Gospel Story Finder

To illustrate the importance of these differences associated with our personalities, I will use an example of my college senior design project. At BYU we call it a capstone project. It is the final, culminating experience of an engineering student’s undergraduate education.

As you may guess from my job here as a mechanical engineering professor, I was, at one time, a mechanical engineering student. To attain this degree, as a senior you must design and build something that solves a given problem. For my senior design project, my group was given the task of creating a cheap machine that would test the strength of objects under a dynamic load. A dynamic load is a force on an object that changes over time: it increases, decreases, and then repeats, increasing and decreasing. For example, all of us sitting here on the stand represent a static load, or a constant force the structure must withstand. But if all of a sudden everyone stood up and started jumping up and down at the same time, this would represent a dynamic load. Our weight is applied and then removed, applied and then removed. I am unsure if this stand has been dynamically tested. Would anyone like to jump with me and find out?

Dynamic loading machines are generally not cheap because they must move, so our goal was to make a cheap one. With a few other senior mechanical engineering students, all of whom had taken the same courses and had the same collegiate educational background, we began brainstorming ideas to solve this problem. In this phase of the design process it became immediately clear that the variety of our life experiences was essential to a good design. Although we all had the same formal training, we each had come from different backgrounds and had spent our free time doing different things. Our individual inspiration for what this machine would look like was also different.

One student, whose parents owned a business melting metals and creating art, had ideas associated with changing the temperature, which would cause expansion and contraction, thus applying an oscillating load. Another student, who enjoyed sailing, discussed systems of pulleys that could change a one-directional loading motion into a rotational loading motion. A few of us rode bikes, and we realized that the rotational motion of the wheels allows for dynamic loading on the wheels as they rotate. With a number of other ideas, and after much discussion, we eventually settled on a disk system in which the rotation would provide the dynamic part of the process but a single connection would allow for one-directional loading.

We moved on to accomplishing ­mathematical calculations, creating computer drawings, building a prototype, and writing a report. In this stage of the process, our individuality in preference became clear. I quite enjoy math and took the bulk of that responsibility. Although I can create computer drawings, one of my teammates was not only better at it but also truly enjoyed creating them, so he put his main efforts there. The same was true for building and writing.

Together we were able to create a cheap, working machine that applied the necessary dynamic loads to the objects to be tested. None of us alone would have come up with the final design we used. Individually we would not have been as ­successful or enjoyed the work as much. It was absolutely necessary for each of us to truly be individuals with different ideas, stemming from different life experiences and different preferences, while all still being qualified mechanical engineers.

As a young Honolulu teenager, my mother, Jean Char Gong, met missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, recognized gospel truth, and was baptized, the only member of her family to join at the time.
She later married in the temple, raised and nurtured three children, 11 grandchildren, and now 11 great-grandchildren. She has served faithfully in Church callings, including arranging flowers for the chapel and typing patriarchal blessings for her husband, who served many years as a patriarch.
My mother’s lifelong faith, hope, and charity make her a pioneer in our now four-generation gospel family. She has walked with faith in every footstep throughout her life.

Returning again to Karl G. Maeser, on one occasion he was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they slowly ascended the steep slope, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the glacial snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous mountains.

Something about those sticks impressed him, and halting the company of missionaries he gestured toward them and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood. They are just common sticks like the rest of us—some of them may even seem to be a little crooked, but the position they hold makes them what they are. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.”

One Sunday at a new ward, I sat alone during sacrament meeting. Afterward, I watched ward members talk to one another, but nobody introduced themselves to me, and I was too shy to start a conversation. As a more introverted person, I felt out of place in a ward that seemed like it was full of extroverted people. I felt like a failed member of the Church because they had skills of connection that I didn’t. So I went home before Sunday School.
I figured that being different socially prevented me from fitting in or unifying with my congregation. But over time, I’ve realized that a difference in social comfort or abilities doesn’t have to divide us or prevent us from worshipping. Rather, despite our differences in introversion and extroversion, we can all contribute unique abilities that God needs in His kingdom.

In our more recent history, too, we find people who lived as examples. Sarah Melissa Granger was just fifteen years old when she went to Nauvoo to join the Saints. It was the Nauvoo of the 1840 period, with the persecution beginning and the Saints pushing to complete the temple, for they knew that when the temple was finished they would become a covenant people.

