Gospel Story Finder

After my wife and I were baptized in January 1951, many of our neighbors shunned us, sometimes crossing the street so they would not meet us face-to-face. This did not affect our attitude, however, and we would greet them normally. It was not long before they would come to us and say, “We have a child who is ill, would you pray for her?” or “I have a problem. Would you please give me some counsel and advice?”

Guillermo Soto, his wife, Pilar, and their children are like many Chileans who have found the Church during the past four decades.
“The missionaries would always greet us in the street,” Pilar recalls. “One day they asked whether they could come over for a visit. I told them we wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation in our home because our eight children made a lot of noise. One of the elders replied, ‘Excellent! I have five brothers and sisters myself.’”
The missionaries came, and their message rang true. Soto family members, who had often spent evenings together singing and playing games, embraced the family home evening program. Word of Wisdom warnings against tobacco coincided with familial prohibitions against smoking in the home, but posed a challenge for Guillermo, a professional musician who directs music for television programs.
“As a teenager I had found peace and love by studying the Bible,” Guillermo says. “But I later lost my way and began living a worldly life.”
The Soto children who were old enough were baptized in 1994, but Pilar waited until her husband was ready. Guillermo struggled with the Word of Wisdom until his prayers about the gospel’s truthfulness were answered.
“I received an answer many times,” he says. “Once I imagined seeing myself come up out of the waters of baptism pure and clean, and I began to weep. I felt something very special and decided that I needed to get baptized.”
Brother Soto left behind his struggles with the Word of Wisdom but kept his musician friends. “My presence in my group of friends is important,” he says. “I am preaching the gospel by leading a new life. Little by little my friends will become interested in the Church.”
These days the sounds coming from the Soto home include prayers of thanksgiving and the harmony of Guillermo, Pilar, and their children singing gospel hymns. The closeness they shared before baptism has increased as their understanding of the gospel has grown. In their Tierra del Fuego Ward in north Santiago, Brother and Sister Soto serve respectively as elders quorum president and Relief Society president.
“I had always asked God to put me on a path where I could grow with my family, where Pilar and I could do the right things for our children, where they could grow strong and find some heaven on earth,” Brother Soto says. “It has been a long journey, but at last we are on that path.”

I wonder how many of you young men and men who are a little older have heard the story of the man in the brown leather jacket. A famous surgeon received a phone call one night from a doctor friend who said he had a young child on the operating table and needed the surgeon’s help in order to save the child. It was a long drive across town to the hospital and the surgeon drove as fast as he could with safety. As he pulled up to a stop sign, a man wearing a brown leather jacket opened the door and slid in beside him with his hand in his pocket as though he had a gun. The man was excited, demanded the surgeon’s car, and obviously was in no mood to discuss it. The surgeon stood helplessly on the highway as the man in the brown leather jacket sped away in his car.
By the time the surgeon finally arrived at the hospital, it was too late. The child had died only moments before. The other doctor asked the surgeon to come with him to meet the child’s father in the hope that together they might offer him words of comfort. As they entered the waiting room, the father came forward—he was the man in the brown leather jacket.

