Gospel Story Finder

When I was the mission president in the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission, one of the missionaries serving with me, Elder Hinostroza, was happily serving in a town near the Brazilian border and wanted to finish serving his mission there. When it came time to make missionary transfers, I felt the impression to change Elder Hinostroza’s assignment and sent him to Santa Cruz. He said, “President, why change me when I have only six weeks left on my mission?”
I said, “I think it’s the right thing to do.”
He looked at me and said, “I’m not so sure.” But he was a good missionary and went to work.
Shortly after he began serving in his new assignment, he went to teach a family. He finished teaching the lesson, and the lady took out a picture from her wallet and showed it to Elder Hinostroza. She said, “The reason I’m here in Santa Cruz is because I’m looking for my daughter, whom I have not seen in 10 years. Somebody told me that she might be here.”
More than a million people live in Santa Cruz. The chances of a mother finding her daughter in a city of that size were very slim. Elder Hinostroza looked at the picture, then looked at the mother. He said, “I know your daughter. When I served one year ago in another ward, your daughter was there. She’s a member of the Church.” That night Elder Hinostroza took this mother to find her daughter who had been lost.
Heavenly Father cared so much about one mother and one daughter that He found a way to bring them together again. After that evening Elder Hinostroza called me and said, “I now know the care Father in Heaven has for His children, and I know why I was transferred. That knowledge has changed my life.”

In the summer of 1973 the war in Southeast Asia was still being fought, and I was assigned by the United States Air Force to a base in Thailand. Leaving my wife and two small children that day was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. It was only the assurances I received in a blessing from my father that gave me the courage to turn and walk to the awaiting airplane. He promised in that blessing that I would “not be forced to participate in any unlawful activities,” and that I would be “kept clean to return to my family.”

After a few days at jungle survival school in the Philippines, I went on to my final assignment in Thailand as a navigator and weapons systems officer in a fighter squadron. I was determined to do my job well and make the year pass as quickly as possible.

On the evening of my arrival, the other squadron members flew back from their bombing missions, and soon I was invited to join in celebrating their safe return. It was with some apprehension that I entered the room to meet what would be my “family” for the next twelve months. The party was going strong. I politely refused an alcoholic drink, took a soda pop, and tried to hide myself in quiet conversation surrounded by the pounding of music and layers of cigarette smoke.

As I was introduced to the others, I eventually ended up standing at the bar counter with the squadron commander, a colonel. With his arm around my neck, I was a captive audience, listening to his tales of airplanes, daring adventures, and past comrades.

Soon a signal was given and the men gathered around the bar. The music was turned off and it became very quiet. A daily tradition was about to be carried out. Everyone was served a small drink of very strong alcohol, a lime, and some salt. When the drinks came around to me, I said quietly, trying to be casual, “No, thank you, I prefer this soft drink.”

“But this is a squadron tradition,” the man said.

Thoughts raced through my mind: “Why me? Why in front of the whole squadron? Why the very first night?” Trying to sound confident, I explained that I did not drink alcohol but would participate with soda pop.

With that, the silence deepened, then the commander’s arm tightened around my neck. “Lieutenant,” he said, “I’m ordering you to have this drink. You’ll drink it if I have to pour it down you myself.”

I thought of how far I could get if I tried to fight. I imagined the results, and an unpleasant visit to the senior officer to request a change to another squadron. Again I asked myself the question, “Why me?” Oh, how I wished to be home across those eight thousand miles of ocean. Then I remembered the promise my father had given me a week earlier. I gathered all my courage in that waiting silence and said, “I’m sorry, sir, I will not drink alcohol.”

An electricity filled the air. I prayed with all my heart, “Heavenly Father, help me get through this night.”

The colonel leaned back and measured me with his eyes, then replied, “You are going to drink this …”

I prayed.

Then he added, “… unless you are a Mormon.”

