Gospel Story Finder

Commissioner Eyring, who was also an Apostle at the time, spent much of the summer of 2001 writing and rewriting the talk President Hinckley had assigned him to give. By early September, he had the Prophet’s approval of his text.
But then the unthinkable happened. On Tuesday, September 11, terrorists destroyed the Twin Towers of New York’s World Trade Center and damaged the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. Nearly 3,000 people were killed, and more than 6,000 were injured.
Like so many others, I will never forget where I was when the awful news came. I lived in Utah at the time and was driving to Church headquarters for a meeting with the seven members of the Presidency of the Seventy. Upon entering their conference room in the Church Administration Building, I felt great gratitude for the peace that prevailed there, notwithstanding our limited knowledge of what was going on in New York and Washington. I will never forget the comfort of Elder Christofferson’s prayer to begin our meeting, which was blessed by the Spirit even in that hour of terrible uncertainty.
Upon returning home, I learned more about the devastation in New York, Washington, and a field in Pennsylvania, as well as the cessation of all air traffic in the United States. My first thought was to call my father. By coincidence, we were both scheduled to give talks to college students the next Tuesday. I expected him to confirm my feeling that we should both cancel our addresses. My talk, on the subject of succeeding in college, seemed trivial and inappropriate under the tragic circumstances of 9/11.
But my father’s reaction was entirely different. He felt that the remarks he had prepared at President Hinckley’s direction would be perfectly appropriate at BYU-Idaho, perhaps even providentially so.
In hindsight, Commissioner Eyring couldn’t have been more right. But, to his credit, he made things work out, in several ways. First, he recognized the connection between the sweeping changes occurring at BYU-Idaho and the great uncertainty that hung over the world in consequence of the apocalyptic terrorist attacks, which seemed repeatable and even unpreventable. He optimistically decided to make the theme of change central to the address that had been in the works for months.
Though there wasn’t time to get President Hinckley’s approval of a new draft, Commissioner Eyring significantly expanded his emphasis on responding productively to change. You can hear that emphasis in this clip from his talk:
Now the other thing I was impressed with is that you were asked to raise your scriptures. I felt as you did that to make a promise to you that I know will be fulfilled because it has been fulfilled for me in the last few days. We live in a time of increasing difficulty and change. Many of us have felt some things that led us to the scriptures. In the last few days, I have found things I had never seen there before because, in my extremity, the Lord showed me things that He had prepared long ago to help me. I’ll make you a promise: If you will, in the next few hours and days, go to the scriptures, you will, as you read them (pick them anywhere that you’re led to read) see scriptures speaking to you as if it was the voice of God, as if He knew your needs and your concerns; and He will tailor that to you, and it will be a witness to you that He knows you and that in that set of scriptures that you lifted above your head is a means by which He can guide you and comfort you. I promise you, you’ll have that experience—and it will be very personal—in the next few days.
In fact, the talk “A Steady, Upward Course” uses some form of the word “change” 44 times. Ironically, not all of those references to change were planned. As if it were a dose of his own medicine, Commissioner Eyring started his talk with a change in his expectations. In those days, teleprompters were still rare. But, in an effort to be on the cutting edge of technology, BYU-Idaho audio/visual specialists Jim Croasmun, Arlen Wilcock, and Alan Young had rigged up a system using laptop computers and cables, the first-ever use of a teleprompter on this campus.
Jim, Arlen, and Alan knew that their prototype system might not work perfectly. But they had spent many days rigging and testing it. And, in the hour leading up to the devotional address, it was working well.
You can guess what happened. Minutes before the talk was to begin, the teleprompter screens went blank. Jim, Arlen, and Alan’s professional lives flashed before their eyes. Yet Commissioner Eyring didn’t miss a beat. In fact, he seemed to feel liberated by the blank teleprompter screens.
President Eyring’s teleprompter never came back on—until a few minutes after he finished speaking. To this day, Brothers Croasmun, Wilcock, and Young can’t explain why. Yet, in hindsight, it was meant to be. President Eyring ended up speaking—mostly off the cuff—for nearly an hour. And the things he said, in the spirit of prophecy, have proven invaluable to generations of BYU-Idaho students and employees.

