Gospel Story Finder

When I was a small boy I soon realized that many who bore their testimonies in Sacrament meeting ended up crying. I began to believe that if I had a testimony I should cry too. I remember wanting to cry when I bore my testimony. It wasn’t until later in my life that I learned the following about the relationship between tears and a testimony. Alvin R. Dyer relates the following incident he had with President Spencer W. Kimball.

You don’t have to cry about the gospel to have a testimony! Many times we think that we don’t have a testimony unless a few tears flow. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is not necessary or needful for a person to have tears streaming down his face to have a testimony of the gospel. I went to a meeting with Spencer W. Kimball and a man got up and bore his testimony and he cried all the way through it. After the meeting, Brother Kimball called him over and said, ‘Brother, I wish you’d stop crying when you bear your testimony. You don’t have to do that to tell the people you love the Lord.’

A number of years ago, as I was leaving the Church Office Building a day or two before Christmas, I found myself walking next to Elder Bruce R. McConkie. We wished each other a merry Christmas. I drove home and surmised he did the same. The day after Christmas the telephone rang. It was David Wirthlin, the administrator of the LDS Hospital.
“Guess what happened just before Christmas?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Elder Bruce R. McConkie came to the hospital. He asked if he could give a few blessings. With permission granted, he went from room to room placing his hands on the heads of several dozen patients.”
That is the real world, isn’t it?

Susan Gong tells of her experiences with a difficult, frustrating missionary companion who was sullen and had a biting tongue. She describes a terrible confrontation they had. She said;

Our argument turned into a high decibel shouting match as we hurled insults back and forth. . . when we finally ran out of angry words, we stomped back to the bus stop in silence and caught the last bus home, glaring at each other all the way. Still fuming when we returned to the apartment, I quickly turned out the lights and offered a very direct, sincere, on my knees prayer. How was I supposed to work with this woman? How could we possibly carry a message of peace and love? She was stubborn, vindictive, hateful, lazy, and maybe even crazy. She was the most despicable person I'd ever known. The answer to my angry prayer came suddenly and clearly by words uttered by a voice I felt in my heart, "She is my daughter and I love her. You shall not speak of her that way."

At the same time, I felt the Savior's love for me wash over and through me. It was immensely liberating revelation. He knew me "my sins, my arrogance, my pettiness" and he loved me anyway. He loved my companion too, enough to tell me, her insensitive companion, that she was lovable, loved by Him. This revelation didn't eliminate our problems, but it helped me want to understand her instead of judge her. It opened my heart to a new kind of compassion. As we grew closer, she confided that she had been abused by her father and brother. She had suffered things I could never truly understand [before]. How could I have judged her?"

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.

After a busy week of serving as a worker in the Stockholm Sweden Temple, I went to the guesthouse laundry room to wash some clothing. As I loaded the washer, I absentmindedly whistled one of my favorite hymns, “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5). This hymn and its reference to people “in distant lands” hearing the gospel and serving the Lord has always resonated with me. I have always felt that I am one of those the hymn refers to because I was born in Denmark, where I was converted to the gospel, and moved to Utah with my family at age 14.
As I was going about my chores, a Russian brother who was attending the temple that week walked in. As he did, I ceased whistling. He immediately started whistling the same hymn I had been whistling. When he stopped, he pointed to me. I whistled from where he had left off.
He then started at the beginning of the hymn once more, pointed to me, and stopped whistling. Neither of us could speak the other’s language, hence all the pointing. But I managed to understand what he wanted, and I started at the beginning as he had done. He whistled a beautiful harmony to my melody.
There we stood—a Russian and an American—face to face, whistling in two-part harmony one of the most beautiful hymns of the Restoration. We did not get all the way through it before tears filled our eyes. Finally, we could not go on. We embraced and he uttered the only English words I heard him speak: “Russian duet.”
I think we both felt an overwhelming gratitude for the gospel of Jesus Christ, which breaks down cultural and geographic barriers. Our beliefs and our commitment made it possible that we, both from different “distant lands,” could stand as brothers in the gospel in yet another land and share a moment of joy, proclaiming together as the hymn says, “High on the mountain top / A banner is unfurled. / Ye nations, now look up; / It waves to all the world.”

