Gospel Story Finder

Let me share a personal example. My parents regularly lived and taught the gospel in our home. I knew that they would stand for the Lord in any situation. I knew that my mother was comfortable with talking to our Heavenly Father through prayer and in listening to promptings from the Holy Ghost. I knew that my dad was a righteous priesthood holder. In addition to him leading family gospel discussions and teaching important lessons, I often saw him as he took time for his personal scripture study.

I grew up on a farm that was just large enough to teach us how to work hard but small enough that my dad didn't farm full time, even though, at times, it seemed as though we did. One summer, when I was in my early teens, we were having a problem with some of our cows crossing the river to a neighbor's field. My dad decided to build a fence in the river bottoms. He borrowed a small bulldozer from a neighbor. My brother and I took our tractor and we all went across one channel of the river to clear a path for the fence.

At one point, the tractor had been left behind and my brother and I were both standing on a little platform on the back of the bulldozer as my dad was operating it. We would periodically jump off the bulldozer and clear off what remained on the fence path. As my dad was backing up to go at a tree at a different angle, I swung around to look back. As I did, the bulldozer track caught my leg and flipped me to the ground with the track rolling up my leg. Fortunately, my dad stopped the bulldozer quickly and moved it forward. He quickly sent my brother for the tractor and came down to pick me up. Now, can you imagine what must have been his thoughts? It wasn't his fault, but I can imagine him feeling terrible. He asked me how I was and I immediately asked, "Dad, can you give me a blessing?" My dad immediately put his hands on my head and gave me a priesthood blessing.

My brother got there shortly thereafter with the tractor. My dad cradled me in his arms and drove the tractor back across the channel. Back home, my mother had been working on things around the house. She felt something had gone wrong and immediately jumped in a vehicle to drive to the edge of the river bottom and was there when we got out of the trees. I won't take the time to talk about the broken bones, the skin graft, etc. but the point is that I saw and knew from my parents' example to call upon the Lord.

My sister and I have had a complicated relationship for the past 40 years. Recently, I started to pray for her welfare and happiness. I also decided to put her name down on the prayer roll of the temple for eight weeks. During this period, I felt impressed to invite her to spend some time with me during the Christmas holidays (2019). This was a difficult thing for me because we have barely spent more than an hour together during the past ten years. On the day we decided to meet, I prepared a meal, and we agreed to watch a Christmas movie together. From the moment she arrived at my home, I could tell she was different. She was happy and bubbly, and we talked like we used to four decades ago. The visit was so enjoyable that I invited her to return the following week, when we again ate a meal together and watched another Christmas movie. Later I scheduled two more visits that were just as successful and enjoyable as the first two.
A few days later, I was reviewing a journal entry from 23 years ago. In that entry, I had recorded some of the words of a priesthood blessing that I had received because I was so upset about the poor relationship that I had with my sister. As I read the terms of this blessing, I was shocked by what Heavenly Father had told me so long ago. This is what he said:
“The Lord loves you very much. You will be as Nephi of old. You will have the wisdom and strength to counsel your family. With time, you will be able to resolve your relationship with family and friends.”
These words immediately reminded me of a talk given by Henry B Eyring called, A Law of Increasing Returns. In this talk, President Eyring said:
“The simple fact is that there is a God who wants us to have faith in him. He knows that to strengthen faith, we must use it [even with our family members]. And so, he gives us the chance to use it by letting some of the spiritual rewards we want most be delayed. Instead of first effort yielding returns, with a steady decline, it’s the reverse. First efforts, and even second efforts, seem to yield little. And then the rewards begin, perhaps much later, to grow and grow.”1
That is how I felt as I thought about how my relationship with my sister has improved dramatically over the past two weeks. It is no accident that this improvement in our relationship had happened when I was praying for my sister, and I had placed her name on the temple prayer roll.

