Gospel Story Finder

I'd like to share the experience of one young couple who were married shortly after they each returned home from their missions. In their case, keeping the commandments went against all logic and reason and required tremendous sacrifice on their part.
When they were 26 years old, the husband graduated from college with a degree in agriculture, and with their two little children, they moved home to manage the 500-acre family farm.
The crops were doing very well, and in August they had the prospect of an excellent harvest, so they borrowed $65,000 and purchased 400 head of yearling calves. They knew this was a good investment because of the profit they would make from selling the calves after feeding them from this bounteous harvest. Several of the other farming families in the community also borrowed money to purchase calves.
Normally they begin harvesting in this part of the country at the beginning of September, and the date of the first snowfall is around September 20. On September 1, they were ready to harvest, and it began to rain. It rained all week and began to dry out at the end of the week. On Sunday it was dry enough to start harvesting, but since it was Sunday, they delayed until Monday. On Monday it started raining again, rained all week, and began to dry out by Sunday. This continued for three weeks, and the window of time to harvest was almost closed. Each Sunday they would go to church in this farming community, and the bishop would remind the ward members that the Lord would bless them if they would honor His day, but it was still hard to see their neighbors harvesting on Sunday.
In late September, all of their crops went under the snow, and they tried to harvest in areas where the snow was not very deep, but it was useless.
Meanwhile, their yearling calves needed feed, but there was none. About Christmas time, they were forced to sell them and made a meager profit from the small weight gain.
So with a college degree in hand, the husband had to find odd jobs to provide for his family.
The first week of January, hoof and mouth disease broke out in the area, which is a very serious and infectious disease in cattle. As a result, the price of beef cattle dropped overnight from 40 cents/pound to 11 cents/pound. This was a devastating financial blow to those who had harvested their crops on Sundays and had sufficient feed to keep their cattle. The young family that had kept the Sabbath day holy and were forced to sell their cattle for a small profit suffered very little financially.
Twelve years later, this couple welcomed me to their family as their youngest child. I'm sure, during that harvest season, my parents didn't realize the impact their choices would have on their entire life nor that there was a higher purpose to that experience that has shaped the lives of their children, grandchildren, and a never-ending posterity.

I was in the hospital, waiting to have surgery the following day, and my husband stopped to check on me on his way home from work. He told me that Jackie, our favorite baby-sitter, had taken our three little girls to the ward picnic with her own family. Five minutes later, Jackie’s father was in the room to tell us that our youngest girl had fallen off the see-saw at the picnic and was downstairs in the emergency room having a badly cut chin sewn back together .
Meanwhile at the picnic, our six-year-old daughter looked around her and suddenly realized that most of the members of her family weren’t there. The only sister who remained at the picnic with her was playing with the children who attended her Sunday School class. The park was unfamiliar to her, and with every passing moment it grew darker. Many feelings filled her mind, and suddenly her cries were heard over all the festivities. She knew exactly what she needed: “I want my home teacher!” Within minutes, she was on Brother Braden’s kindly lap, and the crisis was over.

Steve was born a beautiful child, perfect in every respect. His infancy was problem-free, and he was busy playing and getting into mischief. Everything was going well in his life, until one day he became very ill with an unknown disease.
It didn’t seem serious at first, but when Steve didn’t get better we learned that he had a brain tumor as big as a grapefruit and would need surgery right away. My mother and father were separated, so we children were on our own with mother. The doctors told my mother that Steve probably would not survive the surgery, but it was decided to operate anyway. The surgery lasted 12 hours. Afterward Steve remained unconscious and was not expected to live through the night.
That night mother had the elders give Steve a blessing, feeling that the best would happen. Steve had a really bad night, but the next morning when my mother went to see him, he was sitting up in bed for the first time since the surgery.
This was the beginning of a long recovery. Steve had to learn how to walk and talk, to do everything all over again just like a baby. With the strong will that he had, even as young as he was, he did learn how to do the everyday things in life. He was a little slow and had to attend a special education class to catch up with the children his own age, but Steve worked very hard and before long was up with the other children.
In addition to Steve’s new life we were all adjusting to a new father; my mother had married again.
Just when things were going well for him it came time for more surgery to relieve fluid that was collecting on his brain. The doctors didn’t think that the surgery would be very serious. We were all getting ready to leave for the hospital to see Steve when my parents received a phone call telling them to come to the hospital right away because Steve had just had a stroke and was not expected to live.
This was a real turning point in our life as a new family with my new father. We became so close and worked together for Steve. The stroke was serious, but there was hope and the gospel in our lives. We relied on our Heavenly Father at this difficult time, and the Spirit was with us constantly. Steve recovered from his stroke but was paralyzed on his left side and could not talk, walk, or eat by himself. These were hard times for Steve. He could have given up very easily, but he didn’t. Steve had set goals for himself, one of which was to go on a mission and serve his Heavenly Father. This seemed like a goal that couldn’t possibly be reached. Steve would achieve it, however, because he never gave up.
The days after his stroke were difficult for him. He was confined to a wheelchair and required physical therapy every day. His spirits were always high, and he never complained. He just worked hard. After his time in the hospital, he finally got to come home, but in a wheelchair. He progressed from a wheelchair to a two-handed walker, which was amazing, and finally to a one-handed walker. We thought this would be as far as he would go, but Steve fooled us all. He kept up the hard work and finally could walk without any assistance.
This wasn’t enough for Steve. He still had that big goal of a mission to accomplish, so he set about working on school and learning more about the gospel. The bishop was a little skeptical about sending Steve on a mission but supported him all the way. To see if he could handle the everyday life of missionary work, Steve was called on a two-week mission in Salt Lake City. He did so well that the following Sunday after he was home, he submitted his missionary application and was soon called to labor in the California Arcadia Mission. He was so excited that he had been able to accomplish the goal he had set, especially since he wasn’t even supposed to have lived.
Steve is an example to his family and everyone he comes in contact with. He has the will to accomplish goals and the will to keep on going when things don’t look good. Steve is an example to us all that we can accomplish our goals if we have faith and keep going.
I am so proud to be his sister.

