Gospel Story Finder

My Young Women president challenged all of the young women in my ward to read Jesus the Christ in just five months. As I sat down to read it, I was disappointed at first. I had expected the heavens to open and light to pour down, instantly filling me with the Spirit. However, that did not happen. Instead, I struggled to get through even the first chapter without my mind wandering off. I put the book down, frustrated at the seeming lack of divine inspiration.
I decided I needed to change my approach to reading. The next evening I knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father to allow me to have the Holy Spirit accompany me, that I might better understand and be able to read this book about His Son and my Savior. After that prayer, I felt a subtle wave of peace come into my room as I settled down to read. I understood the book better and enjoyed it more.
Every night after that, I made sure I started and ended my reading sessions with a prayer, in which I thanked my Heavenly Father and invited the Spirit to guide me as I learned more of the Savior.
I struggled at times and became discouraged that I couldn’t just zip through this 800-page book. But I continued on with my reading and even felt sad as I turned to the last page, knowing the book was ending. The Spirit that was present as I read Jesus the Christ was so indescribably sweet and comforting, and I came to know my Savior on a deeper level. My testimony of the Savior and of the Atonement grew so much from the simple act of reading a book for a few minutes every night.

“Have a good time!” Julie’s mother called as she leaned on her cane and waved.
“I will!” Julie said, waving back.
Today was field day at school, which meant there would be races and awards. It was usually an exciting day, but Julie was distracted as she walked to school. She kept thinking about how much Mom had changed over the past year. Mom used to run and play and even taught Julie to stand on her head! But ever since getting sick, Mom couldn’t walk very well.
“It’s OK,” Mom usually said. “Watching you run and play makes me happy.”
Julie wanted to bring home an award ribbon for Mom so badly she could hardly stand it! There was only one problem—she was the smallest one in the class and didn’t usually win at sporty things.
Maybe if I pray, Heavenly Father will help me, Julie thought. As she prayed, a warm feeling filled her heart. She smiled. It felt like the Spirit was telling her that field day was going to be great.
At school the students were gathering into groups and teams.
“Hey, Julie! Come try this,” Sophia yelled from the long-jump line.
When it was her turn, Julie took a deep breath and ran as fast as she could. She pushed off the start line and felt the wind whip her hair as she sailed over the sand. She landed with a thump and remembered to fall forward.
“That’s the farthest I’ve ever jumped!” Julie said to Sophia when she saw her score. It wasn’t far enough to earn a ribbon, but Julie felt good inside, like she shouldn’t give up.
Soon another friend, Evie, was calling to them.
“Come try the 50-yard dash!”
Julie lined up next to lots of other kids. When the starter yelled, “Go!” Julie pumped her legs as fast as she could.
Wow, I’m running really fast! Julie thought. She came in fourth place—not quite fast enough to earn a ribbon. Julie felt a flicker of worry. But there was still time for one more event.
Julie and her friends decided to try the relay race. After Sophia ran around the track, Julie stretched out her hand for the baton.
I think we’re in first place! Julie thought as she took the baton and ran. But as she handed the baton to Evie, another runner pulled ahead.
The good feelings Julie had faded away. Still breathing hard, she walked to a nearby hill and plopped down on the grass. She wrapped her arms around her knees and listened to the cheers of students and teachers as the race ended.
Julie thought about her morning prayer. She thought about all of the times she had felt good during the day. She was glad the races had been fun. But she also felt sad that she hadn’t earned a ribbon.
Suddenly something surprising happened. Those good feelings started filling her heart again! It was like the Spirit was telling her that she should keep hoping for good things to happen. Julie smiled.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Look what we got!” Evie squealed as she held up two ribbons. “One’s for you. Our team came in second in the relay!”
Julie rubbed the shiny satin between her fingers and looked at the gold letters gleaming in the sunlight. She said a silent prayer thanking Heavenly Father for helping her feel good throughout the day.
Then she jumped up. She couldn’t wait to tell Mom all about her feel-good field day!

One family gained wisdom as they obeyed the counsel of President Ezra Taft Benson to study the Book of Mormon. Because they had four young children, at first they were able to read only one column in the Book of Mormon each day. At that pace, it took them six months to read 1 Nephi. However, five years later, they sat outside the Alberta Temple and read the last chapter of the book as they waited for the rededication of the temple to begin. The father remembers: “We didn’t see any angels or hear voices, but we did feel the calm, peaceful, loving presence of the Holy Ghost.” They gave thanks for the blessings they had received through their study—“blessings of increased faith, strength in the face of adversity, and greater love and tranquility in [their] home” (Liahona, June 1996, 44).