In 1978, Isaac was eight years old. He lived in a small village in Cross River State, Nigeria. His house was made of bamboo poles packed with mud and had a roof made of palm leaves. Isaac loved his village and all the people who lived there.
The village was surrounded by a lush, green forest. There were palm trees, banana trees, ferns, and bamboo. To get to the next village, Isaac walked down the dirt road through the forest or rode his cousin’s old bike.
His family had a small farm on which they grew their own food. They ate soup and gari, a dish that looks like oatmeal and is made of boiled roots. One of Isaac’s chores was to walk down to the river and get water for his mother.
On Sundays, Isaac and his family went to church. Their meetinghouse was also made of bamboo and mud, and it had a neat, white sign: THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS. There was a big brass bell in front.
At church, Brother Ekong taught them about Jesus Christ. He read to them from the few books they had received from Salt Lake City. They sang hymns. Isaac’s favorite hymn was “Come, Come, Ye Saints.”
Isaac and many other people in his village had strong testimonies that the Church is true. They were waiting for missionaries to help them learn more about the restored gospel. Brother Ekong did not have the priesthood. He could not baptize them. More than anything, Isaac wanted to be baptized and become a member of the Church. His father told him, “The time will come when we can be baptized.”
When Isaac and his sisters went into the forest to cut sticks for firewood, he prayed for missionaries to come. While he sat on the bank of the river and watched the colorful fish swim back and forth, he sang hymns. He often pretended that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was singing with him.
One day his father told the family that they were going to have a special meeting on Saturday. Before the meeting, they would fast for twenty-four hours. The meeting was to pray for missionaries to come.
On Saturday, Isaac and his family put on their best clothes. Isaac’s stomach growled with hunger, but he didn’t notice because he was so excited.
Soon the bell rang and the people of the village gathered at the small meetinghouse. It was very crowded. Brother Ekong led them in a hymn and then prayed that the Lord would send missionaries. Many other people took turns praying. Isaac’s mother had tears on her cheeks. They sang again; then it was time to go home.
As the people were leaving, they heard a motor. A car pulled up in front of the building and stopped. Two men and two women got out. Isaac had never seen anyone with skin so pale. Brother Ekong talked excitedly to them. Then he went to the bell and rang it loudly. Everyone quickly returned to the meetinghouse.
Brother Ekong welcomed the four strangers and sat them at the front of the building, facing the people. He told them that the village had been waiting for this glad day for many years. One of the men, Elder Rendell Mabey, stood and told them he was a missionary sent to them by the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball.
Elder Mabey bore his testimony of the restored gospel. Then Elder Cannon bore his testimony, and their wives also bore theirs. The day was very hot, but no one wanted to leave. The people asked many questions. Elder Mabey promised to return and teach them more. He said that their time had come and that they soon could be baptized.
On the last day of December, 1978, Isaac’s family and many others gathered on the riverbank. They found a spot in the river that had a deep pool. When it was Isaac’s turn, he waded into the gentle river. Elder Mabey took him by the wrist, said the baptismal prayer, and lowered him into the water. The sunlight sparkled on the surface as Isaac waded back to shore. His heart felt warm and sparkly, too.
Twenty-one years later, Isaac stood in the pool of water with his eight-year-old son, Raymond. Isaac now held the priesthood and could baptize his son. His heart was filled with joy as he remembered the beautiful day he had been baptized in that same river. He was very grateful that his time had finally come.

We had a large LDS population in my hometown. I played in our high school band, but my band teacher did not like the Church and was always trying to discredit the Book of Mormon.
When we went on band trips, he would bring ideas from his church meetings with him and confront me. He found it entertaining to bash the Church, and I felt like I was the only one who would defend it.
At first I wanted to prove to him that he was wrong. He would tell me that every sin is equally as bad—murder and lying alike—and that there is really no repentance. Instead, we go through this life and as long as we acknowledge Christ as our Savior we will go to heaven.
I felt like the plan of salvation had suddenly been turned into a game of Monopoly. There are no free rides, I tried to explain. But he was not there to learn about my beliefs.
Since he was there in the spirit of contention (and I followed somewhat ignorantly), we just went around in circles. No matter what explanation I could offer, he would come up with something else to debate. It wasn’t until a year later that I realized what it was I was doing.
I had thought I was doing missionary work, but I was not. After studying the scriptures, talks, and lectures on the subject, I now know that if people are there with the intention to debate beliefs, they are not ready to hear the gospel. This seems so obvious to me now, but at the time I had no idea. People must open their hearts to receive the gospel message.
If we learn to share the gospel with those who truly want to learn, we can share the truth with them.
We need not contend, but instead we need to proclaim the gospel. It brings happiness to all who partake of it.

Some years ago I was chairman of a committee of seminary men responsible to produce a filmstrip on Church history. One of the group, Trevor Christensen, remembered that down in Sanpete County was a large canvas roll of paintings. They had been painted by one of his progenitors, C. C. A. Christensen, who traveled through the settlements giving a lecture on Church history as each painting was unrolled and displayed by lamplight. The roll of paintings had been stored away for generations. We sent a truck for them, and I shall not forget the day we unrolled it.

Brother Christensen was not masterful in his painting, but our heritage was there. Some said it was not great art, but what it lacked in technique was more than compensated in feeling. His work has been shown more widely and published more broadly and received more attention than that of a thousand and one others who missed that point.

