Gospel Story Finder

Over the years the Thomas brothers of the Hyderabad Fourth Branch have done a lot to set good examples for each other. As teenagers, they became members of the Church at the same time. They worked together to encourage their mother until she also joined the Church. Both brothers served in the India Bangalore Mission. Both helped comfort their mother when their father passed away. And both recently married.
Now Rejjie and his wife, Metilda, have been sealed in the temple, and Rennie and his wife, Keerthi, following their good example, soon will be.
“From the time I joined the Church, it has been a process of changing and improving, learning the plan of salvation and following it,” Rejjie says. “But the actual goal is to go back and live with Heavenly Father, our loving Father, who wants us to come back to Him so much that He gave us a Savior, His Son, Jesus Christ, to save us from sin and everlasting death. I’m grateful that the gospel of Jesus Christ changed me and my family, and going to the temple is the culmination of all of that.”
Rejjie explains that one of the challenges he and Metilda faced in getting their parents’ approval for marriage was that they are from different regions and speak different dialects. “But in the temple there are no differences,” he says, “and that was a great reminder for us.” He feels the future of India belongs to the young. “We are the ones who are going to make a difference,” he says, looking at Metilda. “That’s the kind of vision we both have. We need to conduct family home evenings, have family scripture study and family prayer, and stay focused on the temple. That is our future.”
Metilda agrees: “When I ask him how he can be so understanding and loving, he says it is because the gospel makes him better. On his mission he saw the example of the mission president treating his wife with respect and love. And in the temple we see that same pattern. As we show that same pattern in our lives and someday to our children, that influence will strengthen the Church in India.”

My Aunt Debbie has always been one of my best friends. On my special birthday, when I turned 8, I was baptized. After my baptism, we had a great party and my family and friends came over. It was a big celebration! My Aunt Debbie and her family haven’t come to church for a long time, but I invited her to my baptism and party anyway, and they came.
At my party, I had two birthday cakes. One came from a bakery, but the other one was homemade and it was extra special. It had pure white frosting, and on the top was Captain Moroni. He is one of my favorites, and Mom knows I like him.
When we were serving Aunt Debbie her slice of cake, she asked for a piece of my Captain Moroni cake. I told her that if she ate a slice of that cake, she would have to promise to go to church with me on Sunday and sit beside me. She said, “Brian, I promise!” My branch president was sitting beside her, and he said, “I heard that!” Everyone laughed. I was so happy because I love Aunt Debbie, and I know she loves Heavenly Father. I want her to be happy, too.
My mom told me later that I am the best missionary in our family. My dad said that I am a good example, just like Captain Moroni. I hope I can always follow the Savior like he did.
I know that Heavenly Father has blessed my family and my branch. Since my birthday, Aunt Debbie and her family have been coming to church. As a matter of fact, Aunt Debbie is now my Primary teacher and everyone in her class loves her. I’m so glad she comes to church now and that we can all learn together how to follow Jesus Christ.

Prodi sat up in bed with a jolt. His heart was beating fast.
Rain pattered on the roof as he sat in the darkness. He could hear water dripping from the African fig tree outside his window, and the air felt sticky and warm. Prodi took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was just a dream.
He crawled out of bed and peeked into his parents’ room. Mama and Papa were sleeping peacefully. His little sister, Célia, was curled up in her bed too. Everything was OK. His family was safe.
Prodi climbed back into bed and tried to go back to sleep. He tossed and turned, then tossed and turned some more. He knew his dream wasn’t real, but it had been so scary! Even though he was tired, he was afraid to fall asleep again. What if he had another nightmare?
Prodi lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He tried to think of happy thoughts. “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?” A wave of warmth came over Prodi as he thought of the words to his favorite Primary song. Sister Kioska had taught them that Heavenly Father was always watching over them. They could pray to Him anytime, anywhere.
Prodi knew what to do. He got out of bed and knelt down to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he prayed, “I’m really scared. Please keep my family safe. And please help me to go to sleep and not have any more bad dreams.”
Prodi finished his prayer and climbed back in bed. His body relaxed, and his mind felt peaceful. Soon he was asleep.
When morning came, Prodi woke up to the warm sun shining through the window. He could hear pots clanging in the kitchen and got up to find Mama. Célia was at the table eating leftover cassava. Mama was warming some up for him to eat too.
“Bonjour,” Mama said. “How did you sleep?”
“I had a really scary nightmare,” Prodi said. “But then I said a prayer. Heavenly Father helped me feel safe.”
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream,” Mama said. She hugged Prodi close and didn’t let go for a long time. “But I’m so glad you said a prayer. It sounds like Heavenly Father really helped you.”
“He did,” said Prodi. “I was able to fall asleep again, and I didn’t have any more bad dreams.” Prodi hugged Mama tight. He was glad to know that no matter how scared he felt, Heavenly Father was just a prayer away.

