Gospel Story Finder

For Naea Bennett, that is both a great blessing and a big problem. Everyone in Tahiti knows the story of his father, Erroll Bennett. As a young man, Erroll was the best soccer player in Tahiti, maybe the best player in the South Pacific. He was taught about the Church and wanted to be baptized. The missionaries taught Erroll about keeping the Sabbath day holy, but all of Erroll’s soccer games were on Sunday. He felt that if he and his wife were to be baptized then he would have to five up playing soccer. He felt that if he committed his life to the Lord, then he would have to follow the Lord’s instructions to keep the Sabbath day reserved for spiritual matters.
Erroll Bennett’s decision did not go unnoticed. After all, soccer was by far the most popular sport in Tahiti, and he was the star of the top team. He had pressure from his extended family, from his teammates, and from those who ran organized sports. But once Erroll was baptized and told his team that he wouldn’t be playing on Sunday anymore, sports officials began to make changes to make it possible for Erroll to continue playing. They rearranged sports schedules, moving the Sunday games to nights during the week. It turned out that his teammates appreciated having Sundays off to spend with their families too, and the team performed even better with their star player able to play. Erroll became the most prolific scorer on the team. Because the best team in Tahiti would not play on Sunday, the finals for the Tahiti Cup were changed to Saturday. Even the finals of the Pacific games were changed. One man who made a stand changed the sports habits of a nation.
That man, Erroll Bennett, now the stake president of the Pirae Tahiti Stake, is Naea’s father. And because of his father, Naea does not have to play on Sunday. He has not had to make the hard choice his father made. Neither do the other 11 Mormons on Naea’s team. Nor do Naea’s sisters have any Sunday basketball games. Everyone in Tahiti knows not to even bother asking if a Mormon will play on Sunday.
How does Naea feel about the decision his father made? “I’m very proud of him,” Naea says. “It was a good decision. It is known in all of Polynesia.”

Photograph from Getty Images, posed by model
As a 16-year-old convert to the Church living in New York City, I knew that becoming a Latter-day Saint would mean making lots of lifestyle changes.
But making these changes was a lot more difficult than I expected.
For one, New York City is such an exciting place full of diverse cultures, languages, and beliefs, and so different from the small city I grew up in back in Colombia. I was surrounded by so much pressure to act and live a certain way, even though I was still figuring out who I wanted to be and how I wanted to live. I was faced with many options of where my life could go, but really I just wanted to fit in and belong. I was more focused on wanting to look, speak, and act like everyone else.
Suddenly I was also navigating changes like attending church every Sunday, reading scriptures, praying, and giving up coffee. And while some of these changes were easy, others were more complicated—especially the principle of modesty. It was difficult for me to balance my desire to follow Jesus Christ with my desire to express myself the way I always had with how I dressed.
I felt a little overwhelmed as I tried my best to be modest. I worried that I was going to lose friends and that I wouldn’t fit in anymore. But I relied on Christ to give me the courage and faith to keep moving forward.
I studied the principles of the gospel more deeply, prayed for help, and sought greater understanding of Heavenly Father’s laws, which helped me better understand the why behind modesty. And as I was willing to let my heart be converted, I changed not only internally but in the way I carried myself and in my outward appearance as well. As I further embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ, my love for Him and my Father in Heaven grew, and making changes became so much easier.
I’ve realized that Heavenly Father wants us to be modest not just in the way we dress but also in our thoughts, language, and personal conduct. And now I look, talk, and act differently—I carry myself like a disciple of Jesus Christ does, just as President Russell M. Nelson has reminded us to do.1 And my friends and even strangers notice something peculiar about me. I get questions about why I am the way I am. People recognize the joy I have and the Light of Christ in me.
Every time I go back to Colombia (or anywhere, really) to visit, I don’t seem to “fit in” anymore, and it’s great! It’s been amazing to see how simply being modest gives me the opportunity to tell others about the gospel and why I live the way I do—why I follow Jesus Christ.
The gospel is the most precious gift I have been given the opportunity to accept. As I have come to know my Savior better, my desire to truly be like Him has increased. And He continues to give me courage in my journey to find the beauty in being different from the world.
It’s been 10 years since I joined the Church, and I now see that I don’t have to “fit in” with the world, because I am a child of God. I get to experience the beauty of being part of “a peculiar people” (1 Peter 2:9) and the blessings that come with being a disciple of Jesus Christ. I love Him, and striving to follow Him, especially through modesty, has strengthened my relationship with Him.
Because my appearance and behavior reflect my inner commitment to Him, the gospel and its teachings have become the center of everything I do, which brings me so much joy. I love being different, being able to share the Light of Christ with others, and focusing on what really matters most: my faith in Christ and moving toward Him on the covenant path.

