Gospel Story Finder

Live theater was my passion! As a young adult, I threw myself into acting and singing on the stage. I was blessed with talent and hoped to establish a career performing professionally. I won the most challenging roles I could get and always behaved professionally in order to win the respect of my fellow thespians.
I was thrilled when the most influential director in our area told me that he would be holding auditions for an operetta and that he wanted me to try out. The show would be performed in our area’s most prestigious venue, and it seemed that my director friend already had me in mind for the leading role.
The script was unavailable for perusal before the audition, but the operetta was based on a novel by an 18th-century philosopher, which I read. I also became familiar with the show’s music, which was exceptionally beautiful and challenging.
The audition went well, and I was soon informed that the leading role—the most important part—was mine! I believed that this role was a huge opportunity.
I walked on clouds of excitement—until the script arrived. As I read it, my elation rapidly floated away. While the novel and the music were worthy, the script was irreverent and contained suggestive and inappropriate stage directions. I knew that I shouldn’t be involved in this production. It was a terrible disappointment.
Suddenly I had a dilemma. Theater etiquette dictates that after accepting a role, an actor does not quit because the production schedule does not allow time for changes in cast. Backing out now would be considered very unprofessional. I feared losing the trust of the theater company, offending the director, and even losing the opportunity to continue performing elsewhere.
Of course, I was tempted to rationalize! A voice strutted across my mind, proclaiming, “You can’t quit now. The script isn’t so bad. The good in the show will make up for the naughty parts.” But the Holy Spirit was always in the wings of my heart—firmly, patiently, unwaveringly cuing me that I needed to exit the operetta.
I knew what I had to do. Trembling, I picked up the phone and dialed the director.
“Hello, sir,” I said when he answered. “This is Annie.”
“Annie! I’m so excited about the show. Did you get the script?”
“Yes, I did, and I … I …”
I burst into tears. Talk about unprofessional!
Somehow, between sobs, I managed to explain to the director why I could not be in his show. And then I waited for the world to end.
The dear man laughed. He respected my choice. At first he tried to talk me into staying with the show, but he relented. He said he would still adore me even if I didn’t want to be in his operetta. And he simply asked me to bring the script to him right away so that he could give it to somebody else. I hung up the phone, mortified at my weeping but grateful for the director’s affectionate, understanding response.
I wiped away my tears and then grabbed the script and jumped into my car. As the engine started, the radio also came to life. It was preset to the local classical music station, and to my amazement, the tune playing was the overture of the very same operetta. I had never ever heard it played on the radio before.
I felt like Heavenly Father was playing this music for me. He wanted me to understand that He loved me and that He approved of my choice. The music coming over the airwaves was one of God’s tender mercies. Through it I felt the comfort of His love.

Anciently, certain women sacrificed as they testified and lived the teachings of Jesus. Certain women in the early days of the Restoration did the same. Drusilla Hendricks and her family were among those who, as new converts, suffered during the persecution of the Saints in Clay County, Missouri. Her husband was permanently paralyzed during the Battle of Crooked River. She was left to care for him as well as provide for her family.

“At one particularly distressing time, when the family was out of food, she remembered that a voice told her, ‘Hold on, for the Lord will provide.’”

When her son was needed to volunteer for the Mormon Battalion, at first Drusilla resisted and wrestled in prayer with Heavenly Father until “it was as though a voice said to her, ‘Do you not want the highest glory?’ She answered naturally, ‘Yes,’ and the voice continued, ‘How do you think to gain it save by making the greatest sacrifices?’”8

In the warmth of late morning on July 7, 1972, President Harold B. Lee walked purposefully from the Salt Lake Temple toward the Church Office Building and the newsmen waiting for his first press conference as the 11th President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had just been set apart for his new calling by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then President of the Council of the Twelve. Upon assuming the leadership of the Church, and flanked by his two newly called counselors, President N. Eldon Tanner and President Marion G. Romney, President Lee said, “The greatest message that one in this position could give to the membership of the Church is to keep the commandments of God for therein lies the safety of the Church and the safety of the individual. There could be nothing that I could say that would be a more powerful or important message today.” (New Era, August 1972, p. 13.)

