Gospel Story Finder

Before I left for that mission, President Anthon H. Lund, then a counselor in the First Presidency, talked to us missionaries and told us that people would love us. Then he added: “Now don’t get lifted up in the pride of your hearts and think that it is because you are better than other people. It will be because of what you bring to them.” When he made this statement, I could hardly understand what he meant, but before I left that mission, I understood.
As I visited the Saints in Amsterdam to bid them farewell, realizing that I might never see many of them again in this life, I shed a thousand more tears than I did when I left my loved ones to go to Holland. For instance, I called at the home of a family where my companion and I had been the first missionaries to visit their home, and the mother, a small woman, said with tears rolling down her cheeks, even down the front of her apron, “Brother Richards, it was hard to see my daughter leave for Zion a few months ago [in those days the Church encouraged the Saints to immigrate to America; now it does not], but it is much harder to see you go.” Then I felt that I could understand what President Lund meant when he said: “The people will love you because of what you bring to them.”
I called on a brother who stood erect in the uniform of his country and who was old enough to be my father. He got down on his knees, took my hand in his, and hugged it and kissed it and bathed it with his tears. I felt again that I could understand what President Lund meant when he said: “The people will love you because of what you bring to them.”

A few years later, I received a very special phone call at home. It was President Hinckley. He said, “Brother Richards, you are called to the Second Quorum of the Seventy. You are in for a wonderful experience. May the Lord bless you.”
After I hung up the telephone, I realized that President Hinckley had not asked me whether or not I would accept the call to serve. But he had not needed to ask me because I had already decided as a young boy that I would always follow the Lord’s prophet.

We couldn’t help being a little nervous. Mrs. Hall was one of our strongest investigators. She already knew the Church was true, even though she was not a member. Other missionaries had initially contacted her, and as she had received the standard lessons and read the Book of Mormon, her inclination to believe had grown into a strong testimony. My companion and I had encouraged her continued study of the gospel.
But now her sister, Joan McArthur, was coming to visit. Mrs. Hall’s husband and all the relatives on both sides of the family were devoted to other churches, and she did not want to be baptized until her husband (who was, at least, friendly with the missionaries) would embrace the gospel with her. She was also concerned about antagonizing other family members, particularly her parents, by joining the Church before they fully understood what she was doing and why.
It was easy to imagine that Mrs. Hall’s sister was being sent to check up on her and to warn her to quit associating with Mormons. Still Joan was only 20, and it would be her first time away from home. She must have been as full of apprehension during her journey to Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, as we were waiting for her to arrive.
Mrs. Hall, however, seemed unruffled. She simply invited us to dinner a few days later when Joan had had time to get settled. I think Joan was surprised when her sister greeted us at the door and ushered us into the living room. Maybe she had suspected that “missionaries” had to be middle-aged men or raving fanatics. We were happy and yet earnest; she, in turn, seemed at ease chatting with two young ladies approximately her own age. Following the meal, we showed a filmstrip. She had plenty of questions, and we promised to return.
At the next appointment, Joan nearly came dressed in armor. Every argument and falsehood she had ever heard about Mormons bristled. But she didn’t fling them at us. Rather, she laid them on the table and asked for an explanation. As she described her apprehensions, we responded as best we could. Our answers seemed to satisfy her. She knew her Bible well and referred to scripture after scripture. She seemed genuinely interested in the passages we quoted, and all of us looked them up and discussed them. From that day on, I was impressed with her deep spiritual insight. At the end of the conversation we all felt a little more at ease. We explained why we were called “sisters,” talked about our homes and families, and shared the convictions that had led us to our 18-month calls of service to the Lord. She told us about the excitement of her first cross-country train trip.
The next lesson was about the Apostasy. Joan desperately fought it, finally asking us to leave and not come back. She said she didn’t want to hear any more. She was upset; we were disappointed and frustrated. She later wrote in a letter, “I remember that after you left that evening, I cried bitterly because of the words in the Joseph Smith tract that said all of the other churches were ‘an abomination in my sight.’ That really hurt because my church meant something very special to me. I had believed all my life what my parents had taught me, and a statement like that dashed my whole world. How could Joseph Smith say something like that? But he had said the Lord had said it. That was the big difficulty.
“Jessie (Mrs. Hall) didn’t force me to continue studying, but she did encourage me. I don’t think I would have continued without her. But there was too much love between us as family members for me not to.
“I was angry and felt indignant, feelings I marvel at now. I wonder how I remained teachable, but the Lord was kind to me and patient. My problem was, I thought I could believe everything the sisters were teaching me and still remain a member of my church. I clung to that idea.”
But Joan was a truthseeker. After a week of prayer and soul-struggle, she called us back. She had changed her mind. When could we come teach her more? I noticed as we presented the next discussion, about the restoration of the gospel, that a change came over her. She stopped resisting. She seemed to be thirsting—eagerly asking questions as though the answers wouldn’t come quickly enough. She was understanding that Christ’s visit to Joseph Smith was an act of love; that the truth is on earth in its fulness, not for those who want to find fault, but for those yearning to fill in missing pieces.
The same spirit prevailed at the next lesson. Topic: the plan of salvation. I knew my companion and I weren’t alone doing the teaching. Words flowed freely. Scriptures were located without trouble. Spirit communed with spirit. Overcome with excitement, Joan exclaimed, “Now I see why Jessie wants to be baptized!”
Despite all her declarations that she would never join the Church, Joan was a different person than she had been when she first arrived to visit her sister. As we left the house, I felt inspired to turn to my companion and say, “I know that someday she will join the Church.”
We spent a few more visits with her, teaching a strong gospel lesson each time. Then I was transferred. I heard no more about this sincere young lady, or about the Hall family, until after I returned from my mission.
Then one day a letter with Canadian stamps was waiting in my mailbox. It had taken them a long time to track down my address and to write to me, the letter said, but Joan and Sister Hall wanted me to know that they had both been baptized two years before in a cold lake just outside the city!
It was the start of a string of surprise letters. Two years later one told me that Joan was on a mission in South Africa and that Sister Hall’s husband, Barry, though still not interested in studying about the Church, loved the missionaries and members as he always had and was taking the family to Sunday School. Later I received a wedding announcement from Joan. She was being married in the Salt Lake Temple to a returned missionary. Later that same year Sister Hall wrote that her husband had been baptized and loved working in the Church. The next year they brought their children with them to be sealed as a family in the Salt Lake Temple.
Since then Brother Hall has been a branch president, a member of a stake presidency, and is now a member of a stake high council. Joan’s husband, Dale J. Laub, became a bishop. Both sisters are active in their callings and have done genealogy that has allowed them to accomplish temple ordinances for several hundred ancestors.
As a young lady just out of her teens, Joan McArthur had come to Victoria determined that she would change her sister’s mind if necessary. Instead, she had the courage to change her own. Her sincerity in calling upon the Lord would not allow her to do otherwise. Her sister Jessie was wise enough to be patient while explaining the gospel, allowing the Lord’s Spirit to do the persuading.
Both of them learned to listen to their hearts, and many others will be eternally grateful that they did. Joan McArthur not only changed her opinion about the Church—she changed her life.