Lance loved a lot of things about being five years old. He loved being old enough to help with the lambs on the farm. He loved giving his first talk in Primary. And he loved looking out for his three-year-old brother, Gabe.
Gabe wanted to be big like Lance. When Grandma asked Lance to pick beans in the garden, Gabe got a basket and went along. When Lance swept out the chicken coop, Gabe found a broom and helped. When Lance started humming a song, Gabe hummed along too.
One Sunday Gabe looked really excited as he came out of Primary.
“Guess what?” he asked Lance. “I’m supposed to give a talk, just like you did!”
During the week, Gabe practiced telling a story about Jesus blessing the little children. Lance watched his brother hold up the pictures at just the right moment. When Gabe forgot some of the words, Lance helped him out. On Sunday morning, Lance said a special prayer with Gabe that his talk would go well.
Finally the time came for Gabe to give his talk.
“He looks scared,” Lance thought as he watched Gabe walk to the podium and step in front of the microphone. Gabe’s eyes opened wider as he saw all the children there. Suddenly it seemed like he was frozen. Not a word came out of his mouth.
“Poor Gabe!” Lance thought. He watched nervously from the second row until he couldn’t sit there any longer. He stood up and walked to the microphone, placing his arm around Gabe’s shoulders.
“It’s all right, Gabe. You can do it. Remember the words?” Lance whispered. After another second of silence, Lance took a deep breath. He knew that his brother needed his help.
“Today I’d like to share the story of Jesus blessing the children,” Lance began. He had heard the talk so many times during the week that he knew every word. As he spoke, he kept looking over at Gabe. Little by little, Gabe relaxed. When Lance got to the last sentence, Gabe leaned toward the microphone.
“Jesus loves all of us,” Gabe whispered. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Lance looked down at Gabe and smiled. Gabe smiled back. He had given his first talk—with some help from his older brother.

In February 1986 Vice President George Bush shared this inspiring story at the national meetings of the Boy Scouts of America:
“Way back in 401 B.C., a young Persian prince named Cyrus hired an army of 10,000 Greek soldiers to help him take the Persian throne away from his brother. Cyrus and his Greek companions marched 1500 miles overland from the western edge of Turkey, through the deserts of Syria, and onto the plains of Iraq. They met the Persian king and the army near what is now Baghdad. The Greeks won the battle, but they lost the war when Cyrus was killed in the day’s action, and that left the Greeks and their army in a terrible fix. They no longer had any cause to proceed further; they couldn’t retreat eastward, for no food remained on the land, and to the north, mountains, which we know today as the wilds of Kurdistan, and the highlands of Georgia and Armenia were all inhabited by savage mountain tribes. And to make things worse, the Greek commanding general and his entire staff of officers had gone to a conference with the Persians under safe conduct, and they had been assassinated. And that seemed to leave absolutely no alternative to the Greeks but to surrender and throw themselves on the mercy of the Persians. Some of you will remember this. One of the Greeks, a private in the ranks named Xenephon, had a different idea, and he voiced it to his Greek comrades: ‘Notice that our enemies lacked the courage to fight us until they seized our general. They think that we are defeated because our officers are dead, but we’ll show them that they turned us all into generals. Instead of one general, they’ll have 10,000 generals against them.’ The Greeks’ spirits rallied and they resolved to fight their way through the mountains. Xenephon turned out to be a brilliant strategist and his army of 10,000 generals did reach safety, 2500 miles and four months later. Perhaps the most celebrated march of that time, celebrated escape, if you will, in western history” (comments at the 75th Anniversary Dinner of the Boy Scouts of America, 7 Feb. 1985, Washington, D.C.).

The summer before my junior year of high school, I took my first job as a cashier at a fast-food restaurant. The first couple of days were a little shaky. But as time passed, I became one of the fastest button pushers and food gatherers you’ve ever seen.
One day halfway through the summer, it seemed like nothing was going right. Some orders had come out wrong, and the customers were not happy. I had been yelled at more than once. Several times, customers demanded to see my manager. I worried that this one bad day would get me fired.
Soon after the crowds had gone, two young boys came in. When I read their order back to them, the older boy used the Lord’s name in vain and said, “Can’t you get anything right?” I apologized and fixed the mistake. When he handed me a ten-dollar bill, I realized there weren’t enough one-dollar bills to make change. I explained this to the boy, and he cursed again.
As I was putting their order together, I noticed an elderly woman in line talking to the older boy. When I handed him his order, he looked down and apologized for what he had said.
When the woman reached the counter, she said, “I can’t believe how that boy treated you. There was no reason for such behavior.”
I smiled and told her it didn’t bother me. “It’s all right; I’m used to it.” I turned to put the lid on her drink and was surprised that I felt like I was going to cry. I guess it was because someone understood and took the time to talk to me decently.
When I gave her the order, she handed me one-dollar bills to pay for it. I looked up at her, and she said, “I overheard you say you needed one-dollar bills.” Then she winked at me and left.
The rest of the day didn’t seem so bad. I never saw her again, and I don’t think she knew how much she helped me that day. We don’t always know why certain people come into our lives, but this woman was there to help me when I needed it.
No one should ever have to say “It’s all right; I’m used to it.” Now I try extra hard to be nice to people every day. Then, before I go to bed, I ask myself, “Was someone’s day made better or a burden made lighter because of coming in contact with me?” When the answer is yes, the feeling is wonderful.

When our two oldest daughters, Mackenzie and Emma, were little, one of their favorite stories was The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. We all fell in love with the lion, Aslan. One of our most memorable nights reading the book was when the great lion gave his life for Edmund. Memorable because parents and daughters shed tears as the lion’s life was taken on the Stone Table by the Witch. Memorable because hope persisted, despite the tragedy, until the spectacular happened. Squeals of joy resounded in that little bedroom when Aslan was resurrected and said, “If [the Witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice], … she would [know] that [if] a willing victim who had committed no treachery [died] in a traitor’s stead, the [Stone] Table would crack and Death itself would [begin to unwind].”

