Gospel Story Finder

I received one of those blessings just a few weeks ago. Since general conference falls on a weekend that would normally include the fast and testimony meeting, I fasted and prayed to know how I should still obey the commandment to care for those in need.
On a Saturday, still fasting, I woke at 6:00 and prayed again. I felt impressed to look at the world news. There I read this report:
Tropical Cyclone Pam destroyed many homes as it made a direct hit on Port Vila, the capital of Vanuatu. It killed at least six people in Vanuatu, the first confirmed from one of the most powerful storms ever to make landfall.
“Hardly a tree stood straight [as the cyclone] bellowed across” the Pacific island nation.
World Vision’s emergency assessment team planned to view damage after the storm died down.
They advised residents to seek shelter in sturdy buildings such as universities and schools.
And then they said: “‘The strongest thing they’ve got is cement churches,’ said Inga Mepham [from] CARE International. … ‘Some of them don’t have that. It’s hard to find a structure that you’d think would be able to withstand a Category 5 (storm).’”
When I read that, I remembered visiting little homes on Vanuatu. I could picture in my mind the people huddled in homes being destroyed by winds. And then I remembered the warm welcome to me of the people of Vanuatu. I thought of them and their neighbors fleeing to the safety of our cement chapel.
Then I pictured the bishop and the Relief Society president walking among them, giving comfort, blankets, food to eat, and water to drink. I could picture the frightened children huddled together.
They are so far away from the home where I read that report, and yet I knew what the Lord would be doing through His servants. I knew that what made it possible for them to succor those children of Heavenly Father was fast offerings, given freely by the Lord’s disciples who were far away from them but close to the Lord.
So I didn’t wait for Sunday. I took a fast offering to my bishop that morning. I know that my offering may be used by the bishop and Relief Society president to help someone in my neighborhood. My small offering may not be needed near where my family and I live, but the local surplus could reach even as far as Vanuatu.

To illustrate this point, let me briefly tell you about four missionaries that served in the Taiwan Taichung mission. Brother and Sister Zheng and their family of six children live in Taidong on the east coast of Taiwan. When Sister Hoer and I first arrived in Taiwan, one of the older sons, Elder Zheng Shan, was serving in the mission. We remember Elder Zheng Shan very well because once when he stood to bear his testimony in the mission home, suddenly the entire house moved. The walls shook and lights swayed back on forth. We were amazed at the power of his testimony, until we realized we were in an earthquake (one of many that we experienced in Taiwan).

Elder Zheng's sister, Zheng Mi had just started her mission - and she could shake the walls with her vibrant spirit- even when there was no earthquake! Elder Zheng Xuan was the third member of the family to serve in our mission while we were there. Imagine our joy when we learned that Zheng Jing, the youngest sister in the family had been called to the Taiwan Taichung mission. I am not sure if I have ever heard of four children from the same family all serving in the same mission under the same mission president!

Sister Zheng Jing was scheduled to begin her mission in January of last year, however, before she could start, she was discovered to have brain cancer. I thought for sure that she would not be able to serve her mission, but she called me and said, "President, please don't cancel my call -- I will be ready soon."

For five months, Sister Zheng struggled through three complicated and difficult operations, then unexpectedly, she called one day and said she had obtained a doctor' signature to serve her mission. When we welcomed Sister Zheng into the mission, she had no hair. She removed her bandana and proudly showed us her bald head, crisscrossed with stitches. She explained that the sunken appearance of her head was because a piece of her skull had been removed to allow easy access for surgeries and was now being kept in a refrigerator so it could be re-inserted later.

We also learned that she was still on chemotherapy! Once a month, she must travel to the capital city of Taipei and obtain her chemotherapy drugs. I asked the parents if they would like me to make an exception to the rule about missionaries seeing their parents, so they could help their daughter each month at the hospital. "Oh no," they said, "now that she is on her mission, we are putting in our application to serve a couple mission so we won't be there anyway." Sister Zheng is a great example of "youbanfa." Even with brain cancer, Sister Zheng was determined to serve her mission, no matter what the obstacles. She knew if she did all she could do, the Lord would do the rest. Sister Zheng and her family had faith - and they exercised faith by action.

