Gospel Story Finder

The train threaded its way through the mountains that walled Feather River Canyon, carrying its load of passengers eastward from San Francisco. Although snow lay deep in some of the higher passes, a bright March sun had caused streams to cascade over the rocks and a soft green to begin to color the oak brush and grass.
Some of those on the train pressed their faces against the windows to see the beauty of the canyon; others slept. A man in one of the cars did neither. His thoughts were of a talk he had been asked to give the following week at Primary General Conference. He wondered what he might say to express his love for children.
This man was Marion G. Romney. He picked up his Bible and turned to the New Testament, to the tenth chapter of Mark, which tells how the Savior took the children in his arms and blessed them. As Elder Romney read, he leaned forward in front of the window of the train, the New Testament in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He read and reread the words until it almost seemed as if he could see the Savior with the children in his arms. The picture was so beautiful that Elder Romney closed the book, leaned back as far as he could, and pressed his body hard against the seat as he shut his eyes in prayerful thought.
Just then a great boulder, crashing down the mountainside, burst through the window of the train where he sat. It grazed his face and bruised his right side but did not seriously hurt him.
A week later as Elder Romney stood in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, he said, “Had I been leaning forward, I am sure I would not be here today.”

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”

The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name. …

I believe that we can magnify our priesthood service over our lifetime and perhaps beyond. It will depend on our diligence in trying to know the Lord’s will and our efforts to hear His voice so that we can know better what He wants for the person we are serving for Him. That magnification will come in small steps. It may come slowly, but it will come.

I have a friend that was struggling with something very near and dear to her heart. I had no way of knowing how or what to say to her. I had been praying for her and I wanted her to find the peace that was there for her to feel, but I really had no way of knowing (really knowing) or understanding how she felt. I finally had words impressed upon my mind of what I needed to tell my friend. These words, although I believe were meant for her, they may also be meant for someone hearing this talk today. Here are the words I said to my friend:

"I want you to know that you will get through this journey. I want you to know that I am not sure how long it will take but [you will get through it]. I also want you to know that this journey you are on, is not for you. What I mean is that this journey you are on, is for you to help someone else that will be facing something similar. I am not sure when that will be, but this person will approach you and tell you their story. You will recognize it as your own. Then you will be able to tell them, 'I know how you feel, I not only know how you feel, I understand how you feel because I have walked in your shoes.' You will be the one that was sent to their aid to help them get through their journey because you have made it through yours."

Perspective.

This story took place in Bolivia.
Ismael smiled as he stepped outside into the sunshine. He and Papá were going to the park. As they walked, Ismael held Papá’s hand and carried his football. Ismael liked to spend time with Papá—especially when they played football!
When they got to the park, Ismael looked around. A lady was weeding near the football field. A family was walking on the sidewalk. But no one was playing on the football field. Ismael and Papá would have lots of room to practice!
“Ready to play?” Papá asked.
“Yes!” Ismael ran as fast as he could onto the field. He did zigzag drills, penalty kicks, and corner shots.
Papá kicked the ball hard. It flew right over Ismael’s head!
“I’ll get it,” Ismael said. He ran to the corner of the field and picked up the ball. He saw the lady still digging in the dirt. She looked tired.
“I’ll be goalie now,” called Papá. “See if you can score!”
Ismael ran back and kicked the ball toward the goal. Papá reached out to stop it but barely missed.
“Goaaaal!” Ismael cheered as the ball hit the net.
Soon a whole hour had passed. “Time to go home,” Papá said.
Ismael looked back at the woman weeding. Working in the sun isn’t as fun as playing football, he thought. He wanted to cheer her up. Then he had an idea.
“Papá, don’t you think that lady is doing a good job?” he asked.
“What?” Papá looked over at the woman. “Ah, yes.”
“I think we should go tell her!” said Ismael.
“Well, we need to hurry home. Mamá is waiting for us,” Papá said.
Ismael watched the woman wipe her forehead. The feeling to talk to her got stronger. “I really feel like we should,” he said. He took Papá’s hand and walked over to her.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Ismael said with a wave.
The woman didn’t look up. “What do you want?”
Ismael could tell she wasn’t very happy. But that didn’t stop him. “I wanted to tell you that you are doing a great job!”
This time the woman looked up at him.
Ismael smiled. “Thank you for taking care of the park!”
The woman smiled back. “Thank you,” she said. Then her smile got even bigger. “Thank you very much.”
Ismael felt happy as he walked home with Papá.
“I think what you said was important to her,” Papá said. “I’m glad you listened to the feeling you had.”
“Me too.” Ismael thought for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you think it was the Holy Ghost?”
Papá nodded. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a thought to help someone. And that’s exactly what you did.”
Ismael grinned. Talking to the lady was just a small thing, but he had made her day better. Listening to the Holy Ghost had made his day better too!
Illustrations by Jennifer Bricking

