Gospel Story Finder

Maria stirred her scrambled eggs around and around with her fork. “Mom,” she asked, “do we have to go to church next Sunday?”
Mother looked surprised. “Why, of course!” she declared. “We always go to church on Sunday.”
Maria continued to play with her food. Finally her mother asked, “Are you still worried about your talk?”
Maria nodded. She and two other children had been asked to give talks in Primary. Because it was the week of the Mormon Pioneer celebration, the topic of the talks was to be “pioneers in my family.” Maria and her mother had been members of the Church for only a few years.
Mother had told Maria that her Primary teacher probably didn’t realize this. She suggested that Maria talk about the early Mormon pioneers instead. Maria had followed her mother’s advice, but she felt uneasy about it because she wasn’t really following the assigned topic.
Maria finished her breakfast and hurried to school, but all day long she worried about her talk. It seemed forever until the three o’clock bell rang. When she came home, the apartment was empty. Mother wouldn’t be home from work until six o’clock, so Maria fixed herself a snack and thought about her talk. Finally she decided that since she couldn’t talk about pioneers in her family, she simply wouldn’t give a talk at all. Maria was sure Sister Robinson would understand. Besides, Jason and Nancy would still be speaking.
When her Primary teacher answered the phone, Maria explained why she couldn’t give the talk. Instead of agreeing with Maria, Sister Robinson said, “I gave the assignment to you, Maria, for a very special reason. Why don’t you ask your mother if you can come over to my house after dinner, and we’ll talk about it.”
Later that evening Maria went to Sister Robinson’s house. When she returned home, she had a talk all ready for Sunday.
After the opening exercises in Primary on Sunday, Jason stood up and told about his ancestors who had left Norway in 1860 and sailed to America. They had been persecuted in their homeland because they were Mormons.
Nancy read excerpts from her great-grandmother’s diary. It told how she had traveled west in a covered wagon and settled in the Salt Lake Valley.
When Maria walked up in front of the class, her knees were wobbly because she had never given a talk in church before. She was grateful for her notes, because suddenly she had forgotten everything she was supposed to say. Finally, after a quick look at her notebook, Maria began: “Five years ago my mother and I were living in Germany, where I was born. I was in kindergarten then, and my mother was in medical school, studying to become a doctor. My father had just died. The following year my mother graduated, and she had the opportunity to do her internship in Baltimore, Maryland. That’s how we came to the United States.
“On the plane coming over, we sat next to two young men who said they were Mormon missionaries. They had spent two years in Germany preaching the gospel. My mother and I had never met a Mormon before, and we thought they were very brave to leave their homes for such a long time.
“After we had been living in Baltimore for about six months, my mother found out that a doctor she was working with was a Latter-day Saint. She told him about the two missionaries she had met and how impressed she had been by them. The doctor invited us to his home later on, and we began to attend church with him and his family. After a few months my mother was baptized. When I turned eight, I was baptized too.”
Maria paused and looked out over the room. “When Sister Robinson asked me to talk about pioneers in my family, I told her we didn’t have any. I thought pioneers were only people who lived a long time ago, like Nancy’s great-grandmother. Then Sister Robinson asked me to look up the word pioneer in the dictionary. I did, and it said that a pioneer is a person who goes before others and prepares the way for them. So, because my mother and I are the first Latter-day Saints in our family, we are pioneers!
“It’s a great responsibility to be a pioneer, because it’s up to us to set the example for our descendants. But I know that if I stay faithful to the Church, maybe a hundred years from now another girl will stand up in Primary and tell about how her great-grandmother Maria came from Germany with her mother and joined the Church.”
When Primary was over, several people came over and told Maria how much they enjoyed her talk. One sister said that she, too, was a convert but that until Maria’s talk she had never thought of herself as being a pioneer.
When Maria left church, she knew that this was one Pioneer Day that she would always remember.

An example of stepping up to serve is found in the life of our prophet, President Ezra Taft Benson, and the family of which he is a member. President Benson has described to the General Authorities how his father was called to fill a mission. He left behind his wife, who was expecting another child, his seven children, his farm, and all that he had. Did he lose anything? President Benson tells how his mother would gather the family around the kitchen table and there, by the flickering light of an oil-fueled lamp, read the letters from her husband. Several times during the reading there would be a pause to wipe away the tears that flowed freely. The result? Each of the children later served a mission. Each stepped up to serve.