What relief filled my soul! Of course I was a Mormon. Why hadn’t I mentioned it earlier? Was I ashamed of my reason for not drinking? Didn’t I believe that God in his wisdom gave such a commandment? I answered, “Yes, I’m a Mormon.”

He questioned me again to make sure I wasn’t simply pretending I was a Mormon. Then he said, “A soft drink for this man.”

As I prayed later that night, I thanked my Heavenly Father for the lesson I had learned so far from home. I thanked him for an earthly father inspired to bless his son. I was thankful that my conviction was now known to everyone, and that for the next twelve months the whole squadron would make sure I remained true to my commitments. I was thankful that somewhere some other Latter-day Saint had not been afraid to let the colonel know why he lived a clean life. It was then also that I promised never to hesitate to say, “I am a Mormon.”

By the way people turn and stare, smile and wave when the Roth family drives down the streets of Station-Siggenthal, you might think that they were celebrities. Although they don’t know everyone in the village, everyone seems to know them.
In Switzerland, where most families have only one or two children, the Roth family is extraordinary because besides Hans and Valerie Roth, the parents, there are ten children. And when they all pile into their van for an outing, it is quite a sight. Being all together is something Samantha (7) wishes that they could do more often.
With all of their busy schedules, it is sometimes difficult to see each other every day. Samantha, for instance, goes to school from 8:00 A.M. until 11:00 or 12:00 o’clock. Then she goes home for lunch. School starts again at 1:20 P.M. and goes until 3:00 or 4:00 o’clock. On Saturday, school is from 8:00 A.M. to 11:00 or 12:00 o’clock. Each child in the Roth household leaves for and comes home after school at different times.
Because of all this coming and going, not to mention other activities, Samantha wants her family to be together for supper each evening. It is a special time with everyone helping to get dinner on the table, sharing what’s happened to them during the day, and cleaning up afterward. If someone is not home, Samantha asks if he or she will be there the next night, because she really misses him.
She is grateful for family home evening, too, because it gives her family another to chance to all be together. A favorite family activity is to go on picnics. Mom makes and packs some “snake bread dough,” then they take hot dogs to one of their favorite spots, wrap the dough around the hot dogs, and roast them over a fire.
With such a large family, there are always things around the house that need doing. Shoes, boots, and coats all need to be kept in their proper places. Sports equipment is organized so that it’s easy to find. And household chores must be done daily.
“When you ask Samantha to help,” her mother said, “she never says, ‘No, I don’t want to.’” Samantha likes to vacuum, and she loves to wash dishes by hand, even though the family owns a dishwasher.
“She’s a good girl, and she helps a lot with the smaller children,” her father said.
She is always happy, smiling, and singing. “Samantha’s a very good singer,” said Naëmi (15). Sarah and Jessica (17), who are twins, appreciate her being always willing to help and to listen when they want to talk about their joys or problems.
When they have time, she plays basketball with Jérôme (16) and Joël (12). Manuel (10) is teaching her to play table tennis. But her favorite sport is swimming. Every chance she gets, weather permitting, she heads out the back door and down a grassy path to the nearby community swimming pool. She sometimes wishes that she could be a dolphin, leaping through waves and playing in the water all day.
Tending Semjon (4), Moana (3), and Jeshua (1) also helps the family. Once she learned a lot about faith and prayer. Semjon had wandered off, and she frantically searched for him for half an hour but couldn’t find him. She turned to Heavenly Father for help. After praying, she went on searching and sang “I Am a Child of God.” She feels that singing Primary songs pleases Heavenly Father. Soon she felt that she should return home. When she got there, she found Semjon. She was very grateful that Heavenly Father had answered her prayers.
She thinks all children should remember that when you have problems, you can always turn to your Heavenly Father in prayer. Sometimes it takes patience. Her brother Jérôme had worked very hard and saved money to buy a bicycle. When it was stolen out of the Roth’s garage, he prayed every day that he would get his bike back. After three months of praying every day, he felt impressed to go play in an area where he’d never gone before. He found his bike there. Samantha knows that Heavenly Father helped her brother find his bike. She knows He helped her find her brother Semjon. And she knows that although He doesn’t always answer prayers the way we want Him to, He does listen and answer everyone’s prayers.

