Gospel Story Finder

The magazine left behind by an American serviceman in his shop was a little worn-out, but the young Filipino still found it inviting to read.
As if by design and not by pure chance, his fingers flipped the pages to an article about a prophet who died a hundre years before. In 1946, during the early days of the Republic of the Philippines, any story about as modern-day prophet would sound preposterous, but not for this young Pampango who became oblivious to the passing of time as he became deeply engrossed with the article on Joseph Smith and the Mormons who were, to him, a strange and unknown people.
The story he read lingered in his mind and there were searching questions he wanted to ask. There was the compelling need to know more about Joseph Smith and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had to find out, but there was no way to do it. … and nobody to turn to for enlightenment.
Then, one Saturday afternoon, he noticed an American captain from Clark Air Force Base who appeared to be completely different from the others during off-duty hours in matters of pleasure and other mundane activity.
The thought raced in David’s mind that the captain could be a Mormon, and he debated with himself on whether to ask him or not. How embarrassing it would be if the captain was not a Mormon and be offended by his impertinence. But an unseen force seemed to direct David to him, and he slowly approached the captain with faltering steps.
“Sir, may I ask you a question?” David shyly asked. The officer nodded. “Are you a Mormon?” he continued.
The officer’s lips broadened to a wide smile, and David almost shrank with shame with the thought that he had asked a silly question.
But the chance meeting and the unikely question proved to be the turning point in David’s life. The captain was a Mormon!
A strong bond of friendship was immediately struck between them—and, not long thereafter, David became a convert to the Church.

But sometimes there is no one like President Monson, no home teacher, no caring sister available to minister in time of need. In those situations I have come to find solace and direction from the Comforter, another role of the Holy Ghost (see D&C 36:2).
Our grandson Quinton was born with multiple birth defects and lived three weeks short of a year, during which time he was in and out of the hospital. Sister Jensen and I were living in Argentina at that time. We truly wanted to be there with our children to comfort them and be comforted by them. This was our grandchild, whom we loved and wanted to be near. We could only pray, and we did so fervently!
Sister Jensen and I were on a mission tour when we received word Quinton had died. We stood in the hallway of a meetinghouse and hugged and comforted each other. I witness to you that assurances came to us from the Holy Ghost, a peace which passes all understanding and continues to this day (see Philippians 4:7). We also witnessed the unspeakable gift of the Holy Ghost in the lives of our son and daughter-in-law and their children, who to this day speak of that time with such faith, peace, and comfort.

When I was young, my brothers and I liked to sleep outside during the summer. We would spread our sleeping bags on the porch, then find constellations in the stars and listen to crickets as we fell asleep.
One night my older brother Larry and I were out on the porch. We stretched out and looked up at the stars. Larry wasn’t usually very talkative, but that night he said he wanted to tell me some stories. He told me stories from the Book of Mormon, starting with Lehi and his family leaving Jerusalem.
I had heard stories from the Book of Mormon in Primary before, but when Larry told them, it was different. It felt more real. As I looked up at the stars and listened to my brother, I felt very warm and happy inside. Though I didn’t know it then, I was feeling the Holy Ghost telling me the Book of Mormon was true.
A few months later, I found a book of illustrated stories from the Book of Mormon at our house. When I started reading, I got the same warm, comforting feeling that I’d had when Larry told me the same stories.
Years later, when I was trying to decide if I had a testimony, I was a little disappointed that I had never had a big or strong answer. Did this mean I didn’t have a testimony? Then I remembered how I felt when my brother told me stories from the Book of Mormon, and I knew that I did know the Church was true.

Emily is scared to go to Primary by herself. She asks Mom to come with her.
“I get to go to my class and learn how Jesus can help me,” Mom says.
“And you get to go to Primary and learn how Jesus can help you.”
Mom hugs Emily. “Jesus can help us, even when it’s hard.”
Mom walks with Emily to Primary and waves goodbye.
They learn a song about Jesus. Emily likes the music. She feels safe and happy.
Mom isn’t in Primary. But Jesus is helping Emily be brave!
Illustrations by Natalie Briscoe

Make up your mind what to do in difficult situations before they arrive. For Andrea Bennett, 17, of the Douglas Georgia Stake, turning down alcohol and R-rated movies at her junior/senior beach weekend wasn’t hard at all. “A lot of people were drinking, but when they asked me if I wanted some I just said no. I didn’t even have to think about it. I had made up my mind long before that happened I wouldn’t do those things. So when the offer came there wasn’t even a doubt in my mind what my answer would be. It would just happen. And it did.”

