Gospel Story Finder

I am the only boy in my family, and I have four sisters. I’m really close with them.
I’ll never forget one night when one of my older sisters helped me gain a testimony. My dad was giving the home evening lesson about testimonies. The whole time I was frustrated with myself because I didn’t feel like I had one.
Later that night, I was reading the scriptures in my room, and my sister came in and asked what was wrong. I was afraid she would make fun of me when I told her, but she didn’t.
We decided to read the First Vision story. I had read it many times before, but not like this. As I read, I had a feeling that’s not easy to describe. It was peaceful, calm, and quiet.
We stopped and said a prayer, and I continued to feel the Spirit. Now I can say I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ restored the Church through him.
I love my sisters because they are good examples and they look after me.
Josh J., Alabama, USA

At this critical point in her life, Minerva had two experiences that took her out of the art world. The first experience crystallized her desire for life with a family—specifically, for life with Herman. In a testimony meeting she was listening to a sister speak on the joys of marriage and motherhood. “I thought of all the men I had met in my search for ‘the right one,’” wrote Minerva later. At that moment, she realized that “back on the Idaho desert, herding his cattle and branding his calves was a man more nearly meant for me than anyone else in the world” (unpublished autobiographical sketch, 1937, transcription from handwritten manuscript). Never one to doubt her own judgment, Minerva returned home to Idaho and married Herman.

Jesse fidgeted from one foot to the other and chewed hard on his bottom lip. He couldn’t believe that he had really rung Mrs. Finster’s doorbell. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. Some of the kids at school said that she was a witch, but Mom said that that was silly and to not talk mean about people.
Jesse glanced back at the huge rosebush next to the sidewalk. He and his best friend, Billy, walked by that bush every afternoon on their way home from first grade. It was loaded with large pink flowers. He could barely see the top of Billy’s head ducked behind that bush. He could have just used his pocket knife to cut off a rose—Mrs. Finster would have never known. Maybe he could still do it. …
The door opened suddenly, and Jesse jumped. A gray-haired woman, her face creased with wrinkle upon wrinkle, stood silently in front of him.
“I’m Jesse Brown. I wanted a rose for my mama, and you have a bunch, and pink’s her favorite, and it would make her really happy, but it’s OK if you say no. Sorry to bother you.” Jesse turned to run. Billy was already halfway down the block.
“Wait just a minute, young man. You want one of my roses for your mother, is that it?”
Jesse turned slowly back to face her, “Yes, ma’am, if you don’t mind.” He hoped that he could remember his manners—this was no time to mess up.
“Haven’t you heard that I eat little boys who bother me?”
Jesse would have run, but his legs wouldn’t move. “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t believe it. It’s against the law, you know.”
Mrs. Finster’s smile lit up her whole face. It twinkled from her eyes and melted away most of her wrinkles. “I’ll get my clippers, and we’ll get the biggest, prettiest pink rose your mother has ever seen.”
As they walked down the driveway, Mrs. Finster said, “Your mother must be very proud of you. Other boys might have just taken a rose. But you see, if a rose isn’t clipped just right, it damages both the bush and the flower. I’m glad that you asked first.”
“Me too.” Jesse felt pretty good inside. Mama would be pleased with him—and she was going to love the rose!
They searched the bush together for the biggest, brightest rose. When they found it, Jesse thought that it smelled almost as good as fresh-baked cookies. Mrs. Finster clipped it so that it had a nice long stem and handed it to Jesse. “Be careful of the thorns,” she warned with a smile.
Jesse held his prize gently in his hands. “Thank you very much,” he said. He turned and started for home.
“Stop by anytime,” Mrs. Finster called after him. “I have plenty of roses.”
“I will,” Jesse promised as he waved back to Mrs. Finster. “I’ll stop by soon.”