I remember attending a general conference when I was president of the stake up in Canada and meeting President Kimball with two or three others. He said, (whispering) “Hello, I can’t speak to you.” In other words, “Hello, President Tanner, I can’t speak to you.” He could not speak at all so that you could hear him any more than just a bare whisper. They didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to speak again, but he was blessed by the priesthood, and he was able to speak. Then later on, just a few years ago, they found that he had what they thought to be further cancerous growth in his organs, and they wanted to operate. But he called the priesthood to pray over him, to bless him, anoint him, and to administer to him. Now notice that it was the priesthood whom he called. It wasn’t because it was President Lee and Eldon Tanner; it was because of the priesthood we held. He was given a blessing, and it wasn’t necessary for him to have that operation.

The Primary children in the English-speaking branch in Bangkok, Thailand, had heard about their brothers and sisters in the Issan region of Thailand. They knew that they were very poor and that they had very few clothes to wear. In fact, they learned that the only change of clothing these children had was their school uniform, which they wore to school every day. They did not have any special clothes for Sunday.
Encouraged to begin to serve their fellowman in any way they could, the Primary children in Bangkok began a project to share what clothing they could spare with the children in the Issan region. They brought the clothing they wanted to donate to Primary, where the leaders made sure everything was clean, pressed, and mended. Clothing for about twenty children was then placed in plastic bags and tagged to show the size and age of the boy or girl who would receive it.
After missionaries serving in the region distributed the parcels of love, they reported some wonderful stories of gratitude:
Uthaiwan Arkomkong, age three, lives with her father and mother in a small room at the side of an equipment yard where her father works as a mechanic. Normally very shy, little Uthaiwan laughed and danced around the room when she put on the yellow ruffled dress that was in her package.
In the Srisaket Branch, two eight-year-old girls received dresses on the very day they were to be interviewed for baptism. They were happy to have their pictures taken in their new dresses on this special day.
When a pair of shoes was put aside by a teenager because they “squeezed her toes,” they were taken to Sister Pongsuwan, mother of three young daughters. “Do you want to be Cinderella?” asked Brother Dang as he knelt before her and slipped the shoes on her tiny feet. The shoes fit perfectly. Sister Pongsuwan danced and twirled with happiness, telling everyone that she had never had a pair of shoes before!
The love of the Primary children in Bangkok for their young brothers and sisters in the Issan region was returned many times with bright smiles and warm “thank yous” as gifts of the heart were exchanged—children to children.