I had always considered myself to be a “good listener” until that night. Being raised in the middle of a large family had forced me to do my share of listening just to keep the decibel level to a low roar in my home. But I didn’t realize, until that night, that listening required more of me than just being quiet. I didn’t realize, until that night, how desperately someone could need to be listened to.
It had been a long day. In order for me to stay in school at Brigham Young University, I had to work part-time at night and go to school and study during the day. I was feeling tired and a little sorry for myself as I walked into the cafeteria late that night after a particularly hard day. The cafeteria was almost empty at that late hour.
I picked up my dinner tray and turned around to find a table. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl sitting alone at one of the tables. She was staring at her food with her head bowed. A large backpack, books, and papers were scattered all over the table where she was sitting. By all appearances, she obviously wanted to be left alone. There were plenty of empty tables and I started to walk toward one of them to sit down.
Suddenly I felt impressed to sit down next to the girl that I had noticed. Even though I was usually reserved, I found myself walking toward her table. I tapped her on the shoulder and asked her if I could sit next to her.
She silently and reluctantly agreed as she began to move her books and papers off the table. Her appearance and posture and manner all told me that she wanted to be left alone, and I wondered why I was being so intrusive.
Then we started to talk, slowly and cautiously at first. I felt strangely as if she were a lifetime friend of mine that I hadn’t seen for a long time, and I wanted to know all about her and what was happening to her. We both spoke freely, maybe even more freely than real friends because we had no images to maintain and no reputations to uphold.
The young girl told me about some extremely depressing things that were happening in her life at that time. We talked for hours. Then the tears came.
After several hours had gone by, she looked at me and said, “Tonight I was sitting here alone again, and I felt and really believed that I didn’t have a friend in this whole world. I couldn’t think of even one person that cared about me. I was sitting here thinking how I could do away with myself when you walked up and asked me if you could sit next to me. You’ll never know what you’ve done for me tonight. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I know that you are my friend and that you care about me. There must still be a God that cares for me if you can care for me.”
Later we embraced and walked away in separate directions. I turned, suddenly remembering that I didn’t even know her name. But she had disappeared into the night.
As I walked toward home, I was feeling pretty good about myself knowing that I had heeded the impression to sit next to the girl. My problems seemed pretty small compared to hers.
Then suddenly it hit me like a brick. All the times I had been similarly impressed to speak to someone, to spend time with someone, to call someone, or to say an encouraging word to someone, flashed before my mind. I remembered the excuses of not wanting to be too forward, or being too tired or worried about my own problems, or all the millions of reasons I had used for not heeding the promptings that I often received.
I suddenly wondered how many of those people I had neglected had needs as desperate as those of the young girl that I had just talked to.
Never before had I realized that to truly be a “good listener” I had to first learn to listen to the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. Alone, without the Spirit, I was unable to discern the real needs of the people around me. With the Spirit, I could listen with my heart as well as my mind.
I will probably never see that girl again, but I hope I will never again fail to listen to the impressions that the Spirit gives me.

The gift of time. When I read about the challenge, I immediately made the excuse that I was too busy to even attempt it. When I later began reading, I constantly reminded myself that if I didn’t finish, I could always say I was just too busy. But something amazing happened. On the days I read, time seemed to stand still and allow me the chance to get everything accomplished. This blessing was the remedy to my busy life. I was able to spend more time with my family and on my Church calling, while still being able to accomplish all I needed to in my job. I realized that Heavenly Father will provide what is necessary if I put Him first. Julie Major, Nibley, Utah, USA

The leading association in French Polynesia to assist jobless people will be benefitting from a set of self-reliance courses developed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In a meeting earlier this year, Marshall Raihauti, project manager and educator for Te U-irau, met with Manea Tuahu, national director of self-reliance for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in French Polynesia, to talk about their partnership.
“The people we work with often lack confidence and really have no plans for the future,” said Marshall.
Showing his Church self-reliance course textbooks with some delight, he continued, “I had the opportunity to attend a Church-sponsored self-reliance course in Punaauia in 2018 and was impressed that the program first helps people to identify their personal issues through a spiritual process.
“My motivation is to create that same turning point in them, as I have experienced it. And you can achieve it with the Spirit; that is at the heart of your empowering programs.”
He continued, “We have the expertise, we have the material, the financial resources and the appropriate training. But we are missing something that only your programs can provide. You can touch them spiritually. The Latter-day Saints have the magic that we don’t have. This is the Spirit of the Lord. It is what triggers the change of heart. And that’s the most important.”
Averii Nollemberger, coordinator for Te U’irau in Pirae, Faaa and Moorea job and training centers, said: “I liked that the person is at the center of change and that the principle of individual responsibility prevails.”
Manea presented the resources of the Church with courses such as “Starting and Growing My Business” and “Personal Finances.”
He explained the concept of self-reliance: “In the Church, self-reliance is not just about having a good job, food reserves, or money in the bank. It is the ability to provide for the spiritual and temporal necessities of life. It is a complementary, inseparable whole.
“When people become independent, they have more capacity to help others, and serving others is at the heart of self-reliance.”
Marshall concluded, “Despite all the support that we in the government have put in place, a majority of our job seekers continue to be dependent, unable to get long-term employment. What’s missing is the change of heart. I know that when you put God first, the doors begin to open.”

