Gospel Story Finder

Growing up, I was raised in a non-denominational Christian home, which I loved. I was, and always will be, incredibly grateful for my family and the things they taught me about God and Jesus Christ. But when I graduated high school, Southern Virginia University reached out to me to play lacrosse on a scholarship. I was hesitant because this school was affiliated with the “Mormon” Church, which I had always been told was crazy.
But for some reason, I knew this was the school I needed to attend.
The first thing I noticed about my classmates who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was that they had genuine intentions to do good. I knew from the Bible that I could assess others’ character by their fruits (see Matthew 7:15–20). And the only “fruit” I saw from these Church members was goodness.
Curious, I started asking questions, particularly to a classmate named Coleman, who talked with me for hours about the gospel. When he began preparing to serve a mission, I joined him in reading scriptures every morning. At first, I was cynical about The Book of Mormon. But I started pondering what we read, and I could see the light in the words. I knew I needed to seek the truth for myself.
That April, I watched general conference for the first time and heard President Russell M. Nelson give a talk on faith. He spoke about tiny mustard seeds, saying:
“The mustard seed represents a small but growing faith.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power. But He does ask us to believe.”1
With my growing and curious faith in mind, I developed a desire to deepen the roots of my faith in the true gospel. So, I started going to church with my roommates. I fasted and prayed to really know if the Book of Mormon is true.
When I prayed, I felt the Spirit so strongly. It felt like the Savior and Heavenly Father were sitting with me, Their hands on my shoulders. I knew I had found the truth. And I believe They were comforting me because They knew I had a hard decision to make.
I called my mom and told her I had something important to tell her. She jokingly asked if I was joining the “Mormon cult.” When I told her I was indeed going to be baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we both cried. It was a difficult conversation, but I knew I couldn’t deny the truth I had received.
Coleman was able to baptize and confirm me. His family and all my friends from school came to support me. I felt so much love, especially from Heavenly Father.
But my decision to be baptized really strained my relationship with my family. My parents believe I worship a different God now and am bound to go to hell. My 12 siblings all have their own opinions about me joining another Church too. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells in our relationships, so I continue to pray their hearts will be softened. I feel the support of the Holy Ghost, and while my family is still adjusting, we make sure we know that we love each other.
Coleman is serving a mission now, but he, his family, and my other ward friends still support me daily. I don’t think I could have made it through this past year without them. And I recently received my temple endowment. The temple has been so helpful to me when I need peace and guidance.
Though not having support from my family has been incredibly hard, God has blessed me beyond what I expected and has given me many mercies as I move forward with faith.
Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”2
It’s been a long journey, but through my struggles, I’ve turned to Jesus Christ and strengthened my foundation of faith in Him. If you are in a situation where your family doesn’t support your faith in the gospel, you can still have peace and hope in the Savior. I know that as we focus on the daily blessings and tender mercies of the Lord, we will continually become more confident in our testimonies and in His grace. He will always lead us to wonderful blessings like good friends and peace and joy in our hearts. Even in difficult trials, He will always provide us with goodness!

Nami Chan, Taoyuan, Taiwan
My family and a lot of my extended family in Taiwan are Buddhist. When I was young, I remember helping prepare sacrifices for ancestors and multiple gods on Chinese New Year and other holidays. It was a family tradition for us, as well as a way to commemorate our ancestors and bring peace and prosperity to my family.
When some of my relatives joined a nondenominational Christian church, it had no impact on my family at first. But during the Ching Ming Festival, when you worship ancestors and burn incense at their graves, my Christian relatives refused to participate. They said that they were committed to following the Ten Commandments, particularly “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3). My family had not discussed any other beliefs before, but from that day on, Christianity represented the destruction of traditions in my family’s eye and was seen in a negative light.
When I was attending a university, I met LDS missionaries on the street. Normally, I wouldn’t have been interested in what they had to say, but some experiences had readied my heart to receive their message. While meeting with them, I agreed to pray and read the Book of Mormon, and I began developing a personal testimony of what I was being taught. But, because of my parent’s feelings against Christianity, I didn’t want to tell them I wanted to be baptized. Many months after my first meeting with the missionaries, I finally told my parents that I wanted to get baptized and that I wanted to serve a mission. They were upset, but I knew I was making the right choice.
I don’t have any pioneer ancestry, but I do feel like I understand their sacrifice. It is difficult to give up some traditions and face opposition from family members. Even now, five years after I joined the Church, in which time I have served a mission, my family doesn’t completely support my decision, but they’ve come to accept it. Joining the Church has allowed me to honor my family in new ways, by doing family history and researching my ancestors. My testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement help me in resolving any conflict I may have with my family.