Sarah was very much interested in the doctrine and revelations of her newfound faith. She attended the School of the Prophets and discussed the principles she learned there with her father. In later years she referred to her attendance at the School of the Prophets to underscore the emphasis she placed upon doctrinal study among Latter-day Saint women.

When she was about twenty-two, she married Hiram Kimball. Sarah was a member of the Church. Hiram was not. He was later baptized, but, when their first baby was born, the Nauvoo Temple walls were only about three feet above their foundation. The Saints needed money to complete the building. Sarah wanted to make a contribution to the temple project, but she wanted it to be her contribution, not her husband’s. Even though he was well off financially and could afford to give generously to the Church, that didn’t meet her needs as she saw them. She thought a great deal about how she could fulfill her responsibility. Then, she came up with an idea. She had a new baby boy just three days old. When her husband came to her bedside to admire the baby, she asked, “What is the boy worth?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “He’s worth a great deal.”

“Is he worth a thousand dollars?”

“Yes, more than that if he lives and does well.”

“Then,” she said, “half of him is mine, is it not?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I have something then to help on the temple,” she said.

“Have you?” questioned her husband.

“Yes, I think I’ll turn my share (of the baby) in as tithing.”

“Well, I’ll see about that,” said her husband.

Soon after that conversation, her husband, who was a major in the Nauvoo Legion, met with the Prophet. Her Hiram said, “Sarah proposes to turn the boy out as Church property,” and then he related their entire discussion.

President Joseph Smith seemed pleased with the joke. “I accept all such donations,” was his reply, “and from this day the boy shall stand recorded as Church property.” He turned to Willard Richards and directed, “Make a record of this, and you are my witness.”

Then he turned back to the father and said,

“Major, you now have the privilege of paying $500 and retaining possession, or receiving $500 and giving possession.”

To which the new father responded, “Will you accept the reserve block of property north of the temple (as payment)?”

“It is just what we want,” said the Prophet.

The deed was made out. Later the Prophet said to Sarah, “You have consecrated your firstborn son; for this you are blessed of the Lord. . . . Your name shall be handed down in honorable remembrance from generation to generation,”

Sarah Kimball could translate her vision of the eternal truths into daily living. Perhaps her life was best described by a woman who knew her well who said, “The name Sarah M. Kimball is synonymous with charity.”