I frequently found myself returning home from a busy day’s work, still under great pressures to complete an assignment before the following morning, only to find I had been committed to an act of compassionate service that night. As we would drive to our place of service, I would be mumbling under my breath, “Why me tonight? How will I ever get that job done before morning?” Then we would arrive at the place of service, and I would see the light in her eyes as she would perform her acts of mercy. I would see children dance with joy and parents weep with gratitude for her concern. On the way home I was mumbling a different tune. I was thanking the Lord for the privilege of being there that particular night.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Shortly after Sister Cottle and I were married I was drafted into the United States Army and was sent to fight in the war in the jungle of Viet Nam. I was assigned to a twelve man “search and destroy” team whose mission was to stop the flow of enemy supplies on the system of jungle trails from the north through the Viet Nam central highlands. This team usually moved its ambush to a new location every day. On those days that we did not move to a new location our situation become dangerous because the enemy could find us more easily. Therefore, on the days we did not move we set up guard positions on the trail in every direction a short distance from where the team was camped. Each soldier took a turn being the guard, who was called the OP, military talk for observation post.

On a Sunday in August of 1970 my team did not move to a new location. Following proper protocol we organized the guard stations. I took the first turn as OP.

I moved up the trail about twenty five yards. I took two weapons with me--an M-16 rifle and a claymore mine. These slides show me with my M-16, helmet, and bandolier of extra ammunition magazines fastened around my waist and shoulder.

As I said, I went up the mountain trail about twenty five yards from the rest of my team. I then stepped off another fifty feet and set up the claymore mine as shown in the slide. A claymore mine is a slightly u-shaped, hard plastic bomb that is filled with 700 steel balls and C-4 explosive. I aimed the mine toward the trail where it went around a very large tree a short distance from me. I carefully inserted an electrical blasting cap into the top of the claymore mine and then unwound the electrical cord back to my OP position.

I attached the electrical wire to the detonating device which was a hand-squeeze “clacker.” The clacker generated just enough electricity when the handle was squeezed to set off the blasting cap, which in turn, set off the mine.

The claymore mine was such a dangerous weapon that the clacker had two safeties. It was necessary to release these safeties before the handle could be successfully squeezed; however, there was a problem with the double safeties. It was difficult to release these safeties when a soldier was frightened or under duress. In those situations a soldier often failed to release both safeties before squeezing the handle. This caused him to break the handle as he pressed on it, which resulted in his failing to set off the mine. By then, the soldier would be creating such a commotion that the enemy would see him and shoot him.

I sat down on the ground. I placed the clacker and my M-16 in front of me also on the ground and began my two-hour guard shift. I calculated that from where I had planted the claymore mine I had about two to three seconds to set off the mine before an enemy scout would walk beyond the blasting radius of the mine and be right in front of me.

I sat for about an hour and a half. It was hard to keep focused and alert when nothing was happening. It was at this time that a very distinct and clear thought came into my head. It seemed to linger there for several seconds. It captured my total attention.

It said, “Lyle, what would you do if an enemy soldier came around that big tree with his AK-47 rifle pointed directly at you?”

Obediently, I answered that question. I thoroughly reviewed in my mind, step-by-step, exactly what I would do. I would pick up the clacker. Then, I would release one safety with my left hand while simultaneously releasing the second safety with my right hand. Then, with my right hand, I would press down on the handle of the clacker and explode the claymore mine.

As soon as I finished this mental rehearsal I actually saw an enemy scout walk around the big tree with his rifle pointed directly at me! Automatically, and without thinking, I picked up the clacker and using both hands together, released the two safeties, and squeezed the handle.

Instantly, there was a deafening explosion that seemed to shake the earth. As the dust began to clear I thought I saw the enemy soldier crawling toward me. With my heart pounding I quickly fired my rifle until it was empty. I then reached for another ammunition magazine in the bandolier that was around my waist, but my fingers were shaking and I could not retrieve the new magazine. It was like a nightmare!

At that moment, three of my team members came up the trail to my position. They quickly checked to see that I was all right, and then proceeded up the hill to determine what had just happened. They soon shouted, “KIA,” which was army jargon for “killed in action.”

All went very quiet and I lay on my back reviewing what had just happened. I did not feel good. I had just ended a man’s life! War or not, it was not a good feeling. I questioned myself with, “You hold the Melchizedek Priesthood, you have been married in the temple, you keep the commandments, why didn’t you speak in tongues and convert the soldier instead of what you actually did?” It seemed that I pondered these thoughts for a long time. The heaviness of my thoughts was surprising to me and weighed down upon me. (It is even hard to tell you about it today.)

