Gospel Story Finder

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

Enrique was born the year his grandfather Delio was baptized into the Church. Growing up, he frequently spent time with his grandparents next door or with his aunts, all of whom were active in the Church. (He calls Liduvina his second mother.) Though his father and mother were not members in his early years, “my brothers and sisters and I grew up in the Church.”
His father, Vicente, he recalls, wanted nothing to do with the Church—did not even want to talk about it. When Vicente’s children tried to give him a Book of Mormon, he literally tossed it back at them. But, Enrique says, “it was the example of his children that eventually changed my father.” Enrique’s patriarchal blessing promised that his father would join the Church because of the example of his children. Enrique and the rest of the family clung to that promise.
In 1986, while Enrique’s younger brother was serving a mission, their father’s opposition to the Church had softened enough for him to give consent for his wife to be baptized. After 25 years of attending and serving as she could, Lina was finally a member. Her husband, however, was far from ready to take that step. Family life went on for several more years with everyone but Vicente as a member of the Church. Then one Sunday morning in 2002, Vicente got up and dressed in his suit, ready to go to church—ready to be taught. He was baptized shortly afterward, and he and his wife were sealed in the temple in 2003.

When I got baptized, it was a special time. I felt really good—I’d never had a better day. I learned more things than I ever had on a Sunday. I felt really different when I came out of the water. I knew all of my sins were washed away.
That day I was given a journal to write my feelings and thoughts in. I asked ward members to write in it, too. They wrote that they are happy to have me in the Church and that they are proud of me for choosing the right.
I chose to follow Heavenly Father’s commandments and be baptized. That made me feel happy.
Neil Cain, age 8Belle Fourche, South Dakota

Illustrations by Jennifer Tolman
Dear Journal, Jarom wrote as he sat at the kitchen table, I’m getting really excited about going on a mission. Did you know I can now go when I turn 18? That’s only eight years away! I can’t wait!
Jarom kept writing about how much he looked forward to his mission. His younger sister Taran was also writing in her journal. Kelcey, Ben, and Alyssa drew pictures in their journals instead. They were still too young to write.
I used to be kind of nervous about the idea of leaving home to go on a mission, Jarom wrote. But now I know better. A mission is going to be great. I wonder where I’ll go.
He kept writing about his future mission. Every Sunday his whole family wrote in their journals for 15 minutes as part of Family MTC—their family’s own “missionary training center.”
They’d already done their 15 minutes of personal scripture study. Jarom knew that was important too, even if it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the scriptures confused him. But he kept doing his very best. And Mom and Dad could always answer questions when he got really stuck.
Journal time, though, was always one of his favorite activities. He especially liked when they shared journal entries with each other.
“OK,” Dad said. “Time’s up. Ready for class time?”
Everybody cheered. Class time was fun. They each picked favorite articles from the Friend to teach the rest of the family. Jarom chose a baseball story he found—he loved baseball, after all. And his younger brother, Ben, couldn’t wait to tell about a boy who tried building the biggest block tower in the universe. Everybody had something to share.
The 15 minutes zoomed by with favorite stories. That meant only one thing was left.
“It’s time for family devotional,” Mom said.
Jarom grinned. Family devotional usually meant watching Church videos on the computer. The whole family loved those videos. They sometimes couldn’t decide which videos to watch for the 15 minutes. There were so many to choose from.
“Can we watch the one about the scorpion again?” Jarom asked before they even made it to the computer. “Please?” The video about the scorpion showed how Elder Patrick Kearon of the Seventy learned to obey his parents and avoid dangerous things.
“We just watched that last week,” Dad said with a laugh.
“I know, but it’s awesome!”
“I want to watch ‘The Coat,’” Kelcey said.
In no time at all, it seemed, Family MTC was over for another week. And yes, they’d gotten to watch Jarom’s favorite video again. Sooo awesome, Jarom wrote really fast in his journal.
Then it was time to get ready for church. Jarom grabbed his scriptures and headed for the door.
He remembered a couple months ago when they started Family MTC. At the time he didn’t really know what to think of it. Would it feel like one more hour of church? Sometimes three hours felt like a long time already.
But he was surprised by how much he loved Family MTC. Going on a mission was one of his big goals in life. He knew what he had to do to be ready. Learning as a family made it that much more fun.
Besides, if it meant he got to watch the scorpion video a few more times along the way, well that was just fine by Jarom.