“Wow, what an army!” David looked excited as he knelt next to the small trenches and plastic men Brady was playing with.
“Yeah,” Brady said, grinning proudly. “I’ve been digging these trenches for an hour. I wondered where you were.”
“You should’ve called. I was helping Mom sort some books for her bookstore. She got an order in yesterday.”
“Oh, you are always reading a book!” Brady knew that David didn’t mind his teasing. David was the best reader in the third grade and he was proud of it.
David started digging in the warm dirt with his hands, and soon he was busy building trenches too. Books were forgotten as the boys worked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was Brady’s loud sneeze when he stirred up too much dust.
“What’s your general’s name?” David asked, pushing a lock of hair back with a grimy hand. “I think I’ll call mine General Lee.”
“Mine’s General Moroni,” Brady said without looking up. He moved a plastic man in uniform into position at the front of the battle line.
“Moroni? What kind of name is that? Lee was a famous general. I’ve read a lot of history books, and I know a lot of real generals’ names. There’s Alexander the Great and Napoleon and–”
“I like Moroni.” Brady looked up then. He looked quickly at David and the trench he was digging, then went back to his own work. “Moroni was the best.”
“You mean there was really a general named Moroni? I’ve never heard of him.”
“Yes, there was. He once fought the Lamanites, or Indians, but only when he had to. He liked to live in peace.”
“He fought against Indians? Was he a cowboy?” David had read a lot of cowboy stories too.
“No, he was a Nephite.” Brady smiled and proudly held up the plastic man. “He was strong and brave, and he made his own flag and everything.”
“Who told you about him?” David was curious now. He didn’t know anything about Nephites or a general named Moroni.
“My Primary teacher. Dad and Mom told me a lot more about him, too.” Brady had asked David to come to Primary when his friend first moved in several months ago, but David had said no. He liked to read on Sunday.
“They tell you stories like that in Primary? I thought it was just prayers and bible stuff.”
“Oh, sure, we have those things. But we also have the Book of Mormon, and it has a lot of good stories in it.” Brady could see that David was interested. He had put down his men, and his hands were still. “Do you want to come to Primary with me next Sunday?”
“No.” David bent his head and started digging extra fast. He wasn’t going to let Brady trick him into going to church. Nobody mentioned Moroni again while they played.
On Saturday Brady and David went exploring at the old park. They kicked a soccer ball around for a while, played hide-and-seek in the overgrown bushes, and climbed up on the old rock wall at the east corner of the park.
“Hey, look!” Brady shouted. He spread his arms wide and lowered his voice dramatically: “Behold, I am Samuel the Lamanite. …”
David asked, “Who are you talking about now?”
“Samuel the Lamanite. He once preached from a high wall that surrounded the city because the Nephites had chased him out of the city.”
“Why did they chase him away? I thought Moroni was a Nephite and that the Nephites were the good guys.” David scratched his head and lay back on his elbows. He squinted his eyes half-shut and watched Brady standing on the wall.
“Yes, Moroni was a Nephite when the Nephites were righteous. But Samuel was preaching to a group of Nephites who were wicked. He told them to repent and quit doing wrong. So they chased him from their city. That’s when he climbed up on the wall and preached from there. The Nephites shot arrows and threw rocks at him, but they couldn’t hit him. Good, huh?”
David didn’t answer for a minute. He picked up the soccer ball and passed it from one hand to another. “Another Primary story, right?”
“Yes. I think Samuel was great, and he didn’t give up easily.”
Brady didn’t ask David again to go to Primary with him. They played soccer until the sun got too hot, then rode their bicycles back to Brady’s for a drink of lemonade. Mom even let them put up a tent in the backyard.
Three weeks later was David’s birthday. He got a new fishing pole from his dad, a baseball mitt from his older brother, and a book about trains from his mom. Brady gave him some building blocks that snapped together, just like the set Brady had received last Christmas. Brady knew that David would like them. The next day they played for hours with the blocks, making trucks and buildings and even a huge tower.
When David had finished his tower, he ran to his closet for a plastic man. He put him on top of the tower and grinned mysteriously at Brady. “Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” asked Brady. He wasn’t paying much attention to David, because he was busy linking his ship together with some yellow blocks.
“King Benjamin.” David paused to wait for Brady to listen. “I built a tower for King Benjamin.”
Brady looked at the tower. It was sturdy, tall, and magnificent. “Wow!” Brady whistled through his teeth. “Nice job!” Then a puzzled expression replaced Brady’s smile. “But how did you know about King Benjamin?”
David smiled a smile that covered his whole face. “Mom got me a copy of your Book of Mormon. We’ve been reading it together. I really like the story of King Benjamin.”
Brady left his ship and went over to study the tower. “Wow! A tower for King Benjamin.”
“You know,” David said, “I like Moroni too. The missionaries told us about him. I can see why you used him to lead your army. I can’t wait till we get to that part in our reading. He was the best.”
Brady agreed. He didn’t have to ask David if he wanted to come to Primary on Sunday. He knew he would come.

Scouts in Ogden, Utah, learned about their heritage as well as held a Scout-o-Rama. The event was held in a wooden fort erected for the activity complete with outlook posts, bearded mountain men with muskets, and Indians in teepees. The activities of the day attracted the attention of the community, and Scouts manned over a hundred booths and displays. Included on the schedule were flag ceremonies, old-time fiddlers, square dancers, a pinewood derby, and band concerts.
The old western fort was the idea of Brother Vince Quan, who has a keen interest in the history of his new home town. Brother Quan is originally from California. One of his projects, completed with the help of the Scouts, was the placement of a monument in honor of Peter Skene Ogden, a British explorer, for whom the city was named.
After the activities were completed, the fort was dismantled, yet the old West atmosphere lingered. The Scout event is well on its way to becoming an annual community event.