I'm grateful for learning that lesson through the example of a wonderful missionary companion. Throughout my mission we served in many poor areas, and sometimes I worried about teaching people the principle of tithing. I thought that even though they would be excited about the gospel, it would still be difficult to tell them about tithing, knowing that they had so little with which to care for their families. After teaching a particularly poor family I remember thinking, and I regret to admit this, that it's too bad we have to teach this family about tithing that's going to be so hard for them. Now I hadn't said aloud what I was thinking to my companion when he turned and said to me "I know we aren't supposed to teach them about tithing for a few more discussions, but can we teach them about tithing next time?" Here I was trying to stall from teaching this family while he didn't want to put it off any longer. He said, "My family lived just like them until we found the gospel, and Heavenly Father blessed us so much, I know if we teach them about tithing then the Lord would bless and help them, can we please teach them the law of tithing so that they can keep that commandment and be blessed?"

It completely changed my attitude on the things we were teaching, I was so grateful for humble, obedient missionary companions to teach me the great blessings of knowing the Lords commandments so that we may qualify for His help. My testimony is that when we rely on the teachings of Jesus Christ then the Lord will bless us.

When I was president of the mission in Holland, a man passing our office one night saw my light burning. He was just going home from doing his home teaching, and he rang my doorbell and said, “I saw your light burning, President Richards, and I thought you might be interested in what I was thinking as I was on my way home. I was thinking of who I was and what I was when the missionaries came to my home and who I am today and what I am. I just can’t believe I am the same man. I don’t have the same habits. I don’t have the same thoughts. I have changed so much that I just can’t believe that I am the same man.”

More than a hundred years ago President Brigham Young sent a family to a small, remote place in Arizona to make peace with the Indians.
The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He headed there at once, arriving about four o’clock in the morning. He found his wife gently cradling their little baby daughter in her arms. The baby had fallen into an open fireplace and was severely burned.
The father took their infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent people of the world. The baby girl did live. She was not disfigured, and she grew up, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life back to that tiny child. And that sweet baby girl, who owed her life to the power of prayer, grew up and gave me life. She was my mother.

Hiking out of the Grand Canyon is no easy task. The trail is steep. The sun is hot. When you stop to rest, squirrels steal your candy bars. There must be a dozen different kinds of plants with stickers, and they all seem to be waiting just for your feet.
The only water on the way is in your canteen. It is warm and stale and tastes of halazone.
Granted, the scenery is spectacular. But after five days you’re starting to think you’ve seen it all. It’s at least four hours and a 4,800-foot climb to the top. What you want to do is get back to the car and head home, stopping at the first hamburger stand along the way for a nice, cold milkshake.
Why in the world, then, would you take any longer to hike out than you have to? And why in the world would you be carrying 50 pounds of extra gear?
If you were Willie Holdman, a 16-year-old priest in the 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, you’d know the answers to those questions.
Willie’s father, Floyd, is a professional photographer. The 50 pounds of extra gear is camera equipment. And the hike takes half again as long as normal because every time there’s a possibility of a good picture, the hiking stops.
Willie, who wants someday to be a professional photographer himself, has traveled with his father on assignments in Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Washington, Florida, and the Caribbean. But he remembers vividly that long walk up from the depths of one of Earth’s deepest canyons.
“People just don’t realize how much work goes into taking pictures,” Willie said. “We got up before dawn—and it’s hard to get up early when you’ve done it all week and you’d rather stay in the sleeping bag for two more hours. We waited for the morning light to be just right. While other hikers were starting out early to take advantage of the cool morning temperatures, we spent an hour taking photos before we even thought of breaking camp. And then we couldn’t just throw things in our backpacks. We had to be careful to protect the film and cameras from heat and dust.
“Then, when we finally got on the trail, we’d just get moving and Dad would say, ‘Wait, we need to take a picture here.’ Sometimes you’d be ready to forget the whole thing.
“But,” Willie said, “when you get home and you see the pictures, it makes you glad you did it.”
That’s just one of many lessons Willie has learned from working with his dad: to work hard, even when you don’t want to work, because you know the reward comes later on.

