Gospel Story Finder

Most days my bus arrived right on time, but one day—11 October 1993—it was late. I was a young university student in Caen, France, and I needed to get to class. Looking around, I noticed I was not the only one waiting for the bus. Two young men standing nearby caught my eye. They looked different. Each had a name tag. Who were they? They were obviously not high school students. But anxious about getting to class on time, I quickly turned my thoughts back to worrying about the late bus.
Then, unexpectedly, I heard a voice behind me, saying, “May I ask you a question?”
I turned and found myself facing one of the young men. He spoke French with an unusual accent. “Do you believe in God?” he asked.
I was surprised and hesitated to reply. I had asked myself that very question many times. I had finally decided I was an atheist. There was no reason to continue talking with these young men, but something about their demeanor was so remarkable I found myself wanting to continue our conversation. They radiated a feeling of peace and, surprisingly, an outpouring of love and intelligence. Their name tags said they were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The three of us conversed for about 10 minutes. I knew nothing about their church, and I was amazed when they said they were prepared to teach me everything I needed to know about God, including the meaning of life. Before my bus arrived—15 minutes late—we set an appointment to meet.
During our discussions, the two elders introduced me to the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, and they taught me about the restored gospel. Little by little, I learned the principles of the gospel and came to believe they are true.
My entire life began to change. My parents were the first to notice the difference. Communication with my family improved, and my relationships with everyone became happier. I made friends more easily than ever before. I attended church and saw no pretense there, only expressions of love and acceptance unlike anything I had experienced before. The members seemed to know the difference between what was true and what was false. It was a place of wonderful opportunities.
But before joining the Church, I wanted to be absolutely certain it was the right thing to do. I took my time making up my mind. The missionary discussions helped me come to the conviction that I would not be making a mistake, that I had indeed found the truth. I was baptized on 24 July 1994.
It was the best decision I have ever made. Since then, I have enjoyed the blessings of the gospel and the fellowship of wonderful ward members. I have received the priesthood. I have taught Sunday School and participated in the conversion of others. Life has taken on new meaning.
Thanks to the elders, I found the answers to my questions and the solutions to my problems. Meeting them was the most fortunate encounter of my life. When people ask me how I came to join the Church, I grin and tell them, “The bus was late—thank heavens!”

Moving can be a scary thing, especially when you go from sixth grade in an elementary school to sixth grade in a middle school, as I did.
My mom took me to school on my first day to get me enrolled. After a quick tour of the school with the school counselor, we were taken to my classroom. My teacher wasn’t there when we arrived, so the counselor said he would find her and let her know I was new in the class. Then he left us with a class full of kids busy with schoolwork.
I was becoming nervous when one boy turned around and said, “Are you new?”
I said, “Yes.”
He stood up, walked over, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hi, I’m Chase.”
“I’m Zack,” I said, shaking his hand. To my surprise, several other boys lined up with outstretched hands and introduced themselves. I didn’t dare look at my mom because I thought she might be crying because these boys made me feel so welcome. I felt good the rest of the day because a group of boys noticed someone who needed a handshake.
After school, my mom asked me how it felt to have a welcome like that. “It felt good!” I said. She told me that if I ever noticed a new person, I would know what to do to make them feel good, too.

A homely story contains a warning. I like this story because it translates easily into different languages and cultures.
Two men formed a partnership. They built a small shed beside a busy road. They obtained a truck and drove it to a farmer’s field, where they purchased a truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. They drove the loaded truck to their shed by the road, where they sold their melons for a dollar a melon. They drove back to the farmer’s field and bought another truckload of melons for a dollar a melon. Transporting them to the roadside, they again sold them for a dollar a melon. As they drove back toward the farmer’s field to get another load, one partner said to the other, “We’re not making much money on this business, are we?” “No, we’re not,” his partner replied. “Do you think we need a bigger truck?”
We don’t need a bigger truckload of information, either. Like the two partners in my story, our biggest need is a clearer focus on how we should value and use what we already have.
Because of modern technology, the contents of huge libraries and other data resources are at the fingertips of many of us. Some choose to spend countless hours in unfocused surfing the Internet, watching trivial television, or scanning other avalanches of information. But to what purpose? Those who engage in such activities are like the two partners in my story, hurrying to and fro, hauling more and more but failing to grasp the essential truth that we cannot make a profit from our efforts until we understand the true value of what is already within our grasp.