During the Gulf War, I led a team of soldiers into Kuwait. Once the defenses were breached, we searched the enemy’s fighting positions to make sure we would be safe and looked for anything of intelligence value.
I had just entered a captured command post when I heard a British sergeant shout frantically, “Stop! Don’t take another step!” Sticking my head out of the bunker, I saw one of my soldiers in immediate peril. She had walked into an open area to pick up a document and was now standing in the middle of a large minefield. When she heard the sergeant’s shout, she stopped and realized her danger.
Gathering on the edge of the minefield, our team could see that the young soldier was so panicked that she was physically shaking. We needed to act quickly but couldn’t send soldiers to get her without risking their lives as well as hers. Without discussion or hesitation we began talking to the soldier, calling out words of comfort, encouragement, and instruction. We could see tears streaming down her face and hear fear in her responses, but she began to calm slightly at our reassurance.
After a moment she had enough courage to look back the way she had come, and she told us she could see her own footsteps faintly in the sand. With our encouragement, she hesitantly began retracing her path. By placing her feet gently on each of her previous footprints, she walked out of that minefield, flying into our waiting arms as she took the final step. The considerable crowd of soldiers on the sideline shouted with joy as we welcomed her back. Tears of fear were replaced with smiles and hugs.
Few of us have stood on the edge of an actual minefield. But many of us know those who have left spiritually safe ground to be trapped in the minefields of life. Like that young soldier, they too may feel alone, scared, and unsure. But that soldier was never alone. She had a team on the sidelines cheering her on, friends who needed her back and didn’t give up. She had leaders offering guidance and encouragement. She was the one who had to walk out of the minefield, but we collectively helped her find the strength to do so. In the end we celebrated her rescue with genuine love and joy.

As a teen, I remember looking at my family tree and wondering how we would ever get my father’s side of the family tree populated. My father, Joseph Terribilini, is a first-generation American. His father, Giuseppe, emigrated from a small village in the Swiss Alps that we didn’t know much about. I had always wanted to make progress in my family history, so I often prayed for help in knowing how to overcome the roadblocks we faced.
But Heavenly Father was aware of these roadblocks. And beginning with my mission call, I felt Him guide me as a series of six miracles from Italy to Alabama helped us fill in the gaps on my father’s family tree.
I had always had a feeling that I’d serve my mission in Switzerland where my ancestors once lived. So when I got my call to Italy in 1970, I was surprised but excited. In the language training mission (now called the missionary training center), I found out that southern Switzerland, where my ancestors came from, was actually part of my mission. I knew Heavenly Father called me to that specific place for a reason.
Partway through my mission, my companion and I were assigned to be zone leaders over an area that included southern Switzerland—and we had a car.
We went to my family’s village, Vergeletto, and looked up one of my cousins. He showed us around and introduced us to the parish priest, who, upon request, showed us the books of vital records for the area. We then returned home, but a seed had been planted in me that would grow throughout my mission.
With just a month left on my mission, I felt like I needed to take action and find my family’s records before I returned home. I prayed to know if there was something more I could do, and I felt a distinct prompting from the Spirit telling me that I needed to get a copy of those vital records that I had seen months ago. I told my mission president that I felt like I needed to return to my family’s village in Switzerland and explained why. The village was 87 miles (140 km) away, but my mission president gave me permission to go anyway.
It was dusk when the narrow winding road took us up the mountain into the hamlet of Vergeletto. We stopped at the focal point of town, the Catholic church. My companion and I were then drawn to the cemetery across the street from the church that was all lit up with candles.
As we entered the cemetery, I clearly and strongly felt the Spirit guide me like I never had before. That feeling and the fresh alpine air created a sensation I will never forget. In the cemetery, it seemed that every other tombstone had my last name on it. We even saw my great-grandfather’s tomb; it said people went to him to repair their broken bones.
We returned to the church to see if we could find the priest. There we met an old man, who told us it was Il Giorno dei Morti, or a holiday known as the Day of the Dead (which would explain all the candles in the cemetery). The man told us that the priest had services in neighboring villages and would be back in two hours.
My companion and I waited, and when the priest returned, I reminded him of our encounter a few months earlier and then asked if I could see the vital records of the parish again.
He agreed.
The priest brought out a box of books that were hundreds of years old. I told the priest that our Church was microfilming parish records in Parma, Italy, 170 miles (274 km) away. I asked if he would allow us to take the records for a few weeks and have them copied.
He again agreed. I was shocked.
As we left town, I marveled at what had just happened and even checked the rearview mirror to see if the priest was running after us with a change of heart. Two weeks later, we returned the records to him, as promised.
Due to the penmanship, the use of Latin, and the deterioration, the records were hard to read. But then, just a few years ago, I noticed hundreds of records from Vergeletto had been linked to my ancestors in FamilySearch. Family lines that used to only go out three to four generations now extended seven to nine generations!
It turns out a professional genealogist in Alabama, USA, who is not a member of the Church shares a branch of the global family tree with me. He had accessed and read the records from the books I had copied in Italy and attached them in FamilySearch. This man is amazing; we have since collaborated several times. He explained that uploading those names and sources is his way of paying back the Church for all their work in making records available in FamilySearch.
Now my dad’s side of my genealogy fan chart is full of names. And I’ve been blessed to do their temple work.
I’ve often looked back wondering why a Catholic priest would allow a young American—who was also a missionary for another faith—to take his collection of vital records out of the country for copying. Were my ancestors praying for me? Were they praying for the priest’s heart to be softened?
I don’t know—it could have been both those things. But I do know that Heavenly Father can help bring about miracles when we seek His help. And as Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has promised, family history work holds so many blessings for those on both sides of the veil: “God will strengthen, help, and uphold us; and He will sanctify to us our deepest distress. When we gather our family histories and go to the temple on behalf of our ancestors, God fulfills many of these promised blessings simultaneously on both sides of the veil.” 1 The Lord directs this work, and when you trust Him, He can work miracles for you and your family as you strive to gather Israel.

