Gospel Story Finder

In 1832, two years after the Church was organized, two missionaries went out into the New York area to preach the gospel. A man by the name of John Tanner, who was a very influential man in that district—community-minded and religious—heard that they were coming and that they were going to hold a meeting in the schoolhouse in his town that night. He was determined that they would not preach any false doctrine in his community, so he attended this meeting to keep them straight. Because he had been crippled for many months, he had to be wheeled to the meeting in a wheelchair, and he had his son wheel him right up in front of the pulpit so that he could look the missionaries in the face and correct them if they began to teach any false doctrine.
One of the elders told about the great apostasy and how the Church was reestablished. And then the other elder got up and told about the translation of the Book of Mormon and the doctrines taught therein and then bore his testimony.
John Tanner didn’t interrupt either one of them while they were speaking, but when they finished he said to his son, “I would like to meet those young men.” His son went up, brought the young men down, and introduced his father to them.
The father asked them if they would like to come and stay with him that night. Being good missionaries, they accepted his invitation and went home to stay with him that night. They talked about the gospel, and he asked them questions until the early hours of the morning. He became so interested in the gospel that he said, “If I were able, I think I would like to apply for baptism.”
One of the elders asked, “Do you think that the Lord could heal you?” He answered, “The Lord could if he wanted to.” And the elder said, “Would you like us to administer to you, give you a blessing?” He said he would, and the elders administered to him. That very day he left his wheelchair, never to return to it, and walked four miles to be baptized.
I have often thanked my Heavenly Father that those two missionaries went out and preached the gospel to John Tanner and that he had the courage when he heard the truth to accept it, even though he knew he would be ostracized in the community if he joined the Church.
Some years later he learned that the Church was in financial difficulty. Since he was well-fixed financially, he sold everything he had and gave it to President Joseph Smith to help meet the obligations. He remained true to the faith.
I am so thankful that his son remained true to the faith, and his son remained true to the faith, and his son, who was my father, remained true to the faith. And as a result I am here as a member of the Church today in the position I hold.

I Want to Be a Part of This!
By Lauren Soqui Bohman
Living in Oman, my husband and I rushed to get our kids to bed so we could watch the morning session of conference on the other side of the world. We had been counting down the days until conference, yearning for that guidance and peace we knew would come from Heavenly Father through His prophets and disciples.
Sister Joy D. Jones told us the Lord loves effort, so how much effort am I willing to exert to follow His example?
President Henry B. Eyring asked what role we will play in this hinge point in history.
Sister Bonnie H. Cordon and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland asked us to consider how we will purposely shine our light.
I felt how much I want to be part of the goodness that the Lord is rapidly moving forward. Conference inspired me to renew my efforts to help my children with their personal development, to seek to be a more thoughtful and spiritually authentic friend, to perform family history tasks like data entry, and to look for creative new opportunities to serve God by serving His children.

For the last ten years she had been one of the only two people in Rosmont to receive the prize of “Most Beautiful Yard in Rosmont,” which was awarded by the Rosmont Daily Journal. She had received this honor six times, and her arch-rival, Mr. Dunnelly, age 75, had taken it from her only four times.

Mr. Dunnelly, in her estimation, was a nose-in-the-air, know-it-all old man who treated his flowers like disobedient animals instead of the fragile creatures that they were. However, he wouldn’t be in the contest this year because of a stroke he had suffered in the early spring. He couldn’t spend enough time with his plants to give them the proper attention a championship yard needed.

Once about three years ago, they had both met in front of Annie’s Nursery, and in a matter of only a few minutes, they had raised enough commotion to force Annie to call Noble Jones, the town police officer. The next thing the two flower-fighters knew, they were in front of Judge Harold Burgerman. Each one tried to explain how horrible the other one was for using such and such on his flowers, when anyone who knew anything about flowers must realize that this or that was twice as good. Judge Burgerman called them both to repentance, fined them five dollars for disturbing the peace, and they left very indignant and with a mutual disgust for one another and the American judicial system.

The Coopers have a family tradition where each person says something nice about the other people at dinner.
I’m glad I married such a great cook.
No fair, Mom. You say that every time Dad cooks.
I like that Mandy says hi to me at school, even when she’s with her friends. Tony’s sister acts like she doesn’t know him.
I like how Matt is a good friend to Franco.
Franco’s easy to like. Most of the kids are nice to him these days.
But there’s this other kid in my class—Carter. He can’t really read, and some of the kids think he’s dumb. Ms. Wood made me his reading partner.
And … ?
Well, Carter isn’t dumb. He says he was just born with a brain that has trouble reading. So he has to work harder at it.
You know what? Kids can see Franco’s crutch. If they could see Carter’s problem, maybe they’d be nicer to him too.
I think that’s a very wise observation.
This soup tastes really good, Dad.
And it looks good on your shirt too.
Dad, does that count as another compliment?

