Gospel Story Finder

As the Christmas season drew near, Nathan anxiously shared some news with his family at dinner one evening.
“Gard told me today that he has not had a Christmas tree since he was a boy.”
With that announcement, the family soon outlined a plan of action—Gard would have a Christmas tree!
On Saturday, Nathan’s family drove to the nearby forest for their traditional Christmas-tree hunt. In the past their goal had been to search until they found a perfect blue spruce for their home, but this year everyone felt more excitement than ever before at finding the right tree for Gard. A perfect little spruce caught Nathan’s eye, and everyone approved. They took the tree home to prepare for Gard’s Christmas surprise.
On Monday for family home evening, Mom helped Nathan, Angie, and Eric make ornaments out of felt, glitter, ribbon, buttons, and beads. Then they decorated the tree and loaded it into the back of their truck.
Nathan had never felt such excitement as they huddled together around the tree before knocking on Gard’s door. As soon as they heard the click of the latch, everyone started singing, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”
Gard’s eyes lit up with excitement, followed by a few tears of joy as he invited them in. He danced from one foot to the other as he helped Nathan and Dad place the tree in front of his window that faced the street. Gard was so excited about his Christmas tree that he left it standing and decorated until March! Nathan and his family felt a warm peace in their hearts as they observed the soft glow of Gard’s tree lights each evening throughout the winter.

“It was late spring when I received my patriarchal blessing. The season was at its best, and I wanted to be too; so I prepared myself to receive what Heavenly Father would have to say to me personally. There had been some repenting, some fasting and praying, and deep discussions about the meaning of it all with my parents and with a very special boyfriend. I remember well the night before my appointment with Patriarch Jones, up there on Capitol Hill. I felt a strong need to gather myself together with Heavenly Father, and I went outside through the screen door and stood there for a time listening to the years of my childhood sift by on the night song of the crickets. I felt very grown-up that moment. Then suddenly I felt once again the pull of the stars. Kind of self-consciously at first, I stretched down on my back on the prickly grass, as I had done so often as a child. Then once again I took a deep breath and turned my face skyward. I studied the heavens; I found the familiar constellations and got placement with the North Star. And then there came to me the mind-stretching, soul-searching experience of feeling lifted up into the universe—almost into the presence of God, it seemed to me. It set my heart to pounding. I knew my prayers had reached home in heaven. The witness of the Spirit that God lives and was mindful of little me warmed me to tears.”

A devoted colleague once shared with me an experience he had when fulfilling an assignment to put away chairs and straighten up the stake center following a stake conference. After 30 minutes of carrying out these duties, he realized that he was the last person remaining in the building. Rather than feeling alone with a rush to leave, however, he noticed that the same sweet sense of peace he had felt during the conference remained with him and was even increasing.
As he finished the assignment and exited the meetinghouse, he encountered another member who seemed to be watching him intently. Realizing what my friend had been doing, this member took him by the hand and said, “Brother, the Lord sees these small things that you do for Him, and He looks down and smiles upon them.”
Years later while serving as a bishop, this same friend found himself alone again in his ward meetinghouse. After turning out the lights in the chapel, he lingered for a moment as the moonlight shone through the windows onto the pulpit.
The familiar sense of peace again washed over him, and he sat down near the front of the chapel and reflected on the myriad sacred moments he had experienced in that setting—the many times he had observed the priests breaking the bread at the sacrament table, the occasions when he had felt the Holy Spirit accompanying him as he delivered a ward conference address, the baptismal services he had conducted, the beautiful choir numbers he had heard, and the numerous testimonies from ward members that had touched him so deeply. Seated alone in that dark chapel, he felt overcome by the collective impact of these experiences on his life and on the lives of his ward members, and he bowed his head in profound gratitude.