I do not think Brother Christensen was a great painter, some would say not even a good one. I think his paintings are masterful. Why? Because the simple, reverent feeling he had for his spiritual heritage is captured in them. I do not think it strange that the world would honor a man who could not paint very well.

Youth in the Carlsbad New Mexico Ward knew that participating in their town’s “True Love Waits” program would be a good experience. What they didn’t know was that the experience would give them a chance to let people know the Mormons really are Christians.
The program, which is sponsored by several Christian denominations around the country, is a day of workshops on moral cleanliness. Participants spend the day learning how to avoid peer pressure and stay involved in activities that are wholesome and uplifting.
“It was really great, and everyone felt comfortable because the people were nice,” says 16-year-old Janell Buttrey.
Although the program doesn’t focus on specific religious beliefs, Janell said that the fact that LDS youth were participating was beneficial.
“I think communication is better because now the other kids know that we’re Christians. It has brought us closer together.”

Francesca’s daughter has a severe milk allergy. While her daughter was in Primary, one of her teachers loved to bring homemade cupcakes to class for birthdays. Francesca offered to bring safe cupcakes whenever there was a birthday. The teacher declined the offer and instead sent the six-year-old girl to sit in the hallway when birthday treats were shared.

“This was so hurtful on many levels,” Francesca recalls. “I wish the teacher would have taken the opportunity to teach the children to ‘be like Jesus’ and care enough to include everyone.”

Another example of such dedication in marriage comes from a woman I know who was an English major at BYU. She met her sweetheart in Provo and corresponded with him throughout his mission to Germany and then throughout her own mission, also to Germany—three and a half years of writing letters! They were sealed in the Provo Temple a few months before their graduation from BYU. Even though they would be attending graduate school, they desired to have children immediately, but they were unable to do so. The wife later lamented, “My poor husband! For six years he thought marriage meant hearing me cry every night!”

Eventually they were able to adopt a baby boy. Two years later they adopted a baby girl, then another boy, and later another girl. After so many years of heartache, they were constantly caring for children, but that was not the end. After undergoing additional treatments, they learned they were going to have triplets! Months of bed rest to prevent premature delivery were followed by months of constant devotion to the needs of the tiny infants. The couple then had seven children eight years old and younger! Through years of heartache, this sister had actively sought the love of the Lord. Eventually she was healed, and she dedicated her life to serving her family. That dedication did not begin when she first held a child in her arms. It began when, as BYU students, she and her future husband determined their life’s priorities and then went forward, no matter the cost.

Trenton and his family were watching TV together. Trenton saw a boy on a commercial who did not look happy.
That boy looks very sad. Why is he so sad?
He’s sad because he doesn’t have food and clean water or other things he needs.
We should help him.
That’s a good idea. What do you think we should do?
We should make sure he has some food and clean water so he can be happy.
Good thinking. We could give some money to the bishop so he can use it to help somebody in need. What do you think?
Trenton was excited to help. He raced to his room and looked in his piggy bank. He poured out the coins and ran back to Dad.
Dad, I want to give this to the bishop so we can help somebody.
I want to help too.
Boys, that is a very kind thing to do. I think we all can share some of our money with those in need.
On Sunday, Trenton, Eric, and their parents each gave the bishop a donation envelope with some money in it. The bishop shook their hands. Trenton was happy to know that he was serving Jesus Christ and that he was helping someone in need.

Cristina watched President Thomas S. Monson on the screen in her stake center during general conference. He was talking about being kind to others. Cristina had a warm feeling as she listened. She knew President Monson was a prophet of God. She thought about Leah, a girl at school who was unkind to her. She decided she would be nice to Leah and try to be her friend. Cristina wanted to follow the prophet’s teachings.

