Gospel Story Finder

It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

We all need to know what it means to be honest. Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving. John, a nine-year-old Swiss pioneer child who was in one of the handcart companies, is an example of honesty. His father put a chunk of buffalo meat in the handcart and said it was to be saved for Sunday dinner. John said, “I was so very hungry and the meat smelled so good to me while pushing at the handcart that I could not resist. I had a little pocket knife. … Although I expected a severe whipping when father found it out, I cut off little pieces each day. I would chew them so long that they got white and perfectly tasteless. When father came to get the meat he asked me if I had been cutting off some of it. I said ‘Yes. I was so hungry I could not let it alone.’ Instead of giving me a scolding or whipping, father turned away and wiped tears from his eyes.”

Probably all of us have had experiences when we really needed someone to help us. I remember once as a small boy I surely did. While playing on a mountainside near our home, I fell into the middle of a huge, prickly cactus plant. Oh, did it hurt! The prickly spines of the cactus went through my sneakers, through my stockings, through my trousers, through my shirt—they went through everything! I felt like a human dart board.
Immediately I let out a cry that was loud enough to shake the mountains. I couldn’t move up, down, in, or out. Every movement I made seemed to send those needles deeper and deeper into my skin. I just stayed there and howled.
I was five years old at the time and my older brother, who immediately rushed to my rescue, was eight. He was overwhelmed at the sight of me and the complexity of my plight. Nevertheless, he began to pull out some of the spines, but they seemed to hurt more coming out than going in and I howled even louder. Furthermore, the pin-size wounds bled so when the spines were removed that after a few minutes I looked like an advertisement for Red Cross donations.
Finally my brother saw that his feeble plucking was hopeless. There were dozens of spines yet to pull, and I was still screaming at the top of my lungs. He did the only thing an eight-year-old brother could do. He ran down the mountain, got his small red wagon, and labored painfully to get it up the side of the hill to where I was awaiting death—I thought. With some tugging and hauling and lifting—and plenty of noise from me—he got me out of the cactus and into the wagon. Then in some miraculous way, known only to children and Providence, he navigated me down off that steep mountain in his wagon.
The rest of the story is blurred in my memory. As I recall, my mother got me out of my clothes and the rest of the prickly spines out of me. What I do remember clearly and will never forget is the sight of my brother tugging that wagon and determinedly making his way toward me. He was so concerned that he worked wonderfully hard to get to me. If I live to be one hundred, I suppose no memory of my brother will be more vivid than the view I had of him that day. I needed him desperately. And there he was, coming to help!

Darkness had already fallen for several hours when I pulled into the town where missionary Sisters Hucks and Matson were serving. It was late in the day, but I thought I should stop to say hello since I had to leave early the next morning. The lights in their apartment were on so I guessed correctly that they were there. I was greeted with enthusiasm, and they started our conversation with, “Guess what happened with us tonight, president.”
“Tell me, what happened?”
“Well, the ward mission leader has been behaving mysteriously all week. He never asked us—he told us to be at a meeting at the church tonight. We were almost angry at him, and we wondered what was happening. When we got to the church there were a few cars parked outside but no one was in sight.
“We went into the church and could see lights on and hear voices in one of the rooms down the hall. We walked down there and knocked on the door.
“Everything went quiet, and then the door opened wide.
“To our surprise the room was filled with people, and on the front row looking right at us with radiant smiles was the family we had been teaching. They were all dressed in white baptismal clothes.” Unable to speak further, the sisters smiled at me through their tears.

Illustrations by Matt Sweeney
It’s the last Saturday before school starts, and everyone has an idea about the best way to spend it.
Dad just wants to relax with a fishing pole and doesn’t care if he catches anything.
Mom wants to spend the day with a good book.
Mandy wants to spend her time with her sketchbook, drawing birds.
Matt wants to go swimming to try out his new snorkel.
Good thing the Coopers know how to compromise and just have fun together.