While I was serving years ago as president of the Southern States Mission, in one of our public meetings one of our missionaries, a young man who stood 6? 3? and had played on a championship basketball team, said that when his team won the championship game, their companions literally carried them around on their shoulders. Then he said: “That was the greatest experience of my life until I came into the mission field. I wouldn’t exchange a night like this, bearing testimony of the restoration of the gospel, for all the basketball games I have ever played.”

It was the Friday night before at 9:25 P.M. I remember the exact time because I looked at the clock. It is still vivid in my mind. At 9:25 it was storming with a humdinger of an electrical storm like we get in North Carolina. It was lightning and thundering and raining. The trees were bent over, and it was dark. There came a knock on the door.
Mama, being a widow for so many years and very protective of her children, would never let strangers in the house. It was two young men in suits and trenchcoats, and she let them in. I remember it so distinctly, because I thought, “Who are these guys?” I thought Mama knew them.
She is very respectful of other people’s religions, so she made us come in and listen to them. I had never heard of Mormons before. I had never even heard the word. They started teaching us.
When I heard these two missionaries, I knew that what they were telling me was true. I had come to the conclusion that there was no true church and that’s why I was going to be baptized by the revival preacher. But after hearing the missionaries that Friday evening, I knew that they had something I was looking for, so I didn’t get baptized by the revival preacher the next day.
They taught us for a few weeks, and I really believed what they told me. But Mom was brought up in her religion and thought she was sinful thinking any other way. I don’t know if Mama asked them not to come back, or if the missionaries felt like they shouldn’t baptize an 11-year-old girl without her family, but they stopped coming.
I didn’t know where they had gone. I didn’t know where the church met or how to contact the missionaries. They had given me some books, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and The Doctrine and Covenants. I sat down and studied these books carefully.
By then I was in seventh grade. I remember my teacher wanted us to give a presentation on any subject we chose, and I picked Mormonism. I remember studying for it so hard. I then got up and gave my presentation in front of all the students and the faculty, and I wasn’t even a member of the Church. I think I answered every question correctly.
About a year and a half after the first missionaries visited us, another set of missionaries knocked on the door. My family wasn’t home, but they gave me a Book of Mormon. They said they would be back in a couple of days to see what I thought about it. I was baptized the next week and have hardly missed a Sunday since.
I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.
I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”

Our precious son Ezequiel shared 14 years of his life with us in the gospel that unites us. He was always quick to obey. His love radiated through our home. His sisters and the Saints in the scriptures were his role models. He was full of life and activity. He never missed his seminary classes. He filled our home with happiness. He was reverent when he passed the sacrament. But our life together changed when Ezequiel was called home to our Heavenly Father. We miss him more than we can describe.
A rare infection took him from us. Despite the intense pain of his departure, we are certain that we will be with him again. We have the promise made in our temple sealing. The emptiness that his passing has left is filled by the knowledge that he was called by the Lord to serve a mission elsewhere. Ezequiel’s funeral service was so special that many people felt prompted to investigate the Church. I always hoped he would serve a mission, and now he is. Because of the plan of salvation, we know where Ezequiel is and whom he is with.

Brother Artel Ricks tells an interesting story of an inspired Primary teacher. Artel was a little boy five or six years old. One night his family sat around the dinner table and talked about tithing. They told him “that tithing is one-tenth of all we earn and that it is paid to the Lord by those who love Him.”