During our last stake conference, something momentous happened for me. Our stake president asked us to read a scripture in Mosiah that was near a verse I had highlighted on the previous page. I felt prompted to turn the page back and read what I had marked:
“I pray that ye should awake to a remembrance of the awful situation of those that have fallen into transgression.
“And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual; and if they hold out faithful to the end they are received into heaven, that thereby they may dwell with God in a state of never-ending happiness. O remember, remember that these things are true; for the Lord God hath spoken it” (Mosiah 2:40–41).
The last sentence struck me. I realized I had never really received a testimony of the Book of Mormon. Since I had grown up in an LDS family, I just took for granted that it was all true and believed what people had told me. But I didn’t have that knowledge for myself. I lacked a surety that this is the true Church, that Joseph Smith saw God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and that President Thomas S. Monson does receive revelation from God. But the sentence, “O remember, remember that these things are true; for the Lord God hath spoken it,” made me realize it couldn’t be this way forever. I needed to find out for myself if this really was the truth. So I began to pray.
“Dear Heavenly Father, I. …”
But I didn’t get any further. I felt the Spirit so strongly within me it brought tears to my eyes. It was actually burning in my bosom, and I choked on the words. I have never felt anything so compelling and real. I had finally experienced personal revelation that the Book of Mormon was true, and I knew it. Suddenly the Spirit brought back to my memory Moroni 10:4:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
I began again. “Heavenly Father, I need to gain my own testimony of the truth of this book, and of this Church. I ask you, in the name of Jesus Christ, are these things true?” And once again, the Spirit confirmed truth. It was so powerful. I knew there could only be one answer, and I knew it as surely as I know 2+2=4.
The Book of Mormon is true. Joseph Smith actually was a prophet, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ did appear to him in the Sacred Grove. President Thomas S. Monson is a true prophet, and he does receive divine guidance to lead this Church, a Church I now know for sure is true. I hope all people take the advice Moroni gave us and pray in the name of Christ, with a sincere heart, real intent, and faith, and ask if these things are true. I know the answer will be “Yes. Yes, it is.” I hope we all will “remember, remember that these things are true, for the Lord God hath spoken it.”

Why would a person without compelling challenges, needs, or questions be interested in meeting the missionaries and listening to their lessons? Well, in my case it was love—love for a girl, a girl named Renee. I fell in love with her, and I wanted to marry her. She was different and had standards different from most young women I knew. But I fell for her and asked her to marry me—and she said no!

I was confused. I thought I was quite a catch! I was handsome, 24 years old, and a college graduate with a great job. She spoke of her goals—of marrying only someone who could take her to the temple, of having an eternal family—and she declined my offer. I wanted to continue the relationship, so I agreed to listen to the missionaries. Is this a good reason to meet with the missionaries? Well, it was for me.