Full-time missionaries are expected to study the scriptures for an hour each day. In English, our Church uses the King James version of the Bible. In Spanish, our Church uses the Reina Valera. And it is a beautiful version, lyrical even. One day, my companion and I were studying a passage where the Spanish translation held a different meaning than the English translation. If you've studied another language, then you realize that some languages have a keener ability to express a certain nuance than others. In this particular case, the difference was substantial, and I wondered which version was closer to the original language. I decided to dig into the footnotes during my individual scripture study in order to solve the mystery. I did not find a complete answer that day, so subsequent study periods found me searching again and again. To no avail. Apparently, the clarification I needed was not to be found in English or Spanish. Yet I had no other printed sources available to aid my study. But I did have prayer.
Enos tells us, in Enos 1:10, that his prayer was answered with a "voice in his mind " And so it was with me! One brisk Spanish morning, as I neared the end of what had seemed to be another fruitless search for answers, I suddenly felt knowledge flow into my mind. It was as though a floodgate had been opened and pure intelligence poured in, clarifying the passages I had been studying for days. The insights came so quickly and with such depth that I struggled to assimilate the information. I remember closing my eyes and asking the Lord to "slow down" because I could not comprehend all that I was being taught at such an incredible speed. It is wonderful to know that God will provide answers to those who seek.

Brenna Pink, a Beehive from the Rockford Illinois Second Ward, Rockford Illinois Stake, is the latest participant in an activity that seems to be growing in popularity among LDS Young Women—completing all of the Young Women Personal Progress goals instead of just a selected few.
Why would anyone go so far out of her way?
“Completing Young Women goals makes you feel good,” she says. “I learned a lot about Heavenly Father and the scriptures.”
Brenna says that while some goals, like evaluating plays and dance concerts, were easy, the hard ones really helped her become a better person.
“For one of my goals in the category of Integrity, I didn’t listen to bad jokes or bad language. I tried to change the conversation to better topics and to keep myself out of bad situations.”

A fifteen-year-old Korean boy, a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, used his allowance each week to buy newspapers. Then he and his friends sold them on street corners in Seoul, giving the money to a classmate who couldn’t remain in school without this financial help. He wanted to know how it felt to be a Good Samaritan rather than just having an intellectual understanding of the lesson he had studied in the scriptures.

I hate being sick, but there was a time when I prayed real hard for the chicken pox.
It was about a week before the fifth grade Spring Festival. Our whole class had to dance for the PTA on Saturday night. That was bad enough, but I, Mike Foster, had to dance with Veronica Rose. Veronica was the tallest girl in the whole school. She always wore patched jeans. A short pigtail bobbed on each side of her head. The kids called her Veronica Rose, Patched-Up Clothes. Mr. Beesley must really hate me if he’s making me dance with Veronica, I thought.
“Just stay home,” Bill suggested after school one day.
“I can’t,” I answered. “Mom’s in the PTA, and she already knows about the program. She’ll make me come.”
“I’d rather die than dance with old Patched-Up Clothes,” Jason said.
I felt the same way. I hoped that I’d get kidnapped on the way home and that no one would find me until after the festival, but I didn’t.
When I got home, I found my brother, Ryan, lying on his bed. He had red bumps on his face. Mom said they were chicken pox.
Right then, I knew that I had a way out. I’d get the chicken pox! I always caught everything Ryan had. I guess maybe it’s because we sleep in the same room. I had a whole week. Mom couldn’t make me go to the festival if I had chicken pox. I stayed in our room with him the rest of the afternoon.
When I came out to eat supper, Mom said, “Mike, it’s surely good of you to amuse Ryan. Would you do it after supper too? I want to get the closets cleaned tonight.”
“Sure,” I said. “Do you have something I could put on his pocks? He says they itch.”
“Why, yes, I do,” Mom said with a surprised look.
I rubbed the lotion all over Ryan. I figured that if I touched the pocks, it’d help me catch them faster.
I kept putting my face close to his and breathing deep. Come on, germs, I said to myself, do your stuff. Just to be sure, I prayed hard every night. When Friday came, I looked all over my body but couldn’t find even one little bump. I was starting to get worried. If only Mom wasn’t so smart, I could pretend to have chicken pox. But she always knows when I’m faking.
We had to practice dancing all day in school, and it was pure torture.
On the way home from school, I had to walk past Veronica’s house. Veronica lived with her mom and five younger brothers in an old house that needed painting. Their yard was mostly weeds. As I walked past, I could hear Veronica wailing.
“But, Mom, I can’t go to the festival. I don’t even have a dress, and I’m the only girl in fifth grade with pigtails. Besides, I have to dance with Mike Foster. He only comes up to my waist.”
That isn’t true. I’m almost up to her shoulder, I thought, disgusted. Anyway, I’m the second tallest boy in fifth grade.
I could hear her mother’s voice, but I couldn’t understand the words.
Suddenly it hit me. Veronica had feelings too.
When I got home, I asked, “Mom, you know those clothes that we grew out of? Could we give them to the Rose family instead of Deseret Industries?” I told her about Veronica. “I bet some of Amber’s dresses would fit Veronica, and Ryan’s clothes and mine would probably fit some of her brothers.”
“Why, yes, Mike, that’s a good idea.”
I wrapped the box with colored wrapping paper and tied it with a ribbon. Then I waited until after dark and took it to Veronica’s. I put it on their front porch, knocked on the door, and ran around the corner of the house. When they took the box inside, I went home.
On Saturday morning, I almost hoped I didn’t have chicken pox or that at least they’d be where I could cover them up. What would Veronica do if she didn’t have a partner? I wondered.
That night Bill met me at the school door. “Wait till you see Veronica,” he said.
I looked around at the girls. You couldn’t miss Veronica—she was a whole head taller than the rest. But tonight she looked different. She was wearing a frilly pink dress. It used to be Amber’s, but no one else knew that. Her hair was all in curls, and she actually looked pretty.
The gym was decorated with crepe paper flowers and ribbons. All the kids wore their best clothes.
The festival went smoothly. Our dance didn’t last too long, and not even one of the guys teased me. I think that that’s the day we all decided that Veronica was human.
My prayers were answered the next Friday. I woke up with the chicken pox all over me. There was no way I could cover them up. And wouldn’t you know, it was Field Day at school!
The whole class made cards for me—even Veronica.