He loved the Lord, and so he wanted to give the Lord his tithing. He went and got his savings and took one-tenth of his small savings. He says: “I … went to the only room in the house with a lock on the door—the bathroom—and there knelt by the bathtub. Holding the three or four coins in my upturned hands, I asked the Lord to accept them. [I was certain He would appear and take them from me.] I pleaded with the Lord for some time, but [nothing happened. Why would He not accept my tithing?]. As I rose from my knees, I felt so unworthy that I could not tell anyone what had happened. …

“A few days later at Primary, the teacher said she felt impressed to talk about something that was not in the lesson. I sat amazed as she then taught us how to pay tithing [to the bishop, the Lord’s servant]. But what I learned was far more important than how to pay tithing. I learned that the Lord had heard and answered my prayer, that He loved me, and that I was important to Him. In later years I came to appreciate still another lesson my Primary teacher had taught me that day—to teach as prompted by the Spirit.

“So tender was the memory of that occasion that for more than thirty years I could not share it. Even today, after sixty years, I still find it difficult to tell about it without tears coming to my eyes. The pity is that a wonderful Primary teacher never knew that through her, the Lord spoke to a small boy” (“Coins for the Lord,” Ensign, Dec. 1990, 47; “An Answer to Prayer,” Tambuli, May 1988, 28).

“Utah School for the Blind”—I turned my car into the school’s driveway and glanced at my watch. I had had trouble finding the address, and I was late for an appointment at 12:00 to meet with Scott Jeppson from American Fork, Utah. He had recently been awarded the Eagle badge, an outstanding achievement and an especially remarkable one for him. Scott was born with an eye disease called glaucoma, and by the time he was twelve, due to the glaucoma and a list of other medical complications, he was totally blind.
Scott was waiting at the edge of the parking lot when I drove in. The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. He had the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. After shaking hands with him and introducing myself, I apologized for being late.
“I got lost,” I explained.
“Well, that’s okay,” he said. “That happens to me a lot, too. If we hurry we might still be able to get some lunch.”
Scott led me across the campus as fast as I could walk. I didn’t understand how he could go so quickly when he couldn’t see until I realized that he had every square foot of the place memorized. After lunch we followed Scott’s regular schedule: reading class, swimming, and history. Scott reads using the Braille system and by using a machine called an opticon. The opticon converts regular printed material into vibrations in the shape of letters that are read with a single finger.
After the classes were over, I got a chance to talk casually with Scott as we sat on the grass in the sun. There was a group of students playing softball below us. The game was the same as regular softball except the ball had an electronic beeper in it.
I asked about the problems he’d had adjusting to his handicap.
“It took a lot of adjustment,” he said. “I just do the things I need to do first—pray, study the scriptures, and attend church. I’ve also been blessed with a good family and friends. I can work out most of the problems, and if I can’t work them out, I can get a lot of help.
“I also believe that I’m the only person who can make me happy. I work out the problems, just like anyone else, and I try to smile through discouragement.”
Scott holds the office of a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. He helps prepare and bless the sacrament. He gives talks, using notes in braille, and goes home teaching. In Scouting, since he has earned his Eagle, he is now working toward Scouting’s next higher awards, the Palms.
Last summer Scott and 17 other members of his stake went on a three-day handcart trek. The first day they pushed their carts 26 miles. The second day turkeys were turned loose. The members of the companies were blindfolded and told to catch them. Scott caught the turkey for his group.
On the last day of his trip each one went out by himself.
“That gave me a chance to think,” Scott said. “I had a lot to think about—about reaching goals, about what kind of member of the Church I was. I needed to take everything further. I needed to take what I was further. I realized the only thing stopping me was myself.”
It was over a year ago when first met Scott. He’s 17 now. Scott has changed in a year. He’s grown. His goals for the future include a temple marriage, missionary work, college, and a career in teaching. “I’ll find a way to reach my goals,” he said, smiling. “After all, you’re the only person who can make you happy.”
Scott’s smile? It has changed too. It’s even bigger.