When Paul H. Dunn of the First Quorum of the Seventy was eleven years old, baseball was an important part of his life. Paul’s parents permitted his team to use their large backyard to play baseball. The yard was completely fenced in, with a pathway beyond the rear fence. On the other side of the pathway was a large church with a beautiful stained glass window that faced the fence at the back of the yard.
One hot summer evening an exciting baseball game was in progress in the Dunn backyard. It was Paul’s turn to bat, and he hit the ball so hard that it went over the back fence, over the pathway, and then, to everyone’s dismay, through the large stained glass window in the church. It seemed to young Paul that the broken glass fell for hours. The players ran away in every direction.
When Paul got up the courage to return home, he discovered that his father had two visitors. They were both ministers from the neighboring church. To Paul’s surprise, they seemed to know from which house the baseball had come. Paul admitted to the ministers that he had hit the ball that had broken the window and told them that he was very sorry.
Paul’s father put his arm around his son’s shoulder, patted him on the head, and said, “This is a good boy.” He, too, apologized for the accident and asked how much it would cost to replace the stained glass window. They told him that it would be about $500.
It was then that his father taught young Paul a great lesson. He asked the ministers if they understood the principle of Christ’s atonement. They seemed a little puzzled. His father said, “In our Church, we believe that ‘through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel’” (A of F 1:3). He explained that the atonement allows each of us to be forgiven of our sins if we repent. Jesus paid for all our sins when He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the only perfect person who ever lived on earth, he was the only one who could do this for us. We could not do it for ourselves. Without His sacrifice, we could never be forgiven of our sins and would not be able to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
Paul’s father pointed out that although Paul had broken a window, he would never have the money to pay for it himself. Then he said, “As Paul’s father and because I love him, I will pay the price that he cannot.”
This experience helped Paul understand what Jesus did for us when He atoned for our sins. At this Easter time we can be thankful that Heavenly Father loved us enough to send His Son so that we can be forgiven when we do something wrong.

Then there was Peter, youngest of the sons. He knew something his brothers didn’t know. Peter received his patriarchal blessing in 1986, after the temple dedication. He talks about going to a small town on the Polish border, attending a small branch in a shabby rented building rich with the Spirit, and then going to the home of the patriarch.

“He told me that I would go on a full-time mission. I would serve in a different country and a different language, and it would be in my youth. I was crying, I felt so close to the Lord in that moment. Afterward, I read my patriarchal blessing every night. I prayed. And I started saving money for my mission. I knew I was going soon.”

Peter just didn’t know where he would be going. (He thought somehow it might be Russia, since he spoke that language fairly well.) And, for some reason, he shared his blessing with his parents but not his brothers. “I was kind of different in my family. I always said, ‘We’re going on a mission and it’s going to be great. We’re going to change things.’ My brother Matthias was skeptical. But I had my patriarchal blessing. I knew.”

Still, Peter didn’t know how it would happen. Also, he was the youngest. As far as he knew, he had been given a promise that his brothers hadn’t been given. So he kept quiet about it.

Then, not long before the hated wall came down, the East German government began to allow a few full-time missionaries in for the first time in 50 years. At the same time, a handful of East German missionaries were allowed out of the country to serve in other nations. For some reason, none of the Lehmanns were permitted to be part of that group.

But then came those November days that were replayed on TV screens all over the world. East Berliners sat atop the wall with hammers and iron bars, tearing apart a barrier that had already been undermined by faith and prayer.

Peter was the first to submit his mission papers. Matthias and Michael followed soon after. All three were called to missions in the United States: Michael in the Tennessee Nashville Mission; Matthias in the Idaho Boise Mission; and Peter in the Colorado Denver Mission.