I was on a basketball team when I was in third grade. After playing the first and second quarters, we’d practice shooting the basketball during halftime. One boy never brought a ball but always tried to get mine away from me and play keep away. It happened every halftime, and it wasn’t much fun.
My mom and I decided that we needed to do something about it—but what? We could talk to his parents, we could confront him about it, but neither seemed the right thing to do. After thinking about it, we decided to bring another ball for him to play with.
At the beginning of halftime of the next game, before he could start his tricks, I handed him my basketball and said, “Why don’t you use this?” He stopped for a minute, then started shooting baskets. I went to the bench and got the other ball from my mom and started shooting baskets, too. He saw me and said, “Oh, you brought another ball.” But he didn’t try to take it from me. I kept bringing two balls and sharing one with him. After about three games, he started bringing his own ball.
Was what I did hard to do? No. I learned that sharing is better than bringing one thing and not sharing and that sometimes we have to go even farther, if the other person isn’t willing to share with us.
I still bring two basketballs to my games. After all, you never know who needs a little extra friendship.

When I think of accumulating things and the difference it makes, I think of the experience I had in Bacolod, on the Negros Island in the Philippines.

We were being driven to stake conference by President Ruiz. He had borrowed a car so we would have transportation. When we drove up to the little chapel there in Bacolod, there was no one around. I said, “President, maybe the conference is at another time.” He replied, “No, they’re all inside.” We drove into the parking lot—ours was the only car there. We got out of the car and walked into the chapel. It was packed to capacity and people were standing on the sides. The meeting commenced and the great stake president, President Villerette, stood. He looked at his people and tears began to stream down his face. He said, “I’m hungry. My wife and my children are hungry. All we have to eat is a little bowl of rice each day.” Then he said, “But you, my brothers and sisters, are hungry, too. And I promise you that if you will live and keep the commandments of the Lord that this will pass, and one day again we will have our stomachs full and be able to enjoy the blessings of our country.”

I'll never forget the first time I read the book of Mormon.1 It was a cool, sunny, and very green Saturday in Keaukaha. I was in my room, it was quiet, and I had just finished the first 30 pages of the book of Mormon. I was so into it. Although I had already been accustomed to prayer, I remember feeling closer to Heavenly Father after praying that day. I wasn't much of a reader in high school, in fact, my interest in studying History was born out of my new found love of reading the scriptures. In high school I was the type of student who instead of reading a book, would watch the movie and then write a book review about it. I really liked the book the Outsiders, because I wrote plenty book reviews on that movie. But in all seriousness, I learned better, so none of my students try and pull that off, please. But after this point I labored as an honest and hard working student.

I recall an experience which I had … , bearing witness to my soul of the reality of [the Savior’s] death, of His Crucifixion, and His Resurrection, that I shall never forget. …

… I found myself one evening in the dreams of the night in that sacred building, the temple. After a season of prayer and rejoicing I was informed that I should have the privilege of entering into one of those rooms, to meet a glorious personage, and, as I entered the door, I saw, seated on a raised platform, the most glorious being my eyes have ever beheld or that I ever conceived existed in all the eternal worlds.

As I approached to be introduced, He arose and stepped towards me with extended arms, and He smiled as He softly spoke my name. If I shall live to be a million years old, I shall never forget that smile. He took me into His arms and kissed me, pressed me to His bosom, and blessed me, until the marrow of my bones seemed to melt! When He had finished, I fell at His feet, and, as I bathed them with my tears and kisses, I saw the prints of the nails in the feet of the Redeemer of the world. The feeling that I had in the presence of Him who hath all things in His hands, to have His love, His affection, and His blessing was such that if I can receive that of which I had but a foretaste, I would give all that I am, all that I ever hope to be, to feel what I then felt!

… I see Jesus not now upon the cross. I do not see His brow pierced with thorns nor His hands torn with the nails, but I see Him smiling, with extended arms, saying to us all: “Come unto me!”

I can remember a time period in my teenage life, when 14 and 15 years old that I had the thought, "I'm now the age that Joseph Smith was when he received the First Vision. I wonder if, as I pray in faith, I might be visited by angels, too." I prayed each morning and night in my bedroom closet -- taking the Sermon on the Mount admonition literally -- and sometimes I would peak my eyes open to see if I was still alone. I really thought it would be amazing to be visited by an angel; I still do, but during that time I thought about it and hoped for it often. It never happened, and I have to admit that, although I was content with the Lord's will, I was a little disappointed.