In the recent Australian Open—one of the grand-slam professional tennis tour championships—Jiri Novak from the Czech Republic was playing a critical game in a quarterfinal match. On game point his opponent hit a ball that the linesman called long. His opponent asked the umpire to overrule the linesman. The ball had landed on the side of the court, which allowed the umpire to get a good look at the ball, but the umpire refused to overrule the linesman. Knowing the call would give his opponent the game, Novak told the umpire the ball was in, and his opponent was awarded the point. The capacity crowd vigorously applauded his honor call.

There are several significant points in this incident. Novak was a professional athlete, and there was a lot of money weighing on the outcome of this match, which he lost. It is not common for this type of honor call to happen in major tennis competitions. The crowd’s response is indicative of respect for the honesty exhibited in this situation. People believe in the virtue of honesty. However, it takes courage and character to live these virtues in our world.

Now I would like to tell you a story that I heard from a good friend of mine this past spring, and I really appreciate the permission to use this story, because it’s very personal. Prior to this, we had talked many times about school related things and never talked about our own families. At this time, however, he mentioned to me that he had a son who had passed away. His son Adam, through a series of poor decisions, ended up in jail. He also suffered from a drug addiction and eventually died because of this addiction. He told me he never would have chosen this life for his son, and I imagine that all of this would be difficult for any parent to witness. In the wake of his passing, there was still something be learned from the experience, however. At the funeral for Adam, there was an opportunity given for anyone who knew him to be able to get up and speak and say something about him. As it turns out, there were quite a few people who wanted to say something about their experiences with Adam. While he was incarcerated, there were some people with him who could not read or write, so one of the things he would do for his fellow inmates would be to read the letters that were written to them, and then assist them further by writing letters back to their families. Another person got up and talked about her own drug addiction and how she would never have been able to recover from that addiction without Adam’s kindness and encouragement. I got the impression that he was really able to make a positive difference to people in a place where maybe no one really wants to be, but the need is still there, and possibly the need is even greater there than a lot of other places in the world. For me, this shows that we don’t have to necessarily be a leader to make a difference in someone else’s life. We can be filled with our own problems and difficulties and still help out others or “see them through.”

Another pioneer game was last couple out. Caroline was chosen to be the leader, and the other children each chose a partner. They lined up side by side behind Caroline. Henry and Charles were partners, and they were the last couple lined up behind Caroline. When Caroline yelled, “Last couple out!” Henry and Charles separated. Henry ran forward along the right side of the line, and Charles along the left side. The two boys tried to clasp hands before Caroline tagged either of them. But Caroline touched Charles, thus becoming his partner. They took their place at the front of the line behind Henry, the new leader.

I had this principle vividly impressed upon me one day a long time ago. I was living back in Virginia at the time, and one beautiful fall day I drove out into the country to pick up some walnuts. There were sixteen Stop signs between my home and the very, very heavily wooded lane where I turned in to get those walnuts. I stopped fifteen times. The last Stop sign was way out in the country. I could see in both directions. There were no other cars in sight. I thought to myself: “Why should I stop? Stop signs are to protect people, but I am the only one around. So why stop?” So I didn’t! I wasn’t speeding. I just went through at the speed limit. When I reached the heavily wooded lane, I found I couldn’t see around the corner. It’s that way back there in Virginia. So I slowed down and turned in. Just as I did, there was another car coming out of the lane, and because we couldn’t see each other, we ran together at about five miles per hour. It wasn’t a hard impact and the cars weren’t severely damaged. As I recall, it only cost me $168 to replace my grill and headlights.
Now, that accident had to be perfectly timed. Of course, if I had stopped at the last Stop sign, it would never have happened. I said, “Lord, I get the message. You really didn’t have to go this far, but I do understand.” In fact, I stopped sixteen times on the way home with the front end of my car beat up.