“There had to be more. All I had faith in was money, and that had nothing to do with happiness at all,” he said. That realization started his search for the truth. He thought it might be a good idea to thank Heavenly Father for all the blessings he’d been given, so he went to pray in the only nearby church he knew of—San Juan Capistrano, the famous Catholic Mission, built centuries ago. It seemed logical that the Lord would hear his prayers from such a place.

The Lord did. In response, he sent a messenger to Jack’s door. But it wasn’t the type in a suit, white shirt, and tie. It was Randy Smith, an insulation salesman and a recent convert with a lot of enthusiasm. He started talking to Jack about insulation, and somehow the subject got around to the gospel. It didn’t take Randy long to invite Jack out to the missionary prep class that his brother Tom taught.

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.

Jack’s choices didn’t end when he joined the Church, though. Other decisions were in store. “I decided to go on a mission right after I decided to get serious about the gospel,” Jack said. “I thought, if it’s true, it’s all true, and of course you want to tell other people about it. It would be wrong not to go.”

But what about his business, and what about his car? “I sold the Corvette,” Jack says, with a surprising lack of remorse. “The insurance was costing me a fortune anyway.” The bubble gum business is still booming, however. His mother will manage it while he’s in the mission field, and the profits will help keep him afloat financially.

Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.

“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”

But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”

Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when ye feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”

As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.

Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?

“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”

The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.

Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Elder Farley has completed training in the MTC. He is now serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission.