Heber McBride, then 13 years old, traveled to the Salt Lake Valley in the Martin Handcart Company in 1856 with his parents, Robert and Margaret, and four brothers and sisters.
The following incident, found in his memoirs, occurred one day after the company crossed the North Platte River, just west of present-day Casper, Wyoming.
“That evening as we crossed the Platte River for the last time it was very cold. The next morning there was about six inches of snow on the ground, then what we had to suffer can never be told. Father was very bad and could hardly sit up in the tent. . . . I managed to get Father in one of the wagons. That was the last we ever saw of him alive. . . .
“[That evening] the snow was getting very deep and my sister and me had to pitch our tent and get some wood, but there were plenty of dry willows. After we had made mother as comfortable as possible, we went to find father, but the wind was blowing the snow so hard we could not see anything. . . . We did not find father that night.
“The next morning the snow was about eighteen inches deep and awful cold. While my sister was preparing our little bite of breakfast I went to look for father, and found him under the wagon with snow all over him and he was stiff and dead. I felt as though my heart would burst as I sat down beside him in the snow and took his hand in mine and cried, ‘Oh, Father, Father.’
“There we were, away from everything, away out on the plains with hardly anything to eat or wear, and father dead and mother sick; a widow with five children and hardly able to live from day to day. After I had my cry out I went back to the tent and told mother and the children. To try to write my feelings is out of the question.
“We were not the only family called upon to mourn the loss of a father that morning, for there were thirteen men dead in camp.
“The men that were able to do anything cleared off the snow and made a fire and thawed the ground and dug a hole and buried all in one grave. I can assure you that the men had no heart to do more than they had to do.” [Memoirs of Heber McBride, October 1856; cited in Pioneer Moments, “Oh, Father, Father,”Church News, 28 December 1996, p. 16]
In those terrible, terrible circumstances they were loyal one to another. When they were sick, they nursed one another. When they died, the whole company worked together to bury them against the marauding wolves.
Absolutely unspeakable was the suffering of the James G. Willie Company, the Edward Martin Company, and the Hunt and Hodgett wagon trains in that terrible ordeal in the snow in 1856. But notwithstanding death, notwithstanding frostbite, notwithstanding meager rations, they pressed forward to reach Zion. Loyalty to one another and loyalty to the Church marked their actions.

In Ghana the field was also ready to harvest, due mainly to another Elias, Joseph William Billy Johnson, a preacher who obtained a Book of Mormon in 1964. He said:

"As I read the Book of Mormon I became convinced that it was really the word of God, and sometimes while reading I would burst into tears. I felt the Spirit as I read. I have a strong testimony [of] the Book of Mormon. It is a very powerful book!" Brother Johnson also knew that the Lord called him to be an Elias. He said:

Brother Johnson reported that he was strengthened and taught by dreams and visions, including instructions from the Prophet Joseph Smith and President Brigham Young. He later demonstrated his gratitude when his son was born, who today may be the only young man in Ghana named Brigham. On another occasion, when he was very discouraged his deceased brother appeared to him in a dream, and said: "Don't worry, you have chosen the only true church on earth and I am now investigating your church." I was surprised. I never knew that the church extended to another world. It was my brother who brought that knowledge to me. He said that if I didn't believe him, he would sing a song from my church, and he sang Come, Come Ye Saints. That was the first time I had heard that hymn. He said, "Don't leave the church my brother. Please see that I am baptized." Brother Johnson then noted: "It was my brother who enlightened me about baptism for the dead and brought it to my knowledge. Most of my relatives appeared to me in dreams [saying] "Reverend Johnson, do you know you have a work to do for us? Our great grandsons and daughters will be in your church soon. See that we are baptized."

"I learned these doctrines before the missionaries arrived. Nothing they taught us seemed strange. They simply confirmed what we had heard." For fourteen long years Brother Johnson helped organize ten congregations with over a thousand followers. He noted that in his dreams the Lord referred to his followers as Latter-day Saints, even though they were not yet members. Brother Johnson identified the name of the church by placing prominent signs in front of the buildings they used for worship.

