Gospel Story Finder

Life is a wonderful adventure, and working with the Primary children has brought back into my life a renewed enthusiasm for living. Children have a simple way of dealing with life. It is an approach that should not be lost. A child learns most when he or she is taught how to apply a moral teaching. Let me share with you an experience of my childhood. It made one of the ten commandments forever a part of my life. I speak of the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal.” As a little girl, I worked in a small grocery store that my father owned and operated. One day while I was stocking the shelves, I noticed some little candies called “Guess-What’s” on the counter. There was penny candy on the counter every day, but on this day which I shall never forget, I found myself wanting to have one of those little “Guess-What’s,” but I had no penny to pay for it. Somehow the wanting got the best of me, and although I knew it was not right, I picked up one of those little tempting candies and walked away. I cannot tell you how dreadful I felt. I knew I had done something wrong. I knew that ‘because I was nine years old’ my baptism would not cancel out this wrong deed. I felt terrible. I made up my mind I would never, ever take anything again which did not belong to me. I had been taught about honesty, and in that moment the Spirit confirmed the truth of that teaching by the terrible, disquieting spirit which raged within me as I violated that law. Children learn very rapidly, and what they experience stays with them a very long time.

For a while after I was baptized, I would stop going to church, then go back for a while, then stop again. But members of the ward visited me and invited me to come back. They told me the Church and the members missed and needed me. I decided to come back, and I’ve been active ever since. I realized how much I needed the Church. I can pray to Heavenly Father and feel good, and I can feel the Spirit. And so here I am!

Let me tell you of a time when having developed these habits was of particular importance. I was an exhausted mother of seven children, and the two oldest boys were not sure they wanted to attend church. It was difficult to get them and all the other children ready and out the door each Sunday morning to be in sacrament meeting. The stress was heightened by the fact that we needed to be there a few minutes early as my calling at the time was sacrament meeting chorister. The stress was further heightened by the fact that President Clark served at that time as the bishop of an inner-city ward and didn’t attend our meetings. In fact, we didn’t see him all day on Sundays. Well, put yourself in my shoes again at that time. I was tempted so often to give up. I rationalized in my mind ways to get out of that stressful Sunday morning routine. I could take the children later, in time for Primary. But the words rang loudly in my mind during that time, “Be where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there.” So with both boys aboard, we went to church every Sunday. What a blessing that has been in the lives of all of my children—and especially in the lives of those reluctant sons who today attend church regularly with their own young children.

Some years ago, one of our young married daughters and her husband asked Sister Rasband and me a very important, life-influencing question: “Is it still safe and wise to bring children into this seemingly wicked and frightening world we live in?”
Now, that was an important question for a mom and dad to consider with their dear married children. We could hear the fear in their voices and feel the fear in their hearts. Our answer to them was a firm “Yes, it’s more than OK,” as we shared fundamental gospel teachings and our own heartfelt impressions and life experiences.
Now, what about that daughter and son-in-law who asked the very heartfelt and probing, fear-based question years ago? They seriously considered our conversation that night; they prayed and fasted and came to their own conclusions. Happily and joyfully for them and for us, the grandparents, they have now been blessed with seven beautiful children as they go forward in faith and love.

I have never forgotten a story that Elder Robert Harbertson told at this Tabernacle pulpit. He spoke of an Indian boy who climbed a high mountain. It was cold up there. At his feet was a snake, a rattlesnake. The snake was cold and pleaded with the young man to pick it up and take it down where it was warmer.

The Indian boy listened to the enticings of the serpent. He gave in. He gathered it up into his arms and covered it with his shirt. He carried it down the mountain to where it was warm. He gently put it on the grass. When the snake was warm it raised its head and struck the boy with its poisonous fangs.

The boy cursed at the snake for striking him as an answer to his kindness. The snake replied, “You knew what I was when you picked me up” (“Restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood,” Ensign, July 1989, 77).