As in Christ’s time, some people in our day are not blessed with the actual gift of sight. There was a blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day after day in his usual place at the edge of a busy sidewalk in a large city. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. A tin cup was extended by the other hand. His simple appeal to the passer-by was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small sign held around his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup never had been filled, even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime, and I am blind.” The compassion of human feelings could not now be restrained. The cup was soon filled to overflowing. The coins, however, were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

A number of years ago I struggled through a difficult marriage and a painful divorce. My husband had broken his temple covenants and betrayed me. But he would continue as the father of my children, and I didn’t want a miserable, adversarial relationship indefinitely. So I made it a matter of prayer. I said something like this: “Heavenly Father, I know you love all your children, so I know you love my husband. Help me to feel about him the same way you feel about him.” The result was something of a miracle. The Lord couldn’t answer my desperate plea to help my husband change—no amount of faith will take away another person’s agency. But the Lord could take away my bitterness and help me feel empathy for my husband—not empathy in the sense that I could relate to his feelings completely, but empathy for him as a son of God. I knew that Christ had all the feelings of a tender parent for my husband, regardless of his behavior. The resulting empathy has made my life much easier.

Someday Torrance, California, will boast a 12-acre park with landscaped picnic areas, sports fields, and a playground for children; and the 10,000 residents who live within a square mile will be able to thank some active LDS youths for helping to bring it about.
The huge stacks of tumbleweeds and trash collected by the young people of the Torrance California South Stake helped the city move closer to beginning work on the park. For the youths, the cleanup campaign followed President Kimball’s advice that Americans devote 24 service hours to their communities this year. The project was also part of a three-day Bicentennial youth conference.
Choosing the theme, “Join the Freedom Train—Share Your Gospel Heritage,” the young people began the conference with a flag ceremony and color guard presentation. Then the 400 members and nonmembers were treated to a banquet served by their adult advisers. Of course, the decorations were all patriotic red, white, and blue. Song, dance, comedy, and a touch of dramatics were provided by the “Sounds of Zion,” a 50-member, touring Utah State University performing group. The college students reviewed the early days of movies, radio, television, and popular music. Also included were Church hymns and patriotic songs.
The next day the young people went to work at Torrance’s del Thorne Park. There are currently no park facilities available for nearby residents. The area will welcome the park when completed, and the young people will enjoy its features, knowing they contributed to its success.
The cleanup project was followed by the Rio Hondo Institute’s three-act musical-drama, Moroni’s Promise. The play centers on a young man’s uncertainty about accepting a mission call until he prays for guidance. After the play the Torrance young people danced to the music of “Pacifica,” though no one could believe they were still able to stand on their feet after the day’s work.
On Sunday evening the youth gathered for a sacrament and testimony meeting conducted by Stake President Eldon H. Morgan. President Morgan spoke on liberty, the true meaning of freedom, and why we should live within the law. Many youths bore their testimonies and expressed deep feelings for their families, Church, and country.
When the conference came to an end, the young people recognized that they had helped serve their community, made new friends, shared testimonies, and strengthened their commitment to do the Lord’s work. These were goals they had determined themselves. They knew that if they made up their minds to get something done, they probably would.

Rosemarie Koning, 14, is a Dutch national living in Frankfurt with her parents. She also told about some missionary experiences.
“One time we were asked to mark off which of the churches do have bishops, prophets, and other required offices. We found out that our church is the only one that has all of them. I talked to my girl friend about it and showed her the chart. She was astonished to see that our Church is the only one with all the priesthood offices.
“Sometimes,” Rosemarie continued, “I get so excited about a lesson that I have to share it. So I take my seminary book to school and open it up. Out of pure curiosity, other students come over to find out what I have. I’ve even had school teachers ask me about it.”