Charlotte and her sisters were huddled around the dining room table with paper and pen, each absorbed in a world of her own. Although the wind and snow were blowing through the moors outside, the girls were comfortable sitting by the fireplace in their long woolen dresses.
Born in the early 1800s, Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Brontë grew up in a bleak parsonage on the Yorkshire moors of England. After their mother’s death when they were small children, Aunt Branwell, kind but proper, came to look after the family. Their father was good and loving but kept very much to his study.
Once a friend named Ellen Nussey, whom Charlotte had known at school, came to visit for a few days. After walking through the moors with Charlotte and realizing how isolated her friend’s parish home was, Ellen asked, “What do you do with yourself around here?”
“Oh, we’ve plenty to keep us busy,” Charlotte answered. “We teach Sunday School and visit the sick to help father. During the day we help Tabby, our cook, with the food preparation and Aunt Branwell with the housework. The best part of each day is spent by ourselves in our own special part of the moors. In the evenings we … well, we write stories.”
“How exciting!” Ellen replied. “What kind of stories do you write?”
“One night a long time ago we were sitting by the fireplace waiting for it to get dark,” Charlotte said. “Aunt Branwell never let us waste candles until it was dark enough to really need them, so we began to tell stories. We made up some countries along with our favorite heroes, and we’ve been writing little stories about them ever since.”
So began the love of writing by three young sisters who were to be found each evening sitting in front of a candle with pens in hand.
Charlotte found it necessary to bend very low over her paper because of her nearsightedness, and the scarcity of paper didn’t help. The girls had to train themselves to write so small that even a tiny piece of paper might contain a complete story or a lengthy poem.
One night Anne and Emily were writing on a flyleaf that had been carefully torn from a book. Charlotte was finishing a tiny book she had made by sewing small bits of old paper together. She had already completed several little books like this that she kept locked in a writing desk—a small rosewood box.
For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.
There was something more than their love of writing that made the sisters want to publish their work. It was a fear of having to go out in the world to make a living. It had been hard enough on them to leave home for some schooling, but it was unbearable to stay away after that.
Each served as a governess to wealthy families for a short time, but they could not stand the cold indifference shown them. They longed for the warmth and love of their own home and family. At different times each one of them gave a quick notice to either school or employer and returned to the family.
They finally decided to each contribute some poems into a collection to be sent to an editor. The poems were accepted for publication, but the girls had to pay the printing expense. Only two copies were bought at that time, but these same two copies would be worth a fortune today.
Before the poems were sent off, the girls had a decision to make—what names to attach to their work. Women’s writing was not regarded highly then, so they desired to choose names that were neither feminine nor masculine. Each chose a name using her first initial. Anne chose Acton, Emily, Ellis; and Charlotte, Currer. They wanted the last name to begin with B and finally decided upon Bell.
While they were waiting for the poems to be published, they began a new, larger project. Each was at work on a novel. Emily chose to write about some old ruins that could be seen on a hilltop near their home. She had been entranced by the place for several years as she had watched the wind wuther (blow) through the moors up to the old ruins. She planned to call her book Wuthering Heights.
Both Anne and Charlotte expressed some of their unhappy experiences and feelings when serving as young governesses to wealthy families. Through Agnes Grey Anne told of the selfishness and bad tempers shown her by the “respectable” people for whom she had worked. Charlotte wanted to write about a poor, plain girl like herself, and after much thought she chose the name of Jane Eyre for her heroine.
Anne’s book had very little success at the time it was published, but she ignored that and immediately began another. Emily’s book received more attention, but not all of it was favorable. Jane Eyre, however, was soon being read by people all over the world. In time all the books written by the Brontë sisters became classics in English literature.

In the 1980s President Faust worked closely with President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, to turn their vision of BYU’s Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies into reality. President Faust and President Hunter waded through intense negotiations and prolonged opposition in leasing land and overseeing construction of the center.
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”

My husband and I were missionaries serving in Tarbes, France, in the Pyrenees Mountains. It was Christmas Eve, and we decided to go down to the city at Verdun Plaza to give away copies of the Book of Mormon. The street was deserted, and we started to ask ourselves what we were going to do with so many books. Suddenly, we saw a young man who seemed to not know where to go.
We approached him and offered him a Book of Mormon. He became joyful as he listened to us talk about the gospel. He explained that he was alone that Christmas night and that he would read the Book of Mormon and not feel alone.
After he left, we looked around the street again and saw a woman walking slowly toward us in the cold night. A glimmer of happiness shone in her eyes when we presented her with a Book of Mormon. She told us that she had become a widow recently and was happy that we were concerned about her. She said she was extremely grateful to us. As she walked away, we saw her hold the book against her heart.
That night we distributed every copy of the Book of Mormon that we had brought with us. Most of the people who we gave them to were alone, distressed, and very much in need of love. We went back home that night with the impression that we had received the greatest Christmas gift because of the joy that we were able to give to others.

The first stake in Uganda was organized in 2010. The Church is growing rapidly, with many young men and young women in each ward and branch.

The young women in one ward were inspired by the teachings of Sister Elaine S. Dalton, Young Women general president, on virtue: “Now is the time for each of us to arise and unfurl a banner to the world calling for a return to virtue.”1 The young women hiked a hill overlooking the town and raised gold banners symbolizing their pledge to be examples of virtue. Together they sang “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, no. 5).

These young women have raised their personal standards of righteousness. Their obedience has strengthened their testimonies and influenced others. Sister Dalton has said, “Never underestimate the power of your righteous influence.”2 And like a banner, the example of these young women waves to all the world.

Sandra
Photograph by Cindy Smith
Like many young women in Uganda, Sandra walks more than a mile to church, helps clean the meetinghouse on Fridays, and attends seminary on Saturdays. During the week, she rises before 5:00 a.m. to read schoolbooks, and then she walks to school, returning home after 6:00 p.m. She missed a year of school because of financial difficulties but faces her challenges with a positive attitude: “The gospel has really helped me to stay steadfast and immovable.”