Sometime ago when one of my daughters had her first baby and I was feeling a renewed reverence for that miracle of birth, I said to my daughter, “If I had a chance to do one thing over again with my children, I would read to them more from the scriptures while they were infants.”

My daughter’s face brightened, and she said, “Michael’s already in 2 Nephi. Dan has been reading to him every night since we came home from the hospital.” Jane later mentioned that story time had become her favorite time of the day—a bonding time, a caring time, an environment of trust where little Michael had heard the entire Book of Mormon before he was a year old.

After 11 years of school I enrolled in a two-year technical college. I was 16, active in a singing group, and had lots of friends, but somehow I could never fit in. I wouldn’t smoke or drink with my friends, and their language upset me. I didn’t like to hear what they did late at night after their dates. They were my friends, but as I looked at them, I couldn’t help thinking, “What’s wrong? Why is the world this way?”
As if responding, my friends would ask me, “Why don’t you start living? It’s human nature to do what we do.” I told them the person in my dream could not have meant human nature to be that way. Their response was usually the same: “You’re crazy, Anna! You belong to another world!”
Often I prayed to my Heavenly Father, asking him to help me find people who thought as I thought or, as my friends put it, who were of “my world.”
Turning on the television one afternoon as a break from my studies, I saw a group of boys singing. I’m a serious-minded person and have never had a pop music “idol,” but something about these boys made me stay and listen. They were dressed in white, and as they sang, “Is the answer up above?” my heart responded, “Yes!” I learned they were the Osmonds and that they were Mormons. I decided to read some books about the Mormons, but I couldn’t find any.
One afternoon as I was upstairs studying, I heard a knock at the door. My mother answered it, and I could hear her talking to two young men. As I went downstairs, I heard mother try to give them some excuse and turn them away, but I said I wanted to talk with them. She let them in, closed the door, and went back to her work. The missionaries gave me the first discussion that very afternoon, and I began to get the same feeling I had experienced as a little girl as I ran into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
A week later they came to give me the second lesson, but my mother met them and told them they were not to come again. She told me later the missionaries were only after my money. That night I heard my parents arguing about the Church, and I decided I would not see the missionaries again.
Just before I turned 18 I finished school and decided to go visit one of my friends. She had married my uncle, and they had moved from England to Switzerland. The week I arrived in Switzerland, two Mormon missionaries knocked on their door.
I eagerly asked them to teach me and decided to be baptized after only three visits. Two weeks after my 18th birthday I was baptized. I had found my people, my world, and was in the arms of my Heavenly Father again.

It was a bomb that helped convince Yvonne Fitzpatrick of Northern Ireland that Heavenly Father loved her and was looking after her—or the threat of a bomb, anyway.
Yvonne’s mother had been taking the missionary discussions, and Yvonne had been listening in. On the afternoon following her mother’s baptism, the two decided to go shopping in Crown Alley, Dublin. When they returned home that evening, they turned on the news and heard that bombs had been planted in Crown Alley, but none had gone off.
“I was convinced that someone was looking out for us that day,” Yvonne says. “Today, here I am a member of the Church and a Sunday School teacher.” Yvonne is active in the Kilkenny Branch.