One Saturday night I went to a friend’s house to watch movies and hang out. Although my friend isn’t a member of the Church, her standards are similar to mine. We were having a good time and we picked out a movie to watch. Then right as my friend put the disc into the player, I felt that I should check the back of the box to find out more about the movie. To my surprise, I found that it had inappropriate content. At first, I didn’t know what I should do, but as I thought about it, I felt it would be wrong to watch it.
It wasn’t easy, but I gathered my courage and told my friend, “I’m sorry, but I can’t watch this movie” and told her how I don’t watch movies with that kind of content. I was afraid that she would be annoyed, but she wasn’t. She knew that I was LDS and respected my beliefs.
Later, as I thought about the experience, I was surprised at how close I had come to compromising my standards. I was able to see that Satan can make something seem so harmless even when it’s not. The next day I was thinking about the experience while the sacrament was being passed. I thanked my Heavenly Father for helping me make the right decision and for the gift of the Holy Ghost to help us get through those situations. I’m glad that I chose the right because if I’d made the wrong choice, I would have felt bad after viewing the content in that movie and not listening to the Spirit when I knew what the right choice was. I’m grateful to have the gospel in my life and to know that if we are worthy, the Holy Ghost will always be there for us when we need Him.

I thought about Sister Shaw’s parting testimony at an earlier sacrament meeting. “This is my last Sunday here,” she had said. “Before I leave I feel impressed to share an experience with you.”
I thought about the story Sister Shaw told.
“I felt loved and secure in my home ward,” she had said. “I had lived there all my life. When my husband and I moved here, I was terrified to attend a strange ward, and didn’t want to go for several weeks. But soon I felt a great emptiness in my life and vowed to attend the next meeting.
“I entered the church with great fear. As people went to their classes, I hoped someone would introduce himself or herself and show me the way to go. I knew I should say something to someone, but my tongue wouldn’t work. People walked by, visiting with their friends. Some even smiled at me. It wasn’t long until the doors were closed and the halls were empty. Crying in despair, I turned and left.
“That night I turned to the one person I knew I could count on: Father in Heaven. ‘Dear Father,’ I pleaded. ‘I have always been active, but I’m afraid to go to a strange ward. I can’t do it alone.’
“The next morning I opened my door to a nervous stranger who said, ‘Hello. My name is Neva Gillman. I really don’t know why I’m here, but I had the strongest impression to come by and ask if you would like to come to Relief Society with me.’
“Smiling through my tears, I invited her in.”

Open Anna Sterligova’s copy of the Book of Mormon, and you’re in for a surprise. It is filled with brightly colored illustrations—illustrations she created herself.
Anna is a 15-year-old art student in Moscow, Russia. She wanted to record some of her own feelings and emotions about the Book of Mormon as she studied it. So in addition to underlining, cross-referencing, and putting notes in the margins when she read about a scriptural event that had particular meaning to her, she illustrated it.
“It made the stories come to life for me,” she explains.
The stories, of course, were already alive for her, powerfully so. Anna loves the Book of Mormon. She studies it on her own and at family home evening, reads it at meetings of the Pokrovsky Branch, and masters its verses for seminary. She particularly likes to share her testimony of it with friends.
And that’s where Zenaida Akimova comes in. An older woman in the neighborhood, Zenaida was a friend of Anna’s mother, Alla, and was quickly becoming a friend of the entire family (which also includes Anna’s father, Konstantin, and her brother, Aleksander, also known as Sasha). Zenaida knew they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but she wasn’t sure exactly what they meant by that.
“Keep learning more about it,” Anna invited, “and you’ll see what we mean.”
Zenaida thought about what she already knew. For example, this family treated each other well.
“They were always kind and courteous to each other,” she says. “But most of all they genuinely cared about each other.”
She knew—and had personally witnessed—how important the Church is in their lives. She knew about family history, since Alla had told her about the hundreds of names she has researched. She knew the Sterligovs went on trips to a sacred place called a temple. She knew about Konstantin’s commitment to service as president of the Moscow Russia East District.
Soon Zenaida was meeting with the missionaries, praying, coming to church. She was asking more and more questions, getting more and more answers. Thanks in part to Anna’s constant comments about the Book of Mormon, Zenaida longed to read and understand that holy scripture.
But there was a problem. Zenaida is legally blind. She can’t see well enough to read. She doesn’t know Braille, and even if she did, there is no Braille edition of the Book of Mormon in Russian.
So Anna and Alla developed a plan. Each evening they would read aloud and record several chapters from the Book of Mormon. The following morning, they would deliver the audiocassette to Zenaida. She was thrilled as she learned about Lehi, Nephi, and other prophets. Tape by tape, week by week, her testimony became firmer and clearer. Like the colorful pictures in Anna’s copy of the Book of Mormon, the stories came alive in Zenaida’s mind.
When Anna was busy, Alla recorded. When Alla was busy, Anna recorded. Sometimes Sasha or President Sterligov read into the tape recorder. But every day, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, the tapes were prepared.
“I wanted Sister Akimova to have the same experience with the Book of Mormon that I had,” Anna explains. “The first time the elders showed me the book, I knew it was true. I had no trouble believing it, no doubts. So it was easy for me to tell her how I felt about it and easy to record it for her, since I read it every night anyway.”
Now it is one week before Zenaida’s baptism. She has come to meet with the missionaries once again in the Sterligovs’ apartment. There is a feeling of happiness and hope in the air.
“I am ready to be baptized,” Zenaida says. “I am looking forward to the day. This family has been so great to me. I have my Book of Mormon tapes because of them, and I can listen whenever I want to. I have their example and their love, and with that, I’m ready to begin a new life. I may not be able to see clearly enough to read, but thanks to Anna and Sasha and President and Sister Sterligov, I am starting to see exactly what the gospel means.”
And Anna? She’s still sharing the Book of Mormon with friends. Of her more than 60 pen pals, four have an interest in the gospel. She has sent them copies of the book.
“One young woman lives in a little town in Siberia,” Anna says. “There are no missionaries there, and she is far from the closest branch of the Church. I write to her about the things we learn in the missionary discussions, and she likes that. She knows about the Bible, and I told her we study the Bible, too. But I told her the Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ, makes the Bible more complete. She said to send her a copy so she could see what we mean.”