I watched the cows grazing contentedly on the hay we had just given them as Jason talked on. Those cows were our livelihood. A big drought could easily put us under, especially with the debts Dad had to pay off. I remembered the year I turned ten. We had had no substantial rainfall for two or three years, and all of our dams dried up. Because there was so little water, our livestock were suffering dehydration, and feed was too scarce to satisfy their hunger. A bull, which would previously have fetched hundreds, was worth only a few dollars. Dad had said that if things didn’t get better soon, we’d have to move off the land. By my tenth birthday, things hadn’t improved. I remembered that day well. I had gone with my father to the paddock at the far end of the farm. He walked along in grim silence, clutching a loaded rifle in his hand. I had not been invited, and I didn’t know where we were going or what we were doing. In my naivety, I thought we might be going to shoot rabbits. Imagine my shock when I realized that, instead of rabbits, we were going to shoot cattle. And when they were all dead, we would start on the sheep. As the first animal fell in a withered heap, I let out a strangled cry of protest. Dad turned to look at me, his dark eyes brimming with concern.
“You go on back to the house, son,” he said. But I didn’t move. I stood in petrified silence as my father put those poor starving creatures out of their misery. I’m sure Dad was close to tears that day. I know I was.

Sister Endang, now thirty-five, was one of the missionaries who visited the Suwarnos at the time they lost their daughter. She had been introduced to the Church by Latter-day Saint friends. When Sister Endang asked for something to read, “They gave me a pamphlet that outlined the plan of salvation. I became very interested. I asked my friends if I could join the Church. Of course, they were very happy to hear that. They said if I wanted to learn about the Church, they would have the elders come to my home. I first got permission from my father, and the missionaries came and presented the gospel to us.

“My father and my brother also listened to the discussions. I was baptized in March 1974. A month later, my father was baptized; and a month after that, two of my brothers were baptized. Later on, my mother was baptized, and my other brothers and sisters were baptized when they reached the age of eight. Out of nine children, five of us so far have served missions in Indonesia.

“I was one of the first native sister missionaries to be called. I served eighteen months as a welfare missionary. One of my companions was Mary Ellen Edmunds, who is now associate director of training at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. She would teach me English every morning by saying such things as ‘This is a wall,’ ‘Drop your pen,’ ‘Pick it up.’”

Sister Endang now works full-time for the Church Educational System, teaching three seminary classes with a total of forty-five students from four branches. She also teaches three institute classes for young married couples, returned missionaries, and college students. She also serves as the district’s Single Adult president.