Next Bob planned for his English exam. They had studied 12 authors, but there were only three essay questions on the famous authors. If he reviewed two authors a night, he’d still have Sunday without any studying. A light review before the exam and he would be ready. Bob hoped the plan would work. He always tightened during tests and forgot almost everything.
Meanwhile, for the English test Bob had made some calculations on which three authors Miss Elgart would ask about. She seemed to have four favorites. Bob talked to some of the students who had taken English from her the year before. He found out that she didn’t ask trivial or tricky questions. He studied all twelve authors but put extra work in on her four favorites.
Bob smiled broadly to himself as he looked at the test. He was two-thirds right. Two of the three questions asked about the authors he had singled out. “Not bad!” he said to himself.
Bob prepared to make an outline of each author. There were 45 minutes left in the class period when they received the test. It consisted of three questions, allowing 15 minutes per question. The first question was, “What were the main influences on Hemingway’s writing style?” Bob rewrote the question at the top of his outline: “What happened in Hemingway’s life to make him write the way he did?” The following is his outline using the facts he knew about Hemingway:
Born in a small town in Minnesota.
Father educated as a doctor.
Reporter for newspaper.
Short, brief newspaper style.
Factual.
Service with Italian army.
Saw death and destruction.
Was hurt himself.
Spanish Civil War.
Politics.
More destruction.
Personal Reactions.
Sadness over human misery.
Anger at human folly.
Greatest war story: “A Farewell to Arms.”
By Friday the test results were back. Drew got a 91 on the math test. He missed half of one problem, but had even been given part credit for his work on the one he hadn’t finished. Ninety-one was third best in the class and better than Drew had ever done. Joan’s history score was the highest in the class. Bob was walking on air when he got his English exam back. He had never done better than a C+ on an English test. The A- he received was better than he had dared hope. He had come from his usual C- to a B+ in history. But Drew felt prouder than both. Bob and Joan. He had gone from his usual D+ to a solid B on his history test.

In closing may I share with you an example of one who determined early in life what his goals would be. I speak of Brother Clayton M. Christensen, a member of the Church who is a professor of business administration in the business school at Harvard University.
When he was 16 years old, Brother Christensen decided, among other things, that he would not play sports on Sunday. Years later, when he attended Oxford University in England, he played center on the basketball team. That year they had an undefeated season and went through to the British equivalent of what in the United States would be the NCAA basketball tournament.
They won their games fairly easily in the tournament, making it to the final four. It was then that Brother Christensen looked at the schedule and, to his absolute horror, saw that the final basketball game was scheduled to be played on a Sunday. He and the team had worked so hard to get where they were, and he was the starting center. He went to his coach with his dilemma. His coach was unsympathetic and told Brother Christensen he expected him to play in the game.
Prior to the final game, however, there was a semifinal game. Unfortunately, the backup center dislocated his shoulder, which increased the pressure on Brother Christensen to play in the final game. He went to his hotel room. He knelt down. He asked his Heavenly Father if it would be all right, just this once, if he played that game on Sunday. He said that before he had finished praying, he received the answer: “Clayton, what are you even asking me for? You know the answer.”
He went to his coach, telling him how sorry he was that he wouldn’t be playing in the final game. Then he went to the Sunday meetings in the local ward while his team played without him. He prayed mightily for their success. They did win.
That fateful, difficult decision was made more than 30 years ago. Brother Christensen has said that as time has passed, he considers it one of the most important decisions he ever made. It would have been very easy to have said, “You know, in general, keeping the Sabbath day holy is the right commandment, but in my particular extenuating circumstance, it’s okay, just this once, if I don’t do it.” However, he says his entire life has turned out to be an unending stream of extenuating circumstances, and had he crossed the line just that once, then the next time something came up that was so demanding and critical, it would have been so much easier to cross the line again. The lesson he learned is that it is easier to keep the commandments 100 percent of the time than it is 98 percent of the time.

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. There was little snow that year. It was as if the world couldn’t quite decide whether or not winter had really come. Such were the conditions as I drove home from college to spend the Christmas holidays with my family.
I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend at home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family. Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season,” the days of baking, nights spent caroling, the stockings to be hung, and other activities which filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas at home for months. My family had many holiday traditions which we celebrated together for years, and each held a special meaning for me. I was the second of eleven children, and my nine younger brothers and sisters also added to the excitement.
That week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of the gingerbread houses, the stockings hanging in the living room, wreaths in our windows, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises which seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. It was everything I could want my last Christmas at home to be like. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept being reminded that this would be the last year things would be the same.
One of the Christmas traditions which we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew you were still a child, and tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old we were or how big we grew, Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year since my older sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began in the tape recorder next to us, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you little one while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Each year before this night, the song had reminded me of Christmas and what the next morning would bring. But on this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for tomorrow night and all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.

