Gospel Story Finder

When the various projects were well into their second year, Brother Kamauoha reported that the people really learned that a job is not done until it is complete. After building roads, bridges, and the steps to the waterfall, the people at Sauniatu had to put in a culinary water system. They wanted to pipe water from a spring. They had no money for pipe, so they dug up some old pipe that had been used years before and cleaned it in the river. Then they painted the usable pieces. They only had enough good pipe to make a straight line from the spring to the village. Seventy-five feet of lava bedrock lay in the path of their trench.
“I told them, ‘We have enough good pipe to make a straight pipeline. So if you want water and you want it badly enough, then you’ll have to cut through the bedrock to the spring!’ A big Samoan man named Faleoo Itopi, who had worked extra hard on every project said, ‘Why, after what we have done, this little bedrock is nothing.’
“We worked into the nights with lanterns. Faleoo’s hands were bleeding, but he set an example for the students and showed them how to work. He was that way in all of his projects. When he built roads, he always built them too long rather than too short. He never took a shortcut because his heart was in the right place.”

A third component in building family faith is to live with joy, says Lorenzo Mariani of the Pisa Branch, Florence Italy District. Lorenzo is a counselor in the district presidency while his wife, Ilaria, is a stay-at-home mother who serves in Young Women. They have a lot to do, and they try to accomplish it with a smile. They believe their visible happiness can help mold their children’s attitudes toward the gospel. “When we do something for the Church, we show a good example by not appearing stressed and by having a good attitude,” Lorenzo says. “Children can tell if you do something with joy or just because it’s a duty.”
“I think a lot every day about how to instill faith in my children,” Ilaria says. She hopes her constant loving care will show her sons, Gioele and Davide, the joy of families and that relationships are more important than money. She says, “The forces threatening the family in Italy include people not wanting to get married or not having more than one child so they can pay for their child to have lots of privileges.” She acknowledges that other children have more possessions than hers, “but these are less essential” than taking the time to teach her children eternal truths.
Ilaria sometimes feels lonely when so many women are socializing in the workplace, but she prays for help and feels the Spirit filling her with happiness and strength. “I am also blessed with a lot of sisters in the Church who love me,” she says. Sometimes when she prays for help, a sister in the branch calls and offers support.
As for extended family support, Ilaria and Lorenzo look forward to the day their posterity will have multiple generations of faithful forebears to learn from and emulate. “We pray for our posterity,” Lorenzo says. As a second-generation Church member, “I feel a big responsibility on my shoulders to be the strong link in the chain.”
Lorenzo and Ilaria feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the privilege of being pioneers—some of the first in their family to raise children with gospel light. Lorenzo’s mother was the first to join the Church in his family, and Ilaria learned about the Church from her aunt. “The gospel helps strengthen our marriage a lot,” Lorenzo says. It “gives us the eternal perspective of our family. We try to make the right choice in the eternal perspective instead of the mortal perspective.” These choices are the substance of strong links, connecting one faithful generation to the next.
“Sometimes when I hear stories in general conference about the speaker’s great-grandparents being pioneers, crossing the plains, I get a little jealous,” Ilaria admits. It’s hard for her to imagine having a whole family tree of people who sacrificed for the gospel. But she and Lorenzo are encouraged by the Church growth they have seen in their country. They are grateful for the first missionaries who planted seeds there, and they know a greater harvest is coming.
Ilaria smiles, envisioning that day. “I know that someday someone will be reading Great-Grandma Ilaria’s journal.” Family stories of faith are beginning with her today.

In October 1983 I was attending a party in Rosario, Argentina, when to my surprise, I noticed a young lady reading a book. It was not just any book—it looked exactly like the one I had been searching for. Rays of light actually seemed to be coming from it, as if it were saying, “Here I am.”
The young lady had not been introduced to me, but I overcame my shyness and approached her. I glanced at the open book but could see nothing except the word Alma at the top of the page. My heart beat with excitement. It had to be the right book.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but could you please let me see your book?”
Again to my surprise, she started asking me questions.
“This book?”
“Yes, that book.”
“Do you know what book this is?”
“No. That’s what I want to find out.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in it.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Well—because. It’s very important to me.”
“But can’t you tell me why?”
I began to be exasperated. “If you don’t want to lend it to me, at least tell me the name of it.”
Again she said, “But tell me why! Why do you want to know what book this is?”
I realized I would have to explain. “I came to this country about two years ago,” I said. “I didn’t know a soul, so I spent a lot of time reading the Bible, reading it very conscientiously. The more I read, the more I became convinced that my church is in error. One day I fasted and prayed and asked the Lord if my church was the right one or if I should search for another.
“The Lord answered my prayer. I had a dream in which the Lord showed me a prophet named Joseph. I learned that he is somehow associated with the right church. The doctrine of that church is based on a book that is as important as the Bible. When I find it, I will find the true Church of Jesus Christ. The only thing I know about the book is its outside appearance and the one word I saw inside, the word Alma. I think it is the same book you have in your hand.”
Now the young lady was taken by surprise. She told me the book was the Book of Mormon, and understanding that my intentions were good, she at last gave the book to me. I glanced at the title. Then it was my turn to ask questions.
“Do the Mormons have this book?”
“Yes.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Several prophets who used to live on this continent.”
“Didn’t a man named Smith write this book?”
“No. By divine command he translated the writings found on gold plates.”
“Well, then! It is a real treasure!”
“It definitely is.”
My happiness was great. Even before I read the Book of Mormon, I was sure that it was true—and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the true Church.
The young lady with the book introduced me to the missionaries. They soon gave me my own copy of the Book of Mormon.
Since I found it, the Book of Mormon has been my inseparable companion. When I read it, I feel comfort from pain. I find hope when I am discouraged, and I feel the love of God when everything seems futile.

