Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, a returned missionary who served in one of the Mexican missions shared with me a classic experience that illustrates the “diligence” principle in the acquisition of faith and sacred knowledge. I had conducted the stake president’s interview before his mission and sent his papers to Church headquarters. I remember that interview with him. He was 6 foot 5 inches tall and 255 pounds. He was one of the first two young men recruited from my children’s high school to play football at Brigham Young University. He was a fine young man, clean-cut and worthy in every way. I remember being impressed with his potential. I could tell from the answers he gave to the questions I asked that he was honest, but there was one crack in his armor. I knew that his testimony was based on the faith of others rather than on his own witness. However, he related the following story to me during his release interview at the end of his mission.

As his mission began, Elder Stone worked energetically with his companion. Frequently he was called upon to give the first lesson. In the lesson it was necessary for him to tell the investigators about the appearance of the Father and the Son to the boy Joseph in the Sacred Grove and then bear witness of its truthfulness. After bearing testimony a number of times, his conscience began to bother him. Although he believed the story, he did not know that it actually happened. He had not been there, nor had he received his own witness. How could he tell others that the First Vision really happened? As doubts began to multiply and replace his belief and as the pains of conscience increased, he told his companion that he could no longer be a missionary. He was going home. He could not serve as a witness to something he did not know. His companion responded, “Elder Stone, why don’t you follow the counsel given the investigators? You need to study and pray more diligently. Put Moroni’s promise to the test. Exercise your faith, and you will receive an answer. Stay with me for a few more weeks.”

Elder Stone agreed to stay and put Moroni’s promise to the test. A few weeks passed, the missionary worked harder, prayed more often, was more attentive in his reading, but no witness came. Finally, during an interview with the mission president, Elder Stone expressed his frustrations and indicated his desire to return home. He could not continue. A wise mission president counseled, “Elder, do not give up! You have a desire to believe. If you continue faithful in your calling for a few more weeks, the Lord will answer your prayers. I promise you!”

Elder Stone agreed to return to his proselyting area for a few more weeks. Again, days and then weeks passed with no change in his feelings. It was difficult. One morning as they were knocking on doors, a woman answered and invited them to return when her husband and children would be home. As they left the small house, Elder Stone said to his companion, “I’m not giving the lesson!”

His companion responded, “Elder, I’ll give the first portion of the discussion, but I want you to tell the Joseph Smith story.”

Finally Elder Stone agreed, even though that was the part that bothered him. From the time they left the woman’s house until they returned a day or two later, the missionary used every spare minute to read and pray. He wanted a witness before entering the home. But when the appointed hour came, he still had not received a witness. He had read diligently, he had prayed almost continuously, but there were no special feelings. How could he bear witness when he did not know?

The father answered the door and ushered the missionaries inside. There on a dirt floor sat nine children, and the father and mother took their places behind them. Elder Stone reported that the size of the home was not much larger than his bedroom in Utah. The humble circumstances only added to his discomfort. The senior companion began the lesson, telling the family that there is a God, that we are his children, and that he loves us. He then explained the mission of the Savior, how God sent his Son to earth to atone for our sins and to make possible our return to our heavenly home. He explained the role of prophets and bore witness that God works through prophets today. He then turned the lesson over to Elder Stone.

My missionary friend began the story of the 14-year-old Joseph. He told the family about the religious confusion that existed in Palmyra in the 1820s, how Joseph listened to the various ministers proclaiming different versions of Christianity. He told them about Joseph’s experience in reading James 1:5, where James states unequivocally: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”

The missionary related the impact that the passage had on Joseph—that it struck him with more power than had any other scripture, and that this caused him to reflect on it again and again. Finally, Joseph decided to put James to the test. He selected a grove of trees near his father’s farm and went there on a beautiful spring day to pray. Being alone, he knelt down and offered up the feelings of his heart. The elder told the family how a dark power came over Joseph, almost choking the life out of the young boy. Exerting all of his powers, Joseph continued to pray, and then, suddenly, a pillar of light descended out of the heavens directly above him. The darkness was dispelled, and in the midst of the light were two personages. One called Joseph by name and, pointing to the other, said: “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (See JS—H 1:1–17.)