"For a number of years our family lived in Seattle, Washington- nine years, in fact, and we hoped that it would be 90. At the beginning of the ninth year, in September, there were some feelings granted to my wife that "something important" , some kind of change, was going to happen to us that year. Through the years of our marriage, we had both come to respect the gift she had for those quiet prompting's, and so we looked forward with some anticipation to this prompting's fulfillment, whatever it might be. In January, because my supervisor in the Church Educational System became ill, portions of his assignment were parceled out to a couple of us. This new, important, and weighty opportunity was viewed as a fulfillment of my wife's feelings, at least as far as I was concerned. Returning home after traveling and interviewing personnel in western Washington and Alaska, and thrilled at this opportunity for growth and service, I mentioned to my wife that her feelings were certainly right, that "something important" had indeed entered into our lives.

"She had thought much of this experience and simply stated, "This is not what I have been feeling, I believe there is something else which we are still to experience." Shortly thereafter, in just a matter of weeks, she received another impression that we should get our home ready to sell. This time her feelings were more than just expectations, they led to work. However, we acted on those sacred preparatory feelings and began a multitude of tasks to make our home more presentable and saleable.

"After weeks of labor, we wondered why the impression had come. We hadn't even considered that we might be moved by Church Education. However, there was an issue surrounding the school system in the city of Seattle that had caused many to move outside the city limits to adjoining communities. Considering that as a foundation for the impressions, we began looking for another home. We found a lovely house, in an area we liked, and in our price range. After praying about our decision, however, we felt confusion. Only after deciding not to make an offer did we feel we had made the right decision. In fact, we were impressed that we should not look for another home at all, and the peace that followed that decision was confirming.

"A few weeks later, in the second week of June, I received a telephone call from Salt Lake City, the central office of the Church Educational System. My boss asked me if I was sitting down, and when I assured him I was, he asked me to consider a move to the Midwest. Not only did the request shock my wife and me, for we had loved our experiences in Seattle, but it was coming to us four to five months later than most requests normally come, months that would give a family time to sell and buy a home and to make this kind of major transition.

"The next 24 hours given us to make our decision were as difficult as any I had ever lived. The feelings that came to me concerning our neighborhood, our friends, our Church positions, and our Church Education experience were so enormous, that until the decision was made and confirmed by the Lord, I did not once consider all the preparatory blessings the Lord had introduced into our lives to make the move more expeditious. We had been prompted and we had responded--our home was ready to sell. In only a couple of weeks, after making the final arrangements of our home to be shown, we drove to Utah and secured our children with grandparents, and then flew to Indiana to buy a home where we were to live for the next 10 years.

"Our experience in finding a home in Indiana was nothing short of providential. Not only did we feel the Lord's help in purchasing our home, but the only people to walk through our home in Seattle while we were gone made an acceptable offer, and we were able to move rather expeditiously. The Lord's omniscience had prepared the way.

"If someone had stuck a microphone in my face at different stages of our experience that year and asked, "Are you in the middle of a spiritual experience?" I could not have responded completely. I knew we were being directed by the impressions my wife was having, and we were acting on them faithfully. Yes, we were in the middle of a wonderful spiritual experience, and we were just beginning, as we returned from our Indiana house-buying travels to realize its full meaning in our lives. I bear testimony that God's knowledge, as it is indicated in the scriptures and in the Lectures on Faith, is a preparation for us. His knowledge saves us, temporally and spiritually."