One particular trial (that I’m still going through) started a few years ago, when I realized I needed to make a change in my career path. I decided to take the Church’s Find a Better Job self-reliance class and felt confident that I had the tools necessary to find a better job right away.
But as it turned out, that wasn’t what the Lord had in mind for me.
I did everything I could to find a new job. And I initially thought I was doing well with my search, until I got rejected from the first job I interviewed for, and the second too. And then another.
I received countless rejection emails. A few times I even made it to the final interview in the hiring process, but someone else was always chosen over me.
After all these crushing blows, I wasn’t sure if I’d recover my confidence. I started losing faith in myself. I felt like I was worthless and incapable, and I was convinced I would never experience the joy of working somewhere I truly loved.
One night during this time of soul-crushing agony, I realized that I hadn’t been counseling with Heavenly Father about my job search. Through tears, I apologized for not communicating with Him and pleaded to know what I was missing and why it wasn’t working out. In a quiet moment, the Spirit calmed my aching heart, soothed my nerves, and whispered in my mind, “Have faith; it’s not the right time yet.” That message equally calmed and broke my heart.
I was positive that I needed to be working elsewhere, but that soft impression from the Spirit helped me have faith that Heavenly Father would lead me to blessings at the right time.
So I halted my job search and focused on other things in order to prepare myself for a change. I focused on things I could control. I attended more training classes at work, began seeing a therapist, started studying my scriptures more fully, and began counseling with the Lord regularly about everything in my life.
Over the next few months, I still didn’t have the job I wanted, but I felt peace.
And then the COVID-19 pandemic hit.
Although I was devastated at first, I came to realize what a blessing it was that I hadn’t gotten a new job, because I probably would have been laid off and suddenly found myself unemployed, in a new city, and completely alone in the pandemic. So I took time during quarantine and social distancing to reflect, ponder, pray, and deepen my faith.
When the April 2020 general conference rolled around, a message from Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in which he compared the foundation of the Salt Lake Temple to our own testimonies resonated with my soul. He said that our earthly trials, “similar to an earthquake, are often difficult to predict and come in various levels of intensity—wrestling with questions or doubt, facing affliction or adversity, working through personal offenses with Church leaders, members, doctrine, or policy. The best defense against these lies in our spiritual foundation.” 1
The Spirit testified to me that if I worked on my spiritual foundation, Heavenly Father would guide me to the job I had been praying for. I committed to studying Come, Follow Me, reading the scriptures, serving more faithfully in my calling, and having weekly chats with a trusted friend.
As I worked on my spiritual foundation daily, I saw my faith grow. I felt greater hope, and my understanding of Heavenly Father’s timing developed as I began to see His hand in my life each day. And most importantly, I discovered how the Spirit speaks to me.
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, once said, “The gospel of Jesus Christ is a plan that shows us how to become what our Heavenly Father desires us to become.” 2 I realized the Lord was sanctifying me through this trial and teaching me how to truly become who He needed me to be.
As I have looked back on this journey, I’ve realized that being sanctified through the power of the Savior is never going to be easy. It hasn’t been for me. But as I have relied on Him and also done my part to have faith and take steps like improving my professional skills, strengthening my spiritual foundation, applying for jobs, and waiting upon Him, I’ve witnessed how He can help us get through the difficult yet beautiful middle with faith.
I don’t know how long the middle of my trial of finding a steady, enjoyable career path will last, but I’ve grown so much through this experience. And I know Heavenly Father and the Savior want me to walk with Them so They can help me keep moving forward.

A few years ago I was having a rough time in my life. One of my brothers was on a mission, another was at college, and, among other things, we found out my dad had terminal cancer and wasn’t going to live very long.
That summer I went to Especially for Youth at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. While I was there I had a really bad attitude. I didn’t care about the gospel or the Church anymore. And I didn’t care about Heavenly Father, because in my eyes He had abandoned my family and me. During one of the talks at EFY, the speaker mentioned that Heavenly Father loved and cared for us very much.
I was laughing inside, thinking, “Yeah, right, that’s what you think.” Yet something inside me really wanted to know if Heavenly Father did love me and did care for me. The speaker challenged us to ask Heavenly Father to see if the Church was true.
That night I decided to give prayer a try. I knelt, and I just asked. I was on my knees for a few minutes and nothing happened. I wanted to know so much that it seemed like something deep inside me was just begging for some love from Heavenly Father. At that moment I felt like someone was cradling me. My heart felt so warm and so peaceful. I felt this huge weight being lifted from my shoulders, and then I heard a quiet whisper: “I love you so much.”
I started to bawl. I knew my Father in Heaven cared for me. I knew He loved me!
I didn’t ask Him if the Church was true. I didn’t ask Him if the Book of Mormon was true. All I asked for was love, and He gave it to me. As soon as He did, everything seemed to fall into place. I knew who I was. I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I knew the gospel was true.
Today I am so happy! My Father in Heaven loves me! He loves me so much that He gave His Son to save me and everybody else. He loves all of us. Christ loves us too, or He wouldn’t have suffered and died for us. I’m grateful for Their love for all of us.