This story took place in the USA.
Kevin turned around in the computer chair. He hit random keys on the keyboard.
“Mom, can I play the racing game yet?” he called.
Mom looked in from the kitchen. “After you finish your homework.”
Kevin sighed. How was he supposed to focus on homework? He was so close to beating the next level of his favorite computer game. And his homework was, well, homework.
He guessed he could at least start on it. He scrolled through a website. It sure didn’t look as cool as the racing game.
Then Kevin saw a link. He clicked on it. The link took him to a website with pictures of people wearing no clothes.
This is bad, he thought. I should leave it. Kevin looked over his shoulder. No one was watching him. He looked at a few more pictures. He was just curious.
Kevin started to feel a little sick inside. He quickly closed the website. He tried to go back to his homework. It’s OK, Kevin thought. I just saw just a few pictures. But the bad feeling didn’t go away.
Kevin felt like he should talk to Mom about the website. But he was scared. What if she got mad?
That night, after dinner, Kevin helped Mom wash the dishes.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
But he wasn’t OK. He felt like he was going to cry. The feeling that he should tell Mom came back. But Kevin was still scared.
Heavenly Father, please help me, he prayed silently. He felt a little better.
“Can I talk to you?” Kevin asked.
“Of course,” Mom said. “What do you want to talk about?”
Kevin looked at the floor. He wasn’t sure how to start. “When I was doing my homework, I looked at a site that had pictures of people without clothes. I was just curious. But now I can’t forget what I saw.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Mom said. She gave Kevin a hug. “Curiosity is normal. You know that those things are bad, and you shouldn’t be looking at them. But the good thing is that you were honest. You’ll feel better now because you told me.”
“You’re not mad?” Kevin asked.
“Of course not,” Mom said. “I love you. I want to help you. And so does Heavenly Father. He can always help you make things right.”
The sick feeling left Kevin’s stomach.
“I was scared to tell you,” he said. “But I felt better after I said a prayer.”
“It sounds like the Holy Ghost helped you be brave!” Mom said.
Kevin had felt calm and peaceful when he prayed. But even before he prayed, he had felt like he needed to talk to Mom.
“I think the Holy Ghost helped me the whole time,” Kevin said. “He told me the pictures were bad. And He told me I needed to tell you what happened.”
“I’m always here if you need to talk about things like this,” Mom said. “I won’t get mad. Let’s work together to make a computer safety plan.”
Kevin smiled. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”
Illustration by Laura Catrinella

Géoffroy walked out of class with his friend Théodore. Both boys were 16, and they lived in Benin, a country in Africa. They were going to a new school to learn about farming. It was their first time living away from their families. They had to study and work for long hours every day.
Géoffroy pulled his backpack up on his shoulder. “I think I might drop out. These classes are so hard.”
“No!” Théodore said. “Don’t drop out. You need to rely on God. If you do, you will succeed.”
Théodore’s words stayed with Géoffroy for the rest of the day. Géoffroy had been raised as a Christian, but he had never tried to rely on God. He knelt on the floor but didn’t start to pray yet. He was nervous. But if he didn’t get help from somewhere, he would never be able to pass his classes. Slowly Géoffroy bowed his head.
“Father in Heaven,” he said, “please show me how to rely on you. Will you please help me pass my classes? I promise to serve you the best I can for the rest of my life.”
From that time on, Géoffroy felt braver and more determined. Classes were still difficult, but he knew that God was willing to help him if he did his part. Géoffroy put aside his fears and worked hard.
He did well in school. Eighteen months later, he was finally ready to graduate. He had done it!