Soon my team members returned back to camp. As they passed by me they patted me on my back and said, “Cottle, good job! How did you do that so fast?”

“How were you able to react so quickly?” “It’s amazing!” I appreciated their words but the heaviness of my feelings was not lifted.

The next day my good friend, Woody Christiansen, from Bountiful, UT and I knelt in the jungle and prayed aloud for comfort and safety from the enemy who had increased his attacks against us. When we finished, we looked around to find several of our team kneeling in prayer with us. This had never happened before to us. Woody and I were the only Mormons on the team.

A few days passed. We returned to base camp. A company meeting was held. I was awarded a bronze star medal for the meritorious service I had rendered to the men in my team, to my company, and to myself. I felt that I had done nothing heroic. I had just done my job—I had acted to preserve my own life and the lives of my team members.

I took an opportunity to visit with the LDS church group leader in base camp. He helped me with some comforting words and I thanked him; however, the most comforting thing to me then, and over the many years since that terrible event, has been my remembering those thoughts that came to my mind just prior to my setting off the claymore mine--the question that came clearly into my mind, “Lyle, what would you do if an enemy scout came around that tree with his rifle pointed directly at you?” I remember that it was that question which prompted my mental preparation and allowed me to respond quickly, and accurately to preserve my life and the lives of others. I have come to the realization that the question was the voice of the spirit instructing me in all that I should do.

I am comforted by the words in the scriptures and Nephi’s unusual experience. I have a better understanding of what happened to him. And like Nephi, I was obedient to that voice, that spiritual prompting. I do not know the full reason why my life was preserved on that occasion, but I do know the scriptures are true and apply to our lives and are comforting to us in our times of trial.

I’m reminded of some missionaries again in that regard: they had a “goal board” in their apartment. They liked to write down on the board what their goals for the week were, such as “Baptize the Jones family by Saturday.” They had been working with the Jones family for a long time. It seemed that Brother and Sister Jones were giving them a ride back to their apartment on that particular day, and as they came to the apartment they asked the missionaries if they could use their telephone. They didn’t know how brave they were to go into the missionaries’ apartment! But the missionaries were even braver, because they let them come in! When they came in, Sister Jones (I guess we’d call her “sister” whether she’s a member or not) came over by the phone. There was this “goal board,” and she read, “Baptize the Jones family by Saturday.” She looked at her husband, pointed it out to him, and then said, “You boys really mean business, don’t you?” One elder replied, “You have to set your goals or you’ll never achieve them.” The Jones family was baptized on Saturday!

I recently engaged in a wrestle. When the policy was announced that the children of gay parents might not be eligible for baptism at age eight, I was confused. I did not question the Brethren or doubt their inspiration, but neither did I understand the doctrinal basis for the policy. So I asked the Lord to teach me. I prayed, searched the scriptures, studied the teachings of prophets, and pondered my question in the temple. This went on for several months. Then one day a colleague made a statement that sparked a new thought for me, and in that moment the Spirit illuminated the doctrine in my heart and mind. I consider that answer personal revelation and not something I should teach. Though I have wept with friends to whom this policy directly applies, the doctrine gave me peace and understanding.

I am certain my enthusiasm for this opportunity is based on my own experience. As I turned 21 years old, my bishop invited me to visit him in his office where he issued me a call to serve a mission. He said he felt strongly that the Lord wanted me to go. When I shared this news with my father, he was equally adamant, but against me serving a mission. He reassured me that the Lord did not expect his daughters to go on missions. So what was I to do? Should I side with my ecclesiastical leader or my father? I considered weaseling out of the controversy altogether, leaving my father and the bishop to duke it out. But I had this persistent, nagging feeling that I needed to find out for myself. I went to my knees and poured out my heart to God like I had never done before. I expected an answer by the time I stood up, but nothing came. Weeks went by. I tried fasting--serious fasting--like I had never done before. Still no answer. Anyway that's what I thought. When I finally recognized the answer, I realized the Spirit had been telling me what God wanted me to do all along the way; I simply hadn't known what to look for.