Julia’s heart pounded as she peeked into the empty room. The Primary classroom, with its half circle of folding chairs and dusty chalkboard, looked exactly like hers at home. But Julia’s stomach flip-flopped as she walked through the door. Things might look the same, but Julia knew they weren’t. Today she was a visitor.
Julia sank into the chair farthest from the door. She loved everything about her family’s summer visits to see cousins and grandparents, except for being a visitor in a different ward. Singing Primary songs and learning about the Savior was nice, but she didn’t like sitting by herself and not knowing anyone.
Julia also didn’t like listening to the other kids talk and laugh together while no one even looked at her. To her, it felt like no one cared if she came or not. It was like being invisible—Julia, the amazing invisible visitor!
Julia twirled her long blonde braids and wished she were back home with her own Primary teacher, Sister Johansson, and her best friend, Hanna. “Maybe this time will be different,” she told herself as she adjusted her glasses and smoothed her skirt one more time. “Maybe if I try really hard, I can make it different.”
Julia jumped as the door opened. Three girls stepped into the room, talking excitedly. Two boys followed. Julia took a quick breath and forced her mouth into a smile.
“Hi!” she burst out. Suddenly everyone’s eyes were on her. Julia’s face got hot.
“Uh, hi,” mumbled one of the girls.
“Are you new?” another girl asked.
Julia cleared her throat. “No, I’m just visiting my grandma.”
“Oh.”
Everyone chose a seat. Julia’s smile faded when she realized that each chair was taken except the one next to her. No one said a word to Julia. She stared at her hands. “The amazing invisible visitor strikes again,” she thought. A tear slid down her cheek.
A week later Julia’s heart seemed to float as she hurried down the hallway at church. It was so good to be home! When she walked into her classroom, Hanna was already there.
“Hi, Julia! I’m so glad you’re back!” Hanna said.
Julia sat down next to Hanna. Soon they were laughing and talking. Julia had just started to tell Hanna all about her week with Grandma when a tall, slender girl with reddish-gold hair appeared in the doorway. Julia watched the girl slip into the chair farthest from the door and sit by herself.
“She must be a visitor,” Julia thought. “Boy, am I glad it’s not me this time!” The girl raised her eyes to look around and then stared down at her hands. Julia’s heart twisted as no one said a word to the visitor. “I wish being the visitor didn’t have to be so hard,” she thought. “It should be different!” Last Sunday flashed through her mind for a moment as she remembered being the sad, invisible visitor. She blinked. Wait a minute—she could make it different this time!
Julia stood up. “Hi,” she said with a smile. She crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to the girl. “Are you visiting today?”
The girl looked up with wide eyes, and then her face lit up. “Yes, I’m visiting my aunt. Are you visiting too?”
Julia shook her head. “No, but I know how it is,” she explained. “I’m Julia. What’s your name?”
“Ella.”
“Want to come over and sit with Hanna and me?”
Ella grinned and nodded. As the two girls moved back across the room, Julia felt warm inside. “No invisible visitors allowed!” she thought. “Not if I can help it!”