Two years ago while filming Brother Johnson's story in Ghana, I walked with him through a dilapidated building that he had used twenty-five years earlier as a church meeting house. I noticed that the roof was patched with boards to keep out the rain, but my attention was drawn to one particularly colorful board. As I pointed it out to Brother Johnson, he gasped in surprise. It was part of the sign that stood in front of the building identifying the name of the church. It will be given to the Church History Museum as a treasured artifact from the pioneer period of Ghana.

One night at midnight, after many lonely years of struggle, Brother Johnson heard a short-wave news broadcast from England that announced that blacks could now receive the priesthood. He burst into tears of joy, knowing that the Church would now come to Africa. Following his baptism Brother Johnson served as Ghana's first branch president and later served several missions. Twelve years after his baptism he was ordained a patriarch.

One such family with four young children writes: “We decided to start small because of our children’s short attention spans. Our oldest child was not yet reading, but she could repeat our words, so we began reading the Book of Mormon, just three verses each night. My husband and I would read one verse each, and then Sydney would repeat a verse. We progressed to four verses and then five verses as the boys began to repeat their own verses. Yes, it was tedious, but we kept going. We tried to focus on consistency instead of speed. It took us three-and-a-half years to finish the Book of Mormon. It was a great feeling of accomplishment!”
The mother continues: “Daily family scripture reading is a habit in our family now. Our children are comfortable with scriptural language, and my husband and I take opportunity to bear testimony of truths. Most important, the Spirit has increased in our home.”

Collin Davis, a teacher in the Midvale First Ward, Midvale Utah Stake, is one of few people who can say they have survived a direct lightning strike. The experience taught Collin a great lesson in treasuring life and strengthened his faith that his Heavenly Father watches over him. Here is part of Collin’s story in his own words:
“I had gone over to Midvale Middle School to help coach a Little League football team. The evening was wet, rainy with thunder and lightning. I was on the field surrounded by 15 anxious little football players, going through the normal drills. We had been out there for approximately 20 minutes, and I was soaking wet from top to bottom.
“Without warning, a light flashed and cracked over my head. The sound was terrifying, and the force threw the boys to the ground. A lightning bolt struck me on the back of my head, traveled down the middle of my back and down my right leg and foot. The boys said I lit up like an electric man, that even my eyes glowed. It left a burn down my back. My baseball hat and my clothes were torn off me, and ashes remained where they had been burned.
“My best friend, John, said he kept telling me to ‘roll over and cry, roll over and cry,’ but I did not respond. A man on the field turned me over and stated that I was dead. I had no heartbeat or pulse, and I was not breathing. Immediately a coach began CPR on me and with the help of others continued to work until the paramedics arrived. They shocked my heart to get it to beat normally. Then they put me on life support systems and took me to the hospital.”
Collin recovered more quickly than anyone expected, although he experienced tremendous pain. At first he couldn’t walk, but now he is walking and doing some jogging. He had played football and run track in school and hopes to be able to participate in sports again.
Collin says he learned some things from the experience. He said, “I learned you can’t choose when you die. It might be today, tomorrow, next week, or in years. You can’t put things off until tomorrow, but do all you can do today. It also taught me or at least left no doubt in my mind that God really does watch over us.”

The sacrament provides a time for a truly spiritual experience as we reflect upon the Savior’s redeeming and enabling power through His Atonement. A Young Women leader recently learned about the strength we receive as we strive to thoughtfully partake of the sacrament. Working to complete a requirement in Personal Progress, she set a goal to focus on the words in the sacrament hymns and prayers.

Each week, she conducted a self-evaluation during the sacrament. She recalled mistakes she had made, and she committed to be better the next week. She was grateful to be able to make things right and be made clean. Looking back on the experience, she said, “I was acting on the repentance part of the Atonement.”

One Sunday after her self-evaluation, she began to feel gloomy and pessimistic. She could see that she was making the same errors over and over again, week to week. But then she had a distinct impression that she was neglecting a big part of the Atonement—Christ’s enabling power. She was forgetting all the times the Savior helped her be who she needed to be and serve beyond her own capacity.

With this in mind, she reflected again on the previous week. She said: “A feeling of joy broke through my melancholy as I noted that He had given me many opportunities and abilities. I noted with gratitude the ability I had to recognize my child’s need when it wasn’t obvious. I noted that on a day when I felt I could not pack in one more thing to do, I was able to offer strengthening words to a friend. I had shown patience in a circumstance that usually elicited the opposite from me.”

She concluded: “As I thanked God for the Savior’s enabling power in my life, I felt so much more optimistic toward the repentance process I was working through and I looked to the next week with renewed hope.”