For me the answer was yes, serve a mission.

Dad was sitting on the front lawn, cleaning his bicycle. “Can I help you, Dad?” Michael asked.
“No thank you, Son—it’s too messy. Go ask your mother if you can help her.”
Mom was in back of the garage, painting a bookshelf.
“Can I help you, Mom?”
“No thank you, honey—this paint is sticky,” Mom said. “Go ask Mary if you can help her.”
His sister was in the kitchen, baking cookies.
“Can I help you, Mary?”
“No thank you, Michael—this oven is hot.”
Michael walked sadly out of the kitchen. “There’s no one I can help,” he said.
Just then the baby cried.
“The baby’s crying, and I can’t leave this to get her,” Dad called to Mom.
“I’m too messy to get the baby,” Mom called to Mary.
“I have to take the cookies out of the oven right now, or they’ll burn. I can’t get the baby either,” Mary called back to Mom and Dad.
Dad cleaned the bicycle grease off his hands and went to get the baby. Mom cleaned the paint off her hands and went to get the baby. Mary took the cookies out of the oven and went to get the baby. When they opened the door to the baby’s room, they saw her laughing and playing in her crib.
“I helped her,” Michael said proudly. “I sang a little song and shared my toys with her.”
The baby laughed, waving a toy car up and down.

Some time ago your mother and I visited a third-world country where sanitary conditions were much poorer than ours. We joined with a delegation of other doctors from all over the world. The president of our group, an experienced traveler, warned of risks. In order to avoid water that might be contaminated, we were even counseled to brush our teeth with an alcoholic beverage. We chose not to follow that counsel, but simply did what we had learned to do once a month. We fasted that first day, thinking we could introduce simple food and fluids gradually thereafter. Later, we were the only ones in our group without disabling illness.

Fasting fortifies discipline over appetite and helps to protect against later uncontrolled cravings and gnawing habits.

I vividly remember one experience from my own freshman year at the University of Arizona. It was a bright, sunny day, and I was nervously preparing for my first finals. I stopped by the institute of religion to study, and while walking down the hall, I ran into a friend from my astronomy class. When I told him I was studying for our final that day, he looked at me in shock and said, “Sarah! That final was on Monday—two days ago!”

Panic set in. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted to my professor’s office. Breathless and sweating, I knocked on his door. He confirmed the worst: the time for the exam had passed and grades were due in thirty minutes. Shaking his head, he offered a last resort—an oral exam.

For the next half hour, he grilled me on the material. When I would give a shaky answer, the wrinkles on his face hinted I was off track—silently urging me to keep going. I don’t remember the grade I received, but I know I didn’t earn an A. What I did gain was far more lasting: a powerful lesson in responsibility, humility, and grace. I’ll always be grateful for that professor’s unexpected mercy.

This experience has never left me. I have picked this story up again and again in my life. It’s almost as if I have picked up a ball and turned it over and over in my hands to see if I can see something I may have missed before. Could I have really been that unorganized and forgetful? And how was the professor really that compassionate toward someone who decidedly deserved a failing grade? In fact, I have shared this story multiple times in myriad college classrooms over the years in an attempt to help my students see that I understand the pressures of college life.

A final example of being blessed during adversity is finding heightened joy in the return of temple ordinances.
This is best described with a story. When Sister Kaitlyn Palmer received her mission call last April, she was excited to be called as a missionary but felt it equally important and special to go to the temple to receive her endowment and make sacred covenants. Shortly after she scheduled her endowment, the announcement came that all temples would temporarily close due to the worldwide pandemic. After receiving this heartbreaking information, she then learned she would attend the missionary training center (MTC) virtually from her home. Despite these disappointments, Kaitlyn focused on keeping her spirits high.
In the intervening months, Sister Palmer never lost hope of attending the temple. Her family fasted and prayed that temples would open prior to her departure. Kaitlyn would often start her home MTC mornings by saying, “Is today going to be the day we receive a miracle and temples open back up?”
On August 10, the First Presidency announced that Kaitlyn’s temple would reopen for living ordinances on the exact day her early-morning flight to her mission was scheduled. She would not be able to attend the temple and make her flight. With little hope for success, her family contacted temple president Michael Vellinga to see if there was any way the miracle they had been praying for could be realized. Their fasting and prayers were answered!
At 2:00 a.m., hours before her flight departure, Sister Palmer and her family, in tears, were greeted at the temple doors by the smiling temple president with the words, “Good morning, Palmer family. Welcome to the temple!” As she completed her endowment, they were encouraged to move quickly, as the next family was waiting at the temple doors. They drove directly to the airport just in time to make her flight to her mission.