I joined the Church when I was 16 years old. My parents gave me permission, but they did not join with me. On the day of my baptism, my mother told me I could still “get out of it” if I wanted to. But I did not want to get out of it; I wanted to get into it and start my new life. I knew the gospel was true.
Not having my family at church with me, I often felt lonely on Sundays. But it helped when people from the ward would take me to church and sit by me. It also helped to have a calling. When I was called to teach the three-year-olds, I felt much more a part of my ward family.
I didn’t want my baptism to affect my family’s unity. Still, things at home were not always as I wished them to be. My family would do heavy work on Sunday and chide me for not participating. They told me I was lazy. I said I was trying to honor the Sabbath. My family liked to eat out on Sunday, and now I would not go. They said I was tearing apart our family, but I was just trying to live the commandments.
What kept me going was the Spirit of the Lord. I really felt it in my life. I felt it when I bore my testimony, when I read my scriptures, and when I prayed. These were all things I learned to do from my teachers at church. I listened very hard and tried to learn the things that would improve my life.
But I often felt out of place at church because I was learning so many new things. I bought some new long skirts to replace my short ones. When I wore them to church, I found out they were still too short to meet Church standards. I didn’t understand what my friends meant when they used Church-related abbreviations. I was too nervous and shy to ask them the meanings of things.
What helped was the teens befriending me and taking time to include me. They seemed to have a natural way of caring for new members. Another thing that helped was visualizing my family in the next life. I never wanted them to be disappointed in me for not living the gospel when I knew it to be true. Even though times were difficult when I was a teenager, I tried to think of the future and my responsibility to my family. If I did not live the gospel, how would my family ever have a chance of accepting it?
Now I am older and married and have teenagers of my own. They are strong in the Church and do not have problems knowing things about the Church that I had to learn from experience. They fit in well and serve in the presidencies in their classes. When I was a teenager I was trying to be a good example for my mom and dad. Unfortunately, they never did join the Church. But I did not realize then that doing what was right was crucial to teenagers I would meet later in my life, who became dearer to me than life itself—my own children.
What you choose today will affect the people who are in your life now. But there are also some special people in your future who are hoping you will do what is right. Their futures may depend on your choosing what is right today. No matter how awkward others may make you feel for making right choices, in the end it will all be worth it.