“Stick close to me, girls. I don’t want to lose you!” Lexie said. Stacey and her friend Amanda hurried a little faster to keep up.
Stacey had been so excited when Amanda invited her to come shopping with her older sister, Lexie. Stacey wished that she could be as stylish as Lexie—Lexie always dressed like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Stacey had saved up money so she could buy a shirt on their shopping trip. Maybe Lexie would help her pick out something really cute.
The girls walked into a clothing store and began browsing a wall lined with colorful shirts. Stacey ran her hand across the racks, feeling the soft fabrics.
“You should try that one on,” Lexie said, pointing to one of the shirts. “It would look way cute on you.”
“Really?” Stacey asked. She felt flattered that Lexie was paying attention to her. The shirt was orange—her favorite color—and it was the right price. There was only one problem.
“She can’t get that one, Lexie,” Amanda said. “It has spaghetti straps, and it’s really short.”
Stacey felt her heart drop. How could she be cool like Lexie now?
Lexie casually waved her hand. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, that modesty rule only really matters when you’re older.”
Stacey began to feel a little hopeful. Maybe Lexie was right. It wasn’t like it was that immodest. Besides, the wall of shirts she stood in front of had only a few modest shirts, and none of them were very cute. It would take more time to find a shirt that looked good and had sleeves.
Stacey was about to pick up the shirt to try it on when she noticed she felt uncomfortable. She knew what she was about to do wasn’t right and that the Holy Ghost was warning her not to do it. She knew that dressing modestly was an important way of respecting her body and being a good example.
She looked at Lexie and swallowed. She wanted to be as cool as Lexie was, but after taking one look at Amanda, Stacey knew what she had to do.
“I actually don’t want to wear this,” she said, turning away from the shirt.
Lexie shrugged. “OK, that’s fine. Hey, let’s look at that section over there.”
As Lexie walked away, Amanda looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m glad you decided not to try on that shirt, Stacey.”
“I wanted to,” Stacey confessed. “But I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Well, come on,” Amanda said. “Let’s go find you a shirt that is right.”
They went to join Lexie, leaving the orange shirt hanging on the wall.

Daniel ran into his house. He was sad.
“What’s wrong, Daniel?” Mom asked.
“Jake was being mean to kids at recess. I told him to stop,” Daniel said. “He got mad. He called me a name. He said he does not want to be my friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Mom and Daniel walked to Mom and Dad’s room.
Mom took a jar of pennies from the shelf. She poured the pennies onto the bed.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
“Pick a penny, Daniel,” Mom said. “You can keep it.”
Daniel picked a very shiny penny.
“Why did you pick that penny?” Mom asked.
“I like that it is shiny,” Daniel said.
“Friends are like pennies,” Mom said. “We should choose friends who make us feel good.”
That night when Daniel went to bed, he prayed to find a friend who would help him choose the right so he could feel good.
Daniel remembered a boy who liked to play basketball at recess. Daniel liked to play basketball too! Maybe they could be friends.
Daniel was happy the next day when he got out of bed.
“How do you feel today?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Daniel said. “I’m going to make a shiny-penny friend!”
At school Daniel played basketball with the boy. He was nice. They had a fun time. Daniel was happy to have a shiny-penny friend.

Gabe King, 15, of Jeffersonville, Indiana, wasn’t exactly looking for a service project. But when he found out about his neighbor’s misfortune, he couldn’t help but act.
While working in his orchard, the neighbor fell out of a tree. He was hurt badly enough that picking the apples himself was impossible. If the apples weren’t picked, he wouldn’t be able to make a living. Gabe organized a group of about ten young women and men to join him in an apple-picking party. They chose a cool day in October and picked all day long to bring in the man’s crop.
“He was very grateful and really happy,” Gabe explains. “He would have lost a lot of money had we not picked his apples. It was a great feeling to know how much it meant to him.”