Sandra is the only Church member in her home, but her parents support her Church service, such as helping when the ward cleaned the grounds of a local orphanage. Her family sees how the gospel has helped her be strong, even when facing unresolved problems. Reflecting on the source of that strength, Sandra says, “When I go to church, I feel like I am putting on the armor of God” (see Ephesians 6:11–17).

A more recent convert, Susan, loves the Church. Originally from South Sudan, her family fled hardships and was blessed to receive the missionaries in Uganda. As a refugee, she found peace and protection in the gospel. On Sundays she would bring her younger siblings to church, as well as up to 10 other children who are not Church members. After the unexpected death of a family member, she returned to South Sudan, where she waits for the Church to be established in her area. Both Susan and Sandra face challenges, but they rely on God and enjoy the fruits of living the gospel of Jesus Christ (see Alma 32:6–8, 43).

Young men in Uganda start playing football as small boys, using tightly bound branches for a ball. Ever since he was very young, Dennis had a gift for the sport, and his high school gave him a scholarship to play for their team. After he completed high school, a professional team offered him pay, room, and board. It was a dream come true, but Dennis knew this would likely interfere with his plans to go on a mission later in the year.

Dennis
Photograph by Cindy Smith
Dennis’s desire to do what his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was so strong that he did not even want to be tempted to remain on the team when the time would arrive for him to serve a mission. Many people questioned his choice, but Dennis is certain he made the right decision—for himself and others. “My two little brothers and my little sister were just baptized,” he says. “I never thought my sister would hear the gospel. When I see God doing miracles in my family, it gives me a bright hope for my future.”

In Dennis’s ward the young men study Preach My Gospel each week. They have become like a team, working closely with the full-time missionaries and bringing friends to Sunday meetings and other activities, including basketball and football games during the week. The priests have baptized friends and others they helped teach with the missionaries. Over several years, this team of young men has strengthened the whole ward, and four of them, including Dennis, received calls to the Kenya Nairobi Mission.

They have followed the counsel of Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to “become missionaries long before you submit your mission papers.”3 They did so by working together as a quorum, a team better than any other.

All four missionaries overcame challenges in order to serve. Wilberforce explains, “I was almost losing hope of going on a mission [because of the costs], but then I read Matthew 6:19–20: ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth … but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.’ So with diligence and commitment, I was able to accomplish my goal of serving a full-time mission. I love missionary service. Nothing is better than seeking first the kingdom of heaven.”

In the lead up to the October 2020 half-term holidays, the UK government decided they would not extend free school meals over the holidays.
With that in mind, two Lancashire businesspeople joined forces to form a voluntary group called Holiday Hunger East Lancashire.
They said, “We recognise that many people are going through really challenging times at the moment, and so we, as a community, have come together to provide lunches for East Lancashire children next week.”
Within 24 hours they were up and running and had raised thousands of pounds to cover their costs.
A friend of mine, Nicola Holding, a photographer local to Colne, Lancashire, began participating in Holiday Hunger East Lancashire, and was hosting the Colne Hub for distributing the meals.
When she told me that they needed volunteers, I knew I could help by using social media to get the message out to as many Church members as fast as possible.
I contacted some of the bishops and Relief Society presidents of the Chorley England Stake and by Monday morning they were headed to various designated distribution hubs for the Holiday Hunger East Lancashire initiative.
These wonderful friends and members of the Church showed up on multiple occasions, willing to serve with no questions asked, to collect bags full of meals that had been prepared by established local food businesses.
It was inspiring to see willing volunteers, from the Church and community, queuing out of the doors. Some would pick up the lunches, go to more than ten addresses, and then come back asking if they could do more.
