Gospel Story Finder

There is a much repeated story by Russell Conwell about acres of diamonds:
Ali Hafid, an ancient Persian, owned much land, many productive fields, with orchards, gardens, and money out at interest. He had a lovely family and was content because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was content.
An old priest came to Ali Hafid and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his, and Ali Hafid said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”
The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs over white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands, you will always find diamonds.”
“Well,” said Ali Hafid, “I will go.”
So he sold his farm, collected his money that was at interest, left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds, and he traveled through many lands.
The man who purchased Ali Hafid’s farm led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, Ali Hafid’s successor noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone, containing a strange eye of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafid’s successor and found that in the black stone, containing a strange eye of light, was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. Thus were discovered the diamond mines of Golconda, which were the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world. So, had Ali Hafid remained at home and dug in his own cellar or anywhere in his own fields rather than traveling in strange lands, he would have had acres of diamonds.

Some months ago I was given the assignment to interview a young man, 21 years old, to determine if his repentance was sufficient for him to serve a mission. My heart ached as I read of the serious problems and transgressions in his past. I wondered if it would be possible that one with such a background could ever prepare himself to worthily serve a mission. At the appointed time for my interview, I saw a handsome young man approaching me. He was immaculately groomed and had a wonderful countenance about him. He looked like a returned missionary, and I wondered who he was. As he approached, he extended his hand and, to my surprise, introduced himself as the young man I was to interview.

During the interview I simply asked, “Why am I visiting with you tonight?” Then he laid out the sordid details of his past. After reviewing and confessing again his transgression, he began talking to me about the Atonement and the years of painful repentance that brought him to this very interview. He expressed his love for the Savior and then explained that Christ’s Atonement was sufficient to rescue even a boy like him. At the conclusion of the interview, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “When I get back to Church headquarters, my recommendation will be that you be permitted to serve a mission.” And then I said, “I ask only one thing of you—just one. If you are privileged to serve, I want you to be the best missionary in the entire Church. That is all.”

About four months later I was speaking at a missionary devotional at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. After the devotional I was standing in front of the podium greeting missionaries when I noticed a familiar face approaching me. My first thought was that I was about to be embarrassed because I was supposed to know this young man. I could not remember where I had met him, and I knew the first question that he was going to ask me. Sure enough, he extended his hand and asked, “Do you remember me?” Apologetic and somewhat embarrassed, I answered: “I am sorry. I know I should know you, but I just do not remember.” He then said: “Well, let me tell you who I am. I am the best missionary in the MTC.” I could not withhold the tear that slowly trickled down my cheek as I thought, Here is a man. He met his test. He paid the painful price of repentance. He has humbled himself and submitted himself to the redemptive power of the Savior. He has met the challenges. He has measured up to true manhood. And I say, “Behold a man,” a man humble enough to submit himself to the redemptive powers of the Savior.

On another occasion we were returning from area conferences in Europe, and we had a rather extended layover in New York City. Although tired and weary from his rigorous schedule, President Kimball eagerly visited with six missionaries who were en route to the Germany Munich Mission. He inquired about their families, their personal feelings about serving on missions, and then he charged them to be the best missionaries in their mission. He encouraged them to be diligent and faithful and promised that success would accompany such efforts. The missionaries left feeling uplifted in spirit and determined to serve valiantly. President Kimball edifies and inspires others.