You come home from school and ask your mom what’s for dinner. She tells you it’s soup and bread, and she asks you to hang up your jacket. You’re about to go out with some friends when she reminds you that you need to practice the bodhran for a while.
Have you stepped into a parallel universe? Is this some kind of weird dream? What in the world is a bodhran?
It’s all part of daily life for the Bigney brothers of Woodland Hills, Utah, because their family’s Celtic music group is a priority, and the boys have to practice.
Alex, Sam, and Simeon Bigney, ages 18, 16, and 14, respectively, make up the group Kirkmount, and though their music isn’t exactly the stuff you hear on the radio, it definitely appeals to a lot of people.
“Our music is interesting because it spans a generation gap,” says Alex. “Old people like to listen to it, but kids our age come out and think it’s really cool, too.”
Part of what makes it “cool” is that the three boys do all the music themselves. Alex plays the harp and the bones (and yes, the “bones” are exactly what they sound like they are); Sam plays the fiddle; and Simeon plays the cello and the aforementioned bodhran (pronounced “bow-run”), which is a sort of Gaelic drum.
Whatever happened to the piano, or the guitar, or even the clarinet?
“We’re not aware of any other group anywhere that has this particular arrangement of instruments,” Alex says. “But they’re all very traditional Celtic instruments.”
“Celtic,” by the way, is pronounced with a “K” sound at the beginning, and it refers primarily to the region of Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Bagpipes are a Celtic instrument you may have heard before, and Enya is a popular Celtic musician.
Aside from the choice of instruments, Kirkmount differs even from other Celtic groups because of their music—they write most of it themselves.
“It’s not extremely common for groups to write their own music,” says Sam, who does most of the writing for Kirkmount. “Some people will write a tune or two, but not a lot.”
Sam’s first tune was called “Late Summer Aire.” He first got a taste of fame when he and his brothers attended a fiddle camp—yes, a fiddle camp—in northern California, and the whole camp wound up playing his song. After that, the boys were hooked.
What brought them to a fiddle camp in the first place? That’s where the family ties come in. The boys’ grandfather used to invite them frequently to go to a Scottish fiddling camp with him, but they always declined.
“But one year, our grandparents were going to Ukraine on a mission. We weren’t going to see them for a while, so we decided we’d better go to the camp,” says Alex. “We went and really enjoyed the music, and that’s how we got started.”
The boys’ parents, Alex and Marilyn, began hiring professional musicians to come do workshops at the Bigney home. About 20 or so have been through, and many of them have done shows with the Bigneys afterwards, the money going to help pay for expenses. (The income from Kirkmount’s two CDs helps cover costs, too.)
It’s really a family affair. Sister Bigney says her husband “knows how to critique. He critiques the boys, and he listens, and he knows enough about Celtic music to help them. He has an exceptional ear.”
What about Mom? She supports. “I took them to their lessons for quite a few years,” she says. “I’m a great expert—on paper. I’m a great appreciator of music.”
Eventually, even the boys’ younger sisters, Miriam and Falcon, will get in on the act, as they are learning to play the viola and guitar.
“It would be really great to have a whole family thing,” Sam says. “It’s not something many people do as a family.”
How strong are the family ties with the Bigneys? Well, they practice about two hours a day together on the average, but sometimes it’s as much as eight hours. And they don’t really get tired of each other.
“We have our small quarrels,” Sam says, “but I think even the music helps us to solve those and come to an understanding of each other. I think music can touch people in ways that words can’t.”
The name Kirkmount is the name of the small village in Nova Scotia where their grandfather grew up. (Their great-great-grandfather, Simeon Bigney, was one of the first members of the Church there.) The covers of their CDs are collages of old family photos. Their ancestors were Celtic and played many of the same tunes that the Bigneys play now.
“We’re carrying on a tradition,” Alex says.
And Sister Bigney adds, “It’s important for people to find out what their traditions are, and music is one of those important things that helps you understand how your ancestors felt, what they did for entertainment, all the emotions they had. Music is a language.”
Alex says, “This music helps us get closer to our grandparents. They come to many of the shows, whenever they can, and they’ve supported us all through our musical experience.”
This family is tied together so much that Sam and his grandfather are even home teaching companions.
Obviously, the group has a strong interest in genealogy and family bonds. Sam explains that one of the highlights of his musical career so far has been playing his fiddle at the graves of some of his ancestors in Nova Scotia.
Furthermore, the group’s travels have taken them to Boston, where their father lived as a youth. Simeon (whose name is pronounced like “Simon”) says seeing where his dad went to church “was a good experience,” as was spending so much quality time with his brothers.
The Bigneys’ music doesn’t have any lyrics, so it’s difficult to express any kind of particular message in a song. But their music is expressive in its own way, creating moods and feelings pretty well. The music makes you feel like you’ve been taken back in time, and taken to Ireland. And since the gospel should be part of everything we do, the Bigneys manage to tie it all together.
“We don’t say onstage ‘Yes, we’re LDS,’ but I think people know,” Alex says. “Since we come from Utah, there have been people who come up and say, ‘Are you Mormon?’”
Sam adds, “We try to set a good example for people. The music helps us realize that God gives us talents, and we hope we can use them to our best abilities and share them with other people.” The Bigneys feel they must rely on the Lord when they perform.
“As we’re playing the music, we really become aware of whether the Spirit is with us or not,” Alex says. “If we don’t have the right spirit with us, we know we don’t play as well.” As a result, the group always has a prayer before they perform.
“You have to realize where the talents are coming from,” Alex says.
But it’s not all play and no work for Kirkmount. The boys practice every day, and while they enjoy all the regular teenage boy stuff—basketball, hiking, reading, and what-not—sometimes the music has to take them away from those things. They’ve sometimes missed ward basketball games and Boy Scout campouts because they had performances.
“But our Young Men and Young Women groups are pretty supportive,” says Sam. “They’ve come to our shows before.”
And so in the end, it’s all worth it. The stronger love for their immediate family, the more powerful connection to their grandfather and distant ancestors, the satisfaction they get from using the talents God has given them to uplift others—all that makes everything worthwhile. “The music helps me to know who I am,” says Sam, “and to express myself in a way that words can’t. We want to help, not only ourselves, but other people gain a testimony as well. Music can touch hearts.”