Let me tell another story from my family. My mother didn't come from a very religious home. She married my dad when they were 19 and 20. My dad had stopped going to church when he was 14 and my mother was not a member of the Church. But in their neighborhood near their small apartment they became friends with another young couple who had both just joined the Church. Keith and Margaret Miller were on fire with the gospel and the scriptures. They loved to talk about how happy they were and what they were learning. They shared these things with my parents as they socialized and finally invited my parents to hear the missionaries.
My parents came into the gospel just before I was born. Keith and Margaret's encounter with the restored gospel and with the Savior created something that did not exist before—a desire on the part of their friends, my parents, to have religion and truth guide their family. It drastically changed my parents' trajectory. Now they have lived more than 50 years in the gospel. And their encounter with Jesus Christ and his gospel changed everything about my own life. How thankful I am that when Keith and Margaret felt joy, they expressed it by creating a friendship that hadn't existed before. They were creators of eternal friends.

A number of years ago, a one-inch article in my local newspaper caught my attention, and I have remembered it ever since: “Four people were killed and seven workers were rescued after clinging for more than an hour to the underside of a 125-foot-high [38-m] bridge in St. Catharines, Ontario, [Canada,] after the scaffolding they were working on collapsed” (“News Capsules,” Deseret News, June 9, 1993, A2).
I was, and I continue to be, fascinated by this brief story. Shortly after reading this account, I called a family friend who lived in St. Catharines. She explained that the workers had been painting the Garden City Skyway bridge for about a year and were two weeks short of completing the project when the accident happened. After the accident, officials were asked why these men did not have any safety equipment. The answer was simple: they had the equipment; they just chose not to wear it. After the scaffolding gave way, the survivors held on to a one-inch (2.5-cm) lip of steel girder and stood on an eight-inch (20-cm) ledge of steel for over an hour until rescue teams could reach them. One survivor related that as he clung to the bridge, he thought a lot about his family. He said, “I just thank the Lord for me being here today. … It was pretty scary, I tell you” (in Rick Bogacz, “Skyway Horror,” Standard, June 9, 1993).
My life is not perfect. I deal with many of the same challenges. We all do. I know that the temptations of the adversary and the difficulties of mortality are ever present and beset each of us. I concur with the rescued worker’s expression of his dangerous experience of holding on to that steel girder: “It [is] pretty scary, I tell you.”

Our family has been reading stories about the latter-day prophets. They all learned to work hard when they were young. We read that when Brigham Young was only eight, he made most of the family meals because his mother was very sick. When Joseph F. Smith was about the same age, he chopped wood, hauled water, and drove an oxen team.
Jamison (Jamey) is five and the oldest child in our family. He always tries to set a good example for his two younger brothers. Every morning, he does a chore. Some mornings, he helps fold laundry. Others, he vacuums or cleans the bathroom. He also makes his bed, cleans his room, and helps watch his one-year-old brother.
Even though it isn’t always fun, Jamey says that he gets a really good feeling inside when he does his best work. He says that he wants to be like the prophets and work hard. He knows that Jesus is happy with him.

Toward the end of his talk President Monson gave us all an invitation. He said, "Ask yourselves, ‘Have I rescued anyone recently?' "

A week later I was in a meeting where we discussed President Monson's talk on rescuing, and one Area Seventy related that he had always tried to visit less-active members when he presided at stake conferences. The next day I flew to Portland to conduct an auxiliary training session. I asked Elder Brinkerhoff, the Area Seventy who hosted me in that city, if we might be able to visit a less-active member following the training session. He immediately thought of a couple he had been home teaching. He said, "Last Sunday they came to sacrament meeting in our ward for the first time."

We visited their home. They were a pure-hearted couple who, for some unknown reason, had become less active. The wife looked at me at one point and said, "Brother Osguthorpe, you probably don't know this, but we went to sacrament meeting for the first time last week." I asked her about her impressions of the meeting. I found it important that she did not mention the messages that had been given from the pulpit; she focused on the members and their friendship. She said, "I was surprised at how many friends we had in this ward even though this was our first time at sacrament meeting. So many people came up to us and were so glad to see us." Then she got tears in her eyes. "I just didn't know we had so many friends."

Elder Brinkerhoff then let them know how much it had meant to him that they had attended, and I asked the wife, "So why do you think Elder Brinkerhoff cares so much?" And again with tears in her eyes, she responded, "Because he loves us."