Cal called my sister Marguerite and asked her to let the rest of the family know what had happened. She said that she started praying for me immediately. It was then that she received a strong, calm feeling and the thought, “Trust me. She is in my hands. I’m in charge, I know what’s best, and I’m all-powerful.” She wondered if that meant I would be in God’s hands in the same way our Dad was: he had died two years earlier. She began to pray again and felt rather than heard the message that I would be all right and would be getting married soon. She wondered why the Lord would tell her this, but decided it must have been the best way to comfort her.
At the time, I was not dating anyone or even thinking of getting married. I was forty-nine years old and had long since resigned myself to being single. I had struggled for many years with the fact that my patriarchal blessing had promised me marriage and yet I remained alone. I sometimes wondered if the Lord really knew I was here. There were even times when I thought that I really didn’t matter to him, since I was just an average sort of person—no one very important.
The accident changed all that. When she heard about the accident, my sister Esther wondered why the Lord hadn’t protected me, since I was an active member of the Church. Into her mind came the words, “What makes you think I didn’t?” I know that the Lord truly did protect me. He preserved my life and protected me from the kind of injuries that would have left me crippled. He protected me in the emergency room by prompting the doctors. But perhaps greatest of all, he let me glimpse the almost overwhelming power of his love.
The morning after I was admitted to the hospital, Cal and a member of my bishopric gave me a blessing. Cal had no hesitation in promising me that I would recover. He said later that he had the same feeling Marguerite had—that I would be getting married soon.
I was in intensive care for a week, hooked up to all kinds of machines that helped me breathe and that monitored my condition. Other than my stake president, my family were the only ones allowed to see me during those first few days. I was conscious but not talking. I was under such heavy medication that I have very little memory of those first two weeks. Mostly, I remember isolated times when people came to see me.
After I left intensive care, I was awake and talking. I had become very dependent and wanted one of my family with me all the time, so they set up a schedule and took turns sitting with me. I was in a lot of pain.
The first thing I became consistently conscious of was an intense awareness of love. I can’t ever remember feeling so secure. I felt very much wrapped in God’s love. The feeling was so profound that even to this day I can’t adequately describe it. I was also very much aware of the love my family had for me, and I could feel it surrounding me.
This feeling expanded as I became aware of other people. My Young Women counselors came to see me almost every day, and I felt their concern. Bishop Pruess came to visit me often and told me that the ward was praying for me, and I felt love coming from the ward. Members of the stake came to see me and told me of the great outpouring of prayer for me in the stake. My friends at work visited me, and I also sensed their concern.
I felt all this love at the deepest, most fundamental level of my soul. That love, I believe, is what helped me survive the very difficult time that followed the accident.
The Lord blessed me in so many ways during the following months. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew from the first that all of my injuries would heal and that I would return to normal. I also knew that if I were to recover, I couldn’t waste any strength hating the man who had hurt me. I concentrated on getting better rather than dwelling on what was wrong. I knew that the Lord was helping me focus on love and on people rather than dwell on the horror.
After I had been in the hospital two and a half weeks, the doctors said I could leave. They suggested, however, that my family take me to a convalescent center. I was quite frightened at the thought of moving. I remember pleading with Cal to ask the Lord what we should do. I had been leaning very heavily on the Lord, and I didn’t want any decision made without consulting him. My family was there, and I had been leaning on them, but I knew that, above all, the Lord was caring for me.
On September 20, I was transferred to a care center. The medication was cut in half, so I became more aware of what was going on around me. For a week, I worked hard at building up my strength and learning how to get around with broken bones. Then I was moved to Cal’s house. I appreciated him and his wife for letting me stay with them. It felt good to be in their home. His children would come to my room after school and tell me what they had done that day. Their visits did much to ease me back into normal life.
I had been so heavily drugged in the hospital that even though I knew why I was there, I hadn’t been able to focus on any one thought. But now I was off all medication. For the first few nights at Cal’s, I was afraid to go to sleep. I felt I had such a slight hold on life that I might not wake up in the morning. While lying awake at night, I would start to think about the horror of what had happened and about my injuries. I realized that I could have been killed or permanently damaged physically.
On those nights when I became frightened, I would turn to the Lord for help. Almost immediately, my mind would be filled with peace and with an awareness of the many blessings He had given me. A great calm would envelop me, and I would fall asleep. At such times I felt overwhelmed by Heavenly Father’s goodness and love.
About seven weeks after the accident, I was able to return home. My family stayed most of the day, helping me get settled in, but I spent my first Sunday morning home alone. That was very difficult. After being with people and being surrounded by their love, I felt a terrible loneliness that day—something deeper than I had ever felt before. I had gone through the typical frustrations of being single and of wanting to be a mother. Now, after having been wrapped in the wonderfully sustaining love of my family, I wondered if I could handle living alone any more.
That afternoon, Jerry Tucker came to visit me. We had come to know each other through his calling as high council adviser to the Young Women program, so I wasn’t too surprised when he continued to visit me. Months later, though, when he proposed marriage, I wondered if I was reading my feelings correctly. I suppose, quite naturally, that I felt the need for outside assurance to confirm that my judgment and thoughts were sound. Because the Lord had been so close to me through the crisis of the accident and the slow healing, and because my family had given me such tremendous support, I felt the need for their approval and for wisdom outside my own.
So I began praying about Jerry’s proposal. My prayers were answered one day when a great feeling of peace washed over me. I knew then that this was my time to be married. I also knew that the Lord had not left me alone and that I would never be cheated of anything he had promised me. Jerry and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 12 February 1987.
I have wished that I could share with all my single friends the assurance that this experience has given me. I am convinced, at a deeply personal level, that though we sometimes can’t see or understand what is happening in our lives, Heavenly Father is always there, caring for us.
In time, all of my injuries healed. But I will never be the same. I learned so many things that I thought I knew but really didn’t. I have a much deeper faith and trust in the Lord now. I know he lives. I have felt his influence in my life.
I learned that miracles do happen to ordinary people. I had felt that I was no one special, and yet I know now that I am special—I am a daughter of God. We are all special, because we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father. That fact is very real to me now.
Before my accident, I didn’t know how incredibly loving and kind God is. I am sure that even now I don’t begin to comprehend the depth of his love, but I sense that it is far deeper than any of us know. I know that even if I had died or had been crippled, the Lord would have been there looking after me, blessing me in ways he saw best.
I learned how important prayer is. I could actually feel the strength of the prayers being said for me. Now as I pray for the Lord to watch over my loved ones, it has special meaning. If something distressing were to happen, I would want him to be with them as he was with me. When my miracle happened, it was several hours before anyone knew and could begin praying—but how many times had my family remembered me in their daily prayers before that time?
I learned about joy. The Lord told me in a blessing that he had extended my life and that he wanted me to make it a joyful, happy one. I understand now that it is important to him that we are happy. I find references to joy throughout the scriptures. I see far more clearly now that the gospel is a gospel of joy.
I learned the value of health. Our bodies are a special blessing, and good health is to be treasured. I feel an urgent need to take care of my health. Our Heavenly Father has given us life and everything we have. Our part is to take care of what he has given us.
Something terrible happened to me, but I have received so many blessings that I still feel in debt to the Lord. I owe him more than I can ever repay. But I don’t think he wants “repayment.” He wants my love. He wants me to be happy—and that will happen as I love and serve him with my whole soul, sharing my joy with those around me.