The Komadinas look back to their first trip to the Fiesta as their incentive for getting involved in the sport.
“Seven years ago, 1977, we had just moved back to Albuquerque from California,” Steve Komadina, Jenny and Amy’s father, explained. “In Albuquerque you see balloons floating by almost every day. So naturally I wanted to take the family to the Fiesta. I couldn’t believe it when we got there. I felt like Gulliver in the land of giants, surrounded by these giant balloons. I went home wishing that somehow we could be a part of it.”
In 1978 Brother Komadina contacted a friend who owned a balloon and asked for a ride. Everything was set, but then it rained. (Balloons only fly in calm, clear skies, usually in the morning before the sun creates thermal drafts.)
In 1979, the family decided to buy Dad a balloon ride for a Christmas present. “It was everything I hoped it would be,” he said. “Peaceful. Quiet. Like standing on a cloud.”
Time for a family council.
“I thought it would be a good way to have a hobby the whole family could get involved in,” Brother Komadina explained. “But the only way I could see to make it work was to include it as part of our family company.”
That meant everybody would have to help. But that’s something the Komadina children are used to. Their family company also rents out rafts for river runners and llamas for backpacking, and organizes rafting and hiking trips. And every child has a job, even if it’s just helping make sandwiches or picking up trash. (Amy, 12, Becky, 10, Spencer, 8, Neal, 6, and Mark, 4, complete the family crew. Mom’s name is Penny.) Dad has another job, too. He’s an obstetrician at Presbyterian Hospital.
The Komadinas were able to purchase two used balloons for about the cost of a mid-sized car, then pay for them by selling rides and advertising. Their favorite advertisement is a stork permanently stitched to the side of one balloon—a plug for what Dr. Komadina does for a living.
In their four years of flying, the Komadinas have three claims to fame.
“The second year we were in the Fiesta, Dad won second place in the roadrunner-and-coyote contest,” Jenny said. In other regions, that’s the hare-and-hound chase. One balloon takes off and tries to lose others. The pursuers try to keep on its trail and land next to it. The coyote that lands the closest wins.
That year the family also won a second place in the parade that rolls through town following the first mass ascension.
But it was in 1982 that the Komadinas made ballooning history. It started out as a service to the elderly in the Albuquerque 5th Ward, where the Komadinas live and where Jenny was at the time Beehive president.
“There was one couple, Brother and Sister Pat Miller, who had never been able to get out to the Fiesta,” Jenny said. “We thought it would be fun if we brought the Fiesta, or at least part of it, to them.” So instead of launching their two balloons at Cutter Field the Komadinas inflated them at the ward parking lot.
The youth of the ward sponsored a “balloon breakfast” and provided transportation for older members who might not otherwise have a chance to see a balloon up close.
“I can still remember what it felt like to touch the fabric, look at the basket, and watch them use hot air to make it fly,” Brother Miller said. “It was wonderful to think the youth would organize something so we could have a chance to see.” The breakfast also helped to fund a temple trip for the Young Men and Young Women.
After breakfast, many of the ward members joined the chase crew—the people and vehicles who follow along behind the balloon on the ground and assist when it lands. That’s where the history comes in. The Komadinas hold the record for the Fiesta’s largest chase crew ever—97 people in 23 vehicles. “Everywhere you looked you’d see them following you,” Amy said.
The whole event typified the family’s attitude about ballooning: sharing. The balloon has been used to give rides at a regional youth conference. It has been used to help the Boy Scouts, even to the point of forming an Explorer post with a ballooning specialty. It has provided an opportunity for the family to share the gospel with other balloonists, especially when explaining why they leave weekend activities early in order to be home for church on Sunday. It’s even been the site for family discussions: “They can’t get away from you up there,” Brother Komadina laughed.
More than anything, it’s been a chance for the family to share with each other. “The emphasis is really zero on ballooning and 100 percent on family,” Sister Komadina said. “This is something we all can do, and it’s exciting enough that the children’s friends want to do it with them, too. At first I didn’t want to get involved with it. But now I enjoy it, except for getting up early.”
Sharing, Komadina style, doesn’t end with the balloon. “We have family home evening every week and family councils all the time,” Amy said. “We read out of the Bible every night together.”
“My father’s my friend,” Amy said. “We have a lot of the same interests. I feel like I can talk to him. He took me out backpacking on my birthday, just so we could be together. He’s busy because of all his patients, but he tries to give us all the time he can.”
“Besides,” Jenny added, “if you can trust your father enough to go up in a balloon with him, you can trust him with almost anything.”
It is a scary thing, going up in a balloon for the first time. But it’s hard to worry too much, because there are so many things to do in advance.