As the headmaster of then Moroni Community School in Kiribati, I was at a business establishment conducting business for the school when the school's business manager came up to me on his motorbike and told me that our four-year old son Jacob had been hit by a motorcycle and was at the hospital. I went immediately to the hospital and found our four year-old son in a crumpled mass with two broken legs, a severe head wound, and with scrapes and bruises all over his body. Jacob and his friends were playing around the school since our home was on campus and his friends had crossed the main road in front of the school where a van bus had stopped for them to pass. Jacob was the last to cross and a motorcycle driver behind the van bus thinking all was clear came around the van the same time Jacob was crossing the road and hit him square on. We did not know if Jacob would survive or not. However, after an Elder from a missionary couple and I gave Jacob a blessing at the hospital, we knew that Jacob would live. He went in for a three hour operation with a doctor that was oftentimes in an inebriated state but all went well in the operation. Jacob was in traction with his broken legs for a month in the hospital. At the hospital following Jacob's accident, I came face to face with the sorrowful motorcycle driver who hit Jacob. There was no anger against this man but only a peace and calm with this man who accidentally hit our son Jacob with his motorcycle. Christ-like love gives us that calm and peace not only in accidental situations, but also in those times when others on purpose do ill things toward us or our loved ones.

Mark Fallentine, 17, of Frenchtown, had planned on sleeping in, then spending the day getting ready for a school dance. “Friday night, I got two calls from the priests quorum about the cleanup. Then Saturday morning I got a call from the branch president. So I went. But after we got out and started working, I felt really good about it. And now, just driving by the highway and looking at it, I can say, ‘Hey, I worked on this, and it looks real nice.’ It taught me that I ought to participate even when at first I don’t want to.”

Luz felt happy. The school year was ending, and so many exciting things were happening. Soon she would graduate from sixth grade. Next year, she’d be in secondary school!
It surprised her how much she had grown up. She was taller, and she wasn’t a little kid anymore. Those changes were exciting, but she also felt a little nervous.
She decided to talk about it with her parents.
“This is a wonderful time in your life, Luz,” Papá said. “It’s a time for you to learn, do your best, and reach goals that will help you become the person God knows you can be.”
“But life comes just one day at a time,” Mamá said. “You’ll grow and become that person with each small, good choice you make.”
That helped Luz feel better. She was glad that she didn’t have to grow up all at once.
One day at school, Luz’s friends told her they were going to have a graduation party. They were super excited. There would be dinner, music, lights, and even a dance!
But as Luz listened to her friends talk about the party, she started to feel uncomfortable. It didn’t sound like the kind of party where she’d be able to feel the Holy Ghost.
“You’re going to come, right, Luz?” one of her friends asked.
“You have to come!” another friend said. “I’ll tell my parents to talk to your parents. Then they’ll let you come.”
“Maybe.” Luz’s stomach was doing flip-flops. “I … I’ll let you know.”
Luz spent the rest of the weekend thinking about the party. She thought about it while she practiced the piano. She thought about it while she played with her baby brother. No matter what she did, it was on her mind.
Part of her just wanted to go to the party. But she still felt uneasy. The nervous feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away.
“Are you OK, hija?” Mamá asked on Sunday afternoon. She combed her fingers through Luz’s long, dark hair.
“Well …,” Luz said.
“Are you still thinking about the party?”
“I don’t know what to do,” said Luz. “I want to go. But I know I won’t have a good feeling there.”
Mamá smiled. “I know you’ll make a good choice,” she said. “Think about it, make your choice, and tell Heavenly Father what you’ve decided. He’ll help you know if it’s right. You’ll feel it in your heart.”
Luz nodded. She took a deep breath and went to her room to pray.
“Heavenly Father,” Luz whispered. “My friends invited me to a party, but I don’t feel good about it. I’m going to tell them that I can’t come. Is this the right thing to do?”
A wave of warmth came over Luz. She didn’t feel confused anymore. She felt like she was full of light! She knew she was making the right choice.
When Luz walked out of her room, she gave Mamá a big hug.
“I decided not to go,” Luz told her.
“I’m proud of you,” said Mamá.
Papá gave Luz a hug too. “I have an idea,” he said. “Let’s have our own graduation party. We can have ice cream and celebrate as a family!”
Luz smiled. She loved ice cream! And she loved knowing that she could do the right thing, even when it was hard. With every small, good choice she made, she could grow up to be the person God knew she could become.