My little brother, Joel, and I had been waiting for days to take our friend Robby to see the lights and the manger scene on Temple Square. Ever since we’d mentioned going, Robby had been counting the days.
You see, Robby had never seen Temple Square at Christmastime, and this was his first Christmas outside of a hospital in two years. He still can’t walk, and his right hand and arm are all crooked and bent. The only way that he can get around is in his silver wheelchair with someone pushing him.
Robby couldn’t go to a lot of places. He didn’t go to Primary, so Joel and I tried to take some Primary to him. We’d go over to his house, sit by his wheelchair, sing him the songs, and tell him the stories we’d learned in Primary. Robby loved it, and all week long he’d have us repeat what we’d done in Primary.
One afternoon in December we told Robby the Christmas story about Jesus being born in the manger. When we finished, he sighed and said, “Oh, I wish I could have been one of the shepherds who visited Jesus on that special night. Or one of the Wise Men who later followed the star. I would like to have seen the Baby Jesus and given Him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”
“There’s a manger scene on Temple Square,” Joel said. “It’s not the real one, but it looks real.”
Robby’s eyes got big, and his smile seemed to go from the tip of his chin to the ends of his ears. “That’s where I’d like to go for Christmas,” he said. Then his smile disappeared. “But I don’t see how I could,” he said, running his good hand over his wheelchair.
Robby had recently moved to Salt Lake City. He was the only child in his family, and his mom and dad traveled a lot. They didn’t ever seem to have time to take Robby anywhere. Of course, Robby had Mrs. Helber, who took care of him while his mom and dad were away; but she was older and didn’t drive a car.
“We’ll take you to Temple Square,” Joel declared one afternoon as we all sat at Robby’s window and watched a million snowflakes flutter to the ground. “We’ll get Dad to help us,” he said firmly, “won’t we, Jeremy?”
“Do you really think you could?” Robby asked, glancing at me pleadingly. “I’d like going, Jeremy—more than anything else!”
I smiled. “We’ll get you to Temple Square,” I told him. “That’s a promise.”
Now it was the Friday before Christmas. Joel and I had stopped by Robby’s place late in the afternoon to see if he would be ready to go that evening. Robby’s mom and dad were gone, and we could hear Mrs. Helber in the kitchen fixing supper. It was getting dark, and Robby asked anxiously, “Your dad won’t forget will he?”
I patted Robby on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half to pick you up. Dad won’t forget.”
But Dad did forget! He was getting ready for a meeting over at the church when we came home.
“To a meeting?” Joel gasped.
“But what about taking Robby to Temple Square?” I cried.
Dad groaned and hit his forehead with his hand. “Oh, no! Was that tonight?”
Joel and I couldn’t even nod. We just stared, suddenly feeling sick.
“Brother Thomas asked me to go over to a planning meeting,” Dad explained. “When he talked to me this morning, I forgot about our trip with Robby. I’m really sorry, boys. Can we go another time? How about tomorrow?”
“Robby’s been counting on going tonight,” Joel mumbled. But I don’t think Dad heard. I could tell that Dad felt really bad; he doesn’t usually forget.
After supper Dad left for his meeting, and Joel and I told Mom we were going over to Robby’s. We put on our coats, hats, gloves, and boots and stepped out into the dark night. The snow crunched under our boots, and big puffs of steam blew out of our mouths and noses as we breathed.
“How are we ever going to explain this to Robby?” Joel wanted to know when we were outside. “We just can’t let him down. He’s been waiting for this for a long time.”
“I don’t know what we can do. Dad’s already gone, and he won’t be back till late.”
Joel grabbed my arm and whispered, “Maybe we could take him, Jeremy.”
“Us?” I said. “That’s seven or eight, maybe ten blocks. Who’d we get to drive us down there?”
“We’ll push him in his wheelchair. We can do it!” Joel coaxed. “Most of it’s downhill. Besides, we just have to take him, Jeremy! We can’t tell him that Dad forgot.”
I thought for a minute. “We’ll ask Robby,” I said. “If he wants to go in his wheelchair, we’ll take him.”
When we got to Robby’s place, he was waiting right by the front door, with his coat and hat on. A scarf was tied around his neck, and a blanket was tucked in around his legs. “Let’s go,” he greeted us. “I already told Mrs. Helber good-bye.”
I pulled off my gloves and stared at the floor. “Dad can’t come,” I explained. “He had to go to a meeting.” I glanced up and saw Robby’s smile droop. For a minute I wondered if he was going to cry.
“But we’ll take you,” Joel blurted out. “We’ll push you. Do you still want to go?”
Robby’s smile returned, and he nodded furiously.
“It will be cold,” I warned. “And it’s a long way just walking.”