Some volunteers even helped in the kitchen preparing those meals. As the professionals worked tirelessly cooking endless amounts of pasta, sausages, sauces, vegetables and so much more, the volunteers got it all packed in individual takeaway tubs; one meal for each child for each day of the half-term week.
Carol Brelsford said, “I really enjoyed being part of the team. I was grateful to be asked to help.”
Two faithful sisters of the Burnley Ward, Debbie Patton and Andrea Pickles, were heroes in the kitchen. They walked in bright and early on Monday morning to serve. I knew they had no idea what they’d signed up for, but they were there and ready to serve alongside me and my husband, Jordan.
Debbie said, “I felt great to be at least doing something in the middle of a global pandemic.”
Andrea added, “When I was asked to help in this venture, I was grateful for an opportunity to serve these kiddies. I was amazed and touched by the kindness of all the volunteers of all age groups, who cheerfully set about making and packing the meals. They worked for long hours, over several days. Other volunteers delivered the food to the families. I came home tired but very happy to have been able to help to a small degree. It made me realise we have wonderful people in our community, and when we all pull together, we can achieve amazing things.”
On more than one occasion, I was able to help with giving drop-off location details to the deliverers, and sometimes deliver lunches myself.
The stories we heard of grateful mothers, fathers, and children kept us all motivated when things got hectic, when we became weary with the load, and felt we couldn’t get the food out on time.
Jenny Forward of the Blackburn Ward in the Chorley Stake said, “Bishop [and I] felt the joy in every ‘thank you’ from one of the recipients, knowing they really needed and appreciated the meals. It warmed our hearts.”
Jenna Beverley of the Chorley Ward said: “I knew that so many families would be without [food] over the holidays, so when I heard Holiday Hunger East Lancashire needed help, I knew we could use our car and time for good. It was great to see people come together, with what they had, to make this happen at such short notice. What I thought would be a one-hour service project turned into a six-hour quest to provide some relief to as many families as we could, but it was incredible to see the community come together for so many who requested help.”
Jenna’s son Isaac, aged 12, described the experience, “It was kinda stressful to deliver so many meals to people’s houses, especially when it was bad rain and then the phone battery died, so we didn’t know where we were going … but we did it!”
Jonathan and Rebecca Abery of the Rossendale Valley Ward in Chorley Stake shared their thoughts: “[We] felt it an honour to be involved with so many other people from the community. It was humbling seeing the genuine gratitude and relief in the eyes of some of the recipients. It reminded me of the importance of working together to meet the needs of our fellow brothers and sisters and showed me that service brings its reward.”
Janet Leeds of the Burnley Ward, Chorley Stake said, “The project came together so quickly there was no time to think about whether to get involved or not or wonder if it was possible; everyone just pulled together and got on with it! So much love was shared, and hard work done, by so many volunteers that went into the project. It felt so important to make sure each child received their lunch packs every day—so much so that I went back to one house three times on the first day and finally pushed it through the cat flap so that they wouldn’t miss it! So proud of everyone who made it all possible.”
Rachel Pattenden said, “It was heart-warming, humbling and rewarding to be a part of this project. I know it was meant to bless others, but it also truly blessed my children and me. They felt good inside and want to help again in the future.”
What brought us all together was an unfortunate turn of events, but it united us in our determination to feed the 3,000 signed-up children who would otherwise have gone hungry that week. I’ve never been a part of an event on such a large scale. It was overwhelming at times. Some days I would be up and out the door by 7:30 am and not return until 8 pm. As a stay-at-home mum, it was quite a change of pace! But I know that the Lord required my help for that one week. He guided me to bump into the friend that got me involved. By no means can I take any of the credit, but I know that I was a tool in the Lord’s hands. It was my purpose to help gather those volunteers so that essential work could get done—to feed His children.