During that generally same timeframe, I went on splits with the missionaries for my first time. I will never forget this experience. We taught an investigator what was then called the 4th Discussion, on the Plan of Salvation. I remember joining in to help explain and to testify about what I believed to be true. I remember rejoicing and being edified together along with this earnest investigator hearing these truths for her first time. With her, I remember feeling absolutely filled with joy. Her face said it all! After the appointment, as we walked to the street corner where my mother was to pick me up at an appointed time, I remember thinking, "I hope she's running late! I don't want this to end!"

Since then I've served as a home teacher, a missionary, a friend, and in many other callings in the church through which I've begun to formulate an idea. There could be at least the following two reasons why God didn't send an angel to visit me as a youth. The first one you may already be guessing: he had already given me an angel father and an angel mother, both of whom love the Lord and who regularly taught me from the same scriptures that a visiting angel would quote from; the Lord had provided me a patriarchal blessing through an inspired stake patriarch; and provided countless others, including righteous siblings, seminary teachers, Sunday School teachers, quorum presidents and advisors, and friends. I was constantly surrounded by inspired messengers.

The second reason could be that God had something better in store for me -- something better in store for each one of us -- than to only receive. I ask you, which do you consider greater, to receive a temporary visit from an angel, or to be able to regularly minister as and speak with the tongue of an angel yourself? Which is more lastingly transformative? In terms of my experience, I can honestly say that being with the missionaries that day, teaching the plan of salvation to that earnest investigator was at least as impactful as an angelic visit would have been, if not more so. I got to be an angel, not just see one!

Although I am from Kingsley, Western Australia, I recently spent a year in Thailand as an exchange student, and it was there that I gained an appreciation for the scriptures in my life. Before I went there, if I ever had problems or a decision to make, I would go to my parents for their counsel and advice. Suddenly my parents weren’t there to tell me what to do, and for the first time in my life I was really on my own.
I attended a large girls’ school with 4,000 Thai students. Thailand is a Buddhist country, and about 95 percent of the population are of that faith. Being the foreign guest at the school, I was expected to participate in all of the cultural activities and learning experiences. This meant attending meditation and religious classes with the monks and praying to the large Buddha statue at the front entrance to the school. As every girl walked through the gate she was expected to pay her respect to the Buddha. As she did so, teachers standing beside the statue would inspect her uniform, hairstyle, etc.
The school was very strict, and any girl not paying respect to Buddha would be punished. My teacher informed me of this the first day and told me that even though I was Christian, there was no harm in paying respect to Lord Buddha. The continual use of the phrase “paying respect” made it difficult to decide whether or not I should honor this statue. My Buddhist friends insisted they were not worshipping the statue, but remembering their religious leader and the principles he stood for. I had always been taught to respect the beliefs of others, and by paying respect to the Buddha I would be doing this. All it required was for me to wai the statue. To wai is to put your hands together in a prayer-like gesture in front of your chest and bow your head briefly. I figured that if I did wai but did not pray, it would not be classified as worshipping. So I gave the statue a brief wai every morning as I entered the school gates.
After one week I still felt uneasy doing this, so I decided to seek help from the scriptures. In 1 Corinthians 10:14 [1 Cor. 10:14] I read: “Wherefore, my dearly beloved brethren, flee from idolatry.” And in 1 Jn. 5:21 I read, “Little children, keep yourselves from idols.”
These two very short and simple scriptures gave me immediate inspiration. Though my Buddhist classmates were doing something they considered dignified and right, for me to do it would be wrong. I knew without a doubt that I must not give the impression that I was anything other than a Christian. Even though I had great respect for my classmates, their culture, and their religion, I felt I should not wai to the Buddha.
At first my actions were not looked upon favorably, but my teacher soon realized my devotion to the principles of my own religion. It was difficult to continually explain to people why I was not participating in such activities, as past exchange students had done so and were all “Christians.” I knew I was doing the right thing, however, and I would be blessed for it. It also gave me the opportunity to tell others about my religion.
This was just one of many experiences where I was given direct answers to my prayers through the scriptures. The scriptures are true. They are a source of comfort and inspiration in times of sorrow, depression, or uncertainty. And I have learned to love them.