On a typical launch day, the Komadinas and anyone accompanying them gather in the family living room for prayer. Then Amy and Jennifer give talks, much like stewardesses preparing passengers for takeoff on an airplane. They discuss safety (it’s important not to get in or out of the basket unless told to, because ballast is critical), preparation for landing (it’s important to remember to bend your knees to help absorb the impact), and flying techniques (the balloon drifts with the wind, but by ascending or descending, the pilot can usually find a breeze headed in the direction he wants to go).
At the launch site, two or three people unpack the balloon and spread it on the ground. Around the top of the fabric “envelope,” velcro strips are fastened together to keep flaps closed until the balloon stands upright. The mouth of the balloon is held open and a large fan is used to blow air into the nylon or polyester envelope. The propane burner then heats the air, which rises inside the envelope, inflating it even more.
The balloon then tries to assume an upright position. But if that happens too fast, the balloon will not inflate properly, so crew members use a “crown line,” a rope attached to the top of the envelope, to pull against the force of the air. It’s a tug-of-war that two adults or six kids never win.
While all this is going on, the pilot checks gauges which indicate fuel quantity, altitude, rate of climb or descent, and air temperature inside the envelope. As the balloon becomes more buoyant, he will have passengers join him to act as an anchor while he adds more hot air. Finally, when everyone’s ready, he blasts still more hot air into the envelope until the balloon begins to rise. To keep rising, he heats the air, to come down, he can let it cool off or he can pull a rope that allows air to escape.
Any fear a passenger has disappears quickly. It is as though the balloon remains where it is and the earth moves away. The only sound is the occasional hissing of the burner. The only feeling of height comes when you look down and suddenly realize that you’re 1,500 feet in the air!
It is flight without wings, flight without a runway or the whine of jet engines. Because the balloon floats with the breeze, there is no sensation of motion. It is, indeed, like standing on a cloud, quietly watching the earth beneath.
“When I’m up here, I think about Heavenly Father,” Jennifer said. “I feel close to him, peaceful, when I see the world he’s created and how big it is. You somehow know he’s in charge.”
Her father agreed. “You get some idea of who you are and how small you would be on your own. But you also get a feeling for what Heavenly Father has made, what he can help you accomplish if you have him on your side.”
Jennifer and Amy talk freely about what’s going on at school and in the ward. They had been in the same Beehive class for a little while, but now Jennifer is a Mia Maid, a freshman at Valley High School active in the ski club, speech club, student council, and orchestra. “I ran for student-body treasurer and lost,” she said, “but don’t put that!” She also talks about how she invited some non-LDS friends to a youth conference and “now they want to come to all the dances and activities.”
Amy, who attends Taft Middle School, enjoys chorus, putting on plays, and, during the Fiesta, launching the balloon from the school yard, much to the delight of her classmates. “We get permission from the principal first,” she said, grinning. Of course, they talk about ballooning, too.
“Nobody doesn’t love a balloon,” Amy said. “We fly over people’s houses that we know, and you can see everything. People come running out in shower caps and bath robes just to wave. If you drop down low, you can hear the dogs barking and see horses run back and forth, but nobody complains.”
“People here are used to balloons,” Jenny added. “It’s a mutual benefit. Pilots love to fly them, and people on the ground love to watch them float by.”
“Sometimes I get cold and grouchy early in the morning,” Amy said. “But then I remember my first flight. We went over to the West Mesa where it’s flat and there aren’t any power lines or roads to worry about. It’s a good place to learn. There was snow on the ground. We came down and skimmed the bushes and saw some jackrabbits, then went back up again. Every time we go it’s fun like that. I want to be a balloonist for a long time.”
Even in the Land of Enchantment, the propane supply only lasts about two hours, so eventually the flight had to end. Visions of dragon fire captured in a sack, of jeweled seeds sprouting into towers of color, of Christmas ornaments decorating the sky, would all fade back into a normal world as soon as the balloon touched down.
Even the princesses would be transformed, from lead roles in a fantasy to supporting roles in a family. Floating with them through the sky, it had been easy to imagine Princess Jennifer and Princess Amy as benevolent daughters of the king of balloon land. Now, chatting with Jennifer, Amy, and their father, knowing we would soon be landing, it was like talking to any happy LDS family anywhere. They could have been in the chapel foyer after sacrament meeting, or sitting at home eating their family favorite, pizza with everything, or even doing homework around the kitchen table.
Except that they were up in the sky, standing on a cloud. And even though the Komadinas are just like a lot of other close-knit LDS families full of love, that distinction makes them unique.