Who would have known that a decision I made when I was 11 would influence the rest of my life?
At that time, my family seldom attended church. But my brother and I attended Primary. My teacher, in a lesson on temple marriage, said, “You have to decide now that you’re going to be married in the temple. It can’t wait. Decide today.” That was the first time I remember feeling touched by the Spirit, and I did decide, right then, that my goal was to marry in the temple.
For a few years, nothing changed. I seldom attended church, but I thought differently. I believed someday I would go to the temple.
Eventually that one decision began to affect other decisions. When I was 14, I decided that a person planning to go to the temple needed to take seminary. I saw myself as a seminary-going kind of person.
My friends from seminary attended Young Women activities, so I started going, too. I decided someone who planned to receive temple blessings would be helped by earning her Young Womanhood Recognition award. It wasn’t easy because of my late start in Church activity, but a great leader helped me set extra goals to catch up.
One of my goals was 100 percent attendance at Church meetings for one month. It was hard to have my parents drop me off each week. Sometimes I coaxed my little sister into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. Achieving that goal helped me see that I was a church-going kind of person.
I made mistakes, lots of them. Sometimes I became discouraged and thought my temple dream would never come true. A loving bishop guided me, taught me about repentance, and helped me find the determination to endure. He helped me remember that no matter how difficult, reaching the temple would be worth every effort, every sacrifice I made.
Turning 16 brought more decisions. One of my Sunday School teachers warned, “You will marry someone you date. Make sure you date the kind of person you can marry in the temple.” I took his advice seriously and asked myself about each friendship, “Is this the kind of person I could go to the temple with?” Sometimes my judgment was off. Still I kept to my plan until I found the right person to marry in the right place.
My parents supported me in all my decisions. Mom and Dad stood with me on the stand in sacrament meeting the day I received my Young Womanhood medallion. They were there when I graduated from seminary. They were with me when I received my patriarchal blessing, and they supported me as I attended Ricks College.
They were both with me the day I walked to the doors of the temple. I had finally reached the point when I would enter the temple and receive the blessings I had learned about and looked forward to. The statue of the angel Moroni, reflecting in the early morning sun on the temple spire, seemed to proclaim my joy to the world. I kissed my parents good-bye as I entered.
If I had waited to decide where to marry, it would have been too difficult to leave my parents outside and be married inside the temple. I wouldn’t have had a strong enough testimony of the gospel, of the importance of the temple, and of the necessity of making eternal covenants. I may not even have had the opportunity to decide. Leaders, bishops, and friends had helped me. My family had supported me. But I never would have made it if I hadn’t first decided I was going to be married in the temple.
In the temple I learned more about Heavenly Father’s plan for me. I learned I hadn’t completed my goal at all. I had only made one more step. So I decided right then to keep my temple covenants, no matter how difficult. I decided I will someday return to live with my Heavenly Father.

Physically: There was a need for me to improve my appearance I decided to learn how to apply a proper and modest make-up, make clothes for myself and family. I went online, downloaded video tutorials on the combination of simple makeup colors and how to measure, cut and sew dresses. I did set a short-term goal of three months to achieve this. Today I make clothes for myself, family, friends and even sisters around me wear my designs – Hachron Designs.