We were a family that always went to church. Every year we went to tithing settlement to meet with the bishop and declare our full tithing. We’ve always had a testimony of tithing from this story that my father told:
When he was a young boy, his father was very ill and had to be in the hospital for a year, leaving my grandmother with ten children and very little income. That fall, Grandma reached up into the sugar bowl, where she kept the tithing money, and handed it to my father and told him to hurry over to the bishop and pay the tithing so that she wouldn’t be tempted to spend it.
My father said, “Mother, we don’t have any other money. Winter’s coming on. What are we going to live on?”
Grandma told him, “We have to pay our tithing.”
My father took the money over to the bishop.
The next day there were two bushels of peaches on their front porch. They never knew where the fruit came from. And that night a windstorm came up, and the wind blew down a lot of Brother Stringham’s peaches. He lived right behind us, and he told Grandma, “If you and your children want to come over, you can have all the peaches that are on the ground.” Those peaches were a good part of my father’s family’s food for that next winter.

Years ago, after a visit to the former Soviet Union with the Young Ambassadors, we had the pleasure of welcoming our interpreter from Leningrad, Jessica Petrova, as she came to visit us in Utah. Early in her visit Jessica accompanied my wife, Susan, to the grocery store. As she entered the store she immediately observed what appeared to be thousands of boxes of different kinds of breakfast cereals. She was so disturbed by what she saw that she asked my wife if she might wait for her in the car. As Susan finished shopping and joined Jessica in the car, Jessica said: “It seems wicked that you have so much, so many choices in your country, and I have no choice. I wait in lines for hours at my neighborhood market for whatever food is arriving that day. I have no choice.” Of course, this was at a time of difficult transition in that part of the world, but Jessica’s comment caused my wife and me to look at our opportunity to choose with greater sensitivity and understanding.

Four months later, Trevor entered the font again—this time to baptize his own mother. Once again, his best friends were there for Trevor, with Cody baptizing Trevor’s younger sister and Justin baptizing his younger brother.
Seeing Trevor with his mother was a powerful experience for Justin. “There was a glow around them,” Justin said. “They were extremely happy because they knew that they were on the path to being together forever.”