Here’s a riddle: What do Boy Scouts pledge to do, prophets counsel Saints to do, and weathermen warn people from Portland, Oregon, to do?
The answer? Be prepared. For Scouts it’s a motto, for Saints it’s a commandment, and for Portlanders it’s a necessity. Anytime they plan something, they need to be prepared, because at least a few sprinkles of rain, affectionately known as “Oregon sunshine,” are bound to fall.
But rain isn’t the only thing the youth in the Portland region are preparing for. They are also preparing to stay close to their Heavenly Father and meet life’s challenges with his help. And at a recent youth conference, teenagers learned a lot about preparation—from the first planning stages of the conference to the lessons they had learned when it was all over.
It started months before the event. Painting posters, writing songs, planning decorations, and organizing workshops took the time of all the members of the conference committee. They knew that a successful conference depended on careful preparation.
Matt Baldwin, of the Cedar Mill Oregon Stake, was the chairman of the conference committee. “We talked about everything,” he said. “Should the kids bring a change of clothes for the games? How many workshops should we offer?” These and other questions guided the committee until they ultimately determined what their goal for the conference was: “for each youth to go home feeling a little bit closer to our Heavenly Father,” said Matt.
“It was fun to work on the committee,” said Amber Ganir, a committee member from the Oregon City Stake. “We’d worked on it for so long, I couldn’t believe it when the day finally came.”
All of that preparation paid off for the committee, though, and for the youth who attended the conference. They spent two days getting to know each other, talking about things they needed to prepare for, and checking the sky for rain.
The clouds threatened, but the spirits of the teenagers couldn’t be dampened. They divided into 23 teams and competed in a mock Olympics in events such as Radical Relays, People Processor, and Be-Boppin’ Balloons. The teams, even though they were made up of teens who had never met each other, worked well together, and cheers could be heard throughout the field. “That was our objective in organizing games,” said Amber. “We wanted to get everyone motivated and excited—to get to know each other and make new friends.”
The rain that had threatened all day started to fall as the games ended, but no one seemed to care. They were prepared for the change in weather and trooped inside for dinner and an early evening dance in their socks while high tops, sandals, and worn tennis shoes lined the walls to dry.
It was still drizzling on Saturday morning when the youth reunited to attend workshop sessions. They hurried to the classes they’d chosen, hoping they would hear something to help them prepare for their individual challenges. Classes offered a variety of topics—with something worthwhile and helpful in each—from “the last days” to dating.
Brett Gassaway said he was going to attend a session called “Choosing to Serve a Mission” because he planned to leave on a mission soon. Brett is taking every opportunity he has to learn about missions so he will be prepared when he leaves.
“I signed up for a wide variety of classes—things I have problems in, or things that are interesting,” said Crista Cowan. The preparation of the youth conference committee made it possible for Crista to take advantage of many classes. And when the youth were ready to listen and learn, it was possible for them to become more prepared, too.
After lunch and more workshop sessions, everyone assembled in the gym for “The Main Event.” The things they had learned and the spirit they had felt in the workshops set the tone for the meeting, and they listened to Brother David Thomas talk to them. He reminded them how much they needed a close relationship with Heavenly Father, and how they should avoid all things that would jeopardize that relationship. He said he hoped they would remember the things they had heard and felt during the past two days, and the audience seemed to nod in agreement, as if to assure him they would not forget the preparation they had received.
Listening to Brother Thomas, Matt Baldwin knew that the months of preparation were coming to fruition as the youth of the Portland area were touched by the Spirit. To close the conference, they were divided into groups of 30 for testimony meetings.
That was Heatherly Humphrey’s favorite part. “The Spirit was so strong in the testimony meetings,” she said. “Many people said they were trying to cultivate a better testimony, that they were reading and praying to do it. Others said they had been in that stage too—of wanting a testimony and working for it. Several of them said attending seminary and reading the Book of Mormon had made their testimonies twice as strong. It was clear it takes work to develop and keep a testimony.”
Yes, it definitely takes work to keep something so precious, even more work than it takes to plan a spectacular youth conference. But because of the preparation before this event ever began, by both the youth and the conference committee, it was a great event for learning and growing. And the people who participated in this youth conference left more prepared to capture the most precious thing of all—a strong testimony of the gospel.
By the time the dance ended on Saturday night, the rain was no longer just a drizzle. It was falling steadily, but it didn’t seem to matter. Umbrellas were raised and heads were covered, and the young people went out into the night—more prepared to face both the weather and the challenges of life than they were when they had come.

Ruth’s baptism in December 2001 marked a shift in their family focus. With that shift came spiritual strength and blessings that have guided them to this day.
“We were sealed in the temple on June 28, 2003,” Richard says. “Because of that, many blessings have come into our lives. Our first two children were sealed to us, and our next two children were born in the covenant. Our children are a blessing.”
Richard explains that serving faithfully in the Church has brought harmony into their home: “My wife and I are yoked together equally. We have faced challenges and trials, but we have been able to get through them united. We believe in the same things. Being sealed in the temple, we know that if we endure faithfully, the Lord will help us.”
Attending the temple has changed their family. “When we were sealed in the temple, things changed radically,” Ruth says. “Our spiritual strength has grown.”
Richard agrees: “For our family, it has meant greater family unity, knowing that the family bond, which ultimately is the beginning and end of everything, gives us the strength to move forward. In life there are always challenges. But with the focus that the temple gives us, we can face the future in a different way. Being able to share these blessings—and especially to help other families do the same—brings great joy to our lives. I feel greater commitment in our home.”