You will not always be young and handsome or young and beautiful. There will come a time in life when instead of growing taller you will begin to shrink. I recall recently sitting down at the dinner table with my wife. I looked across the table at her hands, once so beautiful, now gnarled and wrinkled. I found myself with tears in my eyes. Pictures of the days of her young womanhood flooded my memory. I saw her when the children were small and she was young and strong, taking them everywhere and looking after their every need. She cooked and sewed, she washed and kept house, she went to their performances, she read books and attended concerts, she served in the Church in a variety of positions, and she was so very bright and beautiful and happy.

We have now been married for more than 62 years. That is a long time. We have grown old and wrinkled. But our love and respect and loyalty one for another have remained undimmed. Our children have grown. We have grandchildren who are grown, and we have great-grandchildren who are well on their way. I could not wish for any of you more than I have had in my companionship with my beautiful wife.

“A brown butterfly to land on my hand,” my three-year-old squeaks with excitement. His response is an innocent reply to my offhanded question, “What do you want for Christmas?”
I mutter a hesitant “We’ll see” before putting him to bed, relishing the rare moments I get to spend with him. I’ve been too out of sorts to be present most of the time.
The unceasing screams of his sister, suffering from colic, keep pulling me into the black hole of postpartum depression. I feel like a shattered piece of china held together with tape—sharp, broken, and barely hanging on. I don’t want my bitter feelings to spoil my son’s excitement for the season.
I feel the weight of his answer on my shoulders. A brown butterfly had landed on his hand while we were taking one of our daily walks in the cool air of early spring. He talked about it for weeks. It is still the highlight of his short life.
I want to make his wish come true and see in his face some of the joy I desperately want for myself. I go to sleep praying for peace and relief, feeling that this is going to be a harsh Christmas for us both.
The next morning, we awake to a beautiful day—perfect for our annual Christmas Eve hike. My son prepares with more gusto than usual, talking about when and how his butterfly will arrive.
“It’s a little too cold,” I say as I zip up his coat and pull a hat over his head. “Perhaps the butterflies will all be staying warm inside their homes.”
“Not my butterfly,” he laughs, undeterred.
I put my daughter in the baby carrier and say a silent prayer: “Please don’t let him be too disappointed.”
As we walk, my son looks back and forth among the trees, more eager with each step. The cold wind shakes the leaves. He spins as they fall to the forest floor, where he stomps on them with a big crunch of his boots. To him, the world is full of magic, just waiting for his wish to come true. But I don’t see any butterflies.
We near the end of the trail. As I start to call him home, I hear his joyful laughter. I turn to see him by a tree holding his finger out as a small brown butterfly dances around him. With the faintest touch, they meet, and he smiles. His eyes find mine, and I feel warmth spreading all over me, marveling at the little miracle I’ve just witnessed.
I clap my hands in celebration and praise. God was listening. The weight of my sadness eases, and the Sprit witnesses that He is aware of me. He had heard my pleading prayers for strength and relief during tiring nights and depressing days.
Even small things, like finding a butterfly on a December day, prove that Heavenly Father is watching over my family—reminding me that miracles still happen when we have the faith of a child.