Choir practice was every Wednesday night in the chapel at 7:30 P.M. By that time I was also a forward on the ward M Men basketball team, athletic manager, and captain of the team. Choir rehearsals and league games were often scheduled on the same Wednesday night. This produced conflicts. One night father insisted I attend choir practice and miss a game. Usually, in such cases, I was excused from choir practice. As I look back, the bitter taste I felt during that particular rehearsal has long since vanished. The glorious sounds of Handel resonate through my soul while my basketball prowess has somewhat diminished!

A recent magazine article contains the story of a 12-year-old girl who got hooked on the Internet. In a chat room she met an admirer. One thing led to another until the discussion became sexually explicit. As she conversed with him, she thought he was a boy of about her own age.

When she met him, she found “a tall, overweight gray-haired man.” He was a vicious predator, a scheming pedophile. Her mother, with the help of the FBI, saved her from what might have been a tragedy of the worst kind (see Stephanie Mansfield, “The Avengers Online,” Reader’s Digest, Jan. 2000, 100–104).

Several years ago, just before general conference, President Thomas S. Monson taught a wonderful lesson. This time it was to assembled General Authorities who had traveled to Salt Lake City, Utah, many coming from places around the world where they were serving in Area Presidencies. We had come together to be instructed by the First Presidency and the Twelve Apostles.
As the time for the meeting approached, everyone seemed to be in attendance except President Monson. Several minutes before the meeting was to begin, we stopped visiting with each other and sat reverently listening to the prelude music, expecting the prophet to arrive any moment.
We patiently waited as 9:00 a.m. came and then passed. Someone walked out the side door—obviously to see if some assistance might be needed. Upon returning, he said, “President Monson will join you shortly.”
About 15 minutes later, President Monson entered the room. Out of respect, we stood as he entered. We were happy to see him and pleased that he looked well. There was no obvious reason as to why he would have been late.
President Monson went straight to the pulpit and said, “Brethren, I’m sorry to be late, but my wife needed me this morning.”
I was deeply impressed and humbled, and I couldn’t stop thinking about his words.
This was a very important meeting. The entire senior leadership of the Church was assembled, but President Monson set the example for us all. His wife needed him, and he took the time necessary to care for her. It was a great sermon. I don’t remember anything else said that day, but I remember that sermon: “My wife needed me.”

When I was about nine years old, I obtained a summer job working on a farm. Most of the other boys on the field gang were older, and when I went to work the first day I noticed that everyone had a pair of leather work gloves. My hands were soon sore from my labors, and I knew I just had to have a pair of gloves like the others. I also knew gloves like those cost four or five dollars, and it would take several days to earn enough money to buy them.
That evening I went into the local market to check the price of the gloves. As I examined and tried them on, Satan began to use his influence on me. “I need these gloves right now,” I thought. “If I take them, they will never be missed, and then after I get paid,” I rationalized, “I will come back and pay for them.” It sounded logical and perfectly all right.
This is how rationalization sometimes works. I had decided that my supposed need would justify stealing the gloves. I had been in the store for quite some time trying to get up my courage, and finally I stuffed the gloves under my shirt and began to leave the store. Suddenly I thought, “I must buy something or they will suspect me,” and so I picked out the only thing I could see quickly that I could buy with a quarter. It was a pocket comb, not a very good choice for a kid with a crew cut. I went to the counter and, with sweaty hands, paid the clerk. I could feel the gloves scratching against my stomach, and I thought he would never close the cash drawer and let me leave. Finally it was over, and I started for the door. Just as I reached out to push it open I felt a large but firm hand take hold of my shoulder, and the store owner said, “Dave, didn’t you forget about the gloves under your shirt?”
My heart sank to my toes, and suddenly all the “good” reasons I had had for my act were gone. My captor called my father to come to the store, and my process of repentance began. I had learned a valuable lesson which I never forgot. That is how Satan works with this rationalization business. He can make things that you know are not right sound okay under the circumstances. He will use other people to try to persuade you, and on many occasions you will really feel that opposition that Nephi spoke about.