Twelve-year-old William Moroni Palmer leaned against his mother’s arm. “Read the story about David and Goliath,” he said.
“I read that one to you yesterday.”
“Then how about Daniel and the lions?”
“You already know that by heart.”
“I know. But David and Daniel were so brave. I wish I was as brave as they were.”
“They were more than brave,” his mother said. “They also had great faith in the Lord. They knew He would help them.” She put her arm around her son. “Besides, you are as brave as they were. Every day you face a world of darkness, and every day you face it with a smile.”
William reached for the Bible his mother held, and she put it into his hand. He gently caressed the cover. “Oh, I wish I could read it!”
His mother tousled his hair. “You can read it in your mind,” she said, her voice growing firm. “Daniel 6:23.” [Dan. 6:23]
William sat up tall. “‘Then was the king exceeding glad for him, and commanded that they should take Daniel up out of the den. So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he believed in his God.’”
“Very good,” his mother said. “Because you have memorized it, you can read it any time you’d like.”
Just then his father stepped into the room. “It’s official,” he reported. “Elder Heber C. Kimball is coming to the conference your mother and I will be attending in Ogden.”
“He’s in the First Presidency now!” His mother jumped to her feet and ran to the front door. “Hyrum,” she called to William’s brother, “come here, please. I have something wonderful to tell you!”
For the next several hours, William’s parents, his married brother and sister, and even nine-year-old Hyrum excitedly talked about the upcoming conference.
William only listened. Ever since he had learned that President Kimball was coming, a great shivery feeling had filled his heart. Did he truly have enough courage—and enough faith—to ask what he so desperately wanted to ask?
After a while, his mother returned to his side. “What is it, Son?” she asked. “Aren’t you excited too?”
William nodded. “Yes, but …” He swallowed hard. “Mother, would you ask President Kimball to come to our place after the conference and bless me so that I can see?”
His mother pulled him into her arms. “Dear William, do you believe that you can be healed?” she asked.
William thought of Daniel climbing out of the lions’ den. He pictured David swinging his slingshot above his head. “I know I can, Mama, if he will come and if the Lord wills it.”
“Then I will bring him. He gave me a blessing to heal me when I was dying in Nauvoo, and he promised that he’d shake hands with me in the west, so I’m sure that he will come.”
When conference day arrived that day in 1858, William’s father gathered his family for prayer. He prayed that he and his wife would have a safe journey, that all would be well at home, and that William would receive his sight, if it was God’s will. Then the boys’ parents left for the conference.
While they were gone, William spent most of his time in his parents’ room, praying. “Please, Heavenly Father,” he pleaded, “let President Kimball come.”
Finally, just as the warm afternoon air was beginning to cool, William heard the clickety-jingle of the family surrey. He ran to the front door and listened harder. The Apostle’s voice!
“Is this the boy you told me of?” President Kimball asked as he stepped through the door.
“It is,” his mother said. “But would you like to eat with us first?”
“This must come first. He has waited long enough.”
William’s father placed a chair in the middle of the room for William to sit on. Then he and President Kimball gave William a blessing.
“Open your eyes, Brother William,” President Kimball said, “and you shall see.”
William’s eyes flew open. He sat stunned for a moment, then jumped from his chair and ran out the door. “Oh! I can see! I can see! Oh, Mama, I can see!” Then he fell to the ground and hugged it.
How grateful he was that God had not only restored his sight but had also taught him that if he had faith in Him, all things were possible.

The doctor at the army base near Taejon, Korea, looked up at me and smiled. I had been congratulating him and his colleagues on their brilliant management of a carbon monoxide poisoning incident. As Chief of Professional Services for the Surgeon of the U.S. Army and for the United Nations Forces, I had been so impressed by this young doctor’s actions that I came down personally to review the case with him.
In his tent we chatted about the incidence of such poisoning among soldiers. Korean homes are heated with a soft coal, called yantan, which is pressed into large bricks and burned in a stove beneath one corner of the house. Smoke and fumes are ducted through the clay and tile floor to a chimney on the opposite side of the structure, warming the building and its occupants. If a leak develops, carbon monoxide is released into the house.
Often U.S. soldiers would leave their base of assignment, go into a nearby village, get drunk, and fall asleep near a yantan stove. Occasionally they suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and were returned to the base unconscious. In the course of treatment, it was customary to check the alcohol level in their blood.
I asked the doctor what this soldier’s blood-alcohol level had been, and his answer was both startling and satisfying.
“Oh, I didn’t get a blood-alcohol reading on Private Christian,” he said. “He’s a Mormon.”
I pretended not to understand why that would make a difference.
“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked. “This soldier went into town and was found unconscious. How do you know his unconsciousness wasn’t caused by alcoholic intoxication?”
The doctor replied, “Because this is Christian. He never does anything that is not proper and exemplary.”
The doctor explained that nearly everyone on the base knew that Private Christian was a returned missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had served his mission in Korea, spoke the language, and during his off-duty hours he often went to the village to visit with the people. He had taught some of them about his church, and they had joined. They lived in a small hamlet next to the base but had gone with Christian to religious services in Taejon.
The private had returned home with them Sunday evening and was invited to spend the night. Because he was the honored guest, he was given the place closest to the smoldering yantan. But it was a cold night, and all the openings in the building had been closed. A crack in the floor had not been noticed. As the American soldier slept, he had been overcome by the gases.
With utmost pride I informed my medical colleague that I, too, was Mormon. I marveled that he could have known this young private so well. He replied that he didn’t know many soldiers closely but that Christian’s life was so distinct that it set him apart from all the other men on the base. I have never had the opportunity to meet Brother Christian and can only speculate about the total amount of good he did in an environment that normally draws out the base instincts of men. But I will never forget the impression he made on the doctor who treated him and the example he set for me. He had made proper decisions about many things in life years before being plunged into the challenges of military life, and he had not allowed his environment to deter his power to be good. The other soldiers knew him for what he was—uncompromising. I am sure that many of them carry his example in their memories, even as I do, and I’m grateful to him for letting his light shine.