I recalled the day some years earlier when I picked up the telephone to hear the familiar voice of President Spencer W. Kimball, who carefully extended a call to me to serve as a mission president.
After the telephone call, I was troubled with great feelings of inadequacy. My wife and I were yet in our 30s, with a young family of six children. I remembered the deep love and respect that I felt and still feel for my mission president. Could President Kimball have made a mistake? Did they really understand who I was?
A few days later, we were granted an appointment with Elder Rex D. Pinegar. We explained to him our feelings. I will always remember Elder Pinegar’s answer: “Brother Brough, have you a testimony as to the divine calling of our prophets and other Church leaders?”
“Yes, I do,” I answered. “From my earliest childhood, I have believed in the sacred callings of our Church leaders. From the deepest part of my soul, I believe President Spencer W. Kimball to be a prophet.”
Elder Pinegar then said, “Now you must gain a testimony as to the divine nature of your own calling. You must come to know that you also have been called of God.”
Paul the Apostle had gained a personal testimony of his own “holy calling” and also that of Timothy. He declared that God “hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began” (2 Tim. 1:9).
This powerful personal witness would require Timothy to “be [a] partaker of the afflictions of the gospel according to the power of God” (2 Tim. 1:8).
As Kami and I read this scripture together, I could see that she very much wanted to understand. I wanted her to know that there can be some “afflictions” associated with our callings in the Church. We talked about being away from our home and family members. I understood it was difficult for her to adjust to these new surroundings.
It was obvious, however, that I was still short of my objective when she asked, “But, Daddy, why did we ‘get choosed’ and not someone else?” Now that is a much more difficult question. Why do these callings and responsibilities come to some and not to others? I was reminded of the charge President Hinckley gave me upon my ordination as a Seventy. He said: “Brother Brough, now a lot of people are going to say a lot of nice things about you. Don’t believe them!”
It is very dangerous for any of us to think we have earned the right to a Church calling. However, every member must come to know the sacred nature of his or her own service in the Church. I remember my Primary teacher, Sister Mildred Jacobson, who I believe was divinely called to her position of responsibility. Two bishops, Bishop Lynn McKinnon and Bishop Ross Jackson, who served during my youth, played significant roles in the lives of many. I believe they were called of God in the same process of revelation as were Paul and Timothy.
We must each prepare ourselves for every good work that might come to us and then accept the principle that revelation, not aspiration, is the basis for our respective callings. We can learn much from the following New Testament story:
“Then came to him the mother of Zebedee’s children with her sons, worshipping him, and desiring a certain thing of him.
“… She saith unto him, Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on the left, in thy kingdom” (Matt. 20:20–21).
I explained to Kami that Zebedee’s children were the Apostles James and John, who would later sit with Peter, one on his right hand and the other on his left. Then we read together how Jesus answered the devoted mother: “To sit on my right hand, and on my left, is not mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is prepared of my Father” (Matt. 20:23).
The Apostles also were taught concerning their important calling when Jesus reminded them, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you” (John 15:16).
I explained to Kami that we definitely had been chosen because we would not seek such a challenging assignment. This was reinforced just a few days later when Sister Brough and I were assigned to travel to India for a missionary conference. The flight from Hong Kong to New Delhi, India, was a late-night flight that arrived in New Delhi at about two o’clock in the morning. Even at that late hour, there were hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to provide our transportation. After selecting a driver, we began our journey of about 40 kilometers to the hotel. Even though it was late, the roads were crowded with animals, people, and other vehicles. As we were going through an intersection, the taxi’s motor quit. I watched with increasing anxiety as the driver fruitlessly attempted to start the motor. Finally, in obvious frustration, the driver turned to me and in his very best English said, “Push taxi!” It was three o’clock in the morning, and my wife and I were very tired. I got out of the taxi and tried to push it across the intersection but was not able to do so. The driver then said to my wife, “Push taxi.” Lanette got out of the car and began to help me push the taxi through the intersection. As we were struggling to get the taxi through the traffic, I said to my wife, “There were a few things we didn’t understand when we were given this assignment.”
I shall never forget the experience we had in June of 1993 at a special meeting in Beijing, China, with couples who were then teaching English in North Vietnam and Mongolia. After two days of training and inspiration, we closed with this familiar song:
It may not be on the mountain height
Or over the stormy sea,
It may not be at the battle’s front
My Lord will have need of me.
(“I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270)
As we were singing, my wife leaned over and whispered in my ear: “But it might be ‘on the mountain height,’ or it might be ‘over the stormy sea,’ or it might be ‘at the battle’s front.’” The Lord surely had need for these beautiful people serving in this interesting area of the world. These wonderful missionary couples did not choose to come to these countries. Yet as we now look at the results of their service, I know that they were chosen by the Lord for their special calling.
On four different occasions, Sister Brough and I and our family have excitedly opened the envelope containing the mission call and assignment for one of our children. Each time, we have contemplated with excitement the various possibilities for their service. While preferences were expressed, the moment their eyes saw the words “You are hereby assigned to serve in the (blank) mission,” without exception a wonderful feeling of good and right came over each family member. We each knew that a prophet had guided a divine selection process to which four of our children have gladly responded. Tens of thousands of returned missionaries can also testify of this process and the divine inspiration of their own missionary calling.
I never completely satisfied little Kami’s question that night. Over the years, we have recalled that challenging evening when a small child was a bit overwhelmed with life. We have explored other scriptures and many other stories since that time. We have received the wonderful promise to those the Savior had chosen “that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it [to] you” (John 15:16).
That promise—of answer to our prayers—is directed even to a small child. This was reaffirmed recently when I heard Kami, now 15 years old, respond to a question directed to her by an adult friend: “How come you were so lucky to live in Hong Kong when you were a child?” She looked directly at me as she gave her answer to our friend: “It wasn’t luck; we ‘were chosen.’”
That personal and prophetic revelation is the foundation upon which our Church service is firmly based is my witness, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was younger, I lived next door to an elderly lady who spent most of her time alone and seldom left her house. When she did leave, she would be gone for a long time, and that is when I went to work.
I would get a rake or snow shovel or broom and do what I could to clean up the area around her house. Sometimes I would just leave her a plate of cookies with a note. I tried so hard to be a friend to the lady who lived there, and I thought that if I did these things for her she would be nice to me.
I really enjoyed the extra work because it made me feel good inside, but I thought I would feel even better if she would only acknowledge my kindness. I would watch her come home and feel disappointed because she never made an attempt to show thanks or appreciation. I had worked so hard and never received so much as a smile.
Then one Sunday at church we had a lesson on service, and I realized that I had been performing acts of service for my neighbor with the expectation of getting something in return. I went home and asked my mother about service and she gave me a scripture to read. It was Mosiah 2:17:
“And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”
That taught me a valuable lesson about my activities. And I knew that even if my neighbor didn’t seem to care about my efforts, my Heavenly Father did care.