In 2014, while serving a full-time mission, our family experienced an unexpected turn of events. When riding down a steep hill on a longboard, our youngest son fell and sustained a life-threatening injury to his brain. As his situation deteriorated, medical personnel rushed him into emergency surgery.
Our family knelt on the floor of an otherwise empty hospital room, and we poured our hearts out to God. In the midst of this confusing and painful moment, we were filled with our Heavenly Father’s love and peace.
We did not know what the future held or if we would see our son alive again. We did know very clearly that his life was in God’s hands and the results, from an eternal perspective, would work out for his and our good. Through the gift of the Spirit, we were fully prepared to accept any outcome.
It was not easy! The accident resulted in a two-month hospital stay while we were presiding over 400 full-time missionaries. Our son experienced a significant loss of memory. His recovery included long and difficult physical, speech, and occupational therapy sessions. Challenges remain, but over time we have witnessed a miracle.

Nancy Lovern was excited. It was June 27, and today she turned five years old. In some ways, the day had been just like any other. She’d fed the chickens and collected their eggs, slopped (fed) the pigs, and helped Mama clean the house. But in some ways, it was different. Everyone had sung “Happy Birthday” at breakfast and paid extra attention to her all day long.
Now it was late afternoon, and Nancy couldn’t help peeking out the window every few minutes. Papa had promised to bring her a surprise from Nauvoo. Mama was making a special dinner and a dried-apple molasses cake. There would be a grand birthday party.
The hour grew late. Long shadows spread across the barnyard, and still Papa didn’t come. Nancy thought that she would burst. Mama just laughed and said, “Staring out the door won’t make Papa get home any sooner.” When Nancy could wait no more, she went out to the road that led to Nauvoo. She was swinging on the gate when she finally heard the clippety-clop of horses’ hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. She saw a lone figure driving slowly down the dusty road. It was Papa! He must be dawdling to make me wait longer for my birthday surprise, she thought, running to meet him.
She was stopped short by the sadness on his face. And he was crying! Nancy didn’t know what to do. Papa never cried except when he bore his testimony. She was surprised to feel tears in her own eyes. “What’s wrong, Papa?”
He climbed down from the wagon and held her close. “They did it, Nan—they killed Brother Joseph!”
Nancy completely forgot her birthday. She loved the Prophet. He always took time to talk with her whenever he visited her parents. She truly felt that he was a prophet of God.
Sorrow was thick in the house as Papa gathered the rest of the family around him and told how an angry mob had stormed the jail in Carthage, killing their beloved prophet and his brother Hyrum, and seriously wounding Brother Taylor.
The next day Nancy’s family filed through the Mansion House to pay final respects to the slain leaders. Later they listened to Brother W. W. Phelps preach the funeral sermon. Sorrow hung like a heavy fog over the whole community.
Nancy celebrated seventy-nine birthdays after that eventful day, but never without some melancholy recollection of her birthday in 1844.
More than one hundred fifty years have come and gone. Nancy has thousands of descendants, most of whom faithfully sing praises to “the man who communed with Jehovah”*—the prophet and martyr who was killed on her fifth birthday.
Nancy Francis Lovern Oliver was a real person! She was my great-great-grandmother. When my grandmother, Lenna Kathryn Bryce Blain, was a little girl, she sat by the fireplace on cold winter nights and listened to pioneer stories told by her Grandma Nancy. Grandma Lenna said that she couldn’t remember all the stories, but she would never forget the one about the death of the Prophet. This fictional account is based on that true story.