“We can make it!” Robby grinned. “I know we can.”
A shiver of excitement tickled the back of my neck as I gripped the handles on Robby’s wheelchair and began pushing it down the sidewalk.
We walked block after block. Since it was mostly downhill, it wasn’t hard pushing Robby at first, but after a while all that walking made my legs tired. Joel tried to help, but he could barely see over the back of the chair, so I had to do most the pushing.
I was getting a little worried about whether I’d remembered the way right, because I had never gone to Temple Square without a grownup, when Robby called out, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Joel asked.
“That gold statue lighted up on top of the pointy building.”
Joel and I smiled. “That’s the Angel Moroni on top of the temple,” I said. “That’s where we’re going.”
“You mean that all we have to do is follow the light and we’ll find the place?”
“That’s all,” I said.
Robby smiled back at me and said, “We have our very own angel to show us the way.”
Robby wouldn’t take his eyes off the gold statue on top of the temple. And I wasn’t worried anymore because I knew we’d soon be there.
A few flakes of snow started to fall as we crossed the last street. We could see most of the spires of the temple now, and we could see the walls around Temple Square.
Joel led the way as we squeezed through the crowds of people and made our way inside the wide gates. My legs were tired, and my cheeks were numb, but I kept pushing, knowing that we were almost to the manger scene. All the while, Robby was straining forward to see the colored lights.
I glanced back toward the street and suddenly realized that it was blocks and blocks back to our house—all uphill! A sick feeling came over me, and I wondered if we would be able to push Robby back home. Then I saw Robby’s face as he stared at the Christmas lights that Joel and I had told him so much about.
Temple Square was sparkling with thousands of lights—in the trees, on the bushes, everywhere. And they all seemed to reflect off Robby’s beaming face. “It’s beautiful!” he whispered. “More beautiful than you said.”
We came to the manger scene in the middle of a big, snow-covered lawn just as a light shone down on a group of shepherds. A voice began to speak, and quiet music began to play.
Robby didn’t say anything. He just stared. The voice told the Christmas story almost the way Joel and I had told it to Robby, but it was so much better here, because we could see it almost like it had happened so many years before.
Then the light shone on the manger, and we saw Jesus and Mary and Joseph. Finally the light fell on the Wise Men who were following the special star to see the Baby Jesus. Robby turned around and whispered, “We followed a kind of star too.” He pointed above us toward the Angel Moroni. “Tonight we were like the Wise Men.”
Three times that night we listened to the Christmas story, standing in the cold and looking at the manger. Even when Robby started to shiver from the cold, he wouldn’t let us leave the beautiful manger scene.
But it was getting late, and I knew we’d have to go back. We pushed Robby through the gates, and I stopped and gulped. My feet were numb, my nose and cheeks burned with cold, and an icy wind had started to blow, making tears come to my eyes. I was so tired that I wanted to cry, but I knew that I couldn’t, not with Robby and Joel depending on me. Instead, I bowed my head and said a little prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help us get home safely.
After going about a block, a voice called, “Jeremy! Joel! Robby!” I turned, and there was Dad hurrying across the street, waving to us. He rushed up to us and hugged Joel and me and patted Robby on the shoulder. “I thought you were lost for sure,” he panted, looking more worried than I had ever seen him. “Then I remembered how much you had been counting on bringing Robby here.”
A few minutes later we reached our car. Dad put Robby and Joel on the back seat and set the wheelchair in the trunk. I climbed up front with Dad.
“I hope you’re not mad,” I said. “We just had to bring Robby.” I looked down at my hands. “We won’t do it again, but we couldn’t let Robby down, not at Christmastime.”
Dad took a deep breath as he started the engine. “Sometimes there are more important things than meetings,” he whispered. “I learned that tonight.” He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me against him.
“It was so beautiful,” I whispered. I could feel a lump in my throat. “We followed the light and went right to the manger, just like the Wise Men.” I was quiet for a moment. “But we didn’t leave a gift,” I mumbled. “Not like the other Wise Men did. We didn’t have any gold or frankincense or myrrh.”
Dad held me close for a moment while he drove. Then he told me, “Oh, but you gave an even better gift. You gave a gift of love to Robby. What you gave to Robby, you were really giving to Jesus, and a gift of love is the very best gift of all.”
“Are you sure, Dad?” I whispered.
“I’m sure,” he said.