In late 2020, a group of women from the Como Ward Relief Society of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints organised a collection of various items to donate to the Lifehouse project. The Relief Society motto—charity never faileth—invites women to seek out and help those in need, so the members gathered suitable contributions over a period of two months.
Steve Klomp, the president of RTLWA expressed his appreciation to Relief Society member Geri Campbell for the donations which were delivered in “bootloads” via her car. He said he was “particularly impressed with how the Church has the ability to organise and mobilise its members when there is a community project or a need to be filled.”

This story happened in Nigeria.
“Welcome to Primary!” Sister Agbor, Gift’s Primary leader, stood at the front of the room. “Today we will learn the song ‘Love One Another.’”1
The music started, and the younger children got ready to sing. But Gift already knew this song. She had sung it a hundred times! She didn’t really feel like singing it today.
Gift was tired of Primary. She was older, taller, and bigger than all the other kids. Her friends at church were all in Young Women now. She still had almost a whole year before she could go with them to Young Women classes and activities.
While everyone else sang, Gift was quiet. She mumbled some of the words to the songs, but she was busy thinking.
Then she had an idea. Maybe if she talked to the bishop, he would let her go to Young Women early so she could be with her friends.
Gift found Bishop Achombi after church. “Hi, Bishop,” she said. “I don’t really feel like I belong in Primary anymore. I’m bigger and older than all the other kids. Can I start going to Young Women instead?”
Bishop Achombi smiled. “I know moving to Young Women is exciting,” he said. “But you can only start going the year you turn 12. I’m sorry.”
Gift looked down at her shoes. “OK.”
“The Primary is lucky to have you,” the bishop said. “I think the younger children admire you a lot. You can make a big difference to them.”
For the rest of the day, Gift felt sad. A year was a long time to feel lonely in Primary.
But then Gift thought more about what Bishop Achombi said. Did the other children really admire her? She had never noticed that before.
The next week, Gift waved goodbye to her friends as they walked to the Young Women room. She sighed and walked to the Primary classroom.
“Gift,” Sister Agbor said, “would you be willing to help me teach this week’s song?”
“Um, sure,” Gift said. “What song are we learning?”
“‘I Am a Child of God,’”2 said Sister Agbor. “Thank you for your help! I think the kids will have fun learning from you.”
When singing time started, Gift stood in front of the room. “Today I’m going to teach you one of my favorite songs,” she said. She helped the children learn the words. Then she sang the song with them. As they sang, Gift felt warm and happy inside. She knew she was feeling the Holy Ghost.
Before long, Primary class was almost over! After the closing prayer, Gift started to walk to the hall. She wanted to find her friends after their Young Women class and say hi.
But one of the little girls stopped her. “Thank you for singing with us!” She gave Gift a hug. “I want to be like you when I get big.”
Gift smiled. She still couldn’t wait to go to Young Women, and she hoped the next year would go by fast. But she knew she could still learn and do good things in Primary.
And maybe Bishop Achombi was right. She could make a difference.
Illustrations by Simini Blocker