My music also helps me get closer to Heavenly Father. I’ve learned a lot about him and about prayer through it.
One time I practiced really hard and prayed a lot before a big competition. But I really messed up. I started in the wrong key, and by the end of the piece it just sounded awful. I came away thinking, Why didn’t Heavenly Father help me? I did everything I could! But then I realized the whole thing motivated me to practice even harder. I might have slacked off a little if I’d done better. Instead I worked a lot more.

The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.

In the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, a devout group of Christian people live a simple life without automobiles, electricity, or modern machinery. They work hard and live quiet, peaceful lives separate from the world. Most of their food comes from their own farms. The women sew and knit and weave their clothing, which is modest and plain. They are known as the Amish people.
A 32-year-old milk truck driver lived with his family in their Nickel Mines community. He was not Amish, but his pickup route took him to many Amish dairy farms, where he became known as the quiet milkman. Last October he suddenly lost all reason and control. In his tormented mind he blamed God for the death of his first child and some unsubstantiated memories. He stormed into the Amish school without any provocation, released the boys and adults, and tied up the 10 girls. He shot the girls, killing five and wounding five. Then he took his own life.
This shocking violence caused great anguish among the Amish but no anger. There was hurt but no hate. Their forgiveness was immediate. Collectively they began to reach out to the milkman’s suffering family. As the milkman’s family gathered in his home the day after the shootings, an Amish neighbor came over, wrapped his arms around the father of the dead gunman, and said, “We will forgive you.” Amish leaders visited the milkman’s wife and children to extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love. About half of the mourners at the milkman’s funeral were Amish. In turn, the Amish invited the milkman’s family to attend the funeral services of the girls who had been killed. A remarkable peace settled on the Amish as their faith sustained them during this crisis.
One local resident very eloquently summed up the aftermath of this tragedy when he said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” It was an amazing outpouring of their complete faith in the Lord’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”
The family of the milkman who killed the five girls released the following statement to the public:
“To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community:
“Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you’ve extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.
“Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know that there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”
How could the whole Amish group manifest such an expression of forgiveness? It was because of their faith in God and trust in His word, which is part of their inner beings. They see themselves as disciples of Christ and want to follow His example.
Hearing of this tragedy, many people sent money to the Amish to pay for the health care of the five surviving girls and for the burial expenses of the five who were killed. As a further demonstration of their discipleship, the Amish decided to share some of the money with the widow of the milkman and her three children because they too were victims of this terrible tragedy.

Clarissa Smith had two best friends. Both of them were daughters of Brigham Young. One day when the girls were together, shortly after Salt Lake Valley was settled in 1847, Josephine and Maimie Young were called from their play and told to meet their father. Clarissa was given permission to go with them. This was an exciting experience for Clarissa, because the meeting place was ZCMI, the biggest store in the little pioneer city. She could hardly wait to look at the beautiful piece goods she had heard about. She had often dreamed of a new dress or coat she might someday be able to have.
Brigham Young warmly greeted his two daughters and their friend. He ushered them through the store until they reached the counter where fabrics were sold.
“Let me see that brown velvet, please,” he asked the storekeeper. The bolt of cloth was lifted down from the shelf and the material was spread out on the counter.
“Please measure off a piece long enough to make cloaks for Maimie and Josephine,” their father directed the storekeeper. Then he looked down at the other little girl, whose eyes reflected her longing to at least touch the beautiful cloth.
“And cut off another length for Clarissa,” he said. Brigham Young smiled down at the girl, whose face shone with surprise and delight. “And please make it a very generous one,” he added.

At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Bridging the gap between two stakes, between groups of friends, between the unsure and the self-assured, between the host ward families and youth, and even between here and hereafter played a major part in the combined Reading Pennsylvania and Wilmington Delaware stakes youth conference. Instead of visiting a local college campus as they had done in the past, the youth conference committee elected to try something a little different—a bed-and-breakfast approach. Some of the youth approached the new plan with apprehension, but as things fell into place, they couldn’t have been more pleased.
“The reason we went along with the bed-and-breakfast idea was the economy of it,” Heather Segely, 16, of the Allentown Pennsylvania Ward said. “We all had a vote. I thought, Oh, no, I don’t want to stay with somebody. I liked the dorms. It was kind of a tradition.”
But midway through the conference, Heather changed her mind. “Since everyone else voted in favor of the idea, I went along with it. I’m really glad I did because I’m having the best time. The host families are wonderful. Everyone seems to like where they are staying. It’s good for a group of youth to get together in one house, then you get to know ten people instead of one roommate.”