I was baptised into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in my mid-20s in London, joining a host of new young single adult friends in my newfound faith. During the first sacrament meeting following my baptism, I was asked to come to the front of the chapel, and the congregation was invited to raise their hands as a sign of welcome to the ward and to the Church.
This was an unfamiliar practice to me. But I looked into those smiling faces, and I felt as if they were cheering me on, genuinely thrilled that I had discovered faith in Jesus Christ and a desire to follow Him. Many of my new friends had recently experienced this same welcome and transition into a life of faith.
A week later, I was invited to meet with the bishop. He had taken time to get to know me when I was being taught by the missionaries. He rocked back in his chair, thwacking a ruler into his palm, and told me that we were meeting because he had a calling for me. He had prayed—about me—and he told me the calling would be of benefit to me and my future service to the Lord in His Church. He extended the calling of assistant ward clerk. The reaction in my mind was, “Assistant ward clerk? Well, that is not me!” Fortunately, a little grace intervened, and I responded with a “thank you” and that I would endeavour to learn what was involved. I did not have a clue.
At church the next Sunday, I was asked to stand as my calling was announced. My ward family was invited to raise their hands if they agreed to sustain me. Comfortingly, I saw those same raised hands and smiling faces surrounding me in the congregation, reassuring me that these new friends would support me with their goodwill, patience, and faith.
The ward clerk I was to be “assisting” came straight to me at the end of the meeting and said, “Come on, Patrick. I’ll show you how this works.” Over the coming months, he did show me how everything worked, sitting side by side, often for hours—in the small clerk’s office. (To be clear, that’s a small office for clerks, not an office for small clerks.)
Other callings followed. My bishop kept a loving eye on me and eventually shared that he had felt prompted by the Lord to extend callings which would be stretching for me but, he trusted, not overwhelming. I came to see purpose and power in each calling I received, and with hindsight, the bishop’s inspiration came to make sense to me.

This was my first year at a new high school. I thought I’d been getting along all right, making friends and fitting in. Then one day in history class I overheard a group of people talking—right in front of me—about something they were going to do. They were talking about going to an activity that all the Mormons wouldn’t be able to come to because it was on a Sunday and because of the things they were going to be doing. I was friends with them, but they didn’t invite me.
It got me thinking. At first I was hurt that I wasn’t even considered to be part of the group, but then I thought about it. Did I really want to be invited when they would be doing something “Mormons” wouldn’t do? And after thinking about it for a bit more, I decided they unintentionally gave me a compliment. I’ve been living my life in such a way that I’m an example, and they knew—without my verbalizing it—what I stood for.

“When Dad suggested that everyone in the family take a turn at giving the family night lesson, I thought that it would be funny to say, ‘Yeah, let John give the lesson next week.’ John is three years old. So Dad assigned John the lesson, and with Mom’s help, John gave one of the best family night lessons that we have ever had, and the joy on that little guy’s face was worth more than we will ever be able to give him in return.”

Although severely wounded with grief and beset with major problems that made the going anything but smooth, from that time President Young acted with inspired single-mindedness and effectiveness to shepherd the stunned Church and unite it under the authority of the Twelve, as he was certain Joseph had intended. He led the apostles back from the East on August 6, amid rumors that some of the mob were still lying in wait to kill them. They found that Sidney Rigdon, the only remaining official member of the First Presidency, had returned from Pittsburgh, where he had gone over a year before when a rift had developed between him and the Prophet. Now he was claiming the right to act as guardian of the Church for Joseph. The President of the Quorum acted swiftly to unify the leaders, and then the body of the Saints, against this and other claims that threatened the Church with disintegration. The next morning he met with all the apostles at the home of John Taylor, who was still recovering from terrible wounds received at the martyrdom, and then in the afternoon with all the Church leaders at the Seventies’ Hall, where he effectively rebutted Sidney Rigdon’s claims. With inspired assurance Elder Young moved to the next day a general meeting that had been called for a week later and there brought about an orderly and unifying succession of leadership. As he described it to his daughter in that letter of August already quoted:
“The Brethren were overjoyed to see us come home, for they were little children without a father, and they felt so, you may be sure. All things are now reviving up again. The brethren prayed with all faith for us to return. … I have been in council almost all the time since I arrived here. But this much I can say, the spirit of Joseph is here, though we cannot enjoy their persons. Through the great anxiety of the Church there was a conference held last Thursday [August 8]. The power of the priesthood was explained and the order thereof, on which the whole Church lifted up their voices and hands for the Twelve to move forward and organize the Church and lead it as Joseph led it, which is our indispensable duty to do.”
All things were, in fact, “reviving up again,” despite the unsettled conditions only a few days earlier, and the process was successful mainly because through the power of the Lord “the spirit of Joseph” did indeed manifest itself in remarkable, to many witnesses even miraculous, ways.
There is much evidence—from Brigham Young’s own account of the meeting, from the record of the speech he gave there, and from the accounts of others—that he spoke in a new voice that day, yet one that was familiar to those who knew Joseph Smith. In his own diary Brigham recorded:
“This day is long to be remembered by me. … Now Joseph is gone, it seemed as though many wanted to draw off a party and be leaders. But this cannot be. The Church must be one or they are not the Lord’s; the saints looked as though they had lost a friend that was able and willing to counsel them in all things; in this time of sorrow … I arose and spoke to the people. My heart was swollen with compassion towards them and by the power of the Holy Ghost, even the spirit of the prophets, I was enabled to comfort the hearts of the Saints. … I laid before them the order of the Church and the power of the priesthood. After a long and laborious talk of about two hours in the open air with the wind blowing, the Church was of one heart and one mind. They wanted the Twelve to lead the Church as Br. Joseph had done in his day.”25
The speech shows that Brigham Young indeed had the “spirit of the prophets,” that through the power of the Holy Ghost he spoke with a new sense of authority that both recalled to the people their lost Prophet and yet encouraged them to look forward to the great destiny of the Lord’s Church that had been restored:
“Attention all! … For the first time in my life, for the first time in your lives, … without a prophet at our head, do I step forth to act in my calling in connection with the Quorum of the Twelve, as Apostles of Jesus Christ, … who are ordained and anointed to bear off the keys of the kingdom of God in all the world. …
“You did not know who you had amongst you. … He loved you unto death—you did not know it until after his death; he has now sealed his testimony with his blood. There is much to be done. … as for myself I am determined to build up the kingdom of God. …
“Brother Joseph the Prophet has laid the foundation for a great work and we will build upon it. … There is an almighty foundation laid, and we can build a kingdom such as there never was in the world.”26
Wilford Woodruff recounted, long after, “Just as quick as Brigham Young rose in that assembly, his face was that of Joseph Smith— … the power of God that was upon Joseph Smith was upon him, he had the voice of Joseph.”27
This miraculous descent of the mantle of the Prophet upon Brigham Young was later recalled by many who were in the audience,28 but the crucial thing was that whatever they remembered of the miraculous was confirmed in the following months by the reality of President Young’s leadership as he did in very fact become a Joseph—a clearly inspired prophet—to his people. As William Burton wrote the next May: “But [Joseph’s and Hyrum’s] places were filled by others much better than I once supposed they could have been, the spirit of Joseph appeared to rest upon Brigham.”29