Now the third story, if I might skip another four years. At age sixteen, I began trying to decide what kind of career I would pursue. Two of my friends had fathers who were university professors—one of them, a physicist. I thought maybe I wanted to become a physicist or a research bacteriologist.

I was active in music, but I didn’t want to become a musician because I had noticed that very few musicians made much money. However, after prayerfully investigating a number of professions, I came to a conviction within my heart—a burning within my bosom that—after all, I was to make my contribution to the world as a musician.

When I had made that decision, I told my father and my mother. My father, who was a businessman, had little sympathy for music as a career. But when I told him I wanted to go into music, he said, “All right, son, but don’t be a second-rater.”

Those words have rung in my ears many times since then, and they have encouraged me to try to go one step higher in my creative endeavors.

Several years later, I enrolled at a college near my home that had a good music school, My first year, I entered a music composition contest and won first prize. Part of the award was that my composition would be played by the the Stockton California Symphony Orchestra. Unfortunately, however, my composition was written for a larger orchestra than the Stockton Symphony Orchestra.

I wanted so badly for my composition to be performed that I transferred to a university that had a large symphony orchestra with over 100 pieces. The first day after I had arrived there, I went to the office of the director of the symphony orchestra and asked him if the college symphony orchestra would play my piece. He said, “Leave it here; I’m busy right now, but come back next week.”

When I returned the following week, he said, “Well, it isn’t too bad. We rehearse on Monday nights. Next Monday I will let the orchestra play through it.”

Then he asked me an unexpected question: “Would you like to conduct it?” Now, if he had said, “Can you conduct it?” I would have had to answer differently, but he said, “Would you like to conduct it?” Well, who wouldn’t like to conduct a 100-piece orchestra playing his own piece?

I went home and the whole next week I checked the orchestral parts over to make sure they would really sound right. I had imagined my piece, but I had never heard it played.

All day Monday I fidgeted through my classes. I couldn’t eat my lunch. That night I sat in the front row of the auditorium and waited while the symphony orchestra rehearsed.

Finally the conductor turned around and said, “Do you have your music with you? Well, pass it out.” He introduced me to the orchestra and said, “I’m going to let him conduct.”

I waved the baton very shakily, and the music stumbled along. Players don’t like to play from handwritten music manuscript, and my manuscript was horrible. The orchestra droned and grunted along. It was a frightful experience.

Then something happened. Suddenly everything seemed to work well during the last few minutes of the piece. Instead of saying, or looking like, “How can we bear this?” the orchestra players seemed to be saying, “Not bad! Not bad!”

During the last few moments I felt as if I was raised about a meter or two off the podium—I conducted sort of instinctively, feeling that “This is why I’m alive! This is my contribution to the world!” I felt that “men are that they might have joy” was no longer just a statement in the Book of Mormon (2 Ne. 2:25), but a reality for me at that very moment.

At the end they started to applaud, and the conductor came running down the aisle, saying, “Well, the first part was quite terrible but the last part wasn’t so bad!”

On the way home that night I kept hearing that wonderful big sound of the ending, and I forgot the terror of the first part. I thought, this is how the Lord must have felt when he said that “it was good,” (See Gen. 1:4.) What a remarkable understatement the Lord made about his own work. And one reason God exists is to have joy, and what does he have joy in? In the creative act—in the act of creating a galaxy or in creating a human soul.