I was worried. My Primary teacher had asked me to give a talk the next week in sharing time. “You could bear your testimony about prayer,” she had said. We had just talked about prayer in our class.
I had prayed many times. I always said my own prayers, and I often prayed during family prayer. I had prayed for blessings on the food many times too, and I had prayed in Primary before. But now I wasn’t sure I had a testimony of prayer or if I understood how prayer could help me. “Does someone really hear me when I pray?” I wondered.
I went to the kitchen, where my mother was getting dinner ready.
“Mama,” I said, “how can I bear my testimony of prayer when I’m not sure I have a testimony of it?”
My mother put her arm around me. “Why don’t you give a lesson about prayer in family home evening tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it together,” she said.
My mother helped me find stories and conference talks about prayer. Then I began to prepare for family home evening and for my Primary talk.
When I gave the lesson on Monday, my mother and father told me how prayer had helped them. I gave my Primary talk the next Sunday too, but I didn’t feel much different. I still wondered if I had a testimony of prayer. I prayed sincerely about my doubts, but the answer didn’t come right away.
One day my father came home after looking for work all day with no success. He was very sad. He had been out of work for many weeks. I ran to him and hugged him, as I always did.
“Don’t be sad, Papa,” I said. Then suddenly I felt something in my heart. “We need to pray,” I said.
“Right now?” my father asked.
“Yes, right now,” I said. “I believe Heavenly Father will hear us.”
We knelt together and prayed, asking Heavenly Father to comfort us.
After the prayer we read the scriptures, as we did each night, and then sat together and talked. I noticed that little by little our sadness was replaced with the happiness we always had in our home. I felt different—as though we were safe and protected, and I knew that everything would be all right. It was a wonderful feeling.
Mama noticed it too. “Can you feel it, Lucas?” she asked quietly. “The Holy Ghost is comforting us, helping us know that we are not alone.”
“Yes, I feel it,” I said. I knew that Heavenly Father heard our prayer.
It was a night that I will never forget. Now I have my own testimony of the power of prayer.

Two couples who have immigrated to New Zealand from Brazil and Tonga say the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program helped them improve their language, knowledge, and job skills, opening doors to a better life and new hope for their families’ futures.
Andressa Develis and her husband, Andre, of Birkenhead, and Mosese and Ralueri Unga of Totara Vale, are two examples of how BYU-Pathway benefits working individuals and couples. They say the ability to tailor the learning experience to student needs is a significant advantage of this online education program.
The Develis’ moved from Brazil to New Zealand in 2018, a year after they married. Andressa’s English was limited to a few phrases like “good morning” and “thank you.” Fortunately, Andre had more exposure to English due to his mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, helping them settle in their new environment.
Andressa said, “I was raised by my grandparents in a small town in Brazil, and we were really poor. Public universities are reserved for the best students, and I was just an average student, so I didn’t get that opportunity.”
She found an affordable nursing course but wasn’t interested in it—she just wanted to further her education. After graduating, Andressa and Andre decided to move to New Zealand for greater opportunities.
Upon arriving, Andressa looked for ways to improve her English. She attended language classes and worked for several families tending their children, which helped her English progress significantly. “Language immersion is key!” she said.
Yearning for more professional growth, Andressa was accepted into the BYU-Pathway program in 2020, where she completed her general proficiencies in English and mathematics before earning a teaching English as a foreign language certification under the professional studies degree, which opened many opportunities for her.
“That’s what I love about BYU-Pathway. It’s a pathway to marketable skills,” she said. “It’s a flexible pathway to a bachelor’s degree, and you can work and achieve certificates along the way.”
After completing her certificate, Andressa took online courses in communications through Ensign College and completed a certificate in social media marketing. She knew she was on the right pathway when she helped with the social media efforts for Auckland’s Light the World giving machine in December 2023.
“Social media can be quite a challenging space, but I think it can be used in positive ways,” she said. “That experience helped me see how I could make a positive difference in others’ lives.”
“BYU-Pathway has blessed me with a constant drive to seek better opportunities,” Andressa said. “That’s a lesson I will carry with me the rest of my life.”

Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time United States President James Buchanan sent federal troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when hostile troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately, a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.