“A few years ago I made friends with a nice girl, and I wanted to introduce her to the Church. I started out by inviting her to Primary activities. After we turned 12, she came to Mutual with me. Then one day I felt prompted to invite her to church. I prayed to calm my nervousness. Soon after that, she was coming to church with me often. This experience was such a blessing in my life because I see how much Heavenly Father cares for her and all of His children. She’s been coming since then, and we all love her. You never know what a simple prompting will turn into! I encourage everyone to follow those promptings and help participate in the priesthood work in small and simple ways.”
Abby D., 13, Idaho, USA

Some years ago, I received a gift from one of my children that I didn’t appreciate at the moment. I wasn’t expecting much when I opened the package because I was getting it from a young child. Tina, my wife, was involved in selecting it, so I wasn’t worried that it might be a box of old toys that my son no longer wanted. However, when I opened the package, I certainly wasn’t expecting a pair of slippers.

Of course, I was grateful that he got me a gift, and I thanked him for it, but in my mind, I thought, “This isn’t what I hoped for,” and in my heart I didn’t really feel joy for the gift.

Dutifully, I put the slippers on and wore them around the house. Over the next few weeks, something amazing happened. I had never owned a pair of slippers, so I was surprised to find how useful they were. When I came home from work and put on my slippers, they kept my socks clean even when I sometimes discovered sticky spills by stepping in them. They also kept my feet warm and comfortable. They protected my feet from little toys strewn about the house (that I won’t refer to as Legos) so that I didn’t need to hop around on one foot after stepping on the unnamed toys. They were also very convenient. I could slip them off when I wanted to put my feet up on the couch. I could slip them back on whenever I needed to go anywhere. And occasionally, I would cheat and slip them on to take the trash out. Before long, I realized that slippers were a great gift. Oddly enough, they were one of my favorite gifts that I had ever been given. I wore that pair for several years until they completely fell apart.

Even better than the satisfaction and joy that I received from those slippers, my son felt so pleased and proud that I liked his gift. He saw me using them and was joyful because he knew I liked his gift. A simple pair of slippers brought us closer together.

In 1840, when Charles was twenty-one years old, he heard two Mormon missionaries preaching the gospel. He knew that what they were teaching was true, and he asked to be baptized. Charles was the only member of his family to join the Church. Not long after his baptism, Charles also became a missionary and was the companion of the missionary who baptized him! Charles served his mission in England and North Wales until 1843.

When the McCanns first saw it set amongst acres of pine trees on idyllic Kangaroo Island, they knew they had to secure the holiday home. Evonne and David Sandelin McCann envisioned retreats here with their five children and youth camps for their stake in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In the years since, all their dreams became reality. The McCanns generously opened their home to friends and the Church’s youth groups, who have wonderful memories of staying there—experiencing dusk surrounded by kangaroos, wallabies, possums, and spotting koalas snuggled in the boughs of the eucalyptus trees.

When Elder Backman finished his mission, he was soon drafted. “When I went down to make my appearance, who should show up but my mission companion of 15 months. He was drafted the very same day. Here was another of those examples where the Lord had his hand on me. Instead of being isolated and going into the army by myself, here was my beloved missionary companion by my side. We went down to Camp Wolters, Texas, for basic training. The first six weeks we were there, we got transferred six different times to different outfits, always together. By that time in the war there was a heavy need for infantry, so we were being trained as infantry replacements. I don’t know what I would have done without my missionary companion. We were always transferred together. In fact, along with us were five other Mormon boys, all returned missionaries. We formed a cluster that sustained us all during those 17 weeks of basic training and gave us the strength and courage to face that kind of challenge. You can imagine going from the mission field into the army!”
At the end of basic training every one of those Mormon boys was sent to the Pacific. “The whole bunch of us went overseas together. I’ll never forget going out of San Francisco harbor and under that bridge. You just can’t describe the feeling of leaving this land and wondering if you’re ever going to see it again.”
He helped care for his seasick companions on the month-long voyage to New Guinea. “We thought that they would surely give us more training before they put us into combat, but they didn’t.” In New Guinea the Mormon group was finally split up, as each member received a different assignment, Elder Backman being placed with the 43rd Division. “But just think! We remained together all that time, and my beloved missionary companion, whom I still love to this day like a brother, stayed with me all that time. I just can’t conceive of that all just being happenchance.”