Nine-year-old Annie peered through the chain-link fence. Where is he? she wondered. The shrill bell had announced the end of the school day. Children ran across the playground, clinging to a backpack, a spelling list, or a work of art. But Carl was nowhere to be seen. He was always the last one to leave school. A few more children trickled out.
Finally the gray door of his special-education classroom opened, and Carl plodded across the black pavement. When he saw Annie, he started waving excitedly. He smiled so big that it made his face look lopsided.
“Hi, Carl,” Annie said, walking over to meet him. Ignoring his excitement, she grabbed his elbow and started for home, gently pulling him along. “Hurry up—we’re late.”
Carl’s large feet turned in, and he limped as he walked. Annie was careful where she walked so that she wouldn’t bump him and throw him off balance.
As they made their way up the hill, Annie thought of the cold grape juice bar in the freezer at home. She was eager to get home and relax on the couch. But at the rate Carl was going, she’d probably miss her favorite television show. If only Carl could walk faster! His large shoes stumbled along the sidewalk. He was just so clumsy.
“How are you doing, Carl?” she asked. Carl smiled. “Good, then let’s keep going.” Annie marveled at his twisted hands. On Monday she had tried to open a clenched fist and hold his hand, but she couldn’t unfold his fingers. Today she just guided him by an elbow. When he grunted and rubbed his face with his fist, Annie leaned away, afraid that he might fling his arm at her as he had yesterday. Finally they neared the top of the hill and Carl’s house.
“Here’s a step, Carl. Step up,” Annie said as they reached his front porch. He just stood there. “Come on, Carl, you’re almost home.” She stepped up and tried to pull his large body after her. He resisted. “Come on, Carl.” He didn’t budge. “Oh, Carl!” Annie whispered in despair, throwing her hands up.
Carl turned and headed for the grass. He sat down clumsily and began rubbing his fists over the green spears. The grass tickled his hands, and he began giggling.
Annie set her backpack on the porch and walked over to him. “Get up, Carl, it’s time to go inside,” Annie said. She tugged at his arm, but he was much too big for her to lift. “Oh please, Carl!”
Now what do I do? she wondered as she looked down at the chunky boy gleefully stroking the grass. She felt totally helpless.
The door opened, and Mrs. Rich walked outside. “Oh dear. I hope Carl hasn’t been too much trouble today,” she said. “The people at school are still strangers to him. When he gets to know them better, he’ll be as good as he is at home.” She took Carl’s face in her hands. “Carl, you need to stand up.”
Carl slowly pushed himself to his feet, almost falling over as he stood. Mrs. Rich took his arm and led him up the stairs to the door.
“Thank you, Annie dear,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re a tremendous help!”
Annie managed a smile, grabbed her backpack, and said good-bye. When she entered her house next door, she didn’t even bother to turn the television on. She knew that her favorite show was over. “Mom,” she called. “Mo-o-o-om!”
“I’m out here!”
Annie opened the back door and went over to the greenhouse. Her mother was on her knees, packing black soil into a pot. The greenhouse was warm and smelled of fertilizer and plants.
“Oh, Mom, I’m through!” Annie exclaimed. She paced the greenhouse as she let off steam. “I don’t think I can do it one more day! He’s so big and clumsy, and his hands are all twisted. It was horrible today!”
“Whoa, Annie. Settle down,” Mom said. “I suppose you’re talking about Carl.”
“Yes! This is only the third day I’ve walked home with him, and I’m going crazy! He’s just so … so strange!”
Mom turned over a wooden crate and motioned for Annie to sit down. “Honey, you’re just not used to him yet. It’s only the third day. Carl is mentally disabled, and in that respect, he is very different than we are, but he is cheerful and kind. He just takes some getting used to.”
“Mom, if I keep walking Carl home, I’ll always be the last kid to leave the playground, I’ll never get to go to a friend’s house after school, and I’ll miss cartoons every day!”
“You’re right—it is a bit of sacrifice. But if you think of Mrs. Rich taking care of Carl every day and night, maybe a fifteen-minute walk home will seem bearable.”
“Oh, Mom, it’s a three minute walk that ends up taking fifteen minutes!” Annie said, shaking her head. “I want to help Mrs. Rich, but I just don’t understand Carl. He doesn’t talk, he slobbers, and sometimes he suddenly makes strange noises. He scares me.”
“Annie, Carl is different, but. …” Mom stopped and looked around the greenhouse. Her eyes stopped on an old tin pot. She smiled and picked it up. The silver tin was rusted and dull, but inside was a brilliant fuchsia-colored begonia plant. “Annie, what do you think of this?”
Annie smiled at the beautiful flowers. Of all the plants in the greenhouse, this one always caught her eye because of its beautiful color. “I love your begonias, Mom!”
“But do you think it’s beautiful even in this old pot?”
“You don’t even notice the pot because of the flowers.”
“Exactly! That is why I put this flower in this pot. It’s the same with Carl. His spirit is so beautiful that it shines brightly even in an imperfect body.”
Annie stared at the flower.
Mom held up the clay pot she had just filled with soil. “We were given bodies that are whole and nice-looking—like this one,” she said, running her gardening glove over the soil. “There is a flower buried deep inside, but you can’t see it yet. With a little light, water, and tending, it will be beautiful too. It’s the flower that counts, not the pot.”
“Do I have a flower in my pot?”
Mom smiled and reached over to give Annie a hug. “Of course! You have a beautiful spirit too. I just think that you and I may need to work a little to make our spirits as loving and kind as Carl’s.”
“Give ourselves some water and light?”
“Exactly.”
“Mom, do you think that walking home with Carl will give some water and light to the flower in my pot?”
“Definitely! Whenever we do the right thing or help others, our spirits become more beautiful.”
Annie picked up the tin pot. “Well, it was nice when he was so happy to see me. … I think I’ll keep walking with Carl.”
Mom smiled. “I thought you might.”
“But Mom, Carl will still act crazy and stumble up the hill. He’ll still make strange noises. Will I ever be able to see the beauty inside him?”
“I think you already see it at least faintly—and you’ll see it more and more clearly as you help him each day.”