The other account I will share—which most will also likely find amusing—occurred while he was serving as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Although usually a strength, his dogged determination and almost complete focus on his work was also a cause for worry on occasion not only for his family but also for the top leadership of the Church. Let me again return to the account recorded by John Talmage:

In later years, James’ long hours of work, unrelieved by periods of recreation, were cause for real concern among family, friends, and associates. President Heber J. Grant [the president of the Church], for one, repeatedly urged Dr. Talmage to take up some form of sport, if only for its therapeutic value. Himself an enthusiastic golfer, President Grant tried to get his friend to try that sport, confident (as are all golfers) that if anyone were once thoroughly exposed to golf he would be captivated by its subtle but powerful attractions.

As President Grant’s urgings increased in frequency and intensity, so did Dr. Talmage’s demurrers on the grounds of lack of interest and lack of ability to master a complicated skill so late in life. President Grant was certain the skill could be mastered and that interest would automatically follow. Finally a compromise was reached, and a test agreed upon: James would give the game of golf an honest trial, and work at it until he was able to hit a drive which President Grant would rate as satisfactory, “a real golf shot.”

“If you hit just one really good drive, nature will do the rest,” President Grant assured his pupil-to-be. “You won’t be able to resist the game after that.”

It was agreed that James would make his own choice after he had acquired the skill to hit the specified shot. If he felt the fascination of the game, as President Grant was certain he would, he would take up golf and play with reasonable regularity. If, after giving the game a fair trial, James still felt no interest, President Grant would cease his efforts to get Dr. Talmage to play.

On an appointed day, the two, accompanied by a number of others of the General Authorities who played golf and who had joined the friendly argument on the side of President Grant, proceeded to Nibley Park for James’ first session in what was expected to be a series of lessons.

James removed his coat and was shown how to grip the club and take his stance at the ball. The coordinated movements involved in making a golf stroke were carefully explained and then demonstrated by President Grant and by others. Finally it came James’ turn to try it himself.

What followed astonished all those who watched, and probably James himself. Instead of missing the ball completely, or weakly pushing it a few feet along the grass, James somehow managed to strike the ball cleanly and with substantial force. It took off in a fine arc and with only a minimum amount of slice. Some who saw it described it later as “a truly magnificent drive,” which was probably a considerable exaggeration. However, there was consensus that the ball went close to 200 yards and stayed in the fairway. It was a drive that would have gladdened the heart of any golfer short of the expert class, and it bordered on the phenomenal for a novice.

The spectators were momentarily struck dumb, then burst into enthusiastic applause.

“Congratulations,” said President Grant, rushing forward, beaming, with outstretched hand. “That was a fine shot you will remember for the rest of your life.”

“You mean that was a fully satisfactory golf shot?” James asked, cautiously.

“It certainly was!” said President Grant.

“Then I have fulfilled my part of the agreement?”

“You have—and don’t you feel the thrill of excitement? Now you’ll be playing regularly. As a matter of fact, we can go into the clubhouse now and I will help you select a set of clubs.”

“Thank you,” said James, putting on his coat. “If I have carried out my part of the agreement, then I shall call on you to live up to yours. You promised that if I hit a satisfactory drive and did not feel the spontaneous desire to play, you would stop urging me to do so. Now I should like to get back to the office, where I have a great deal of work waiting.”

So far as is known, James never again struck a golf ball, or made the attempt. [The Talmage Story, 226–28; emphasis in original]

It is very clear that Brother Talmage was always absolutely supportive and obedient to the prophet on matters of doctrine, principle, and Church practice or procedure, but he did not consider his loyalty to the Brethren to extend to their love of golf!

Brother Talmage was his own man, but he was also a man of impeccable character. He decided to do what he considered was really important and deflected those things of lesser or no priority.