Let me give you an example. One evening a few years ago, I was interviewing adults for renewal of their temple recommends. A middle-aged woman came in for her interview. She had been married in the temple and was active in the Church all her life.
I sensed a deep sadness in her soul. As the interview progressed, I received a spiritual impression. I said to her, “Sister, I have the impression that you made a serious mistake when you were a teenager that you haven’t confessed to a priesthood leader. Would you be willing to tell me about it?”
She immediately began to cry. She told me that was true, but she had always felt too embarrassed to confess it to a bishop. As she confessed what she had done, she shared sufficient detail for me to make a determination of her worthiness.
The confession of her sin to a priesthood leader marked the end of her repentance process rather than the beginning. She had unnecessarily carried the burden and sorrow of that sin for more than 30 years.
Because she had completed the final step of repentance, her guilt was swept away. I would occasionally see her after the night of that interview. Her countenance became bright, and she was happy.
I want you to know that I do not remember her name. The Lord can remove such memories from bishops. What I do remember is that through confession to her priesthood leader, a middle-aged woman was relieved of feelings of guilt that she had carried far too many years.

The angle iron clanged on the farmhouse porch as an old woman rattled a steel bar around the inside of the triangle. “Even Elias should be able to hear that,” she said.
He did. The old man in the timeworn poncho turned away from the chicken coop toward the house. “Too early for supper,” he said, peering through the haze of falling snow. Raising a bushy eyebrow, he absentmindedly picked up his hammer and started across the snow-muddied yard. Fixing the gate would have to wait until he saw what all the clamor was about. “Nothing worse than stopping a job when it’s half done!” he grumbled to a hen that scooted out of his path and under a motorcar.
He stopped at the porch and spoke to his wife. “What’s so important that I have to stop in the middle of my work? And what’s Ethel Kramer doing here?” he asked, gesturing to the Model A parked next to their house.
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. “You’ll have answers to both those questions if you’ll get yourself inside, Elias Palmer Thorton.”
Inside, he gasped at the sight of his granddaughter lying on the sofa, bruised and scraped from head to foot. “What happened to you?”
“Nellie,” she answered with a grunt of pain, turning to see him better as he brushed snowflakes from his often-patched, two-sizes-too-small poncho. “Mrs. Kramer saw me on the road and brought me home.”
Grandpa nodded a thank-you to the stout, red-haired woman. “Much obliged, Ethel.” He pulled up a chair and sat down. “What did this Nellie do to get you so banged up?”
Twelve-year-old Melody’s eyes filled with tears. “I was walking home from school. She ran up behind me and took my umbrella. She said that since she was bigger than I was, she should have it. Then she laughed and pushed me hard. I tripped over something in the weeds and fell down the little hill by Sutter’s Bridge.” Her eyes narrowed with anger. “Ever since I came to live with you and Grandma, Nellie’s been making life hard for me.”
Grandpa nodded. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
“What can I do about it, Grandpa? I’d defend myself, but Nellie’s a lot bigger and meaner than me. She’d bust me up into little pieces if I tried to fight back. I hate her, Grandpa! I wish she’d never been born!”
Grandpa and Grandma exchanged concerned looks. “Hate is an ugly thing, Melody,” Grandpa said. “It can scar and bruise us inside a lot worse than any hurts we receive on the outside. Your grandma can cleanse and bandage those cuts and scrapes, and in a few days you’ll be good as new. But hateful feelings toward others are another thing. If we don’t doctor them, they grow and fester like a sore. And in the end they consume us, along with our chance of ever being truly happy.”
Melody looked confused. And angry. “So I should say, ‘That feels good, Nellie. Do it again!’?”
“Quite the contrary, Pumpkin,” the old man chuckled, patting her hand. “If it happens again, I’ll get on the phone on that wall over there and raise enough dust to plant a field of corn. But I don’t think it needs to happen again. It’s quite possible that Nellie is feeling bad about what she did.”
“Is that why she laughed so hard when I tumbled down the hill? Because she felt bad?”
Grandpa’s eyes bored deep into his granddaughter’s. “Someone who treats others the way Nellie treats you can’t be happy. My guess is that she’s a very unhappy person. And when people hurt inside, they often take it out on others. Maybe Nellie’s striking out blindly at an easy target because her pain is too big to face. And misery loves company, even if the only way to get it is by being unkind.”
“Maybe this, maybe that,” Melody protested. “All I know is that I’m being turned into a human punching bag, and I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I,” Grandpa said. “So I want you to do something about it.”
Melody looked dumbfounded. “I’m doing all I can, Grandpa. I try to stay away from her and not pay any attention to her. In fact, I pretend that she doesn’t even exist. But she keeps showing up to remind me that she’s real—as real as the bad names she calls me, and—”
Grandpa placed a wrinkled finger gently across her lips. “I want to tell you about an experience I had when I was about your age. Then I want you to apply what I learned, and if it doesn’t make a difference, then your grandpa will.”
Melody sighed and nodded slowly.
There was a long silence. Finally Grandpa stood with a grunt. “Well, I’d better get back out there and fix that gate before the hens are everywhere but in the coop.”
A few days later, he was in the barn repairing a plow when he saw Melody crossing the yard with a bigger girl, who seemed shy, even a bit uneasy, although the two were talking and laughing. As they passed the barn, Melody spied him through the partially open doors. She picked up a rabbit, handed it to the girl to pet, and told her that she’d be right back.
“Grandpa!” she said in a low, excited voice as she hurried inside, “that’s Nellie! She walked home from school with me. I’m going to show her the dress Grandma is helping me sew. Can she stay for supper, Grandpa? We can drive her home in the truck, and—”
“That’s the Nellie?” Grandpa interrupted. “What happened?”
“All she had in her lunch yesterday was half a piece of bread and a stick of candy. So I sat by her on the steps and shared my lunch with her. I gave her some of the blackberry strudel Grandma made, half my jar of goat milk, and—”
“She let you sit by her?” Grandpa interrupted again.
“I guess she was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say, so I just did. While we were eating, her voice got all funny, and she looked away. I think she was trying to wipe away a tear. When I asked her if she was all right, she said, ‘Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye?’ Then today after school she asked if she could walk home with me. And here she is.”
Melody hugged her grandfather so hard that he dropped the wrench he was holding. “Thanks, Grandpa,” she said, pulling away and half hiding her face with a hand.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin?”
Melody brushed a finger quickly across her cheek. “Haven’t you ever gotten something in your eye, Grandpa?” With that, she turned and hurried back to Nellie.
Grandpa watched the two girls stroll toward the farmhouse. “Well, how about that,” he said, taking out his handkerchief. “I have something in my eye too.”

