Gospel Story Finder

I was busy shopping one day some years ago when two young women asked if they could speak with me. “Certainly,” I replied.
“If you died today,” they asked, “would you go to heaven?”
They must have noticed my surprise, because they immediately opened their copies of the Bible and quoted a verse from the New Testament. “All you need to do to go to heaven,” they declared, “is to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
What followed is still a painful memory. I was amazed at their doctrine, and I tried to remember what I had learned at Sunday School, seminary and college religion classes I had taken on the New Testament; but I could give only one scripture to indicate that there was more to entering the kingdom of heaven than simply a profession of faith.
The two women quickly quoted other scriptures similar to the first. I could share some of my beliefs as a Latter-day Saint, but I could not quote the principles from the scriptures. Unconvinced by my feeble arguments, they soon left me. I watched them walking hurriedly up to the next shopper.
“It is a common thing,” President Spencer W. Kimball said, “to have a few passages of scripture at our disposal, floating in our minds, as it were, and thus to have the illusion that we know a great deal about the gospel.”
Such an illusion was mine!
“Each of us,” he continued, “at some time in our lives, must discover the scriptures for ourselves—and not just discover them once, but rediscover them again and again.” (Tambuli, September, 1976.)
The experience discouraged me, and I determined to never again be unprepared. I set aside some regular study time, and began to discover the gospel again.

Tim frowned as he lay in bed. It had been an awful day. First he had to help take care of his sister, and she had spilled [color] [food] on the floor! Then, at school his class studied [adjective] [animals] all day. When he got home, he found out his favorite toy [noun] was broken. Tim’s grumpy thoughts stayed with him as he fell asleep that night.
Suddenly, Tim was taking care of his sister, only now she was [big number] feet tall! It was much harder to help her, and they couldn’t play peek-a-boo the way they usually did. When Tim walked to school, he found out that his teacher had been replaced by a [adjective] [noun]! Instead of learning, he had to clean [nouns] all day. And at home, all of Tim’s toys had turned into [nouns]!
Just then, Tim’s alarm went off with a loud [animal sound]. Tim sat up and rubbed his eyes. It had been a dream! He laughed while playing peek-a-boo with his sister. He smiled while giving his book report at school. Even though his favorite toy was broken, he was happy there were other things he could play with. Tim was glad he could feel grateful instead of grumpy!

It wasn’t so much that I doubted. It was just that I didn’t know.
There I was, 17 years old and an “active” member of the Church all my life. Baptized at eight. Ordained a deacon at twelve. Now in my fourth year of seminary. And I still couldn’t say “I know.”
For my good buddy Gary, it seemed so easy. We often sat side by side at the sacrament table. Almost every fast Sunday I would sense him squirming beside me. And almost without fail he would rise to his feet before fast and testimony meeting ended to bear his testimony. His voice quavered, his eyes would fill with tears, and I could feel him shaking beside me as he told how wonderful it was to feel the Holy Ghost.
I envied Gary at the same time I felt uncomfortable. His tears made me a little embarrassed for him. Still, I wished that I could feel what he was feeling. I guess I just didn’t want it badly enough then. So I continued to drift comfortably.
Then came that final year of seminary. Subject: The Book of Mormon. Focus: Moroni, chapter 10, verses 4 and 5. Our challenge was to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and to pray for a witness that it is true. In other words, to apply Moroni’s promise.
At first I didn’t make much of an effort. But as the school year wore on, I began to read the Book of Mormon every night, the last thing before I went to bed. And after reading, I would kneel beside my bed and ask for a witness that the book—and the Church—are true.
And still nothing happened.
Constantly in the back of my mind was Gary’s fervent, tearful testimony, his shaky voice. Also, there was the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8, where the Lord told Oliver Cowdery, “I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you.”
So night after night I knelt on that small braided rug beside my bed, said a pleading prayer, and climbed into bed to wait for that burning witness. Until, one night, I stopped in the middle of my prayer and asked myself, “Do I know if it’s true yet?”
And then it happened. There was no pillar of light. No voice. Not even the burning sensation that I had been looking for. Instead, a simple realization came into my mind.
I knew that I knew. And that was it. Calm and peaceful and seemingly unspectacular, it was all I needed at the time. I knew that I knew.
Since that time, I have become more aware of the Lord’s words to Oliver Cowdery in the sixth section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23, italics added).
Many times would follow when I felt that burning in my bosom. Or when I felt the joyful swelling in my heart that Alma describes (see Alma 32:28). But for the time being, that quiet realization was all I needed, all I had to remember. The Lord had spoken peace to my mind.

The Phelps presented an evening concert in a new chapel in Holland, where it was requested that there be no applause. Melissa remembered: “After the concert, everyone just rose, almost as a body. We could feel the whole room vibrating, and then the presiding officer told us, ‘This is a silent standing ovation.’ Afterwards every person in the audience came through the receiving line and spoke one or two words in English to us, even if it was just good or enjoy. I’ll never forget that.”