In 1995 I was invited to give a welcome and some opening remarks at a scientific seminar in Salt Lake City on the subject of child nutrition. Ninety-six scientists from 24 countries attended. As I surveyed the audience during my remarks, I was impressed by the many nations represented, as evidenced by their dress, skin color, language, and other distinguishing features.
Three or four months later I attended a stake conference on the East Coast of the United States. As I sat on the stand in preparation for the priesthood leadership session, an African man entered the chapel and sat down by the aisle. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I might have seen him. I leaned over and asked the stake president who the man was. The stake president answered, “Oh, he is not a member of the Church. He is a visiting professor from Africa teaching at a prestigious university in the area. A few months ago he attended some kind of scientific seminar in Salt Lake City. He picked up a pamphlet about the Church, which led him to read everything he could find about the Church. He now attends every meeting possible.” Half in jest, the stake president then said, “I would be surprised if he were not attending Relief Society meetings.”
After the priesthood leadership meeting, I reintroduced myself to the visiting professor. He affirmed his excitement for this newly discovered source of truth. He explained that his family, still in Africa, was studying with the missionaries and would be joining him in America in about four weeks, at which time they would all be baptized together.
At the conclusion of the Saturday evening adult session, this man came rushing to the podium and, thumping his chest, excitedly declared, “My heart is throbbing just like this. I can hardly contain it in my body. I don’t know if I can wait the four weeks for my family to be baptized.” I suggested he ought to slow down his heart and wait for his wife and children, so all could be baptized together.
When Elijah was fleeing for his life from the wicked Phoenician princess Jezebel, the Lord directed him to a high mountain, where he had a most unusual experience. As Elijah stood upon the mount before the Lord, he felt “a great and strong wind … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice” (1 Kgs. 19:11–12).
I am occasionally asked by those not of our faith why it is that our Church grows so rapidly, in both membership and activity, while other churches are reportedly declining in both. The answer to that question is simply a still, small voice and then a throbbing heart. In this busy, tumultuous, and noisy world, it is not like a wind, it is not like a fire, it is not like an earthquake; but it is a still, small, but a very discernible voice, and it causes a throbbing heart. It is a quiet burning within that this is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, with all of its doctrine, priesthood, and covenants that had been lost through the many centuries of darkness and confusion. Yes, it is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that testifies of the miracle of the Restoration.
It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates millions of members to emulate the life of Jesus in word, deed, and service. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates thousands of retired couples to serve missions, usually for 18 months or longer. They put aside the comforts of life to go into the world, serving others at their own expense and at what some would consider substantial sacrifice, often serving in remote parts of the world where a hot shower and a comfortable bed are luxuries that linger only in their memories.
It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that causes hundreds of thousands of young men and women to leave promising professions, put off their education (sometimes leaving athletic and other scholarships), or delay romances to serve the Lord at their own expense to declare the Restoration of the gospel. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that gives our young people the desire and courage to stand for purity, honesty, and principle, even at the expense of sometimes being ridiculed and rejected. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates one to joyfully keep God’s commandments and share the burdens of those less fortunate. Yes, there is power in a still, small voice and a throbbing heart.
Alma had his way of asking about the spiritual condition of our hearts. He asks, “Have ye spiritually been born of God?” And then: “Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14; emphasis added). In other words, is your heart throbbing with a testimony of Jesus Christ?
May I tell you just three things of many that cause my heart to throb? First, my heart throbs with the knowledge that Jesus Christ is my personal Savior and that His love for me was sufficient that He would suffer unimaginable pain and even death. My heart throbs when in the solitude of my deep thoughts I realize I can be cleansed, purified, and redeemed through the blood of Jesus Christ. My heart throbs when I contemplate the price that was paid—the suffering incurred to spare me of similar personal suffering for my sins and transgressions.
Second, my heart throbs with the knowledge that a young boy, only 14 years of age, went into a grove of trees and from a simple, humble prayer the heavens opened, God and Christ appeared, and angels descended. And thus, the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored with all of its priesthood, covenants, and purity of doctrine. My heart throbs when I consider what this boy prophet endured to bring about the fulness of the restored gospel. While heavenly angels were descending, Satan’s angels were also at work. The persecutions began, and like the lives of prophets of old, Joseph’s life culminated in his martyrdom. Throughout all his trials and persecutions, the young prophet remained steadfast and determined.
Because of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I understand more fully the magnitude of Christ’s Atonement. Because of the Prophet Joseph, I better understand the significance of the Garden of Gethsemane—a place of great suffering as Christ assumed our personal suffering not only for our sins, but also for our pains, infirmities, trials, and tragedies. I understand the infinite and eternal nature of His great and last sacrifice. I better understand the love our Savior exemplified in His last redeeming act. Because of Joseph Smith, my love and gratitude for the Savior is magnified and my worship more meaningful. Among the many hymns in our hymnbook written by W. W. Phelps is the familiar song with the words “Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27). My heart throbs as I sing that song.
Yes, because we sing with enthusiasm and gusto, “Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!” we sing about the Savior with even more reverence, emotion, and gratitude with the words “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me / Enough to die for me! / Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, no. 193). My heart throbs because of the enlightenment the Prophet Joseph brought to my life regarding the personal effect of the Atonement of my Savior.
Third, my heart throbs as I study and ponder the sacred scriptures in the Book of Mormon, as it complements the Bible and further testifies of the divinity of Jesus Christ as the Son of God, the Redeemer and Savior of the world. Because of this sacred companion to the Bible, my understanding of Christ’s doctrine is expanded; thus many of the questions left unanswered in the Bible are explained to my full satisfaction. The Book of Mormon is tangible evidence that Joseph is a prophet of God, Christ did in reality appear to him, and the gospel has been restored in its purity and its fulness.
My heart throbs just to contemplate the miracle of the Book of Mormon’s existence—the laborious job of engraving on metal plates, the careful custodianship through the centuries by God’s chosen, and the miraculous translation. Truly it fits the perfect definition of holy writ. Because of God’s majestic love for us, He provided this evidence that we can handle, we can peruse, we can study, and we can even challenge. But, most important, God loves me enough that He will give me and anyone else who sincerely seeks a personal revelation of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon—the tangible evidence of the Restoration and that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.
In speaking of this sacred knowledge, the Book of Mormon prophet Alma testifies:
“Do ye not suppose that I know of these things myself? Behold, I testify unto you that I do know that these things whereof I have spoken are true. And how do ye suppose that I know of their surety?
“Behold, I say unto you they are made known unto me by the Holy Spirit of God. Behold, I have fasted and prayed many days that I might know these things of myself. And now I do know of myself that they are true; for the Lord God hath made them manifest unto me by his Holy Spirit; and this is the spirit of revelation” (Alma 5:45–46).
Like Alma of old, each of us, members and sincere investigators alike, can know with surety that these things are true. It is our great privilege to know. It is more than a privilege; it is our responsibility to know. It is our enormous loss to not know when such a privilege is given. The Lord has said, “Knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Matt. 7:7). The Book of Mormon prophet Jacob says, “Come with full purpose of heart” (Jacob 6:5). We do not need to rely upon intellect or our physical senses. We study, we pray, and, like Alma of old, we may even fast, and then comes a still, small voice and a throbbing heart. Imagine a personal revelation from God that these things are true. The very thought of it makes my heart throb. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