Another time when prayer was significant in my life was when I had just graduated from high school and was working on a ranch in Idaho. I worked with two other fellows who were involved in athletics with me but who were at that time not very active in the Church. They went off in the evenings and did things that I didn’t want to do.
That left me with a lot of time alone. For six to eight weeks, I was mostly by myself after dinner so I began to study the scriptures. There were no computer games and no television to distract me, and soon I began to love the scriptures. I could hardly wait to finish work and get back to my reading. Scripture study, coupled with prayer, really made my testimony grow. I recommend that everyone be alone with his scriptures for a while.

A number of years ago I was in Atlanta, Georgia, as an attorney representing a man who was buying a business. After several days of negotiations we reached an agreement and signed the closing documents. That evening one of the sellers invited us to a dinner to celebrate the closing. When I arrived, he offered me an alcoholic drink, which I declined. He then said, “Are you a Saint?” I didn’t fully understand what he meant, and he repeated, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?” I responded, “Yes, I am,” and he said he had been observing my personal habits during our negotiations and had concluded that I was either LDS or had a stomach problem. We both chuckled. He then informed me that he had only known one member of the Church on a personal basis, David B. Haight. They were both executives in Chicago with a large retail chain following World War II. He told me of the significant influence Elder Haight had been in his life and that he held him in the highest regard.
As I flew back home to San Francisco, I thought about what had occurred, especially in two respects: I was surprised at how it felt to be asked if I was a Saint, and I was impressed with the positive influence one outstanding example—Elder Haight—had on this good man.

Going to high school for the first time was so intimidating. No one else in my school was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and a lot of my classmates’ standards were different from mine. I wanted to make friends without having to lower my own standards, but that can be hard when you’re living in a country where it’s uncommon to have faith.
I stood out in my school. I didn’t drink alcohol or coffee and didn’t join the smokers during lunch breaks. I was bullied by a lot of my classmates. Sometimes my personal items like my phone or bike keys would be stolen and thrown in the trash or hidden somewhere in the school. I didn’t know what to do. I felt beaten, broken, and worthless.
But things began to change when I decided I would always pray on my knees before going to sleep and pour my heart out to Heavenly Father. I did this for many, many nights. The answer to my prayer didn’t come immediately, but over time I became stronger mentally.
The bullying never really stopped, but it didn’t affect me the same way as before. I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me and knew that He was listening to my prayers. I could feel His arms around me, protecting me.
Rosa-Lynn R., Netherlands

I am writing to thank you for the New Era, which I have found to be spiritually uplifting, and to share with you my little miracle. At a point in my life when I had become totally inactive and thought that life was no longer worth living, I started to receive the New Era. I don’t know who paid for the subscription, but I will be eternally grateful because it helped to bring about the turning point in my life. I am now back on the right road, and I know that life is worth living. I have a lot of steps to climb and a lot of praying and learning to do, but I know that my Heavenly Father is beside me all the way.
Terri WhittingPerth, Australia

As a boy, I made a startling discovery in Sunday School one Mother’s Day which has remained with me all through the years. Melvin, a sightless brother in the ward, a talented vocalist, would stand and face the congregation as though he were seeing one and all. He would then sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” The bright, glowing embers of memory penetrated human hearts. Men reached for their handkerchiefs; women’s eyes brimmed with tears.
We deacons would go among the congregation carrying a small geranium in a clay pot for presentation to each mother. Some of the mothers were young, some were middle-aged, some were barely hanging on to life in their old age. I became aware that the eyes of each mother were kind eyes. The words of each mother were “Thank you.” I felt the spirit of the statement “When someone gives another person a flower, the fragrance of the flower lingers on the hands of the giver.” I have not forgotten the lesson learned, nor shall I ever forget it.

After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

I was born into a family of many children, and I remember being able to have open discussions with my mother. One day, I asked her: “Mommy, why does one of my classmates always obtain the highest grades in class?” She looked at me and kindly replied: “Indeed, you are going to the same school; but he does something differently than you do. In fact, he goes to church every week, but you only attend Church sometimes.”
Since that day, I made a personal commitment to always attend church on Sunday so that I could do better at school. My grades became better because I did go to church regularly, although I did not always fully understand the teachings.