Jacob lunged off the step. “I am Global Guard,” he hollered, arms thrown out, fists clenched, “protector of planet Earth.”
“Mr. Guard,” Jacob’s father called from the kitchen, “do you think you can stop defending Earth long enough to have your bedtime snack?”
“It’s not Mr. Guard, Dad.” Jacob flung himself onto the chair at the kitchen table. “It’s Global Guard, protector of planet Earth. If you watched the show, you’d know that.”
Jacob’s father placed a glass of milk and a plate of graham crackers in front of his son. “You watch enough Global Protector for all of us.”
“It’s not Global Protector, it’s—”
“Eat,” his father ordered, shaking his head.
Jacob popped a piece of cracker into his mouth as his mother shuffled into the kitchen, tying her bathrobe.
“How are you feeling?” Dad asked.
“About the same,” she said, slumping into a chair at the table.
“Wow, Mom,” Jacob exclaimed, staring at her, “you look sick!”
His mother nodded in agreement.
Jacob took a gulp of milk. He imagined himself as Global Guard protecting his mother from evil invaders, mutant monsters, and from any other bad guys. He was picturing himself scaring off vicious villains, when he felt a hand on his head. He glanced up.
“Are you ready for family prayer?” Dad asked.
“Yep.” Jacob pushed himself from the table, swinging his hand within inches of his father’s nose. “I have the power, Dad,” he said with a grin.
“Uh-huh,” Dad said.
Jacob followed his parents into the family room.
Dad offered the prayer. Although he tried to concentrate on the prayer, Jacob’s mind wandered to a Global battle, with himself as the hero.
The next morning, Jacob felt himself being gently shaken. It must be time to get up for school, he thought. He was going to wear his new Global Guard shirt.
“Jacob?”
Jacob’s eyes opened in surprise. It wasn’t Mom’s or Dad’s voice he heard. It was his grandmother’s.
“What are you doing here?”
His grandmother forced a smile. “It’s all right, Jacob. Your parents aren’t here right now.”
“Where are they?” Jacob kicked the blanket off his legs.
“Your mother became very ill during the night, and your father took her to the hospital. After you get dressed and have breakfast, I’ll drive you there to see her.”
At the hospital, Jacob saw that his dad looked tired and worried. Mom was lying on a hospital bed, her eyes closed. A clear fluid went through a thin tube into her arm. Dad explained to Jacob that Mom had a serious infection.
Jacob sat in silence in a large chair. He felt scared and helpless. “I wish I could do something,” he finally said in frustration. “I wish I could make her better.”
His father gave him a tired smile, then glanced at his watch. “Brother Davis ought to be here any minute. We’re going to give your mother a priesthood blessing.”
“Will the blessing help?”
“Yes, Jacob,” Dad said, “if it’s Heavenly Father’s will. The power of a priesthood blessing to help someone is very strong.”
“Power?” Jacob stared at his father.
Both turned as Brother Davis, one of the family’s home teachers, entered the room.
“Thank you for coming,” Jacob’s father said, reaching into his pocket for a vial of consecrated oil.
Jacob watched as his father poured a few drops of oil onto his mother’s head. Dad and Brother Davis then gave his mother a blessing. Jacob relaxed slightly as his mother was blessed that she would recover. As his father continued the blessing, Jacob felt calm for the first time since his grandmother had awakened him.
At home that night, Jacob and his father knelt and prayed that Mom would recover. Jacob concentrated harder than he ever had before on the words his father said.
“Dad,” Jacob said after the prayer. “Before Brother Davis came, you said something about priesthood power.”
“That’s right.” His father sank onto the couch.
“Is that like Global Guard’s power to protect people?”
“No, Jacob.” His father pulled Jacob next to him. “Global Guard is a TV show. We’re talking about something real—the priesthood. Remember, if you are worthy, you will hold the priesthood in a few years.”
“And then I’ll have the power?” Jacob asked, swinging his hand in front of his father’s face.
His father took Jacob’s hands in his. “Actually, Jacob, God has the power.”
“Oh.”
“But if you live right and have faith, you can hold His priesthood and act for Him. That’s an important thing to remember. You’re acting for God.”
After school the next day, Jacob and his father went to the hospital. When they entered his mother’s room, her eyes were open. Smiling weakly, she beckoned them to come closer. Jacob dashed to the side of her bed.
“How are you?” his father asked, taking her hand.
“The doctor said that with some rest, I’m going to be fine.”
“Dad, you were right!” Jacob exclaimed. “The power really works!”
“I know that it does, Jacob.”
“This can’t be talk about Earth Guard,” his mother said, glancing at Jacob’s father.
“Honey,” his father said, looking relaxed for the first time in two days, “you mean Global Guard—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Mom,” Jacob interrupted, pushing a chair next to his mother’s bed. “Global Guard’s only pretend.”
Then, kneeling on the chair by the bed, Jacob explained what he had learned about real power—priesthood power.

Recently I had a visit from a young Catholic priest. He came with a stake missionary from Colorado. I asked him why he had come, and he replied, “I came to see you.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “I have been searching for certain concepts that I have not been able to find. But I think I am finding them now in the Mormon community.”
That led to a half-hour conversation. I told him, “Father, when your heart begins to tell you things that your mind does not, then you are getting the Spirit of the Lord.”
He smiled and said, “I think that’s happening to me already.”
“Then don’t wait too long,” I said to him.
A few weeks later I received a telephone call from him. He said, “Next Saturday I am going to be baptized a member of the Church, because my heart has told me things my mind did not know.”
He was converted. He saw what he should have seen. He heard what he should have heard. He understood what he should have understood, and he was doing something about it. He had a testimony.