Harold B. Lee was a busy man. He was a city commissioner, stake president, husband, and father of two little girls.
It was early morning on the day before Christmas. President Lee had been up all night, helping city crews snowplow the streets. Now he was on his way home to change clothes before going to his office.
He saw a small boy by the side of the road. The boy had no coat, no gloves, and no overshoes. President Lee stopped the car and offered the boy a ride into town.
As they road along, the man and boy began to talk. President Lee asked the boy if he was ready for Christmas.
He was shocked when the boy replied that there would be no Christmas at his house. His father had just died, and the family had no money. Before President Lee dropped the boy off in town, he asked him his name and address.
That Christmas Eve, as Harold B. Lee and the bishops in his stake delivered gifts to needy families, he remembered the young boy. He asked one of the bishops to take some Christmas boxes to the boy’s family.

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some interest to you. You know that as General Authorities we are called and assigned by the President of the Quorum of the Twelve to go to stake conferences. If you have been following what has been happening in the Church you know that the First Quorum of Seventy has now been extended the privilege of organizing stakes. I had been with members of the Twelve and experienced reorganizations as I did last weekend with Elder Richards, but just three weeks ago I was sent alone to reorganize a stake presidency—just me and the Lord and a Regional Representative. That is an awesome experience. It is an awesome assignment to find yourself sitting across the desk interviewing all the priesthood leaders in the stake, recognizing that ultimately the man that the Lord has in mind has to be called. Put yourself into my shoes for a moment and you can sense my great concern. I fasted, I prayed, I sought the guidance of the Lord—and then a very interesting thing happened to me. As we were interviewing all of these priesthood leaders, a man came in, about the fifth from the last to be interviewed, and as he walked through the door I stood up, shook his hand, and said “I know you. Where do I know you from?” He was as familiar to me, my dear friends, as anybody that I have ever known.