“It was fifty years ago tomorrow that I arrived in this wonderful, free land.” She wiped away a tear and began to chuckle. “I was only twelve years old, and just as I got off the boat, all these splendid fireworks started exploding. I thought they were welcoming me. I didn’t know it was Canada Day. I also didn’t know what a great blessing Heavenly Father had given me by letting me come here, because here I found the gospel of Jesus Christ. My testimony of Jesus Christ and His gospel is my most precious possession.”
…
“We watched the fireworks, and I thought about your seeing them when you first came to Canada.”
“Yes, it was quite a sight for a twelve year old.”

Four days after his 16th birthday, Erastus was ordained a priest by his brother William and told to teach and baptize. He linked up with his young relative James Snow, also age 16, for a ten-day preaching mission into the Vermont countryside. Starting on November 22, 1834, they journeyed to Danville, where they “held a meeting with the brethren.” The two priests held two meetings at Sheffield, and then spoke to “a large attentive audience.” At Glover, they visited Albany, Irasburg, Troy, and Jay, “preaching and calling upon people to repent.” At Jay, they met with local Saints on the Sabbath and “administered the Lord’s supper and in the evening we held a public meeting.” The young priests visited Troy, Newport, Salem, Charleston, Newark, Burk, and Sundon.

After the trip, James Snow said, “we did exceedingly rejoice.” He and Erastus “could truly say that the Lord was merciful unto us in very deed in that he did fill our mouths with words that our enemies could neither gainsay nor resist, and prejudice gave way.”