While working on my Personal Progress, I came across a goal that required me to read the Book of Mormon (Virtue value project) and invited me to pray afterward to know if it’s true.
Over several months I read the Book of Mormon. When I finished, I eagerly went to my room, kneeled at my bed, and asked God to let me know if it’s true.
Nothing happened.
I rephrased the question several times and still felt nothing.
The next Sunday during fast and testimony meeting, a sister told a story about when she’d followed Moroni’s invitation to pray to know if the Book of Mormon is true. She didn’t receive an answer, so she prayed again and again. As the days passed, she worried about whether the Church was really true. Finally, she felt the Spirit speak to her mind: “You already know it is true.”
As I listened, I realized that God was answering my prayer through this woman’s testimony.
I learned that day that He does care. I have a testimony now that God answers our prayers, if we pray sincerely, because He answered mine.

Ellen sniffed the moist sea air as she leaned over the bow of the great sailing vessel. The Hudson had sailed away from the coast of England just weeks before. Ellen had cried that day as she waved farewell to some of her friends and family in the cheering crowd. But they were tears of joy. Finally, after years of working and praying, her family’s prayers had been answered. They were going to the land of their dreams—America, the land of Zion!
Ellen enjoyed the sea. During the few times she was able to slip away from taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, Ellen liked to lean over the bow of the ship and let her hair blow wild while she searched for dolphins and other sea creatures.
Ellen’s heart sank as she heard a voice behind her. “Ellen! You must come. It’s time for breakfast prayers.”
“Coming,” Ellen grumbled. Stepping back from the ship’s railing, she tried her best to straighten her hair. “More prayers,” Ellen thought as she hurried toward the hatch that led to the lower part of the ship where her family and all of the Saints ate and slept. Prayers in the morning, prayers at night, prayers by herself, prayers over meals, prayers with the Saints, and prayers with her family. Ellen bit her lip. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the miracle of sailing to America. But was there such a thing as too many prayers?
As Ellen approached her family, who were already kneeling, she wondered if her mother could tell what she was thinking. Ellen knelt down and looked at her mother’s tired face. Life on the ship had not been easy for her mother. She, and many of the other passengers, had experienced terrible seasickness during the recent storm that had rocked the ship for days.
Guiltily, Ellen bowed her head when the leader of their company asked her father to bless the food. She thought of her mother as he asked for a special blessing upon those who were sick. Then he thanked the Lord for the food and asked Him to protect the Saints that day.
After breakfast, Ellen was assigned to care for her younger sisters on the deck. She took them to a place that was out of the way so they could watch the sailors rushing around shouting orders at each other. Ellen noticed the captain near the bow of the ship. He was searching the horizon with his looking glass. She wondered what it would be like to be the captain of a great ship. Suddenly, the captain’s face grew pale, and he began to pace back and forth, stopping every few steps to look through his telescope.
“What could have upset the captain so much?” Ellen wondered. “Let’s go look at the ocean,” she whispered to her sisters, taking their hands in hers. At the bow of the ship, Ellen shaded her eyes and scanned the ocean. At first, all she could see was a small black dot on the horizon. But soon she saw what had made the captain’s face grow so pale.
A large ship was sailing straight toward them at a fast clip. “Pirates!” whispered a man beside her. She could hear the fear in his voice. Panic ensued as parents began calling to each other to find family members and to take the children below. Ellen stood frozen, watching the men scramble around in search of anything that could be used as a weapon.
“Get those children away from the bow,” yelled a crew member.
Ellen shook herself out of her frozen state and led her sisters down the hatch, but as soon as the children were with her mother, she rushed back up to the deck. She was worried about her father. He’d never fought anyone in his life, let alone pirates. She wondered what she could do to help.
The passengers on the Hudson grew silent as the pirate ship sailed closer. Ellen stood next to her father and gasped as the ship came so close she could see the color of the pirates’ hair! She looked up at her father and saw his lips moving in a silent prayer. Feeling frightened, she began her own silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to forgive her for her bad attitude that morning.
The two ships sailed side by side for what seemed like an hour. The pirates and the passengers on the Hudson gazed at each other in silence.
“What are they doing?” Ellen whispered to her father.
“They’re probably wondering if our ship is worth robbing,” her father whispered.
They waited in silence until suddenly there was a shout from the pirate ship. Ellen could feel her father’s body tense. Then, to Ellen’s surprise, the pirate ship slowly turned around and began sailing away from the Hudson.
Ellen let out the breath she had been holding. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks, remembering her father’s prayer for safety that morning.
“The Lord was surely watching over us this day,” her father said, laying a hand on Ellen’s shoulder and watching the pirate ship sail away.
“He surely was,” Ellen thought, and then she smiled, realizing she now knew that there was no such thing as too many prayers.