“Thanks for the ride!” I yelled, waving at the red car as it pulled out of the driveway. I was excited to be hanging out with two new friends, Steve and Mark. It had taken a while to persuade Steve’s older brother to give the three of us a ride to the town’s music store, but we’d had a lot of fun there. We had just come back to Mark’s house.
“Is anyone else as hungry as I am?” I heard Steve ask. I realized then that my stomach was growling. I hadn’t noticed with all the fun I was having.
“Do you guys have any money? Maybe we could get a pizza,” suggested Mark. We went inside and pooled our money on Mark’s kitchen table. We found we had just enough for a small pizza but not enough to have it delivered.
“Hey, Mark, maybe your parents can give us a ride,” Steve said.
“No, they just left to see a movie,” Mark said with a frown.
I tried to make a joke, “Too bad none of us has a driver’s license. Then we could go down and get the pizza ourselves.”
Steve and Mark looked at each other. “I have my learner’s permit,” Mark said slowly. “My parents say I’m a pretty good driver, even though I’m only 15.”
“Didn’t your parents take the car?” Steve asked.
Mark answered, “They took my dad’s car, but they left my mom’s.”
We stood still for a moment, looking at each other. I began to feel nervous.
“Let’s just go outside and sit in the car,” Steve suggested. “We could just see how we feel.”
Mark looked at me. “What do you think, Danny?”
I shrugged. I really didn’t think that we should do it, but I also wanted my new friends to think I was cool.
“Let’s go,” said Mark, and he led the way through his back door and into the garage. Mark climbed into the driver’s seat, and Steve sat in the passenger seat next to him. Hesitantly, I entered the car, sat in the backseat, and shut the door behind me.
It had started out as a joke, but now I felt terrible. I imagined what my parents would think if they knew I was going along with this. What if we got caught? I would feel awful. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me this was wrong. Then a thought hit me. My friends weren’t bad people. They were probably having the same feelings I was having.
Mark put the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. I couldn’t take it any more. “Guys, we really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said quietly. Mark and Steve both looked back at me. I felt myself blush. They were going to make fun of me. I just knew it.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Steve agreed, nodding. “What would our parents think? What would our teachers quorum leaders think?”
Mark also nodded and took the key out of the ignition. The growl of the engine died, and relief came flooding into me. “Sorry, guys. I’m just hungry,” Mark said. He then looked up and smiled. “Hey, I have a bag of chips and half a loaf of bread. Why don’t we make sandwiches?”
“That sounds great!” I said, grinning.
We climbed out of the car and headed toward the house, laughing and joking again. I knew then that all three of us were glad about the decision we had made.
I don’t know what would have happened if we had taken the car. Maybe we would have been caught, maybe we wouldn’t have. But I know that the choice we made was right.

I especially loved the peaceful feeling when I stepped inside the Sacred Grove. It is truly a place where God and Jesus Christ have been. The peace there is much like the peace that a temple or Church building brings. It is truly the Spirit.
In the Sacred Grove we split into small groups and went off with our leaders. They taught us about the First Vision, and we each found a quiet spot to pray. I felt a real peace when I prayed. I felt reconfirmation that the Church is true.

The day after his arrival in the valley, after a restful night in the home of the Edward Stratton family, friends of the Blairs who had immigrated a few years before, William sought out a cobbler. As he waited for his boots to be mended, he relaxed and played merry tunes on his tin whistle, tunes he had undoubtedly played many times while crossing the plains.
When the cobbler finished, he handed William the old boots made new and asked, “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Didn’t you just arrive?”
“Yes, sir. How much do I owe you?”
“There’ll be no charge; just play me another tune on your whistle.”
William gratefully placed the handkerchief of money back in his pocket, the money his mother had so delicately given him many, many nights ago, and played the whistle like it had never been played before.