Recently I listened to a courageous sister share how she persevered through difficulties. She had some challenges, and one Sunday she was sitting in Relief Society, listening to a teacher who she thought lived a picture-perfect life—totally different from her own. She was tired and discouraged. She felt like she didn’t measure up—or even belong—so she got up and left, planning to never return to church again. Walking to her car, she felt a distinct impression: “Go into the chapel and listen to the sacrament meeting speaker.” She questioned the prompting but felt it again strongly, so she went into the meeting.
The message was exactly what she needed. She felt the Spirit. She knew the Lord wanted her to stay with Him, to be His disciple, and to attend church, so she did.
Do you know what she was grateful for? That she didn’t give up. She just kept going—with faith in Jesus Christ, even when it stretched her, and she and her family are being abundantly blessed as she presses forward.

Illustration by Brad Teare
Joseph swung at the baseball and missed. Again.
“Strike three!” the umpire called. “You’re out.”
Joseph trudged back to his team with his shoulders slumped. How would he ever hit a ball this season? They had only one game left.
“Good try,” his coach said. Joseph shrugged and plopped down on the bench. He was so tired of striking out! He’d worked hard all season long, going to every practice and staying late most days. He even practiced at home whenever he could.
His coach once told him he had one of the best swings on the team. So why couldn’t he hit the baseball?
The next batter from his team swung hard and smashed the ball with a loud crack. Up, up, up it went. A home run.
Joseph sighed. He didn’t need to hit a home run. Just a normal hit. He said a silent prayer to Heavenly Father, asking that somehow he’d be able to hit the ball before the season ended. Tomorrow would be his last chance.
Later that night the missionaries visited Joseph’s house. Mom had signed up weeks ago to have them over for dinner. While they ate, Elder Seeley started talking about baseball.
Joseph sat up straight and paid very close attention. Apparently Elder Seeley was some kind of a baseball star back home before his mission. Nobody in Joseph’s family had known that before.
Mom seemed very interested too. She turned to Elder Seeley and asked, “Would it be OK if we all went outside so you could give Joseph a few tips on his swing?”
“Absolutely,” Elder Seeley said.
The moment dinner was done, Joseph raced to get his baseball and bat. Joseph couldn’t wait to see what the missionary might teach him.
Outside, Elder Seeley pitched a few balls and watched Joseph swing. “You’re swinging way too fast,” he said. “Slow it down, nice and easy.”
Elder Seeley also taught Joseph how to grip the bat better and the best height to hold his elbow.
“Let’s see that swing again,” Elder Seeley said and pitched one more time. Joseph swung and heard the crack of the ball hitting his bat. The ball flew over the back fence. He’d done it! He’d actually hit the ball!
Mom and the missionaries cheered.
A peaceful feeling came over Joseph. He was going to hit the ball in the game tomorrow. He just knew it.
The next day Joseph stepped up to the batting plate and took a deep breath. He tried to remember everything Elder Seeley taught him.
The first pitch came. He swung and missed.
“Strike one!” the umpire called out.
Joseph didn’t let it bother him. He still had two more strikes.
The next pitch flew out of the strike zone.
“Ball one!” cried the umpire.
Joseph took another deep breath. He could do this. He still felt that same warm feeling inside.
The pitcher let the ball fly. Joseph focused and swung.
His bat smacked hard against the ball and sent it flying. Joseph stared in wonder for a moment as the baseball soared away. Then he dropped the bat and ran toward first base as fast as he could.
A cheer rose from the crowd.
Joseph skidded to a stop on the base and smiled. Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. The answer hadn’t come in the way he’d expected, but Joseph knew Heavenly Father had sent someone to help him.