Another athlete, Ed Maisey, a returned missionary from the Korea Seoul Mission, had a rather unique experience—he wrestled his way into discussions! At one time Ed was assigned to work on a military base. The missionaries were not allowed to actively proselyte on the base, although they could teach the gospel if approached. Ed became the assistant coach to the high school wrestling team, and through this contact met many people who later received the discussions.
While in Seoul he was introduced to Olympic medalist Yong Jung Mo. They became friends, and Ed worked out with Mr. Yong and the national team. As thrilling as that must have been, though, Ed contends that his most rewarding experiences were in proselyting. Wrestling was simply another tool for opening doors.
Ed earned many championships following his mission: Unfortunately, he suffered a dislocated shoulder during the National Collegiate Athletic Association finals. He still did exceptionally well, according to Ben Ohai, his assistant coach. During the round in which he was injured while wrestling the defending champion, the score was 11-14. He took sixth in the nation.
Ed was selected BYU student athlete of the year for 1978–79 and entered Nebraska’s dental school this fall as a National Collegiate Athletic Association post-graduate scholar.
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.

Nathan couldn’t remember a time when Grandpa Virgil went anywhere for his own sake. It always seemed to be to help someone else—like the countless times the elderly man took groceries to Widow Farley, whose health was failing. Or the winter he helped Bishop Kelsay repair his barn roof after the big wind. Or the time Nathan rode with him to Grandma’s funeral at Potter’s Crossing. Instead of being concerned with his own grief, Grandpa Virgil had placed his free hand around his grandson’s shoulder and explained to him about the Savior’s Atonement and overcoming of death for all.