Jimena climbed into the car and buckled her seat belt. She and her parents were on their way to the temple. This would be her first time doing temple baptisms. Papi was going to baptize her for some of their ancestors. Jimena couldn’t wait!
But then Jimena thought of something that made her feel panicky inside. “Papi,” she said, “what about my pump?”
Jimena had type 1 diabetes. To stay healthy, she always wore a small device called an insulin pump to help control the sugar levels in her blood. If she went for too long without wearing it, she felt sick.
“Will they let me wear it inside the temple?” Jimena asked. Her heart was beating fast. “What about when I get in the water?”
“It will be OK,” said Papi. “You can wear your pump until you get in the water. Then Mamá can help you put it back on as soon as you get out.”
Mamá nodded. “And if you start to feel sick while you are doing baptisms, just tell Papi and you can stop.” Mamá squeezed her hand. “We’ll be with you the whole time.”
“OK,” said Jimena. She still felt nervous. But Mamá and Papi had helped her feel a little better.
When they arrived, Jimena held Mamá and Papi’s hands as they walked toward the temple doors. As soon as she stepped inside, Jimena felt a warm, comforting feeling. She knew the Holy Ghost was telling her that Heavenly Father would help her, even though she was nervous. Everything would be OK, just like Papi said.
Jimena changed into white clothes. Then Mamá helped Jimena take off her pump. “It will only be for a few minutes,” Mamá said. She gave Jimena a hug.
Jimena stepped into the water. Papi was waiting for her. He reached out his hand and helped her down the stairs.
Papi said the baptism prayer and dipped Jimena under the water. When she came back up, Jimena smiled. Then they did a few more baptisms.
“Are you feeling OK?” Papi whispered in her ear.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
Papi baptized her for a few more people. “Can you do more?” he asked again.
“Yes!” said Jimena.
After the last baptism, Mamá helped Jimena put on her pump and checked Jimena’s blood sugar. Mamá smiled. It was normal! It was as if Jimena hadn’t taken off her pump at all.
Next they went into a smaller room. Papi placed his hands on Jimena’s head. He confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for the people who had died that she had been baptized for. Now her ancestors could choose to join Jesus Christ’s Church!
At home evening the next week, Jimena and her parents talked about their temple trip. “The temple is the house of the Lord,” said Papi. “When we go, we can have miracles in our lives.”
“What kind of miracles?” asked Jimena’s little brother, Pablo.
“I was nervous to take off my insulin pump to get in the water,” said Jimena. “But while I was doing baptisms, I didn’t even feel sick. It was a miracle!” Jimena smiled. “And even though I was scared, the Holy Ghost helped me feel calm. That was a miracle too.”

When my husband and I had been married for less than a month, he had to attend basic military training. I was not allowed to accompany him, so for the six months he was gone I stayed in Provo, Utah, and worked. This was not my idea of a married life—my husband almost 2,000 kilometers away and unable to come home for even a visit. I was a very unhappy bride.
One night during this time, I was awakened from a deep sleep by a voice which came into my mind. As I listened to what was being said, I realized that my great-great-grandfather was speaking to me. I lay there for a moment, listening and thinking. My great-great-grandfather was telling me to have his family sealed to him. He had lived in the United States in the mid-1800s. Due to the American Civil War and the economic conditions prior to the war, my great-great-grandfather George Wilkie had been away from his beloved wife and four sons a great deal. Eventually he died while serving his country in the Civil War.
My ancestors were not Latter-day Saints and did not have the blessings of the gospel. Now, in the middle of the night, here was my great-great-grandfather Wilkie saying to me, “Terry Lynn, please have my family sealed to me. I want to be with them through eternity. Please have our temple work done! You are now away from your husband—imagine that for eternity. It is awful! I want to be sealed to my wife.” Then, as suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. At first, I thought I must be imagining things, and I lay there and thought about my great-great-grandparents. I decided I should do their genealogy and would start the work when I had the time. Then I began to fall asleep again. I was startled when the voice returned and said much the same thing, only this time urging me to have the work done soon. I decided to do something about it the next day. Apparently, however, my grandfather knew I would probably be distracted the next day, because he spoke to me yet a third time, and told me to do something NOW!
I could not quite believe what was happening, but in the middle of the night I got up and began working on genealogy. I sorted through miscellaneous papers and records and found the information I needed to begin. I then wrote letters requesting birth, marriage, and death certificates. When I had done all that I could do at that time, I finally went back to bed.
I worked on genealogy a lot during the six months my husband was gone. Eventually, I was able to go to the temple with my cousin and have my great-great grandparents sealed. I can testify that I felt their presence there in the temple and knew that, at last, they could be truly happy and together eternally.