There were many other examples of similar courage. One day Margaret Henrietta Camp Baird, a crippled widow with eight children who lived in Holbrook, Arizona, caught a wild cow. A fighter, the cow bellowed and struggled when Margaret and her sons tried to rope her. Finally they succeeded and tied her to the snubbing post in the center of the corral. But with her lunging the cow succeeded in snapping the rope, and the boys ran for cover. Just as determined as the cow, Margaret made her way into the corral. The cow sniffed and headed toward her. Margaret raised her cane and brought it down over the cow’s head with such force that the animal’s knees buckled. According to a family report, Bossy proved to be the best milk cow they ever had. On another occasion Margaret received a call for help from a ward member about to be confined. The neighbor was a mile and a half away across the Little Colorado, which at that time was a raging torrent because of the spring melt. Margaret saddled her horse and started out with her baby strapped on her back as there was no one to leave her with. The horse had to swim across the bulging river, but Margaret and baby made it in good time to deliver the neighbor’s child.10

Suzy gripped my arm and dragged me into an empty classroom.
“Debbie, I think I’m going to die.”
“Now look, Suzy,” I said, loosening her fingers from my arm, “I don’t think you can die from giving a talk.”
“But my heart is pounding and I feel sick,” she said. “Maybe I’m going to have a heart attack.”
“Calm down and tell me what I can do to help,” I suggested. Suzy is my best friend. She and I and the other 12-year-olds who were advancing to Young Women had been asked to give talks at a program. It was starting in only a few minutes.
“Maybe you could help me run away,” Suzy said hopefully.
“Suzy, you’re the bishop’s daughter. Everyone expects you to be there. I think they would notice if you were gone.”
“There must be something I can do,” Suzy said as she paced between the door and wall.
“What exactly is the problem?” I asked.
“I didn’t prepare my talk the way I usually do and I don’t have any notes.” She stopped and turned to face me. “My dad said I’m old enough to give a talk from my heart. Now I’m terrified and I won’t remember anything.”
“Can’t you talk to him again?” I asked.
“It’s too late. He said whatever I said would be fine. But I’m afraid I’m going to make a fool of myself. I think the only solution is to run away.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. I knew there must be a better solution to Suzy’s problem. Suddenly a thought came to me. “Come on,” I said, pulling Suzy with me. We went down the hall away from the Primary room toward the chapel. “Let’s go in here and say a prayer,” I said softly. “Then things will be all right.” I opened the heavy door and we peeked inside. The room was empty and a little light shone from somewhere up front.
Suzy and I tiptoed into the chapel and dropped to our knees. I told her I would pray. I asked Heavenly Father to bless Suzy to be able to give her talk, and to bless her with the Spirit so she would be calm and know that He loved her. I don’t remember what else I said. What I do remember is the warm feeling that surrounded me as we knelt in the chapel. I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father loved Suzy and would help her, and I knew that Heavenly Father loved me too.
After a few moments we got up from our knees and headed to the Primary room to give our talks. Suzy did fine without notes. I will never forget the feeling of complete love that surrounded me as we knelt in the darkened chapel to ask Heavenly Father for help.