“Because of him, we will not only live again but can gain eternal life if we do all he asks of us,” Grandpa Virgil explained, his eyes bright with insight and tears.
Nathan’s eyes shifted now to the rearview mirror. The reflection in it of the back of the truck prompted his memory of the time he rode in it the day of his baptism. His father’s car had broken down, so the family piled into the old truck. Nathan sat in the open bed with his brother, Frank, and his little sister, Ashley. His father and mother rode up in the cab with Grandpa Virgil.
Nathan liked the feel of the breeze on his face. Grandpa had said that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcarters as, seeking peace, they trudged across the plains with their families to their new beginnings in these very valleys.
Peace! Nathan thought, his eyes filling with hot, stinging tears at the reality of his grandfather’s absence. Peace is what I need now to help me deal with Grandpa Virgil’s being gone. He pushed his face out the open window into a breeze that had arisen with the dawn. Maybe it was the same wind, he speculated, that cooled the tears of the handcart pioneers who had to bury their dead in shallow graves and continue on their way. That’s what Grandpa would want of me now—to continue on my way and be the best I can be. “I will, Grandpa,” he whispered out loud. “I will.”
Later that morning as everyone gathered around the breakfast table, Nathan’s father asked Frank, Nathan, and Ashley what one thing they would each like to have that had belonged to Grandpa Virgil, as a remembrance of him. Frank chose Grandpa’s fishing pole. “It’s yours,” Father agreed with a kindly smile. “And all his tackle. I know how you cherished your time with him under that old willow by the fishing hole.” He turned his smile toward Nathan’s sister. “What about you, Ash?”
“Grandpa’s scriptures,” she said after a moment’s thought, “the ones he always took to church.”
Father patted the small girl’s hand and nodded. “I think Grandpa especially wanted you to have them because he knew you’d really study them like he did.” He then turned toward his firstborn. “And you, Nathan? What would you like, son?”
Nathan hesitated, knowing how much his father needed the extra milk cows. His eyes fell, and he poked at his food. Then, mustering a smile, he looked up and said, “I really can’t think of anything, Dad.”
Father and Mother exchanged glances. They knew different. “It’s Grandpa Virgil’s old pickup, isn’t it, Nathan?”
He nodded. “But the extra milk cows—you need the money you’ll get from Mr. Finch for Grandpa’s truck to buy them.”
“I made all of you kids an offer, Nathan,” Father reminded him. “You’d like to have his old pickup, and we want you to have it. Besides—” he glanced away quickly to blink back a tear— “I saw you outside, sitting in Grandpa’s truck, and I could tell that to you that old pickup is as priceless an earthly treasure as a boy or man could ever hope for.” He leaned forward and spoke with warm finality: “The old pickup is yours.”
Before Nathan could protest, Father added, “The extra cows can wait, Nathan. We have managed without them this long, haven’t we? And if this year’s harvest is good, I just might be able to buy them then—OK?”
That night Nathan sat by his bedroom window, staring out at the green pickup in the tall weeds. It was as alive in his mind as it was in the yard—as alive as Grandpa Virgil would always be, for memories were eternal, his grandfather once said, “and things eternal never die.” Nathan had been wrestling in his mind with something ever since supper. Now a look of peace and contentment washed over him. He regarded the battered machine in the soft glow of moonlight a final moment, then went to bed.
Early the next morning, he approached his father with a determined look on his face. “I have something to say, Dad.”
“Sure,” his father answered. “What is it, son?”
“It’s something I want to do. I just feel it. It’s what Grandpa would do if he were here.”
“OK,” Father said slowly, waiting to hear his son out.
“I called Mr. Finch about the pickup—I’m selling it to him.”
“You’re what?”
“I want to be like Grandpa, Dad. I want to help.”
“I told you, Nathan, you don’t have to—”
“I want to, Dad,” Nathan interrupted. “I really want to.”
Nathan went with his father for the last ride in the pickup. Mother drove the other family truck, Frank and Ashley riding with her. After they dropped off Grandpa Virgil’s pickup at Mr. Finch’s, they would head for Mr. Anderson’s farm to purchase two more milk cows. It was hot enough that Nathan could roll down the truck window and let the wind rush across his face. He seemed to hear in his mind Grandpa Virgil saying that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcart pioneers as they trudged across the plains.
Nathan smiled and gazed affectionately around the old truck, which was still alive with memories—the kind of memories that go on forever. Just like Grandpa Virgil.

My wife and I have twelve children. When our daughter Sarah was two years old, I was a mission president, and missionaries ate with us at every meal. Sarah always found something to fuss about, and she would cry and kick and scream. Usually we would take her away from the table and discipline her. One time my wife took her to the bedroom and said, “Now, Sarah, you don’t feel good. You’re angry.” And when you’re angry, you aren’t happy, and others aren’t happy. Let’s ask Heavenly Father if He can help you feel happy instead of angry. So they prayed, and she felt happier. The next day, she fussed at the table again, and they prayed again, and she felt happy again. After a while, this two-year-old learned that to feel better, she prayed. Today Sarah is a young woman, and people love to be around her because of her sweet personality.

Hi, my name is Kennedy Lee McKinnon. I am eight years old and in third grade. I attend church at the Whitecourt Branch in Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada. One day I was making a gelatin salad. When I threw the package away, I saw two $20 bills in the garbage. I put them in my pocket and thought, “Wow! Forty dollars!” Afterward, I felt guilty and gave them to my mommy. I felt better. I know I listened to the Holy Ghost and made the right choice. My mommy was glad, too, because my sister, who is one and a half, had taken the money from Mommy’s wallet and put it in the garbage.
Kennedy McKinnon, age 8Whitecourt, Alberta, Canada