I knew the changes my life needed.
I should be studying my scriptures deeply. I should be exercising regularly. I should participate in hobbies I once loved. These were all things that would improve my spiritual, physical, and mental health. I knew that—that’s what I was taught from a young age.
But I just couldn’t bring myself to do them.
Why? Because the changes required a major shift in my lifestyle, and I couldn’t sustain them.
I’d try and fail. Things would go well for a week or two, and then I would fall back into old habits. So, I decided to take a more gradual approach—one step at a time, “line upon line” (2 Nephi 28:30). With that in mind, I focused on truths of slow, sustainable goal setting:
Routine is vital to me, and I noticed my mornings and nights felt rushed and unproductive. I was often tired and didn’t accomplish everything I needed to. To make a change, I started with an important, foundational habit that set up a good pattern for me to continue changing.
For me, the foundational step was my bedtime. I set a goal to read scriptures at night and to go to bed earlier. Over the course of several weeks, I shifted my bedtime by one hour per week. I made a conscious effort to stick to this plan and be consistent.
My efforts weren’t perfect every night, but over time, I began to notice a significant improvement. I shifted my bedtime by several hours, and with that, I was able to get more sleep than ever before. And once I was better rested, it was easier to incorporate scripture study.
This method of changing my habits did wonders for me, so I started using it in other areas of my life. I started working on things like my temple attendance, exercise and nutrition, and hobbies. One good habit can lead to forming more good habits. Figuring out what foundational habit you want to create can help you start on the path to healthy change.
Breaking my goals down into steps made them seem smaller and more manageable. For one week, I would focus on a small aspect of my goal and discuss my progress with my husband. The following week, I would add another small aspect. If I stopped, I knew I had added too much too quickly, so I would go back to the previous step that I had already mastered.
Repentance is change, and like all change, repentance is a process. Making these small changes every week helped me experience the joy of repentance. I felt supported and empowered by Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, which improved my quality of life drastically.
My motivation for change has increased with these principles. I have implemented many small changes, but over time, the impact of small acts has been large. Becoming better and increasing motivation will be a lifelong pursuit, not a one-time event.

When my husband and I lost our first baby, doctors told us I would never have children. I was devastated. I grieved and looked for answers. My husband also grieved. We prayed and knew how important it was to be an eternal family. Eventually, we were sealed in the Los Angeles California Temple.
I was still trying to understand why this loss had happened when I remembered my patriarchal blessing. I started to read my blessing and found a part I had completely forgotten about. It said I would be blessed with sons and daughters. I thought that there had to be something wrong with what the doctors had told me. I went to the doctor and was told again that I was not going to be able to have a baby.
About five years after we lost our first baby, we decided to try in vitro fertilization. At the first appointment, a pregnancy test showed positive. I couldn’t believe it. They ran more tests and confirmed that I was already pregnant. Nine months later, we welcomed our daughter into our family. Now, I am a mom to four incredible kids.

Mike* started gambling when he was still in high school—only a few dollars here and there. By the time he was in college he had graduated to all-night poker games. As a young adult, Mike joined the Church but returned to his old habits. And later, when he was married with two children, his problem with gambling had only grown.
He mortgaged the family’s New England home, lost his children’s college funds, and couldn’t even pay the utility bills because he used all his family’s money to pay gambling debts. Along with his compulsive gambling came compulsive lying to cover up his habit and his debts. Mike’s gambling problem eventually led to divorce and the loss of his children’s trust.
Mike’s case is an extreme one, but not uncommon. His children, Kristen and Amber, now 21 and 18, know the devastating effects of gambling—and lying to cover up the problem—on a family. “It’s a plague,” says Kristen. “Stay away from it like you would the plague.”
Although their dad is now seeking help at Gamblers Anonymous, the years of heartache his gambling caused are difficult to forget. “It’s even hard to trust him now,” Amber says.

Bro. Tew: President Hinckley has spoken often of his wonderful mother. On one occasion he said:

"My mother died 65 years ago. She died while I was a student at the University. I went on a mission after that. It was in the bottom of the Depression. Money was terribly scarce. My father had a lot of property, but all that he was getting out of it was tax notices—no income from it. We discovered that my mother had established a savings account with the nickels and dimes and the quarters she got in change when she bought groceries, and that spelled the difference that made it possible to cover my expenses in what was then the most costly mission in all the world."