It was a beautiful day, so I decided to ride my bike to the ward barbecue. I wouldn’t be able to stay long because I had cross-country practice. As I was getting ready to go, the idea of taking some peanut butter crackers crossed my mind. How silly, I thought, I’m going to a ward barbecue. I don’t need to take any food.
As I pedaled to the barbecue, I again thought I should’ve packed some peanut butter crackers. Too late now. Soon I was at the park waiting for the food to be ready. I waited and waited and waited. By now my stomach was growling, and I was getting hungrier by the minute. But I couldn’t wait any longer; it was time for practice, and I had to leave. I wished I had those crackers.
When practice was over, I pedaled back to the barbecue, wanting desperately to eat. I made it to the park just as people were driving off. Please let there be food left! I scrambled trying to find leftovers. Hamburgers! Yes, there were some left! I slapped some meat on a bun and devoured my cold burger.
As I took another a bite, I had a new thought: Heavenly Father cares about me. He was trying to send a message that would have helped me. It’s miraculous, really, all the ways we are watched over. To have the Spirit’s guidance is an amazing blessing, even if it’s a simple thought like taking peanut butter crackers.
Angela T., Washington, USA

To say I used to hate exercise is an understatement. Just about any form of exercise was uncomfortable. In my middle school gym class, we had to run laps around the field to complete a mile and a half. We also did other exercises to build endurance, strength, and flexibility. All of it was incredibly hard. And all of it took me a long time to do.
There was a reason things were so challenging. I was born with Cystic Fibrosis (CF), which is a genetically inherited terminal illness.
My condition causes mucus to build up in my lungs. My body also has a hard time absorbing nutrients. Because of this, I need lung treatments every morning and night to keep my airways clear. I also take a series of medications throughout the day. I’ve always done this. However, my life seriously improved once I added a couple of extra health habits. And yes, one is daily exercise!
Everything started to change in my life when I found something I genuinely loved to do. While in high school, I discovered dancing. The first time I combined movement with music and put my whole energy into dancing, I knew I’d found something special.
When I first started to dance, I experienced the same discomforts I had while running laps in middle school. This time, though, my new passion for dancing made all the difference. I felt carried away as my feet pounded and leapt to the rhythms and beats of the music. I was able to express myself freely through a variety of movements, feeling uplifted and empowered.
I took entry-level dance classes at school and danced as much as possible. The longer I kept at it, the more I noticed big changes in my health. My lung function grew stronger and steadier. As I continued staying active through doing what I loved, I was able to accomplish much more than I’d ever dreamed.
I’d been taught my whole life that my body is a temple. But I hadn’t really considered how this means both avoiding harmful things (drugs, alcohol, coffee, tea, etc.) but also doing the healthy things my body needs.
President Russell M. Nelson has taught: “With your body being such a vital part of God’s eternal plan, it is little wonder that the Apostle Paul described it as a ‘temple of God’ [1 Corinthians 3:16]. Each time you look in the mirror, see your body as your temple. That truth—refreshed gratefully each day—can positively influence your decisions about how you will care for your body and how you will use it. And those decisions will determine your destiny.”1
As I took care of my body and saw it as a temple, my life changed for the better. Breathing was easier, my energy increased, and I became more alert to my surroundings. My body weight increased to a healthy level, which I could better maintain because my lungs weren’t working so hard.
Before, I had always experienced a health crash at least once a year and needed a two-week hospital stay to restore my health. But after I started dancing and taking better care of myself, that need disappeared. I went six or seven years without having to stay in a hospital.
After graduation I headed off to Brigham Young University. While there, I kept pondering a part of my patriarchal blessing that mentions sharing the gospel. In the past, I’d always thought, “There’s no way I can ever serve a full-time mission. It’s too risky with CF!” In addition to the health risks, I was afraid my daily treatment routine wouldn’t fit with a typical missionary schedule.
Still, the thought wouldn’t go away. Could I actually serve a mission?
As I pondered and prayed, I kept thinking about my favorite scripture. In Mosiah 2:20–21, King Benjamin taught how the Lord had “kept and preserved” His people, “lending [them] breath” each day. These scriptures helped me see how the Lord had “kept and preserved” me.
Though I was still a bit scared, I knew it was God’s will for me to serve. I received a doctor’s clearance, submitted my papers, and was called to serve a mission. I believed the scripture that teaches that God is “supporting [me] from one moment to another” (Mosiah 2:21). As I served my mission in Boston, Massachusetts, that promise was definitely fulfilled.
My mission days were a treasure. One of the greatest blessings was developing a deeper relationship with Heavenly Father and with Jesus Christ. Part of that closeness meant achieving a better understanding of Their will concerning me, including the importance of safeguarding my health.
As a missionary, you’re focused on serving others. Yet I knew that to stay on my mission, I had to remain healthy. I decided to never miss a lung treatment. I would exercise every morning. And I would maintain good eating habits.
As a result, I was better able to be His instrument and serve others. It was a valuable lesson to know I can still serve, even with my illness. I’ve learned that what you can do, despite any limitations you have, is much better to focus on than what you can’t do.
Satan wants us to mistreat our bodies. The adversary and the world try to twist something good—the need to take care of our bodies—into something harmful: the idea that you must look or feel a certain way. This distortion can cause great discouragement when we don’t look that certain way or fit a certain size.
How do we overcome this worldly message and focus instead on better health? How can we stay motivated to prioritize better health, despite all our challenges?
One answer is to live with gratitude.
When we see our body as a gift from our Creator—when we are grateful for all it can do—we feel stronger motivation to care for it and live to our fullest capacity.
There are times with CF where my lungs don’t get the full breaths I need—when my arms become swollen from PICC lines and IVs, when I feel fatigued while fighting off illnesses. In these times, I’ve found that I can either sulk and see my body’s limitations or express gratitude by using well what is still functioning and taking the best care of myself. When we live with patience, faith, and gratitude, we find joy.
Although many say the mission is the best years of their life, I’ve come to find that my life is a mission. My mission president would always say, “A mission is the training wheels for an unselfish, consecrated life. When the mission ends, the training wheels come off, and you ride.”
Because I changed my lifestyle years ago, I’ve been able to reach a clearer understanding of what the Lord has in store for me and to accomplish much more while paying heed to the Spirit’s direction to help me change. I know that “unto whom much is given much is required” (D&C 82:3).
I’ve experienced the change from being sedentary, weak, and ill to becoming stronger and more capable. I now have many dreams and know how to better work alongside the Lord to accomplish His work. I’ve also decided to study corporate wellness and fitness coaching as my profession. After experiencing so many positive changes in my own life, I want to help others reach their potential too.
When it comes to our physical health, I think of how the Lord has sent us here so that we may have joy (see 2 Nephi 2:25). I believe this includes each of us being able to live each day to the fullest, especially within our families and with those closest to us.
I think often about the joy I can experience with my family today and throughout eternity. Some trials come and go, some stay, but our Heavenly Father, our Savior, and His gospel and promises are always constant.