At this point in the story, Elder Stone said that a warm feeling began to stir his soul—one he had never felt before. The warmth was deep inside and soon enveloped him. Tears welled up in his eyes. His throat became full, and he could hardly speak. He was embarrassed and ducked his head until he could regain his composure. When he looked up, he noticed tears in the eyes of the parents and the children. They were experiencing the same feelings and warmth of Spirit that he was feeling. He finished the lesson with a conviction born of a spiritual witness that Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son. Elder Stone’s testimony had shifted from one of belief to a knowledge of the First Vision. As Elder Stone finished sharing his experience with me, he said: “President, I know that Joseph saw the Father and the Son. I did not have a problem in the mission field after that experience. I have my own witness.”

As I listened to the story’s conclusion, I thought how efficient God is: he got 12 birds with one Stone! The parents, the nine children, and a missionary were all touched by the Holy Ghost, and a desire to believe was transformed into knowledge. More than that, God is efficient in another way. If a person has a witness of the Father and Son’s visit to young Joseph, he or she has a foundation for believing and accepting other gospel principles. The Word of Wisdom, tithing, the law of chastity, and all other principles revealed through the Prophet Joseph Smith are true. Once one feels the good seed growing and swelling inside, one has a small amount of knowledge that forms the basis for further growth.

Naledi Mqokozo has been coming to the temple grounds since she was small. And now that she is older and often in the temple, you could say the temple is in her—in her heart and in her thoughts. “I have a picture in my room of the Johannesburg temple,” says Naledi, 17. “I put the picture up on my wall so I can always think clean thoughts and help keep the presence of the Spirit.”
It’s a little rainy on this morning in Johannesburg, South Africa. But the rain has not dampened the happy mood of Naledi and the other youth from the Ennerdale Branch, Johannesburg South Africa Stake, who have come to the temple to perform baptisms for the dead. Naledi is here because she “wanted an opportunity to see the temple again and to experience the Spirit of the Lord.” To Naledi, a day at the temple is not just another day. “This is a special occasion and a special moment,” she says, “so we should dress and act in a special way.”
Naledi understands that the temple is a sacred place: “We should be very reverent in the temple because it is the house of God and it has the Holy Spirit inside. So we should prepare ourselves and carry ourselves in a moral way and be very clean and respectful.”

I remember watching other kids reading with delight in class. Everyone in my family could read and did a lot of it. I once asked my brother, Rob, what was so great about reading. He smiled when he told me that when you read it’s like a whole new world opens.
I had heard the stories of Joseph Smith only being 14 when he received answers to his prayers. I wanted to experience this new world of reading. I was 13, living in Arizona with my dad. In early October, I prayed, sobbing into the sheets of my bed, begging the Lord to grant me the gift of reading. I promised that if he would grant me this great blessing, I would read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
Amazingly, in less than 18 days, I jumped six reading levels and was up to the same grade level as others my age. Once I had been told that was impossible. The miracle happened. I struggled but kept my promise and read the whole Book of Mormon. I have since moved on to the other scriptures.
Now that I am 15, I bear my testimony that the scriptures are so important that Heavenly Father allowed a girl with a learning disability to read. I know it is important to him that all of his children read his sacred books. The scriptures have changed my life forever.

I had a friend in seminary that fell in love with a girl in class. He was very much in love. One day he notice his neighbor-lady cutting her red roses. He commented on how lovely they were and she offered him some. He said that he would give them to his girlfriend and then the neighbor lady offered to cut him a dozen and tie a ribbon on them also.
He drove across town to his girlfriend's house, gave her the flowers, and confessed his love again. As he was telling her about his love and the roses she stopped him and exclaimed, "Oh look deep down in one of these flowers is an aphid, an insect." My friend was very upset. He said that the colors of the roses was radiant red, the petals looked sculptured and the fragrance was almost intoxicating and all this girl could see was one single microscopic bug.