“Are General Authorities human?”
I suppose this is a question that is in many minds and has been from the very beginning. It arises, in the very nature of things, because of the high regard in which we hold the offices that these Brethren are called to fill.
I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”
… This is a subject about which people often have incorrect concepts. Many people had this same question in their minds during the time of Joseph Smith. He said: “I was this morning introduced to a man from the east. After hearing my name, he remarked that I was nothing but a man, indicating by this expression, that he had supposed that a person to whom the Lord should see fit to reveal His will, must be something more than a man. He seemed to have forgotten the saying that fell from the lips of St. James, that [Elijah] was a man subject to like passions as we are, yet he had such power with God, that He, in answer to his prayers, shut the heavens that they gave no rain for the space of three years and six months; and again, in answer to his prayer, the heavens gave forth rain, and the earth gave forth fruit [see James 5:17–18]. Indeed, such is the darkness and ignorance of this generation, that they look upon it as incredible that a man should [speak] with his Maker.”

When I was in junior high school, I would get out of bed on cold winter mornings and head for the heat vent to get warm. The family cat would always beat me there, so I would gently shoo her away and sit down. Soon my mother would tell me it was time to leave for school. I would look out at the icicles on the house and dread going out into the cold, let alone beginning another day of school.

As I kissed my mother good-bye and went out the door, I would look at my comfortable spot in front of the heat vent and find that the cat had repossessed it. How I envied that cat! If that weren’t enough, she would look up at me with heavy eyelids and an expression as if to laugh at me and say, “Have fun in school, Glenn. I’m sure glad I’m not a human!” I hated it when she did that!

However, an interesting thing would happen as the day went on. I would come home after experiencing the joys and sorrows of the school day and see that lazy cat still curled up in front of the vent, and I would smile and say to her, “I’m sure glad I’m not a cat.”

In Tempe, Arizona, a Church member asked his neighbor if he would like help creating a family tree to show his ancestry. The neighbor accepted. The member helped the neighbor add the names of his parents and grandparents in FamilySearch. They linked to information already available, and before long the neighbor had a fan chart showing five generations of his family. This led the man to have an interest in the gospel and eventually to baptism and taking the names of his ancestors to the temple.

Youth of the Greeley Colorado Stake learned to appreciate simple things, like the shade of the cottonwood trees near the Platte River, as they pushed and pulled handcarts along a rocky six-mile stretch of the original Mormon/Oregon Trail last summer.
These teens tolerated stickers in their socks and temperatures above 100 degrees Fahrenheit (36 Celsius) as they crossed the same Wyoming plains many of their pioneer ancestors did 150 years ago.
When the day ended and the group reached its camping site, one young man remarked, “As we climbed the hill with the ruts, the sweat dripped off my face onto the grooved ground, and I was humbled to think of those who had passed this way so long ago, their sweat pouring out on the same hot, dusty rocks.”