I live on the island of Lifou, one of the islands of New Caledonia. I was baptized on a Saturday afternoon by my father. We had to travel to another tribal area called Luengóni for my baptism because my tribe lives on the high ground, and we don’t have any beaches. When I went down into the water, I was afraid, and my heart was heavy. Coming out of the water I felt very light and full of joy. My heart was pounding with joy, for I knew that my church is the true Church of Jesus Christ. I love singing the hymns of the Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I bear you my testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.Wajo Elenne Xowi, age 8, Lifou Island, New Caledonia

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s.
Ashley had been walking with her father and mother across seaside boulders near their home in northern California. Her dad was photographing beautiful scenes for watercolors he would paint. Out of nowhere and with no forewarning, a rogue wave engulfed the shore, carrying her father out to sea and dragging her mother along the boulders. Ashley was inland far enough that the killer wave missed her. Terrorized by what she had just witnessed, she ran for help.
Within minutes, a man with a cell phone called emergency numbers, and a rescue began. Her mother had landed in a precarious spot where she could be reached only by helicopter. She was in excruciating pain with a broken back and arm and with numerous cuts and gashes due to the vicious rocks and fierce ocean. Ashley’s father was nowhere to be found. As Ashley’s mother lay on the edge of the sea waiting for rescue, she felt her husband’s presence, and she knew without a doubt that he was gone. His body never was recovered.
Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says:
“During that time I felt great comfort from the Holy Ghost. I had a sure witness of God’s great plan of Salvation, so I knew I would see my dad again. In addition, I felt the Lord’s love through the wonderful, kind care of earthly angels who ministered to our family.” She felt the peace that Jesus promises us, “peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27)

One young convert named Fernando was inactive in his own church, but he had great faith in Jesus Christ. He sought out many churches and talked to many ministers but he could not find a church that could answer his most important questions, or fulfill his deepest needs. He finally became disillusioned with organized religions and stopped looking. Then one day he happened to see two sister missionaries teaching with a street board. The board featured a painting of Christ ordaining his apostles. Fernando, who was an amateur artist, liked the painting. The sister missionaries told him they had more paintings like that. They invited him to come to church and see them.