“Elder Confer, teach me,” said the voice on the other end of the line, “but don’t teach me about the Book of Mormon.” Christine Yong, our new investigator, was wanting to know more about our religion.
As missionaries in the Singapore Mission, my companion and I were excited to have an investigator like Christine. She and her sister Sara seemed to be sincerely interested in the gospel. But during the weeks we had shared the gospel with them, they had some doubts about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. We weren’t about to give up on them, though, so we set up another appointment.
I went with our branch mission leader, Patrick Lim, while my companion went with another member to other appointments. Brother Lim and I planned to teach Christine about repentance, baptism, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. We usually invited people to be baptized when we talked about baptism. But both of us wondered, given all the challenges she was facing, whether Christine would be ready for baptism. We prayed for the Spirit before meeting with her.
During the discussion, Christine seemed to understand repentance and baptism. But as Brother Lim taught about receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, Christine voiced her concerns.
“Elders, I’m not sure if God is there and if He would really answer my prayer,” she hesitantly admitted.
We described to her the calm, peaceful feelings the Spirit brings, but she wasn’t familiar with the influence of the Holy Ghost. She had tried to pray and read the scriptures, but things just didn’t seem to be coming together.
For a moment, we were at a loss for answers. Then a scripture came to my mind, and I felt impressed to share it, even though it was in the Book of Mormon—the book she had requested us not to teach from. I asked Christine to read Ether 12:6: “I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.”
As I explained that our faith in the Lord is tested before we receive an answer from Heavenly Father, I felt the Spirit strongly in my heart. I prayed Christine would feel it too. And she did.
“I’m so touched. I’m really very touched,” Christine said, as tears flowed down her cheeks.
“This is the Spirit, Christine. This is what the Spirit feels like,” Brother Lim and I said as tears started to flow down our cheeks too.
After we had shared that verse with her and taught her further, Christine accepted our invitation and was soon baptized.

I’m going to tell you about the time I was chosen to be on the Belchertown, Massachusetts, all-star basketball team. Basketball season had just ended, and my team had been fantastic! We’d lost only one game and won ten! The best players among all the teams were chosen for the all-star team by the recreational department.
When I was told that they wanted me to be an all-star, I was so excited that I couldn’t believe it! Then they said that most of the games were on Sundays but were scheduled for the afternoons so that people could go to church in the mornings.
My parents said that I could make the decision whether or not to be on the all-star team, but they reminded me of our family goal to follow the prophet. I knew that President Hinckley would expect me to make the right decision and keep the Sabbath Day holy. I called the recreation department and thanked them for asking me to be on the all-star team, then told them that I wasn’t going to play on Sundays because of my religious beliefs.
I really wanted to be on the all-star team and was so disappointed that the games were on Sunday. But I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are happy with me, and I know that I did make the right choice.

I remember Elder McConkie, when he was presiding over a mission in Australia, quoted this promise to a gathering that he was instructing. In the group were two Protestant ministers. One of the men arose and said, “That promise is not true.”

Elder McConkie said, “How do you know it’s not true?”

He said, “Because I tried it. I read the book and then I asked.”

Elder McConkie said, “Well, how did you ask?”

“I said in my prayer, ‘O God, if this book be true, please strike me dead.’ It didn’t happen, so obviously the book isn’t true.”

Elder McConkie said, “I explained to him as carefully as you can, and still be a Christian gentleman, about what it says about the way you should read the book. Of course, he hadn’t complied.”

When you come to the point of needing that testimony, take the book as a sacred thing. Before you begin to read it, kneel down and ask God if he will guide you in your study and add to you the testimony and witness of the truth of what you read. Then when you put it down each time, kneel again and ask him to assure you and indicate to you if what you’ve read is true or not.

Angie Miller is on the volleyball and softball teams. She can encourage the younger students to keep trying even though it can get discouraging. “When I started playing volleyball, I wasn’t very good. I sat on the bench a lot. Then things started clicking. I wouldn’t have the good friends I have now if I had quit. I used to be so shy. People in church helped me a lot. I’m not so self-conscious about what everyone thinks of me now.”