Before I was baptized, I struggled with certain parts of the Book of Mormon as I read it for the first time. Almost every day I sat down for a few minutes to discuss the gospel with Frank, my Latter-day Saint co-worker. I asked Frank tough questions about the Book of Mormon, and he always answered in a practical way that helped me at the time.
When I finished reading the Book of Mormon, I tried to pray about it. I did not get a burning testimony, yet I felt that it contained truth. Although I wasn’t sure it was historical, I believed that it was an important Christian document. I concluded that the Book of Mormon was inspired.
As I looked at the Church and its members, I found a blending of spirituality and gospel application in daily life that reached out and touched other lives—including mine. I felt that Mormonism was New Testament Christianity in action. Thus, I was excited at the possibility that I might have discovered a church that was the best example of true Christian living on earth. This led to my decision to ask Heavenly Father, in humble prayer, a simple question: “Should I join this church?”
I remember that as I knelt in the darkness in my living room, I poured out my heart to the Lord and told him of my search, my struggles, and my desire to do his will. I was ready to act on whatever answer I received. After my prayer, I reached for my Bible. As I searched its pages, I felt an unmistakable directive to my soul: “Yes, you should be baptized!” I wept for joy. Finally, I knew what I should do.

Welfare services missionaries were assigned by the branch president to visit the home of every newly baptized family. In carrying out this assignment, the missionaries often found emergency teaching situations.

For example, one day upon entering the home of a newly baptized member, they were greeted by the mother, who invited them to sit own and then began to cry. Her baby was sick. Its stomach was badly bloated.

Upon investigation, it was found that the child had never had anything to eat except flour and water or powdered milk. For eight months the mother had been afraid to give the baby any other food because it was so sick, and it was sick because it was starving!

The missionaries taught the mother how to include cereals, fruits, and vegetables in the child’s diet. Now the child is on the road to normal health.

Some of my friends in school use Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It had always bothered me, but now I thought about it even more. I wondered what I could do about it. I wanted my friends to know that Heavenly Father is special. I decided to ask my mom and dad about it. I wanted to say something to my friends, but I was afraid that they would be mad at me and not play with me anymore. My parents told me two stories that helped a lot.
After hearing that, I decided I would try to be like those I had heard about and stand up for the right. The next day at school when I heard one of my friends say something bad, I asked him not to say it anymore. I was still afraid, but it turned out OK. He agreed and is still my friend. I felt good inside because I had done the right thing, just like Jesus always did.

The following story beautifully illustrates that precept.
Several years ago, two men—a Muslim imam and a Christian pastor from Nigeria—stood on opposite sides of a painful religious divide. Each had suffered deeply. And yet, through the healing power of forgiveness, they chose to walk a path together.
Imam Muhammad Ashafa and Pastor James Wuye became friends and unlikely partners in peace. Together they established a center for interfaith mediation. They now teach others to replace hatred with hope. As two-time nominees for the Nobel Peace Prize, they recently became inaugural recipients of the Commonwealth Peace Prize.
These former enemies now travel side by side rebuilding what was broken, living witnesses that the Savior’s invitation to be peacemakers is not only possible—it is powerful.

The Grossman family has a great love for missionary work. In September 1993, Gunar’s mother was walking home from shopping when a pair of missionaries said hello to her. After she stopped and talked with them, they asked if they could come to her home to share their message when her husband and children were there. She said yes!
After a few visits, the family knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true. They also knew that the Church would help them to be a stronger, better, and happier family. On November 7, 1993, Mother, Father, Gunar, his older sister, Gerit, and his older brother, Gert, were baptized members of the Church. When three-year-old Germar turns eight, he will be baptized too.

Back home, he attended George Washington University, studying mechanical engineering and playing clarinet and saxophone in a jazz band. As he neared university graduation, all of his career plans seemed to be on schedule. But then “the Lord placed a bombshell in my little world: Jeanene Watkins.” A vivacious young woman, Jeanene was the daughter of Utah’s Senator Arthur V. Watkins.
Their developing relationship presented a problem for Richard’s carefully laid career plans. One night Jeanene said to him, “When I marry, it will be in the temple to a returned missionary.” He had not thought much about a mission, but with that motivation, he prayed harder than ever before and ended up talking to the bishop about it. Soon after graduation, he left for a mission to Uruguay. Jeanene graduated the following June in sociology and left the next day for a mission to the northwestern states. Soon after they returned home, they were married in the Manti Temple.