Although I acted as if I didn’t care, I really did want to win. After all, the opportunity to be the high school Homecoming queen only comes around once in a lifetime. And, it seemed to me, this was my one and only chance to be considered royalty.
When my name was announced as one of the three nominees, I was surprised. I wasn’t a cheerleader, and I wasn’t dating the quarterback. I’d created my own niche in school—doing activities that weren’t necessarily in the spotlight.
This would be a crowning accomplishment to have in my high school years, I thought. Royalty, huh? I could get used to that title.
The winner would be announced at halftime of the Saturday afternoon football game. The day before the game, I was sitting in my seminary class. People around me were predicting who would be crowned queen. Still wearing my facade of apathy, I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I’d survive even if I didn’t win. And remember, I told myself, it doesn’t matter if I’m royalty or not.
My heart pulsing heavily, I looked up at the teacher, hoping to divert my attention from the Homecoming chatter. Behind him on the bulletin board hung the same Mormonad poster that had been on my bedroom wall for years.
“It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.”
My heart soared as I read again, but understood for the first time, how to look at life. Homecoming queen or not, I could concentrate on a more important thing—to be nice. If I did that, I would always be royalty in a more important, eternal sense.
Saturday came quickly, but halftime did not. The sun shone brightly on the brown October day, my 17th birthday. When the time approached, my dad escorted me to the field as the spectators watched us girls teeter out in our high heels. The announcer began, “We’d like to announce our Homecoming queen, …”
My mind wandered as I reminded myself of Friday’s realization. No matter how important or unimportant I might be, I could be royally nice to those with whom I came in contact. When I came back to reality, they were crowning the girl next to me as queen.
As I walked off the field, I smiled inside and out.
Although I’d missed my chance to be a high school queen, I hadn’t missed my opportunity to recognize my royal beginnings. We have a noble birthright, and that can’t be changed. I also realized that I should care whether I was royalty or not in a spiritual sense. Apathy has no place in our royal relationships with our Heavenly Father.
Unlike the Homecoming queen contest, it’s entirely up to us to accept the royal gifts and blessings our Father in Heaven offers to us. The Lord has crowned us all with eternal importance, and one way we can honor this noble birth is by treating others with the respect and consideration they deserve and letting that be more important to us than worldly honors.

My second example happened in my life when our family was living in Southern California. In our bedroom community of Los Angeles, there was a local movement geared towards targeting and criticizing the Church. I paid little or no attention to it, except that there were members of the ward who were on the receiving end of the antagonism of this group.

Finally, it got to the point where we counseled with the stake president and received his support to do a community fireside as a response to this wave of anti-Mormon activity.

We again counseled together and decided that we wanted to make this event very powerful. We invited the mayor, the city council, and all of the priests, rabbis, and other religious leaders in our area to this fireside.

After the talk that was to be given, we would have a question-and-answer period in an open forum format. Those attending could ask questions about theology, Church history, doctrine, scripture, or any other Church topic.

My stake president was wary, as you can imagine, but he agreed. On the evening of the fireside, I arrived about half an hour early, and I could not find a parking space. I was perturbed because I thought that there was another event that had been scheduled. As I met the stake president, I said, "What is going on that there are so many cars?"

He said, "This is going on! You better be good!"

It turned out that there were over 1,300 people who came. Included in that number were the mayor, many of the city council, other leaders from different denominations, and a whole cohort of the group that had been behind the criticism of the Church. There was electricity in the air.

After the talk, the meeting was opened so that people could ask questions. It was very exciting, and the question-and-answer period went on for a fairly lengthy period of time.

At a certain point, the stake president indicated for me to take the last question. One of the leaders of that movement targeting the Church asked the last question. He stood up and said something to the effect of, "I have definitive evidence that Mormons are not Christians because of this quote"—he had in his hand a quote that he had printed—"that says that unless we accept Joseph Smith we cannot inherit the celestial kingdom. How will you respond to that?"

As I stood there, I had a unique experience. You are familiar with the scripture that states, "Neither take ye thought beforehand what ye shall say; but treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man"?[14]

I had prepared extensively for this meeting through diligent study, prayer, fasting, and temple attendance. I had tried to treasure up continually the words of life on a daily basis. However, I had never thought about that particular question before, and, truthfully, I had no idea what to say.

At that moment a thought came into my mind—not my thought—that essentially said, "I will take this question."

So, I want you to know that the answer that I gave was not from me; it was not because of me, but it was "given [me] in the very hour" that which was needed.

I asked this man if he would answer a question, and he agreed. (Now remember, this is in front of over a thousand people). I said, to the best of my recollection: "Imagine you are living in A.D. 33-34, and it is the day of Pentecost, as outlined in Acts chapter 2. Peter is testifying with power and authority that Jesus was the Christ, saying, 'Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly, that God hath made that same Jesus, whom ye have crucified, both Lord and Christ.'[15]

"Now, sir, here is the question: If you had been living there that day, listening to Peter preach Christ and him crucified, could you have rejected Peter and accepted Christ?"

Brothers and sisters, when I said this, it was as if I were standing outside myself, thinking, "That is incredible!" If he had answered, "Yes, I could reject Peter and accept Christ," then you basically can throw out the Bible. If he answered, "No, I could not reject Peter and accept Christ," then he knew that was where we stood in relation to Joseph Smith.