The Summiteers (girls who’ve certified in the camping program) agreed. Though smaller by about half in numbers, they were no less enthusiastic about their own independent campsite and schedule. Like the Adventurers, the Summiteers represented a cross section of wards and stakes.
This group made no duty roster. Instead, “everyone pitched in when the work needed to be done. The whole campsite was a group effort.”
The Summiteers did have one planned activity—an overnight canoe trip across Sylvan Lake. It began as a survival trip, “but by departure time, we’d packed a little food in the canoes.” Feeling like true mountain explorers, the group at one point had to make their precarious way through a patch of bullrushes where one canoe got stuck.
“The lake was calm as a mirror that night,” they recalled. “You almost hated to disturb it with your paddle. And the forest was quiet. For a few hours there, we were the only people in the world.”
Even though they ended up packing food, the girls felt that they possessed the necessary knowledge to live off the land.
“Not many girls could eat a snake or a gopher,” one confessed, “but we do know what kinds of edible vegetation to look for. We’ve had enough training to be able to survive.”

Buddy Conatser and his wife, Marteena Lanae, had been inactive for almost sixteen years, ever since their baptisms when they were eighteen. No one in the Church had been able to talk to them—certainly no missionaries at least until Vern and Wilma Richins of Draper, Utah, came. When Elder and Sister Richins knocked on their door in Jamestown, Tennessee, Buddy started his usual excuses as soon as he realized who they were. But Elder Richins gestured at the deer head on the living room wall and asked, “Brother Conatser, isn’t that a white-tail deer?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Let me look at it. Who mounted that?”
“I did.”
Buddy invited them in, and for the next two hours they never mentioned the Church. But before they left, Brother Conatser agreed to let them offer a prayer.
Sister Richins also asked, “Wouldn’t you like us to teach your three young daughters about the church you belong to?”
“They go to the church down the road here,” he replied. “They don’t need another one.”
But after a little more conversation, Buddy consented. That was Thursday. Friday was the first discussion. Sunday, the whole family was at church. A week later, the family had attended church the second time and had received four of the missionary discussions. The oldest girl asked, “Brother Richins, when are you going to baptize us?”
“When your mother and father want us to.”
“I want you to,” said Buddy. “Since the first discussion, we’ve quit our smoking and we’ve quit our drinking. And we know the Church is true. We’d been hunting for something without knowing we had it all the time.”
Elder Richins baptized the girls that weekend and ordained Buddy Conatser a priest the next Sunday. During the following months, Elder Richins ordained him an elder, and under the direction of the stake president, set him apart as the second counselor in the branch presidency, then as its president. The Richinses also witnessed the Conatsers sealing ceremony in the Washington Temple.

Last year when nine-year-old Joy Tippetts’ stake president called her to work in the Church’s name extraction program, she was delighted. For even before she was six years old, Joy had been helping her mother by sorting index cards and doing other simple tasks at the extraction center.
Joy has been trained to read Old German script, and according to Wilma Taylor, a Germanic language trainer, “Joy is unusually accurate and does fine work. She is fantastic for a ten-year-old!”
Microfilms of religious and civil records in Old German script that contain information about persons who have died are examined on a microfilm reader. (Information is extracted from microfilmed records from other countries besides Germany.) Joy then copies, or extracts, the deceased persons’ names, birthplaces, and the names of their parents and grandparents from the microfilm record, as well as their birth, christening, and death dates. This information is then written on index cards and sent with many other cards to a Latter-day Saint temple where the necessary ordinance work can be completed for those persons. The majority of names for which temple work for the dead is completed are supplied by the name extraction centers.
Joy and her mother, Roxanna, are best friends, and they look forward each week to the three hours that they spend together at the extraction center. Joy says that she “loves to read the records and figure out who the people are.”