He came. It was testimony meeting, and he was touched by the testimonies, especially that of one sister who had just received her patriarchal blessing. “She bore a testimony of great love,” he later remembered.

He began receiving the discussions. “When I first started studying, I wanted to argue with the elders. I decided I would listen to their whole message, and then refute it all at once. But when I had heard their message, I found that my arguments were destroyed in advance. It really could be true, and if it was true, it was important. If God had really restored his church, then I had to be a part of it. They taught me many things that were hard, many things that would require a great sacrifice compared to the life I was then living. But if it was true, it didn’t matter how hard it was! I had a peaceful feeling about the message I had received. It was all true.”

But those hard things loomed larger and larger as baptism approached, and there were friends to scoff and problems to discourage Fernando. For a time he withdrew from his investigation and his contacts with the Church, even though he knew in his heart it was all true. One rainy night during that time of low spirits and temptation, he went to see a friend off on the train.

He helped her on with her bags and was saying good-bye when he felt the train begin to move. He ran to the door, but it was too late. Santiago de Compostela was rushing past him at a speed that made jumping suicidal.

He got off at the first stop—a dark, deserted station house without a human dwelling anywhere in sight. He walked many kilometers through a cold rain, totally soaked, up a mountain road and into a village. There he found a phone booth, the only shelter available. He entered the booth and phoned a friend who would have to walk many blocks to inform his parents of his plight. Then he took off most of his soaked clothing and stood shivering through the night. Since he had absolutely nothing else to do to pass the long hours, he began thinking seriously about the gospel. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I said a prayer, even though I was afraid I wasn’t worthy of an answer. I had tried to separate myself as far as I could from the Lord and his people.”

He spent the rest of the night praying, thinking, and reading from a small New Testament that he happened to have in his pocket. “During that time, my testimony returned to me. I felt dry and warm even though I was wet. Whenever I prayed for comfort, comfort came to me. The words came to me ‘All is well. Do not worry.’ But I’m afraid my rebelliousness made me unwilling to accept the answer. I asked again and again, although I knew I had already been answered. Then there was a sudden peal of thunder in the night. I had seen no lightning, nor had there been any thunder in the storm before. I felt it was a message; I was being told, ‘Be quiet. You already know the answer to your question.’

“I know that not everybody needs a clap of thunder, because some people are better listeners than I was. I know that a quiet sense of peace is just as meaningful an answer to prayer, but the Lord knew that I needed a night alone in a phone booth and a clap of thunder, and that’s just what he gave me. Every person receives the testimony he needs if he asks sincerely.”

Fernando finally got out of the phone booth, got home again, and dried off, but not long thereafter he was once more soaking wet as he rose from the waters of baptism. But he felt warm, as he had in the phone booth, and this time he knew he was truly at home.

“Baptism wasn’t the end but the entrance,” Fernando says. “I want much more. I was 15 when I was converted. Since then I have had more love for everyone—my father, my mother, my friends, everyone!

“At first I was afraid that my friends would laugh at me when they found out I was LDS, and some of them did. My best friend rejected me. My whole family was angry with me. But I am not ashamed of the gospel. I make sure everyone knows I am a Mormon. I give them copies of the Book of Mormon and bear my testimony. The blessings are much greater than the pain of rejection. Whenever I have a problem, I pray, and it is like plugging in an electric plug. The Lord may not solve the problem for me, but he lets me know what I need to do to solve it for myself, and that’s all I ask.

“I have a testimony that I won’t let be broken. This is the true Church, and I mean to magnify my callings. I am excited about fulfilling a proselyting mission as well as my larger mission in life. I will soon receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and I feel very inadequate. I know that it is a solemn obligation to accept the greatest power on earth. I hope I won’t ever fail to honor it.”