He moved in with his older brother, and during that year, found a job as an electronics technician in a local business. The dreams of his higher education were beginning to come true.
With no organized Church unit in Libreville, Gabin held unofficial meetings on Sundays and family home evenings on Mondays at his home. Some friends and a few family members attended with interest. Gabin would teach from the Book of Mormon and they would watch 2004 general conference sessions.
Throughout this time, Internet services inside Gabon were unreliable and costly—and accessing websites outside the country was almost impossible. From time to time, Gabin was able to access Church websites and download a general conference talk or two. These he would print out and add to his Sunday “lesson plans”.
In 2008, he met Fleur and fell deeply in love. Gabin remembers, “I found a girl!” Fleur had a daughter, Eve, and he fell in love with her, too. Fleur and Eve usually attended a local Protestant congregation, but throughout their courtship, he taught them missionary lessons. They started attending his Sunday meetings and family home evenings on Mondays. Gabin and Fleur were married in 2013 in a civil ceremony.
At the beginning of 2014, Gabin found an article online reporting that Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had a few months earlier been in Libreville. It was just after the Gabonese government had officially recognized the Church and had permitted the beginning of missionary activities. Elder Bednar had dedicated the country of Gabon for the preaching of the gospel and he had organized the Libreville Branch. Gabin was stunned. For more than eight years he had likely been the only endowed member of the Church living in Gabon and suddenly there was a branch organized in his home city.
Using an email address found in the article, Gabin wrote to the Africa Southeast Area office, asking questions about the Church situation in Libreville. Elie Monga, president of the Brazzaville mission in the Republic of Congo, was informed and a few days later, while at work, Gabin received a visit from Elder Michael Moody, the first senior missionary to serve in Gabon.
After their initial greeting, Gabin said to Elder Moody, “I have a few questions. First, where can I pay my tithing?” For more than eight years, Gabin had carefully kept his tithing money in a small box.
“Second,” he asked, “Where can I buy new temple garments? Eight years ago, I brought a few to Libreville, and every night since I have been carefully hand washing them.” Elder Moody went to the car, opened his suitcase, and gave Gabin a brand-new pair of garments that he had been prompted to pack in his travel case that morning.
The next Sunday, Gabin, Fleur, Eve, Gabin’s nephew Yann, plus Annaïck and Pauline, Fleur’s nieces were six of the ten people sitting in the Libreville Branch sacrament meeting. Fleur was taught the missionary lessons and shortly afterward was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. And so were Eve, Yann, Annaïck, and Pauline.
In 2015, Gabin adopted Eve. And later that year the three of them—Gabin, Fleur, and Eve—flew to Johannesburg, South Africa, where this unlikely story concludes with significant eternal consequences. Fleur received her endowment, she and Gabin were sealed together, and Eve was sealed to them both in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
In 2016, Elie Monga, president of the Republic of Congo Brazzaville Mission, travelled to Libreville to preside over a division of the Libreville Branch. Gabin Mendene was called to serve as president of the Libreville 2nd Branch. Shortly afterward, while attending district conference, Elder Kevin S. Hamilton—former Brussels Belgium mission president and now a General Authority Seventy and president of the Africa Southeast Area—looked out from his seat on the rostrum. And sitting there in the middle of the congregation was someone he had not seen in ten years—a patient man with an extraordinary conversion story and a church pioneer in Africa—Gabin from Gabon.

Chieko Nishimura Okazaki had goodly parents too. Her grandparents moved from Japan to Hawaii. Her parents worked hard on a plantation. They were Buddhists, Buddhism being the main religion in Japan. They did not know about Jesus Christ. But they knew about goodness. What did they teach Chieko?
She said, “They taught me to be kigatsuku (key-got-sue-koo). That means to do good without being asked. When my mother was sweeping the floor, she would say, ‘Chieko, what would a kigatsuku girl do now?’ I would think for a minute, then run to get the dust pan and hold it for her. Or when she was washing dishes, I would pick up the dishtowel and begin to dry them. She would smile and say, ‘You are a kigatsuku girl.’
“My parents taught me other things. They taught me to work hard and to always do my best. That’s why I could work hard in school, go to the university, and become a school teacher and even a principal. They taught me to always love the truth. That is why, when I found the Church, I loved it and was baptized a Latter-day Saint.”
Chieko respected, honored, and loved her parents by helping without being asked and by following the righteous principles that they taught her. Now she is the first counselor in the General Presidency of the Relief Society. Her father is dead; her mother is still a Buddhist. Sister Okazaki says, “I know that she is proud of me because I still try to be kigatsuku, and I love her very much for teaching me good things.”