My name is Rachell. I live in a little town called Frannie, Wyoming. It is a farming community. There is a small grade school here, a post office, and a few small businesses. Frannie has a gas station that also sells a few groceries and other things.
I am the only girl in my school who is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My closest friends at school are good people, but none of them belongs to the Church. Sometimes I have to stand up for what I know is right. Usually my friends respect me for it.
One Saturday about three months before I turned eight, I was playing with a classmate at her house. We played with dolls and then put in a movie to watch. I could soon tell that the movie wasn’t one I should watch because it had swear words in it, so we turned it off and decided to go to the gas-station-store for some bubble gum. I didn’t have any money with me, but I thought my friend had some.
When we got to the store, my friend took a package of gum, handed it to me, and whispered, “Take this.”
That’s when I found out that she didn’t have any money. “No!” I said.
“Just take it,” she insisted.
I tried to put the gum back, but again she said, “Take it!”
I felt nervous and scared and confused. I took the gum, and we left the store, pretending that we didn’t have anything.
I felt bad inside. What I had done was wrong. My friend wanted me to go back to her house, but I felt like going home. When I walked in the door, my mother was there, and I told her what had happened.
We talked about honesty and repentance and what Jesus Christ would want me to do. I wanted to make things right. Mom offered to go back to the store with me so that I could correct my mistake. I was a little afraid to go back, but the feeling that I needed to right my wrong was stronger than my fear.
When we got to the store, I told the lady who worked there what I had done, apologized, and paid for the gum. With tears in her eyes she thanked me for being honest. I was still shaky when I left the store with my mom, but I felt much better.
When it was time for me to be baptized a few months later, I felt good about the bubble-gum experience. I knew that even though my action had been wrong, I had done what Jesus Christ would want me to do by correcting my mistake. I felt clean inside.

I grew up in the Queens borough of New York City. New York City is a wonderful place that is full of excitement and entertainment. As a youth I was heavily involved with rap music, and my brother and I belonged to a rap group called CBS. No, it was not the television station. The acronym CBS stood for Can’t Be Stopped. We thought the name was cool.

We traveled throughout the city performing at wedding receptions, high school dances, and block parties. During the summer months different rap groups would visit the neighborhood park to perform free concerts. Most of the youth involved with rap visited the parks to listen and, at times, compete with the other rap groups. Often, however, these free concerts attracted drug deals and promoted random violence.

It was during the summer of my 14th year that a random violent event occurred—which I will not go into—that provided me an opportunity to leave New York City and changed the course of my life forever.

During that time I was fortunate that my mother decided to send the family money and invited all of the children to come live with her in Hawaii. The money came at the right time, and that week I purchased a one-way ticket to Hawaii.

When I arrived in Hawaii, I quickly recognized its many differences from New York City—the ocean’s clear blue water and the fresh cool breeze at night. I also recognized the many different nationalities and cultures. After my first day of attending Mililani High School, I came home and told my mother that it had felt like I was representing Africa at a United Nations meeting.

During the first few weeks of high school, the basketball coach noticed that I was one of the tallest young men on campus, and he invited me to try out for the basketball team. While living in New York I had not played much basketball. I enjoyed baseball and was on the bowling team, but I had never played on a basketball team. I believe it was because of my height that I started on the varsity team as a sophomore.

We won three basketball games that year, and everyone in the community was excited because it was three more games than the team had won the year before. In my junior year we won six games, and by the time I was a senior we had won 14 games and we became the Western Division champions, which advanced us to the Hawaii state play-offs. Because of my successful senior year, I was recruited to play basketball for BYU–Hawaii. All I knew about BYU–Hawaii was that it was a church school similar to Notre Dame or a St. Mary’s University.

At the start of the fall semester I was instructed by my academic advisor that I needed to take several religion courses to graduate from BYU–Hawaii. For my first semester I decided to take a New Testament course, and for the first time I began to understand in part the importance of a Savior. While living in New York I had been a converted Muslim. The Islamic faith regards Jesus Christ as a great man or prophet, similar to Moses or Abraham. I had not realized the importance of Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice until I read about His life in the Gospel of Luke. I studied how the Savior healed the sick, raised the dead, and made the blind to see and the deaf to hear.

As the fall semester progressed, I was introduced to the missionaries. They visited my dorm room on a regular basis. I remember playing my rap music on my boom box, and I would ask the missionaries if they wanted me to turn the music down. For a long time I thought my music was the reason the missionaries came by my dorm room so often. It was not until I served my own mission that I learned that missionaries are not allowed to listen to music.

After about a week of daily visits, the missionaries asked if I wanted to take the missionary discussions. My first discussion with them was in the library on the BYU–Hawaii campus, and they showed me the video The First Vision. The movie talked about Joseph Smith and how at the age of 14 he felt confused about the many different religions. He wanted to learn the truth and to understand Heavenly Father’s plan more fully. Young Joseph searched the scriptures and read in James 1:5 that “if any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God.” This scripture touched young Joseph, and he decided to exercise his faith and to ask God to direct him to the truth (see JS—H 1:9–13).