Just over a year ago, I was interviewed by the Church News prior to my birthday. At the conclusion of the interview, the reporter asked what I would consider the ideal gift that members worldwide could give to me. I replied, “Find someone who is having a hard time or is ill or lonely, and do something for him or her.”10
I was overwhelmed when this year for my birthday I received hundreds of cards and letters from members of the Church around the world telling me how they had fulfilled that birthday wish. The acts of service ranged from assembling humanitarian kits to doing yard work.
Dozens and dozens of Primaries challenged the children to provide service, and then those acts of service were recorded and sent to me. I must say that the methods for recording them were creative. Many came in the form of pages put together into various shapes and sizes of books. Some contained cards or pictures drawn or colored by the children. One very creative Primary sent a large jar containing hundreds of what they called “warm fuzzies,” each one representing an act of service performed during the year by one of the children in the Primary. I can only imagine the happiness these children experienced as they told of their service and then placed a “warm fuzzy” in the jar.
I share with you just a few of the countless notes contained in the many gifts I received. One small child wrote, “My grandpa had a stroke, and I held his hand.” From an 8-year-old girl: “My sister and I served my mom and family by organizing and cleaning the toy closet. It took us a few hours and we had fun. The best part was that we surprised my mom and made her happy because she didn’t even ask us to do it.” An 11-year-old girl wrote: “There was a family in my ward that did not have a lot of money. They have three little girls. The mom and dad had to go somewhere, so I offered to watch the three girls. The dad was just about to hand me a $5 bill. I said, ‘I can’t take [it].’ My service was that I watched the girls for free.” A Primary child in Mongolia wrote that he had brought in water from the well so his mother would not have to do so. From a 4-year-old boy, no doubt written by a Primary teacher: “My dad is gone for army training for a few weeks. My special job is to give my mom hugs and kisses.” Wrote a 9-year-old girl: “I picked strawberries for my great-grandma. I felt good inside!” And another: “I played with a lonely kid.”
From an 11-year-old boy: “I went to a lady’s house and asked her questions and sang her a song. It felt good to visit her. She was happy because she never gets visitors.” Reading this particular note reminded me of words penned long ago by Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve. Said he: “It is difficult for those who are young to understand the loneliness that comes when life changes from a time of preparation and performance to a time of putting things away. … To be so long the center of a home, so much sought after, and then, almost suddenly to be on the sidelines watching the procession pass by—this is living into loneliness. … We have to live a long time to learn how empty a room can be that is filled only with furniture. It takes someone … beyond mere hired service, beyond institutional care or professional duty, to thaw out the memories of the past and keep them warmly living in the present. … We cannot bring them back the morning hours of youth. But we can help them live in the warm glow of a sunset made more beautiful by our thoughtfulness … and unfeigned love.”11
My birthday cards and notes came also from teenagers in Young Men and Young Women classes who made blankets for hospitals, served in food pantries, were baptized for the dead, and performed numerous other acts of service.
Relief Societies, where help can always be found, provided service above and beyond that which they would normally have given. Priesthood groups did the same.
My brothers and sisters, my heart has seldom been as touched and grateful as it was when Sister Monson and I literally spent hours reading of these gifts. My heart is full now as I speak of the experience and contemplate the lives which have been blessed as a result, for both the giver and the receiver.

