you? We do not want anyone to know of our visit. Could we just meet in your office and not go through the minimum, medium, or maximum security places? Perhaps you could invite two inmates with whom President Kimball could visit in your office. Later we could look around the grounds and talk with others.” He agreeably made the arrangements.
We traveled to the institution, where about a thousand people are incarcerated. Soon into the warden’s office came two prisoners. I was impressed with how hard the convicts looked—how mean, how sullen. After they were introduced and sat down, I broke the silence by saying to President Kimball, “Would you like to say a few words to these two men?”
He said, “Yes.”
They both looked steadily down at the floor. President Kimball waited, and finally when one raised his head up a little, President Kimball looked directly into his eyes.
Let me just pause for a minute and set the stage. One prisoner had been convicted for murder and the other for manslaughter. Here is a prophet. Here were two hardened criminals. What do you say? What do you do? Do you say, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves? What a waste for you to be in such a place as this”? Those are things that might cross your mind and mine.
As I mentioned, as President Kimball caught the eye of one of them, he looked at him with a penetrating stare and said, “Tell me about your mother.”
This inmate looked up and told him about his mother. Tears came to his eyes as he talked in detail about his mother.
When that was over, President Kimball looked at the other one, who was now paying strict attention. He said, “Young man, tell me what your father does for a living.”
The prisoner said, “I do not know where my father is. I never hear from him.” And he went on and on talking openly about his family.
I won’t tell you the details, but what a lesson in counseling, interviewing, and kindness was being taught by this great prophet. I learned more about interviewing in those fifteen minutes than in any similar period in my life. No condemnation. No judging. Only displaying a real interest in the person and his circumstances.
Before our interview was over, somehow the press found out that President Kimball was there. They were at the door and wanted to get into the warden’s office for an interview and a picture. I remember one of the inmates said, “Mr. Kimball, could I have my picture taken with you?”
President Kimball responded with “Why don’t I stand between the two of you, and we will take all three of us at once.”
I did not feel very comfortable with President Kimball standing between those two men in this setting. I had the responsibility for his safety. I had tried to talk him out of it. But he is a disciple of Christ and holds on to the words of God: “I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: … Naked, and ye clothed me: … I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matt. 25:35–36.)
After the pictures were taken, President Kimball looked at one prisoner and then at the other and said, “Thank you for letting me have my picture taken with you.” Is there any doubt we love him? He loves everyone. He teaches us the real meaning of Matthew 22:37–40:
“Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
“This is the first and great commandment.
“And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
“On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

Let me give you an example. A mother was diagnosed with cancer. Soon she began treatment, and immediately, the Relief Society sisters went to work, planning how to best help with meals, transportation to medical appointments, and other support. They visited her regularly, providing cheerful companionship. At the same time, the Melchizedek Priesthood quorum sprang into action. They provided labor in adding a remodeled bedroom and bathroom to make it easier to care for the sick sister. The young men lent their hands and backs to participate in that significant effort. And the young women got involved: they cheerfully arranged to faithfully walk the dog each day. As time passed, the ward continued their service, adding and adapting where necessary. It was clearly a labor of love, each member giving of him or herself, unitedly showing caring in individual ways that blessed not only the suffering sister but each member of her family.

After a valiant effort, the sister finally succumbed to the cancer and was laid to rest. Did the ward breathe a sigh of relief and consider the job well done and well over? No, the young women continue to walk the dog daily, the priesthood quorums continue to minister to the father and his family, and the Relief Society sisters continue to reach out in love to ascertain strengths and needs. Brothers and sisters, this is ministering—this is loving as the Savior does!