As I finished a work trip and drove along the country road, I felt both thankfulness and great loneliness. I thought about the accomplishments of the week with my new job—but then there was the loneliness I felt heading toward my empty apartment. It was my first time away from home and family since my mission.

My mind wandered back several months to the morning I had packed my car and left home. With everyone else already at work or school, only my mother was there to give me last bits of encouragement and advice for living alone. As I pulled out of the driveway, my mother stood in the doorway blowing kisses and trying to hold back tears.

“Get a grip,” I said aloud to myself. “I’m a 24-year-old man.” I thought about how I had come to Chicago and had been awestruck with the size of the city. I had looked down from the 110th floor of the Chicago Sears Tower at one of the busiest intersections of freeway in the world, then out to see one of the busiest airports in the world. More than seven million people lived in the greater Chicago area, I was told. Looking down at the thousands of cars, I imagined the individuals in each car and how God knew each one. Is it possible? I had wondered. How is it possible that He knows each of us?

My mind returned to the emptiness of my car and the country road, and I prayed for comfort. I told Heavenly Father I had spent two years on a mission testifying that I know He lives and knows each of us personally but that my heart was filled with loneliness and doubt. Did He know how terribly alone I felt?

As I prayed I noticed in my rearview mirror a big truck following close behind me. I gradually slowed and pulled slightly to the right to allow him to pass. The driver sped up and waved at me as he passed. Once in front of me, he slowed down and pulled to the right as I had done, inviting me to pass him now. This isn’t what I had in mind to keep me company, I thought.

As I accelerated and passed the truck, the driver waved again, and this time he blew his horn, startling me. I quickly put some space between us. But before I could react, there he was, alongside my car and waving again. This time as he passed me, he motioned for me to pull over.

The back of his truck now filled my entire windshield view. That’s when I noticed the bumper sticker: Happiness Is Family Home Evening. “Wait a minute,” I said aloud. “He must be a member of the Church, but how does he know I am?” I followed him to a shopping area, and he motioned to a fast-food restaurant. I glanced over at the familiar bumper sticker and smiled back in agreement. It was, after all, dinnertime, and I was hungry.

“Hi, I’m Jake,” he said, extending his hand as we entered the restaurant. “I noticed the Brigham Young University sticker in your rear window and thought you might be LDS,” he continued. “Thought you might like to get something to eat.”

“You’re right, I am LDS. And I’m hungry too,” I said. “My name’s Kelly. I saw your family home evening bumper sticker and thought you must be a member also.” He confirmed that he was. We sat down at a small table.

“I’ve been a member for only one year,” Jake began, even before we started to eat. “All my life I felt there was a God who knew and cared about His children here on earth. But it wasn’t until I heard the plan of salvation that I gained a real knowledge of God’s love for each one of us.” Here was a complete stranger bearing his testimony to me. “When I came up behind you in my truck and saw your BYU sticker, I had an overwhelming feeling that I should meet you,” he said.

After a while, Jake said, “Can you imagine how different this world would be if everyone knew what we know: that God knows each one of us, loves us, and wants us to be happy?”

What a wonderful testimony, I thought as Jake explained that he and his wife were planning to be sealed in the temple later that month. My mind filled with thoughts of gratitude: toward Jake for sharing his testimony with me at a time when I needed it most; for the true Church of Jesus Christ, which makes friends out of strangers; for my family, who taught me the gospel; for my mission and the opportunity it gave me to share my testimony with others; for a loving Heavenly Father who knows and cares for each one of His children; and for good Latter-day Saints like Jake.

James organized a dozen Scouts who worked with him to clean out underbrush, build a series of natural stair steps, and add half a mile to a hiking path in a remote area of Franklin State Forest outside Sewanee. They properly identified the trail with new blazing marks and corrected or eliminated old ones. “We hiked two hours in and two hours out, carrying a lot of gear both ways,” he says. It took two full days of work, not counting all the phone calls coordinating crews, material, and equipment. “But as we worked together, along with getting the job done, we joked and laughed and had a good time,” he says.