I was in my first year of employment with a cosmetics company. At the time I was divorced and lived alone with my two children. In December the company sent each salesperson large boxes containing the Christmas merchandise we were to sell during the holiday season. That meant, however, that a large amount had been withdrawn from my salary. When I calculated all my monthly expenses and tithing, I had enough for three people to live on—but only for one week. And this money had to cover groceries for the entire month and gas for the car, which I needed for my work.
When our home teacher came, I told him about our situation. I told him I would not be able to pay my tithing because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to feed my family. My faithful home teacher counseled me to pay tithing. He recommended that I do it faithfully, and the Lord would surely bless me. My home teacher had always been distinguished by faithfulness and reliability. I jokingly told him, “If I cannot buy groceries, I will come to you.” But I trusted him and did not want to disappoint him by not following his advice. So I paid a full tithing.
When I presented the Christmas merchandise early in the month, I was able to sell many of my goods. By the end of the month I had sold all of the Christmas items and all of the goods I had had in stock for several months. Had I had more products on hand, I would likely have been able to sell them too.
My home teacher’s promise was completely fulfilled. The Lord really did open the windows of heaven. We had more money than we needed that month. Later I inquired of my colleagues how their Christmas business had gone. They were not satisfied. At that time, a recession had caused a strong decline in sales in the cosmetics industry.
How grateful I am to that home teacher for giving me this good counsel. I have had a strong testimony of tithing ever since. When I visit teach sisters who feel they have too little money to pay tithing, I share my testimony about how much we will be blessed if we do so.

As the youth of a branch in Samoa planned a combined Aaronic Priesthood/Young Women activity, they decided to make a special effort to invite other youth who were not active in the Church or were not members of the Church to this activity. They would have a brief fun run followed by food and entertainment, and each young man and young woman was encouraged to bring someone with them. They referred to the activity as “saving the one.”
The day of the activity came, and one by one the youth arrived, accompanied by less-active and nonmember friends. Before the opening exercises began, someone looked around and asked, “Where’s Alex?”
Alex and his mother had been baptized some time before, but they both had not attended church in quite a while. But all of the youth remembered him and started asking, “Where’s Alex?” They wondered if anyone knew his address. One of the leaders told them that Alex lived up the hill not far away. Then the young men sprang into action.
Three priests and one of their leaders ran up the hill to get Alex. Minutes later, the rest of the assembled youth could hear sounds of joy and laughter coming down the hill. The priests were returning—with Alex.
As the evening went on, Alex and the others laughed and had fun together, and they also prayed together as things drew to a close. When they parted, they said their good-byes, adding, “Until Sunday.”
When Sunday morning came, Alex was at the leader’s doorstep, ready and excited to go to church. When he arrived at church, he was greeted warmly by everyone, especially his fellow quorum members, who were very happy to see him there. Their seemingly small and simple efforts to “save the one” had had a great effect on Alex, who then attended church and was able to feel the Spirit more strongly.