I was raised in an active Latter-day Saint family. I went to church every Sunday, read my scriptures every night, prayed every day, and went to seminary and Young Women activities. I even wrote in my journal every day. I thought I knew what the Church was all about, and I believed it was true.
Then one Sunday during an interview, one of the counselors in my bishopric asked me, “Do you have a testimony of this Church?”
“Of course I do,” I replied. Didn’t he know that my parents served actively in their callings, that my brother had just come home from his mission, and that my sister was engaged to be married in the temple? With a family like that, how could I not believe?
He responded, “That is good to know, because I didn’t have a testimony until after I graduated from high school. I always thought I had one, but then I realized that I was leaning on my parents’ testimonies. You need to promise that you will continue to strengthen and nourish your testimony.” I promised him that I would strive harder to make my testimony grow.
On the way home from church, I began to ask myself if I really had a testimony or if I was leaning on my parents’ testimonies.
I recalled a time a few months earlier when I had felt the Spirit so strong. That day I was sure the Church is true. Why had I begun to doubt again? I remembered my seminary teacher telling us that if we ever doubted, to just ask God with real intent, faith in Christ, and a pure heart and we would receive an answer (see Moroni 10:3–5).
That night I went home and prayed and read my scriptures over and over again. “Why am I not getting an answer?” I wondered. My seminary teacher promised I would get an answer. I could feel something, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more proof to know that the Church is true. It couldn’t just be a feeling; I wanted to know for sure.
My answer didn’t come for a while, but it finally came. One night I was reading in the Doctrine and Covenants, and that is when it all came together for me:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).
So many times I had felt the Spirit. So many times I had believed. So many times I had had an overwhelming love for the Church and the Savior. That was the answer. I already knew, so why keep asking? Why did I not nourish the testimony I had?
I realized I couldn’t just expect the answer to come to me. I couldn’t just read my scriptures; I needed to search them. I couldn’t just pray to Heavenly Father; I needed to listen to His answers.
A few weeks later I found counsel by President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) that described what I needed to do. He said:
“Your testimony is something that you have today but you may not have it always.
“Testimony is as elusive as a moonbeam; it’s as fragile as an orchid; you have to recapture it every morning of your life. You have to hold on by study, by faith, and by prayer. …
“That which you possess today in testimony will not be yours tomorrow unless you do something about it. …
“… Testimony is either going to grow and grow to the brightness of certainty, or it is going to diminish to nothingness, depending upon what we do about it” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Harold B. Lee [2000], 43).
I know that if I keep listening to Heavenly Father’s answers and searching the scriptures every day, my testimony will be as bright as the sun.

One evening President Kimball stayed late at the office, and so I continued working at my desk. It turned out that he was going to a dinner at the Lion House at 6:30 and was waiting for Sister Kimball to come and meet him so they could go to the dinner together. About 5:30, he urged me to go home, but I told him that I would stay as long as he did. He insisted, so I said, “I am torn between doing my duty to stay close to you and doing what you ask me to do.” He looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “They both ought to be the same, hadn’t they?”

Ashley pulled her stuffed-animal elephant to her chest and closed her eyes. She pictured the notes of her song, “The Elephant and the Flea,” just as they were on her music. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. Her turn was next, and she was sure she would remember the music she had so carefully memorized.
This was her first piano recital, and Ashley was nervous. The small room was packed with people, and she hardly knew any of them. But her mom was there, and her piano teacher, Miss Stewart, sat smiling at the front of the room near the piano. The students had been asked to dress to represent their songs, so Ashley carried a stuffed-animal elephant with a flea on its nose.
A little boy finished his song and stood up. He bowed while everyone clapped loudly. He did well. He didn’t forget any notes in his song.
Ashley swallowed. What if she messed up? Would they still clap for her? What would her mom and her piano teacher think?
Mom reached over and put her hand on Ashley’s back. “It’s your turn,” she whispered. Then she saw the nervous look on Ashley’s face and added, “You’ll do fine.”
Ashley stood up and started to picture the notes in her head one last time. Then she walked slowly to the front of the room.
After announcing her name and the title of her song, she placed the elephant on the edge of the bench, sat down next to it, and stared at the piano keys. She knew she could remember the notes. She had practiced so hard; she had to remember. She started playing. Her fingers danced across the keys as she made it through the first part of the song perfectly. Then she got to the second part. This part had always been tricky. Ashley tried to play the right notes, but her fingers and her brain forgot what came next.
Everyone watched her sit silently at the piano. How could this be happening? Miss Stewart searched through a pile of music and pulled out Ashley’s piece. She stood up and began walking toward Ashley. How embarrassing if she had to use the actual written music when she was supposed to have it memorized! Just before Miss Stewart could put the music on the piano, Ashley started playing again. Instead of starting where she had stopped, she skipped the middle part and began to play the short ending, which she remembered.
Embarrassed, Ashley finished the song and hurried back to her seat. She didn’t bow, and she didn’t look at anyone. The audience clapped, but Ashley was sure it wasn’t as loud or as long as it had been for the little boy before her.
“It’s OK,” her mom said. She put her arm around Ashley and kissed the top of her head. “You did so well.”
But Ashley knew she hadn’t done well at all.
When the recital was over, Ashley walked quickly toward the door. She couldn’t stand the embarrassment. A lady stepped in front of the door, stopping her from escaping.
“You did so well up there. I just love that you can play the piano at such a young age,” she said.
A man joined in. “I really liked your song,” he said.
More people walked by and smiled or patted Ashley on the back. Then Miss Stewart put her arm around Ashley’s shoulder. “You did a wonderful job,” she said. She smiled, then moved on to talk to some other piano students.
Ashley felt much better on the ride home. She had messed up, but that didn’t matter so much anymore. Everyone seemed to understand. Ashley had tried her best, and that was enough.