Cowboys often have a bad reputation for smoking and drinking. But I’d like to thank my dad for setting the example for me of being a cowboy that doesn’t do those kinds of things.
There was a time once when I was tagging along with my dad to a rodeo. An old buddy of my dad’s came up to him, and they started talking. During the conversation, the guy asked my dad to come to the bar after the rodeo for a drink for old-time’s sake.
My dad just grinned and said, “You know I don’t drink.”
The guy said, “Yeah, I know. I was just checking.”
That answer was more important to me than just a friendly no between friends. I had a great example set for me that day. I respect my father for saying no, and from then on, any time I was asked to take a drink or have a smoke, my dad’s answer would come to my mind and then come to my lips.

When I was young, I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents, I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. When the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew that I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, you don’t like that.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said that I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
Just as I needed to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself good food just because my sister told me that I didn’t like it, we must all feast on the fruit of our own testimony and not the testimony of another person. We also need to increase our ability to receive personal revelation.
We do this when we place our faith in our Lord and Savior, repent of our sins, read and really think about the scriptures, pray, look for ways to help others, and share the gospel with others. During general conferences and at many other times, we will be taught by the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators. When we follow the counsel of the Brethren, we prepare ourselves to go to the temple, where we receive more power to overcome the sins of the world and to “stand in holy places” (D&C 45:32).

When I was called as a General Authority, my first assignment was to move to Moscow, Russia. I was very humbled to serve in the Area Presidency, especially as I thought of the history of the area. The countries in Eastern Europe were formerly under communistic rule, and many of the old attitudes still prevailed.

President Russell M. Nelson was assigned to advise our area. He has a wealth of experience, having opened Russia and most of the surrounding countries for the preaching of the gospel. Although he lived far away in Salt Lake City, I communicated with him on a regular basis by email or by phone while I served as the Area President. I was constantly reporting what was happening in Eastern Europe and asking for his inspired counsel.

After several weeks I began to see a pattern. Whenever I received an email from President Nelson, it contained more than just excellent advice. It always included some complimentary words and a positive message to encourage our presidency. His example made me want to lift others as he had lifted me. I learned that kindness is contagious.

I also learned that our modern-day apostles emulate the Savior in their lives, especially in the way they treat others. They are turned outward, not inward.

Last June I couldn’t bring myself to attend girls’ camp, but the reports I have received are beautiful. Shannon’s group of fourth-year girls performed “Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God” at the first night fireside and dedicated it to my daughter. Every night thereafter they used “our song” as the closing song at the campfire meeting. The new Beehives did not know Shannon, but they could feel the Spirit as the tears flowed and the notes were sung.

As a youth, Joseph personified the Apostle Paul’s admonition: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right” (Eph. 6:1). He strictly obeyed his parents not from fear, but from deep love. His love and tenderness toward his parents can best be seen in an event from his childhood. Young Joseph had become infected with a serious and extremely painful leg disease. After several weeks of excruciating pain and many failed attempts by surgeons to alleviate it, doctors concluded that the leg must be amputated. But when young Joseph and Mother Smith objected, the doctors agreed to attempt one more operation. They insisted that Joseph be bound to the bed and that he must drink some wine or brandy to deaden the pain. Joseph’s response, recorded by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, illustrates his confidence in his father and his tenderness toward his mother.
“‘No,’ exclaimed Joseph, ‘I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.’ Looking at me, he said, ‘Mother, I want you to leave the room, for I know you cannot bear to see me suffer so; father can stand it, but you have carried me so much, and watched over me so long, you are almost worn out.’ Then looking up into my face, his eyes swimming in tears, he continued, ‘Now, mother, promise me that you will not stay, will you? The Lord will help me, and I shall get through with it’” (Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith by His Mother, edited by Preston Nibley, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1958, page 57).

As a mother, I have been blessed many times. For example, one evening when our oldest son was about twelve years old, he had a slightly upset stomach and a bit of a fever. I put him to bed early, but in the middle of the night I woke suddenly and sat up in bed. “Matt has appendicitis,” I told my startled husband. The next morning I took our son in for an examination. By early afternoon Matt was in surgery. The appendix was almost ready to rupture.

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response, “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.