Denise Botts of Union City, California, received a trophy for being the outstanding senior on her dance team at James Logan High School. The team competed successfully throughout California.
Denise also played the lead in the school’s musical. Even though she was involved in an automobile accident a few days before she was to audition for the part, she was released from the hospital in time to compete and was awarded the part.
Denise is secretary of her Laurel class in the Union City Ward, Hayward California Stake.

Faith. When Elder Richards left his first mission to go home, the ship’s crossing proved to be rough. As they neared the American shore a terrible storm arose. Gigantic waves rolled about, and everything not attached to the deck was thrown around. A sister returning from Scandinavia said, “Brother Richards, you don’t seem a bit worried.”
He answered, “Well, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you and the rest of the passengers, but I feel just as much at ease as if I were sitting in my mother’s parlor. I had a promise that if I filled an honorable mission, I’d return home in safety, and I have had the assurance that my mission was acceptable to the Lord, so I am going home.”

During our service at Brigham Young University–Idaho, Sister Bednar and I frequently hosted General Authorities in our home. Our family learned an important lesson about meaningful prayer as we knelt to pray one evening with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Earlier in the day Sister Bednar and I had been informed about the unexpected death of a dear friend, and our immediate desire was to pray for the surviving spouse and children. As I invited my wife to offer the prayer, the member of the Twelve, unaware of the tragedy, graciously suggested that in the prayer Sister Bednar express only appreciation for blessings received and ask for nothing. His counsel was similar to Alma’s instruction to the members of the ancient Church “to pray without ceasing, and to give thanks in all things” (Mosiah 26:39). Given the unexpected tragedy, requesting blessings for our friends initially seemed to us more urgent than expressing thanks.

Sister Bednar responded in faith to the direction she received. She thanked Heavenly Father for meaningful and memorable experiences with this dear friend. She communicated sincere gratitude for the Holy Ghost as the Comforter and for the gifts of the Spirit that enable us to face adversity and to serve others. Most importantly, she expressed appreciation for the plan of salvation, for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, for His Resurrection, and for the ordinances and covenants of the restored gospel which make it possible for families to be together forever.

Our family learned from that experience a great lesson about the power of thankfulness in meaningful prayer. Because of and through that prayer, our family was blessed with inspiration about a number of issues that were pressing upon our minds and stirring in our hearts. We learned that our gratefulness for the plan of happiness and for the Savior’s mission of salvation provided needed reassurance and strengthened our confidence that all would be well with our dear friends. We also received insights concerning the things about which we should pray and appropriately ask in faith.

It was overcast and threatening rain—typical northwest England fare. But for President Gordon B. Hinckley, Sunday, 12 June 1994, was glorious. I observed his enthusiasm firsthand, having accompanied him to Preston, where he had served as a missionary 61 years earlier and where he had returned to preside at the ground breaking of the Preston England Temple.
His emotions were tender as he greeted Gertrude Corless, who had lived in Preston when he served his mission. When he learned that a brother with whom he had tracted was in the audience, he immediately picked his way through the crowd of more than 10,000, searching faces as he walked. When he spotted Robert Pickles, now confined to a wheelchair, tears began to flow. And as he bent down to embrace him, and then stood holding his hand as they talked, it was obvious that years of separation hadn’t diminished the feelings for his old friend.

In another service project titled “Light the world by helping one person help another”, missionaries identified an area in the George metropolitan area that needed upliftment.

“We identified a local neighbourhood park that was in bad need of upgrading, interviewed patrons of the park and a neighbourhood volunteer who helped clean the park,” Elder Miller said.

“We then kept track of what facilities were being used and what was in need of repair. We contacted and met with local government officials and presented a comprehensive plan to them and demonstrated our willingness as a Church to help fund the initial upgrade needs to get the project rolling. They approved our initial proposal and we ordered some facility upgrades.” the Millers said.