During his years in high school, one of my sons withdrew more and more from our family. He resented authority of any kind. He dutifully attended church, but he had no enthusiasm for the gospel.
After he graduated from high school, instead of preparing for a mission, he set goals to earn money for a car and college. But one Sunday he attended Sunday School instead of leaving after sacrament meeting as he often had. The lesson that day was about serving missions.
Our son later told us he had never felt the Holy Ghost so forcefully as during that lesson. Immediately after Sunday School, he told the bishop he wanted to serve a mission. In his farewell talk about a year later, he shared a letter his Sunday School teacher, Shelly Parcell, had written him after she learned of his decision.
Sister Parcell described how she had struggled to prepare a lesson on Doctrine and Covenants 71–75 and 77. She decided on Saturday evening to focus on the prophecies from the book of Revelation as discussed in section 77. “I didn’t sleep well at all that night,” she wrote. “Every time I woke up, the overpowering thought was, What will I teach? What do my students need to learn?”
On Sunday morning, Sister Parcell looked over the lesson one more time, and a lesson about missionary service took shape in her mind. “I knew the Lord had a message for somebody in our class,” she wrote. “During the lesson the Spirit was very strong, and I felt the message was getting through. I don’t remember everything I said, but I remember saying things I hadn’t planned on, and I know the Spirit took over.”
As our son prepared for his mission, he shared his testimony with his older brother. They entered the mission field within months of each other and shared the gospel in Perú and México. I will always be grateful for Shelly Parcell and how she blessed our family by teaching by the power of the Spirit.

Monday at school, I looked at the other kids. They had better clothes and shoes than I did, so I couldn’t offer them mine. Anyway, I didn’t have any extras. Everyone had a lunch, so I couldn’t share my sandwich. I was afraid that the whole week would be like this and that I’d have to tell Sister Brimley that I hadn’t found anyone to help.
At afternoon recess, the spring sun warmed my back. There must have been a hundred birds singing among the tiny yellow-green leaves on the big tree in the playground. I forgot about giving and Mrs. Brimley, took a jump rope, and walked towards Maria. Maria just moved here last week, and she doesn’t speak English very well. She mostly stands by herself on the playground.
“Maria, want to jump? Like this.” I jumped a few times. Maria’s dark eyes sparkled, and the shadow of a smile tickled her bronze face. She nodded. As I swung the rope over my head, she jumped in with me. We were laughing together by the end of recess.
When the bell rang to go home, Mrs. Hansen, our teacher, put her arm around me and whispered, “Sara, thank you for playing with Maria today. That’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh since she came.”
Suddenly I understood that this was what Sister Brimley meant when she said for me to give of myself. I really did have something to give! I determined right then and there to find someone every day to share with.

One night after supper, seventeen-year-old Sarah stood up at the table. “Aaron Grigsby has asked me to become his wife,” she said softly.
The announcement was happily received. Aaron Grigsby was a hard-working farmer known for his good character. The marriage took place in the Pigeon Creek Church that Sarah’s father had helped build.
A year later Sarah was expecting a baby. “So I shall be Uncle Abraham,” her younger brother boasted. “What a fine sound that title has!”
Then tragedy struck. Sarah and her baby both died during childbirth. Stunned by the loss, Abe could not bring himself to talk about his sister for a long time.

A missionary related an experience that illustrates one method that God has used to bring the searchers after truth into his true church. He stated that he and his companion had knocked on a door. A woman opened the door immediately, enthusiastically invited them in, and said to them, “You young men have come to my home today in answer to my prayers.

“For a long time I have been dissatisfied with the church to which I belong, feeling that it does not contain many of the doctrines that Christ taught while here upon the earth. I felt that it was not the true church that was founded originally by our Savior. I prayed earnestly and asked our Father in heaven to send somebody to me who would bring me the true gospel plan of salvation and make it possible for me to find the true church.

“After doing so, I had a dream that two young men knocked on my door and when I let them in they said to me, ‘We have come to bring you the true gospel of Jesus Christ.’ I recognize that you two young men are the same two young men I saw in my dream, and as in my dream, you announced yourselves by saying, ‘We have come to bring you the gospel of Jesus Christ.’ I know that you are the servants of our Master and that you will teach me his gospel.”

The two missionaries were surprised at the reception but happy to have the privilege of teaching this good woman the gospel. She eagerly received it and soon thereafter was a baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Thus, another modern miracle in missionary work had occurred.

In conclusion, I would like to read to you an excerpt from a letter we received from the mother of a student:

[When] our son . . . came to BYU–Idaho . . . he had struggled with his testimony for many years and . . . lack[ed] direction. While on campus one time . . . I . . . observed . . . professors . . . greeting my son and even hugging him. That was amazing . . . . His schoolwork improved. His outlook improved and his spirit soared. He was anxiously working on sending in his papers for his mission . . . .