I had always had the same dream. Ever since I could remember, my dream was to ice-skate in the Olympics. I worked very hard at it, skating in all my free time. Although I loved skating with all my heart, the time it took to practice left me with very little time for my friends.
I knew that I was lucky to have three close friends, because I was shy and it was difficult for me to make friends. When my parents told me that my father’s company was transferring him to another state, I was heartsick.
“Mom, we can’t move,” I protested. “It will mess up everything! I’ll have to get familiar with a new rink, a new practice schedule, a new coach. And since I’ll be unknown at the new rink, I’ll go to the bottom of the list for practice hours. And I won’t know a single person in the whole state, except you and Dad.”
“I know, Melissa,” Mom soothed, “It isn’t going to be easy for any of us, especially you. But we’re all going to have to do our share of sacrificing. You may have to work a little harder to reach your goals, but you’ll manage somehow.”
I knew that Mom was right, but I was still terrified of facing a new situation, and the thought of trying to make new friends made me feel sick to my stomach.
Mom and I drove to the ice rink in Danville, our new hometown, the first night we arrived. It was a Friday night, and the rink was open for public skating. Mom had an appointment with the owner to discuss practice time. I wanted to try out the ice.
I slipped into my skates and joined the twenty or so people on the ice. My spirits were so low that I just glided along without really putting any effort into it.
I watched the people closely. Most of them were in groups of two or three, except for a few girls my age. There were four of them, and I could tell by the way they were skating that they were not beginners. These laughing, boisterous girls were the girls I’d be sharing ice time with.
I tried to get up the courage to say hello and introduce myself, and I almost did—until I realized that they had noticed me and were eyeing me with interest. I knew that they were trying to size me up, and I lost all my confidence. I was relieved to see Mom coming out of an office door. I exited the ice quickly.
“How’s the ice?” Mom asked.
“It’s OK,” I mumbled.
“Well,” she started, “as you guessed, you’re going to have to share ice time. Practice times are Monday and Wednesday afternoons from four to six, and Tuesday and Thursday from three to five. You can be on the ice every morning from five to seven, but only with your coach. I set up an appointment for you to meet the coaches tomorrow. The sooner you pick one, the sooner you can get started.”
Mom went on and on about the business end of skating, and I was happy to let her. I was afraid if she tried to involve me in the conversation, she’d see how miserable I was feeling.
I chose a wonderful coach, and after a couple of weeks we had a routine down. We practiced every weekday morning for an hour, two on Saturday, and two hours in the evenings, Monday through Thursday.
I went to school and church and skated with the four girls I’d seen that first night at the rink. But I still had not made any friends. I knew that it was mostly my fault, because I hadn’t really tried. It was easier to pretend that I was too busy. But now that my schedule was no longer new, I was getting bored and lonely. I wanted to be friends with those girls more than I’d wanted anything since we’d moved. I decided that I was going to make an honest effort to befriend them.
Mom made a batch of her best fudge brownies, and I took them with me one Monday morning. It was just the icebreaker I needed. That day I became friends with Julie, Ann, Michelle, and Kelly.
For the next couple of days, everything went well. I was thrilled to have them for friends, and they seemed to like me, too. Danville was starting to feel like home.
On Friday night, we all met at the rink during public skate time to have a little fun. It was nice to just glide along the ice with a chill in my face and my hair blowing behind me and not worry about figure eights or double toe loops.
We had been on the ice for about twenty minutes, when Julie snickered and pointed to a heavyset girl of our age, coming onto the ice. “There she is again! I can’t believe that cow is coming on the ice.”
I couldn’t believe my ears! Who is she? I wondered. I hadn’t seen her here before.
“Hey, Moo-ey Mary, who let you out of the barn?” Julie hollered at her.
The other girls giggled. I looked from face to face, trying to decide what to do. I looked back at Mary, who was trying to ignore them, but I could see that her feelings were hurt.
My first thoughts were for myself. Why is this happening? I know that going along with them is wrong, but if I say anything, I’ll probably lose them as friends. Maybe I could just ignore the whole thing. I grabbed Ann’s arm. “Come on,” I said, “let’s skate.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I want to watch this.”
“Try not to crack the ice,” Julie yelled, and the girls laughed as if on cue. Then they all began to moo.
I looked over at Mary to see what her reaction to this would be. I could see tears running down her cheeks. She was so upset that she was shaking. Everyone on the ice had stopped to look at her.
Mary tried to continue skating, but as she reached us and realized that she would have to pass by us, she went completely white in the face. I had never before known what it meant to feel dirty, but I did now.
I had already noticed that she wasn’t a very good skater and that she had labored to get this far without falling. The other girls were calling her names now, too, and I saw some boys coming our way, laughing.
Mary let go of the handrail, which she had clung to for these past few minutes, and tried to pass us. I could tell that she wasn’t going to make it. Michelle jumped out at her, knocking her off balance, and she fell with a thud to the ice.
The boys, who had joined our circle, started to shake in imitation of an earthquake. It made me sick to my stomach to watch the girls go into peals of laughter over this. I felt angry—mostly with myself.
“Why are you doing this?” I blurted out. “Why don’t you leave her alone. She has as much right to be here as we do.”
Julie turned toward me, all traces of friendship gone from her face. “If you like her so much,” she spat at me, “then why don’t you be her friend?”
I hesitated. But I knew right from wrong, and this was wrong!
“I will!” I said. “I’ll be glad to.”
I skated over to Mary, who had been trying to get on her feet without success. I took her arm, and as I did, I saw that Kelly was reaching for the other one. Together we helped her to her feet and to the handrail.
“My name is Melissa,” I said. “And this is Kelly. Don’t pay any attention to them. They made mistakes and fell when they were learning to skate, too.”
“That’s right,” Kelly agreed.
“Thank you,” Mary managed to say. “Can you help me get to the gate?”
“Oh, please don’t go,” I pleaded. “Stay and have some fun. Kelly and I will give you a free skating lesson, won’t we, Kelly?”
“You bet,” she said. “You can have as many as you like.”
My actions caused me to lose three friends that day. But I made two lifelong, special ones, and I’ve never been sorry for making the right choice.