All morning the low black clouds hovered over the valley, and the air was hot and still. Up in the hayloft Sarah pitched the sweet-smelling hay over the oak beam and down to the barn floor, where her sister, Amy, scattered it around for fresh bedding when the cows came in for their evening milking. Sarah was twelve, and she and Amy, who was two years younger, did most of the barn chores. They also helped their father with the cows’ care and milking.
Each time Sarah pitched a forkful of hay she’d call, “Look out below!” Then she’d catch a glimpse of Amy’s freckled face grinning up at her.
And Amy would always shout back, “If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard you say that, I’d be rich by now!”
Sarah laughed and brushed at a trickle of sweat that ran down her cheek, then stopped to scoop up her long blond hair and tie it back with a piece of baling twine. She felt uneasy as she glanced out the open loft door and saw lightning flash on the distant horizon in the direction of the city where her parents had gone that morning to shop.
She leaned out the door, her gray eyes searching for her father’s familiar green truck. A dark mass of low-moving clouds was gathering over the valley, and a new sound filled the air. Sarah looked out at the heavy rain that had begun to fall. The once-quiet river had become a gushing torrent of muddy water. She busied herself by stacking the smaller bales of hay to save her father any extra work. As she stacked, she could hear the thunder overhead and the rain pounding on the tin roof. She pushed the last bale into place and sat down to wipe her sweaty face.
A sudden cry from Amy sent her scurrying down the ladder. There was a look of alarm on her sister’s face as she pointed at the river. The churning water was rapidly overrunning the riverbank. Sarah’s heart pounded with fear as she remembered another time when a flash flood had swamped the entire valley.
Sarah tried to be calm as she turned to Amy and said, “We’d better hurry to the house. Mom and Dad should be coming back soon.”
The sudden sharp ring of the telephone startled the girls a few minutes later. Sarah ran to answer it. Against the crackling sound of static, a faint voice asked, “Sarah, are you and Amy all right?”
Sarah clutched the receiver tightly and replied, “Dad! Where are you? We’re having a terrible storm!”
The calm, controlled voice of their father gave the frightened girl some assurance as he replied, “Sarah, we can’t make it home tonight. Everyone in town is moving to higher ground, and all the roads are underwater. In another hour it will hit the valley. You should have enough time to get over the bridge to open the lower pasture gate and herd the cows up to the barn. But hurry!” Another burst of static followed, and she barely heard the last fading words before the line went dead, “Sarah, don’t go near Sam. He’ll be wild and dangerous with fright. …”
For a moment Sarah stood still with fear as she uttered one word, “Sam!” She had forgotten about her father’s prize bull and how much she feared the huge animal. Only that morning her father had led Sam down to the edge of the river and had chained him to an iron stake.
Amy tugged at Sarah’s arm and looked at her sister’s frightened face. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”
The older girl tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Amy, we have to work fast. Mom and Dad can’t make it home tonight. The roads are underwater. We have to bring the cows up from the lower pasture before the bridge is washed away. I’ll run down to open the gate and herd them across. You stay ahead to lead them into the barn.”
Sarah had barely finished her instructions before Amy was running toward the barn to unlatch the big sliding doors. Sarah braced herself against the sharp wind and cutting rain as she ran across the bridge and opened the gate where the restless cows were jammed together. The animals pushed excitedly over the stone bridge as floating debris began to wash over the top. Sarah shooed and waved her arms wildly as the last drenched animal crossed over. She caught a glimpse of Amy running ahead, her little figure dwarfed by the frightened herd that followed her into the barn.
The breathless girls sank down onto a bale of hay, water rolling down their faces and their wet clothes clinging to them. The barn was filled with the sounds of the animals’ heavy breathing and the crunching of hay beneath their hooves as they began to settle down.
Amy brushed the hair off her forehead and said, “We made it! We got them all back safely.”
Sarah stood up and walked to the open door, shaking her head sadly. “No, Amy, not all of them.” She saw Sam’s huge black form struggling against the wild current of the river. And he was unable to free himself from the chain that kept him staked to the ground.
Amy walked over to her sister, and for a long moment she watched the river rising up to the frightened animal’s chest. As though reading Sarah’s thoughts, she protested, “You know Dad said not to go near him.”
The girls watched Sam finally stop struggling, bowing his great head as though he had resigned himself to his fate. Amy’s eyes filled with tears. “Poor Sam!” she whispered.
Desperate thoughts and her father’s warning combined in Sarah’s mind. Suddenly a glimmer of hope lit up her eyes. She cried out, “Look Amy! A big log has washed up against the bridge, and it goes clear over next to Sam! I could crawl along the top of it and open the lock on Sam’s chain. I know I can do it!”
Sarah turned toward Amy, took her gently by the shoulders, and looked into her tear-streaked face. “I have to try to free him, Amy, or at least give him a chance to save himself!”
Amy’s trembling lips uttered one word, “Yes.”
Sarah reached for the key that hung on a chain over Sam’s pen, put it around her neck, and ran out into the howling storm. “Open his pen, Amy!” she shouted. “Then go up to the loft and stay there till I get back!”
Sarah raced down the path toward the log and started to shinny across it, clinging desperately with both hands and feet. As the water pounded against her, Sarah was barely able to stay on the log. Slowly she inched across it until she reached Sam. The animal seemed numb with fear as she tried to turn the key in the lock. Each time she reached out, the fierce current almost swept her away. But at last, with a final tug, the lock sprung open and the chain dropped into the water.
Above the roar of the river she shouted, “Swim, Sam! Swim!”
Slowly the waterlogged animal turned his shaggy head and looked at the girl through half-closed eyes.
Sarah was making her way back across the bobbing log when suddenly something whammed into it and whirled it around until one end lodged on the shore not far from the gravel path. Sarah was pitched ashore, where she lay stunned. Then slowly she raised her head and looked around for Sam.
He was still standing in the same place, not realizing that he was free. “Sam! Come on, boy!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet. “Swim!”
Slowly the dazed animal turned his head and realized the restraining chain was gone. With a ponderous movement he swung his heavy body around and began making his way across the river. Floating debris slammed into his sides, and the waves lashed at him. But at each onslaught, he reared his powerful neck to meet the river’s torrent. Sam’s massive strength kept him plowing straight toward Sarah who was still gasping for breath.
She trembled anew at the sight of the huge animal rising up out of the water, his wild black eyes fixed on her. And when a loud clap of thunder struck close by, he let out a bellow that swelled his sides and shook the ground.
The frightened girl was surprised at her own calm voice as she called, “Steady, boy! We’ll make it now.”
The bull, unbelievably docile now, lowered his head and kept a steady pace beside her as she made a beeline for the barn. Quickly she swung the pen gate shut and pushed the bolt safely into place. Then she sank down weakly on the dry hay, every muscle and bone in her body aching. From the loft she heard Amy whisper, “Is it safe to come down, now?”
Sarah looked up at her sister and managed a smile. “Yes, Amy. We made it. We saved Sam.”
They watched the bull toss the hay around, picking out the tender stems. When he raised his head, a pile of hay was perched on top with some of it sticking out of his ears. He looked so comical that both girls burst out laughing.
With the busy sound of the munching animals settling around them, the girls slipped out of the barn and trudged up to the house.
Sarah lit the kerosene lamp, and a cheery glow filled the room. Silently, the girls struggled out of their wet clothes and wrapped themselves in warm robes. Curled up in the comforting armchairs, they were soon sound asleep.
Bright sunlight streamed through the window, and the sound of a blaring horn brought Sarah to her feet as Amy rubbed her sleepy eyes. The girls rushed to the window to see their father’s truck splashing across the bridge over the ebbing river. The storm had ended.
Their worried parents called out, “Sarah! Amy!”
Both girls rushed into their parents’ open arms. Sarah then noticed her father’s anxious look in the direction of where Sam had been tethered.
With a suppressed smile, she said, “Come out to the barn, Dad. We want to show you something.”
Amy danced ahead. “Yes, we have a surprise for you.”
When they slid the barn door open, their father stood speechless at the sight that greeted him. Sam was contentedly pacing back and forth in his pen. And the impatient cows, waiting to be milked, seemed relieved that their owner was here to look after them.
The look on her father’s face filled Sarah’s heart with an unequaled joy. “We’ll tell you the whole story,” she promised. “But we’re too hungry right now.”
Father put his arms around both of his daughters. And as they walked back to the house, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ll bet your mom is making a special breakfast for two hungry and very brave girls right now. I’ll race you to the kitchen!”