Sister Berry enthused about her Hong Kong mission saying, “Serving in Hong Kong was one of the best experiences and held a special place in my heart. I loved every part: the people, food, culture, members, companions, and mission. I was always amazed by the beautiful Hong Kong scenery and weather.”
Soon after arriving in Hong Kong, civil protests began, but the mission understood the importance of the work at hand and, with hopeful hearts, “soldiered on and worked hard.”
China wanted to bring Hong Kong under Chinese law, rather than the democracy it had inherited from British rule. The Hong Kong people were protesting that they would be brought under Chinese rules and regulations when it came to types of crime and sentencing.
Sister Berry recalls, “We learnt to simply adapt and change our schedules to fit curfews, and our approach to ensure it would still allow us to share the gospel and bring happiness to those around us. We loved and trusted our mission president and his wife dearly; we knew that they were inspired, and as long as we were obedient to their word, we were safe and protected.” She explained, “As a mission, we came together, and during that gathering, our mission president presented a plan, reminding us that it is necessary to be prepared within Church culture.”
“The plan was to cover us in the case of an evacuation, or a need to stay within our apartments for a few days, or to report to a particular area if Hong Kong went into social unrest.
“We stocked up on food, were given individual telephone SIM cards, directions on how an evacuation would occur and, most importantly, a unique code word that only our missionaries and our mission president knew: ‘Jell-O-nation’.
“This code word was put in place to be used only if the evacuation was to occur, and we would know that it was not a false alarm or a disturbance from an outsider at the time. The protests continued, resulting in us missionaries having to spend certain days indoors spring cleaning or randomly heading to the nearest sister or elder missionary apartments, when instructed, to spend the night while it calmed down. It was decided that no new missionaries were to report to the China Hong Kong Mission until it had calmed down. We had around 80 missionaries in the field, and this figure was capped at 100 for about three transfers.
“Although we were short on missionaries, we were never short on blessings and miracles, and continued to help even more people learn of the gospel and our Saviour Jesus Christ. We truly felt the love, support and encouragement from our leaders and members during the process.
“During that time, we had a zone conference with half the missionaries, where we were astonished and delighted to be told that we were teaching more than ever and finding souls and introducing baptism to just as many as in the years before, when there were twice as many missionaries.
“President Phillips loved to set us challenges and always encouraged us to enhance and strengthen our testimonies, such as by prayerfully studying the Book of Mormon front to back in 80 days, following the Spirit and setting a minimum of ten ‘windows of heaven’ each week. We loved it.
“The ‘windows of heaven’, or as we liked to call them, windows, were a unique finding technique that we loved to do.
“In Hong Kong, we were limited when it came to the traditional door knocking. People lived in apartments with guards who knew the missionaries very well and could keep us away. Most parks had rangers that would keep an eye on us in case we were handing out flyers. So, we would just have to hit the streets every day and do windows.
“Besides regular finding or district finding with other groups of missionaries, we would take some time each week to pray as a companionship, specifically about a time and place that we feel we should go to find someone ready to hear the gospel. We would look at our planners and the map of our area and listen to the Spirit. Once we figured out the time and place, we would slot it into our diaries, which was considered an appointment with God. We would have to show up around 15 minutes early, pray to open the window and talk to everyone we could find. The idea of windows was to promise to God that you would go to the place you felt the Spirit told you to go, and that He would guide someone ready to hear the gospel to find you.
“When we did come across someone interested, we were to find a spot and teach them about the gospel there and then for 10–15 minutes or even longer. Each window was usually an hour or hour and a half long, and we would try our hardest to speak with everyone. We would have around two of these each day and made them priority above all appointments because that was an appointment with God.”

Brother Torales softly bears his testimony. He speaks of a loving Savior, of the Prophet Joseph Smith, of living prophets, of the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he recounts to his family an experience that happened on a night such as this:
One dark evening, he and some of his children were walking home on a country road after teaching the gospel to neighbors. As they walked in the light of the moon and stars, they were listening to a cassette tape of the Tabernacle Choir.
“At that moment, I had what seemed to be a vision,” he says. “The heavens opened, and I saw a personage who I understood was the Lord. My family was walking through a scene of great war. People were fighting all around us. But with the Lord near, their fighting didn’t affect us. We walked right through it, unhurt. The Lord led us to a place that was very beautiful. I was filled with light and peace and with an indescribable joy. I imagine that is how it will feel to be in the presence of God.”
Then the scene closed, and President Torales found himself still walking in the moonlight with his children. They were unaware of what had just happened, so he described it to them. It has been a source of great hope for the family ever since.
“I believe it represented things in our lives and in the future,” says President Torales. “Even though there are wars and problems all around us, if we stay close to our Heavenly Father, we can walk through them and be blessed.”

I’m trying to read the whole Book of Mormon before I turn eight. In family home evening my dad talked about setting goals, so I decided to read three pages a day to meet my goal. Sometimes I take my Book of Mormon to school so I can read it during silent reading. My friends have asked me about the Book of Mormon, and I have been able to tell them about it. I’m happy that we can have the scriptures to read and share with others.
Emily S., age 7, Texas

One of our daughters graduated from this school. She received a minor in childhood education, and afterwards she, with the wife of one of the students down at Stanford, in order to help their husbands, obtained a license to conduct a small nursery. They were getting along very well, until both of them began to prepare for new motherhood. So the public nursery had to give way to their own private nurseries.