We must always be sure to make decisions in harmony with the commandments. To obey requires that we trust the Lord’s wisdom and love for us. The story of another young man, whom we will call Fred, illustrates: When Fred was eleven, he got a job delivering newspapers door-to-door and really began to prosper. He was still delivering papers at age sixteen. One day the manager of the newspaper, an inactive member of the Church, said, “Fred, you have been so loyal and done so well in selling subscriptions that I’m going to appoint you assistant manager of circulation of this newspaper. You’ll supervise the other delivery boys and teach them how to sell subscriptions. After school, upon finishing your route, you’ll be able to come to the office to work two or three hours. You’ll be able to do some homework while you’re waiting to answer customer telephone calls. All in all, it will be a great job for you. And by the way, your pay will be tripled.”
Fred was delighted. He was saving money for a mission. This was an ideal job, at a time when many teenagers had no work.
He said to himself over and over again, “The Lord truly does bless those who keep the commandments.” He knew he had always paid his tithing, kept the Sabbath day holy, and honored his priesthood.
After a successful year and a half, George, the newspaper manager, approached him with another opportunity. “You know, Fred, one week from now we’re going to begin delivering the Sunday paper. You will not only have a Sunday route to deliver in the morning, but you’ll have to stay in the office from about 7:00 A.M. to 2:00 in the afternoon. You’ll also receive a 30 percent increase in pay.”
When Fred didn’t look too happy at the news, the manager quickly added, “I know you’re a Mormon, and you may be thinking of not accepting this extra responsibility. But if you don’t take the job, you’ll lose your paper route and be fired from your weekday job as well. Many of my other paper boys would do anything to have your job.”
As Fred rode home on his bicycle that day, he was despondent. He prayed over and over, “How could this be, Heavenly Father? I have kept the commandments. I’ve tried to do what is right. I’ve paid my tithing. I’m trying to go on a mission. Now I may lose my job. Shall I work this added job on Sunday or not?”
He explained the problem to his father, who wisely responded, “I don’t know the answer, but I know someone above who does.” Fred talked to his bishop, who told him much the same thing his father had told him. For two full days Fred prayed and struggled. He knew that he could attend sacrament meetings in another ward later in the afternoon.
When his boss asked for a decision, Fred replied, “I like my job and my newspaper delivery route, but I cannot work on Sunday. It’s not right.”
“You’re fired!” said George angrily. “Come in Saturday to pick up your last paycheck. You’re a very ungrateful young man!”
For the next several days, the manager hardly spoke to Fred. But whenever Fred wondered if he had decided correctly, the answer seemed to be the same: “There may be some who have to work on Sunday, but you don’t have to, and you should not.”
When Fred went to pick up his last paycheck, he found George waiting for him. “Fred, please forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong. I ought not to have tried to make you go against your beliefs. I have found a young man of another faith who is willing to do the extra work on Sunday. You can keep your job. Will you?”
With a thankful heart, Fred answered, “Yes.”
The manager then added, “You’ll find the extra 30 percent I was going to pay you for the work on Sunday included in your paychecks from now on.”
What great joy Fred felt in his heart as he went home that afternoon. “It is worth it to keep the commandments of the Lord,” he said to himself. Of course, it would have been worth it even without the reward of the pay increase. A year later, when he gave his final talk before leaving for his mission, Fred was overjoyed to see his manager in the congregation. He felt even greater joy when, a few months ago, he learned that, after twenty-six years of inactivity, George is now a faithful high priest group leader in his ward.

Fifteen-year-old Daniel Hunt has a hard time hanging on to a hairbrush. A few years ago when his older brother Lamar went on a mission to Mexico, Lamar “borrowed” Daniel’s new brush—for two years. When he returned, Daniel happened to have a new brush again. This time Lamar “borrowed” it when he went away to college.
“Now it’s turned into a joke,” says Daniel. “When Lamar comes home he’ll say, ‘Oh look! Daniel got me a new brush.’ It’s pretty funny. Lamar can always make me laugh.”