The Summiteers in the Carlsbad California Stake feel they could just about climb every mountain after their week-long trek up 14,495-foot Mount Whitney, the highest peak in the lower 48 United States.
And they were bold in sharing the gospel on their way up. A Protestant minister who was also making the climb asked them many questions, and was so impressed with the girls he told them he wanted to start a young women’s program just like theirs in his own congregation. He joined them at the top of the mountain, where they sang together “How Great Thou Art.”
“I am eternally grateful for that hike,” said Laurel Jeannie Wright. “You have no idea how it affected each one of our lives.”

My falling away from the Church was gradual. It began in the fifth grade, when I met some new friends. We used bad language and got into all the wrong things. Once junior high came around, we entered into all the wrong groups, and by high school, things started to get really bad.
I became really depressed. I was wearing more and more black and kept insisting on thickly layering dark eye makeup. To me, life became something just to get through and not to enjoy. My thoughts were often suicidal, and I had no confidence. I almost completely shelled up. I never really talked to anyone, never told people what was going on. I knew I was loved, but I just didn’t care.
I almost completely fell away from the Church. I say almost because I was never allowed to skip church, and my parents always expected me to take seminary during high school. But I wanted nothing more to do with the gospel or the LDS Church.
My family and loved ones saw this downward spiral, and they tried to help. I often spent time on Sundays in the bishop’s office, and just as many days trying to avoid the bishop. He showed a lot of support and interest in me, looking into the things I believed in so that he could better understand me. My parents kept trying to help, but they didn’t know what to do. There were times when my dad and I were near tears trying to talk about our differences.
During my sophomore year, I hit a turning point when a foreign exchange student from Japan came to live with us. She was a softball player, and she convinced me to play that year. That experience alone did a great deal of good for me. The coach helped me raise my self-esteem, and the experience of belonging to and working on a team gave me the blessed feeling of belonging somewhere.
That summer I went to Japan to stay with the family of our foreign exchange student for five weeks. During my stay, I went four weeks without going to church. Finally, in the very last week, we stopped by the Tokyo Japan Temple to take pictures. In a strange country where the language and customs were so foreign to me, it was the most comforting feeling to finally be in a familiar place. The Spirit there was so strong.
That Sunday we found a ward building, and I attended church. It was amazing to experience sacrament meeting and Sunday School in Japanese, but what hit me most was when I went to Young Women. Seeing those few Japanese girls rise and say the theme, I realized that the gospel was just as strong halfway across the world as it was at home. I knew that many of these members didn’t have the support from friends and family that I did, but they still believed. Again, I felt at home.
Shortly after I returned to Utah, my brother Richard came home from his mission. Rich noticed my struggles and made it apparent that we would be having a lot of talks. He got me to pray with him.
But what really hit home was seminary. My dad found out I wasn’t enrolled for my junior year and was surprised. It wasn’t long before I was called to meet with the seminary principal. It was very nonconfrontational; he just talked to me, conveyed friendship, and expressed concern that I wasn’t enrolled. Finally I agreed to take seminary. I met my teacher, went to class, and that was it. I never skipped and rarely begrudged going.
I’m not sure when the transition took place, but I started to feel comfort. I began to pray regularly again. It was really hard at first, but I stuck with it. I read my scriptures and knew that they spoke truth. Life began to look up. I had more energy, confidence, and ambition. I felt better about the new friends I began associating with. I tried out for plays, immersed myself in my artwork, and started singing again. I tried out for my school’s select choir group and made it. I was no longer the shy, introverted girl I had been for so long.
I was also called to serve on the seminary council, and that was when I knew that I would be okay. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be where I am now, I never would have believed it could happen. I’m a completely different person. And I’m grateful to my friends, family, and teachers, who gave me their love and patience. Their faith in me was the constant in my life that I could always fall back on in my darkest hours. And now I’m so grateful for the gospel. I feel it really has saved my life. If I hadn’t made the turnaround when I did, who knows how far off the path I would have gone. I’m grateful I’ve never had to find out.
The Church is true; I know that with all of my heart and mind. Heavenly Father loves His children, and Jesus Christ is our Savior. Having the restored gospel on earth is one of our greatest blessings, and I pray that someday all of God’s children will come to know the truth and feel the same gratitude and love for Him that I have in my heart.