It was a routine she had down. She’d get up a little before 6:00 A.M. to catch the 6:30 bus, which would take her to school where she would spend the next nine hours. When the bell rang, dismissing classes for the day, it seemed like school was just beginning. She’d leave class and head to the library for three additional hours studying the day’s lessons. That’s 12 hours in school, just in case you’re keeping track. At 8:00 P.M., she’d hop on the bus and ride the 40 minutes to her home where she’d shower, eat, catch up on the world’s latest happenings from the newspaper, read from the scriptures, and then go to sleep. The next day, Liu Kwan Ling, who also uses the English name Angel, would do it all over again.
Want to schedule some time with her? Better do it in advance. Free time wasn’t one of the luxuries in Angel’s life then, and it certainly isn’t now.
Even Angel admits it was a grueling schedule. She’ll also admit it was worth it. Last year Angel graduated from the Taipei First Girls’ High School and is now in her first year at National Taiwan University, rated the top college in this island country near mainland China.
Having survived the rigors of high school, Angel is probably busier now that she’s graduated. Her college schedule compared to her daily high school routine really isn’t that much different. In fact, it’s about identical. It’s just that the college courses she’s taking are a little more demanding. Yet Angel knows how she’s been able to juggle all the things in her busy schedule. “I can increase my spirituality by reading the scriptures and praying,” she says. “I think without doing that and by not going to my Sunday meetings I would become easily discouraged and depressed about school and life. But if I go to sacrament meeting and listen to the talks, it seems that my life is always more positive and happy. I think the most important thing in my life is my spirituality.”
It was a tough two years on Angel as she both prepared for college and tried to remain active in the Peitou Ward of the Taipei East Stake, where she is her ward’s sacrament meeting pianist.
The bulk of her time was spent studying English, math, Chinese, physics, chemistry, biology, physical education, music, and housekeeping (cooking and sewing).
Today, college life keeps Angel incredibly busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her triple combination, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she’s doing well in school, and, more importantly, she’s finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

The following Monday, when I was asked to tell about what I did, I admitted, “It was harder than I thought it would be. I picked Moroni 7:45, 47 [Moro. 7:45, 47], where he talks about charity. He says, ‘And charity suffereth long, and is kind, … and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in truth. … Charity is the pure love of Christ.’
“You see, there’s a girl at school who always sits by herself. She doesn’t talk very well, and she walks with a limp. I’ve wanted to say hi to her, but I’ve been afraid that the other kids might laugh at me. Well, at recess on Wednesday, I was playing with my friends when I saw Kara sitting on the stump of an old tree, watching us. I tried not to think about her. I told myself that she probably couldn’t play, anyway, with a bad foot.
“At lunchtime I saw her again, eating alone. As I followed my friends to a table, I remembered what I had promised to do, to share through my actions Moroni’s words about love. I began thinking about how I felt when I first moved here. I didn’t have any friends, I didn’t know the language, and I was lonely and afraid. Maybe Kara felt that way too. I was scared, but I got up from my table and went over and sat down by Kara.
“And you know what? I found out that Kara can run and play, even with a bad foot. In fact, she’s faster than a lot of us. And you know what else? I think the other girls learned about charity too. By the end of the week, we were all playing, eating, and laughing together. You were right, Dad. You can share the Book of Mormon through your actions.”

Four Generations, by Kwani Povi Winder
I became active in the Church when my Uncle Bill took my two sisters and me to Primary. My Primary teacher, Jean Richardson, was a kindly mother figure. I liked her and my new church friends, who were much kinder to me than the kids in my neighborhood. So, I decided to stay.
As I approached my 12th birthday, Bishop Dal Guymon invited me to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I said yes. Then he said, “Why don’t you ask your dad to bring you here next Sunday, and we will ordain you.”
Dad and his family had stopped attending church when he was about 13. As an adult, he spent most weekends in the local bars or fly-fishing. He had served in the US Navy during World War II and the Korean War. He smoked cigars, drank, and swore, but he had a reputation in our small Montana town for being honest and fair.
When Dad took me to church the next Sunday, it was a big deal. When the time came, Bishop Guymon called me up and asked me to sit in a chair. Several men—but not my dad—put their hands on my head and performed the ordinance.
I felt the heavy weight of several big hands on me. Dad, sitting on a bench a few feet away, felt a different kind of pressure—in his chest. A voice spoke to him inside, saying, “You need to be there for your boy the next time this happens.”
In the weeks that followed, Dad turned his life around and started to attend church every Sunday. Soon, the Church became the central focus of our family life.
Dad became my deacons, teachers, and priests quorum adviser; my Sunday School teacher; and my basketball, softball, and volleyball coach. While we were home teaching companions, Dad helped other men and families return to Church activity.
Assisted by my dad, I experienced my own personal and transformative conversion. Since then, I have tried to be sensitive to men who, like my dad, might respond to an invitation to become the best dad they can be.
I will be forever grateful for what my Uncle Bill, a kind Primary teacher, a wise bishop, and my dad did for me 60 years ago.