A little more than two years ago, shortly after my parents divorced, I found the Church.
Growing up, my brothers, sister, and I were taught to believe in God, and we said prayers at dinnertime, but that had been the extent of my religious education. My mother was raised in the LDS Church, but my father was not. I guess over the years they found it easier to avoid religion than to quarrel over it.
I was the youngest and the baby of the family in more ways than one. My brothers and sister were much older and very protective. I believed everything would always be easy.
School was a rude awakening for me. In the early years I wasn’t required to do much work and my grades were pretty good. But, as the years went by, my grades began to drop, and it certainly was not easy. Consequently, my parents began getting calls from my teachers, and we entered the era of “What to do about Dane?”
My parents tried a variety of methods to get me to do my assignments, but nothing worked. Teachers, counselors, school administrators, and my parents, all threatened a whole array of punishments. But my situation worsened with each year of school, and by the time I was in seventh grade, everything was falling apart. I hadn’t done much in class except goof around for six years, so I was totally unprepared for junior high.
The year I entered junior high was also the year our family fell apart. Two weeks after Christmas my parents separated, and later they divorced. My two oldest brothers and my sister had graduated and moved out on their own. That left my brother Lee and me at home with our mother, and Lee was a senior in high school. To make matters worse, we had big financial problems. From my mother’s perspective, we had hit rock bottom. But that’s when I think things began to look up.
One day my mom sat me down, and we had a serious talk. We talked about her upbringing in the Church, and she said that even though it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, she knew she could turn to God for help. She also said she believed that if I went to church, it might turn me around in school. I had attended church a few times with an LDS friend, and I had also attended summertime Bible schools at other churches, but my family had not been to church since before I was born. My parents both smoked, and the coffeepot was always on. And now, my mom was suffering because of the divorce and the loss of income. I didn’t want to add to her problems, so I decided to give church a try and to have the missionary lessons.
Before I joined the Church, I had experimented with cigarettes and alcohol, and I hung around with the kids I felt most comfortable with—the kids who weren’t passing in school and who were with me so often in detention. But when the bishop interviewed me and I made the commitment to get baptized, I made a promise to obey the Word of Wisdom. I found that I enjoyed the feeling of responsibility that came with holding the priesthood, passing the sacrament, and getting praise for the things I was doing instead of always being in trouble. These positive feelings I was experiencing started to influence my life outside of church. And, as I shared my testimony with my friends, I started to see who my true friends were.
I made it to eighth grade and served in the Church as a deacons quorum president and now as teachers quorum president. I haven’t quite made the honor roll yet, but I’m on the school’s academic team and have stayed eligible to play sports. I’ve tried to remain friends with the guys I used to hang around with, but I don’t go out with them much anymore. We’re still on good terms, but we have different interests now. I’m involved in Scouting and have been concentrating on my schoolwork.

Last year, I decided to make a goal of saying my prayers every night. For a couple of nights, it was hard to remember to do it. Then I decided that I needed help to remember to say my prayers. So I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him about my goal. I asked if He would help me remember to do it each night. And it worked! If I forgot and got into bed without praying, I felt like something was wrong or something was missing. The Holy Ghost helped me every night to reach my goal. My mom and dad were surprised and happy to find out about what I had accomplished. We had a family home evening about goals, and now everyone in my family is working on something!Jackson Barney, age 9Orem, Utah

In the tearful days after a wildfire devastated entire neighborhoods in California’s Sonoma County in October 2017, Elder Ronald A. Rasband of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles traveled to affected communities to be with the Latter-day Saints.
He was on a mission of ministering. He and Sister Melanie Rasband comforted fire-weary members in their meetinghouses and at the edges of their charred homes.
And wherever he went, members came forward to shake his hand. It was a gesture of appreciation. They thanked the Apostle for his support. But each handshake communicated a common sentiment: “I sustain you.”
This means that just as members deeply impacted by the Santa Rosa fires offered sustaining support to Elder Rasband, members worldwide can be lifted even as they lift each member of the Twelve.

I came out of the bishop’s office wondering how I could ever be the Primary president I had just told the bishop I would be. I had been taught that with the Lord’s help we can do anything that is asked of us, but this time I truly felt the weight of my new responsibility.
The first thing I was supposed to do was to let the bishop know who I wanted for counselors. Being new in the ward, I didn’t know many people, even though we lived in the area where my husband had been raised. But the bishop told me to make it a matter of prayer and fasting, and it was amazing to me to see this principle work. During the week I seemed to be drawn to two ladies’ names. These special women did become my counselors, and as time went on I could see the influence of the Lord in the matter.