As I watched this video, I felt in my heart it was true. Joseph Smith exercised faith, trusted in the Lord, and received the answer to his prayer.

The missionaries continued to teach me the remainder of the fall semester. It was fun and I learned a lot, but I had no desire to join the Church.

The next semester I again met with my college advisor and was again instructed to take a religion course. I decided to take the Book of Mormon course. I had no doubt about the possibility of additional scriptures because as a Muslim I had studied the Holy Koran.

My Book of Mormon instructor was Brother Gary Smith of the School of Business.

It was near the end of winter semester. I completed my finals and was preparing to return home to the other side of the island. My scholarship did not cover the spring term, and I was prepared to work for the spring and summer to save some money for the fall semester. On the day I was prepared to leave campus, I received a note in my mailbox from Brother Gary Smith, my Book of Mormon teacher. He wanted to see me. I returned to my dorm room, where I received another note stating Brother Gary Smith wanted to see me. I thought to myself, “Why would he want to see me? Will Brother Smith give me an F grade for religion? No one ever fails religion.”

I dropped by his office, and the secretary mentioned that Brother Smith was at the Seasider, a mini-café on campus. I found him, and, as we talked, Brother Smith proceeded to tell me how I knew the Church was true and that it was time for me to join the Church. I looked at him amazed, and I wondered what he had been drinking.

He continued and said, “From what I’m about to tell you, either one of two things will happen. You will join the Church right away or it will take you awhile.” He quoted a scripture in Ether that states:

And now, I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things; I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith. [Ether 12:6]

I thought, “What does this scripture have to do with me?”

Brother Smith explained that he believed I was waiting for some type of miracle or vision to take place before I would join the Church. He said, “You need to act upon what you already know to be true before you will receive a greater witness. ‘Wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial [or exercise] of your faith.’”

Brother Smith was right. I thought, “Why can’t I receive a vision like the Prophet Joseph Smith?” I wanted a greater witness. Well, it took me awhile to join the Church.

I returned to the other side of the island and started to hang out with my friends. Toward the end of the summer I began to feel somewhat empty, confused, and uncertain. I was missing school and the wonderful feelings I had felt at BYU–Hawaii. I knew something was wrong because I could not wait to return to school.

Two weeks before school was to begin, I received a phone call from Coach Ken Wagner. Coach Wagner was the assistant coach at BYU–Hawaii, and during that summer he had received the head coaching job at Dixie College in St. George, Utah.

He asked if I wanted to play for him at Dixie College. I said yes. That first year I did not play basketball; I redshirted. This gave me the time to watch the Mormons.

As I noticed these types of Mormons, I thought, “Peter, what type of Mormon do you want to be?” I wanted to be just like Rick West, my first roommate at BYU–Hawaii and a returned missionary; Bob Barnes, a teammate at Dixie College and a great friend; and Coach Wagner, who had helped me to understand the importance of family. They had the glow.

I thought, “If I am going to be a Mormon, I must learn how they date.” So I enrolled in an institute class called Dating and Courtship. And I guess the other 28 male students in the class thought the same as I did.

Soon afterward, a good friend, Trudy Smith, began to take the missionary discussions. She invited me to attend with her. This time the sister missionaries taught me about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As you know, sister missionaries teach the gospel differently than do the elders. After each discussion they would cry as they shared their testimonies, and they wanted so much to hug me but realized that it was against mission rules. Toward the end of the discussions they asked me to do something the elders had not. They asked me to fast and to pray about the truthfulness of the gospel. I was familiar with fasting. As a Muslim, we fasted during the month of Ramadan, a sacred time for worship.

I fasted, and when I was done, I returned to my dorm room at Dixie College, knelt down on my knees, and simply asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon the word of God? And is Joseph Smith a prophet?”

No, I did not receive a vision or a visit from an angel. I felt warmth in my heart, a feeling I had felt many times before—a feeling I had felt when I attended BYU–Hawaii and took Brother Smith’s Book of Mormon class. It was the same feeling I had felt when I saw the movie about Joseph Smith. This time, however, the feeling of warmth came when I was by myself, and I knew it came from God. He answered my prayer. I had a testimony.

I told the missionaries that I wanted to be baptized, but first I wanted to return to Hawaii so my mother could witness my joining the Church. I thought that as soon as I got off the plane I would find the missionaries and join the Church. Well, that did not happen. I started to hang out with my old friends, and I returned to my old habits. Toward the end of the summer the old feelings of uncertainty and confusion returned.

In August 1986 I was at home in my room, and I decided to read the Bible. I read in John, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15). I knew I loved my mother; she is a source of strength in my life. I knew I loved my family, but did I love God?

I knelt down to pray and told my Heavenly Father for the first time that I loved Him. Later that day I was on my way to the gym to play basketball when I noticed two missionaries riding their bikes. I almost ran them over! They pulled to the side of the road, and I asked them to come by my home that night. They thought it was a miracle. The next week I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I really look up to Spencer. He has autism, and it’s my job to help him with his chores, like taking out the trash. I love to help tuck him into bed at night. When I learned to read, I started reading to Spencer. It’s something we like to do together, even though we read the same two stories every time! Sometimes I imagine helping Spencer when I’m an adult so my parents can serve a mission. I like the idea of us being roommates!