So, I said, "Just like you could not reject Peter and accept Christ then, so in the latter-days you cannot reject the modern-day Peter, Joseph Smith, and fully accept Christ."

This event in my life highlights the power of the gift of the Holy Ghost. I want to note, however, that just like I said earlier, the Spirit of the Lord cannot be forced or compelled. It just so happened that on that day, in accordance with the Lord's will and His grace, I was given what to say at the very moment that it was needed. For that I am humbled and extremely grateful.

Miguel opened the door to his abuelo’s (his grandpa’s) shoe shop. He smelled the leather that Abuelo worked with. It was one of his favorite smells.
“Hi, Abuelo!”
Abuelo was kneeling down and tracing a customer’s foot onto a piece of paper. He didn’t look up. Abuelo’s hearing wasn’t very good.
Miguel sat down at a workbench. He looked at the stacks of cut leather. He imagined what Abuelo would make with each one, using his hammer and pliers.
The tools reminded Miguel of something else he loved. Abuelo always gave him a piece of candy whenever Miguel helped clean up.
But Miguel was hungry now! He knew he wasn’t supposed to take a treat without asking, but it looked like Abuelo would be busy for a while. “Maybe I don’t have to wait,” Miguel thought.
Miguel reached under the counter for the candy jar. It was full of his favorite candy—sweet and spicy with chili powder! As he opened it, Miguel felt a little uncomfortable. But the candy looked so tasty. He hurried and put it in his mouth.
Pretty soon the customer left. Abuelo picked up a piece of leather and dunked it in some water. That helped keep the leather soft and easy to work with.
Miguel gobbled the rest of the candy as fast as he could. Then he walked over to Abuelo.
“Hello!” Abuelo said with a smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Miguel hugged Abuelo. He hoped Abuelo couldn’t tell he’d eaten a piece of candy. Miguel pushed the worry away.
“It looks like you’re busy today,” Miguel said, pointing to the stacks of leather. “Do you need any help?”
“Sure! Could you pass me that thread?”
Miguel reached for a long piece of thread. He tugged it between his hands. It was tougher than it looked.
“Wow, that’s strong.”
Abuelo chuckled. “It has to be, to last through the wear and tear of life.” Abuelo pulled the thread through the leather. Then he got that look on his face that Mamá sometimes called the “Wise Abuelo” look.
“You know, we need to be more like this shoe,” Abuelo said with a nod.
Miguel squinted at the leather. “Um. We do?”
“Yes, indeed. We need to stay strong. That way Satan’s temptations won’t make us fall apart.”
The red candy flashed through Miguel’s mind. He knew he should tell Abuelo about it.
Abuelo took an old shoe off the shelf. “See this big hole?”
Miguel could probably fit his hand through the hole. “Yeah.”
“This was once a small hole that could’ve been fixed easily. But they waited, and now it’s going to be much harder to fix. Bad habits and bad choices are like that hole. Best to fix them early.”
Abuelo nodded again, and the Wise Abuelo look turned back into a smile. They kept talking as Abuelo worked. The whole time, Miguel kept thinking about the red candy stick.
When Abuelo finished, Miguel helped him clean up. Then Abuelo reached for his jar of candy.
Finally Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. “I took one of your candies!” he blurted out.
Abuelo set down the jar. “What was that?”
Miguel told him about taking the candy without asking. “I’m so sorry, Abuelo! I’ll never do it again, I promise!”
Abuelo gave Miguel a big hug. Miguel felt so much better.
“Thank you for being honest. That’s more important to me than just about anything else.”
On the walk home, Miguel felt just like one of Abuelo’s new pair of shoes. Strong as can be, and ready for life!

Ordained an Apostle in 1882 when he was only 25 years old, Heber worried that he was not capable or worthy of the trust that had been placed in him. While on a visit to Native Americans in Arizona, he left his companions to pray and meditate about the matter. He later explained that while he was alone he “seemed to see” a council on the other side of the veil. The council was discussing who should fill two vacancies in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Heber’s father and the Prophet Joseph Smith proposed Heber’s name. That satisfied Heber’s concerns. “It was also given to me,” Heber said, “that that was all these men … could do for me; from that day it depended upon me and upon me alone as to whether I made a success of my life or a failure.”10