“I can tell you something that happened to me the summer after I was baptized. Is that close enough?”
When Malcolm nodded, Mom went on, “I call this story ‘One Day in the Water.’ This is how it happened:
“Shortly after we moved to the farm, my Uncle Virgil and his daughter Cindy came to see us. She was a year older than I.
“‘How would you girls like to go swimming with Cindy at the town swimming pool for a couple of hours while I do some business?’” he asked my sister, Pam, and me. ‘Afterward you could come home with us and spend the night?’
“Your Aunt Pam and I raced to pack our suitcases with pajamas, clean clothes, and toothbrushes. Then we quickly changed into our swimming suits, grabbed our towels, kissed our parents good-bye, and headed into town.
“I had never gone swimming without your grandpa and grandma being right in the pool with me, but Pam assured me that the lifeguard would keep an eye on us and help us if we had any problems.
“The lifeguard didn’t look nearly as strong as your grandpa, but Pam didn’t seem the least bit worried, so I jumped into the water after her and Cindy and joined in the splashing and races across the shallow end. I was having a wonderful time until Cindy challenged Pam to swim around the entire edge of the pool with her. I had swum in the deep end before when your grandpa was there, but I wasn’t too confident on my own. Still, I didn’t want to be left out, so I started to swim behind them. When we went under the rope, I lost my nerve and decided to circle the deep end by hanging onto the edge.
“Five older boys were taking turns doing stunts off the low diving board. One of them spotted me clinging to the edge, and he started to tease me. ‘This is the deep end, little girl,’ he said. ‘No babies allowed.’
“‘I’m not a baby,’ I retorted, embarrassed that he had noticed me.
“‘Yeah, then why are you hanging onto the edge?’ he jeered. Soon his four friends joined him in the pool, and one of them started to splash water in my face. I turned my head away and looked for the lifeguard. But the lifeguard chair was empty, and there was no one standing around the edge of the pool with a whistle.
“‘Leave me alone,’ I told the boys. ‘I’m just resting.’ I felt tears welling up in my eyes, so I bit my lip hard, trying to control them. If they already think that I’m a baby, I thought, what will they do if I start crying?
“‘Well, you’ve rested long enough,’ the first boy snapped. ‘Now swim.’
“Pam and Cindy, unaware of my plight, had finished their trip around the pool and were sunbathing at the other end.
“‘What are you waiting for?’ the boy who had splashed me demanded. ‘You heard Bruce—swim!’
“I turned to swim close to the edge of the pool, and when the boys realized what I was going to do, three of them lined up in front of me and two got behind me so that I would have to swim across the deep end. I took a deep breath and pushed off as hard as I could. When I reached the middle, I turned to look back. By then the boys had completely forgotten me and were back on the diving board trying to outdo each other.
“I probably would have made it to the other side just fine except that I became frightened without someone watching over me. I panicked and went under. I sank clear to the bottom. I let my knees bend, then pushed off as hard as I could. The weight of the water pulled against me like a giant magnet. My head broke through the surface of the water just below my eyes, but I couldn’t get my nose above it to take a breath. I sank back to the bottom. Once more I pushed up with all the strength of my legs. Once more I was two inches too short. My lungs were really aching as I sank that time. My heart was pouring out silent pleadings to the Lord: ‘I’m drowning Heavenly Father! Help me! I can’t get my nose out of the water.’
“I remembered being told that if someone went underwater three times without being able to get a breath, he would drown. Again I pushed off. Again I failed. As I sank the third time, my mind cleared of all my fears, and I thought, This is what it is like to die. All I have to do now is take a deep breath. My lungs will fill with water, and I will drown. I wonder if my lungs will stop hurting when the water fills them? As I touched the bottom, a thought came to me as clearly as if it had been spoken: ‘Turn around. You will not drown.’
“I did turn around. I found myself at the side of the pool directly under the ladder. How I had gotten there I do not know. But I do know that it was not under my own power. I pushed up one last time, grabbed the ladder, and pulled myself up far enough to breathe. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I silently thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. The warmth of the sun, the song of a nearby bird, the smell of the water—everything was a gift to be cherished.
“When I got my strength back and rejoined Pam and Cindy, I decided not to tell them about my experience. Somehow it was too sacred to talk about. I didn’t even tell your grandma for many years.
“When I ate supper that night, I concentrated on really tasting everything. After Pam and Cindy were asleep, I got out of bed and walked quietly around Uncle Virgil’s house, touching everything. I wanted to store in my mind the look, feel, and smell of everything. I savored my senses as though they were brand new. I wanted to really understand what it was like to be alive. That feeling stayed with me strongly for several days, then gradually faded away. But sometimes, when I’m all alone, it comes back to me for a short time.”