Carrie put her finger on her zoo-animal calendar and once more counted the days before she would be baptized. Today was Sunday, and in just seven more days she would be eight years old—old enough for baptism.
Today was really important, too, and maybe just a little bit scary, because today she would have her baptism interview with the branch president. President Stevenson wasn’t unfriendly, but Carrie was worried that he would give her a test about the Articles of Faith or the Ten Commandments or something.
“Carrie,” Mom called, “it’s time to get up. Remember, your interview is right after sacrament meeting.”
Carrie slipped out of bed and onto her knees. During her prayer, a warm feeling came over her, and she knew that everything would be all right. She remembered that it was the sort of calm feeling that Sister Cowan, her CTR-A teacher, had taught her could come to her through the Holy Ghost.
“Get out of my way,” Nathan growled later as he shoved past Carrie into the bathroom.
Wow! she thought. I hope he’s not going to be a real grouch all day.
But Nathan was still scowling as he, Carrie, and Mom and Dad left for church.
“Good morning, Carrie. Your big day is coming up next week, right?” Carrie felt a familiar arm around her shoulder as Sister Cowan gave her a hug. “Your interview with President Stevenson is today, isn’t it? You’re really ready for baptism—I know you are.”
Sister Cowan always made Carrie feel special. But that warm feeling disappeared as Nathan came toward her—he still had a frown on his face.
Just then President Stevenson came out of the chapel. “I’ll be seeing you right after church, won’t I, Carrie?” he said with a big, warm smile.
Carrie nodded and smiled back. Maybe our visit will be OK, she thought.
Then President Stevenson smiled at Nathan. But Nathan didn’t smile back—he was being a dedicated grouch today. The branch president simply said, “Nathan, remember?”
Miracles really do happen, Carrie thought as Nathan started to grin, then gave President Stevenson a great big smile!
“I remember.” Nathan’s smile grew and lasted as he ambled down the hall.
Did I see a miracle? Carrie wondered. And what did Nathan remember?
During sacrament meeting, Carrie glanced over at Judy. Carrie thought that she always looked sort of sad. But now, as Judy looked up from her hymnbook, she broke into a smile! Following Judy’s gaze, Carrie saw President Stevenson smiling at Judy from the stand.
How can he make Nathan and Judy smile when nobody else can? Carrie asked herself.
Soon, the meeting was over, and the branch members were visiting in the foyer.
“Carrie.” She felt a light touch on her shoulder. “Are you ready for our interview?”
Nodding, she followed the branch president to his office.
“I’m really glad we can visit today about your baptism,” President Stevenson told her. “Would it be OK if we started with a prayer?”
When he finished the prayer, he opened his scriptures and asked, “Do you remember when the Prophet Abinadi tried to teach King Noah about God? The only one in the king’s court who believed Abinadi was Alma. After Alma was converted, he gathered others and taught them the gospel. He said that for people to be ready for baptism, they should ‘mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’” (Mosiah 18:9).
As they talked about what Alma had written, Carrie was glad that Sister Cowan had discussed it all in her class.
When President Stevenson asked Carrie if she would be willing to do all that Alma said, she answered yes and really meant it.
“The next verses talk about a covenant between the people being baptized and God. Do you know what a covenant is?” President Stevenson asked.
Covenant? Oh no! This is the test, and I can’t remember what it is! “Well, uh, not really,” was all she could mumble.
“That’s all right, Carrie. Lots of people don’t really know. A covenant is an agreement, or promise, between two people. They agree, or covenant, that as long as one of them does what has been agreed upon, the other is bound to do what he promised. Alma spoke of baptism as a covenant between us and God. If we agree to be baptized and always remember the Savior and keep his commandments, he agrees to send his Spirit to always be with us. Do you understand this?”
“I guess so, sort of.”
The branch president smiled. “Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if you and I make a simple agreement, OK? Here’s our agreement: Whenever I see you, whether it’s here at church or someplace else, I promise that I will smile at you, even if I’m not feeling happy. But if I do that, then you have to promise that you’ll smile back at me, even if you don’t feel like smiling. Do you think we can make that agreement?”
“OK. I can do that.”
“Good. Now, as a symbol of our agreement to smile, let’s shake hands.” Her small hand was smothered by his, but it felt warm and firm, not scary.
“Now, just as our handshake was a symbol of our agreement, your baptism will be a symbol of the covenant—a very sacred agreement—that you are making with God. He’ll send you his Spirit if you take the name of Jesus Christ upon you by being baptized and remembering him and obeying his commandments. The sacrament prayers will help you remember this sacred covenant that you are making with Heavenly Father. Do you understand better now?”
“Yes, President Stevenson.” Carrie smiled.
“I think that you are prepared for your baptism, Carrie. Tell your parents I’d like to talk with them about arrangements for your baptismal service.”
She got up to leave, then turned back with a grin. “President Stevenson, have you made the smile agreement with the other kids who have been baptized?”
“Yes, I have. Everyone—even adults—who has been baptized in our branch since I’ve been branch president has made the same agreement with me. I think it helps everyone understand better what a covenant is, and every time we smile at each other, we remember just how sacred our baptism covenant is. Their smiles show that they are happy to have made their covenants with Heavenly Father. Don’t you think so?”
Remembering Nathan and Judy, Carrie thought so too. She smiled as she hurried to find her parents.

My military experience came after I had returned from a mission. My companions knew that I had been a missionary, which meant, to them, a minister. I remember lying in my tent, bunked next to a young fellow from Tennessee who would often look at me with a wondering expression. When I would ask him what was troubling him, he would say: “I can’t believe it. As I grew up through my childhood, ministers were people so highly respected that we hardly dared speak to them, and here I find myself sleeping next to one in this tent.”