Lorenzo later became a teacher and a community builder. He was chosen by President Brigham Young to lead fifty families to an area later known as Brigham City, to strengthen the settlements there. His work was interrupted when he was called on another mission—this time to the Hawaiian Islands.
After the ship’s arrival there, Lorenzo and his companions were going ashore in a smaller vessel, when suddenly an immense wave capsized their tiny craft and washed them overboard. After righting the boat, all were accounted for except Lorenzo. A frantic search turned up his lifeless body. His companions and the boatman quickly made for shore, administering to Lorenzo on the way. Reaching land they rolled him over an empty barrel until the water was out of him. Then they were impressed to take turns applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a life-saving technique little known at that time. Lorenzo miraculously recovered from this terrifying experience, for the Lord had other important work for him to accomplish.

We eagerly climbed the steps to the Upper Room—the traditional site of Christ’s last supper. During our short stay in Jerusalem, our group of American students and teachers had seen the signs of past wars—but also some encouraging signs of peace and hope in this holy, yet often-bloodied, city. Now we had come to the Upper Room to review the quiet moments the Savior had spent during the last Passover of his life.
Gathered in the large room with its high ceilings and graceful arches, we realized that this wasn’t the actual setting of that sacred event: the building we were in had been constructed on this traditional site by Franciscan monks in the 1300s.
But that didn’t matter. Jesus Christ did celebrate his last Passover in an upper room somewhere in this city, he did wash his Apostles’ feet, he did give them the sacrament, and he did urge them to “love one another.” (John 13:34.) We were worshiping the Son of God and the event in his life was very real; the setting was not the important thing.
Whenever we stopped at a biblical site, we hoped there would be time and privacy enough to read the scriptures together and sing hymns as a group. In some cases we were undisturbed; in others, another tourist group came behind us and we politely moved on—or moved to one side out of the way. Since time was precious during our visit to the Holy Land, we began to hope for as few intrusions as possible.
After we had gathered in the Upper Room, someone in our group read Christ’s words from the New Testament, and then we all began to sing the song “Love One Another.” As we sang, another group of visitors entered the room. They were led by a bearded priest wearing a long brown robe, speaking a language I didn’t understand.
I’ll have to admit that while we sang, I thought more about the other group than about the words of the song; because they had come, we would have to leave instead of lingering. And I wondered if they considered our song and our presence as an intrusion into their own brief moments in that room.
We finished and, without a word, began to leave. As I passed the priest, he unexpectedly turned to us. With an accent, he said three short words: “God bless you.”
“God bless you.” The words seemed to be more than a common salutation. They were like a prayer—a blessing spoken in kindness by a stranger in a land that has known more intolerance than peace. Perhaps he had been touched by our simple singing of the Savior’s words. Perhaps he was simply expressing goodwill to a group of fellow worshipers. In either case, his words carried with them the spirit of the Savior’s own words at that Passover meal—words that we had just sung and that I had been too preoccupied to hear.
As I walked back down those steps into the busy city, I hummed the song again to myself—and was thankful for a stranger, a friend, who had gently reminded me of its message.

Shuddering, Brigitte remembered the bombs hitting the top floor of their apartment building before they could escape to the shelter. She remembered burning mattresses being flung out of windows. And she remembered being pulled along to the bunkers by her father’s strong hand as they ran through the street in terror, the upper part of it engulfed in flames. That time there had been no warning.
As though reading her mind, Papa said, “Gitte, remember the time Mama covered you with blankets in the shelter to try to block out the noise and screaming? You had been crying. I know that you were very much afraid. Then you heard one of our neighbors say, ‘I want to sit by Mrs. Baier—she has such strong faith, nothing ever happens to her.’ You pushed the blanket off and looked at Oma (Grandmother), who was sitting quietly. Do you remember what you did then?”
“Yes, Papa. I crawled into Oma’s lap, and I stopped crying.” Brigitte smiled. “I always want to be just like Oma.”