Dear Brother and Sister Heath,
You do not know who I am, yet I am deeply indebted to you. Because you followed President Benson’s counsel to “flood the earth with the Book of Mormon,” my life has been changed forever. You see, your testimony is on the inside cover of the Book of Mormon given to me by two missionaries in August 1988. You wrote, “It will touch your life as nothing has before.” How little did I realize on that August day just how true those words would become for me. I want to share my story with you.
My name is Randi Spurling and I was raised an active member of my church. However, gradually I fell away from my beliefs. When my husband deserted our family in February 1988, he took all the money and left me with many bills. The only solace I found was in attending church every week. I felt I needed the church, but just attending the meetings once a week wasn’t spiritually fulfilling.
One evening during this turbulent time in my life, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find two clean-cut young men in crisp white shirts, and dark suits. They said they were from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked if they might speak with me. Since my good friend and neighbor, Lorrie, was a Mormon, I decided to listen to them, if only to help me better understand Lorrie’s beliefs.
As I watched those two young men, I recalled a conversation I had had with Lorrie a few months earlier. She had asked me if I had ever considered getting married again. I had emphatically said, “No!” Because I knew that if I ever decided to remarry, I would want a man who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t cheat on his wife, who went to church, was honest, didn’t swear and who loved his family more than material goods. “Men like that just don’t exist,” I told her. “I could be looking forever.” Lorrie smiled and explained that most of the men she knew were just like that. I had only laughed.
Now, I stood looking at those two missionaries and I was curious. So, I asked them to return.
A few days later Elder Walker and Elder McAllister presented the first missionary discussion to me and it went wonderfully. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to read it and pray about it. Brother and Sister Heath, that Book of Mormon contained your testimony and your photograph. I was very touched by your message.
On the missionaries’ second visit, I had a problem accepting the missionary discussion. They seemed to be challenging all of my religious beliefs. For example, they asked me how I felt about baptism. I told them I had already been baptized. When they explained that it was necessary to be baptized by immersion, I thought they were crazy. We discussed the subject for what seemed like an eternity. Then Elder Walker quietly asked if I would kneel with them and pray. I had never pictured any man on his knees praying, especially praying in my behalf. We knelt and prayed together.
Pondering on what the missionaries had told me, I became emotionally upset. To believe in their message would mean my life would have to be changed—and I didn’t want to change. I liked my life as it was.
At that moment I decided I would never again open that Mormon “book” and I would never again allow the missionaries into my home. But, that night before going to bed, I succumbed to the Spirit, opened the Book of Mormon and read until I could no longer keep my eyes open.
As I drifted off to sleep, I saw myself wandering, lost in total darkness. I kept clawing at my eyes, because I felt as if they were blinded by sand. If only I could find a way to clear them. I was overjoyed to find a pool of clear water. I entered the water and submerged myself so that I could fully wash the sand away. As I came out of the water, I was surrounded by the most radiant light. At last I could see clearly! How happy I felt!
As I awoke, I felt a sudden fear. The missionaries were right! Now what was I going to do? How could I admit to them that now I believed baptism by immersion was necessary? I resolved not to tell the missionaries of my experience, but as we met for the next discussion, the Spirit took control and excitedly I described my dream to them.
We continued with the discussions and I hungered for the knowledge that the Book of Mormon contained. Many, many nights I read until I was exhausted. On two occasions I simply held the book and wept, feeling unworthy to be allowed to read such precious truths. I knew that what I read was true, but I still could not make the commitment to change my life. Yet, a loving Heavenly Father continued to provide the opportunity for me to learn more.
For example, I attended church meetings and activities with Lorrie; listened to the words of the prophet during a broadcast of the annual General Women’s Meeting; attended a fireside presentation on the Doctrine and Covenants; visited Relief Society homemaking meetings; and became so familiar with the Book of Mormon that I began to recognize quotations from it when they were used in talks or magazine articles.
I was beginning to make friends with many of the people I met at Church meetings and activities and I developed a special relationship with the missionaries. But, I was scared. I was afraid to let go of my “old” life. I told myself I had to break away from these people now before I became any more involved with them and their beliefs.
When the sixth and last discussion was over, I felt so relieved. Now I could just go on with my life and not have to think about things that I did not want to worry about. But I underestimated the missionaries and the members. These were people who lived the principles of their religion day after day. What was their secret?
I found the answer in November when I was invited to a baptism. Nothing was really out of the ordinary until the moment Elder McAllister entered the font to baptize a young man. I could not stop the tears. I was so touched by the Spirit that I had no doubt in my mind which church I needed to belong to.
Two weeks later the missionaries invited me to a Christmas program on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. As I watched and listened I realized that I couldn’t live the rest of my life as a non-Mormon who reads the Book of Mormon believing it to be the word of God, or be a non-member believing that Latter-day Saints led the most Christ-like lives of anyone I knew. As I looked around me, a still, small voice said, “These are your people. Go to them.”
The next day I contacted the missionaries. I told them I needed to set a date for my baptism. I wish I would have been able to record the joy I heard in their voices. I hope to remember it forever.
I was baptized 11 December 1988.
I am grateful to the missionaries, to Church members I met, and to you, Brother and Sister Heath, for sharing your testimony and providing me, a stranger, with the precious Book of Mormon. President Ezra Taft Benson said, “I have a vision of flooding the earth with the Book of Mormon.” Thank you for sending the flood my way. It didn’t drown me, it buoyed me up. I am more alive now than I have ever been before.
Your sister in Christ’s Church,Randi Spurling

Photograph from Getty Images
When we moved from the United States to Vietnam, my husband and I were determined to never miss church. After a year, we hadn’t missed a single Sunday meeting, but we were frequently late and often missed the sacrament. Our sacrament meeting started at 8:30 a.m. With three little children, getting ready for church on time often seemed impossible.
As a family we decided that we needed to arrive consistently on time for church and partake of the sacrament. It was a struggle, but we made it to church on time four Sundays in a row. I noticed the difference our efforts made. We had more spiritual experiences during the week.
The following Sunday, however, we woke up late. It was already 7:30 a.m. I told my husband that it was hopeless, but then I thought about how we would be blessed if we did our best to get ready anyway. So, we hustled!
By the time we got to church, we were 20 minutes late. I felt that we had failed. We heard singing when we walked in, and when I opened the door, someone was going up to the stand to pray.
“Was that the opening hymn?” I whispered to the missionary standing by the door.
“Yes,” he said. “We started late today.”
I was stunned. I thought we had fallen short again, but we arrived at church just in time! Tears streamed down my face as I felt Heavenly Father’s love for my little family and me.
Later we learned that when the missionaries had arrived at church that Sunday, they realized that no one had brought bread for the sacrament. No store was nearby, and bread can be hard to find in Vietnam. After a momentary panic, the elders remembered they had bread at home.
A few days earlier, the elders had come to our home for dinner. That evening, I had prepared homemade bread for them. Church had started late Sunday morning because the elders ran home to get the bread I had made for them!
God sees our efforts as we strive to keep His commandments. Although we sometimes fall short, He loves us and will prepare ways for us to succeed—even when it is just to get to church on time.