As some of my companions engaged in practices that Latter-day Saints don’t think highly of, such as smoking or drinking, profanity or immorality, it was evident that they didn’t concern themselves about what the Lord would like them to do. When moments of stress came, however, their attitudes changed. I remember when one of these boys, who was not particularly impressed with the life of a former missionary, was scheduled for what was called an elimination flight, and he knew that if he failed the test that day, he would be eliminated from flying in the United States Air Force. He came to me in a very solemn mood and quietly said with tears in his eyes, “Bill, please pray for me. I need it.”

One day my instructor was giving an explanation to five of us in the ready room. In order to explain a certain maneuver, he went to the blackboard. Inasmuch as he was smoking a cigarette, he handed it to me to hold while he made the demonstration, and by this means I had the “privilege” of holding my first cigarette. After he had finished his demonstration at the blackboard, he took his cigarette back, and then he said, “Mr. Bangerter, I apologize for handing you my cigarette. I know you don’t smoke, do you?”

I said, “No, sir, I don’t.”

He said, “You don’t drink either, do you?”

I said, “No, sir.”

He asked, “Do you drink tea?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you drink coffee?”

“No, sir.” He turned to the other four students standing together and said, “Now, men, that’s the Word of Wisdom. We would all be much better off if we lived that way.” You can appreciate that I felt uplifted by that experience.

Another day I was riding in the airplane with my squadron commander. I was about 23 years old, and he was about 40. He was a man of fine manners and polite expression. After we had finished our flight and had landed the airplane, we were taxiing back to the parking area when another airplane came driving past in a way that my squadron commander did not appreciate. He looked over at the other pilot and said to me in a disgusted voice, “Where does that so-and-so think he is going!” And he uttered an oath. We parked the airplane and shut off the engine. As I climbed out, he turned to me and said, “Mr. Bangerter, I am sorry I spoke the way I did back there. I forgot for a moment it was you who was riding with me in the airplane.”

Of course, I realized throughout those years that I was considered different. Some people may have thought me strange. Those with whom I associated, however, frequently expressed admiration for the way I lived. I never found it necessary to break my standards, to remove my garments, or to apologize for being a Latter-day Saint. On more than one occasion during our training, my classmates gathered together for a farewell party or some other special event and had a dinner that, of course, was liberally supplied with liquor. Several of my companions would come to me before the dinner and ask me if I would please be so kind as to drive their car home for them because they would not be able to trust themselves at the conclusion of the party.

I can honestly say that no nonmember of the Church has ever tried to induce me to discard my standards. The only people I remember trying to coerce me to abandon my principles or who ridiculed me for my standards have been non-practicing members of the Church.

I know it is a blessing to stand up for the principles of truth and righteousness. People who value their character and their reputation will be honored to be of the chosen generation and to stand out as representatives of a peculiar and a noble people. I hope I may always find young people who are square. They are the solid kind, and their foundations are secure.

The woodland was under a heavy shroud of cloud cover that weekend. Rain filtered through the air, and the cameramen waited patiently to expose their film. It rained, and they prayed. And it rained some more. If the filmmakers were unable to complete filming in that one week during the spring of 1975, the project would have to wait a year until the surroundings were right again. The season would soon change, and to add to the problems, the lead actor had to leave the following Friday. On Monday morning the crew awoke before dawn and and began to set up all their equipment, thinking somehow they could compensate for the weather. But suddenly it stopped raining. When the sun came up, they beheld the loveliest mist they had ever seen. The tall, wet grasses sparkled, and the birds burst forth in song, and they knew they had been blessed with a beauty they could never have produced themselves.
That morning the Brigham Young University Department of Film Production began filming scenes for the First Vision. Stewart Petersen, who played the Prophet Joseph, walked through those tall grasses with thoughts of that other “beautiful, clear day, early in the spring of eighteen hundred and twenty” (JS—H 1:14) when Joseph Smith humbly prayed for an answer to his question, “Which of all the churches should I join?”