One day on the way to work I saw two young men preaching the word of God in the street. They stopped me and asked if I wanted to know more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the time, I didn’t know where my family was headed. We had no spiritual compass to find our way.
I had been drinking alcohol that morning, so I don’t remember much of what the missionaries told me. But they gave me a Book of Mormon and a pamphlet about the Prophet Joseph Smith, along with their phone number. Later that day, I started reading. Something touched my soul when I read the Book of Mormon, and I was amazed how a 14-year-old boy could have such a great vision.
I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.
That lesson was hard for me because I drank a lot. My work environment was tough. Everyone I worked with drank, and so I did too. I would often go out drinking after work and come home late at night.
But the missionaries did a great job. I still love them for it. They taught me that God wants us to be strong and that He gave us the Word of Wisdom to bless us. Obeying this law was really hard for me, but slowly, I started to keep it. I remember calling the missionaries every day, updating them on my progress, and telling them that I did not drink that day. They were so happy with my progress.
With their help, I got baptized and entered the fold of Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit that beautiful day! But I was alone when I joined the Church. I wanted my family to be with me.
When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.
With her baptism, and the baptism of our two children when they each turned eight, I felt that we could become an eternal family. But baptism was just the beginning. To prepare to go to the temple, we knew that we had to follow God to the end of our lives, keeping the commandments, going to church, partaking of the sacrament, serving in callings, reading the scriptures, and learning more about covenants and the plan of salvation.
The day we were sealed as a family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple was another beautiful day. In the temple, I came to understand more about the plan of happiness our God has for us, and I felt His love.
I still remember the promises Clirime and I made in the temple. Whenever something goes wrong or we are having a hard time, my mind goes back to those promises.
As a family we try to live in harmony with each other because that is what we felt in the temple. Every time I think of the temple, I feel happy and blessed. I know that God is real and that He loves us and wants us to be happy.

After that, the missionaries came to our home and gave us the first discussion. Then came the invitation: “Will you pray to Heavenly Father to know if the Book of Mormon is true?” We both agreed to do it.
On the first night I prayed before sleeping, but I was so tired that I fell asleep without waiting for a response. On the second night I prayed again, but I didn’t receive an answer. The next night I prayed once again. I wanted to feel what the missionaries had taught me: “Your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right” (D&C 9:8). I prayed and waited, but I didn’t receive a response. Still, I went to bed certain that one day I would receive it.
The next day was the first Sunday of the month, and we went to church. It was then that it happened. During class I began to feel something I had never felt before—something that made me feel so happy. When sacrament meeting began I had a desire to bear my testimony, but I didn’t have the courage. However, I was certain that the Book of Mormon was true.
My brother and I accepted the gospel without reluctance. We had testimonies of the Book of Mormon, and we knew that everything else the missionaries taught us would be true too.

He blames it on a short attention span, but it’s more likely the spirit of missionary service that doesn’t allow Brandon Fields to sit still. He’s always wanted to go on a mission, but just wanting to go wasn’t enough. He needed to prepare. When he was 16, the constant urgings of full-time missionaries and a talk he had to give on missionary service in sacrament meeting prompted this Seattle, Washington, priest to do some thinking.
Brandon thought, You know, I should probably start praying for missionary experiences, because that’s what I’m going to be doing for two years, so why not start now? He hasn’t sat still since. And his prayers for missionary experiences have definitely been answered. Between visiting the less-active families in his ward, going team teaching with the missionaries, attending school, and working, it’s a wonder this first assistant to the bishop even has time to breathe. He says he’s able to fit it all in because he just never stops moving.
Brandon’s momentum started to build when he and his best friend, Steve Wells, started to go teaching with the missionaries in their area. “We volunteered a couple of times, and it turned out we were the only priests who could go. So it was us for five months.” Now that he’s only six months away from his mission, Brandon is still helping the missionaries, but he does get a break every once in a while, since there are now a few more priests to help out. Steve is now on a full-time mission in the Philippines.

“After making the decision to serve a full-time mission—and as I was waiting for my mission call—I received an opportunity from a well-known coach who wanted to send me a plane ticket and a visa so I could go play in Iran. I took three long days to think about the coach’s offer; but on the first day, I knew I already had the answer to my prayer—and that answer was to serve the Lord.
“I can truthfully say that I believe in my future and that serving a mission will help me make the dream come true.”

As I was growing up, there were no Church buildings in the entire state of New Jersey, so for a time our little branch met in a hotel in a nearby town. My earliest memory of having a testimony of the gospel was when I was five or six years old and we were having a meeting in the ballroom of the hotel.
An important visitor was there. I don’t remember now who he was, but he was very thin and tall, and I believe he had white hair.
I had grown restless near the end of the meeting as he was speaking, and my mother had been trying to keep me quiet. She finally let me sit backward in my chair so that my legs were dangling from it. Although I wasn’t facing the speaker, I was listening to him. Suddenly I felt a burning in my heart, just like the burning described in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8 [D&C 9:8]: “And if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” I remember turning around and seeing this tall man with the light streaming in from the large windows behind him, and I knew that he was a servant of God and that what he was saying was true. The feeling I had then was as clear and sure as anything could be.