In the summer of 2006 while attending Summer Semester, our son went tubing and drowned. In our sorrow and grief, BYU–Idaho was extraordinary. They helped us meet with the boys that were with him so we might all find comfort together . . . . We were overwhelmed with the support and love from these students . . . . We flew out a week later for a memorial on campus, . . . and we marveled that we could have been so blessed to have him attend this campus. You will never know what peace it has brought to our hearts to know just how much our son was loved . . . . His peers, his professors, his bishop . . . all helped us to feel the spirit of [Ricks at] BYU–Idaho.

Like many new converts, I struggled to live the Word of Wisdom and the law of tithing. Tithing was for me the most difficult. How could I possibly take something away from the little that was just barely enough? The Lord helped me understand how I could do just that by teaching me a wonderful lesson.
As I began to pay tithing, I realized I would have to put my finances in order. I immediately began to budget my money better. I made a list of all my monthly expenses, starting with tithing. I compared the list to my monthly income. To my astonishment, there was enough to live on and even a small amount for savings. I was also surprised to see how much money I had previously spent on alcohol and coffee. The Lord blessed me financially and spiritually as I worked to live His law.

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “I was called to be a class president of seventeen girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared of such responsibility. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?

“I wrote seventeen names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

It is appropriate for her and for you to recognize and witness the power of the Holy Ghost as you seek inspiration concerning the calls you have received from your Heavenly Father through your bishop.

During the high adventures of home life we also need to return to remembrance of past sunshine. I was turning off the lights late one night in preparation for bed when I heard laughter coming from our teenage girls’ bedroom. As I entered, I discovered the source of their merriment. Their mother had allowed them to read her old diary, and they were now on the pages detailing her fifteenth year. They were full of questions for me: “What did you think when you and Mom first met?” “Why did Mom write like that?”
She had written of watching from her upstairs window while I rode past on my horse, and of seeing me at church. She had saved the coin she won from me when a group of us flipped pennies. With my daughters, I recalled meeting and dating the girl who would become my wife. I could see her standing under the big willow trees in front of her house—the blue jeans, the bare feet, the teasing smile. I remembered hollering and jumping when the toad she put down my neck began to squirm.
Emotions jumped out of that too-long-closed treasure. I fell in love with my wife all over again as I described to the girls how she looked with moonlight reflecting off snowflakes in her hair the night a group of us went sledding. It wasn’t frostbite I felt in my fingers as I held her hand to help her up a hill.
On the night we read my wife’s little diary, my daughters and I made a withdrawal and filled our love banks. The girls knew their parents were young once. They knew I loved their mother. And I think that helped them feel secure. I kissed them good night and went upstairs to find their sleeping mother. I gently woke her and told her how pretty she was—and how pretty she is. I told her of my love for her and of my appreciation for our years together.
Laughing, she felt my forehead. “Have you been dreaming?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I’ve been feeling sunshine.”

Brother Rivera was born 17 December 1899 in Arequipa, Peru. He eventually settled in Cuzco, a city about 600 kilometers southeast of Lima located in the peaks of the Andes Mountains. It was there he met the missionaries. The story of his conversion and subsequent dedication to the Church shows the faith and good works that characterize this Peruvian pioneer of the Church.
“Like Joseph Smith and so many others, I was searching for the truth in all the religious sects,” says Brother Rivera, “but I never joined any of them.” His search came to an end when he was sixty-seven years old.
“I was in my store, busily working,” he says. “It was a Sunday. My son Héctor came in and told me, ‘Papá, I know you’ve investigated many churches, but there’s a new one in town.’
“I told him, ‘It doesn’t matter—they’re all the same.’
“‘Come on,’ Héctor said. ‘This may be the one you’re looking for.’
“Perhaps the Spirit of the Lord was with him to get me to go. So I put on my hat and went with Héctor to the meeting place. There I found two elders. I greeted them and they welcomed me. It was 9:30 or 10:00 in the morning when the meetings began, and I was there until noon. At first I didn’t understand much of what I heard, since I was more used to the religious customs I had grown up with. But by my second visit a week later, I realized that I had found the true church of Jesus Christ, especially when the elders spoke of the Word of Wisdom.”
Now, twenty-four years later, Brother Rivera still gives much of the credit for his good health and energy to living the Word of Wisdom.
“After my baptism, I felt something change inside,” he says. “It’s my secret for having lived so long.”
“As long as I can remember,” says his son Héctor, “I have never seen my father break the Word of Wisdom. Never. I am sure it is because of this he is strong and the Lord blesses him.”