My senior year in high school was beginning, and I was full of anticipation as the first few weeks of September rolled by. Everything seemed to be pointing to a great year ahead.
For the first time, I was really interested in my classes, which included calculus and a college-prep psychology class. I was determined to get my first-ever 4.0 grade point average.
I had also just been put in as president of my seminary class and as first assistant in the priests quorum. In addition, I was developing a new photography hobby and was working toward making it into the Iron Man bench press bracket in the school weight room. I was also fellowshipping a good friend from work. Even the weather seemed exciting and refreshing.
But perhaps the most important thing to happen at the beginning of that school year was a decision I made to read the scriptures for half an hour each day.
I chose to read the New Testament, and I immediately became attached to it. Every day after school I would put away my school books, sit down at my desk in my room, and pull out my scriptures. I must have gone through three red pencils in just the first few chapters. Reading about the life of Christ every day put me on a real spiritual high. But after the first week of this, trouble hit.
It was a normal afternoon. I came home from school, opened my Bible to Matthew and started reading. But something was different. I didn’t feel that spiritual high, and I wasn’t getting any insight. I was just skimming meaninglessly and couldn’t seem to get involved in the passage. I stopped reading and looked up from the pages of the book.
“Wait a minute,” I thought. “Why can’t I seem to grab hold of anything? What am I doing wrong?” I sat for a minute and then, suddenly, a small episode from the long day at school entered my mind.
Some nonmember friends and I had been sitting around talking about whatever came to mind. Soon what was coming to mind were funny stories and jokes. And then some not-so-funny stories. In fact, they got downright shameful, and I had been a part of it. I had laughed and even made some off-color comments of my own.
The life of Christ hadn’t affected my actions, not then. I hung my head over my scriptures and silently apologized to my Heavenly Father. As I refocused my eyes on the page, they fell across these words, found in Matthew:
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned” (Matt. 12:36–37).
Never before had I felt the ever-watching presence of Heavenly Father so strongly. I turned from my Bible and offered up a prayer of repentance.
I had known many uses for the scriptures before. I had read them for gospel instruction, for increasing scriptural knowledge, for spiritual comfort, for seminary scripture chases, and probably most often for finding answers to a Sunday School teacher’s elusive questions. However, this was the first time I had ever used the scriptures to receive personal revelation.
I knew that the Spirit had directed me to these words at this time. The answer to my question, “What am I doing wrong?” was simple. I was reading the scriptures, marking the scriptures, and even really enjoying the scriptures; but I was not living the scriptures, which in some degree made me a little like the hypocritical Pharisees whom the Savior so often rebuked.
Although my answer was not accompanied by a booming voice or violent earthquake, its power was sufficiently intense to make me reevaluate myself.
Each time I came across some new point of Jesus’ life in my reading, I would check myself in the same area. While there were a few areas that I didn’t have any trouble with, many others required changes in my personality, attitudes, and actions. As I did this, I began to like myself more.
With these new standards came blessings. It was funny how taking a half hour from each day seemed to lengthen it so much. Since I began reading the scriptures and trying to live by Christ’s example, I noticed how different areas of my life began to blossom.
I was able to accomplish many of the goals I had set for myself and, to my surprise, I even got that 4.0.

Of all the requirements Rocco has fulfilled to earn his various awards, he points to one in particular as most valuable for his personal growth: “Reading the Book of Mormon,” Rocco says without hesitation. “That was the biggest and most rewarding challenge.”

“I had read the Book of Mormon once already, a year or so ago, but I was just reading to get it done,” Rocco explains. “When I started reading it again, I really wanted to learn and gain a testimony of it.” He approached reading the Book of Mormon in a completely different way his second time through. “Every time I read now, I pray before to ask Heavenly Father’s Spirit to be with me as I read.”

Rocco’s already begun on his next big project—to more actively share his testimony with others as he prepares to serve a full-time mission. His Scouting experiences and earning the Duty to God Award have helped him in his personal development and in becoming a missionary. “To spread the gospel, I needed to know what is in the Book of Mormon, and I needed to know that it is true,” he says. “After reading the Book of Mormon for the second time, I received a testimony of it.”

I used to struggle a lot with scrupulosity, which is like religious Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, in a way. I struggled a lot with the scripture that commands us to be perfect. I didn’t understand how that could be possible.
For a while my responsibility to go to Church and read the scriptures kind of felt like a burden. And doing those things became not good habits but obsessively compulsive to me. But I still kept going with those things because ultimately I knew they’re good and what I should be doing.
Eventually, I learned to not think of scripture reading as a habit but to really just get lost in the words of the scriptures. I never stopped reading them, but it became less of a compulsion for me and more of something that I just love to do to feel the words of God.
I realized that Jesus Christ makes up for all our imperfections. The ultimate goal is to live with Heavenly Father and to feel the fullness of joy that only He can give. When you give Christ everything you have, you give Him your whole heart, withholding nothing. He’s then able to give you everything in a spiritual sense. I learned to give my heart to Christ, and the other things involved with being a disciple followed suit.