Carrie’s older brother tugged one of her thick blond braids. “Hey, Freckles, you ought to have the sheepshearers do you too.”
“Yeah,” chimed in her twin brother, “you have more wool than old Tim Buck.”
Nine-year-old Carrie made a face at her brothers. All three children were perched on top of the strawstack at the far end of the sheep shed. Sheep, waiting to be sheared, milled about below them, blatting nervously. The shearing clippers buzzed, and men shouted orders as they threw the fleeces up into the wool bag.
Tim Buck, the huge lead ram, seemed to be the only calm one amid the confusion. He was penned apart and was munching on hay. Whenever he shook off flies, the large bell around his neck jingled.
“Carrie Helen!” shouted her dad. “Carrie Helen Shultz, please come here.”
Always anxious to please her father, she hollered back, “Coming—on the double!” Scooting off the strawstack, she ran to meet her dad.
“Carrie, I need you to go with Tim Buck to lead the sheep we’ve already sheared over to the south pasture. There are about a hundred ewes or so, plus the lambs. We have to make room for the next ones.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, grinning up at her brothers and throwing her shoulders back proudly.
Dad fastened one end of a stout rope to the lead sheep’s collar and handed the other end to Carrie. “OK, Carrie, Tim Buck’s ready. Remember what his job is.”
Without hesitating, Tim Buck started out of the holding pen. Once an orphan lamb, he showed no fear of Carrie and looked up at her with soft brown eyes, eyes filled with warmth and wisdom.
Confident of her own importance and of Tim Buck’s love, Carrie stepped out in front of the old sheep. She walked through the noisy ewes, which responded immediately to the sound of the lead sheep’s bell. As they followed Carrie and Tim Buck out of the corral gate, she felt their excitement as they rushed forward. They seemed to know that they were free now to go to the south pasture. Sensing their anticipation, and sure of her responsibility, Carrie tugged at the rope fastened to the sheep’s collar, pulling him toward the narrow bridge and her favorite shortcut to the south pasture.
But Tim Buck resisted Carrie’s tugging and headed toward the hill and the longer, usual route. Again Carrie pulled at the rope, trying to head the old sheep toward the bridge. Again Tim Buck resisted.
“Oh, why can’t you do it my way!” Carrie stamped her foot impatiently as Tim Buck firmly planted his feet, refusing to move. Though she pulled hard, her sixty pounds were no match against the weight of the huge sheep. When her arms began to tire, Carrie glared at Tim Buck and grouched, “All right! I’ll do it your way this time. Come on. Let’s go up that long hill. At least we can cut across the hayfield and not have to take the long road around it.”
The ewes, confused at the delay, had begun to push forward, baaing worriedly. As Tim Buck moved forward, his bell started jingling, and the sheep quieted. When Carrie, walking a couple feet in front, quickened her step, Tim Buck quickened his. The hungry ewes also increased their pace. Out of breath, Carrie rushed to the top of the hill. “Now’s my chance,” she said, pulling tightly on Tim Buck’s rope, forcing his head toward the hayfield.
Tim Buck butted Carrie gently, loosening her grip. Then he moved toward the well-used road.
“Why, you ornery critter! Can’t you see how much easier it would be to cut across that field instead of going around it!” She yanked at the rope, trying to drag Tim Buck toward the hayfield. He looked at her questioningly, then shook his head forcefully. The bell jangled, and the ewes pressed forward as Tim Buck pulled away from the hayfield and moved quickly onto the familiar road. The rope started to slip through Carrie’s hands, but she held on tightly.
Half running, Carrie tried to get ahead of Tim Buck. But he only walked faster. The more she tried, the faster he went, and the faster he went, the faster came the ewes and lambs. Soon Carrie was sandwiched between Tim Buck and the rushing sheep, and the rope was slipping out of her grasp. She clutched it desperately, even though it was burning her fingers.
Familiar with the road and quickened by hunger, the sheep hurried toward the open gate to the south pasture, where Tim Buck saw his own shortcut! He swerved suddenly from the road and down a steep slope. The sudden movement sent Carrie sprawling, and the rope was jerked out of her hands. The sheep quickly moved away from her and down the slope, following Tim Buck through the open pasture gate.
Carrie lay bewildered, hurt, and defeated. Sobbing, she struggled to her feet. With skinned knees and stinging hands, she stumbled back toward the sheep shed. With each step, she imagined her brothers’ teasing and her father’s disappointment.
Her dad met her in his truck before Carrie reached the shed. Stopping his truck, he got out and hurried over to her. Then, tilting her tear-stained face up for him to see, and putting one hand on her shoulder, he said, “It looks like you’ve had some troubles, honey.” He looked at her intently, but his voice was gentle and matter-of-fact. Seeing Carrie’s ropeburned hands, he dampened his bandanna in some clean water and gently patted them while she blurted out her story.
“So you wanted the sheep to take the shorter path across the bridge?” her father said when she had finished.
“It would have been much faster.”
“Do you think that all those sheep could have safely crossed that narrow bridge together?”
“Well,” Carrie hesitated. “I—I guess not. But they would have had plenty of room to cross the hayfield.”
“But, Carrie, do you remember how sick the sheep get when they eat too much hay? Do you know that most sheep can’t stop eating fresh hay once they get started?”
“Oh, Dad, I’m sorry,” Carrie sobbed.
“You’re lucky, Carrie, that Tim Buck wouldn’t allow the sheep to take a dangerous path.”
“Yeah, he’s really stubborn,” Carrie said, starting to fume again.
“Perhaps he’s not as stubborn as he is committed to doing what he knows is right. Remember, Carrie, that he’s the lead sheep. He guides the others in the paths that will get them safely to where they want to go, just as Mom and I try to lead you along the right pathways so that you can return to live with Heavenly Father.
Dad and Carrie got into the truck and he looked at her hands again to make sure that they weren’t seriously hurt. Then he drove toward the south pasture and stopped. Carrie was surprised when he got out of the truck and lifted her out too.
“All right, Carrie Helen. Now that you know why Tim Buck behaves as he does, do you think that you can take him back to get another bunch of sheep?”
“Yes, Dad. And this time I’ll let him lead the way.”