Harry Guan, Utah, USA
I grew up in China and considered myself a Christian, despite the fact that I never actually went to church. I was interested in God and Jesus Christ, and I thought Christian doctrine was very comforting.
When I moved to the United States for college, I started attending a nondenominational Christian church. After a few months, I heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from some friends who were considering attending Brigham Young University. I asked a few students at the Christian church about the Latter-day Saints and was surprised when they fervently warned me to stay away from the “Mormons.” I listened to their advice at first, but as I was scrolling through social media about a week later, I came across an address by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the talk, he mentioned that members of the Church should be respectful to other religions (see “Faith, Family, and Religious Freedom,” lds.org/prophets-and-apostles). As I listened to Elder Holland, I felt what I now know as the Spirit and decided that I needed to learn more about the Church.
I ended up going to church and later met with missionaries. I was touched by their teachings, particularly the plan of salvation. My parents weren’t too happy when I decided to be baptized, but they accepted that I was old enough to make my own decisions. When my grandparents visited me in America a few months later, I was able to teach them about the gospel. They both decided to be baptized.
The gospel has brought me so much joy and it has led me to my soon-to-be wife. It is worth every sacrifice I have had to make or will make.

Recently I went to church with my sweet mother at our old rock chapel. Drawn to little voices coming from the same Primary room I attended decades ago, I walked in the back and observed caring leaders teach this year’s theme: “I Am a Child of God.” I smiled as I remembered patient and loving teachers who, during our singing time back then, would often look at me—that rambunctious little boy at the end of the pew—as if to say, “Is he really a child of God? And who has sent him here?”
I invite each of us to open our hearts to the Holy Ghost, who “beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God.”
President Boyd K. Packer’s words are plain and precious: “You are a child of God. He is the father of your spirit. Spiritually you are of noble birth, the offspring of the King of Heaven. Fix that truth in your mind and hold to it. However many generations in your mortal ancestry, no matter what race or people you represent, the pedigree of your spirit can be written on a single line. You are a child of God!”
“When you … see our Father,” Brigham Young described, “you will see a being with whom you have long been acquainted, and he will receive you into his arms, and you will be ready to fall into his embrace and kiss him.”
Moses learned of his divine heritage talking with the Lord face-to-face. Following that experience, “Satan came tempting” with subtle yet vicious intent to distort Moses’s identity, “saying: Moses, son of man, worship me. And … Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God.”
This great war over divine identity rages fiercely as Satan’s proliferating arsenal aims to destroy our belief in and knowledge of our relationship with God. Thankfully, we have been blessed with clear vision and understanding of our true identity from the beginning: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,” and His living prophets proclaim, “Each [human being] is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny.”
Coming to know these truths with certainty helps us overcome trials, troubles, and afflictions of every kind. When asked, “How can we help those struggling with [a personal challenge]?” an Apostle of the Lord instructed, “Teach them their identity and their purpose.”
These powerful truths were life-changing for my friend Jen, who as a teenager caused a serious car accident. Though her physical trauma was severe, she felt exquisite pain because the other driver lost her life. “Someone lost their mom, and it was my fault,” she says. Jen, who just days before stood and recited, “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us,” now questioned, “How could He love me?”
“The physical suffering passed,” she says, “but I didn’t think I would ever heal from the emotional and spiritual wounds.”
In order to survive, Jen hid her feelings deeply, becoming distant and numb. After a year, when she was finally able to talk about the accident, an inspired counselor invited her to write the phrase “I am a child of God” and say it 10 times daily.
“Writing the words was easy,” she recalls, “but I couldn’t speak them. … That made it real, and I didn’t really believe God wanted me as His child. I would curl up and cry.”
After several months, Jen was finally able to complete the task every day. “I poured out my whole soul,” she says, “pleading with God. … Then I began to believe the words.” This belief allowed the Savior to begin mending her wounded soul. The Book of Mormon brought comfort and courage in His Atonement.
“Christ felt my pains, my sorrows, my guilt,” Jen concludes. “I felt God’s pure love and had never experienced anything so powerful! Knowing I am a child of God is the most powerful knowledge I possess!”
Brothers and sisters, how can each of us experience the power of understanding our divine identity? It begins by seeking to know God, our Father. President Russell M. Nelson testified, “Something powerful happens when a child of God seeks to know more about Him and His Beloved Son.”
Learning of and following the Savior helps us come to know the Father. “Being … the express image of his [Father],” Jesus taught, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” Christ’s every word and deed reveals the true nature of God and our relationship to Him. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught, “With blood appearing at every pore and an anguished cry upon His lips, Christ sought Him whom He had always sought—His Father. ‘Abba,’ He cried, ‘Papa.’”