Some weeks ago a bewildered father asked, “Why is it I seem to be able to communicate with everyone except my own son?”
I responded with, “What do you mean you can’t communicate with your son?”
“It’s just that whenever I try to tell him anything, he tunes me out,” he replied.
During our private discussion which followed, and very often since, I have concluded that perhaps one of the principal reasons we fail to relate appropriately with family members is because we fail to apply some basics of personal communications. In Hebrews 13:16 we read, “But to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.” Communications in the family will often be a sacrifice because we are expected to use our time, our means, our talent, and our patience to impart, share, and understand. Too often we use communication periods as occasions to tell, dictate, plead, or threaten. Nowhere in the broadest sense should communication in the family be used to impose, command, or embarrass.
To be effective, family communication must be an exchange of feelings and information. Doors of communication will swing open in the home if members will realize time and participation on the part of all are necessary ingredients. In family discussions, differences should not be ignored, but should be weighed and evaluated calmly. One’s point or opinion usually is not as important as a healthy, continuing relationship. Courtesy and respect in listening and responding during discussions are basic in proper dialogue. As we learn to participate together in meaningful associations, we are able to convey our thoughts of love, dependence, and interest. When we are inclined to give up in despair in our efforts to communicate because other family members have failed to respond, perhaps we would do well not to give up, but rather to give and take in our conversations. How important it is to know how to disagree with another’s point of view without being disagreeable. How important it is to have discussion periods ahead of decisions. Jones Stephens wrote, “I have learned that the head does not hear anything until the heart has listened, and that what the heart knows today the head will understand tomorrow.”
Let me share with you seven basic suggestions for more effective family communication.
A willingness to sacrifice. Be the kind of a family member who is willing to take time to be available. Develop the ability and self-discipline to think of other family members and their communication needs ahead of your own—a willingness to prepare for the moment—the sharing moment, the teaching moment. Shed the very appearance of preoccupation in self, and learn the skill of penetrating a family member’s shield of preoccupation. Sad is the day when a daughter is heard to say, “My mother gives me everything except herself.”
Too early and too often we sow the seeds of “Can’t you see I’m busy? Don’t bother me now.” When we convey the attitude of “Go away, don’t bother me now,” family members are apt to go elsewhere or isolate themselves in silence. All family members on some occasion or other must be taken on their own terms so they will be willing to come, share, and ask.
It takes personal sacrifice to communicate when conditions are right for the other person—during the meal preparation, after a date, a hurt, a victory, a disappointment, or when someone wants to share a confidence. One must be willing to forego personal convenience to invest time in establishing a firm foundation for family communication. When communication in the family seems to be bogging down, each individual should look to himself for the remedy.
If we would know true love and understanding one for another, we must realize that communication is more than a sharing of words. It is the wise sharing of emotions, feelings, and concerns. It is the sharing of oneself totally. “Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you? let him shew out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom.” (James 3:13.)
A willingness to set the stage. The location, setting, or circumstances should be comfortable, private, and conversation-conducive. Effective communications have been shared in a grove of trees, on the mount, by the sea, in family home evening, during a walk, in a car, during a vacation, a hospital visit, on the way to school, during the game. When the stage is set, we must be willing to let the other family member be front and center as we appropriately respond.
Months and years after the score of a baseball game is long forgotten, the memory of having been there all alone with Dad will never dim. I’ll not soon forget a ten-year-old girl excitedly telling me she had just ridden in the car with her daddy all the way from Salt Lake to Provo and back. “Was the radio on?” I asked. “Oh, no,” she responded, “all Daddy did was listen and talk to me.” She had her daddy all to herself in a setting she’ll not soon forget. Let the stage be set whenever the need is there. Let the stage be set whenever the other person is ready.
A willingness to listen. Listening is more than being quiet. Listening is much more than silence. Listening requires undivided attention. The time to listen is when someone needs to be heard. The time to deal with a person with a problem is when he has the problem. The time to listen is the time when our interest and love are vital to the one who seeks our ear, our heart, our help, and our empathy.
We should all increase our ability to ask comfortable questions, and then listen—intently, naturally. Listening is a tied-in part of loving. How powerful are the words, “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath:
“For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” (James 1:19–20.)
A willingness to vocalize feelings. How important it is to be willing to voice one’s thoughts and feelings. Yes, how important it is to be able to converse on the level of each family member. Too often we are inclined to let family members assume how we feel toward them. Often wrong conclusions are reached. Very often we could have performed better had we known how family members felt about us and what they expected.
John Powell shares this touching experience: “It was the day my father died. … In the small hospital room, I was supporting him in my arms, when … my father slumped back, and I lowered his head gently onto the pillow. I … told my mother … :