I had a difficult childhood; my parents separated when I was still a teenager. This separation was a big blow to me and my three siblings, I being the eldest. Despite my mother’s meager resources, she did her best to provide for our needs. During this challenging situation, we learned to live with little, wake up early, appreciate life and people, and to think seriously about life and the existence of God: Does God really exist? If so, why did He allow us to live such experiences? We wondered what we did to deserve that. These questions went unanswered until I met the missionaries.
I brilliantly passed my baccalaureate exams in 2010 and gained admission to the faculty of psychology at a university in Abidjan. Despite our poverty, I had decided to take a chance with this as I could not accept the fact that my brilliant school career was going to stop due to lack of financial means. I contacted one of my uncles living in Abidjan, asking him to take me in to further my education. He was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints; I had never heard of it before. What impressed me from the first moments in this home was the love and joy filled there. I had no difficulty fitting in. I grew up in a Christian sect; however, I had begun to lose interest because of everything that had happened to me. I found it unjust and I began to question the very existence of God. It was just at this moment of desperation that my host family asked me if I was ready to receive the missionaries. In fact, it did not interest me anymore, this matter of religion, but for the respect that I had for my uncle, I accepted.
After several unsuccessful visits and discussions with the missionaries, I came to recognize the fact that the Church was true, but I had a problem: The Book of Mormon. I did not accept the idea that there was another scripture besides the Bible that would testify of Christ. I had a keen interest in reading and my supposed broad knowledge of the Bible and other philosophical books did not facilitate my discussions with missionaries.
Finally, I began to read the Book of Mormon. At first, I read it just out of curiosity, but once I started, I could not find the strength to stop. After a full reading in a month, I began to feel something deep inside me, a warm feeling in my heart, a light in my mind, a transformation, a voice.
At night, I could not close my eyes because my mind was revealed about the sacredness of the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in February 2010. As a result, I served a full-time mission and married Prisca Ebi, a lovely daughter of our Heavenly Father!
I am grateful to the Lord for using the Akoi family in making me an instrument in His hands to do a lot of good for His children.
I testify that God is hiding in the Book of Mormon, and I invite everyone who wants to discover it to make it their personal experience to gain their own testimony.

During his early youth, however, ill health and ill fortune seemed to pursue the family. The good father tried farming in several localities but couldn’t quite succeed in any of them. When young Joseph was seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. The others recovered readily, but Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg, a sore which would not heal. The doctors, doing the best they could under the conditions of the time, treated him—and yet the sore persisted. Finally the doctors were afraid they were going to have to amputate his leg.
We can imagine the grief and the sorrow that would come to parents who were told that the leg of their young son must be removed. Thankfully, however, one day the doctors came unexpectedly to the home, and they told the family that they were going to try a new operation to remove a piece of the bone, hoping that this would permit the sore to heal. They had brought with them some cord and planned to tie Joseph to the bed because they had no anesthetic, nothing to dull the pain, when they cut into his leg to remove the piece of bone.
Young Joseph, however, responded, “I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have my liberty.”
The doctors then said, “Will you take some wine? … You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation.”
Again the boy prophet said, “No, … but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.”
So Joseph Smith, Sr., held the boy in his arms, and the doctors opened the leg and removed the diseased piece of bone. Although he was lame for some time afterward, Joseph was healed.4 At seven years of age, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.

Last summer I received a letter from a woman who has emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She is ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet is not a member of the Church, to share the joy she now feels.
She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”
After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Tyler moved to the front seat next to his father. Dad asked him what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”
“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”
Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see his face?” Nothing else needed to be said.
As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah: “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

Early one Saturday morning while serving as stake president, I received a phone call from Bishop Nelson asking for help. He said the Janzen family from his ward, while on a family outing in the mountains, had lost their seven-year-old son, Mathew. Darkness had brought the search to a halt Friday evening. But within a short period of time Saturday morning, over a hundred brothers and sisters from the stake drove to the rescue site to join the search. After several hours of combing the trails, roads, and backwoods, they finally found little Mathew. Can you imagine the joy as he was swept into the arms of his mother and father? I listened through tears of grateful parents as they asked, “What happened?” Then this reply: “I took the wrong turn and got lost. When it got dark I tried to build a shelter and sleep, but it was so cold I couldn’t. I knelt down on a rock and prayed five times last night and again this morning. You taught me if I was ever lost, if I would pray to Heavenly Father and stay on the trail, I would find you. Heavenly Father did answer my prayers.”