Several years ago, I went on my first assignment as a newly called General Authority Seventy. Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was my senior companion and it was a chance for me to observe and to learn as he presided over a stake conference in Minnesota. On Saturday, we had a meeting with many wonderful sisters from the auxiliaries in the stake. The chapel and cultural hall were filled as these sisters came, anxious to be taught and edified by an apostle of the Lord. The teaching by Elder Rasband was inspired and focused on Christ. At a certain point, while Elder Rasband was conducting this session in a question-and-answer format, I felt a strong spiritual impression as a sister asked a question, recalling a personal experience that would have been a perfect response. At that very moment, while Elder Rasband was standing at the pulpit, he turned to me and asked, “Elder Palmer, is there something you want to say?” I marveled and asked myself, “How did he do that?”
A couple of years later while in a question-and-answer session with leaders and wives in Johannesburg—led by Elder David A. Bednar, of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—I once again had the exact same experience. A long time after the meeting had started and while sitting quietly some distance away, I again felt a spiritual prompting regarding a question asked and felt an impression that it should be shared but did not want to interrupt. At that precise moment Elder Bednar turned to me and asked if there was something I wished to add. Once again, after giving my response, I silently asked myself, “How did he know to do that? How did he know at the very instant an impression had been received by someone else, that he should turn to them and invite them to share it?” The next day I told Elder Bednar what had happened and asked, “How did you do that?” He simply smiled and said, “You know the answer.”
Earlier in the week, we had been together in Kinshasa for an amazing young adult meeting, which filled every room in the stake center and overflowed into a large outdoor seating area. The questions were excellent and the teaching so inspired. I was sitting off to one side when—during the second hour of the meeting—Elder Bednar came over and quietly whispered for me to go into one of the other rooms where young adults were watching by broadcast, and ask if anyone had a question they would like to ask Elder Bednar. I entered one of the rooms where they were reverently watching, and as I began to ask if anyone had a question, they pointed to a bishop who was walking up to me and who then handed me half a dozen pages of questions he had already collected from all the rooms. I was astonished and asked why he did that (knowing no one had told him to do so). He simply said he knew we would be coming and felt it was the right thing to do. The Lord is in charge and through His Spirit clearly orchestrated all aspects of that extraordinary experience with thousands of excited young adults so anxious to see and learn from an Apostle of the Lord.
These personal spiritual experiences and many others have affirmed to me the divine nature of the calling held by those we sustain as prophets, seers and revelators. Time and time again I have watched as they are clearly moved on by the power of the Spirit of the Lord. I am thankful for this personal witness.
This personal witness is available to each of us as we listen to the words of our prophets and apostles in general conference and read and study what they have prepared for us under the influence of the Spirit. I invite all to gain this witness and promise that the Spirit will confirm that their teachings, their warnings, their invitations and their promises are from the Lord. After all, it was He who said: “What I the Lord have spoken, I have spoken and … my word … shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same” (D&C 1:38).
Several years ago, for a couple of months I had the privilege and blessing of almost daily associating with His chosen servants in various councils and assignments, so I found myself thinking often of the sacrifices and great service given by these humble servants and their families. At that time, I remember coming across this powerful testimony given by Elder Spencer J. Condie of the Seventy in 1993. This testimony moved me deeply as it so beautifully describes the feelings of my heart as I have come to know, respect, love and revere our prophets and apostles:
“I am grateful for these Brethren whom we sustain as prophets, seers, and revelators who forewarn us … [They] preach ‘not with enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power’ (1 Corinthians 2:4). Their motives are pure as they strive to build the kingdom of God and to uplift and edify the Saints of God. In the words of the Apostle Paul, they have become ‘prisoners of Christ’ (see Ephesians 3:1, 4:1; Philemon 1:1, 9; 2 Timothy 1:8), whose only desire is to do the Lord’s will. Nothing more. Nothing less. And nothing else. These are men of God! May we heed their warning voices”.