This is a good time to tell you the rest of the story about my Economics 110 class. When I returned to school after my mission, which had taught me good study habits, the first class I signed up for was Economics 110 again. This time, I had a different kind of hope. I had hope that I would be more disciplined. I had hope that I could probably do better than a 22% on the first exam just by cracking open the book now and then. I had hope that I could tap into the power of my Savior’s atoning sacrifice to enable me to stretch beyond my own capabilities. That hope motivated me to study hard, and ultimately led to a solid A in the class, giving me hope for the rest of my college career.

Some months ago a ninety-year-old patriarch and dear friend of my own father was quietly laid to rest in this valley. My father passed away during the height of the Great Depression in 1932, and ten days later my oldest brother, age fourteen, died. During forty-seven years of my mother’s widowhood, this gentle man frequently visited our fatherless family to give wise counsel and encouragement and priesthood blessings. His example and personal concern, coupled with the goodness of many other priesthood leaders and loving neighbors, helped my mother and her five remaining children face the problems of economic depression and wars and the many worldly influences and daily challenges with which each of us must cope. His life in many ways touched scores of others in similar circumstances.
To me he was the epitome of the “pure religion” described in the epistle of James: “To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world” (James 1:27).

Soon after the Kasues arrived in Chyulu, a branch was organized and Brother Kasue was called as branch president. The Church grew rapidly under his leadership, and religious and community leaders became alarmed when converts left their denominations to join the Church. Soon there was considerable opposition to the Church and its followers.
As the Church had not yet been officially recognized by the Kenyan government, it was illegal for more than nine adults to attend a Church meeting. When some complaints were filed, President Kasue was arrested and detained for 12 hours. He suspected that his arrest was largely due to David M. Maluti, a prominent community and religious leader who had strongly opposed President Kasue’s church work. However, when their disagreements became public knowledge, Mr. Maluti decided he wanted to end the situation. Curious about how an intelligent and respected man such as President Kasue could follow the Church, he began asking questions about the Church. Because of Mr. Maluti’s past adversarial position, President Kasue wondered about his motives and was reluctant to answer; nevertheless, he agreed to send Mr. Maluti some literature “that would speak for itself.”
Mr. Maluti read the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and other Church books and was impressed, but he was most inspired by the pamphlet The Prophet Joseph Smith’s Testimony. He read it at least 40 times. While studying about the Church, Mr. Maluti attended a public meeting where questions were raised about the Church. He fervently defended the Church and bore his testimony to those present. When he finished there was enthusiastic applause. Within six months of their first meeting, President Kasue and Mr. Maluti became close friends, and Mr. Maluti was baptized and called to be the branch mission leader.

One evening last year, just before Christmas, my husband, Heber, and I made our way through the deep snow of an unshoveled walk and rang the door-bell. We were immediately greeted by Brent, an eight-year-old boy. He invited us in. We exchanged greetings with others while Brent stood by, anxiously waiting for the first opportunity to pose a question. In a most forthright and direct way, he simply asked, “Have you ever shaken hands with the prophet?”
His eagerness gave me reason to believe that he may have rehearsed that question in his mind several times in anticipation of our visit. “Yes, Brent,” I said, “I have shaken the hand of the prophet.”
“Oh,” he said, “if I could just shake the hand of the prophet.”
Sensing the love and respect Brent obviously felt for our prophet-leader, and wanting to somehow provide a tie between the prophet and the young boy, I reached out my hand. “Brent,” I said, “this hand has shaken the hand of the prophet.” To that offer he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously. Then, letting go, he turned his right hand over from front to back to examine it thoroughly. “I’ll never wash my hand,” he said.
I suggested that he probably should wash his hand and just keep the memory in his mind. This suggestion was not acceptable to Brent. He had a better idea. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll wash my hand, but I’ll save the water.” That seemed like a good suggestion, although I supposed he was only joking.
A few minutes later, he came into the room carrying a plastic bag dripping with water. Before anyone could question him, he proudly announced, “I washed my hand,” holding the bag full of water for all to see. Brent sat on the floor facing the Christmas tree, his knees poking through his faded blue jeans. From the corner of my eye I watched him examine the bag full of water as if he were expecting to see some evidence that it was holy water.
As we continued visiting, Brent got up and, taking his treasure with him, left the room. He returned again, this time without the plastic bag full of water. He had determined a better solution. Brent stood there in the doorway with his faded gray T-shirt wet all the way down the front. Without hesitation he gave a complete explanation. “I drank the water,” he said.
Brent’s creative solution was not to be viewed as a joke or something to make fun of. He was serious. He was carrying something important—not on the outside where he could lay it down, but on the inside. The water from the hand that he had washed that had shaken the hand of someone who had shaken the hand of the prophet was now part of him, on the inside, and he wanted to keep it there. He seemed very pleased with his solution.
Would it really make any difference? I wondered. What did it really mean to Brent? It was much more than water I was sure. It was in sacrament meeting the Sunday before Christmas that I received a deeper understanding of what I felt this young boy, just recently baptized, was feeling and wanting. The sacramental prayer had been offered, and the sacred ordinances were being passed quietly and reverently. It was a time of recommitment and rededication, sorrow for wrongdoings, and resolve and hope with the beginning of a new year to do better.
The sister on my right passed the sacrament tray and held it while I raised the small cup of water to my lips. Into my mind came the thought, “I want to get this water on the inside.” I remembered the baptismal covenant; I thought of the symbolism of the water and the covenants made.