Elder Brinkerhoff had been meeting with this couple for some time. He had been extending all three types of invitations--invitations that challenge, invitations that befriend, and invitations that rescue. And the couple had finally begun to respond to the invitations. When Elder Brinkerhoff extended these invitations, perhaps it did not always look like teaching. Maybe the couple didn't always feel like he was presenting formal lessons. But in the truest sense, this was gospel teaching at its very best. They were learning key doctrines. They were responding to invitations to action. And they were experiencing the promised blessings.

I was barely two years old when my mother became seriously ill. Because she had no one to leave me with, she took me with her to the hospital in Tupiza, Bolivia. She died shortly thereafter, leaving me all alone.
During my childhood and early teenage years, I was passed from one place to another, never knowing what it was like to have a family, never receiving any kind of gift—not even for my birthday or for Christmas.
Left on my own, I faced a lot of challenges and dangers while growing up. It was only later that I learned I was never really alone and that an invisible hand was watching over me.
When I was 15, I was invited to live with a Latter-day Saint family. Their daughter, slightly older than I, took me to Mutual. Everyone there welcomed me and paid attention to me. For the first time in my young life, people treated me with love and kindness.
I was introduced to the missionaries, who began teaching me. Soon I realized that I had a loving Heavenly Father, who had protected me throughout my life. I accepted the gospel and was baptized on Christmas Eve 1978. That evening I received my first and still most cherished Christmas gift: membership in the Lord’s Church.
Other gifts followed. Two years later I met a young man who was not a member of the Church. I took him to church with me, and after he made his own baptismal covenants, we were married. Later Heavenly Father blessed my husband and me with three children, who were sealed to us for time and all eternity in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple.
When I was young, everyone called me “the poor little orphan girl.” When I recall this memory today, I feel grateful because I have the blessing of knowing that I have a Father, who has always loved me. I have also tasted of the Savior’s infinite love. He restored His Church through the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was chosen in the premortal world and labored diligently to translate the Book of Mormon. I know that it contains the fulness of the gospel.
I received my first and best Christmas gift at age 15 and have enjoyed the Lord’s tender mercies ever since. I still feel gratitude in my heart for that gift and strive to keep my gaze fixed on the next life, where I hope to thank the Father and the Son and live forever with my beloved family.

“I Feel My Savior’s Love,” a song you probably learned in Primary, is a song of remembrance. It reminds us of our love for the Savior and of His love for us. During its creation, the title of this song actually came first. It was formed while reading of the angels that descended and assisted the resurrected Christ in ministering to the Nephite children. That account caused me to wonder how I might have felt had I been there. I imagined that I would have felt the Savior’s love, and a vivid memory of His love would have remained with me. I would have recognized and felt His love in everything that surrounded me. Later, I would have rejoiced in affirming that I had felt my Savior’s love while in His presence.

A couple of months later, while working on the lyrics and music of the song, I tried to imagine how the Savior himself might have felt while ministering to the Nephite children. During that process, my mind quite naturally turned toward my companion, Diane, and our own children. As I reflected on our relationship and the love I felt for them, my heart was filled with a most exquisite joy, a joy that stimulated and guided the song’s creation.

In an interview I had recently, a dear sister talked emotionally about her experience coming here as a student. She said:

This is sacred ground for me. I was so excited to come! I felt so grown up and it was an exciting time for my family. But the excitement was cut short as our family received word that my father was diagnosed with cancer. That word came just three days prior to my departure for Idaho. A cloud descended on our family. What should have been a joyous trip with my parents turned out to be a solemn ride with just my sister who drove me to Rexburg and dropped me and a few belongings off at the curb outside the women's dorms. I was alone and feeling very lost and very down.

She continues:

My schedule was incomplete, and I desperately needed to add a particular class. My mother had told me to go to the Advising Office on Monday morning to see if someone there could help me. I arrived early but was told that everything in the time slot I had available was full. I stepped out of that office and began to cry. A kind man approached me and asked me what was the matter. I was painfully shy but through my tears, I told him my plight. It turned out that he was a faculty member in that program. He kindly gave me his room number and invited me to join his class (which, by the way, was technically full).