When I was serving as mission president in Colombia, I left on a Thursday morning to fly to a city in our mission. I spent the day interviewing, and as I spoke with the missionaries, a number of concerns began to worry me.
After a zone conference with the missionaries, I conducted a district conference with Church leaders and members on Saturday and Sunday. There were challenges in this area: low Church attendance, poor preparation, and other concerns. The experiences that I had over these four days left me feeling low.
On the flight home, I used the time to read, ponder, and pray. I took my scriptures in hand and thumbed through the pages, reading here and there. Soon I came to some verses in Doctrine and Covenants section 3 that will never be the same to me: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught” (v. 1).
I thought about these words. I realized that on my trip I had come to the wrong conclusion that the purposes, designs, and works of God were being “frustrated” in that city.
I continued on: “For God doth not walk in crooked paths” (v. 2). Some of the missionaries and members seemed to be walking in crooked paths.
In verse 5 I found a treasure—one of the most wonderful insights I have ever found in the scriptures: “Behold, you have been entrusted with these things.”
I paused to reflect upon the things entrusted to me: my wife and six children, 100 missionaries, 6,000 members, 13–14 million nonmembers, a mission, districts, branches, budgets, buildings, and so forth.
Then I came to the phrase “remember also the promises” (v. 5). What power, what insight, what comfort, what depth of feeling and meaning! Four words from scripture had never affected me as those four did that day.
I realized that for four days I had focused on nothing but problems. Not once had I stopped to remember the great promises given to me. I asked myself, “What promises?” The first ones that came to my mind were those in my patriarchal blessing. I had it with me on the plane, and I read it over. My, what promises! I then pondered on the special promises given to me when I was set apart as mission president. I thought about the promises of the temple and promises from the scriptures. My spirit soared! I was inspired!
As I look back on that flight home, I realize I was taught from on high. From that day until today, my life has been different, all because of four simple words: “remember also the promises.”

My siblings and I grew up believing in God, but our family wasn’t religious. We did our own thing and didn’t bother to learn about our purpose on earth.
When a few relatives died, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I remembered my grandfather warning us not to sleep too much because when we die, we sleep forever, and it got me curious. Was death just a dark place of eternal sleep?
As my soul searched for the answer to what happens after death, a neighbour—a former bishop for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—sent missionaries to us. They taught my sister, Fiasili, and me the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and introduced us to the plan of salvation, which finally answered all my questions about death.
Fiasili and I were soon baptised. She was 13 years old and I was 12.
Our parents were happy for us to join the Church, but they wanted no part of it. My sister and I tried our best to regularly attend church meetings, but it wasn’t easy, especially with competing influences in our home. For example, we often had to choose between going to sacrament meeting and spending Sunday at the beach with our family.
But Fiasili and I worked to strengthen each other’s testimonies. We thought that if our parents could just accept the gospel, we wouldn’t have to live in two worlds. So, we invited the missionaries to teach them. In the process, our younger brother—and many of our cousins who lived with us—joined the Church.
It took a little longer for my parents. My sister was serving a full-time mission in Suva, Fiji, when our mother finally got baptised. Our father had actually been a less active member for many years, and it was such a joy to see them both start coming to church with us.
In 2019 I was called to the Philippines Quezon City Mission. Serving there was like living a dream—I’d always loved the Filipino culture and really wanted to learn Tagalog. But my missionary experience also taught me the true nature of our heavenly parents, and when I returned home to Samoa last year, I felt a strong desire to see my family sealed to each other for time and all eternity.
We have some work to do before we can achieve that goal. My parents are still new to the gospel and continue to learn. My brother is still finding his path, exploring if a mission is in his future. Fiasili and I continue to persevere. We are determined to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men” (2 Nephi 31:20), as we strive to help deepen our family’s conversion.
I sometimes wonder how my siblings and I found the gospel and have stayed committed all these years, especially without our parents. I now realise that our Heavenly Father has been guiding us all along. Even through our challenges, we have felt His hand in each of our lives, and I know that—just as He did for the Jaredites in Ether 2:7—He will not rest before we have reached the beautiful shores of that promised land prepared for us.