Carrie Hamer, 16, of the Bloomington Ward, Minneapolis Minnesota Stake, sounds almost like she’s telling a mystery story.
“In the corner of the pastor’s house in Albig, West Germany, there were these extremely old books, hundreds of years old. I was amazed that he even let us go through them. We could see right away that the records in them took our family back six or seven generations, and so we were copying as fast as we could. When he went in the other room, we kneeled and prayed that he wouldn’t get irritated and make us leave, and that we could finish quickly.
“Way off in the corner we saw a copy machine. It was really strange, because this house was ancient. But he let us use these old books and put them right on the copy machine. We copied 118 pages, about 1,500 names, half of them our direct ancestors with their complete families. Without the photocopier, I think we’d still be scribbling notes, and who knows how many errors we could have made.”

One Sunday morning during our priests quorum meeting, my teacher, Brother Allen, asked me, “Brother Davis, do you have a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ?” I told him I did. He asked me how I knew it was true. I told him my parents had taught me it was true, and I believed them.
He explained that I could not rely on my parents’ testimony forever—I needed to obtain my own. He told me that if I read from the Book of Mormon and prayed to Heavenly Father, He would answer my prayer, and I would know for myself that the gospel of Jesus Christ was true. He asked me to do that during the week and return next Sunday to report.
The next Sunday, Brother Allen asked for my report when class started. At first, I didn’t even remember the previous week’s lesson. I told him I had no report for him. He smiled at me and explained that sometimes it takes some work. After renewing his challenge, he told me he would ask about it next week.
During the following week, I read from the Book of Mormon for several days, and I said some heartfelt prayers. Soon it was Sunday again. I went to my quorum meeting with some trepidation. I hoped that Brother Allen would simply forget about his challenge.
When Brother Allen asked me about it again, I told him that I had read and prayed but had nothing more to report. He renewed his challenge and encouraged me to ask in faith. He then promised me that Heavenly Father would answer my prayers.
During the next week, I read several chapters of the Book of Mormon every night. I prayed earnestly for a testimony of its truthfulness. But by Saturday night, I was unsettled because I still had no answer.
That night, I read a chapter in the Book of Mormon, knelt by my bedside, and prayed like I had never prayed before. I begged my Heavenly Father for a knowledge of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that the Church was true. After my prayer, I lay in bed. My mind and my heart were filled with a message from the Holy Ghost. It was not a voice but a feeling; yet specific words were given to me. These are the words that filled my soul: “My son, you know the Book of Mormon is true. You know the Church is true. You have felt it in your heart since you were young. The Holy Ghost has testified to you that it is true. Of course it is true.” I was reminded of several specific spiritual experiences in my life when I had felt the undeniable influence of the Holy Ghost.
The next morning, I was up early and ready for church, excited for Brother Allen to ask for my report. As we assembled in our classroom, Brother Allen began teaching the lesson. He didn’t ask for the report as he had done the last two weeks. I raised my hand. He was startled, but he realized immediately that I was now ready to share my experience. I then told Brother Allen and my priests quorum that I had a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, that I knew the Book of Mormon is true, and that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. In my 16-year-old language, I tried to share the magnitude of my discovery, though my words were insufficient.
I will always be grateful to Brother Allen for his persistence and his love as I gained my own testimony. I know that God lives and answers my prayers. ?

When the announcement was made that all temples were closing indefinitely during the pandemic, I remember calling Keaton (my fiancé at the time) and discussing what our next steps should be. We were supposed to be married in the temple in a few weeks, and we weren’t sure if we should wait until the temples reopened to get married or if we should get married civilly and then get sealed later.
Personally, I was heartbroken because I had always imagined my wedding day in the temple and that chance was slipping away. I also had been planning to receive my endowment the same week as our wedding, so we would have to wait even longer when temples reopened for both an endowment and a sealing appointment.
Ultimately, after a lot of prayers and discussion, Keaton and I chose to be married civilly on our original temple date. But we were determined to be sealed once the temples reopened.
As we waited for the temples to reopen, we used our waiting time to learn even more about the covenants we would be making in the sealing ordinance (and in my endowment). Keaton and I talked to our bishop about taking a temple prep class, and he was inspired to ask Keaton to be my teacher. Week after week, Keaton and I would sit together and discuss the temple.
This was an incredibly special and empowering time in our relationship as we discussed the covenant promises we’d be making to one another when we were sealed.
Six months after our civil marriage, I received my endowment and Keaton and I were sealed. We were surrounded by family, but unlike the day we were married, we weren’t nervous or anxious—we were so excited! Our focus was solely on what eternal marriage is about—the covenants we were making. Of course, the celebrations and activities that usually take place on a wedding day are so exciting and enjoyable. But I’m grateful for the time we had to truly prepare to make covenants with each other and with God. No matter if you are married civilly or in the temple first, I know that genuinely preparing to make covenants with your spouse and making that ordinance the focus of your wedding day is one of the greatest joys you’ll ever experience.
The moment we knelt across the altar and were sealed, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, love, and joy filled our hearts. We both immediately felt a profound difference in our relationship.
Although we had been happily married for the past six months, that night Keaton and I talked about a special sacredness we now felt in our marriage. A new sense of wholeness and peace has come into our relationship. The Spirit in our home that night was so strong it was almost tangible. We felt a whole new level of love for each other and for the Savior in our hearts. And we knew it was because we had bonded ourselves to each other and to our Heavenly Father through everlasting covenants.
Through our experiences, Keaton and I have witnessed the importance of building and strengthening our relationship individually and together with our Savior Jesus Christ and our loving Heavenly Father. Being sealed in the temple allows us to fully feel the power that making and keeping covenants brings into marriage—how they truly can transform our love for each other and invite the Savior’s healing, redeeming, and enabling love into our relationship.
Keaton and I have experienced “all the difference” in our lives that President Nelson described. Recently, we also welcomed our first child, a beautiful little girl, who has opened our hearts and minds to God’s love for us on a new level. Every time we look into her beautiful eyes, we are reminded of the profound blessings of the temple and eternal families. She is ours forever, and Keaton and I will be blessed to be together forever because we are sealed for time and all eternity.