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Mary Elizabeth Rollins loved the noise of the crisp, dry leaves under her shoes. Fall had arrived in Kirtland, Ohio. Mary Elizabeth bounded up the steps of the big white mercantile store where her uncle Sidney Gilbert worked. She loved the store with its kegs of molasses, bundles of herbs, and other interesting things for sale.
Mary Elizabeth entered the store just in time to hear a man telling Uncle Sidney of a new religion somewhere in New York.
“I’ve heard that a man claims to be a prophet and that he translated a book written in an ancient language from golden plates. It is called the Book of Mormon,” said the man.
Soon the whole town was buzzing with news of the Book of Mormon and its translator, the Prophet Joseph Smith.
It wasn’t long before Mary Elizabeth and her family were taught the gospel. She and her mother were among the first Kirtland residents to be baptized. Soon a branch was organized, with Brother Isaac Morley presiding over it.
Even though Mary Elizabeth had a testimony of the gospel, she had never read the Book of Mormon. It had only been printed a few months before. So when Brother Morley finally received a copy, Mary Elizabeth was excited to see the book.
One night, before a few members of the Church met at Brother Morley’s home, Mary Elizabeth gathered her courage and knocked on his door.
“Yes, Mary Elizabeth?” Brother Morley asked as he opened the door.
“Brother Morley, may I please see the Book of Mormon?”
He let her in and carefully handed her the small brown book. Mary Elizabeth felt a great desire to read it.
“May I please borrow the book?” she asked.
“My child,” Brother Morley said, “I have not read one chapter in it myself, and the brethren will want to see the book tonight at the meeting.”
Then, seeing Mary Elizabeth’s disappointment, Brother Morley said, “Well, if you bring the book back before breakfast tomorrow, you may take it. Do not let any harm come to it.”
That night Mary Elizabeth and her family took turns reading in the Book of Mormon until very late. Early the next day, Mary Elizabeth memorized 1 Nephi 1:1 before bringing the book back to Brother Morley.
“Well, you are here early. I guess you did not read much,” Brother Morley said.
Mary Elizabeth showed him how much she had read.
Brother Morley smiled, but said, “I do not believe you could even tell me a word of it.”
Mary Elizabeth recited the verse she had memorized and explained the story of Nephi and his family.
Brother Morley opened his mouth in surprise. “Child, you take this book back and finish it,” he said. “I can wait.”
Early in the year 1831, the Prophet Joseph Smith and his family moved to Kirtland. The first person Joseph visited was Brother Whitney, Uncle Sidney’s business partner, at their store. When Brother Whitney promptly introduced Joseph to Uncle Sidney’s family, Joseph was surprised to see the Book of Mormon.
“How did you get this book?” Joseph asked. “I sent it to Brother Morley several weeks ago.”
“My niece was bold enough to ask him to lend it to her,” Uncle Sidney explained.
“Where is your niece?” the Prophet asked.
Mary Elizabeth was called into the room. The Prophet looked at her closely, then walked up to her, laid his hands on her head, and gave her a blessing. It was the first blessing Mary Elizabeth ever received.
When he finished, Joseph said, “You may keep this book, Mary Elizabeth. I will get another for Brother Morley.”

Fifth, whatever the cost of repentance, it is swallowed up in the joy of forgiveness. In a general conference address entitled “The Brilliant Morning of Forgiveness,” President Boyd K. Packer provided this analogy:
“In April of 1847, Brigham Young led the first company of pioneers out of Winter Quarters. At that same time, 1,600 miles [2,575 km] to the west the pathetic survivors of the Donner Party straggled down the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into the Sacramento Valley.
“They had spent the ferocious winter trapped in the snowdrifts below the summit. That any survived the days and weeks and months of starvation and indescribable suffering is almost beyond belief.
“Among them was fifteen-year-old John Breen. On the night of April 24 he walked into Johnson’s Ranch. Years later John wrote:
“‘It was long after dark when we got to Johnson’s Ranch, so the first time I saw it was early in the morning. The weather was fine, the ground was covered with green grass, the birds were singing from the tops of the trees, and the journey was over. I could scarcely believe that I was alive.
“‘The scene that I saw that morning seems to be photographed on my mind. Most of the incidents are gone from memory, but I can always see the camp near Johnson’s Ranch.’”
Said President Packer: “At first I was very puzzled by his statement that ‘most of the incidents are gone from memory.’ How could long months of incredible suffering and sorrow ever be gone from his mind? How could that brutal dark winter be replaced with one brilliant morning?
“On further reflection I decided it was not puzzling at all. I have seen something similar happen to people I have known. I have seen some who have spent a long winter of guilt and spiritual starvation emerge into the morning of forgiveness. When morning came, they learned this:
“‘Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more’ [D&C 58:42].”4

Prior to my membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I associated for many years with another Christian denomination. There, the notion of prophets and apostles was a thing of the past. Discussion about topics such as modern revelation or living prophets and apostles were prohibited.
In 1995, I was still working on my understanding of this doctrine when President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited London. We were invited to a special meeting at Wandsworth Stake center. There, something indescribable happened which strengthened my testimony of a living prophet. As the company started entering the chapel, my attention was immediately drawn to President Hinckley, and I had an overwhelming feeling as if a voice spoke to me saying “This is the living prophet on the earth today. He is the mouthpiece of the Savior”. I am grateful for that personal experience. This became an anchor to my understanding of the need for a living prophet and the importance of following his counsel.