She has seen this in her family. When she was 10, she was asked to give a testimony of baptism in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. The only thing is, she hadn’t been baptized yet. Her mother had not given her permission. So Laysa wasn’t sure what she would say in her testimony, but she went ahead. Then a miracle happened. “My mother was in church that day,” says Laysa. “I didn’t expect her to be there. That day, I got her permission to be baptized.”

Abraham Lincoln demonstrated his great integrity in his famous house-divided speech. John Wesley Hill, in his book Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, says: “Lincoln showed his independence and tenacity of purpose when he wrote his address accepting the nomination for United States Senator. … This is known as ‘The House Divided Against Itself’ speech. It embodied the historic declaration that the Union could not exist ‘half slave and half free.’ To his friend, Jesse K. Dubois, Lincoln said:
“‘I refused to read the passage about the house divided against itself to you, because I knew you would ask me to change or modify it, and that I was determined not to do. I had willed it so and was willing, if necessary, to perish with it. I would rather be defeated with this expression in the speech … than to be victorious without it.’” (Abraham Lincoln—Man of God, New York and London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1927, p. 151.)
Now it took real courage for Lincoln to leave that “half slave and half free” sentence in his speech. He was ambitious, and it seemed that through the Senate was the way to the presidency, but the political climate at the time was not ready for the stand he took on that issue. The probability was that the statement would mean defeat in his race for the Senate, and that’s what it turned out to be. All this Lincoln well knew; nevertheless, he had the integrity to act in harmony with his convictions. Although his course did shut the door to the Senate, fortunately for the country, it later opened the door to the presidency.

When I was called to serve a mission back before the dawn of time, there was no equalization of missionary costs. Each had to bear the full expense of the mission to which he or she was sent. Some missions were very expensive, and as it turned out, mine was one of those.
As we encourage missionaries to do, I had saved money and sold personal belongings to pay my own way as best I could. I thought I had enough money, but I wasn’t sure how it would be in the final months of my mission. With that question on my mind, I nevertheless blissfully left my family for the greatest experience anyone could hope to have. I loved my mission as I am sure no young man has ever loved one before or since.
Then I returned home just as my parents were called to serve a mission of their own. What would I do now? How in the world could I pay for a college education? How could I possibly pay for board and room? And how could I realize the great dream of my heart, to marry the breathtakingly perfect Patricia Terry? I don’t mind admitting that I was discouraged and frightened.
Hesitantly I went to the local bank and asked the manager, a family friend, how much was in my account. He looked surprised and said, “Why, Jeff, it’s all in your account. Didn’t they tell you? Your parents wanted to do what little they could to help you get started when you got home. They didn’t withdraw a cent during your mission. I supposed that you knew.”
Well, I didn’t know. What I do know is that my dad, a self-educated accountant, a “bookkeeper” as they were called in our little town, with very few clients, probably never wore a new suit or a new shirt or a new pair of shoes for two years so his son could have all of those for his mission. Furthermore, what I did not know but then came to know was that my mother, who had never worked out of the home in her married life, took a job at a local department store so that my mission expenses could be met. And not one word of that was ever conveyed to me on my mission. Not a single word was said regarding any of it. How many fathers in this Church have done exactly what my father did? And how many mothers, in these difficult economic times, are still doing what my mother did?
My father has been gone for 34 years, so like President Faust, I will have to wait to fully thank him on the other side. But my sweet mother, who turns 95 next week, is happily watching this broadcast today at her home in St. George, so it’s not too late to thank her. To you, Mom and Dad, and to all the moms and dads and families and faithful people everywhere, I thank you for sacrificing for your children (and for other people’s children!), for wanting so much to give them advantages you never had, for wanting so much to give them the happiest life you could provide.