A decade later I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I realized the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely on the testimony of my father. But I felt I still did not have the whole truth, and I longed to know why I felt compelled never to drink, smoke, or swear and to remain morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first Black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, U.S. president Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons I received many recognitions and awards.
In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

My great-grandfather Harry Payne was one of the original settlers in my hometown of Virden, New Mexico, a tiny farming and ranching community. Twenty-one families left Mexico in 1912 and joined together to buy property in southwestern New Mexico. They divided the property into 21 different farms. Great-grandfather Payne really liked one particular piece of property. It already had a house on it, while most of the other pieces of land did not. To decide who got each piece of property, the settlers decided to draw pieces of paper out of a hat. My great-grandfather’s son-in-law could not attend the drawing, so he asked Great-grandfather Payne to draw for him. As my great-grandfather went up to draw, he thought, “The paper I draw with my right hand will be for me, and the one drawn by my left hand will be for my son-in-law.” The paper he chose for his son-in-law was for the land he so dearly wanted. His paper was for a piece of land with rocky ground. Nobody but he knew which hand he had chosen for his son-in-law. Still, he put aside the temptation to keep the land he wanted. He felt the sacrifice was worth being true to oneself. He and his sons hauled away rock for many years as they lived on the rocky property.
As I think of the faith of these wonderful ancestors of mine, it reminds me of my need to be worthy and my desire to be tied to them as an eternal family, generation upon generation.

“Class, I have a surprise for you,” Mrs. Taylor said as she walked to the front of the room.
Evelyn looked up from her test, grinning. There was a big “A+” at the top.
“You all did so well on your tests that tomorrow we’ll watch a movie as a reward,” Mrs. Taylor said, writing three movie titles on the board. “Here are the options we can vote on,” she said over everyone’s cheers.
Evelyn bounced in her seat, trying to see what the titles were. The first two movies were some of her favorites. She leaned over to her friend Katy. “Which one are you going to vote for?”
“Definitely number three,” Katy said. “My parents wouldn’t let us watch it at home, so I never got to see it.”
Evelyn looked at the board again and saw the name of the third movie. Her heart started to pound. Evelyn had heard of this movie, and she knew it was one she wouldn’t feel right about watching. What if her class voted for it?
“Who would like to vote for option one?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
Evelyn stretched her hand high and looked around. She bit her lip nervously. Only two other people were voting.
Mrs. Taylor made tally marks on the board. “Option two?”
Evelyn’s heart sank. Only three hands went up.
“And option three?”
Fifteen hands shot up. Evelyn slumped down in her seat, a sick feeling settling in her stomach. How could she get out of watching that movie if everyone else wanted to?
When she got home, Evelyn went straight to her room and let her backpack fall to the floor with a heavy thunk. The sick feeling had stuck with her the entire day. “I wish I actually could be sick,” she thought. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to school tomorrow.”
Evelyn pulled her test out of her backpack and stared at it, clutching it in her hands. “The movie was supposed to be a reward, not a punishment!” she thought, angrily crumpling the test up and stuffing it under her bed. Tears welled up in her eyes. She knelt by her bed and started to cry. Then she started to pray. She choked out a few tangled sentences, asking Heavenly Father to take the problem away, but after a while her prayer changed. “Please help me to make this better. I don’t want to see a movie that will make me feel bad, and I hope that my friends and teacher will understand.”
Evelyn finished her prayer. The trembling, sick feeling had disappeared. She didn’t even feel afraid anymore.
Jumping to her feet, Evelyn raced out of her room to find Mom. She had an idea.
The next day, Evelyn walked into class. In one hand she held a note from Mom explaining how watching the movie would make Evelyn feel uncomfortable. In the other hand she carried three of her favorite movies. Evelyn handed the note to Mrs. Taylor and watched her read it.
“Thank you for letting me know how you feel,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“My mom says it is OK for me to go sit in with another class while the movie is playing,” Evelyn said. “But I also brought some other movies in case everyone would like to watch one of them instead.”
Mrs. Taylor smiled and reached for the stack of movies. “A movie is not much of a reward if we can’t all enjoy it,” she said.
Mrs. Taylor wrote the new titles on the board. “Class, I’d like to vote again on the movie for today. I have some new options for you.”
Evelyn went and sat at her desk, happy she wouldn’t have to miss out on the class reward. But the best reward of all was knowing that Heavenly Father had taken away her fear and given her courage to do what was right.