I was never involved in any fights in high school. I’m glad I wasn’t. I’m not very big, and I don’t find great joy in cuts and bruises.
But one time I got into a fight walking home from school that lasted a few weeks. My opponent was only 28 centimeters tall, but this was one of the toughest battles I’d ever fought. This battle was with a magazine.
My high school was within view of our front porch, so I walked to and from class every day. One afternoon, as I stepped across the thin ribbon of green lawn that divided the school’s sidewalk from the road, I noticed an open magazine by the curb. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; then I realized it was pornographic. I quickly lifted my eyes from the gutter and kept walking toward home.
This is how the battle began. Every day as I went to school, and every day as I came home, I had to face the temptation that lay in the gutter.
As I think about it now, I wonder why I didn’t just pick up the magazine and throw it away. But I didn’t even want to touch it. What if someone saw me with it? Or what if my dad saw it in our garbage can? Or what if I picked it up and saw more than I wanted to see?
Each day my mind could come up with some pretty good rationalizations: “It might be good for you to know what’s in there, so you’ll know what’s going on in today’s world,” or “You don’t want to be a sheltered, naive little boy, do you? What’s it going to hurt, anyway? Just repent later. Who’s going to know?”
One day in seminary, our teacher pointed out that Jesus answered each of his temptations with a scripture. That sounded like a good idea.
Looking through my scriptures, I found a verse about battling temptation: “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear” (Alma 13:28).
Another helpful verse came from the New Testament: “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13).
This was a formula I could use: humble myself, watch and pray continually, and trust that God would help me find a way to escape the temptation. I began to cross the street in a different place, and these two verses of scripture helped me as the days passed with the magazine still sitting there in the gutter.
One afternoon, as I stepped off the curb, I noticed that the magazine was gone. I could tell by the appearance of the gutters that a street cleaner had recently passed by. A street cleaner—how appropriate, I thought.
God did make a way for me to escape, and together we won the fight. Curiosity, rationalization, and laziness are no match against courage, self-control, and mental toughness.
Victory in physical battles requires strength, muscles, and skill; but the fight is never tougher and the victory is never sweeter than in the battles with temptation. No, I never got into any fights in high school; but with some help from the scriptures, I defeated a 28-centimeter magazine.

He gave his final talk in the Dewsbury Ward, Huddersfield Stake. The chapel was packed with past and present service missionaries who came to hear him and celebrate his great success. One brother, who had not been to Church for some time, commented that he felt the Spirit very strongly in the meeting and would be coming back to Church. This Spirit was probably due to the many angels who I believe attended that meeting to offer their appreciation for his wonderful missionary service, as he helped in gathering Israel on the other side of the veil.

On June 20, 1856, the anchor of the Mormon charter ship Horizon had barely plopped into Boston Harbor when a small sailboat tied up next to her. Barnard, hoping to welcome his family to America, climbed aboard from the sailboat. Mother White spotted her son, started to rejoice, but gulped when she saw his clothes. Eighteen-year-old sister Elizabeth was shocked too and broke into tears: “My poor brother Barnard!” she sobbed. “What have they done to you?” No broadcloth suit. No silk hat. Common laborer’s pants and shirt. Ugly work boots. However, the reunion soon showed the Whites that their teenager had become a man during his 11 months in America, and they liked his maturity.

Similarly, when I told my story to another friend, Debbie, she laughed, because for her God had made it clear that in her home it was to be—as she put it—all hands on deck at home, all the time, by her. Debbie deferred completion of her undergraduate degree and taught and nurtured her four children—sometimes homeschooling them to best address their unique individual needs—until her youngest child was five, when she was prompted to return to BYU to finish her bachelor’s degree in linguistics, with minors in Chinese and Japanese.

When I contacted Debbie, she said that for her the Spirit seems to work by reawakening her own long-dormant dreams and goals when the time is right. She is now preparing to take the LSAT and hopes to become an attorney. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

The South Pacific sun shone brightly as children and their families gathered at the beautiful Haumi chapel on Moorea Island. They had been there earlier for their regular Sunday meetings. A special reason had brought them back. It was late October, and the bright flowers that grow everywhere on this island wonderland seemed even more lovely than usual.
This day Jonathan Mau was to be baptized, an important day in a young man’s life. Almost the entire branch membership, including his family and friends, were coming to welcome him as a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He will do the same for those who follow him. It is a tradition of love on this French Polynesian island.
Jonathan had been taught about Jesus by his family and his Primary teachers. He knew the Savior’s atoning sacrifice made it possible for him to repent and be baptized. He had learned about and quietly considered the importance of the gift he was to receive at the hands of the priesthood after his baptism. His branch president, Taina Mau, had interviewed him and found him prepared and worthy to become a member of the Church and receive the Holy Ghost as his teacher, guide, and comforter.
Jonathan was ready.