Her small change saved a little at a time made a big difference!

Consider this tender example. It was fast Sunday as Vance and I knocked on the door of a small, humble home. We and other deacons in the quorum had come to expect the words “Please come in,” yelled warmly in a thick German accent loud enough to hear through the door. Sister Muellar was one of several immigrant widows in the ward. She couldn’t answer the door very easily, as she was legally blind. As we stepped inside the dimly lit home, she greeted us with kind questions: What are your names? How are you doing? Do you love the Lord? We answered and shared that we came to receive her fast offering. Even at our young age, her meager circumstances were readily apparent, and her faith-filled response was profoundly touching: “I placed a dime on the counter earlier this morning. I am so grateful to offer my fast offering. Would you be kind enough to place it in the envelope and fill out my fast-offering receipt?” Her love of the Lord lifted our faith each time we left her home.

Like many LDS teenagers in Africa, I was one of a handful of Church members in my high school. I became accustomed to sharing my beliefs with my friends, and I was known for having a certain set of standards. Fortunately for me, I don’t remember ever being ostracized for being different. If anything, I was respected and admired. My friends looked to me as a sort of anchor during an often difficult and confusing period of their lives.
One day during the final year of high school, I joined a group of friends to watch a movie. As we bought our tickets, the movie poster did not give an indication of the movie rating. Somewhat naively, I decided to buy a ticket anyway in the hope that the movie would be aboveboard.
Two minutes into the movie, I realised my hopes were in vain. The opening scene was shockingly vulgar. As I covered my eyes with my hands, I realised there was only one thing to do: leave. I was near the end of a long line of people, some of whom I was keen to make a favorable impression on. There was no way to make an inconspicuous exit. But there was also no way I could sit through that movie and be true to myself.
With a racing heart I leant over to a friend and whispered, “I’ll see you outside.”
Grabbing my popcorn, I picked my way in the inky darkness past the long row of friends. Back in the light of the ticket office, I wondered how to spend the next few hours as I awaited the others. To my surprise, I soon heard steps behind me.
One of my friends appeared, smiling. “I didn’t like that movie either,” she said. Thirty seconds later, we heard a second pair of footsteps, and then a third. After a few minutes, a large group of us had formed.
I looked around me, incredulous. When I had decided to leave, there was no way I could have predicted that more than half of my group of friends were secretly hoping for a way to get out too.
Marianne Williamson said, “As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same.”

I went sledding with my family. We had a lot of fun. There were lots of kids on the hill. I noticed that a girl was going too fast and was going to hit the fence. As she hit the fence, I ran down the hill to help her because I knew she must be hurt. She wasn’t hurt badly but she was scared and crying. No one else was around to help her, so I helped her get off her sled and made sure she was all right. Later that night when I went to bed I had a warm feeling in my heart. I knew it was the Holy Ghost telling me I had done something good and that Heavenly Father was happy with me.

As a new convert to the Church, I experienced a spiritual rescue through the saving hands of a faithful member of the Church. I grew up in Matsumoto, Japan, close to where the Nagano Winter Olympics were held. My hometown looks very much like Salt Lake City, a valley surrounded by beautiful mountains. When I was 17 years old, I met two American missionaries, Elder Carter and Elder Hayashi. Though our ages were only two or three years apart, the elders had something wonderful that I had never felt before. They were diligent, cheerful, and filled with love and light. I was deeply impressed by their qualities, and I wanted to become like them. I listened to their message and decided to be baptized. My parents, who were Buddhist, strongly opposed my baptism. Through the help of the missionaries and the Lord, I received permission and miraculously was baptized.

The next year I entered the university in Yokohama. Living alone, far from my hometown and the people I knew, I became lonely and strayed from the Church. One day I received a postcard from a Church member back home. She wrote that she had heard I was not attending Church meetings. She quoted a scripture and invited me to return to church. I was overwhelmed by the words of the scripture. This helped me realize that maybe I had lost something important, and I pondered and struggled for many days. This also caused me to remember a promise the missionaries had made to me: “If you read the Book of Mormon and ask in fervent prayer if the promise found in Moroni is true, you will know the truth through the power of the Holy Ghost.”