Illustration by Adam Koford
Benji stood in front of the mirror, straightening his tie. His white shirt and dark blue pants fit perfectly. His hair was combed. He definitely looked ready to be ordained a deacon. So why did he feel so nervous?
Benji grabbed his scriptures and left the room. He tried not to think about how different things would be at church today. And then there was the new priesthood duty that worried him whenever he thought about it: passing the sacrament. What if he made a mistake his first time next week? He tried to forget that too as he left the house.
Sacrament meeting went the same as always. But afterward, Benji walked with his family to Bishop Salazar’s office. This was definitely different. Normally he’d be in Primary opening exercises right now.
Benji sat down as Dad, the bishop, the Young Men president, and the bishopric counselors laid their hands on his head. Dad gave him the Aaronic Priesthood. During the blessing, the butterflies in Benji’s stomach disappeared. He felt calm and happy.
Benji stood and shook hands with everybody. Then he hugged Mom and his brother, Jay, and his little sister, Mirasol.
Afterward, he went to Sunday School. Even though the new classes weren’t the same as in Primary, they still felt familiar. The lesson was on prayer. He’d had plenty of prayer lessons before in Primary. Benji breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe being a deacon wouldn’t be so hard.
“It will be great,” Jay told Benji after church. “I’ll bless the sacrament, and you can pass it.”
All the butterflies rushed back. “Yeah, great,” he said quietly. Passing the sacrament was what Benji was most worried about!
Later that night Benji found Dad reading on the couch. “What if I miss someone and they don’t get the sacrament?” he asked. “What if I trip?” He could see it clear as day in his mind, the tray clattering to the floor and water cups flying everywhere.
Dad squeezed Benji’s shoulder. “I remember the first time I passed the sacrament. I was probably more nervous than you are right now.”
Benji blinked in surprise. “You? You aren’t afraid of anything!”
Dad laughed. “I’ve been scared plenty of times. Do you know what helped me get over being nervous?”
Benji thought a moment. “Prayer?”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Prayer. And my father gave me a blessing. Would you like me to give you one?”
Benji nodded quickly. “Yes! I’d like that a lot.”
The family gathered in the living room. Dad put his hands on Benji’s head. As Dad spoke, Benji felt tears begin to form. “Remember,” Dad said in the blessing, “you have received the priesthood through a sacred ordinance. Heavenly Father gave us the priesthood so that we can serve others. If you can do this with full purpose of heart, you will be blessed in this and in all things.”
All week Benji prayed for help. The following Sunday, he joined the deacons at the front of the chapel. He listened closely as Jay said the blessing on the bread.
Suddenly he felt worried all over again. Could he really do this? It was so important! Then he remembered the promises from Dad’s blessing. His worried feelings left as the Spirit settled over him.
He picked up the tray and moved confidently to his assigned rows. Carefully, he handed the tray to a woman in the first row.
She smiled at him. Benji smiled back, knowing that he was serving the Lord.

I am so thankful to my Father in heaven for causing you to send my daughter’s New Era to me by mistake. I read it before sending it on to her, and I was so thrilled with it that I ordered a subscription for myself. It’s nicer to get a magazine new, and I want to keep my copies as treasures of beauty and truth, especially the May issue. I have been trying to learn how to gain greater spiritual growth through reading, praying about, and pondering the scriptures. I have wondered how to gain a greater testimony of the gospel even though through the power of the Holy Ghost I already have a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the fact that God lives. The importance of pondering was explained at BYU Education Week, but I didn’t know how to go about it, and then my prayers were answered with a wrong address. It has also helped the five boys I have left at home. I will read different stories at family prayer time and try to get them to read some. I read the story of “Stephen” over and over to help me when I am discouraged. I wish that I could receive all the New Eras that have been published and read every one because I know I’ve missed many wonderful lessons for my life.
Dolores KelseyDeclo, Idaho

No amount of effort could keep even the most careful teen dry or clean as 110 young people from the Cincinnati Ohio Stake traveled along a slippery and muddy path during their annual youth conference.
Their theme was “Our Pioneer Heritage,” and they dressed their parts well: full-length dresses, bonnets, and bloomers for the girls; lace-up shirts and hats for the boys.
Each participant helped to pull loaded handcarts along the 7.5-mile trek. At one point, they emptied their carts, carried the contents up a steep hill, then returned to the bottom to pull the heavy carts up.
All along the way, they learned from their physical trials, mistaken turns, and growling hunger. As they learned, their trials contributed to a better understanding of the sacrifice offered by the early Saints. They were grateful for the example of faith and perseverance set by the pioneers.