My brother Bill was six years older than I was. He was my ideal, I wanted to be just like him. I would follow him and his friends around and, although I am sure he sometimes thought of me as a little pest, he was good to me and allowed me to tag along.
When Bill was in high school, he had saved enough money to buy himself a car. I remember well the day he drove his very first car home. It was his pride and joy, and he spent many hours shining it up. One day as we were coming home, he stopped at the bottom of the lane that led to our barn and asked me if I would like to drive his car up the lane, which was permissible in those days on a farm. Of course I would! I couldn’t believe that he would trust me to drive his new car—I knew how much it meant to him.
I ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. He showed me where the key was, how to shift gears, and where the gas pedal was. My foot just barely reached the pedal. I knew everything I needed to know to start the car, and off we went. It was great! It was only when we reached the top of the hill that I realized he hadn’t shown me how to stop the car, and we ran right into the side of the barn. I felt so bad! I was sure that Bill would never trust me to drive his car again. However, a few days later he asked me again if I wanted to drive his car up the lane—but this time he showed me where the brake was! I was so grateful that he understood that running into the barn had just been an accident and that it hadn’t destroyed his trust in me.

Even before Robbie went on a mission, the impact of his example was not just on friends at school—it was also much closer to home. Robbie’s brother Scott, who is now a priest, decided to follow his brother’s example and made a plan to read his scriptures every day and to also keep a scripture journal. Scott wanted to experience the same kinds of blessings he saw Robbie enjoying. Scott faithfully reads from the Old Testament in the morning to match his seminary schedule, and then he reads from the Book of Mormon in the evening. Like Robbie, he says his Duty to God plans have helped strengthen him and bring him closer to the Savior.
“I can see a big difference in how I handle things throughout the school day,” says Scott. “I just feel happy, and I feel clean and pure. It gives me more assurance that I’m doing the right thing.”

For Niilo Kervinen, a 24-year-old young adult from Rovaniemi, Finland, the 10-hour train ride to Helsinki is a small price to pay for the blessing of serving in the temple.
Before the dedication of the Helsinki Finland Temple in October 2006, Niilo and other members of his ward had to travel to the Stockholm Sweden Temple or to the Copenhagen Denmark Temple. “The trips would usually take a week during the summer vacation,” he remembers. Traveling by bus and sleeping in tents on those trips are some of the best memories he has.
Yet having a temple in his native land is a wonderful blessing. “When they announced the Helsinki Temple, I was so happy,” Niilo says. “The dedicatory prayer still resonates in my heart each time I go inside.”
In speaking of conversion, Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has said, “I promise that as we come to a knowledge of the truth and are converted unto the Lord, we will remain firm and steadfast and never fall away.”1 Although traveling to Helsinki requires time and money, Niilo is committed to being a disciple of Christ. And for Niilo, that is no sacrifice at all.

Once we had finished visiting the facilities, Madame Amaru regretted leaving us, as she had to attend a meeting “with a young man from your church who is going on a mission”.
It was in fact a vigil during which the future missionary was to open his call letter. We asked her if it’s a member of her family. “No!” she replied. “But I go wherever I’m invited.”
“Then we’ll be delighted to accompany you!”
When we arrived, we found a branch filled with love for this young future missionary who had lost his mother a year earlier. What’s more, he’s the first missionary from this branch . . . in 40 years!
The branch president asked to the mayor and her husband to address a word. They both gave “parent” advice, encouraging him to be obedient and respectful, to remain humble, and especially not to stay there (Salt Lake City Mission) after the mission.
Before we left, we learned that this couple, who are very close to the people of their community, had recently attended the dedication of the meetinghouse. What’s more, during the seven-month construction period, they welcomed the entire branch into their home (not the municipality’s premises, but their own) for Sunday meetings!
It was with hearts overflowing with love and gratitude for such generous and humble people that we set sail again to leave them.
Unquestionably, we declare that our Heavenly Father watches over His children tenderly, that He sent us to Tahaa to serve them, and that the Church is the means by which this might be done.