“We started talking after the funeral,” says David Nordquist. “We were sad, of course, but we knew where he was. We knew that he was happy and that we should try to remember that. We tried to think of a way to honor him. We wanted to do something special in his memory.”
They tossed around some ideas, but nothing seemed quite right until the topic of scripture mastery came up.
“Our ward had never won the stake scripture mastery competition,” says Matthew. “We knew that Brother Cunningham wouldn’t care if we won, but he would be proud of us if we really buckled down and learned the scriptures for the year. All of them.”
And so they began to train for the big stake scripture mastery event. They soon discovered that their goal of learning all the scriptures not only made them feel good about honoring the memory of their teacher but also made them feel good about themselves.
“There was really a good feeling in our class,” says James. “We were working toward the same thing, and it was a goal that really invited the Spirit.”
As the school year wore on, it became clear that learning all 25 scriptures with the speed and precision required for the stake scripture mastery competition was going to prove more difficult than the students thought. But they pressed on, and by the time the spring scripture mastery competition rolled around, a team of four students—Matthew Glanfield, David and Dee Nordquist, and Aaron Medwin—was pumped up and ready to go.
Their preparation was really down to the wire, with a few team members losing a little sleep the night before in an effort to really be ready. “I think we all felt that it didn’t really matter if we won,” says Dee. “We just wanted to do our best. We wanted this to be special.”
Of course the stake competition was just for fun, and Matthew and Dee were right; it didn’t really matter who took first place. But all that preparation paid off. When the final score was announced, the team from Welland came out on top.
It was a thrill to win. But the best feeling was knowing that the scriptures were really theirs, that they had total command of all 25 and could find them, quote them, and explain them.
“I know we all thought a lot about Brother Cunningham and what he had taught us after we won,” says Matthew. “I think my favorite scripture that year was Doctrine and Covenants 88:123–24. It talks about loving others and working hard. He really did all those things in his life and motivated us to do the same in seminary and other areas of our life.”

One day I was playing with two friends. One of them was not a member of the Church. He kept saying the Lord’s name in vain. It made me uncomfortable, but I was afraid to tell him to stop. I thought he might just laugh at me. But I kept having a bad feeling, and finally my friend and I told him we couldn’t play with him if he said that word. He promised that he would try not to say it around us.Tanner Peterson, age 11

Nate was walking home from school on Monday. He saw something shiny. It was a yellow truck in a sandbox. Yellow was his favorite color! He put the truck in his pocket.
At home, Nate took out the truck to play. But when he looked at it, he didn’t feel so good.
On Tuesday, Nate passed the sandbox again. This time he saw an orange truck.
This will go great with the yellow truck, Nate thought. He put it in his pocket. But when Nate got home, he felt bad inside.
The same thing happened Wednesday, when Nate took a purple truck.
On Thursday he took a green truck.
Each time he took a truck, Nate felt worse. But he still wanted to collect more.
On Friday, as Nate reached to grab a white truck from the sandbox, he heard a voice above him.
“I see you like trucks.”
Nate jumped back. A woman was smiling at him.
“My son, Cayden, is about your age,” the woman said. “He has been losing a lot of trucks lately. Do you know where they are?”
Nate gulped. He knew he was in trouble. But he also knew that telling the truth was the right thing.
“I have them at my house,” Nate said. “I’ll go get them!”
Nate ran home. He told Mom what had happened. They said a prayer. Nate told Heavenly Father he was sorry. He asked for the bad feelings to go away. Then they took the trucks back to the sandbox.
“Sorry I took your trucks,” Nate said to Cayden.
“Thanks for bringing them back,” Cayden said. “Want to play?”
Nate smiled and nodded. Playing with trucks had never been so fun. And next week, he would make better choices!

Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes, and pleadingly asked, “Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.”
I prayed for heavenly guidance. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon on the table beside his bed. I began to read aloud:
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—… the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“… The spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken.