If you come to Puerto Montt very early in the morning, you will find smoke curling from the chimney of one of the well-kept buildings. Inside, LDS seminary students are studying the gospel. Some of them have gotten out of bed at 4:00 A.M. to be here, but they are smiling. Their attendance record is almost perfect. Some of them are not even Mormons. This is typical. When the seminary program was established in this part of Chile, there were very few members. Undiscouraged, the leaders founded classes composed mostly of nonmembers. Before the end of the first year, many of the students were baptized, and a powerful new missionary tool was born.

My mother showed me how important the gathering of Israel is by helping full-time missionaries teach and share the gospel. One time I joined her to find the home of a sister in the ward who hadn’t attended church for some time. We almost got lost because we didn’t know exactly where she lived. Instead of being irritated, my mother diligently looked for that sister’s home. Like the woman in the parable of the lost coin (see Luke 15:8–10), she found the sister and rejoiced.
The way my mother gave her best for the Lord’s work, not only in sharing the gospel but also in other Church callings, helped me realize that everyone must serve the Lord, even in small ways.

The energetic little girl hurried past Micah and his friends toward the carnival’s train ride. Some in the crowd stared at the brace on her leg. A couple of Micah’s friends mimicked her limp and laughed.
“Hey, don’t, you guys,” Micah told them firmly. “That’s mean.”
Jason shrugged. “So what? We’re not hurting anyone. She can’t even see us.” He went on limping.
“Yeah, she’s too busy running for the train,” Matthew chimed in, swinging his leg stiffly.
“What’s it to you, anyway?” Jason asked. “We’re not making fun of you.”
Micah shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget how it felt to want to be just like everyone else and to not be able to. The hurt from people laughing at you is pretty tough to get over, too. I don’t like to make fun of people—even if they can’t see it. It’s just wrong.”
The boys reached the train ride as the little girl with the brace was getting off. A couple of girls about Micah’s age stared at her but didn’t say anything until she was out of hearing. Then they started making jokes.
“She can’t help wearing that,” Matthew told them.
“What if something like that happened to you?” Jason added. “How would you feel?”
The girls blushed. “Sorry,” one of them said. “Is she your sister or something?”
“I don’t know her,” Micah told them, “but I know that she has feelings.”
“Next time we’ll be kinder,” another girl promised.
“Good for you,” Matthew said. “So will we.”