It was then that I moved to Kinshasa to commence my studies in law. Once I arrived in 2007, I enrolled at the University of Kinshasa. In my first year in 2008, we experienced a total strike at the University of Kinshasa. During the strike, I left the neighborhood where I lived to go to the commune of Masina to stay with my older brother.
And once in Masina, during the strike, I discovered The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the neighborhood where I lived with my older brother.
I made the decision to go to a meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on a Sunday. When I arrived at the building, a brother greeted me at the door and invited me to come inside. I then participated in the Sunday service and afterwards I was placed in contact with the full-time missionaries.
I took the missionary lessons for two weeks. After being taught, I had a strong desire to be baptized.
However, this was the beginning of strong opposition from within my family and my older brother who was like a guardian to me. He told the village to inform everyone that I wanted to become a member, that it is a bad church, and that no one should support me or contribute money to support my academic studies.
Consequently, I dropped out of law school and began preparing for a full-time mission. Thanks to Bishop Mutambay’s advice and direction, I remained a member of the Church despite opposition and began preparing for my full-time mission. I served in the Lubumbashi DR Congo from June 2013 to June 2015.
After serving as a full-time missionary, I came home and was fortunate to find the Church’s inspired Perpetual Education Fund program which allowed me to achieve my goals in completing my law studies through this program instituted by President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008).
Today, I am a lawyer. My wife, Mireille, and I are parents of four children: Ross Power Kongo Kongo, Ron Cross Kongo Munemeka, Blacke Prestones Kongo Ibula, and Brian Lesser Congo. I accepted adversity by relying on my faith without knowing what was going to happen to me when I was abandoned for having chosen the restored Church.
I know that God is our Heavenly Father and despite difficulties and opposition He is there to help us. I will never be disappointed with the path I took and my decision to join His church.
I know this was the best decision I ever made. I will be forever grateful. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration, and I am grateful to be in the Church of Jesus Christ.