Among these reformers was the Reverend John Lathrop, vicar of the Egerton Church in Kent, England. Incidentally, the Prophet Joseph Smith was descended from John Lathrop. In 1623 the Reverend Lathrop resigned his position because he questioned the authority of the Anglican church to act in the name of God. As he read the Bible, he recognized that apostolic keys were not on the earth. In 1632 he became the minister of an illegal independent church and was put in prison. His wife died while he was in prison, and his orphaned children pleaded with the bishop for his release. The bishop agreed to release Lathrop on condition that he leave the country. This he did, and with 32 members of his congregation he sailed to America.

One of Michael’s scenes is in a schoolroom with other boys his age. These boys are extras, called in to dress in costume and fill up the rest of the desks in the background. Erika Anderson, 18, is working as extras’ coordinator for the film, and it is her job to see that the boys are where they should be when they should be. Erika is rather young to have such an important position, but she’s been working in films for several years. Her father, David, is a film distributor and producer, and Erika has had a chance to work in different ways on films since she was 10.

“The first thing I ever did,” says Erika, “was be an extra. Then I worked on a commercial shoot in New York. I was a production assistant. My dad was in charge, and I helped run errands and time the shots.” Erika was recommended for the BYU film job, and Peter Johnson, the producer of the film and director of the Motion Picture Studio has been pleased with her work. “She shows such integrity in her work. She’s always there, always on time. We give her instructions, and she does what we ask. We never have to follow up with her.”

Erika has learned a lot about the importance of doing a good job. “What I’ve known all along is whenever a job is given to me, I have to get it done because someone is expecting me to do it. If you don’t hold your end up, everything can fall apart. I learned that at 13, so I’ve been practicing for a while.”

As extras’ coordinator, Erika describes her job this way, “When there are kids, I’m in charge of the kids. When there are adults, I’m in charge of telling them where to go and getting them all there and getting them committed to do it. It’s really hard, but it’s rewarding to see it all come together.”

Erika’s first thoughts after being told that they needed 250 extras for the scene in the marketplace outside the temple at Bountiful was, “Where am I going to find 250 extras on a Tuesday?”

Erika and her supervisor, Kathy Bessinger, casting director, did find them. They sent the call out to wards in Salt Lake and Orem areas. Then buses were arranged, lunch and dinner ordered for the crowd, and makeup and wardrobe people alerted. On this Tuesday, they had the crowd of extras they needed to shoot the scene.

Here in the Lynn Branch, helping out means a whole lot of fellowshipping, the kind that brought Ngan Sout into the waters of baptism after four years of on-and-off attendance and missionary lessons. Once, she was going to be baptized, but some of her school friends started telling her how bad the Mormons were. “I was confused,” she says, “so I backed out again for a year.”
That’s when her friend Chenda Hak stepped in. Chenda kept inviting Ngan to church and to the activities. Finally Ngan said, “Just for you, I will go.”
This time, Ngan was ready. She was baptized. And now when friends question her decision, she says, “I’m happy now. I wish this had happened a long time ago, you know? Because I would have been happy all along.”

As members of the Church enter the London Temple, immediately ahead of them is a reception desk. To the right of this desk, a painting shows a row of buildings in the distance with a bridge in the foreground. The stone bridge crosses the river Monnow and is the way into the little castle town of Skenfrith near Abergavenny.
The river is quite deep in places, and the right-hand side looking from the Bell Inn has steps leading down to the river.
This is the place where the first recorded convert baptism in South Wales, of James W. Palmer, took place on 13 April 1840. The baptism was performed by Wilford Woodruff, one of the Quorum of the Twelve, then serving as a missionary in the British Isles.
James W. Palmer kept a journal while serving as a missionary after his baptism. It includes the following entry in November 1840: “I preached at Skenfrith.” A later journal entry reads, “We now visited Skenfrith again… On Monday I baptised John Preece and William Williams in the river Monnow”.
Thus the story comes full circle, as the first convert to be baptised into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Skenfrith is subsequently instrumental in the conversion and baptism of further converts, there in the river Monnow.