This good woman then added, "I learned in that moment that God was aware of me and that this place was very special."

Some women face illness and incapacity, even to the point of being bedfast. Even so, there is the privilege to rise above affliction and to be a true example of faith, of love, and of service. Such was the partnership of Virginia and her husband, Eugene Jelesnik. They for many years worked together in bringing the gift of song and the joy of music to thousands of servicemen and women and to audiences from stages worldwide. Then illness and advancing age forced Virginia to remain within four walls—bedfast. But her spirit could not be held hostage by an impaired body. She continued to encourage her husband and to be his inspiration and constant support. All who are the beneficiaries of Eugene’s community concerts and his civic service marvel at his energy, his enthusiasm, and his kindness. In his many responsibilities, Virginia was ever a source of his strength.

The great messages of our presidency, President Kimball and his counselors, and those of the Twelve and others, have touched me deeply. I have reminisced and remembered at this great historic conference. My mind goes back just a week ago when I was privileged to attend a stake conference in Oregon. Lo and behold, in the audience was my very first bishop, a man of great faith and capacity. (I had never known a bishop until I was fifteen years old and had moved to Hollywood, California.) He stood over six feet tall, weighing well over 200 pounds, with a heart to match—and he has never let go since. I remember under his tutelage memorizing this little verse:
“Remember, Paul,” he said, “there is an odd little voice always speaking within, and it prompts you to duty and warns you from sin. And what is most strange, it makes itself heard, though it gives not a sound and says never a word. You follow it.” And last week he said, “Are you still following it?”
I remember a great, wise teacher who said, “Paul, always keep in mind that a strong man and a waterfall always channel their own paths.” And I remember a dad who said, “I gave you a great name; remember, a good name is better than a girdle of gold.”
I think every boy and girl ought to have in his or her life a great dad, a marvelous bishop, and wonderful teachers. Many do; some don’t. Thank God for a prophet, for leaders of the Church who add that dimension.
I thought of another great man in my life—a coach who has affected my life for eternity. I am pleased to announce that he and I are engaged together in learning more fully the gospel of Jesus Christ in a missionary effort.
I will never forget the day I walked into his office, scared to death as fifteen-year-olds are, trying to sign up for a varsity team. I stood outside his door for the better part of five minutes; and then, when I got the courage, I knocked timidly. The voice said, “Come in!” I opened the door and walked in.
He said, “What can I do for you, son?”
I said, “Where do you sign up for varsity baseball?”
He said, “Let me ask you a question—do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
I said, “I came to play ball.”
He said, “I’m sorry, we’re all filled up.”
With a broken heart, I turned and walked out. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear! I stood in the hall for a minute (thank goodness my dad had taught me courage to keep trying), then plucked up my courage and again knocked on the door. The answer came as before, “Come in!” I walked in.
He said, “Oh, it’s you again.”
I said, “Yes, sir, maybe you didn’t understand my earlier question. I asked you where to sign up for varsity baseball.”
He said, “I asked you a question. Do you want to play ball or be a champion?”
Well, I knew the other answer hadn’t worked, so I said, “I want to be a champion.”
“Oh,” he said, “sign here.” And I did. He said, “We build champions.” Then he turned and said, “Have you ever signed a contract before?”
I said, “No, sir, I’m only fifteen.”
He said, “At this institution, we commit ourselves to principles.”
He took from the bottom drawer of his file a contract already typed, and on it were the standards that we have been listening to in this great conference. He said, “You take that home and read it over with your parents. If you can agree to the conditions, you sign it and bring it back tomorrow.” I did. Somehow, I made the team.
In the contractual agreement were promises to be the kind of a Latter-day Saint I knew I ought to be. We went through a great, great season. It ended in a tie with our arch-rival high school. The play-off game was to determine the state championship. As we assembled on the field in the last-minute preparation for the great event, the coach had us around the batting cage. As he was making his little pep talk, he stopped in front of me and said, “Oh, by the way, you will pitch the deciding game.” My heart dropped! He continued his counsel. And then he stopped in front of our excellent second baseman. Most of you would know him because he went on to play for the Chicago White Sox for a number of years. He said, as he looked, “Jimmy, is that a nicotine stain on your finger?” Jimmy, like the rest of us, had made a commitment to keep his body clean.