“But I don’t know anybody who wants to know about the Church,” I protested in family home evening. “My friends know that I’m a Latter-day Saint, and they don’t ever ask me to tell them anything.”
“But, Aaron, you need to ask them,” Dad pointed out with a smile. “Nobody expects you to go around knocking on people’s doors, but you meet people every day who might be interested in listening to the gospel message. You have to have courage to ask them, though.” Dad thought for a moment, then added, “Aaron, you’re named after two great missionaries.”
My full name is Aaron Ammon Anderson. Dad and Mom had named me after two of the missionary brothers in the Book of Mormon, and they didn’t want me to ever forget it.
“Aaron and Ammon were willing to do anything to share the gospel. Nobody else thought the Lamanites were interested in the gospel, but because Aaron and Ammon had the courage to try, they had wonderful success. Surely you can think of someone who might want to know about the Church?”
There were only a few Mormons in my school. Although I didn’t go around telling everybody that I was a Mormon, a lot of them knew. “I guess I could ask Bryan,” I muttered, figuring that he was the easiest guy in my whole class to ask.
“Oh, he’s the one you took to Cub Scouts last month,” Mom said, pleased.
I nodded, feeling that I was finally off the hook.
“What about your teacher, Mr. Santos?” my sister, Karen, asked.
“I’m not asking Mr. Santos anything,” I snapped. “He likes me. I don’t want to ruin anything. Besides, I already have my person.”
Mr. Santos was the best teacher at school. Everybody liked him, and he liked everybody. Everything he did in class was exciting and fun. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him if he wanted the missionaries to show up at his house. I didn’t want him to think I was weird.
“I think Mr. Santos would be a wonderful choice,” Mom spoke up. “Every time I’ve talked to him, I’ve been impressed by how kind and considerate he is. He has a wonderful wife and a darling little family. They need the gospel.”
“Mom,” I grumbled, “I’m asking Bryan. If you want to talk to Mr. Santos, then go ahead.” I hesitated. “But wait till I’m out of fourth grade.”
“Asking him about the Church won’t change how he feels about you, Aaron,” Dad said. “In fact, what you can do is give him a gift.” Dad handed me a Book of Mormon. “Take that to school with you. If everything is right and you feel prompted, give it to Mr. Santos and ask him to read it.”
I took the book because I wanted everybody in the family to stop bugging me. But the next morning when Mom slipped it inside my backpack, I complained, “I don’t want to haul a Book of Mormon to school. People will think I’m weird!”
“Take it. Just in case.”
I was in luck—Bryan was the first guy I ran into at school. “Did you see the game between San Francisco and Denver last night?” he asked excitedly.
I shook my head. “We were having family home evening.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something the members of my church do every Monday night.” Then I figured that since I’d gone this far, I might as well take care of my home evening assignment and get it over with. “Are you interested in learning more about my church, Bryan?”
“Huh? Why would I want to know anything about your church? I’m a Baptist. You should’ve seen the game, though. Denver almost squeaked out a win. If they had made the field goal at the end, they would have won by two.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. That wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, and I was probably the first one in the family to complete my missionary assignment.
As I sat down in class, I opened my backpack and saw the Book of Mormon. I pushed it to the bottom of my backpack and took out my other books. As I did, I looked up at Mr. Santos. He was at the front of the class, smiling and calling the roll. I shook my head. There was no way that I was going to talk to Mr. Santos about the Church. Besides, I had already asked Bryan.
The rest of the day, I kept thinking of Mr. Santos and the Book of Mormon Mom had stuffed into my backpack. At the end of school that afternoon, I cleaned up after an art project. Before I knew it, I was alone with Mr. Santos. Gathering my things together, I started for the door. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Santos.”
He looked up from his desk and smiled. “You take care of yourself, Aaron. You got another hundred percent on your English quiz.” He winked at me. “Keep up the good work.”
As I pushed open the classroom door, I paused. “Do you need any help this afternoon, Mr. Santos?”
He leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to hang around here any longer, do you?”
“I wouldn’t mind. I could run to the office and call Mom and let her know.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “Well, I don’t ever turn down good help.”
As I hurried down the hall, I thought about Aaron and Ammon in the Book of Mormon and about how their offering to help had led to the conversion of many Lamanites. I shook my head. All I was doing was giving Mr. Santos a hand, not preaching the gospel. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ammon and Aaron.
Mr. Santos had me clean out and straighten some cupboards, then put the books on the racks in the reading center in order. He had received an order of new social studies workbooks, and he asked me to stamp the school’s name on the inside cover of each. Then boards needed to be wiped down and the art materials organized.
Mr. Santos was in the room only part of the time. When he returned, I was getting ready to leave. “Are you giving up on it?” he asked with a smile.
“I’m finished.”
“Finished?” He seemed surprised. “You’ve done everything?”
I nodded.
“You’re some worker, Aaron Anderson. I can go home before dark, thanks to you. I have a couple of boxes to carry out to the car; then I’m out of here.”
“I’ll give you a hand. I’m heading out that way.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “You’re going to spoil me, Aaron.”
We both grabbed a box, Mr. Santos locked the door, and we started down the hall. “Are you a fisherman, Aaron?” he asked me.
“Sure, I like to fish,” I answered, smiling. “Dad loves to fish, too, but we don’t get to go very often.”
“I have the same problem.” Mr. Santos thought a moment. “You know, Aaron, we ought to make the time. I know a great place to fish not far from here. You, your dad, and I ought to pick a day and just go. What do you think?”
“Sounds great! You name the time, and I’ll tell Dad that we just have to.”
“That sounds like a solid yes.” Mr. Santos opened the trunk, and we set the boxes inside. He thought a moment, then asked, “How about this Sunday? We can get up early and make a day of it.”
I looked away, suddenly feeling sick. Here I had a chance to go fishing with Dad and Mr. Santos, but I knew I could never do it on a Sunday. Would Mr. Santos ever ask me again? Strangely, I thought about when King Lamoni offered to give one of his daughters to Ammon for a wife.
Mr. Santos saw me duck my head and look away. “Sunday isn’t a good day?”
“I’d love to go with you, Mr. Santos. Honest. But Dad and I don’t fish on Sundays.”
A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”
I thought of the Book of Mormon in my backpack that I hadn’t wanted anybody to see. “Maybe you’d like to know … well, … what made Andy the way he was,” I ventured. I pulled out the Book of Mormon. “Would you like to have this?”
Mr. Santos took the book. He brushed his hand across the cover. “I think I have one,” he said softly. “Andy gave it to me.”
“Did you ever read it?”
“I promised Andy that I’d read it, but I haven’t yet.” He handed back my Book of Mormon. “Thanks, Aaron, but I think I’ll look for Andy’s.”
As I headed home, I felt great. Even though Mr. Santos hadn’t accepted my Book of Mormon, I was glad that Mom had stuck it into my backpack.
The next day when the last bell rang, Mr. Santos called out to me. “Aaron, would you mind staying after school for a few minutes?”
“Do you need more help?” I asked as the last of the other students left the room.
“Not exactly. At least not the kind of help you gave me yesterday.” Mr. Santos opened one of the drawers, reached in, and pulled out a Book of Mormon. “I found Andy’s book. My wife and I read the first four chapters last night.”
“You did?” I gasped. “Did you understand it?”
He nodded slowly. “I think so. But if I get to something I don’t understand, do you think you can help me?”
“Sure. And if I can’t, I can find someone who can.” I grinned, thinking of Aaron and Ammon, suddenly glad that I had been named after them.