“Isaac, Isaac.” It was his mother’s voice. “Your father needs you at the corral.”
Isaac raised his head and looked out the window. Sure enough, the sun was coming up, and that meant it was time for chores. Isaac stumbled out of bed and reached for his shirt. He could hear the oxen mooing.
As he went out the kitchen door, he saw Papa leading old Taurus through the gate.
“Where are you going so early, Papa?” Isaac asked.
“Just over to the fence. I need you to hold the grain bucket so Taurus will stand still.”
The ox bellowed, as if asking, “What is going on this morning?” But as Isaac held the bucket under his nose, Taurus calmed down and began licking up the grain with his long tongue. While the ox ate, Papa tied the halter rope securely to the fence.
When Mama stepped out the front door, Papa asked her, “I have a special project, Emeline. Will you please bring me the wide carpenter pencil from the desk?”
When Mama came back with the pencil, Papa laid some boards on the ground. Then, after looking carefully at Taurus, he began drawing on the smooth yellow wood.
“What are you doing, Papa?” Isaac asked.
“Brother Fordham and I have been given an important assignment for the temple,” Papa explained. “We are going to help make the 12 oxen statues to hold up the font in the baptistry. I am drawing the pattern, and Taurus is my model.”
Hearing his name, Taurus raised his head, then went back to his breakfast.
Isaac watched his father sketching long, wide lines. “That is beginning to look just like Taurus,” Isaac said. “But why did you choose him?”
“Because he is strong and the best ox I have ever seen. See how he stands? He seems to be aware of his importance. Taurus is obedient too.”
“This project is a very special calling, Papa. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, Son, it is. I am thankful I have been asked to help.”
Isaac stroked Taurus’s neck. He could feel the ox’s strong muscles. “What an honor for you, old boy,” he whispered.
Isaac finished his chores quickly. He even made his usual two dozen wooden clothespins faster than usual. He knew when he finished he would have time to do as he wished.
Today Isaac wanted to draw. His parents had given him permission to draw on the fireplace hearth, using pieces of charcoal from the burned logs. The charcoal washed off easily, and he could use it to make wide or narrow lines.
As Isaac drew Taurus, he thought about his father and the beautiful temple being built in Nauvoo. If Isaac was strong and obedient like Taurus, maybe the Lord would choose him to work on the temple, just like his father.

Of course, Shawn’s basketball prowess has not gone unnoticed. He has attracted national attention since he was in the ninth grade. His family’s ability to look for the positive really helped while college recruiters visited around Castle Dale trying to persuade Shawn to consider goint to their colleges. Shawn’s dad, Reiner, says, “We were told the recruiting process could become unpleasant. We sat down as a family and said, let’s not let it get that way. Let’s do this from a positive angle. Let’s enjoy it. It was an incredible experience, and the family enjoyed every minute of it.”