“‘It’s all over, Mom. Dad is dead.’
“She startled me. I will never know why these were her first words to me after his death. My mother said: ‘Oh, he was so proud of you. He loved you so much.’
“Somehow I knew … that these words were saying something very important to me. They were like a sudden shaft of light, like a startling thought I had never before absorbed. Yet there was a definite edge of pain, as though I were going to know my father better in death than I had ever known him in life.
“Later, while a doctor was verifying death, I was leaning against the wall in the far corner of the room, crying softly. A nurse came over to me and put a comforting arm around me. I couldn’t talk through my tears. I wanted to tell her:
“‘I’m not crying because my father is dead. I’m crying because my father never told me that he was proud of me. He never told me that he loved me. Of course, I was expected to know these things. I was expected to know the great part I played in his life and the great part I occupied of his heart, but he never told me.’” (The Secret of Staying in Love, Niles, Ill.: Argus, 1974, p. 68.)
How significant are God’s words when he took the time to vocalize his feelings with, “This is my beloved Son,” yes, even the powerful communication, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Matt. 3:17.)
Often parents communicate most effectively with their children by the way they listen to and address each other. Their conversations showing gentleness and love are heard by our ever-alert, impressionable children. We must learn to communicate effectively not only by voice, but by tone, feeling, glances, mannerisms, and total personality. Too often when we are not able to converse with a daughter or wife we wonder, “What is wrong with her?” when we should be wondering, “What is wrong with our methods?” A meaningful smile, an appropriate pat on the shoulder, and a warm handshake are all-important. Silence isolates. Strained silent periods cause wonderment, hurt, and, most often, wrong conclusions.
God knows the full impact of continuing communication as he admonishes us to pray constantly. He, too, has promised to respond as we relate to him effectively.
A willingness to avoid judgment. Try to be understanding and not critical. Don’t display shock, alarm, or disgust with others’ comments or observations. Don’t react violently. Work within the framework of a person’s free agency. Convey the bright and optimistic approach. There is hope. There is a way back. There is a possibility for better understanding.
Let a common ground for personal decision be developed. “Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more” (John 8:11) are words that are just as gentle and effective today as when they were first uttered.
Avoid imposing your values on others. When we can learn to deal with issues without involving personalities and at the same time avoid bias and emotions, we are on our way to effective family communications. When a family member makes a decision which may be inadequate or improper, do we have the ability and patience to convey the attitude that we don’t agree with his decision but he has the right of choice and is still a loved member of the family?
It is easy to point out mistakes and pass judgment. Sincere compliments and praise come much harder from most of us. It takes real maturity for a parent to apologize to a child for an error. An honest apology often makes the son or daughter feel surprisingly warm toward the mother or father or brother or sister. “For in many things we offend all. If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body.” (James 3:2.)
A willingness to maintain confidences. Be worthy of trust even in trivial questions and observations. Weighty questions and observations will only follow if we have been trustworthy with the trivial. Treat innermost trusts and concerns with respect. Build on deserved trust. Individuals who are blessed to have a relationship with someone to whom they can confidently talk and trust are fortunate indeed. Who is to say a family trust is not greater than a community trust?
A willingness to practice patience. Patience in communication is that certain ingredient of conduct we hope others will exhibit toward us when we fail to measure up. Our own patience is developed when we are patient with others.
“Be patient; be sober; be temperate; have patience, faith, hope and charity.” (D&C 6:19.)
“I get sick and tired of listening to your complaints” and “I have told you a thousand times” are but two of many often-repeated family quotations that indicate patience is gone and channels of communication are plugged.
It takes courage to communicate patiently. We constantly need to express pride, hope, and love on a most sincere basis. Each of us needs to avoid coming through as one who has given up and has become totally weary in trying.
The correction of family members in front of others is to be avoided. Much more notice is taken in quiet, private conversation. Calm endurance is a priceless virtue in one’s relationship with all family members.
When family members tune each other out, communication is not taking place. Words spoken are unheard, unwanted, and resisted when we fail to understand the basics for proper interchange. Each must be willing to do his part to improve, since the family unit is the basic foundation of the Church. Proper communication will always be a main ingredient for building family solidarity and permanence.
I pray our Heavenly Father will help us to communicate more effectively in the home through a willingness to sacrifice, a willingness to listen, a willingness to vocalize feelings, a willingness to avoid judgment, a willingness to maintain confidences, and a willingness to practice patience. “How forcible are right words!” (Job 6:25.) Yes, how forcible are right words shared at the right moment with the right person.
May our gracious and kind Heavenly Father help us in our needs and desires for more effective family communication. Communication can help build family unity if we will work at it and sacrifice for it. For this goal, I pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