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

When I was a young boy, our garage and the neighbor’s garage were about five feet apart. The neighbor’s garage was very old and dilapidated, and some of the boards were breaking. I, on occasion, would climb onto our garage and jump from one garage to the other and play on top of them. My father had told me, “Stay off the garages,” but I didn’t. One time when I was playing on them, I jumped from our garage and fell through the roof of the neighbor’s garage, scraping my back and legs badly. Because I had been disobedient, I foolishly decided not to tell anyone that I had hurt myself. I went in the house and washed the scrapes and scratches as well as I could, but I couldn’t reach the ones on my back to put antiseptic on them or even wash them clean. I bore the burden of pain, worry over infection setting in, and guilt for several days while the healing process took place. I learned that when you are disobedient and don’t repent, you often have to carry your burdens all by yourself!

My sophomore year was incredible. I was so excited to go to seminary and learn! The first few weeks were pretty crazy. I felt like a little child—I had a lot to learn. People would use words like repentance and the Atonement, and I felt ashamed because I had no idea what those terms meant. Mercifully, my class helped me learn and never made me feel like an outsider.
As the year progressed, I found myself craving more knowledge. I was amazed by the things that my peers would discuss. I learned that I wasn’t the only one who suffered trials. I was saddened that I had made it so far in life without focusing on the Savior and the gospel. As I began to understand what being a Latter-day Saint is all about, I knew I never wanted to give it up.

Our family had an experience that reinforced this while on a hiking vacation to one of our favorite national parks known as Yosemite.

Yosemite’s home is the Sierra Nevada mountain range; a geologic wonder that provided the minerals that would give birth to the great California gold rush. "There was gold," as the prospector’s would say, “in them thar’ hills,” and in the rivers too.

At the time of this vacation our kids ranged from our youngest, Michael, about age eight to our oldest, Matthew, about twenty-one at the time.

Just before we took our hike, we made a visit to the gift shop at the park. Aaron, our eighteen-year-old at the time, found some “Fool's Gold" for sale. "Fool's Gold" or “Iron Pyrite” is a common mineral found in the Sierra Nevada so named for its shiny appearance. It’s actually nearly worthless.

So, Aaron devised a practical joke to salt some fool's gold at a shallow river crossing on our hiking path, and trick his innocent eight-year-old brother into thinking he’d discovered an amazing gold deposit.

So, Aaron hiked ahead to a shallow stream crossing to do his dirty work. When the rest of us arrived at the crossing, Aaron encouraged Michael to search the stream bed to see if the gold stories were true. Sure enough, Michael (with some help from Aaron) found his Gold and was thrilled with his new riches…that is, until I told him the truth….

I felt really bad as I watched Michael’s excitement crash to his feet. Although the sting of disappointment was soon over, I doubt Michael will ever trust the announcement of a gold strike again…at least by Aaron.

That day, Michael learned, as most of us do, not all “gold” is genuine - so it is with people who carry the title of leader. Some are gifted and genuine "gold” leaders. But many in our world, unfortunately, are not able to meet the “gold standard” described by President McKay - so the scripture says: “many are called, but few are chosen.”

These two beautiful missionaries taught me about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, about The First Vision, and the Book of Mormon. They taught how Joseph Smith, seeking to know what church he should join, read the book of James and prayed to God with faith his prayer would be answered.
The missionaries bore testimony that in answer to his prayer, God the Father and His beloved Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, that he was called to be a prophet, and that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored through him.
This was all new to me, but they promised that I could know for myself if this did happen. They gave me a Book of Mormon, with an invitation to read, ponder, and apply Moroni’s invitation to ask God if the book is true.
When they returned two days later, I explained that after reading the introduction, the testimony of the witnesses, and the account of Christ visiting the people in 3 Nephi, I pled with God to know if it was true. I felt warmth all over me but didn’t understand what that was. The elders then taught me that the Holy Ghost was bearing witness to my spirit, which brought excitement to my heart. My mother and three younger brothers joined our next lesson, and we all got baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.