I really don’t know why I signed up for seminary in 11th grade. Ninth grade was easy enough to explain. My best friend, Mary, begged me. Her mother insisted that she attend, and Mary vowed she’d die of boredom if I didn’t go with her. We’d been practically inseparable from the time we were two, so I believed it was my duty to go with her.
Tenth grade was a little more difficult to explain. I registered for seminary with Mary—again because she had to. But her mom remarried before the school year started, and Mary moved to Nevada. That year, although I didn’t drop the seminary class, most of the time I didn’t attend. I wasn’t interested in what the seminary teacher had to offer, and I was lonely without Mary.
By default, I registered for seminary again when I was a junior, mostly because there were no other classes I wanted. So I went and sat in the back, nestled by myself in the corner. Brother Hardy often tried to involve me in the discussions and scripture reading. Sometimes I participated, but most of the time I declined during our study of the Book of Mormon.
Every day Brother Hardy closed his lesson by bearing testimony to the truthfulness of the gospel. He seemed sincere enough in his beliefs, but each day I grew increasingly irritated at his word choice. He always said “I know.” But he couldn’t, I thought. He was wrong. He could feel, he could think, he could believe. But he could not know.
After class one day I decided to set him straight. He turned and smiled at me, and his eyes smiled too. “Sister Atwood, what can I help you with?” he asked.
“It’s about your word choice,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d say ‘I believe’ rather than ‘I know.’ You can’t know what you can’t see.” I turned to walk away, certain he’d choose his words more carefully from then on.
“Sister Atwood, wait!” he called out after me.
I stopped and looked at his gentle green eyes. Something about him drew me in, something in his gaze. “What?” I asked.
“Sister,” he said softly, “do you want to know?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “But no one can know what they can’t see.” I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t believe there was a God; I didn’t want to let him know how hopeless and bleak the world looked to me. “No one can know,” I mumbled again, and the conviction of that belief left me lost, lonely, and small.
Brother Hardy reached for a book on his table. “Have you ever read the Book of Mormon, Colleen?”
“No.”
“Do you have one at home?”
“No. I have a Bible. But I don’t read it anymore.”
“Here.” He held the book out to me. “This is yours. You keep it. Every night before you go to bed, kneel down and pray to your Heavenly Father. He’ll hear you. Even if you haven’t prayed to him for a very long time. Ask him to help you understand what is in this book. Remember, always pray before you read. Read it just like you would those good books I see you with. Read it as if the people in this book are speaking directly to you. Will you do that?”
I shrugged my shoulders and took the book from him. I didn’t want to take his book. But he was so kind I didn’t want to tell him no.
The next day Brother Hardy bore his testimony. And he said “I know” again. He didn’t understand after all. He watched me as I walked out the door that day. I could feel his eyes fixed on me even while he talked to the other students. I didn’t look back.
At home that night I picked up the book. I knew he’d ask me if I was reading it. I didn’t want to lie to him, so I thought about dropping the class as I set the book back on my nightstand.
For the next several days, I went to seminary, dreading the day he’d pull me aside. Although he always greeted me warmly, he never asked me if I’d been reading the book. I began to relax and decided to stay in the class. I even took my turn reading scriptures. The days passed, and, as always, Brother Hardy bore his testimony. He looked me squarely in the eyes each time he said “I know.” Always the look was gentle, almost pleading.
One night, with nothing else to do, I picked up the Book of Mormon and turned the pages. I started reading Joseph Smith’s testimony. Then I remembered Brother Hardy’s instruction to pray first. So I crawled out of bed and knelt on the floor. “Help me to understand,” I asked simply. I finished Joseph’s testimony and the testimonies of the Three Witnesses. Night after night, I stayed with my plan. Pray then read. Let those in the Book of Mormon speak to me.
Soon the voices were real, and it seemed that Nephi was pleading with me because of the hardness of my heart. My appetite for the book became insatiable, and I read into the wee hours.
In 3 Nephi when Jesus Christ visited the American continent, I felt that I was there with them, that I could see and feel the prints of the nails in his hands and feet. I cried. When the Nephites fell away and all but Moroni were slain, I wept again.
Then I read the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. I put the bookmark in the book, closed it, climbed out of bed and knelt down to pray once again. “Heavenly Father,” I asked simply, “if it’s true, please help me to know and understand.” I closed my prayer and climbed back into bed, my eyes so full of tears that they blurred my vision.
I finished reading the Book of Mormon, then lay awake at the wonder of it. I knew—without seeing or touching—that the Book of Mormon was true. For the first time I knew Heavenly Father and Jesus were real. I knew Joseph Smith had seen God. And by the power of the Holy Ghost, with my spiritual eyes, I too saw him.
The next day I sat on the front row in seminary. When Brother Hardy finished his lesson by saying “I know,” I said “amen.” He stopped me after class. “It’s been a while, Colleen. How are you doing with the reading?” he asked.
“Oh, I finished it,” I said.
“Good!” He clapped his hands together. “Good! And?”
I looked at the ceiling and shook my head. “And I know,” I choked. “I know.”
In the years since, I have often thought of Brother Hardy. I have wanted him to know that I married a returned missionary in the temple and that I have two fine sons who also will serve the Lord in the mission field. I have wanted Brother Hardy to know how his pebble rippled.

There’s something thrilling about sitting on a bench, hands over the piano’s ivory keys, waiting for your cue from the conductor. Accompanying is one of my favorite hobbies, but it is not one that is noticed. Sometimes my ego gets in the way, and I want someone to acknowledge my efforts.
We accompanists back up performers, maintain the tempo, and create the harmonizing and feeling of the music. At times, we even cover the mistakes of performers. We put in long hours before and after rehearsals. Sometimes we are last to receive the music but first to be expected to learn it.
During a difficult time, I was struggling with these feelings. I felt that no one appreciated my work. One night I knelt beside my bed to tell Heavenly Father.
I began my prayer by listing everything I was doing and not receiving thanks for. I didn’t need much, but I needed something. I told Him that I felt forgotten.
During my complaining, the Spirit whispered a thought to my mind that changed my whole perspective.
I stopped praying as I suddenly saw my situation in a different light. I began going through my list of complaints, thinking of them in terms of Heavenly Father as the accompanist. I was surprised and humbled as I thought about how we may not realize how much He helps us, adds to our life, covers for our mistakes, and “neither slumber[s] nor sleep[s]” (Psalm 121:4) for our sakes. Do we invite Him last but expect Him first?
After that experience, I began to thank Him for His superb accompaniment in my life. Everything I am is because of Him and His Son. What a different perspective! He didn’t chastise me for my feelings or my complaining. Instead, He chose to teach me. He taught me a different way to see Him and others.
Now when I fall into the self-pity trap, I remember my Great Accompanist—the One I’m rehearsing with and the One I need to thank. Heavenly Father taught me to appreciate Him in a different way than I ever had, to see those around me with more appreciation, to have more of a grateful heart, and to remember His Son’s words: “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).