“Last year I was busy preparing myself for the British GCSE Exam. Young people throughout the country were cramming their revision in every hour of every day, but as I returned home every day from school, the first thing I did was complete my home-study seminary assignments.
“My seminary teacher told me, ‘You do your seminary work and the Lord will take care of the rest.’ That has remained with me throughout my seminary courses and encouraged me to complete my home-study and attend my seminary meeting every Tuesday night.
“In August 1995 I received my exam results and came well above average in every subject, securing myself a place at one of England’s top academic schools. I know it was a blessing of seminary given to me by Heavenly Father that helped me complete my exams successfully.”—Simon Greathead, 16, Lancashire, England

Recently a professional assignment required me to travel out of the country. But I felt such a foreboding about the trip that prior to leaving I sought a priesthood blessing. I was warned that the adversary would attempt to thwart my mission and that physical and spiritual danger lay ahead. I was also counseled that this was not to be a sight-seeing or a shopping trip and that if I would focus on my assignments and seek the direction of the Spirit, I would return safely home.
Well, the warning was sobering. But as I proceeded, pleading for direction and protection each step of the way, I realized that my experience wasn’t all that unique. Might not our Father have said to you and to me as we left His presence: “The adversary will attempt to thwart your mission, and you will face spiritual and physical danger. But if you will focus on your assignments, if you will heed my voice, and if you will refuse to reduce mortality to a sight-seeing or a shopping trip, you will return safely home”?

“Why don’t we choose service as our goal?” suggested Kim, her blue eyes sparkling.
“We could do things for older people, little children, our parents, and each other!” added Jeri excitedly.
The rest of the second-year Beehives of the Bountiful 42nd Ward, Bountiful East Stake, chimed in with their ideas and comments about the different kinds of projects we could do. When a talent show was suggested, each of the girls committed herself to performing at least one number. Rehearsals were set for the following week, and the first performance was scheduled for three weeks later at a nursing home for the elderly. When the big night came, the girls were as nervous as if they were performing on Broadway! Their numbers went very well, however, and afterwards they visited with their new friends. The project was truly one of love, and thus it became known as our “Love Program.”
During the coming year we presented the “Love Program” several times—once to a 12-year-old bedridden girl—and in February we had a very special Valentine party for our grandmothers. The girls sent invitations, made special cards, prepared a buffet dinner, decorated the room with streamers and hearts and made candy hearts of dipped chocolate as favors.
Each time the program was given, the girls seemed to enjoy it more. “Before our program, I didn’t know I could write poems,” shared Jeri. “But when I saw others enjoying the poems I had written, it gave me confidence to write more. I even wrote one for my dad.”
“At first I didn’t want to play my guitar,” admitted Marti. “But when everyone else got so excited, I got excited, too. I’m glad I was kind of pushed into doing it.”
Our last performance of the “Love Program” was for the girls’ parents. The Mutual year was ending and we wanted them to know of some of the good accomplished. In addition to this, however, the girls also performed acts of service in other ways throughout the year. At Christmas, our Mutual provided gifts for a family and our class was assigned a two-year-old boy. For several weeks the girls baked cookies, brownies, cakes, and candies to raise money for our “Christmas boy.” When the girls weren’t doing this, they were making surprises for a “secret sister” in our class. What seemed to matter most to them was that they were doing something for someone else.
At the year’s end, Lynnette summed up the feelings of all the girls when she said, “I liked our year of service and I know that I am a better person for helping. I like knowing I can make people a little bit happier.”