As Jesus earnestly sought His Father in Gethsemane, so young Joseph Smith, in 1820, prayerfully sought God in the Sacred Grove. After reading “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God,” Joseph retired to pray.
“I kneeled down,” he later wrote, “and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. …
“… I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head. …
“… I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—[Joseph,] This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
As we follow the examples of the Savior and the Prophet Joseph in earnestly seeking God, we will come to understand in a very real way, as Jen did, that our Father knows us by name, that we are His children.
To mothers, especially young mothers, who often feel overwhelmed and underwater while striving to raise “a sin-resistant generation,” never underestimate your central role in God’s plan. In stressful moments—perhaps when you are chasing little ones and a charred smell from the kitchen informs you that your lovingly prepared dinner is now a burnt offering—know that God sanctifies your most difficult days. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee,” He peacefully reassures. We honor you as you fulfill the hope of Sister Joy D. Jones, who stated, “Our children deserve to understand their divine identity.”
I invite each of us to seek God and His Beloved Son. “Nowhere,” President Nelson directed, “are those truths taught more clearly and powerfully than in the Book of Mormon.” Open its pages and learn that God does “all things for [our] welfare and happiness”; that He is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, long-suffering and full of goodness”; and that “all are alike unto [Him].” When you feel hurt, lost, scared, upset, sad, hungry, or hopelessly abandoned in life’s extremities—open the Book of Mormon, and you will come to know that “[God] will never desert us. He never has, and He never will. He cannot do it. It is not His character [to do so].”
Coming to know our Father changes everything, especially our hearts, as His gentle Spirit confirms our true identity and great worth in His sight. God walks with us along the covenant path as we seek Him through prayerful pleadings, scriptural searchings, and obedient strivings.
I love the God of my fathers, “the Lord God Almighty,” who weeps with us in our sorrows, patiently chastens our unrighteousness, and rejoices when we seek to “give away all [our] sins to know [Him].” I worship Him, who is ever “a father of the fatherless” and a companion to the companionless. Gratefully, I testify that I have come to know God, my Father, and bear witness of the perfections, attributes, and “excellency of [His] character.”
That every one of us might truly understand and cherish our “noble birthright” as a child of God in coming to know Him, “the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom [He] hast sent” is my fervent prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One night I was sending instant messages on the Internet to Amber, a friend of mine. I can’t recall how we got started, but we were discussing God and my religious beliefs.
“I’m telling you, Ben, I’ve tried to pray before, and it doesn’t work. I just feel like I’m talking to the wall,” Amber wrote.
Relying on everything I had been taught since Primary, I responded, reassuring her that God does hear and answer His children who humbly approach Him. As I was reassuring her, I started to feel less sure myself. I began to feel guilty since I had never actually gotten down on my knees and prayed about all these things. The conversation progressed, and I became increasingly distressed at my lack of a personal testimony. My spiritual progression had been on the back burner for too long.
As a lifelong member of the Church, I sometimes took the gospel for granted. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that being in the Church was good, and I made sure I went to church every Sunday. However, I always depended on the testimonies of others to confirm that the Church was true. I always tried to be faithful, but I did not actively seek to apply Moroni’s promise to myself. Life was too complicated, and I thought there would be plenty of time for me to gain a personal testimony of the Church at some later point.
As I talked with Amber, I realized even more clearly what I was doing. I was neglecting the more spiritual things in my life in favor of trying to keep up with my hectic schedule. When was the last time I had read the scriptures? When was the last time I had a meaningful personal prayer? When was the last time I seriously thought about going on a mission?
Preoccupation with trying to calm my life’s storm by myself had taken away from my focus on building a testimony and having faith in the Lord. Ironically, a solid testimony would have served to make everything else in my life fall into place.
“Amber, don’t give up on praying. He will answer you,” I wrote, while thinking that I should follow my counsel.
Before I went to bed that night, I got on my knees and prayed. I asked to know if the gospel is true and if Heavenly Father was hearing my prayer. I wanted to know Him and feel His presence in my life. I realized then that I simply couldn’t wait any longer to gain a testimony of Him, especially during my turbulent teenage years. I prayed for a long time and knelt in silence for even longer, listening and feeling for the Spirit.
Nothing happened right away, but after I had sufficiently loosened my heart and made a concentrated effort to listen amidst the quiet darkness, I felt a sensation of peace throughout my upper body. As I held on to this defining moment of joy, I knew His Spirit had touched me. Finally, I had a personal testimony of Him that I could share with others. Even though I knew my life would still be hard and full of uncertainties, knowing that He was there for me made all the difference.