I finally let the two young men into my home in Padova, Italy, as a reward for their perseverance. They had continued to come back despite the excuses I made up when I found out they were Latter-day Saint missionaries. Finally, I found myself in my sitting room with them discussing happiness—much to my annoyance.
Although I enjoyed the conversation, hearing those two young men say that we could be happy on earth went against my beliefs. I felt that on this earth, we knew only sorrow—and that only after death, when we lived with God, could we experience happiness.
I should have considered myself lucky at the time, with a husband who loved me very much, a three-year-old daughter, and a new home. But the trials I had gone through in life had taught me otherwise. I grew up without a father and didn’t get along well with my mother. Six years earlier, I had lost a baby who lived only three days—a death I could not understand.
Thus I was unhappy and indifferent. When the missionaries left, they made another appointment and left a copy of the Book of Mormon with several marked verses they asked me to read. I read the verses over the next few days but didn’t understand them.
The missionaries returned every week, first coming by themselves and then, after asking my permission, bringing a sister from the Church. I agreed to accompany her to Church services the coming Sunday. When I entered the church, I felt as though I had always belonged there.
Several people greeted me pleasantly and shook my hand warmly. I noticed that everyone seemed calm, and I immediately felt a sense of peace within myself. It didn’t seem as though it was the first time I had entered the church—and this feeling frightened me. During the following week I felt irritable and had difficulty sleeping.
When the missionaries returned, I asked why, instead of experiencing the happiness and peace I had been promised, I had felt restless and couldn’t sleep. Instead of answering my question, they challenged me to be baptized. I laughed openly, telling they that they could continue to visit me, but that I would never join their church.
Later, however, after telling my husband about the experience and even laughing about it again, I began thinking of everything that had happened. Suddenly, as if something had released inside of me, I felt that I had to be baptized.
My husband tried to dissuade me, treating my decision first as a joke and then making it the cause of a quarrel. He even told me that I might lose my job, since everyone at work belonged to the Catholic Church. But the days went by, and I continued to insist until he finally gave his permission.
After I received the remaining missionary lessons, the day of my baptism finally arrived: 26 October 1986—two months after the missionaries arrived at my house. I was trembling with excitement and scared for the future. My husband agreed to attend the service with my daughter.
As soon as I entered the water, all my fears vanished, and I felt free. I will never forget the happiness I felt in that moment. Immersed in the water, I knew that my relatives and my other little daughter beyond the veil were happy and that they rejoiced in the choice I had made.
Four years have gone by since that day, and I have never before experienced such peace and happiness as I have known since joining the Church. I have become a better wife and mother and am now serving as president of my branch Relief Society. My daughter regularly attends Primary and is preparing for baptism. I also kept my job without any problem.
When trials overcome me that I feel are too heavy to bear, I have learned to confide in my Savior, Jesus Christ. I went to the temple for my endowment, and my suffering for my daughter’s death is almost gone because now I understand that I haven’t lost her forever.
I will never tire of thanking the two servants of the Lord who found me and brought me such precious gifts: the Book of Mormon, my membership in the Church, and true happiness.

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.