And he said, “Brother Ballard, I’ve only met you once, and that was only for two or three minutes eleven months ago at a regional young adult conference where you spoke.” But as he walked through the door, I want to testify to you that the Lord made it manifest to me that he was to be the stake president.

Now an interesting thing unfolded. After he had been called and sustained in the Sunday morning session we called on him to bear his testimony and this is what he said to the Saints: His father was a patriarch in the neighboring stake, and his mother was president of the stake Relief Society in the neighboring stake. He called his mother and father to talk to them—I had given him permission to do that—and he said, “Hello mother.”

She said, “Son, you don’t need to tell me. You’ve been called to be the stake president.”

“How did you know?” he asked.

“At 12:30,” she said, “I was in the kitchen, and it simply became known to me by the power of the Spirit that my son had just been called to be a stake president. Your father had gone to the store, and when he came home he walked into the kitchen and said, ‘You know, mama, I have a strong feeling that our son has been called to be a stake president.’”

He was a patriarch, and she was a Relief Society president. They had no communication with their son until he called on the phone. That was a great reassurance to me that the Lord’s will had been manifested and that the impressions I received were correct.

I was born and raised on my father’s cattle ranch in Roy, Utah, with very few neighbors nearby. I was the youngest of six children, and as a boy I was shy around people who were not in my family. On my first day at school, my brother Lowell, just two years older than I, took me to my first-grade classroom. Surrounded by children I did not know, I felt lonesome and the day seemed long until I could return home with my brother.
Soon I made friends at school and looked forward to seeing them each day. One friend, Larry Dawson, lived about a mile from my home. Larry invited me to his house for a birthday party. I had never been to a birthday party before. It was so much fun! I still remember some of the special toys Larry received—especially his new toy fire engine.
Larry and I rode the bus to school because we lived too far from school to walk. Larry got off the bus at the bus stop on the main highway just before I got off. He then had to cross the highway and walk half a mile (about 1 km) to his home. At that time cars did not stop when a school bus was loading or unloading students.
One day as we were returning home from school, a car speeding by the bus hit and killed my friend. I felt very sad. I missed being with Larry at school and on the bus. My mother and father comforted me by explaining that even though I wouldn’t see Larry anymore in this life, his spirit continued to live in the spirit world. Larry was so kind and good that I knew he would be worthy to live with our Heavenly Father. As I grew, I learned more about our Father’s plan for His children.
My brother Darrell, who was five years older than I, was a special friend to me. Darrell let me ride on his bike with him from our home on the ranch to the barn where he often worked. I rode the bike back to the house, then returned to the barn at the end of the day to accompany him on his ride home. I loved Darrell very much.
One day Darrell was coming home in our family car from driving my sister to her piano lesson. He stopped at the railroad tracks to wait while a long freight train passed. He did not see another train coming from the other direction. When Darrell started over the tracks, the train struck the car and my brother was killed. I was sweeping our driveway when my father pulled up in his pickup truck shortly after it happened, and I still remember the sadness we felt when he told my mother and our family of the accident.
President David O. McKay and Elder Spencer W. Kimball came to speak at my brother’s funeral. President McKay, then President of the Church, was related to my father. Elder Kimball, who later became President of the Church, had recently visited our stake conference and had stayed in our home because my father was the stake president. President McKay and Elder Kimball taught us about our Heavenly Father’s plan and said that we would be together again as a family. They said that we should not be afraid of death, and they taught us about the resurrection. They promised that my brother would live again and that our family could live together for the one thousand years of peace called the Millennium.
I was grateful to know that my friend Larry and my brother Darrell had kept the commandments so they could enjoy every blessing from our Heavenly Father. We do not know when we are going to die, so we should live every day so we will not be sorry if our time comes to return home. We need to speak in kind ways to our brothers and sisters and friends. We should not argue or treat others unkindly. We should follow the example of Jesus Christ. One of my favorite Primary songs reminds me of the things we need to do.
I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.
I’m trying to love as he did, in all that I do and say.
At times I am tempted to make a wrong choice,
But I try to listen as the still small voice whispers,
“Love one another as Jesus loves you.
Try to show kindness in all that you do.
Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought,
For these are the things Jesus taught.”
(Children’s Songbook, 78–79)
When we keep all of our Heavenly Father’s commandments, we will be happy now and in the life to come. It also takes away our fear of dying because we know that if we are good, we will one day go home to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ forever.