I am reminded of an experience with one who learned for himself how absolutely essential the Savior is in the process of repentance I first met Bill after his disfellowshipment from the Church, he was trying to come back. Although not raised in the Church, Bill had become a member as a mid-teenager. Now, years later, he is a fine man, well educated, married in the temple, with a growing family of small children, and serving faithfully in a leadership position in the Church.

Bill described to me his difficult journey to true repentance. He told me of the deep sorrow he felt after he had seriously sinned. He knew he had violated sacred covenants which were essential to his eternal sealing to his family. He loved his children and his wife. At first he believed he could keep his sin a secret. He had a testimony of the gospel and believed in the Savior, but somehow Bill had come to think that he could personally and privately work out his repentance. In the long weeks and months following his sin, Bill would occasionally awaken in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with a feeling of indescribable despair. The same feelings persisted in times when he was alone or in private contemplation. He always felt in those dark hours that all was lost, but he concluded in his heart to take his chances at the bar of judgment, rather than inflict the pain on his family their knowledge of his selfish, sinful act would cause.

As Bill poured out his heart to me, I thought of Alma the Younger who had spent his early life in disobedience to God’s laws and in opposition to the Church. Alma’s description of his feelings upon realization of what he and done paralleled Bill’s, “But I was racked with eternal torment, for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins.”[11] And in verse 15, “Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body, that I might not be brought to stand in the presence of my God, to be judged of my deeds.”

Under Satan’s influence, Bill had concluded in his mind that if he punished himself enough while at the same time continuing to fill his church obligations, surely he would be forgiven. Bill told me of his love for running, and how, in order to punish himself, he would run for hours at a time, up steep hills and down, until he reached a state of total exhaustion, convinced that if he experienced enough pain he might be forgiven.

Bill’s loving father, who was not a member of the Church, could see that Bill was greatly troubled. Although not aware of Bill's specific problem, his father recommended, arranged , and paid for counseling which they both hoped would give Bill some comfort and peace. But even with counseling, there were always those terrifying moments when Bill knew what he had done would cost him everything.

Finally, after months of painful, but futile, attempts to overcome the effects of his sin by himself, Bill sought help from his friend, the Branch President. From that moment to the day I first met Bill months later, he had felt a growing sense of relief. At first it was hard, very hard. When Bill was disfellowshipped, his church leaders provided loving help for him and his wife. Over time, Bill had fully and gratefully given up his sin and returned to Christ.

Bill wept openly as he expressed to me his love for his wife and family, for his Church leaders, and most of all for the Savior. Bill had come to realize that no act of his alone would atone for his sin. The only price which would ransom his soul had been offered in Gethsemane and Calvary by Jesus Christ. Divine forgiveness could only come through Bill's humble acceptance of Christ’s unmatchable offer. And the process of repentance had worked its miracle for Bill. The miracle of forgiveness.

“Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more.”[12]

Ten years later, I moved to the United States. There I found my brother Orlando. But I had yet to find the answers to my questions. I began seeking answers in various churches. But though each contributed bits and pieces, none of them had all the answers I needed. I prayed that God would help me come to know the truth.
Then one day in the spring of 1986, Latter-day Saint missionaries came to my house. They answered every question I had. And when I studied the Book of Mormon, I was moved to tears by the testimony I gained of its truthfulness. I was baptized in July. A little more than a year later, I arranged for Raúl’s vicarious baptism in the temple. Then he and I were sealed to our parents forever.

What do you love to do? I’ve always enjoyed playing sports. After trying different sports, I settled on American football. Through hard work and great coaching, I became an All-American quarterback in college. When I graduated, I joined the Houston Oilers professional football team.
I’ll never forget that first game. The other team’s defensive linemen were bigger than any I’d ever gone against. I was nervous! In my first big play, two huge players tackled me at the same time—harder than I’d ever been tackled before. My leg throbbed, my shoulder ached, and I wanted to quit right then. I had a decision to make. Would I give in to my fears, or would I have the courage to keep trying?
I couldn’t just give up, so I got up and played with all my might! Through courage and lots of teamwork, we won the game. I learned a lesson I’ve never forgotten: never quit when things get tough.