Our family—my parents, my brother, and me—prepared for a long time so that my brother could serve a mission. Whenever we would talk about him being a missionary, I would joke with him, saying I wouldn’t miss him and that I would be glad to be alone.
The day finally came for him to send in his missionary papers. He had tried to do well in school, and we had all worked hard to save money for his mission.
One day the stake president called us and said the call had arrived. My brother decided to open the letter after dinner at home. He was called to serve in the Mexico City East Mission.
Not long after that we dropped him off at the airport and said goodbye. On the way home my mother could not stop her tears, but I did not cry. But only two hours later, when I was in the room I used to share with my brother, I suddenly realized that I would not see him again for a long time. Then I was the one who could not stop my tears, and I let myself cry and cry. My parents hugged and comforted me, and we all felt great joy and great sadness at the same time.
Since that day, I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to take care of my brother as he serves.
My brother taught me that I must also prepare for a mission. I must be worthy to receive the priesthood, attend seminary, and achieve the goals in Fulfilling My Duty to God. He taught me to work and save money, read the scriptures, and obey my leaders.
I want to serve a mission too so that other people can have the blessings of the gospel and know that it is true.

On March 11, 2011, I was standing on a platform in the Tokyo Shinagawa train station to visit the Japan Kobe Mission. At approximately 2:46 p.m., a 9.0-magnitude massive earthquake struck. I was not able to stand because of the intense shaking, and I held tightly to a stair rail. Lights on nearby ceilings began falling to the floor. All of Tokyo was in a panic.
Fortunately, I was not injured, and four hours later, I was relieved to learn that my entire family was safe.
On television there was a stream of terrifying, shocking footage. A massive tsunami surged into the Sendai mission area—sweeping away everything in its path: cars, houses, factories, and fields. I was stunned by the tragic images, and I wept. And I fervently prayed that our Heavenly Father’s protection and assistance would be upon all the people living in this region that I so dearly love.
Later, it was confirmed that all the missionaries and Church members were safe. However, many members were affected, losing their family members, homes, and household possessions. Nearly 20,000 people perished, communities were destroyed, and many people were forced to leave their homes as a result of a nuclear power plant accident.

I received an answer to a prayer when I was very young and living in Pocatello, Idaho. I had a pet rabbit that was very important to me. One day it got out of its cage and could not be found. I was worried that the neighborhood dogs and cats might hurt my rabbit. I looked everywhere, then decided to go behind our wooden shed and pray. As my prayer ended, I instantly knew where to find my rabbit. I looked under a pile of boards and found it. Our prayers can be answered by the Holy Ghost putting thoughts into our minds.

When I accepted the gospel at age 18, I recognized that I had tasted the sweetest fruit above all. I felt great joy, but I thought about the members of my family, who were lost and wandering. I felt great sorrow from being the only member of the Church in my family, but I didn’t know how to open others’ eyes and ears to the truth.
I attempted in many ways to convince my family to listen to the missionaries. But the more I tried, the more hesitant they became.
I became discouraged, and so I thought about not going to church anymore. But as I prayed, a scripture came to my mind: “After this should [you] deny me, it would have been better for you that ye had not known me” (2 Nephi 31:14). I prayed harder, read the scriptures, attended my Church meetings, and focused on the blessings in my life. As a result, the pain began to vanish.
As my birthday approached, I felt inspired to have a birthday party at my house and to invite all of my Church friends, including the full-time missionaries. I wanted my family to have closer interaction with members of the Church, who seem to me to be the happiest people in the world. For me, the party felt just like family home evening.
After that day, things changed. The missionaries were welcome in our house and became great friends with my family. One day my father announced that he wanted all of our family to listen to the missionaries and go to church. I was shocked.
Three years after my baptism, my family was all baptized. At the baptismal service, my mother bore her testimony, and my father thanked the missionaries. Ward members were amazed at their conversion.
How did it happen? All of the tears I shed and the goals I set played a part. But most of all, the heart of my father was softened by the love and friendship of the missionaries and ward members. All of the members were missionaries because of their examples of living the gospel of Jesus Christ. I am grateful for them and for Heavenly Father’s plan, which allows families to be together forever.