Carlos was just about your size when his parents sent him to Mexico to stay with his grandmother. Carlos’s family was moving to a different part of Colorado, and Carlos’s father told him that as soon as they had found a new house and moved into it, they would send for him.
Carlos’s Uncle Pablo drove him to Mexico. They traveled over hot, dusty roads and through deserts and mountains. Finally, in one little village next to the mountains, his uncle smiled at Carlos and said, “We’re here.”
As they drove up in front of a tiny white adobe house, chickens scattered in every direction, flapping their wings and squawking at the car and its passengers.
An old lady came out of the house. She had dark brown skin and white hair. Carlos’s uncle threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek.
“Carlos,” his uncle said, “do you remember your grandmother?”
“Bienvenido (welcome), Carlos.” The woman smiled at him.
Carlos just stood there. He hadn’t been with his grandmother since he was a baby, and he didn’t remember her at all. Finally he looked up at his uncle. “Uncle Pablo, I don’t want to be here!” Carlos whispered, even though he knew his grandmother couldn’t understand English.
“Now, Carlos, remember that you agreed to give it a try here. It’s just for a little while,” Uncle Pablo said, “Here, see if you’re strong enough to carry this into the house,” Pablo took the old, battered suitcase out of the car and handed it to Carlos.
Carlos dropped the suitcase just inside the door. He walked through both rooms of the house. The wooden furniture looked strange to him, as did the pictures with beads hanging from them on the walls. In the middle of the larger room stood a tall, wooden machine with rows of string going up and down; on the floor around it lay several balls of colorful yarn.
Carlos walked out the back door and into the cooking shed, where black pots and pans hung on the wall and firewood was piled in the corner. He saw that his uncle and grandmother were still talking, and he decided that somehow he’d think of a way to get his uncle to take him back to Colorado.
Carlos went through the backyard to the other side of the house. He saw some boys playing in the street and walked closer to watch them. Suddenly a dog ran up and started barking at him. The boys stopped playing, and one of them called the dog. They all yelled a greeting to Carlos, but he couldn’t understand them. They called again, and when he still didn’t respond, they started to laugh.
Carlos turned and ran away from them. I can’t help it if I don’t understand Spanish! he thought.
Carlos ran through the village and didn’t stop until he’d climbed a small hill. From the top of the hill he could see his grandmother’s house. “Oh, no!” he agonized. “Uncle Pablo’s car is gone!”
The sinking sun had turned the faraway clouds into a red, orange, and pink sunset before Carlos returned to his grandmother’s house. She was busy making dinner in the cooking shed. When she looked up and saw Carlos, she put down the bowl she was holding and grasped his shoulders. “Carlos!” she cried, then went on excitedly in Spanish.
Carlos didn’t understand her words, but he understood that she had been worried about him and that he wasn’t to wander off again without telling her. Grown-ups are all alike in every language, Carlos decided.
During dinner Grandma tried teaching him the Spanish names of the things that she pointed to: mesa (table), plato (plate), tenedor (fork), pan (bread), frijoles (beans), arroz (rice), limonada (lemonade). Carlos ate only a little of his food. When his mother made Mexican food, it was always a treat, but now all he wanted was a hamburger with catsup and mustard and pickles.
After dinner Grandma worked at her loom by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, weaving fabric from the colorful yarns. As she worked, she sang softly and looked up every few minutes to smile at Carlos. Carlos sat on the floor watching his grandmother, wishing that she had a television set.
Grandma let Carlos sleep in the only bed in the house. She covered him with a sheet, let down the mosquito netting, then tucked its edges under the mattress. “Buenas noches (good night), Carlos.” She went into the other room and put out the lamp.
Darkness closed in on Carlos. Crickets chirped nearby. He turned over and looked out the window at a bright star and wondered if that same star was shining down on his parents. All day he had fought tears, but he couldn’t stop them anymore. Soon he was sobbing out of control.
Grandma lighted the kerosene lamp again and came into the room. Lifting the mosquito netting and sitting on the bed next to Carlos, she pulled him up into her arms. “Carlos, Carlos.” She put her soft cheek against his forehead and gently rocked back and forth, humming softly.
“I want my dad … and my mom,” Carlos sobbed.
Grandma got up, took his hand, and led him to a wooden chest in the other room. From the chest she took brightly colored fabric and soft-colored dresses and placed them aside. Then she took out what looked like a small, woven blanket with broad stripes of green, red, white, and orange. One of the corners was slightly burned. She held it out for Carlos to take. “Sarape,” she said.
Then the old woman brought out something wrapped in white lace. She took off the lace, revealing a book. Smiling at Carlos, she opened the book so that he could see it. Black and white photographs filled each page. She turned the pages slowly, smiling at pictures of a bride and a groom and babies. Pointing to a picture of a young boy, she said, “Tu papi (your daddy).”
Carlos looked closely at the picture. It was like looking at himself. It was his father, standing with the same sarape over his shoulder. Also in the picture was a beautiful young woman with her arm around him.
Carlos ran his fingers over the coarse fabric of the sarape. His father’s fingers had probably felt this fabric the same way when they were the same size as Carlos’s were now.
He looked up from the picture at his grandmother. She wore her white hair combed straight back—the same way it was in the picture—only then her hair had been black. She’s still pretty, Carlos decided.
As he looked at his grandmother, she smiled, but a tear ran down her cheek too. Suddenly Carlos understood that she loved his father as much as he did and that she was as lonely for him as he was. “Grandma,” Carlos said simply, putting his arms around her.
Tears came to both their eyes, but this time they were tears of joy.
When Grandma had tucked Carlos back into bed, she placed the sarape on the end of the bed.
“Thank you, Grandma,” Carlos said, smiling up at her. “Everything is going to be good, I can tell.”
Grandma smiled at Carlos, then bent down and gently kissed him good night, “Te quiero mucho (I love you a lot), Carlos.”