A few years ago I woke up one morning to find a text informing me that our stake center was on fire. When I learned from the investigation that it was arson,7 I felt very unsettled, given how much time I usually spent in the building, and I wondered whether or not they would find the arsonist.

One day the Savior’s words came clearly to my mind: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”8 These words of the Lord softened my heart, and gradually I genuinely began to desire good things for the person responsible for the fire. I felt prompted to ask our stake to pray for this person so that they could also find healing.

Although the person who started the fire has never been identified, I find myself—even today as I speak—still hoping and praying that they have been able to heal and find peace. I learned that the Savior cherishes each of His children. His words changed my heart, brought peace, and gave me strength to turn the matter over to Him.

Some years back, Terry, a deacon, was at Tracy Wigwam on an overnight camp. That night a full moon hung overhead. The adviser took Terry by the arm and said, “Let’s go for a walk.” They went several hundred feet from the cabins. The adviser said, “Terry, let’s kneel here and have a prayer.” They knelt together and prayed. After the prayer Terry’s adviser said to him, “Terry, do you pray?” Terry answered that he did not. “Terry, will you commit to pray every day all the rest of your life?”
Terry said, “I never made a commitment unless I intended to keep it.” He thought about prayer and decided it was right. It was a good thing. He said to his adviser, “Yes, I will pray all the rest of my life.”
Terry, who went on to high school, then quarterbacked for the University of Utah where he was all-conference, and went on to play for the Pittsburgh Steelers, said, “I have kept that commitment, and I have prayed every morning and night since that day.” And Terry is here tonight.

I was born into a family of all boys, I married into a family of all boys-I even have a twin brother-and I am the mother of all boys! That is a lot of boys! When our sons were 7, 4 and 1, our family planned a trip to Palmyra, New York. For months prior, we spent almost every family home evening studying about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the significance of the historic sites that we had planned to visit.
We found plane tickets that were too good to be true. Well, they were true, but not necessarily good. It took us two layovers and almost 18 hours of travel time for our young family to safely arrive from Salt Lake City, Utah to our hotel room in Rochester, New York.
After baths, brushing teeth, bedtime prayers, and pure exhaustion-from mom and dad, our three little boys giggled excitedly as they climbed into a shared hotel bed. We then kissed them and said, “Now go to sleep, because the first thing we are going to do when we wake up tomorrow morning is visit the Sacred Grove.”
Young Eli, only 4 years old, enthusiastically sat straight up in bed and declared to his older brother, “Did you hear that Briton! Tomorrow we are going to see Heavenly Father and Jesus!” My dear husband and I looked at each other with tears slowly running down our cheeks. Oh, the faith and purity of little children!
Later the following day while visiting the Grandin Building, where the first five thousand copies of the Book Mormon were printed, a missionary was sharing her testimony of Jesus Christ. I then overheard little Eli tell his older brother, “Even though I didn’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus in the Secret [Sacred] Grove, I sure felt Them there.” To which Briton responded, “Eli, you can feel Them anywhere.”

A story is told of an English farmer at work one day in his fields when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about his farm. Concerned that they might ride into a field where the crop could be damaged by the tramp of horses, he sent one of his workmen to shut the gate and then keep watch over it and on no account to open it. He had scarcely arrived at his post when the hunters came up and ordered that the gate be opened. He declined to do so, stating the orders he had received, and steadfastly refused to open the gate in spite of the threats and bribes as one after another of the hunters came forward.
Then one of the riders came up and said in commanding tones, “My boy, do you know me? I am the Duke of Wellington, one not accustomed to being disobeyed, and I command you to open that gate, that I and my friends may pass through.”
The boy lifted his hat, and before the man whom all England delighted to honor, answered firmly, “I am sure the Duke of Wellington would not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep this gate shut, nor suffer anyone to pass but by my master’s express permission.”
Greatly pleased, the duke lifted his own hat and said, “I honor the man or boy who can be neither bribed or frightened into doing wrong. With an army of such soldiers, I could conquer not only the French, but the world.”

A busy teenager in a rather large family complained about the amount of time that family prayer was taking. As the wise mother was praying the next day, she intentionally left that youngster out of the prayer. As the prayer concluded, the busy child said, “Mother, you left me out of the prayer!” The loving mother explained that she was just responding to the youngster’s complaint. The busy child complained, “Don’t leave me out.”