For many years I had a less than enthusiastic view of school. Not until my junior year of high school did I begin to realize the power which knowledge could have on my life. Learning now became exciting to me. It started to influence my whole life. School became enjoyable, and I studied to learn. I started reading for fun. I read mostly about scientific topics. I began to see the world and religion in a new light.
The core of this internal change was revealed in my advanced-placement chemistry class, along with a few other influences in my life at that time.
During one discussion about the molecular orbital theory and the particle wave theory of electrons, I asked my chemistry teacher how scientists knew what they claimed. I wanted proof. Mr. Steed, my teacher, finally admitted that he didn’t know, and neither did anyone else. He explained that scientists only knew that the theory fit their current understanding.
I began to realize that much of what I had been taught in science could not be proven. I had relied on science to be pure and free from opinions, but I came to realize that it was not. Science involved studies and theories based on a limited knowledge.
At the same time I lost my faith in science, I began to lose my faith in mankind. I took a class in which beliefs, truths, ethics, and morals were discussed. Many students in the class believed that there was no such thing as absolute truth, a God, or morality. They did not believe in personal responsibility and accountability for their actions. These people symbolized the world to me, so I began to lose my faith in mankind when I lost my faith in them.
I realized that much of what I had been taught as fact was not. This changed my perspective on everything in my life. I no longer saw teachers as sources of truth. I began to question all that I had been taught and had believed in. I wanted everything to be proven to me.
I began to question whether an absolute truth could exist. Yet I knew that certain things must exist. My lack of ability to comprehend God caused me to question his existence. I would say to myself, “God exists and his laws are absolute.” Then I would quickly think of something else to avoid questioning God’s existence.
Yet as I learned more, I tried to understand and explain God. Although I disliked my thinking, I could not deny what I felt. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to believe in that which I had always believed. My life was becoming depressing and insecure.
As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I 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.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

What an awful day! Today at school I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t play with anyone at recess, and I didn’t sit with anyone at lunch. My family has been living in this new town for two weeks, and I still don’t have any friends!
As I walked up to my new house, I saw my younger sister playing with the girl from across the street. She waved. “Hi, Rosa!”
I turned my head and didn’t say anything back. Three girls on our street are the same age as my younger sister. How many girls on our street are my age? None. Not one!
I pushed through the front door and dropped my backpack on the floor.
“Sister Garcia called from the Primary to remind you about activity day today,” Mom said.
“I don’t want to go to activity day,” I grumbled. “I just spent all day with kids I don’t know. I don’t want to spend another hour with girls I don’t know!” Talking to people you don’t know might be easy for some people but not for me.
“I know it’s been hard moving here and leaving all your old friends,” Mom said. “I’ve been praying that we will make some new friends soon.”
“Me too,” I said. “I pray for that every night, but so far Heavenly Father hasn’t answered my prayers. It’s like He isn’t listening.”
Mom squeezed my hand. “Maybe the call from Sister Garcia is your answer,” she said.
“How can that be the answer to my prayers?” I asked.
“Sometimes when we pray, Heavenly Father expects us to do something to help answer our prayers,” Mom said. “It’s called acting in faith. We have to do more than just pray. Sometimes we have to act in faith before we get the blessing.”
“Could it be possible?” I thought. “Could going to activity day really be the answer to my prayers?”
Later, Mom asked me if I wanted a ride to the activity. I took a deep breath and nodded. Even though I was afraid, it felt like the right thing to do.
My heart was beating fast as we arrived at the church. Sister Garcia welcomed me and led me to a chair at the table. Her kind voice and warm smile helped me feel better.
A girl across the table looked at me. “Hi, I’m Teresa,” she said. “Are you new?”
There was a lump in my throat, so I just nodded.
“I think I’ve seen you at school,” Teresa said. “What class are you in?”
I swallowed nervously. “Mrs. Lee’s class,” I told her.
“I’m in the class right next door!” she said.
We talked about our classes and our favorite subjects. As we talked, I was surprised at how much we had in common. We even both liked roller-skating!
When Mom picked me up after the activity, I jumped into the car.
“Mom, can I play with my new friend Teresa?” I waved at Teresa, and she waved back.
Mom thought it was a great idea, and for the rest of the evening, my new friend and I roller-skated up and down my street.
That night as I knelt by my bed, I thanked Heavenly Father for answering my prayers. At first I was scared to go to activity day, but I’m glad I did. I’m glad I was brave enough to act in faith.