Not too long ago, at the height or the depth of some personal anxiety relative to my assignment here and the future of this campus, anxiety that was affecting my health and compromising my effectiveness, I woke up one morning with a voice in my head, or words, that said, "I have a blessing for you, but you have to ask for it." I got right up and called my home teachers who gave me the blessing from the Lord, which spoke peace to my soul and launched a sequence of events that have established stability and credibility in all the areas that had been lacking.

My missionary companion and I weren’t getting along so well. Sister Reynolds* and I were as different as—well, just think of any two opposites and you’ll have a fair idea of how different we were. We were like day and night, hot and cold, lobster and lunchmeat.
For example, my idea of Christmas decorating was to set out a miniature Nativity scene. Her idea involved covering every available surface with either tinsel, Christmas lights, fake snow, or all of the above.
Sister Reynolds thought an essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and have a water fight or apply a fresh coat of polish to her nails. My essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and wash the car or polish my shoes.
Or do yard work.
That usually consisted of nothing more than firing up the mower and taking it for a few turns around the front lawn, which was only slightly bigger than your average hankie. But one day I decided I was going to prune the hibiscus tree.
Now I’m no gardener. If killing houseplants were a crime, I’d be on death row by now. But this tree—like my companion—had been a source of irritation to me for some time. It was just so big. Its towering branches extended a good foot or two above the roof, and its dark foliage was so thick and dense that it obscured the view from our front window. And worst of all, it blocked out the sunlight, making our front room appear dim and gloomy.
Something had to be done, and although I had never pruned a tree myself, I had read about it often enough in the scriptures. How hard could it be?
I found a pair of pruning shears in the garage and went to work. As I worked, I thought of how the Savior often used examples from nature in his teachings. I wondered if I could illustrate a gospel principle by pruning a tree. I thought of how sometimes being cut back helps us be what God intended us to be. I also thought how bad habits, selfishness, and pride are like overgrown branches that stop trees from having the strength to bring forth the “good fruit” of joy and service.
Feeling quite pleased with this little analogy, my thoughts turned to my fun-loving companion. Now there’s someone whose tree needs a little trimming, I thought in exasperation. With each snip of my pruning shears, I imagined some habit or shortcoming I would love to cut off my companion.
Wakes up late. Snip! Plays practical jokes. Snip!
Snip! Snip! Snip!
I guess I got a bit carried away. When I stood back to survey my work, leafy branches and hibiscus flowers littered the ground. And the tree looked a bit like a Marine haircut.
It will probably fill out in a few weeks, I convinced myself.
A couple of months passed, and all the while my companion and I worked hard to overcome our differences. When Sister Reynolds’s transfer came, we parted on good terms.
I probably would have forgotten all about the hibiscus episode except that I stayed in the area for another month. And another and still another.
As it turned out, I spent the last eight months of my mission there. I had plenty of time to watch that poor hibiscus tree slowly shrivel up and die.
Those eight months also gave me plenty of time to make a few other observations. I noticed how sad it is to have a dried-up stump in your yard where there used to be a vibrant display of beautiful, tropical flowers. I also began to realize just how hot a room can get without any foliage to block the sun’s scorching rays.
Lastly I realized just how foolish and proud I had been to ever prune that tree in the first place.
Gospel principles began occurring to me. I thought of how sometimes we get so busy criticizing others and thinking about how they should change that we can’t see what we really need to change is the way we’re looking at things. I needed to open my eyes to the good in others and begin appreciating their true worth and beauty. Of course I thought about my former companion and how wrong I had been to want to prune away her beautiful branches.
What I had thought was her impulsiveness was actually a lovely quality called spontaneity. And her “irreverence” was something most people recognize as light heartedness. She could enjoy herself in all situations.
Sister Reynolds’s personality, I figured out, suited her abilities perfectly. That’s why she could do the work. She was just like that hibiscus tree.
As I look back on this experience, one lesson stands out. Pruning is best left to gardeners.

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”5