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

A true story from Kenya.
“Keep going, Lenkana!” Gideon shouted.
Lenkana grinned and ran faster, keeping his eye on the football.
Lenkana loved games. Whether he was playing outside with his friends after school or on his computer at home, he couldn’t help but smile and laugh. To Lenkana, games were the best way to feel happy. After all, how could he feel happy if he wasn’t having fun?
Lenkana ran as fast as he could to catch up to the ball. But suddenly—THUD! He tripped and fell hard on the ground. Pain shot through his hand.
“Oww!” he cried. His friends gathered around him.
Gideon called for Lenkana’s mum and helped him sit up. Lenkana’s arm hurt so much that he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. His mother rushed over and quickly took him to the hospital.
At the hospital, the doctor checked his arm. “You have a small fracture,” he said. “We will put a cast on your arm, and it will heal soon.”
Lenkana felt sad. “How will I play games? How will I have fun?”
Mum held his good hand and smiled. “You will heal. But for now, let’s find something else to make you happy.”
That evening Lenkana sat on his bed, feeling frustrated. His arm hurt, and he couldn’t even use the computer to play his favorite games.
Then a thought popped into his head. When I feel sad, I can read about Jesus.
He picked up his scriptures and turned to the book of Matthew. He read about Jesus Christ’s birth. Then he turned to the story of John the Baptist baptizing Jesus. These were his favorite stories in the Bible. Reading them made him feel warm inside.
Just then, his little brother walked into the room.
“Hey, Lenkana!” he said. “Guess what I am!”
His brother made funny faces. Soon, Lenkana was laughing as they played a guessing game. His heart felt lighter.
The next Sunday, Lenkana saw Gideon at church.
“How’s your arm?” Gideon asked.
“It still hurts a little,” Lenkana said. “But I am happy inside.”
Gideon tilted his head. “What made you happy?”
Lenkana grinned. “My family, my brother, and Jesus!”
Gideon laughed. “That’s a good answer.”
As they sat in Primary, Lenkana listened to the lesson about Jesus Christ’s Atonement. His teachers explained how Jesus suffered so everyone could be with Heavenly Father again one day. They said that Jesus understands all of our feelings—the sad ones and the happy ones too.
Lenkana’s heart felt even happier as he listened. He knew that even when life wasn’t very fun, he could keep pushing forward. His family would help cheer him up, and Jesus Christ would help him be strong. He was never alone.