It is reported that one summer at a Young Women’s conference in Alberta, Canada, three hundred girls were camped in tents scattered among tall pines. It rained every day and was very cold and wet. Even so, there was no murmuring in the camp. The last day of the conference, the leader addressed the young women under cloudy skies. Despite the unseasonable cold, there was a feeling of warmth among them for this their temporary home. Maybe because of the cold they were all drawn together and felt warm from the inside out.

The speaker began her remarks by asking, “Where are you going following this outdoor conference?” The united chorus of three hundred young women resounded through the tall pines. “Home!” they cried out. “Where?” they were asked again, and they responded with even greater conviction: “Home!” They knew where they wanted to go most of all and were anxious to get there.

It was Sunday, November 9, 1975, in Bountiful, Utah. The chapel was filled, and the doors into the overflow were opened. The echo of sliding chairs being set up in the cultural hall could be heard above the prelude music. It was because so many friends and family had come to rejoice with Elder Thorne in his sacred call from a prophet of the Lord—a call to serve for two years as a special witness for Christ to his brothers and sisters in Argentina. Just before the music stopped, Elder Thorne and his parents left the door where they had been shaking hands and made their way to the stand. All eyes were on them as they took the remaining seats just behind the pulpit. It was easy from where I sat to look over the audience and locate his proud grandmother and grandfather. This was an occasion for the entire family; they were all a part of this special event. His four younger brothers were smiling, probably because they would get to expand into Gale’s room as soon as he entered the mission home, or maybe because they anticipated how they would feel in just a few short years when they would respond to the call of a prophet.
In this setting I recalled the words of President Spencer W. Kimball:
“The gospel must go to all the world, to every creature, every clime, every people, every soul. It calls for an ‘all-out’ effort. This appeal is not for the rich nor for the poor, for the successful or the intelligentsia, but to every heart and mind in the world, to every corner of the earth. We are still far from our goal.”
This call to arms was given by a living prophet. He further stated, “We call for more missionaries, but we want more worthy missionaries and more able missionaries.” (Regional Representatives Seminar, October 2, 1975.)
I observed, in this large audience, an unusual number of young girls, many of them visitors to our ward. They brought with them the excitement and enthusiasm of youth. Their very presence added to the beauty and importance of the occasion. Among them I spotted the plain, the confident, the bashful; but common to each was the radiant, youthful expression of anticipation and commitment. I studied the expressions on the faces of several of these young women and followed their gaze resting upon Elder Thorne—the dark suit, the white shirt with the conservative tie, and the little-shorter-than-usual haircut.
The young women and young men in the audience represented a circle of friends bursting with pride and sharing the honor of one of their number. It was not hard to believe that in the heart of each one were the words, “I’ll go where you want me to go, and I’ll do what you want me to do.”
Since the girls were sitting in groups of twos and threes and fours, it appeared evident they were not competitors seeking the missionary’s attention. It was obvious that they too were part of the “all-out” effort spoken of by the prophet.
But what part did they play? What had their influence been in Elder Thorne’s preparation? In his closing remarks I began to sense the powerful influence friends had had on this young man who was spiritually mature beyond his years. After expressing gratitude for family and loved ones, and before his final testimony, he grasped the pulpit on either side and leaned forward. He dropped his head just a moment. Then, looking up, he quietly said, “And I give thanks to all my friends, especially you girls in the audience who have kept the standards and encouraged me to do the same.” His voice deepened as he continued, “Thank you for your influence that has helped me prepare for a mission.”
After the closing prayer there seemed to be a spontaneous gravitation as young men and women from all parts of the building quietly, with increasing power, moved forward until they encircled their young missionary friend. Without accompaniment their voices united in singing “God be with you till we meet again” like a prayer to heaven from the voices of living angels. The tears flowed freely from the eyes of these youth who had played a very vital part in helping to build a more worthy and a more able missionary.
In that moment I witnessed a power of love and support from friends that would serve as a reservoir of strength to each one of them in the days to come.

While serving in Pennsylvania several years ago, I was pleasantly surprised to be visited by a minister of a huge Protestant congregation. We exchanged pleasantries and discussed the doctrinal subjects on which we could find benign agreement. Suddenly he interrupted our conversation by stating, “You teach one belief with which I could never agree. It is your idea that ‘as God is, man may become.’” (See History of the Church, 6:302–17.) He held a well-worn white Bible in his hand. I asked him to turn to Matthew 5:48. His nimble fingers quickly turned to that reference, and he read, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.”

He gasped and then hesitatingly agreed to man’s great potential. We read other scriptures, such as: “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.” (Gen. 1:26.) He understood, and found a new respect for our teachings. He left a wiser man, and I felt a renewed gratitude for the inspiring truths that we understand and teach.