Professor Bloom complimented the patience of our Church leaders. Patience is born of justified optimism. Elder Heber C. Kimball, an early Apostle, provides an impressive illustration. He returned from a mission to England in 1838 to find that half of the members in Kirtland, Ohio, had left the Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith and several key leaders were imprisoned for five months. Five of the Apostles and two of the Three Witnesses had apostatized. Thousands of the Saints in Missouri were being mobbed and driven from their torched homes. Entering this bleak situation, Elder Kimball wrote: “I can truly say that I have never seen the Church in a better state since I have been a member of it. What there [is] left are firm and steadfast, full of love and good works. They have lost all their earthly goods, and are now ready to go and preach the Gospel to a dying world!” (in Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, 3rd ed. [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967], p. 246).

At that same time, Joseph Smith penned these inspiring words from Liberty Jail: “What power shall stay the heavens? As well might man stretch forth his puny arm to stop the Missouri river in its decreed course, or to turn it up stream, as to hinder the Almighty from pouring down knowledge from heaven upon the heads of the Latter-day Saints” (D&C 121:33).

A woman in my ward taught me a priceless lesson about the sweet peace that comes from a sure faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
This woman’s patriarchal blessing promised her the joys of motherhood. But years passed while she and her husband prayed and waited for children. Finally, their prayers were answered. For nine months their lives were filled with joyous preparations. They painted a special room; bought furniture, clothes, and other baby supplies; and offered many prayers. The doctors said she would never be able to have another baby after this one, so her dreams were wrapped up in this child.
The day came when this sister gave birth and heard the cry of her baby.
“It’s a beautiful boy,” the nurse said.
The mother closed her eyes and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. Four minutes later, the baby was dead.
I saw her in sacrament meeting two weeks afterward. As the music director, she walked to the front of the chapel and took her seat beside the organ. Under her direction we sang “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” (Hymns, no. 136). She stood straight and tall, her face bright, her testimony radiating. At times the words came with great difficulty for her. She swallowed and pressed her lips together. Then she stopped singing, but her arm continued to move, conducting us as we sang.
Later, with tears coursing down her cheeks, this sister bore her testimony in these simple words: “I know that my Redeemer lives. I know that He is just and that He loves us. And because He lives, my son also lives.”
In her faith I saw an assurance of the reality of our Redeemer, whose Atonement for us makes immortality and eternal life possible. Her son had been taken, but she knew that he would be restored to her someday.

I remember having a particularly difficult time at one point during my mission to Cleveland, Ohio. I wondered why I wasn’t seeing the same tangible success other missionaries in my area seemed to be having. My own weakness was foremost in my mind as I pondered the dilemma. I couldn’t help but think that I was doing something wrong, though I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I counseled with the Lord many times about the situation and also turned to the scriptures. One morning in my study of the Book of Mormon, I came across a verse that was the answer to my prayers and added strength to my testimony.
“Wherefore, I, Nephi, did strive to keep the commandments of the Lord, and I did exhort my brethren to faithfulness and diligence” (1 Nephi 17:15).
I had always thought of Nephi as a great prophet who never made any mistakes. I admired Nephi, but I felt I would never be as great as he was. However, when I read this verse written by Nephi, I realized that he was mortal and imperfect also. He didn’t write, “I, Nephi, kept all the commandments perfectly all the time.” Rather, he wrote that he “did strive to keep the commandments of the Lord.”
That simple verse touched me. Suddenly I realized that I am no different from Nephi or any other great prophet or missionary. We’ve been given the same commandments, and they will be judged on how well they improved their time on earth just as I will be. I don’t have to be perfect; I only have to strive to keep the commandments and do the very best I can with the abilities I have been given. In the end, when I come up short of perfection, it will be the Lord’s grace that will make up for the rest. Through this otherwise simple verse, I gained a greater testimony of the scriptures as communication from Heavenly Father.