Mama Wong and Annie
Photograph courtesy of the author
After I was baptized in June 2002, I shared my faith with my mother. Though Mama Wong often attended church with me, she did not want to learn more.
At last, 10 years later, Mama Wong chose to be baptized. I was thrilled. Sadly, a few years later, she stopped strengthening her testimony and made excuses for not attending church.
I urged her to come to church, but that only caused contention. Eventually, I quit pushing her so that I wouldn’t harm our relationship.
During the October 2019 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson invited Church members to “design [our] own plan” to strengthen our testimony of the Restoration.1 As I thought about his invitation, I felt strongly that I should do something to make things better between Mama Wong and me.
For my New Year’s resolution, I committed myself to read the Book of Mormon with Mama Wong. Whenever she said her eyes hurt, I said, “You can just listen.” When she said she needed to do the dishes, I followed her to the kitchen and kept reading out loud.
It turns out that Mama Wong listened closely and remembered what I read. Over time, she chose to read on her own. Later she told me that an ordinary man could not have written the Book of Mormon. She had no doubt that the book is the word of God. For me, seeing her go from being uninterested to wanting to read and bear testimony of the Book of Mormon is a miracle.
After Mama Wong was baptized, I worried that she had joined the Church just for me. But now she has a testimony of her own. For years I tried to “fix” her, but all she needed was the simple, powerful word of God.
I’m thankful for a living prophet who always gives us timely guidance. If we act upon what he teaches, great blessings will follow. This experience showed me how much the Lord wants to bless us. All I did was read a few chapters to my mother from the Book of Mormon. Then the Lord took over!

“Twelve years old—my first Church calling,” remembers Elder Robert S. Wood of the Second Quorum of the Seventy. “I was asked to be the music director in Mutual.” But he had to overcome two difficulties: one, he couldn’t sing; and two, he didn’t know anything about music. “The Young Women president took me aside and said, ‘Okay, Robert—one, two, three, four.’” His arm sweeps the air in four-four time as he recounts the story. “And so I learned how to do it.”

However, when I became a young adult, I was faced with more temptation and put in a more spiritually stale environment than I had ever been in before.
In South Korea, young adult men are required to serve in the military for a few years. When I was in the middle of my military service after serving my mission, I felt more alone in my faith than ever—for many reasons.
For one, it was hard being separated from other Church members and my family, but another difficulty was being surrounded by things that go against our standards. For example, alcohol is everywhere in South Korea, especially in the military. After drills it was common for everyone to meet to drink together. When they found out I didn’t drink alcohol, they did whatever they could to force me to. In their eyes, I wasn’t just sticking to my values—I was going against culture.
Unfortunately, it was also common for my fellow soldiers to talk about women in a worldly and sexualized way that made me feel uncomfortable. It was a challenge to hear their bad language every day. Additionally, I couldn’t attend church, partake of the sacrament, attend the temple, or do much of anything gospel related during this time.
For a while, I felt so alone and wondered what I could do to feel the Spirit and keep my faith strong. How could I stand in holy places when I didn’t have a choice to?
After a while of struggling, I decided that I needed to take responsibility for feeling the Spirit, even in a worldly environment. One thing that helped me was bringing my scriptures I used on my mission along with me during my service. It truly is the little habits we do each day—reading our scriptures, praying, and looking for opportunities to serve and be more like the Savior—that keep us connected to the Spirit.
One day I came across 1 Corinthians 10:13, which says, “God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”
While reading that scripture, I realized that even though I felt alone, Heavenly Father was with me. If I continued to reach out to Him and my Savior, They would help me find a way to faithfully endure my military service and come home with a testimony stronger than before.
The scriptures became a lifeline for me during this time when I was disconnected from church and other members. Talking to Heavenly Father each day and reading my scriptures kept me connected to Him and reminded me of my divine identity, which was another key to surviving spiritually.
Remembering that I am a beloved child of heavenly parents kept my foundation of faith strong, especially when I was faced with temptation.
When I finished my military service, I prioritized spiritual habits more than ever. Being able to attend the temple, partake of the sacrament, and be fully invested in the gospel was such a contrast to the environment I had been in for the previous two years. I now feel the fulness of the blessings, comfort, and joy that the gospel of Jesus Christ offers us. And I’m glad I remained faithful until this was possible.

Two of my own great-grandparents fit the mold of many. Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining—at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. They listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were converted to the depths of their very souls. They heard the call to journey to Zion and knew they must answer that call.

They sold their possessions and prepared for a hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in a tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles across the waters, eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea—night and day nothing but water—eight weeks of watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small sailing vessel.

In the midst of this soul-trying situation, their son, Nathaniel, sickened and died. My great-grandparents loved that son just as much as your parents love you; and when his eyes were closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the law of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, his body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts. Gibson Condie and his good wife were comforted by the words “Not my will, but Thy will, O Father.”