A few years ago, when I was in the navy during World War II, I received orders to report to the fleet headquarters at Pearl Harbor. My family took me to Treasure Island in the San Francisco Bay, where I boarded the plane there, an old sea plane called a Pan-American clipper. On board that plane were some high-ranking medical officers going out to prepare and build up the hospital support because the battle of Tarawa would be taking place within a few weeks. Because of my rank, I was assigned to sleep in a sleeping bag out in the tail of that plane, where I could see the starboard engines as we were flying over San Francisco, which was under military blackout. It was black as we were flying out over the Pacific, and I thought the starboard engine on that old Pan-American plane was on fire. I couldn’t sleep as I watched it throughout the entire flight.
During that sleepless night I wondered about my own life and whether I had been living up to the opportunities that would be mine and the responsibility that would be mine as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood—the responsibility to be an example and to live the way I should so that I would be able to fulfill the calls that might come to me. In that sleepless night I took an inventory of myself, of my attitudes, wondering if I was doing all that I might. Even though I had always accepted my Church assignments, I wondered if I was fulfilling them with all of my heart, might, mind, and soul and living up to the responsibility, the blessing, that I received as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood and what would be expected of any of us who received this blessing.
Looking back on that sleepless night, I thank the Lord for His blessings today and for all that I have had the opportunity to be involved in. I try always to live the gospel to the fullest, to do everything I am called on to do with all of my heart, might, mind, and strength, to fulfill any call that might come to me so I may be qualified to do whatever I might be asked to do someday.

Once I prayed and prayed for a nice school teacher for the new year. After many months of praying, I was put in my new class, and my new teacher is so nice and happy and teaches with love. I said a thank-you prayer to Heavenly Father for answering my prayers and for taking care of me and my worries. I am so happy that we can pray to Heavenly Father about anything, anywhere, and He’ll help us.
Ava C., age 7, Utah, USA

The next experience that I want to share with you was the most difficult of my life. About six years ago. I started to have some significant health problems.

First, I had developed skin cancer. This was not the small little patches that the dermatologist freezes off. They took a big chunk of skin out of my back which left a five inch scar. My doctor told me if I had waited another year before I came in for the check-up, the fast spreading Melanoma could have likely taken my life.

Then, one year later I went in for my annual physical. They did the standard lab work and I was on my way. A week later, the doctor called me and said my PSA levels were high and told me to come back in and take another blood test which I did immediately. The PSA test came back with the same results, I had Prostate Cancer. I could not believe it! Cancer twice in two years! Initially, the doctor could not really tell how serious the prostate cancer was with the blood test so it was a very scary time in my life. There were a few options of treatment and we decided on a pretty aggressive course of action. The operation was successful and the doctor informed us that the all the cancer was removed and there was no sign that it had spread.

With my melanoma and my prostate cancer my doctor found them in the early stages. I know my Heavenly Father was watching over me during this time in my life and the Holy Ghost had prompted me to visit my doctor with regular check- ups. I was also given sacred Priesthood blessings.

During the next few years I had three more surgeries, one on my ankle, my knee and finally my shoulder. This added up to a grand total of five surgeries in six years. The bad news was I felt like I was literally falling apart but the good news that I told my wife was that I was rebuilt. This was truly was the most difficult challenge of my life so far but at the same time it was the time when I felt closest to my Heavenly Father because of the miracle he gave me and my family of finding the cancer early and preserving my life. He knows me and watches over me.