Elder Devere Harris’s great-grandfather was once a prizefighter in England. One night his great-grandfather went to a meeting to chase Wilford Woodruff out of town because Elder Woodruff had converted the prizefighter’s wife to the Church. However, instead of chasing Wilford Woodruff out of town, Great-Grandfather Harris liked what he heard, and he, too, joined the Church. Elder Harris’s great-grandparents came to America, crossed the plains with the Saints, and were among the early settlers of the town of Portage in northern Utah. According to Elder Harris, “Great-Grandfather taught his family the gospel, and his son, my grandfather, became a bishop. My grandfather taught the gospel to his family, and my father served in a bishopric and as a ward clerk for many years. Religion was always a natural and important part of our lives as we were growing up.
“My dad stressed the importance of honesty to all his children. He was one of the most honest and fair men I have ever known. When I was a young boy, a neighbor widow’s chickens used to come over to the back of our lot and lay eggs in the high grass and bushes. Even though I used to take eggs to the store to trade (we didn’t have much money in those days), I never took any of those eggs to the store, because they weren’t mine. I took them to the widow, their rightful owner.
“My father ran a grain elevator, and as a young boy, I used to have to shovel wheat. Dad taught us to work for our own money. He paid us three cents a sack to stack and load wheat, and I thought that that was pretty generous of him. We could load a thousand bushels into a boxcar in about three or four hours. My two brothers and I could make as high as nine dollars a day loading wheat. And that was back in the days when earning two dollars a day was good wages. My father encouraged us to be frugal and to put the money away for our education.
“Mother was a great lady. I remember sitting by her and having her read to me from a little white Bible. She loved the scriptures. She also loved poetry and prose and history; she was a deep reader and a deep thinker. She helped instill in her children an appreciation for good books.
“When I was about thirteen years old, my mother had prepared a delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Before she could get the table set, an emergency call came, and my mother and father had to go to be with my brother, who was very ill. After my parents left, I went to a friend who didn’t have a mother and whose father wasn’t well. I knew that he wouldn’t have a Thanksgiving dinner, so I invited him to our home for dinner. I got out Mother’s best linen, crystal, and silverware, and I set a table that was fit for a king. After our dinner together, I sent some food home for my friend’s father. I was trying to follow my parents’ example to serve others.
“I have a great respect for nature, and I have always loved animals and birds and have tried to protect them. Once when we were youngsters, a friend of mine and I were riding double on a horse along the railroad track. Suddenly I spied an owl that had a broken wing and couldn’t do anything but run along the ground. I slid off the horse, caught the owl, and got back on the horse behind my friend. I remember that it was a beautiful white horse with a long mane. We started galloping along the railroad track, and the owl started to wiggle. It stuck its claws into that horse, causing it to jump straight into the air and make a big kick. I rolled off backward, but somehow I kept my hold on the owl, and it never got away. We took the owl home, put splints on its broken wing, and turned it loose.
“My wife and I have had a wonderful experience in the Pacific Islands. One day we went to a little Tahitian island on a boat, and as the boat pulled up to the dock, twenty-seven children were standing on it, singing, ‘I Am A Child of God.’ I thought, What a beautiful, beautiful thing to know that children all over the world are singing the hymns of the Church and beautiful Primary songs.
“Heavenly Father loves all children. Jesus loves them, too—children of all countries, colors, and creeds.
“Live the principles of the gospel so that you can live again with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Listen to the counsel of the prophets. Stay pure and clean after your baptism. Your parents and Primary teachers will teach you the things that you should do. Listen to them and do what they tell you.”

The missionary began: “As I boarded the plane for my mission to Argentina, I was filled with deep sadness. The fact that I would not see my family for two years overwhelmed me, and I began to sob. I cried out in my thoughts, Heavenly Father, are You there? Am I doing the right thing? I feel so alone. Suddenly, comfort, peace, and love filled my soul. I knew all would be well. I knew that God knew me and that what I was doing was right. I knew He would not leave me alone. The Spirit bore witness to my soul of these truths. I will never be the same again.”