1 Agnes tried not to squirm in the narrow bunk so that she wouldn’t wake her little sister, Sarah, lying beside her. She pulled the blanket up over her ears, but even that didn’t keep out the faint tom-tom beat of drums from across the river. Father insisted that the Indians were friendly to the settlers, but Agnes was still afraid. Finally she fell asleep.
2 Agnes felt like she’d only been asleep a few minutes when little Sarah pounced on her, pulling back the blanket and saying, “Up, Aggie. It’s morning—get up!” Mama was ladling hot oatmeal into their bowls. “Your father and Tom have left already to help the new family build their cabin,” she told the two girls.
3 Agnes’s spirits rose at the mention of new neighbors, even though they would live miles away. Maybe there’ll be a girl my age, she hoped, someone to take the place of Emily, far away in Scotland.
Loud banging startled them, and before anyone could reach the cabin door, young Billy Harris burst in. “Mrs. McTavish, it’s Ma. She’s feeling bad, and the baby’s coming. Please come and help!”
4 Agnes quickly helped her mother gather up some things to take, while Billy jumped around, getting in the way. “Now, Agnes,” Mama said, “you’ll have to be in charge until Papa and Tom get back.” Agnes gulped but only said, “Don’t worry about us, Mama. We’ll be OK.”
5 As Mama and the boy set off, Agnes asked, “Now, what shall we do today?” Sarah pleaded, “Play with your shoes! Dance on the tree stump!” Agnes laughed. “Your favorite game!” Sarah clumped up the steps to the upper room and came down dangling the shoes by their laces. The shoes had become a link with the past for Agnes.
6 As Agnes put on the shoes, many wonderful memories of Scotland came back to her. At the door she began to wonder if they should leave the cabin. What if the Indians are watching? Her stomach tightened with fear. Not wanting to frighten Sarah, however, Agnes let herself be pulled outside.
7 But there was no happy spring in her step as she went through a Scottish dance routine on the tree stump. She finally stopped, panting, and took off the shoes and put them on the stump.
Sarah was coaxing for a turn just as Agnes heard a rustle in the brush. She spun, terrified, and was sure that she caught a glimpse of an Indian!
8 Grabbing Sarah’s hand, Agnes ran back to the cabin, then barricaded the door with the stout plank as her father did each night. Sarah cried, “Aggie, we forgot the shoes! I’ll go get them.” “No!” Agnes cried. Then, gaining control of herself, she softened her voice, adding, “Leave them, Love. We can get them later.”
9 The day dragged by slowly. As Agnes did small jobs in the cabin, she kept scanning the clearing through the window, looking for anything unusual. Then late in the afternoon she suddenly realized that her beautiful shoes were no longer on the stump!
Shouts from outside told Agnes that her father and brother were back, and she saw her mother, too, clambering out of the horse-drawn cart. “This is no gilded coach,” her mother joked, “but it saved me a long walk home. Papa found out that I was at the Harrises’ and picked me up. The Harrises have a fine new baby son. We’ll take some dinner over to them tomorrow.”
10 That evening Agnes told the family about seeing an Indian and bringing Sarah inside and about the shoes vanishing. Mama stroked her daughter’s hair and said, “I can see that you have the makings of a fine, strong pioneer woman!”
11 The next morning Sarah looked out the door and shouted, “Aggie! Mama! Look! There are some slippers on the stump. Come and see!” But what Sarah thought were slippers sitting on the stump were really soft leather moccasins with beaded embroidery down the front.
12 Agnes quickly looked toward the river. On the opposite bank she saw a tall, leather-shirted Indian man moving forward out of the trees. Then another figure came into view, an Indian girl waving in a friendly gesture and holding up Agnes’s shoes by their long laces.
It took a minute before Agnes understood. Then she smiled and held up the beaded moccasins and waved back.