A number of years later, the eternal importance of having—and bringing—our family together became clear to me after I accepted the teachings of two young men who knocked on the door of my husband’s chocolate factory. They introduced themselves as missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
My husband, Gerard, had arranged to meet them at home after work, but he forgot to tell me. When I saw these two young people arrive, I had them sit in the living room and wait for Gerard. I wasn’t very nice to them.
I was religious, but my faith didn’t require much of me. I had been living blissfully with no need to study or ask questions. The thought of questioning my faith troubled me, and I didn’t feel brave enough to change my religion.
For a long time, Gerard went to church without me. The small branch he attended held meetings in a trailer while the Church’s first meetinghouse in France was being built. Gerard even helped dig the foundation.
He would come home happy and try to share his impressions with me. Finally, I took the missionary discussions, asking questions mostly intended to embarrass those two poor missionaries. With great patience and total honesty, they admitted their ignorance on certain doctrinal points, offered to research my questions, and returned the following week with unassailable answers.
When a visiting parish priest found out we were receiving the missionaries, he tried to expose Church teachings as false. His efforts, however, had the opposite effect. Even as he tried to paint Church members in the worst possible light, I decided to accept the principles taught by the missionaries and be baptized.
Gerard had been ready for baptism for a long time but did not want to be baptized without me. In May 1964, the missionaries set up a portable canvas pool in the middle of their apartment’s living room and filled it with water from a pipe running from a sink. All our Church friends were there. I was so emotional that I was afraid my tears would make the pool spill over!
One year later in the Bern Switzerland Temple, my husband and I were sealed to each other and then our two daughters were sealed to us. While we were there, we did temple work for our ancestors. I love what the Church teaches about family history and sealings and the gathering of Israel. I love the focus on bringing families together.
It wasn’t easy to do family history in France at that time, but I felt inspired to do it. No digitized records existed, so I often traveled to the hometown of an ancestor to request physical records. I felt such a special feeling when I held documents written by humble people who had been present at the birth, marriage, or death of one of my ancestors.
“I love what the Church teaches about family history and sealings and the gathering of Israel.”
I am somewhat limited now by age, but I’m so grateful I can continue to do work for my ancestors through FamilySearch, both by indexing and finding new names. With the tools available to us, I have indexed more than 35,000 names and found more than 5,000 names to take to the temple.
The happiness we find in the gospel is complete when we can enjoy it with our families. I’m grateful for the chance to bring them together—to bring them home forever.

After taking all the missionary lessons, I’d spent the previous two weeks asking questions, pondering, and learning. I read the entire Book of Mormon and spent time praying.
Every time the elders asked me if I would commit to live by what I was being taught, I answered, “Yes, if I find out the Church is true.” Originally, I said this without much intent, but slowly as I learned, thought, and prayed about the Church, I became much more sincere in both desire and effort.
However, just deciding I wanted to know wasn’t enough to suddenly bring the answer I sought. As the hours and days went by, I started to get frustrated. There was a promise right there in the Book of Mormon: “Ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, [and] he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4). Yet that confirmation still eluded me. Maybe in the beginning I hadn’t prayed with real intent, but that changed along the way. I was sincerely searching. Why was I still not able to receive this witness?
The elders were also praying for a way to help me recognize the Spirit. When I told them about my struggles to receive an answer, one elder, led by inspiration, asked me if maybe I had already gotten an answer and had simply overlooked it—that revelation sometimes comes in quiet answers. That advice impacted me profoundly. It caused me to really reflect upon my intentions.
The Spirit whispered to me, asking me specifically why I wanted to know if the Church was true.
This inspiration formed the basis of my prayer the next day. I shared with Heavenly Father that I desired to know if the Savior really had restored the gospel through Joseph Smith. If it was true, I was willing to be baptized and spend the rest of my life trying to be the most faithful member I could be. I also shared the concern that this would be a huge change for me—and I worried about being the only Church member in my family. I feared that if my testimony wasn’t built on a strong enough foundation, I would talk myself out of it when things got challenging. I acknowledged that He might have already answered me, and I was sorry if I’d missed it. I pleaded for another chance, repented for taking the search lightly in the beginning, and shared again my willingness to spend my life in His service if it was true.
The idea came to write down all my thoughts, feelings, and experiences while learning about the gospel. I momentarily hesitated, wavering between the desire to know and the desire not to know. Fortunately, my determination won out over complacency, and I wrote the idea at the top of a yellow pad.
First, I wrote down the way I felt when I was taking the missionary lessons and my thoughts as I pondered what I learned. I remembered that I’d felt prompted to read certain scriptures that answered specific questions.
As I wrote these things down, I noticed that my frame of reference started to change. I wasn’t just remembering things from the past two weeks but from my whole life. An amazing picture of the Lord teaching and preparing me to accept the gospel over the years started to emerge. Excited, I wrote down the last few things. There were 31 in all.
As I read the list, tears came to my eyes and gratitude filled my soul. I realized I held in my hand my very own testimony of the restored gospel. It was the answer I’d been praying for. Not a grand sign or even something purely new to learn, but instead a list of the times His hand had been evident in my life and that the Spirit had touched my heart.
In a way, that missionary had been right about overlooking a quiet answer—I had simply needed to recognize the many promptings I’d received throughout my whole life.
I have pondered those few weeks, especially that day I made the list, many times in the past 20 years. I have often wondered why I was blessed to be not only introduced to the gospel but also led, guided, and prepared to accept it. That quiet answer impacted my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined during those searching days. I will be eternally grateful to Heavenly Father for the angel He sent in the form of a missionary to teach me not just His words but also how to listen to His voice.
I have tried my best to always hearken to that voice and live up to the promise that I made to Heavenly Father all those years ago. He gave me an answer I couldn’t talk myself out of, and after all this time, I wouldn’t want to.