A few days after I had submitted my talk for translation, my beloved eternal companion, Barbara, completed her mortal probation and passed into the spirit world.
As the days have turned into weeks, then months, and now a year since Barbara’s passing, I find myself more fully appreciating this scripture: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” Barbara and I were blessed to “live together in love” for 67 years. But I have learned in a very real way what it means to “weep for the loss” of those we love. Oh, how I love and miss her!
I suppose most of us fail to fully appreciate what others do for us until they are gone. I knew Barbara was always busy, but I did not fully understand the constant family, Church, and community demands upon her time. There were daily consecrated efforts repeated thousands of times through the years that kept our family functioning. And through it all, no one in our family ever heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word.
Floods of memories have washed over me this past year. I have thought about the physically demanding choice she made to be the mother of seven children. Being a homemaker was the only career she ever wanted, and she was in every aspect a consummate professional.
Often I have wondered how she kept track of our children and me. Meal preparation alone was a truly daunting task, not to mention activities such as doing the mountains of laundry our family generated every week and keeping shoes and appropriately sized clothing on the children. We all turned to her on a myriad of other issues that were important to us. And because they were important to us, they were also important to her. She was, in a word, magnificent—as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a neighbor, and as a daughter of God.
Now that she has moved on, I am happy that I chose to sit next to her when I came home from the office during the last few months of her life, to hold her hand as we watched the endings of some of her favorite musicals—over and over again because Alzheimer’s would not allow her to remember that she had seen them just the afternoon before. Memories of those special hand-holding sessions are now very, very precious to me.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

One Sunday I noticed a little girl my age in sacrament meeting. She was new and seemed scared to go to Primary. I decided to ask her to come with me to Primary and be my friend. After church the little girl’s aunt told my parents that her niece was so happy to go to Primary with her new friend. I tried to be like Jesus by being a good friend and helping someone in need.
Reagan V., age 5, Colorado, USA

Johnny slowed his bike before turning into Mrs. Jones’s driveway. It was the day before Easter, and it was time for the neighborhood Easter egg hunt.
“I knew it,” he thought. “There’s Randy Mills. He’ll get the prize. He always does. I’ll have to listen to him brag for another year.”
“Hey, come on, slowpoke!” Randy yelled.
“I’m coming.”
Randy laughed. “Why are you frowning? Afraid you’ll get beat again?”
“Come line up, children,” Mrs. Jones called. “When I say, ‘Go,’ the smaller children will run to the backyard. When I say it again, the older children will follow.”
A few minutes into the hunt, Randy ran up to Johnny. “How many eggs have you found?”
“Nine.”
“Me too. Maybe we’ll tie for the prize.” He ran off to find more.
Johnny poked about here and there. He sure hoped to find another egg and beat Randy. He was looking under an already-searched bush when he heard a small sniff. A little girl was standing behind the bush crying. It was Laurie, Johnny’s neighbor.
“Hi, Laurie. Why are you crying?”
“I don’t have any eggs!” Laurie sobbed. “If I could find just one egg …” Laurie was much younger than most of the children, and she was crying as if her heart would break.
“Children, I believe all the eggs have been found. Let’s count up,” Mrs. Jones said.
“Now I’ll never find one.” Tears ran down Laurie’s face.
Johnny felt very bad for the little girl. As he looked at his full basket, an idea hit him. He quickly slipped his prettiest egg under the bush. “Laurie, did you look really well under here?”
“I think so.” She came around to his side of the bush, her eyes searching everywhere. Suddenly her face lit up. “Ooooh! Look at the pretty egg!”
Randy walked up and pounded Johnny on the back. “Well, we tied for first prize with nine eggs apiece.”
“I only have eight,” Johnny said quietly.
“I thought you said you had nine.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Wow! The prize is mine. Say, you’d better learn to count better, Johnny.” He laughed over his shoulder.
Johnny watched Randy claim the prize. He would have to listen to Randy brag for another year, but somehow it didn’t matter anymore. He smiled, remembering Laurie’s face as she found just one egg.