When Newel Knight informed his wife, Lydia, that the Saints would have to leave Nauvoo and move yet again, she responded with tenacious faith, saying, “Well, there’s nothing to discuss. Our place is with the Kingdom of God. Let us at once set about making preparations to leave.” Brother Knight had moved his family several times already as many of the Saints had moved from New York to Ohio to Missouri and to Illinois. Lydia Knight’s devoted submission to what she knew was God’s will typifies powerfully the faith of those heroic early Saints. With their faith in mind, the words of a familiar hymn take on added meaning:
Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword;
Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy
Whene’er we hear that glorious word.
Faith of our fathers, holy faith,
We will be true to thee till death!
Though winter’s chill was not yet past, heightened fears of mob attacks and swirling rumors of government intervention compelled President Young to set things in motion to get the Saints under way. He directed the first company of pioneer families to leave Nauvoo on February 4, 1846, a cold winter day. They drove their laden wagons and their livestock down Parley Street—a street that became known as the “Street of Tears”—to a landing where they were ferried across the river to Iowa. Chunks of ice floating in the river crunched against the sides of the flatboats and barges that carried the wagons across the Mississippi. A few weeks later, temperatures dropped even further and wagons could cross the river more easily over a bridge of ice.
Sister Wirthlin and I visited Nauvoo in early March this year. The weather was bitterly cold. As we stood in the chilling wind, looking out across the broad expanse of the Mississippi, we felt a deeper sense of appreciation and gratitude for those Saints as they left their beloved city. We wondered how they ever survived. What a sacrifice to leave behind so much for the uncertain future that lay ahead! No wonder so many tears were shed as the fleeing pioneers drove their wagons rumbling down Parley Street to cross the river with no hope of ever returning to their “City Beautiful.”
Once across the river, they camped temporarily at Sugar Creek before starting their trek west toward the Rocky Mountains. The journey, which historian H. H. Bancroft described as a migration without “parallel in the world’s history,” had begun.
When President Brigham Young joined the departing pioneers at their campsite in Iowa on February 15, 1846, the Lord revealed to him to begin organizing a modern “Camp of Israel.” On the first of March the advance company began its push westward across Iowa. Hardships caused by cold, snow, rain, mud, sickness, hunger, and death challenged the faith of these hardy pioneers. But they were determined to follow their leaders and to do, no matter the cost, what they believed fervently to be the will of God. Their faith was challenged, and for some it faltered in especially difficult times. But it did not fail them. Many were sustained by the assurances they had received in temple ordinances performed in the Nauvoo Temple.
One of the more difficult hardships endured by many of the sisters was delivering their babies under harsh, extreme conditions along the trail. Eliza R. Snow wrote that as the pioneers “journeyed onward, mothers gave birth to offspring under almost every variety of circumstances imaginable, except those to which they had been accustomed; some in tents, others in wagons—in rainstorms and in snowstorms.” Sister Snow went on to record in her journal that she “heard of one birth which occurred under the rude shelter of a hut, the sides of which were formed of blankets fastened to poles stuck in the ground, with a bark roof through which the rain was dripping. Kind sisters stood holding dishes to catch the water … , thus protecting the [little one] and its mother from a showerbath [on its entrance to] the stage of human life.”
What a sacrifice these good sisters made! Some mothers lost their own lives in childbirth. Many babies did not survive. My wife’s grandmother, Elizabeth Riter, was born at Winter Quarters in the back of a covered wagon during a rainstorm. Fortunately, both the mother and the newborn infant survived. With great love for the woman who gave life to her, Elizabeth often lovingly recounted how an umbrella was held over her mother throughout the ordeal to shield her from the water leaking through the wagon’s cover.
Let us never forget the faith of our fathers and the selfless sacrifice of our mothers, those pioneering Saints who set such an inspiring example of obedience. Let us remember them as we strive to be valiant servants in our work to “invite all to come unto Christ” and “be perfected in him.”