Another experience that taught me courage happened in Sun Valley, Idaho. Some friends and I were doing construction work for the summer to earn money for college. In the evenings, we liked to walk around and see the shops, restaurants, and other tourist attractions. We often saw a certain girl, and I told my friends that I’d like to meet her. After three weeks of hearing me say this, my friends were getting annoyed.
One day, my friends and I happened to be walking into a lodge just as she was walking out. One friend called to her, “This guy has been talking about you for three weeks. He doesn’t have the nerve to ask you out. Will you go out with him?”
She looked embarrassed and startled. “I don’t know.”
My friend told her that we were going for a jeep ride in the mountains the following day and that she was welcome to come. Since it was a group outing, she agreed. I finally had my first date with Nancy without having said a word to her!
During our day in the mountains, I found out that she wasn’t a member of the Church. That evening, I gave her a Book of Mormon and invited her to read it. Before my friends and I returned to BYU, I baptized Nancy into the Church. Later, she was offered a job in Salt Lake City and moved to Utah. We continued dating, and the day after I graduated from BYU (a year from the time Nancy was baptized), we were married in the Manti Temple.

Yves also found a way to help several of his friends who wanted to share with each other what they were learning in the scriptures. They were attending church and seminary or institute, speaking when assigned and participating in lessons. But they wanted to talk with each other, youth to youth. So once a week they started reading the Book of Mormon together for about half an hour, and they started inviting others, especially some youth who were less active, to join them. Now they’ve been reading together for months, sometimes at one person’s house, sometimes at another’s.
“It started with my friends Larry Roseval, who’s in the Wanica Branch, and Saffira Zeegelaar from my branch. But now there are eight of us,” Yves says. “We read a chapter, talk about it, bear our testimony about it, and share something we learned during the week.”

One day in November 1998, I heard that my younger brother, Ryan, had been baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This news surprised me because he never wanted to come with me to the churches I attended at that time. A few weeks after his baptism, he died of lung cancer, which was a heavy blow for the family. I didn’t have the chance to ask him what was so interesting about his church, but because I had questions about why he joined, I agreed to receive the missionaries in my home. This was the turning point in my life.
I faithfully attended the missionary lessons and asked many questions. I was baptized on Feb. 14, 1999, and felt like I had come home. I accepted all the callings that my Heavenly Father wanted to give me and grew in faith, strengthening my testimony.

In my case, I denied that I had communication problems until I hit a dark point in my life and realized I needed help addressing some of my behavioral and thinking patterns.
So, after seeking guidance from Heavenly Father, I felt prompted to start meeting with a therapist. We put pieces of the puzzle of my heart together and discovered that the sources of many of my behaviors like masking pain with humor, burying emotions, and struggling to communicate effectively could possibly be traced back to a few generations before mine.
At first, I was scared by what this discovery meant for me. How could I possibly change habits that had been ingrained in me and my family? I even started to fear for my future family. Would I pass my issues on to them?
With these thoughts weighing on my mind, I didn’t think I could muster the effort to face these feelings and change these behavior cycles. But the Lord has counseled us to “be not afraid, only believe” (Mark 5:36).
As I prayed, God showed me that if I had a willing heart, He could change my heart and help me alter the behaviors that were preventing me from having healthy relationships and from growing emotionally and spiritually.
Ultimately, my healing involved the Savior. With Him, I was able to have difficult yet healing conversations with my family members, to take steps forward, to love more deeply and build greater relationships, to take uncomfortable steps forward, to forgive, and to find hope in the future. Believing in what Jesus Christ could do for me was the first step toward inviting His healing balm into my life through temple worship, prayer, and exercising faith.
As I combined these powerful spiritual tools with therapy and self-help books that helped me develop my communication skills, learn to feel and process my emotions, and understand the underlying reasons behind my behaviors, I have been able to see miraculous results of involving the Savior and Heavenly Father in this journey.

I never appreciated the New Era before my mission, but now I have a living testimony of its usefulness as a missionary tool. We had an investigator who was really great but just needed a little push. One morning while studying I came across a great New Era article on testimonies. It was just what our investigator needed. We rushed the article right over to her. Two days later she called us up and told us she had decided to be baptized.
Elder William PrattCanada Montreal Mission

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a group at Harvard University. At that time a member of the Church was campaigning for national office and this created much interest.
Both faculty members and students were to be present. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that the meeting would end in harmony of views.
As I prayed that this might result, there came to me the strong impression that this prayer would not be answered.
I determined that however preposterous talk of angels and golden plates and restoration might be to them, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.
It was as the Spirit foretold. Some shook their heads in amazement, even cynical amusement, that anyone could believe such things.
But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it as they pleased.
There is always the hope, and often it is true, that one among them with an open mind may admit one simple thought: “Could it possibly be true?” Combine that thought with sincere prayer, and one more soul enters a private sacred grove to find the answer to “Which of all the churches is true, and which should I join?”