Time moved on, and soon my family moved to New Hampshire. We were no longer part of a large ward or an overflowing stake, but now members of a tiny branch which spread over several small towns. We soon discovered that my sisters and I were the only LDS youth in our town. I really had to cling to what the Church taught. I found myself defending it many times, but in my heart the question still lingered.
Was this what I really believed? I still couldn’t come up with the answer, and the question wouldn’t leave. It just kept getting bigger and more urgent. I had to find out for myself, but I didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The years passed by, and finally graduation was around the corner. It would soon be time to take the next step—serving a mission. Going on a mission seemed to fill every conversation I had with my parents, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I should go. How could I teach people the gospel if I didn’t know for myself if it “I believe because I found out for myself.”
It was time to stop living off of “borrowed light.” I was determined to find out.
I didn’t know where to start, but I decided the Book of Mormon would be a good place. I started to study it, not just read it. I also decided to study it prayerfully. While I was doing this, I realized that I hadn’t been having personal prayers very regularly. I also realized that this was the first time I had honestly studied the scriptures. Maybe the reason I didn’t know if the Church was really true was that I had never prayerfully tried to find out.
I kept a list of questions I had about the Church in the cover of my Book of Mormon. At nights I made an effort to pray about a certain question, and quite often I would find the answer to that very question as I read. This happened too often to be just a coincidence. My prayers were actually being answered, and every time a prayer would be answered, it gave me a deeper incentive to continue in my investigation.
I finished the Book of Mormon and started on the New Testament. I had seen books like A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and Jesus the Christ sitting on my parents’ bookshelves, and now I had an intense desire to learn what they had to say. I didn’t really read anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for the first time, I understood it. As I continued in my study and prayers, a strong testimony began to grow within me, and sometimes when I prayed, a warm feeling would overcome me entirely. I soon learned that the Holy Ghost was real.
I noticed one night that every question I had written on the list had been crossed out. Although it hadn’t happened all at once, my questions had been answered—every one of them.
Then I realized I knew that the Church was true. I knew it was true, not because my parents had told me it was true, not because the leaders of the Church had told me it was true, but because I had found out for myself.

I remember the occasion of more than fifty years ago when, as a missionary, I was speaking in an open-air meeting in Hyde Park, London. As I was presenting my message, a heckler interrupted to say, “Why don’t you stay with the doctrine of the Bible which says in John (4:24), ‘God is a Spirit’?”
I opened my Bible to the verse he had quoted and read to him the entire verse:
“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”
I said, “Of course God is a spirit, and so are you, in the combination of spirit and body that makes of you a living being, and so am I.”
Each of us is a dual being of spiritual entity and physical entity. All know of the reality of death when the body dies, and each of us also knows that the spirit lives on as an individual entity and that at some time, under the divine plan made possible by the sacrifice of the Son of God, there will be a reunion of spirit and body. Jesus’ declaration that God is a spirit no more denies that he has a body than does the statement that I am a spirit while also having a body.
I do not equate my body with His in its refinement, in its capacity, in its beauty and radiance. His is eternal. Mine is mortal. But that only increases my reverence for Him. I worship Him “in spirit and in truth.” I look to Him as my strength. I pray to Him for wisdom beyond my own. I seek to love Him with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. His wisdom is greater than the wisdom of all men. His power is greater than the power of nature, for He is the Creator Omnipotent. His love is greater than the love of any other, for His love encompasses all of His children, and it is His work and His glory to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of His sons and daughters of all generations (see Moses 1:39).
He “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
This is the Almighty of whom I stand in awe and reverence. It is He to whom I look in fear and trembling. It is He whom I worship and unto whom I give honor and praise and glory. He is my Heavenly Father, who has invited me to come unto Him in prayer, to speak with Him, with the promised assurance that He will hear and respond.