While recently touring the beautiful Brigham City Utah Temple, I was reminded of an experience that I had while serving as the coordinator of the open house, rededication, and cultural celebration of the historic Laie Hawaii Temple.
A few months prior to the completion of the extensive renovation work, I was invited to tour the temple with the Executive Director of the Temple Department, Elder William R. Walker, and his Temple Department associates. In addition, various members of the general contracting firm were in attendance. The purpose of the tour, in part, was to review the progress and quality of the work performed. At the time of this tour, the work was about 85 percent completed.
As we moved through the temple, I watched and listened to Elder Walker and his associates as they inspected the work and conversed with the general contractor. On occasion I observed one man running his hand along the walls as we moved from room to room. A few times after doing this, he would rub his fingers together and then approach the general contractor and say, “I feel grit on this wall. Grit is not temple standard. You will need to re-sand and buff this wall.” The contractor dutifully took notes of each observation.
As we approached an area in the temple that few eyes would ever see, the same man stopped us and directed our attention to a newly installed, beautiful leaded-glass window. This window measured about two feet (0.6 m) wide by six feet (1.8 m) tall and contained an embedded, small stained-glass geometric pattern. He pointed to a small two-inch (5 cm) colored-glass square that was part of the simple pattern and said, “That square is crooked.” I looked at the square, and to my eyes it looked evenly placed. However, upon closer inspection with a measuring device in hand, I could see there was a flaw and that this little square was indeed one-eighth of an inch (3 mm) crooked. Direction was then given to the contractor that this window would need to be replaced because it was not temple standard.
I admit that I was surprised that an entire window would need to be replaced because of such a small, barely noticeable defect. Surely, it was unlikely that anyone would ever know or even notice this window given its remote location in the temple.
As I drove home from the temple that day, I reflected on what I learned from this experience—or, rather, what I thought I learned. It wasn’t until several weeks later when I was invited to tour the now completed temple that my understanding of the prior tour experience became clearer.
As I entered the completely renovated Laie Hawaii Temple, I was overwhelmed by its beauty and quality of finish. You can appreciate my anticipation as I approached the “gritty” walls and the “flawed” window. Did the contractor re-sand and buff the walls? Was the window really replaced? As I approached the gritty walls, I was surprised to see that beautiful wallpaper now hung on all the walls. My first thought was, “So this is how the contractor addressed the grit—he covered it.” But, no, I learned that it had always been the plan to hang wallpaper on these walls. I wondered why a little hardly detectable grit mattered if wallpaper was to cover it. I then eagerly approached the area where the flawed window was located and was surprised to see a beautiful floor-to-ceiling potted plant sitting directly in front of the window. Again I thought, “So this is how the contractor addressed the crooked little square—he hid it.” As I moved closer, I pushed the plant’s leaves aside and smiled as I saw that the window had indeed been replaced. The formerly crooked little square now stood neatly and evenly in the pattern. I learned that it had always been part of the interior design to have a plant in front of this window.
Why would walls with a little grit and a window with a little asymmetry require additional work and even replacement when few human hands or eyes would ever know? Why was a contractor held to such high standards?
As I exited the temple deep in thought, I found my answer as I looked up at the refinished exterior and saw these words: “Holiness to the Lord, the House of the Lord.”

In grade school and junior high, Kalin participated in athletics, but by the time he was a sophomore in high school, things began to unravel. He was skipping too much school and his grades were going downhill. He played in four games; then his poor academic record forced him off the team. For two years of high school he watched games from the stands. He started hanging around some guys with gang affiliation. The bond between these guys appealed to Kalin, who was not used to being close with anyone. He became a follower.
Then things hit bottom for Kalin. He got kicked out of school for fighting in defense of a friend. He got caught riding on a scooter someone else had stolen. He wrote a suicide note to his mother. “I don’t know if I was serious,” says Kalin, “but I put it in my mom’s purse, and she found it.”
His mother took him to a hospital for help, and things turned around for Kalin. “I decided I had to change. I saw a lot of guys older than me doing nothing, hanging around selling drugs. I couldn’t see myself that way. I knew I was a fairly bright kid. I knew there was a purpose for me. I always prayed every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know why I did that. Nobody taught me. It was something I felt I had to do.” Only later did Kalin realize that those early feelings that helped him to pray every day prepared him for the changes he would make in his life.
Looking for a new group of friends, Kalin watched the people he admired to see what they were doing. He saw they were going to class, getting good grades, and playing sports. In one semester of school, he raised his grades to As and Bs. He played football and basketball his senior year of high school. As a high school running back, he was all-conference, all-region, and all-state. He was named Nevada’s Gatorade Player of the Year. But he paid a price for messing around for two years of high school. He was not eligible to be recruited by a Division I football school. He was headed to a junior college. He chose Dixie College in St. George, Utah, because it had a good football program and was close to home.

While my grandmother was expecting her first child, Grandfather Ballard was called on a mission in the United States. He was sent to the Midwest, and he provided music at missionary meetings at which he, Brother B. H. Roberts, and Brother George Pyper taught the gospel. When Brother Roberts and Brother Pyper went back to Salt Lake City, Grandfather was left alone in Illinois. He was discouraged and lonely. He missed his wife and his firstborn son—my father—who was born after he left. Then he came across the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go” (Hymns, number 270). He had a beautiful baritone voice, and he sang that hymn often.
When he became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he was put in charge of the Music Committee of the Church. When the hymnbook was updated in English in 1927, he saw that “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go” was included. I think this hymn has the greatest missionary message of any of our hymns. It has affected my life much the same as it did my grandfather’s. My commitment to go wherever the Lord wants me to go has taken me to almost every corner of the earth. As a General Authority, I have visited Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America, the United States, Canada, and Russia. Truly the commitment to be a missionary has prepared me for a lifetime of service to the Lord.
As a young boy, I was a little bit timid, but I had the desire to be a missionary because I knew that was what my grandfather wanted me to do. I knew that was also what my mother and father wanted me to do. When I was old enough, I was eager to serve.
There has never been a time in my life that was more important than my own mission in preparing me for what I am now doing as a General Authority. I served in the British Mission from 1948 to 1950. All of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland were part of that mission. The Church had gone through a difficult period in the British Isles after World War II, and we were reopening the area to missionary work. We would knock on doors and hand out tracts about the Church.
You can’t be timid for long as a missionary. Street meetings were a very popular form of missionary work. We would set up a stand in the marketplace or town square, sing a few hymns, then bear our testimonies and answer questions.
The second day I was in England, I attended my first street meeting at Hyde Park in London. Six missionaries and our mission president, Selvoy J. Boyer, were there. President Boyer called on two missionaries to speak. I was one of them.
On my way up to the stand, he said to me, “Elder Ballard, you preach the gospel.” I quickly picked the principle of baptism and said everything I knew about it in about 30 seconds. That was a good experience because it made me realize very quickly how much I did not know. I realized I had a lot of studying to do.
While I was on that mission, the plan of salvation came into focus for me. I knew we had the truth and the scriptures, so it was not frightening to bear my testimony in public. I began to understand that Heavenly Father is willing to give all He has to His faithful children.
Serving a mission is a great opportunity to show our love for Heavenly Father. I think it is very important that young boys and girls save money for their missions. Young people who help pay for their own missions are better missionaries. I tell young people wherever I go that whenever they earn money, they ought to pay 10 percent for tithing, save 40 percent for their missionary fund, and keep 50 percent for their use.
If I could go back and relive my life, I would start preparing for a mission much earlier. I would read the scripture storybooks. I would read the scriptures daily with my family. I would pay more attention in Primary. I would spend time in my youth really trying to understand the message of the Restoration.