Jimmy, looking at his finger, quickly hid his hand and said, embarrassed, “Yes, sir.”
The coach said in front of the whole team, “Did you sign a contract with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you broke the contract?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the penalty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you turn in your uniform? You’re through.”
I wanted to say, “Coach, tomorrow’s the big game. (Jimmy was batting .385 and hadn’t made an error at second base all year.) But the coach was thinking of a boy, not a game. Jimmy turned in his uniform, but the coach kept close to him.
I drew the assignment the next day to pitch against Al Yalian, who later signed with the New York Yankees for a fabulous bonus. Thirteen innings we went, and he beat me in the thirteenth—1–0. The run came when a ground ball was hit to second where Jimmy normally played. The ball got through a nervous substitute’s legs onto the outfield grass and eventually scored an unearned run, which defeated us. And now, years later, I thank God for a great coach who taught me that principles are more important than games.
As I reflect upon these kinds of experiences and the influence that great men have had on my life, I think of the question that young people quite often ask those of us in these positions, “Why do we hold so many meetings in the Church?” The Lord understood and answered, speaking to you and me, young people, through a prophet: “And now, behold, I give unto you a commandment, that when ye are assembled together ye shall instruct and edify each other.” Why? “That ye may know how to act and direct my church.” (D&C 43:8.) And I thank God that in this great conference and others that have preceded it we are taught how to act. “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”
Like many of you, I am frequently before those who are not of our faith, and the challenge is great and wonderful. Not long ago I was given a little honor before a great group of non-Latter-day Saint athletes. In the proceedings of the convention, one of my great idols, a Hall of Famer, was to take the rostrum and speak to us. Being the great athlete that he was, respected by many, I was shocked to hear his language as he repeatedly took the name of the Lord in vain. As I sat there, I wondered, “What do you do as a Latter-day Saint in these kinds of social situations?” And then I remembered—again, a great influence in my life—the counsel from a prophet and an experience that he had had one time coming out of surgery. An orderly who was wheeling the prophet back to his hospital room on a little metal cart caught his hand between the door and the cart in the elevator and, not thinking, let go with a few adjectives, taking the name of the Lord in vain in the process. And a prophet, sick as he was physically but very well spiritually, lifted his head and said, “Please don’t talk that way—that’s my best friend.”
Those thoughts went through my mind as I listened to my idol. As he concluded and sat down, I put my hand on his knee and said to him, “You’re terrific! Did you know that when I was growing up I had you on a high pedestal? But, if I might level with you, tonight you fell off that pedestal.”
He said, “Didn’t you like my workshop?”
I said, “I loved it. But every time you opened your mouth, you offended me and a lot of other people out there. I’m going to challenge you tonight, as your friend, to clean up your language.”
I thought of the apostle Paul and Joseph Smith and particularly of a prophet today, Spencer W. Kimball; and I learned on that occasion, as I have on many others, that people really want what you and I have, if we have the courage to give it.
God grant us to have that courage and determination as we go forth, edified and fortified by the influences of great men in our lives, to be an example unto the world. I testify that I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that here sits his prophet. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Let me share with you two stories that illustrate how decisions concerning money can affect us not only in this life, but also in the life to come. Several years ago, I was serving as the Young Men's president in my home ward in Idaho Falls. I worked with several brethren in those years as priest quorum advisors, and one particularly memorable brother appeared to be incredibly wealthy. He and his family lived a very extravagant lifestyle, but sadly, it eventually became known that his wealth was gained dishonestly. He subsequently lost his family, his membership in the Church, and his freedom--being sentenced to serve many years in federal prison. His decisions about money have placed his eternal happiness in grave peril.