After President Hardy died we had a memorial service for him. I’ll never forget the native who was up speaking, saying what a calamity it was to the mission to lose this great New Zealand missionary who could do so much for them as one of the Authorities of the Church.

He was talking along that line, and all of a sudden he stopped and he looked around at me and said, “Wait a minute. There’s nothing to worry about, not a thing to worry about. When President Cowley gets home he’ll fill the first vacancy in the Council of the Twelve Apostles, and we’ll still have a representative among the Authorities of the Church.” Then he went on talking about President Hardy. When I arrived home the following September I filled the first vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve. Did that just happen by chance? Oh, I might have thought so if it had been one of you … that had prophesied that, but not from the blood of Israel. Oh no, I could not deny, I could not doubt it.

“I’m not going to Primary any more if I have to sit by Jimmy,” I told Mom as I got into our car.
“What does Jimmy do that bothers you?”
My sister, Christine, who is two years older than I am, cut in. “He’s a real pain. He’s always pulling someone’s hair or poking them in the side or untying their shoelace. I don’t blame Alan. I wouldn’t want to sit by him, either.”
I looked at her gratefully. It was nice to have an older sister, especially when she agreed with me.
Mom looked at me. “Is that why you don’t want to sit by Jimmy?”
“Yes,” I said. “He always gets me in trouble.”
“How does his being naughty get you in trouble?”
Christina came to my rescue again. “When someone keeps hitting you and pulling your hair, you finally hit him back. Then you’re in trouble too.”
“Is that what happened today, Alan?” Mom asked, looking me right in the eye.
“Well-l-l-l, I can’t just let him hit me for no reason, can I?”
“So you got into a fight in Primary?” Mom asked.
I knew she was disappointed in me. I hung my head and said, “Yes.”
“Did it make you feel better to fight with Jimmy?” she asked me.
“I thought it did then, but now I’m not so sure. You make me feel like I did something bad.”
“Are you sure it’s me that’s making you feel that way?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. What am I supposed to do when he starts poking and hitting me? I don’t want the other kids to think I’m a wimp. Besides, he hits hard, and it hurts.”
Just then, Dad got in the car. I was thankful that Mom didn’t say anything about my fighting in Primary as Dad started the car and drove home.
Later in the afternoon, though, Dad came to my room. “Alan, Mom tells me that you had some problems in Primary today. I’d like you to tell me what happened.”
I felt hopeful because he didn’t seem angry. When I finished explaining, he said, “That sounds like a pretty difficult situation, all right. Do you think hitting Jimmy back will stop him from hitting you any more?”
“Well, I hope so,” I answered. “At least he knows I can hit just as hard as he can.”
“Yes, I suppose he knows that,” Dad agreed. “Do you think he likes you any better now?”
“Dad, you must be kidding! He hates me now.”
“Do you like him any better than you did before the fight?”
“How can I like him better after he made me get into trouble with everyone?”
“Alan,” Dad began, “one of the reasons we go to church is to learn to be more like Jesus Christ, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” I answered, “and Jesus would never have hit Jimmy. But, Dad, what would He have done?”
“That’s a good question. Let’s see if we can find an answer.” He opened my Bible to Matthew 18:21–22 [Matt. 18:21–22] and asked me to read it out loud.
“‘Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?
“‘Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven.’”
I felt very discouraged. “There is no way I can stand to have Jimmy hit and poke me a zillion times before I can hit him back.”
Dad smiled. “The idea isn’t to wait until you can hit him back.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Let’s look in Matthew 5:43–44 [Matt. 5:43–44]. What does this say that we should do?”
I began reading out loud: “‘Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
“‘But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”
“Do you understand what Christ is teaching us here?” Dad asked.
“It sounds too hard for me to do.”
“Well, let’s make sure we understand what He is saying. First, He tells us to love our enemies.”
“Maybe I’m bad,” I said looking up at Dad, “but I don’t love Jimmy, not after what he did today.”
“But that’s just it, Alan!” Dad said. “Don’t you think the Savior knew how hard it would be to love our enemies? That’s why He told us how. He said to bless, do good to, and pray for those who do harm to us. He knew that it is very difficult to hate someone you are praying for and doing nice things for. Those kinds of actions change feelings of hate and anger into love and concern.”
I had a hard time believing that and it must have shown on my face. Dad said that he wanted me to try an experiment. He said that it wouldn’t be easy but that I should pray for Jimmy and do good things for him. He said that while I prayed for Jimmy, I should also pray that my feelings toward him would be softened.
That night as I knelt to say my prayers, I prayed that Jimmy would be happy. I also asked Heavenly Father to help me like Jimmy. I did that all week long. This part wasn’t too hard. It was the doing-good-things part that I was worried about.
I saw Jimmy only on Sundays because he didn’t go to my school. I didn’t feel ready to sit by him in Primary yet, but I didn’t want him to think I hated him, either. As I thought about it, I really didn’t hate him. I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe Heavenly Father was softening my heart.
All week I tried to think of something I could do for Jimmy. I figured he’d throw anything I gave him back at me, or make fun of me if I tried to do something nice. It was Saturday before I decided what I could do for him—something secret!
I asked Mom for three cookies to give him. I put them into a bag and typed a note on our computer: “To Jimmy, from someone who likes you.”
On Sunday, I asked Sister Lamb, my Primary teacher, if she would give the cookies to Jimmy without telling him whom they were from. She smiled at me and said she’d give them to him at the end of class.
During opening exercises and class, Jimmy made it obvious to everyone that he didn’t want to sit by me. He made several remarks that were pretty rude, but I just bit my tongue and waited. Before the closing prayer, Sister Lamb told Jimmy to stay a minute after the prayer.
I walked out of the room, but I didn’t go far. I wanted to hear what Jimmy said when he got the cookies. “Why are you giving me these?” he asked.
“Oh, they aren’t from me,” Sister Lamb said.
“They must be from you—no one else likes me.”
“No,” Sister Lamb said again.
“Well, who are they from?”
“I promised not to tell,” Sister Lamb said. I heard her closing her books, so I hurried away. I must have been smiling, because when I got in the car, Mom said, “Things must have gone much better in Primary today.”
“Yeah,” I said casually, “everything was OK.” Everything was more than OK. I felt happier than I had in a long time.
For three more weeks, I gave something to Sister Lamb to give to Jimmy. He began telling our class that someone must really like him. I could tell that he liked what was happening. It even seemed to me that he wasn’t as mean and rude as he used to be.
Then Dad asked me how I was doing with my experiment. I told him what had been happening, and he smiled. “That’s great, Alan! It sounds like you’re ready to make him your friend now.”
I looked up at Dad in surprise. “I thought that’s what I was doing.”
“You can’t go on giving him treats forever, Alan. At some point, you know, you have to give yourself.”
“Huh?”
“It sounds to me like Jimmy needs a friend. Maybe you could invite him over to play.”
“But, Dad,” I answered, “Jimmy lives a long way from us. He doesn’t even go to my school.”
“Well, why don’t you see if he can come over next Saturday. I’ll pick him up and take him home.”
“I’m not sure he’d come. And what would we do? I don’t even know what he likes.”
The call was easier than I had thought it would be. Jimmy sounded surprised, but he accepted.
Saturday came. I rode with Dad to Jimmy’s house. I was a little bit nervous when I knocked on his door. He opened it and called to his mother that he was leaving.
On the way home, I asked Jimmy what he liked to do. We soon discovered that we both liked soccer and roller-blading. When we got to my house, I discovered that he was a computer whiz. We spent most the afternoon playing games, drawing pictures, and making up stories on the computer.
When it was time to go, we walked through the kitchen to the car. Mom was baking chocolate chip cookies, and she gave us some as we went out the back door. As he bit into one, Jimmy looked at me suspiciously. “Hey, these are just like the cookies my secret friend gave me at church.”
I laughed. “Maybe you’ll have to come here to get treats from your secret friend from now on.”
“It’s a deal! And you can get treats at my house.”