I realized that I was not praying with all of my heart and decided to do so. One morning I woke up early, knelt in my small apartment, and prayed sincerely. To my surprise, the confirmation of the Holy Ghost came upon me as promised. My heart burned, my body shook, and I was filled with joy. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I learned that God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, live and that They truly appeared to Joseph Smith. I made a commitment in my heart to repent and faithfully follow Jesus Christ for the rest of my life.

This spiritual experience changed my life completely! I decided to serve a mission out of gratitude to the Lord and to the Church member who rescued me. Following my mission, I was sealed in the temple to a wonderful girl, and we have been blessed with four children. Not coincidentally, this is the same girl who saved me by sending a postcard to that lonely apartment in Yokohama many years ago. I remain ever grateful for the mercy of the Lord and the help of this Church member, who invited me to once again come unto Christ.

I was once saved from death or serious accident because my father hearkened to the voice of the Spirit. If he had not responded instantly to the whisperings of the still small voice, my life might have ended then or had its course totally changed.
One of my earliest childhood recollections is of riding a horse through an apple orchard. The horse was tame and well broken, and I felt at home in the saddle.
But one day something frightened my mount, and he bolted through the orchard. I was swept from the saddle by the overhanging limbs, and one leg slipped down through the stirrup. I desperately hung to an almost broken leather strap that a cowboy uses to tie a lariat to his saddle. My weight should have broken the strap, but somehow it held for the moment. Another lunge or two of the stampeding horse would have broken the strap or wrenched it from my hands and left me to be dragged to injury or death with my foot entangled in the stirrup.
Suddenly the horse stopped, and I became aware that someone was holding the bridle tightly and attempting to calm the quivering animal. Almost immediately I was snatched up into the arms of my father.
What had happened? What had brought my father to my rescue in the split second before I slipped beneath the hoofs of my panic-driven horse?
My father had been sitting in the house reading the newspaper when the Spirit whispered to him, “Run out into the orchard!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, not waiting to learn why or for what reason, my father ran. Finding himself in the orchard without knowing why he was there, he saw the galloping horse and thought, I must stop this horse.
He did so and found me. And that is how I was saved from serious injury or possible death.

When I was ten or eleven years old, my twin brother and I went on a hike up the mountain just north of Y Mountain. Together, with a few friends, we woke up early and climbed straight up the face and then scampered across the top to the peak overlooking Rock Canyon.
On our way back down we ran into a small rattlesnake. Being the excitable kids we were, we surrounded the poor creature and wouldn’t let it escape. We became so bold as to pick it up by the tail as it would try to slither away. We’d hold it for a second or two and then drop it when our nerves gave in. The potentially deadly consequence of our actions didn’t deter us from our foolishness.
When we got home, my mother asked me if everything went okay on the hike. I mumbled something about a rattlesnake. She then related to me that at about the same time we would have been fooling around with the snake, she had received a strong impression that we were in danger. She had knelt and prayed for us. I was astonished. How did she know we were in trouble? This is my earliest recollection of what has become many experiences in which my mother received specific inspiration from the Holy Ghost in the very moment she needed it.

A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the missionaries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.
A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.
I had many questions when I was younger. I learned that I am a child of God, He loves me, He has a plan for me, and He wants to answer my prayers. This knowledge changed my entire perspective on life. I learned that who I am and what I do is significant.
Before I learned that I was a child of God, I wanted to blend in with everyone. I was afraid of standing out. But after I learned that I am a child of God, I realized I can stand out; I can be different.
Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!
Knowing that I’m a child of God has impacted many of my life decisions. I also know that as we follow the Spirit and do what Heavenly Father asks of us, even when it seems hard, He will bless us. That is always the best choice.