A few months later, Martin came to Harmony. He said he felt called by the Lord to travel as far as New York City to consult experts in ancient languages. He hoped they could translate the characters.12
Joseph copied several more characters from the plates, wrote down his translation, and handed the paper to Martin. He and Emma then watched as their friend headed east to consult with distinguished scholars.13
Facsimile of characters from the Book of Mormon plates.
When Martin arrived in New York City, he went to see Charles Anthon, a professor of Latin and Greek at Columbia College. Professor Anthon was a young man—about 15 years younger than Martin—and was best known for publishing a popular encyclopedia on Greek and Roman culture. He had also begun collecting stories about American Indians.14
Anthon was a rigid scholar who resented interruptions, but he welcomed Martin and studied the characters and translation Joseph had provided.15 Although the professor did not know Egyptian, he had read some studies on the language and knew what it looked like. Looking at the characters, he saw some similarities with Egyptian and told Martin the translation was correct.
Martin showed him more characters, and Anthon examined them. He said they contained characters from many ancient languages and gave Martin a certificate verifying their authenticity. He also recommended that he show the characters to another scholar named Samuel Mitchill, who used to teach at Columbia.16
“He is very learned in these ancient languages,” Anthon said, “and I have no doubt he will be able to give you some satisfaction.”17
Martin placed the certificate in his pocket, but just as he was leaving, Anthon called him back. He wanted to know how Joseph found the gold plates.
“An angel of God,” Martin said, “revealed it unto him.” He testified that the translation of the plates would change the world and save it from destruction. And now that he had proof of their authenticity, he intended to sell his farm and donate money to get the translation published.
“Let me see that certificate,” Anthon said.
Martin reached into his pocket and gave it to him. Anthon tore it to pieces and said there was no such thing as ministering angels. If Joseph wanted the plates translated, he could bring them to Columbia and let a scholar translate them.
Martin explained that part of the plates were sealed and that Joseph was not allowed to show them to anyone.
“I cannot read a sealed book,” said Anthon. He warned Martin that Joseph was probably cheating him. “Beware of rogues,” he said.18
Martin left Professor Anthon and called on Samuel Mitchill. He received Martin politely, listened to his story, and looked at the characters and translation. He could not make sense of them, but he said they reminded him of Egyptian hieroglyphics and were the writings of an extinct nation.19
Martin left the city a short time later and returned to Harmony, more convinced than ever that Joseph had ancient gold plates and the power to translate them. He told Joseph about his interviews with the professors and reasoned that if some of the most educated men in America could not translate the book, Joseph had to do it.
“I cannot,” Joseph said, overwhelmed by the task, “for I am not learned.” But he knew the Lord had prepared the interpreters so he could translate the plates.20
Martin agreed. He planned to go back to Palmyra, set his business in order, and return as soon as possible to serve as Joseph’s scribe.21

One summer, as a teenager, I worked on an oyster boat off the coast of Long Island in New York to earn funds for college. The other members of the crew were seasoned oystermen, hardened by the harsh winter environment in which they spent much of their lives battling the icy ocean and raw wind to secure their catch. I was an enigma to them, easier to distrust than to understand. They shunned me as a company spy, then as a crazy kid who didn’t know how to be a man. Later, I became better at my duties and tried to build friendships. They offered to make me “a real man” by joining them on their all-night indulgences. I thanked them but declined, and the tension grew more intense.

The summer weather was beautiful and the ocean magnificent. We were engaged in relatively simple tasks, such as transferring small oysters to a more distant portion of the sound where the nutrients accelerated their growth and improved their flavor. Except when a dredge full of oysters was dumped onto the deck, signaling a flurry of intense activity, there was much time for contemplation. While my deck mates dozed by their shovels, I read and pondered the content of the Book of Mormon. I cannot adequately express the powerful awakening within me that came from those weeks of study of the Book of Mormon under singularly unusual circumstances.

We slept in envelope-type bunks sandwiched into the restricted space between the ship’s diesel engine and hull. One night at dockside I retired early since some of the crew planned unrighteous activity outside our boat. I was suddenly shaken into consciousness by the powerful hand of a deck mate, Toddy, a giant of a man. He was brandishing a hammer in my face, and his breath reeked of alcohol. Stunned, I realized that there was no way that I could escape him. I thought I had come to the end of the road. Then I heard what he was shouting, “Scotty, get your fins and mask. There’s a man overboard, and you can save him.”

That night I learned a lesson I have never forgotten. Publicly the crew members ridiculed me, but privately they respected me for my standards. The confidence that came from that knowledge let me quietly help three of them with some serious personal challenges.