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.

“I’m impressed with the five goals you scored in today’s game.” Collin turned around and realized the man was talking to him. “I’m starting a new soccer team and want to know if you would like to be on it.”
“Would I ever!” Collin thought. Collin was nine, and he enjoyed playing soccer. When he and his parents attended the first planning meeting for the new team, the coach explained that they would be playing in many tournaments on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. “Not on Sunday,” Collin thought.
After talking with his parents, Collin told the coach he wanted very much to be on the new team, but he would not play soccer on Sunday. He thought the coach would be mad and not let him be on the team. The coach paused for a moment and told Collin that he still wanted him to play. Collin felt peace in his heart and knew he had made the right decision. He was glad he had made the team. His parents reminded him that even if he had not been allowed to join the team, he had made the right decision.

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion, progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend, Gill Warner. He was a newly called bishop when Douglas, a member of his ward serving in the mission field, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975 I attended the stake conference of Brother Warner’s stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gill Warner raised his hand and outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded by posing a question to me: “Do I have any responsibility to work with Douglas to help bring him back to Church membership?”
Gill reminded me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation. I said, “As his former bishop and one who knew and loved him, I would think you would wish to do all you could to bring him back.”
Unbeknownst to Gill Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gill discovered this when, following the meeting, he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gill began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but step-by-step Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gill Warner flew to the city where Douglas lived and performed the ordinance.
Bishop Warner, through the love of his heart and with a sense of responsibility to a former priest in the Aaronic Priesthood—even the quorum over which he presided—went to the rescue, that not one would be lost.