The April morning sun colored each detail of the spacious, modern, cream-colored building. The building was surrounded by green grass, and it looked like it might be a school. We walked through the door carrying carpet-cleaning catalogs under our arms.
Erika, my fiancée, was helping me make sales calls; we were trying to find new clients for the company I represented. The heels of our shoes, worn down from walking, clicked on the red-brick floor. As we continued down the hall we both realized that this building was a church. We proceeded cautiously because we did not know what customs and rules might apply here.
I wondered if this church might have red carpets like the ones I had sometimes seen used for weddings. But everything in this building was simple, yet elegant.
A group of friendly children and young people greeted us, and Erika asked them who we should see.
“Robert Vázquez,” replied a small boy. “I’ll get him for you.”
I glanced at Erika and quietly told her that if they tried to convert us, we would say we had another appointment and escape to her house.
I was completely satisfied with the religion of my parents. Although I was not completely devout, neither was I a black sheep. I was one of those irregular little lambs who attended church according to the season. But through sermons, Bible study, and moral lessons, I had become convinced of the existence of a loving Heavenly Father; of His Son, Jesus Christ, who atoned for our sins; and of the Holy Ghost. I had been taught about commandments and ordinances. I also knew of our undeniable imperfection as mortal beings.
I considered myself against money offerings, idol worship, and every other superstition or precept not founded on divine love and justice. I had been taught to pray and worship God without the intervention of saints. I believed in love, humility, service, the dangers of judging others, and the balm of forgiveness. I knew many members of my church who were virtuous, righteous, and exemplary. It seemed just short of impossible to consider another religion.
Holding Erika’s hand, I arrived at a room that seemed to be a classroom. There I met Mr. Vázquez.
“What shall I call you? Father? Reverend? Pastor?” I asked.
“Just call me Brother,” he replied. He invited us to go with him to services on the following day, and I was surprised to find myself accepting his invitation.
The next day Erika and I went to a Sunday School class. We were introduced to names like Nephi, Moroni, and Helaman. I felt as if I were in a foreign land without an interpreter. Nevertheless, both Erika and I felt there was something familiar about the ideas we were hearing. They sounded similar to those in the Bible. And so I dared to raise my hand, and I stood and affirmed that Jesus Christ was our greatest example of humility because He always subjected Himself to the will of the Father. Brother Jorge Montoya, our teacher, agreed with what I said. That surprised me. What kind of church was this where even a heretic, which is what I thought I must be to members of the Church, could speak and have the teacher agree?
So we continued attending. I received a Book of Mormon and read it in a single week. I gained a testimony, took the missionary discussions, and was baptized and confirmed on 3 May 1996.
The next day I felt as if I were walking around with a 100-watt lightbulb over my head. I was so happy I went out of my way to help strangers.
The following month Erika and I were married. And on 29 September I had the privilege of baptizing her. A year later we were sealed in the México City México Temple.
Best of all, I never felt that I had to leave the road I had been traveling in my former religion. My former knowledge was embraced and perfected by the true Church of Jesus Christ. My conversion was like passing from the light of a cloudy day into the greater light of a sunny day—like rowing a boat and someone starts the motor.
I realize there are many righteous, good, and holy people in other religions. Although they do not have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost, they are illuminated by the Light of Christ. Still I wonder how we can help these good people see that the exceedingly bright light of Jesus Christ makes the lanterns, streetlights, and candles of other beliefs inadequate. There is no greater truth than pure truth, and pure truth encompasses and perfects the true beliefs of all good people throughout the world.
I know now that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only church that contains the fulness of truth. And I know that Jesus Christ has opened His arms and the doors of His house to all who wish to follow Him.
I did not sell any carpet-cleaning services that morning in April. In fact I have never sold a single square meter of carpet cleaning to any member of the Church. Nevertheless, I am sure that in that single day I gained more—a thousand times more—than anyone could have imagined.