All my life I was taught that there was no God. Little did I know how that would change when I applied to be a high school exchange student in the United States, representing the Czech Republic. When I filled out the application, one question was “What is your religious preference?” I knew most Americans were Christian, so that was what I wrote down. But I was a nonbeliever.
With anticipation, I awaited the outcome of my application. Where would I live?
I was assigned to the Grant and Jewel Hodson family, Latter-day Saints in Utah. Where is Utah? Mormons? Who are they? I looked up Utah in books, and I looked up Mormons too. The books said terrible things about the Church and especially about Joseph Smith. I spent my last night at home crying. I was terrified.
My mother assured me that everything would be all right, and if I didn’t like the family or Utah, I could come home or be assigned to another family.
When I arrived in Utah, Emily, one of the daughters, came to pick me up. She was 16 years old, wearing normal, casual clothes, and she was so nice. I thought, “Wow! This might not be that bad after all!” The whole family was warm and welcoming to me.
I experienced quite a cultural adjustment. I saw that my host family prayed before every meal and before they went to bed. They didn’t drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. They lived moral lives. Everything was totally opposite of how the teenagers I had known lived.
And it seemed that almost everybody I met was a member of the LDS Church. I was impressed that when these people spoke about their church, they would say, “I know,” not, “I believe.” Never before had I heard such conviction in religious statements. If these people could know, I reasoned, there must be a way for me to know too. I was the sort of person who had to know, because if I accepted the teachings of the Church, I would have to make changes in my lifestyle and in my future plans.
With a strong desire to know for myself about the truthfulness of the Church, I watched the example of my host family. They didn’t proselytize, but the way they lived made me want to know what was behind their actions. I had never seen such faith.
I heard a Church leader say, “People will want to know Christ because they know you.” I wanted to know Christ because I knew the Hodsons. They were a great example to me of the way a family should live.
I began praying. I prayed for three weeks and nothing happened. I was a little discouraged. I thought that maybe I was not worthy to feel God’s love.
That same week I decided to join the Hodsons’ traditional family testimony meeting on the first Sunday of the month. The mother, Jewel, asked me if I would like to say anything. I said, “Sure.” But I thought, “What am I going to say?”
Since everybody had expressed appreciation, I thought I could at least express my appreciation to the Hodsons for all they had done for me. They had been so patient with me. They treated me as their own daughter and had never pushed me into anything. I would express my true gratitude.
I was the last to speak. I stood up and started saying how grateful I was for their kindness and patience and also for their desire to teach me about God. All of a sudden, a strong, overwhelming feeling came over me. The language barrier was gone; I had no problem speaking English. I was fluent for the first time! I had never felt anything like this before. I spoke as I was inspired. It was such a warm, beautiful feeling. I was quietly being taught, “You know what you are saying is true. You know I exist. You know.”
And I did know! With tears in my eyes, I sat down. I thought, “What was that?” Answering as though she had heard my question, my host mother quietly spoke, “What you are feeling is the Spirit.” All I could think was “Wow! It is true!”
With my parents’ permission, I asked my host father to baptize me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a happy day for me. I felt so clean and fresh! In addition to my host family, I was surrounded by many members from my ward who came to support me. I appreciated that so much.
When I returned to the Czech Republic from Utah, I was the only member of the Church not just in my town, Chrastava (population 8,000), but also in Liberec (population 120,000), a city about six miles (10 km) from Chrastava. I worked as a hotel receptionist and taught English in a private high school. I was desperately seeking to find my new place at home. I was close to giving up. Nevertheless, I continued to kneel every night and pray for a miracle that would bring me out of my despair. I also tried really hard to stay away from my old habits and friends.
Finally my prayers were answered. The missionaries came to Liberec, where I was teaching. (I later learned that Brother Hodson had contacted the mission president for the Czech Republic and told him about me. Now there is a growing branch of about 40 Latter-day Saints in my hometown.)
I have since attended Brigham Young University—Idaho and finished my fine arts degree at BYU–Hawaii. One of the highlights of being at BYU–Hawaii was playing on the volleyball team. On that special campus, my testimony grew.
I have now returned to my home in the Czech Republic. I want to spread the gospel message. At first, my father and mother thought I was totally crazy to have made such a conversion. Now they support me completely, and they are grateful for my education.
Maybe I can also have an influence as a teacher in the arts. The people here need the gospel, and they need the arts. I wish they knew what I know. I want to teach them the true plan of happiness. I know Heavenly Father wants my people to have the gospel and all the really good things in life. I know my Heavenly Father loves me and will help me to do my best, even though I have imperfections. I continue to desire to be guided by Him always.

A few months ago I joined a group of friends for a long awaited reunion. We had not seen each other for many years. Many of the group had changed dramatically: some had lost their hair, others were heavier, a few were even thinner. It was interesting to note, too, the apparent emotional and spiritual changes.
I was particularly intrigued by one woman. In high school she had been a very shy person, not particularly popular with the men. Now she appeared as a strikingly attractive, enthusiastic woman. Her spiritual and emotional were equally obvious. Throughout the evening I observed the interaction between this woman and her husband, and it soon became apparent why she reflected such a peaceful and beautiful countenance. She had been blessed with a partner who was positive and supportive, and both of them had developed through the years into extremely mature and happy people.

Joseph Smith, a backwoods boy of 14 years, decided the religious turmoil of words and beliefs needed clarification. He left his home early one spring morning and went into the woods to pray.

There, Joseph offered a sincere prayer, begging the Lord for guidance. He had no intention to found a new religion. It was not his motive to take on the great religions of the world. He knelt and prayed and asked God which church to join. Out of that anxious prayer came the restoration of the Lord’s only true church!

Although the life of the Prophet Joseph Smith was terminated at a very young age, he stands today as the preeminent prophet of the Lord. President John Taylor said that Joseph Smith “…has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it….”[17]