I’m a deacon. My parents have taught me that I should be an example for my friends because I hold the priesthood and because I represent Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It really helps me to choose the right and look for chances to serve others. I know that if I do good things, my friends will see what I do and maybe want to do good things too.
After Sunday School a while ago, I was in the hall when I saw a teacher who needed help with some chairs. She was going to set them up outside the building for an activity. She didn’t ask me to help her, but I saw that she needed help. There were a lot of chairs, and she was all alone. So I took most of the chairs outside and set them up for her.
Afterward, the teacher said, “Thank you for helping.” It wasn’t a big deal for me since it didn’t take very long, but she was really grateful, which made me feel good. Later, the teacher told my mom about what I had done. My mom said I did a good thing and that I should keep looking for opportunities to serve others, because it’s something that Christ would do.
I was happy and grateful that I had served. It made me feel good, and it made me want to serve more often.
Emiliano H., Texas, USA

Karl ran down the boat dock, excited to see his dad. Karl’s father was a fisherman, and Karl often ran out to the boat to meet him at the end of the day.
“Hurry, Papa!” Karl called. “I want to show you a picture I drew for you today!”
“Great!” Papa said. “But I need to tie up the boat first.”
Karl watched Papa carefully tie the boat to the dock with a thick rope. “Why do you have to tie it so tight?” Karl asked as Papa pulled on a large knot.
Papa pointed to a boat on the shore that had a large hole in the bottom. “That boat wasn’t tied up well. In the last storm, it got loose and crashed onto some rocks.”
Karl’s eyes widened.
“Can you think of how Heavenly Father helps us stay tied to Him so we can be safe?” Papa asked.
“The scriptures?” Karl guessed.
“That’s right,” Papa said. “He also gives us priesthood ordinances like baptism and the sacrament. Mama and I got married in the temple so our family could be tied together forever.”
Karl grabbed the rope and helped Papa give it a final tug. “We make the tightest knot of all!”

Doni hefted the shot easily in one hand and took her position at the end of the school’s playing field. She paused, balanced in her stance, the shot cradled against her neck. She pushed off, and with an explosion of air, released the shot. She watched it hit the turf and groaned in frustration. It wasn’t going anywhere.
It was Doni DeCory’s senior year, her last year of high school track. For two years she had held the South Dakota state championship in shot put. But during this, her senior year, when she was expected to take the title for the third consecutive year, she was falling apart.
“I wasn’t throwing anywhere near what I did in my junior year,” said Doni. “People were saying, ‘Come on, Doni, you’ve got to take the state record again.’ There was so much pressure. I just wanted to quit.”
Doni did quit—for a day. The next day, when she didn’t leave for practice, her mother asked why she wasn’t going. “Mom, it’s over with,” said Doni. “I can’t do anything. I’m not going.”
“Then I asked my mom what she thought about my quitting. She said, ‘It’s up to you. We’re not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do. But think about it, Doni. Is this really you? Do you really want to quit?’ Then she left the room, and the decision was up to me.”
Doni thought about it, until an idea occurred to her. If she quit now, then she’d always want to quit when things got too hard. Her mother and dad had supported her since grade school in her schoolwork and in her sports. They came, not just to her games and meets, but to all her practices. They had always been there for her. Now when things were going so badly, she knew she could turn to them again for help.
Doni didn’t quit, but her throwing did not improve much. Her parents practiced with her, retrieving the shot over and over. It took time. Her mental composure returned; then her tosses lengthened. She peaked right when she was supposed to, at the state championships when she took the title for the third straight year.
Doni’s story could be like many others where a talented athlete overcomes discouragement and goes on to win. But Doni’s story is a little more complicated than that. No one in her little town of Pine Ridge, South Dakota, even knew how to coach her in shot put. Her mother and the running coach together would try to figure out suggestions for improvement by watching tapes. The odds of her doing well were very much against her. If Doni had said, “I can’t do it,” not too many people would have argued with her.
But Doni wanted to give it a try, and through her efforts and faith, the support of her family and friends, and her natural athletic ability she accomplished great things.

Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.

I think of two women, once the closest of friends. The one, through an accident of which she was innocent, became in effect a party to the death of a child of the other. It is difficult to say which of those women suffered the most over the death of that child. The one who was not the mother, but who was involved in the accident that led to the fatality, has grieved and wept these many years, not only for the child who was lost and for her part in the tragic situation, but perhaps even more over the unforgiving spirit of the mother who lost the child. It is understandable why the bereft mother, mourning over the loss of her baby, felt bitter. But long since there should have been a realization on her part that her friend was innocent, that she too has wept, and that there should have been an outpouring of love toward her rather than recrimination. An absence of charity has cankered the soul of that woman, destroyed her happiness, brought only misery to her days and sorrow to her nights.