More rescue teams came and helped the wagon trains into Utah. Referring to his nightly camps Barnard said: “We would clear away the snow and pile some logs up and set them on fire. They would burn all night and helped to keep us from freezing.” Ascending Big Mountain he found snow drifted 20 feet deep in places. “We had to cut channels as much as ten feet deep,” he said. But what made this final part of the trip so difficult for the teenager was that “I had no shoes or boots on; my feet were in rags.”
On December 13 at 4 P.M. Barnard and his family stepped from Brother Newman’s wagon into the tithing yard in Salt Lake City. Barnard felt both pleased and humiliated—pleased to be safe and alive but humiliated to walk down the city’s streets dressed in ragged clothes and with flannel rags wrapped around his painful feet. No doubt he recalled then the fancy broadcloth suit and silk hat he donned 18 months before when leaving England for Zion. Utahns, he noticed, “wept like children to see our pale, emaciated, and careworn bodies, for we were quite worn out and had but little strength left.”
What had happened to Barnard’s work boots? They had succumbed to his appetite! While trapped by Wyoming snows Barnard had cut off strips from his worn-out boots and chewed the leather to ease the sharp hunger pains in his stomach—for as his biographer points out, “who can be hungrier than a 16-year-old trying to do the work of a man?”

Jerry Martin, a member of the Plano stake presidency, joined a self-reliance group for personal finances so he could become familiar with the process and the course material. As a retired chief financial officer of a major corporation, he didn’t think he had much to learn about finances.
“I saw opportunities to help several participants get out of debt or develop personal savings and investment plans that fit their unique circumstances,” he said. “It was very satisfying.” And he enjoyed the camaraderie from the group. Then he made a personal discovery.
“I had always paid my tithes and a generous fast offering, but as I participated in this group, I had a nagging feeling that I wasn’t doing enough,” Brother Martin said. “Was I sharing enough? Was I sufficiently consecrated?”
Despite his personal service and Church contributions, these questions persisted. While visiting India, he met many individuals and organizations involved in generously supporting various humanitarian efforts. As President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, has said, “The Church of Jesus Christ is committed to serving those in need, and it is also committed to cooperating with others in that effort.” With that in mind, Brother Martin began looking for other opportunities to serve and cooperate with like-minded individuals. He wasn’t prepared for what came next.
“I had a valuable penny collection,” Brother Martin said. “As I prayed in India about how and where I might contribute to the work being done by others, a prompting came to me that I also needed to consider the source of potential contributions—not from my investment account but from my penny collection. I realized at that point: this was my moment of consecration. How much did that penny collection really mean to me?”
“This was my moment of consecration.”
Eventually, Brother Martin sold his penny collection and used the proceeds to fund humanitarian projects overseas and college scholarships locally. “If I had not participated in the self-reliance group, I would never have even considered how I could lift others through my time as well as my means,” he explained. “I’m a better person for it.”

Making the choice to be baptized was the hardest decision I have ever made. But nothing could have prevented me from joining the Church at that point, not even the opposition of my family and my Catholic friends. I knew that getting baptized was the right thing to do, and I have never regretted it. It has brought many blessings into my life and the lives of my family. My brother Jerry joined the Church ten weeks after I did, and eight years later, we baptized one of my sisters and her husband. I have also been able to do temple work for many of my ancestors, including my own father and my grandfathers.