I stared at the folded bill in my hand as I realized I still needed to pay tithing on money I had earned during the last week of my summer job. I owed 90 rands in tithing, and I had one R100 bill.
I had just started my final year of medical school and had many school expenses. I sat there fiddling with the R100 bill, thinking about paying tithing. My summer job had ended, and it was unlikely I’d find a job that would fit into my busy schedule. However, my parents had taught me to pay a full tithe. This money belonged to the Lord, and I knew it. With that thought, I placed the money in the envelope and paid my tithing.
In the days following, as I searched for a job, I prayed that the windows of heaven would open for me. I needed a job that would fit my schedule, pay well for low hours, and still allow me time to study. In short, I needed a miracle.
Two weeks later a friend suggested that I apply for a job at the hospital where our medical school had just opened a new education floor. I walked to the office and knocked on the door. The woman inside, who had taught our class two years before, remembered me.
“I was wondering if you were looking to hire any tutors for your new program,” I said. “If you are, I would like to be hired.”
“We are indeed,” she replied. “We are looking for someone to tutor a group of second-year medical students for an hour in the afternoons. It’s a flexible start time and will require you to study a different patient each day and then to teach the students. Can you do that?” she asked.
The Lord had helped me find a job that was exactly what I needed! It was the answer to my prayer.
After working a month, I found out just how much I had been blessed. My paycheck showed that I was being paid a monthly salary three times higher than I had thought. In addition, I received vacation pay.
The Lord had opened the windows of heaven and showered me with blessings far greater than I had ever expected. As a result, my faith was strengthened in the principle of tithing.

For my eighth birthday, my dad decided to take me to general conference. He tried really hard to get tickets, but he couldn’t find any. We decided to just try and get tickets the day of conference before it started. It was pouring rain. We were asking people if they had any extra tickets, but no one did. My dad asked a man if he had any extras. He said he didn’t, then he turned around and said, “Actually, I do have one extra ticket,” and he gave it to us. Then another kind woman gave us a ticket. During conference, I felt a good feeling inside. Afterward, my dad and I said a prayer thanking Heavenly Father for all the special things He did for us that day.

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back of the room, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to Him for a very long time. Ask Him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures now and again. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in His hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw Him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you coming with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

Born on 6 July 1926 in Salt Lake City, Utah, Neal Ash Maxwell was the oldest of six children. He grew up in a loving family with five uncles determined to make their first nephew into an all-state basketball player. Hoping to play on the famous Granite High School team, Neal worked very hard practicing his basketball skills. Unfortunately, he stopped growing at a critical time and would not reach his adult height until after high school. As he described later, not making the team was his “first real disappointment in life.”1

Because Heavenly Father is merciful, a principle of compensation prevails. I have seen this in my own life. My grandson Joseph has autism. It has been heartbreaking for his mother and father to come to grips with the implications of this affliction.
They knew that Joseph would probably never be like other children. They understood what that would mean not only for Joseph but for the family as well. But what a joy he has been to us. Autistic children often have a difficult time showing emotion, but every time I’m with him, Joseph gives me a big hug. While there have been challenges, he has filled our lives with joy.
His parents have encouraged him to participate in sports. When he first started playing baseball, he was in the outfield. But I don’t think he grasped the need to run after loose balls. He thought of a much more efficient way to play the game. When a ball was hit in his direction, Joseph watched it go by and then pulled another baseball out of his pocket and threw that one to the pitcher.
Any reservations that his family may have had in raising Joseph, any sacrifices they have made have been compensated tenfold. Because of this choice spirit, his mother and father have learned much about children with disabilities. They have witnessed firsthand the generosity and compassion of family, neighbors, and friends. They have rejoiced together as Joseph has progressed. They have marveled at his goodness.

Delynn, 24, accepted an internship with the computer division of a major local employer. During her internship she worked on several challenging projects. The established programmers taught her techniques she had not learned through her course work. She worked hard and learned as much as she could. After the internship, she kept in touch. As graduation drew closer, her former supervisor asked if she would be interested in coming back to the firm. She also received several offers from other companies. Delynn chose the company she had interned with, because she knew the environment in which she would be working and enjoyed the challenges she knew she would receive. Since she had already worked for them, the company assigned her to a key project within weeks of starting.