In the October general conference of 1969, President Kimball related the following:
“When I was a youngster, a stirring challenge came to me that moved me not a little. I cannot remember who issued the challenge nor under what circumstances it came. I remember only that it struck me like a ‘bolt out of the blue heavens.’ The unknown voice postulated:
“‘The “Mormon Church” has stood its ground for the first two generations—but wait till the third and fourth and succeeding generations come along! The first generation fired with a new religion developed a great enthusiasm for it. Surrounded with bitterness, calumny of a hostile world, persecuted “from pillar to post,” they were forced to huddle together for survival. There was good reason to expect they would live and die faithful to their espoused cause.
“‘The second generation came along born to enthusiasts, zealots, devotees. They were born to men and women who had developed great faith, were inured to hardships and sacrifices for their faith. They inherited from their parents and soaked up from religious homes the stuff of which the faithful are made. They had full reservoirs of strength and faith upon which to draw.
“‘But wait till the third and fourth generations come along,’ said the cynical voice. ‘The fire will have gone out—the devotion will have been diluted—the sacrifice will have been nullified—the world will have hovered over them and surrounded them and eroded them—the faith will have been expended and the religious fervor leaked out.’
“That day I realized that I was a member of the third generation. That day I clenched my growing fists. I gritted my teeth and made a firm commitment to myself that here was one ‘third generation’ who would not fulfill that dire prediction.” (Improvement Era, November 1943, p. 678.)
The records show that President Kimball did clench his growing fists and dig in to become a faithful Church member whose destiny and divine purpose may well have been greater than he could have known.

Helping everyone accomplish the things they need to do to certify is a formidable task. Some need special help. The Austin Stake has several handicapped girls attending camp, and a special hike has been arranged for them. At first the leaders hope a few of the Adventurers will assist the girls on their special hike. But nearly all 22 Adventurers show up for the hike that morning because they don’t want the girls to think they have been singled out to go on a little 5-person hike. Jamie Townsend explains, “We had another hike with 25 people so these special girls would feel a part of things. We had one girl who is nearly blind, and we had girls holding her hand with such love it brought tears to your eyes.”

Gus German is only 17 years old, but he cannot remember a time when he wasn’t visiting Church members with his father. In Delaware, members are spread out in different directions and in many cases they’re miles away from one another. With that in mind, members try to check up on each other. Of course, Gus didn’t become a home teacher until age 12, when he received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned by his bishop to be his father’s companion. But he’d already learned a lot about caring for people and about preparing and presenting meaningful lessons, so he stepped right into his home teaching role.
“Scripture stories were my staple home teaching lessons,” says Gus, a priest who grew up in the Wilmington (Delaware) West Ward. “I’d studied them in story books from the time I was five, so I knew those stories cold. Some people wonder who Nebuchadnezzar is. I know who he is.”
Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.
When Gus turned 16 and got his driver’s license, he was able to see that smile more and more. As her condition worsened, Sister Miller was unable to drive. Gus happily volunteered to pick her up and take her to church. “Sometimes she couldn’t stay past the sacrament in sacrament meeting so I would take her home.” Now, other ward members pick up Sister Miller when she’s able to go to church. And when she wasn’t, guess who went to her house to take her the sacrament.
“Sometimes I went with my dad, and sometimes I went with the Young Men president or one of the guys from my quorum,” explains Gus. “It’s something I did that helped her out. I liked doing it.”
Something else he did to help her out: Gus and his dad took Sister Miller to receive her patriarchal blessing.
“When we went for my blessing, Jack (Gus’s dad) took us in his car, the hot rod (a Chevy Nova). We laughed all the way down there. Gus was in the backseat laughing, and my face hurt from laughing,” Sister Miller remembers. “When I had my blessing, Jack and Gus were as quiet as church mice. After all that laughing we did on our way down, it was pretty quiet on the trip back. That is very memorable. We always have a good time, the three of us.”
Last September, Gus left Delaware to attend BYU. He saw Sister Miller at Christmas when he went home, and he still stays in touch, even though she’s living at one end of the country and he’s 3,000 miles away. She misses his visits, but is happy Gus is going to college. In Gus’s place as Jack German’s home-teaching companion is Lance, Gus’s 12-year-old brother.
As for Gus, some things never change. No sooner had he settled in his new ward in Provo than he was called to be a home teacher.