Let me mention without naming anyone the experience last night of being with a wonderful matriarch. In the last three years this wonderful lady and good friend of Colleen’s and mine has lost a husband, a daughter, a son, and two brothers. At 8:30 this morning, her remaining son had brain tumor surgery. As I watch that family, so settled, so established, I can see that they know what Nephi knew: “I know that [God] loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Nephi 11:17). The feeling I felt watching that family circle and their many friends was that this family is okay. They will make it, whatever the results of the surgery may be.

If we are meek enough and we are willing to submit enough, then we can be like our friend’s marvelous young son last night after his blessing. He was secure. This is a son who, when his first wife died a few years ago, was seated with the family in the first two rows at the funeral. When it was his turn to praise his wife, he passed the young baby to someone else on that row and then came to the pulpit and gave a wonderful sermon, as if speaking at his wife’s funeral was something he did twice a month.

Such intrinsic spirituality has grown in him and in his family. This family could indeed have a conversation with Job and hold their own.

The Lord taught another great priesthood duty during this period of Church history. In section 104 the Lord set forth the order of the Church concerning the poor: “Therefore, if any man shall take of the abundance which I have made, and impart not his portion, according to the law of my gospel, unto the poor and the needy, he shall, with the wicked, lift up his eyes in hell, being in torment.” With this precedent, in January 1839, during the exodus from Missouri, many of the brethren covenanted to “stand by and assist one another … till there shall not be one left who desires to remove from the state.”
In the bitter cold of February 1839, Daniel Stillwell Thomas reflected, “Before we crossed [the Mississippi River] we unloaded our wagon and sent it back to asist [sic] in removing the poor and thus to save their lives the mob still threatning them.” Daniel Thomas had five children and only one pair of shoes between them, yet he still sent the wagon back to save the destitute Saints.

Brady’s brothers and sisters—Burke (14), Brittany (12), Brandon (10), Benjamin, “B. J.” (6), Brett (4), and Bobbie Jo (2)—are definitely some of Brady’s best friends. When he attended muscular dystrophy summer camp for a week, Burke went as his counselor to help take care of him. Since Brady couldn’t go swimming with the other kids, he kept a giant squirt gun hooked to his wheelchair so that he could still get everyone else wet! His mother, Earlene Blaser, says that he’s a real tease.

It was a hot and humid June day in Brooklyn, New York, USA. I was touring a Hasidic Jewish community with several other Brigham Young University communications students. Despite the weather, the man giving us the tour was covered from head to toe in dark clothing—from his black top hat to his dark suit to his formal shoes. As we walked around the neighborhood, we passed other members of the community, all similarly dressed. We then traveled to the wig shop, where we learned that Hasidic Jewish women wear wigs and long dresses.
I could only imagine how hot and uncomfortable that all would be, especially during a humid New York summer. And yet this was their lives—every single day. They dressed like this as part of their religion to show their devotion to God.
In a way, I could understand their commitment. We had those among us who had been endowed in the temple and were wearing the temple garment beneath their clothing. We all had made covenants with God through baptism and did things regularly that showed our devotion to God and to our beliefs. But it was interesting to see devotion shown in a different way than I was used to.
And it made me really think about how much I could learn from other people’s religious practices—and how that could help me be more intentional in how I worship and show my devotion to God.
We entered our tour guide’s home and saw his family’s kosher kitchen, consisting of two ovens, two stovetops, and two sinks. This was to keep the meat and dairy separate while cooking, since the two food groups are not allowed to touch.
I have often reflected on that hot and humid day in New York. I was so inspired by our Jewish tour guide’s devotion to live his religion not only on the Sabbath but every single day. That experience, and others, has allowed me to contemplate how I can better show God my devotion to Him and His gospel through my everyday actions.

When I was 16, a friend showed up at our home with the missionaries. Within a month of the first discussion, all my questions were answered in clarity. I felt the Holy Ghost testify of the truthfulness of the messages about the Restoration. It was unlike anything I had ever felt, and I knew all of it was true.
However, I experienced more rejection and opposition than ever before. I felt alone, tired, and confused. If I was doing the right thing, why was I encountering so much adversity? I couldn’t understand how my trials were for my good. The missionaries taught me to fast and pray, even in the middle of a school day. When things became unbearable I’d pour out my heart and immediately feel the comfort of the Spirit.
The week of my baptism was full of trials. My boss threatened to fire me if I didn’t skip my baptism to fill in for someone, I ended up in the hospital with kidney stones, and my parents asked me to leave our home. With so many things out of my control, the only thing I could do was turn to the Lord.
Every one of those trials did turn out to be for my benefit. They helped me learn about the doctrines of the gospel, which provided me a foundation for my testimony.