Anya lives in Russia. When she was only 14 years old, she was being taught the gospel by the missionaries. One day in her school class, the teacher was saying false things about the Church and about the Book of Mormon. There were no Latter-day Saints in the school to defend it; but little Anya, who was not even a member, only an investigator of the Church, knew that what the teacher was saying was wrong. She stood up in front of the whole class and defended the Book of Mormon and the Church. What courage! She told them that what they were saying was not true and that she knew the Book of Mormon was true, and if anyone wanted to know the truth for themselves, she invited them to read it like she had done. Then Anya went home and told the missionaries she was ready to be baptized. I love Anya’s courage as she stood as a witness at an important time.

"While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win," Tracey said.

Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. "Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school," he said.

By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.

"By then I felt great," he said. "I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.

"Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles."

A stake president in Logan, Utah, kept a guest book, and after he passed away that book was given to his son. When the son thumbed through the pages, he was impressed with the signatures that were there. Most of the General Authorities had signed the book. One entry he saw was:

Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1954
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”

He thumbed through many more pages, and then he saw an almost identical entry ten years later:

Name: Elder Spencer W. Kimball
Date: 1964
Position or title: Apostle
Hobby: “I love people.”

We all knew President Spencer W. Kimball as a man of love. He thought of love as a way to overcome even unknown offenses. Such an incident occurred with one of his neighbors who would go out and talk to President Kimball whenever he saw him in the yard. Until one day the neighbor’s wife said, “You mustn’t do that. The only time President Kimball is alone is when he is in the yard, and then you go over and impose yourself upon him.” After that the neighbor stayed in and just watched President Kimball through the window. A few weeks passed before President Kimball rang the neighbor’s doorbell and handed him a casserole. “What’s this for?” the neighbor asked. “I don’t know,” replied President Kimball. “I’ve come to make amends for whatever I’ve done to offend you. You never come and talk to me anymore, so I decided I must have done something wrong.”
It was President Kimball who so lovingly explained to us that the Lord whispers to our hearts to go and do and in this way he answers the fervent prayers of others. President Kimball said the Lord has chosen this method of answering prayers because he knows it is the way we will learn most effectively to give love.

My friend Tammy stopped attending church when she was just 15 years old. Around the corner from Tammy lived a young man who also decided in his mid-teens that he didn’t want to be part of the Church. They both developed habits that took them further away from Church activity. Eventually, they married and began to raise a family.
Tammy loved her husband and her two daughters very much, but deep in her heart bubbled a longing to go back to the life she had known as a child. She faintly remembered feeling her Heavenly Father’s Spirit and influence with her, and she missed Him. Reluctant to share these thoughts with her husband for fear he would not approve, she kept them hidden. She wanted to come back, but she just didn’t know how to begin. Let’s listen to her own words as she tells the ripple effect of two wonderful visiting teachers who “[drew] water [from] the wells of salvation” and shared it with Tammy.
[Video transcript of Tammy Clayton]
I’m grateful to this day for my visiting teachers because they loved me and they didn’t judge me. They really made me feel as though I really was important and that I did have a place in the Church.
They’d come over to my home and we would sit and we’d visit. After a while, they’d ask me if I wanted a lesson, and they would leave me a message each month.
And when they came every month, it made me feel as if I really did matter and as though they really did care about me and as though they really loved me and appreciated me.
Through their visiting and coming to see us, I decided that it was time for me to go back to church. I guess I just really didn’t know how to come back, and by their coming and reaching out to me, they provided a way that I could return.
We need to realize that the Lord loves us no matter who we are, and my visiting teachers helped me see that this was right.
Now my husband and I have been sealed in the temple.
Thank heaven for faithful visiting teachers. Yes, sisters, the actions of righteous women do ripple on and on through space and time and generations. Certainly there could be no more enduring ripple than to have a family sealed in the temple for eternity. Let us be like the faithful sisters who have come before us. Let us drink deeply of the “water out of the wells of salvation.”

Martin enjoyed reading the Book of Mormon and recognized the Spirit and direction it provided in his life. A few months later, after receiving a personal testimony, Martin Biney was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. As a new member of the Church, Martin attended every week, but for many years, his wife and children stayed home. Brother Biney states, “After I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt blessed. I had more confidence and felt impressed to go back to boxing.”
The Lord blessed Martin and, in 1997, at the age of 34, Martin Biney again became the middleweight boxing champion in Japan.