At Abha, we met an extraordinary man at precisely the time we needed him. Helwan Habtar, a graduate of American schools with masters degrees in both political science and economics, took us to his home where he recited for us his family genealogy back 22 generations. Intrigued, three other men who had come by for the evening also recited their genealogies back as far as 13 generations. They were delighted that we would make tape recordings of them.
We were fortunate to be in Abha on a Tuesday, market day for so many hundreds of years that Mr. Habtar could not tell us when the custom began. There is a market area for honey, one for frankincense, others for myrrh, fruits, vegetables, cloth, clothing, donkeys, sheep, and camels.
Our attention centered first on those areas selling frankincense and myrrh. Frankincense comes in golden lumps about as big as the end of a finger while myrrh is reddish-brown and comes in rock-shaped chunks or as grated shavings. The frankincense was relatively inexpensive (a couple of dollars a pound), but myrrh is still costly because it is used for “medicinal purposes: every newborn baby is given a taste of myrrh in water to warn him of life’s bitterness; burning myrrh in a censer near a child’s sickbed is supposed to guarantee a quick recovery. A 45-year-old Arab in Jerusalem related how his mother had made him jump over a dish of burning myrrh when he was sick as a child. Now we understood one possible reason why the Wise Men brought myrrh to the baby Jesus: it was to help Mary keep him well.
The story of the Wise Men, the baby Jesus, and the gifts they brought is a rich one, but more of that belongs to another place. For us, the significance of frankincense and myrrh in Arabia was that the customs of the desert still preserved living links with the world of Lehi, Nephi, and the Book of Mormon.

The next experience that I want to share with you was the most difficult of my life. About six years ago. I started to have some significant health problems.

First, I had developed skin cancer. This was not the small little patches that the dermatologist freezes off. They took a big chunk of skin out of my back which left a five inch scar. My doctor told me if I had waited another year before I came in for the check-up, the fast spreading Melanoma could have likely taken my life.

Then, one year later I went in for my annual physical. They did the standard lab work and I was on my way. A week later, the doctor called me and said my PSA levels were high and told me to come back in and take another blood test which I did immediately. The PSA test came back with the same results, I had Prostate Cancer. I could not believe it! Cancer twice in two years! Initially, the doctor could not really tell how serious the prostate cancer was with the blood test so it was a very scary time in my life. There were a few options of treatment and we decided on a pretty aggressive course of action. The operation was successful and the doctor informed us that the all the cancer was removed and there was no sign that it had spread.

With my melanoma and my prostate cancer my doctor found them in the early stages. I know my Heavenly Father was watching over me during this time in my life and the Holy Ghost had prompted me to visit my doctor with regular check- ups. I was also given sacred Priesthood blessings.

During the next few years I had three more surgeries, one on my ankle, my knee and finally my shoulder. This added up to a grand total of five surgeries in six years. The bad news was I felt like I was literally falling apart but the good news that I told my wife was that I was rebuilt. This was truly was the most difficult challenge of my life so far but at the same time it was the time when I felt closest to my Heavenly Father because of the miracle he gave me and my family of finding the cancer early and preserving my life. He knows me and watches over me.

Similar stories could be repeated for nearly every branch in the German Democratic Republic. For example, in Leipzig, in the south central part of the republic, when members had to vacate the remodeled building where they had been meeting, the branch was given permission to remodel an old movie theater. The members worked on the project for many months. In 1968, as they were planning a beautiful dedication service, branch president Herbert Schreiter was informed by the city authorities that the building was to be condemned and could no longer be used. The only reason given was that the branch had not followed all the building requirements. Eventually, however, members were able to regain permission to use their newly remodeled chapel.