“Miguel,” his mother said impatiently, “eat your breakfast.”
Miguel’s dark eyes were troubled. He played with his cereal, stirring it slowly with his spoon.
His father’s voice was more gentle. “Yes, Miguelito. If you are to learn well in school, you must eat.”
“No tengo hambre (I am not hungry),” Miguel said.
“Speak in English,” his father reminded him. “In order to improve your English, you must speak it.”
“I am not hungry,” Miguel repeated in English. “And I do not want to go to the school.”
“Why not, my son?” his father asked.
Miguel lowered his eyes. “They laugh at me when I do not speak the English well. I do not want to be laughed at.”
“Miguelito,” his father said softly, “are these children not your friends? I am sure that they mean no harm. It’s just that your accent is strange to their ears.”
“They do not like me, Papa. I know it,” Miguel said sadly. “Three days ago, when I first went to the school, they were very nice to me. I thought that they were my friends, but now I know that they are not. I would never, never laugh at someone who makes mistakes, especially if it was someone that I liked.”
His father laid a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “Do you remember the story I read to you from the Bible—the one about King Solomon and how he asked God for only one thing?”
“I remember,” Miguel replied. “He asked to have an understanding heart.”
“Exactly,” Miguel’s father said, smiling. “This great king knew that when the heart understands, a man is indeed rich. Perhaps that is what my son needs, an understanding heart.”
Miguel looked at his father. “I do not know what you mean, Papa.”
His father’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Perhaps you will,” he said. “Tonight I would like for you to come to my Spanish class.”
“Can I really come to the class and listen to you teach the Americanos?”
“Yes,” Papa said, “but only if you go to school—now!”
“Good-bye, Papa!” Miguel shouted as he picked up his books and scurried off to school.
It did not seem possible to Miguel that only three months ago he and his parents had left the country of his birth. Papa had been a professor of English at a school there. Here he worked in a supermarket during the day and taught Spanish to grownups at night.
As he came into class, Miguel’s teacher smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, Miss Smith,” Miguel said slowly, trying to pronounce each word correctly. The day before, this simple greeting had made the entire class laugh at him.
As Miss Smith said, “Good morning, Miguel,” she looked around warningly at the other children. Miguel remembered that at the end of class yesterday Miss Smith had asked everyone but him to stay for a few moments. He had felt a little hurt at not being included, but now he realized that she must have talked to them about laughing at his English. He lowered his head and went quietly to his seat.
Miguel tried very hard not to make mistakes in speaking English, but he said “leg” when he meant to say “arm” and “left” when he meant “right.”
But no one laughed or even smiled.
That evening after supper Miguel went to Papa’s class. It amazed him that grownups should find it hard to learn Spanish. Surely it is the easiest of languages to speak, he thought. It is English that is difficult!
After greeting the class, Papa read a sentence from a textbook: “‘Where are you going today?’” Then he said to one of the students “Now, Mr. Robins, please translate that sentence into Spanish.”
How simple the lessons are, Miguel thought. Anyone would know that the translation is “A dónde va usted hoy?”
But that was not what Mr. Robins said. Mr. Robins said, “De dónde … ve … usted ayer?”
Miguel felt a big bubble of laughter building up inside him. Then it broke out, and he laughed and laughed.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, his laughter stopped. A feeling of deep shame washed over him. He had done the same terrible thing to Mr. Robins that the children in school had done to him!
But there was no look of anger or hurt feelings on Mr. Robins’s face. Instead, he was smiling. So were the other students. The smiles became grins, and suddenly the room seemed to explode with laughter, with Mr. Robins laughing hardest of all! “What did I say?” he asked Miguel’s father.
“You said, ‘From where do you see yesterday?’” Papa smiled. “A very strange question, indeed.”
There was another burst of laughter.
After class was over, Papa put his hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “You see, Miguelito,” he said, “when one has the understanding heart, one can never be laughed at. Tonight we laughed with Mr. Robins. That is because he joined in the laughter. The person who has grown up in his heart does not get angry at his friends for small things. He understands that his friends do not mean to hurt him.”
Miguel thought about that for a while. He decided that tomorrow he would ask Miss Smith to let him speak to the class. He would tell them how sorry he was that he had misjudged them. He would tell them how he had laughed at Mr. Robins’s Spanish and that it would not hurt his feelings anymore if they laughed with him as he learned English. And he would laugh with them, for they really were his friends.

I received my mission call a week before the civil war that broke out on 18 December 1998, in Congo-Brazzaville, my home country. I was 28 years old. I had to answer the Lord’s call which was extended to me through His servant, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008). I walked for 224 miles to get to the neighboring Democratic Republic of the Congo—the country in which I was called to serve my mission.
As we serve our fellow men, challenges can be turned into opportunities to grow. As I read the Book of Mormon and pondered over the scriptures, I came to discover that the Lord helped Nephi at all times. That gave me hope that the Lord would also help me if I made righteous decisions to serve Him through a full-time mission. In this experience, I moved forward freely, in spite of obstacles, with my mission call letter from President Hinckley, our then prophet. I felt the presence of Lord’s Spirit throughout my journey into the mission field.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.