“The Family: A Proclamation to the World” teaches my family the importance of work. Have the children hold up fingers to count each of the nine principles while you read paragraph 7 from “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” beginning with “Successful marriages and families” and ending with “wholesome recreational activities.” See if they can remember the eighth principle (work). To teach the importance and value of work, tell the following story about President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency. As a young boy, he worked at his parents’ laundry business, delivering laundry before and after school. For many years he had to ride a big, heavy bicycle, pulling a laundry cart up and down the streets of their town. He said: “Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath. Nevertheless, I did my part because I knew we desperately needed the income as a family, and it was my way to contribute.” Dieter knew his hard work as a delivery boy was helping his family. But it wasn’t until many years later that he learned how his hard work helped cure him of a lung disease he never knew he had. He said, “My regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness” (“See the End from the Beginning,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 43).

The power of a plain, unadorned testimony is always impressive to me. I recall a twelve-year-old boy standing in front of a large congregation to share his testimony. As he stood trembling in fear and emotion, his voice failed him. He stood speechless; our hearts went out to him. The creeping seconds dragged on, making the silence of the moment intense. Prayerfully we hoped that he might gain composure and the ability to express his testimony. After great uneasiness and anxiety peculiar to a young person in such a circumstance, he raised his bowed head and softly said, “Brothers and sisters, my testimony is too small.” He cleared his voice and sat down. His message had been given. I thought then, as I think now, what a timely observation. Whose testimony isn’t too small? Whose testimony doesn’t need to be added upon? After this one-sentence sermon, I acknowledged before the congregation that my testimony was too small also and I was going to give it a chance to grow by more frequent sharing. I had been taught by a plain, simple statement.

Not far from the vast expanse of the Ohio River lies a small town on the outskirts of Louisville, Kentucky, called Anchorage. Once a farming community where a riverboat captain established his last portage, it has become home to families of many diverse faiths.
It was there in church, at home, and while exploring the marvelous world beneath the woods of sycamore, oak, maple, chestnut, and willow trees that I learned one of the fundamentals of Christianity: that Jesus came as the master teacher, instructing us in the ways of goodness and integrity.
My parents were good folks, faithful in their church. They taught me how to be a good person and that there are certain things that are right, such as being kind to others, and certain things that are wrong, such as stealing. On the other hand, they also taught that what one person believes to be true is just as valid as what someone else believes to be true, even if those beliefs differ in fundamental ways. In this philosophy, as I understand it, there are no eternal principles true for everyone, just personal viewpoints that intelligent people have the right and obligation to determine are true for themselves.
Because of those underlying tenets of moral relativism, I had a difficult time believing what the Mormon missionaries taught me about the need for the Atonement, priesthood authority, and prophets. Indeed, my journey to conversion took me six long years of constantly challenging and questioning who I was, what I believed, and whether there could, in fact, be a God who had established eternal principles of truth and error, sin and consequence.
Remarkably, I did receive a spiritual confirmation, but it did not come until I was humble enough to accept it. First came a witness of baptism, then of the Book of Mormon, then of Joseph Smith as a true prophet. Additional witnesses followed, line upon line, regarding today’s prophets and apostles.
Eventually, there came a point in my life when I didn’t just believe the gospel was true—I knew it. The culmination of many little witnesses created a foundation upon which my faith was sure, a bulwark against which challenges to testimony break.

“No. I had a similar experience at a summer job one year. For a while the rapport with my fellow workers was not great. But after a few days of excusing myself after dinner when the cards came out, one of my fellow workers asked me why I didn’t play. Maybe I avoided the issue, but I said that I enjoyed walking outside or reading a book or writing a letter more. She came with me the next day, and by the end of the summer all of us were eating our lunches outside in the sun, and we became close friends. They have said several times since that summer was more fun and that the days went faster when they used their lunch break to appreciate others and nature.”
Ann Bradley, Age 22Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.