When Dad suggested we go tubing, I was excited. I had never gone floating down a river on an inner tube, and it sounded like fun. Dad said that it would be fun but that we also needed to be careful and watch out for logs and other hidden dangers. He said that the river is a lot like life—if we follow the wrong path, even unknowingly, we are in danger of getting hurt. We all promised to be careful and to watch out for each other.
After we had inflated our inner tubes, Mom dropped us off at the river. The water was muddy and moving fast. Dad told me to sit back in the tube with my legs and arms hanging out. When I did, I gave a little screech, both because the water was cold and because I started floating away from my family. My big sister soon caught up with me and reached out to hold my hand. Soon we were floating down the river together beneath the big trees that grew along the banks.
After about an hour, my sister and I decided to share one inner tube, and we hand-paddled over to very shallow water so we could do it safely. We had fun grabbing the vines that hung into the water, watching the birds, and reaching up to pick leaves from low tree branches. The water didn’t seem very deep, and sometimes my sister, who is very tall, would slide off the tube and push us around sandbars so that we wouldn’t get stuck.
We were trying to avoid two sandbars when she discovered that she couldn’t reach the bottom. Suddenly we were both caught up by a swift current and pushed into some fallen branches. The inner tube flipped over. I fell into the river. Thanks to my life jacket, I stayed afloat, but I couldn’t get out of the strong current. I was being scratched by the branches as I struggled and called out for help. My sister tried to reach me, but she was also caught in the current. She was hanging onto a big branch so that she wouldn’t get pushed under the water.
Dad immediately saw us and came to our rescue. He had to move carefully because he could barely touch bottom and didn’t want to get caught in the current like we were. He climbed over some branches and reached out for me. As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed onto his neck, and he held me tight. Then he put me on the inner tube and pushed me toward my brother. My brother grabbed the inner tube and pulled me to safety. Then Dad helped my sister. Finally we were all safe on a sandbar.
After a brief rest, we continued to float down the river. This time I was sitting in Dad’s lap. I was still a little scared, but after a while, I closed my eyes and relaxed. When I opened my eyes, I saw some hawks. Then I saw Mom waving from a bridge, and I knew that we had come to the end of our journey. I was very grateful that we had arrived safely.
That night Mom asked me what I had learned from my experience. I told her that even though I’d done what Dad had told us to do, I still had needed help. I said that whenever I need help, I’ll think of the river and remember that my family will always be there to help me.
Mom said that those were good things to remember. She also said that Heavenly Father is watching out for me and that I should remember to thank Him for that when I prayed. I did. I know that Heavenly Father watched out for me on the river. And I know that He watches out for me every day and wants to protect me from life’s hidden dangers.

On the island of Sardinia, Antonio Mura turned the missionaries away twice, refusing to come to the door. The third time the missionaries came, they told the person who answered the door that there was a man in the house who needed to hear the message they brought. They knew this, they said, because the Spirit of the Lord had guided them to his door three times. Antonio Mura finally listened to the gospel—and found “it was like a window opening on a beautiful landscape I hadn’t known was there.” He “devoured” the Book of Mormon, he recalls. Since his baptism in 1973, he has served in a number of leadership positions including district president.

Today’s starting like any other day, eight-year-old Gage thought as he slipped into his cotton shirt and pulled his suspenders into place. Why does it feel different? Gabriel, the rooster, crowed like always to wake up the sun. The sun peeked through the curtains and lit up the face of Roosevelt, his old, worn panda that sat on a chair by his bed, as it always did. Yet things seemed different. Gabriel’s crowing was easier to tolerate, somehow. The light seeping through his worn curtains looked … brighter. And this morning Roosevelt’s stitched-on smile appeared happier than ever. He looked the stuffed bear straight in his black button eyes. “What’s going on, Roosevelt?”
Gage pulled on his boots. Papa would be out in the barn by now, hitching the field horse to the plow. It was Gage’s job to walk behind him and seed the furrows, a chore that somehow never ranked as high on his list of things to do as fishing or playing marbles with Ansel Clanton did. But now the thought of spending the whole day in the field, seeding the dry earth, didn’t rouse even one sigh. In fact, he discovered himself looking forward to it!
“What is going on, Roosevelt?” he asked again as he started for the door, stuffing his shirt into his trousers. He paused in the sunlight that inched its way through the shadows of his room. “At least this first light is cold, like it’s supposed to be,” he told the old bear. “Except,” he added, his face puzzling up again, “this morning it doesn’t make me wish I was still in bed under Mama’s comforter, like it usually does.” He faced himself in the little dresser mirror. “Yep, it’s me all right. It’s just everything else that’s changed.” He scratched his head. “Maybe I’m dreaming or something, Roosevelt.” He pinched himself. “No, it’s real enough all right.”
Gage quickly ate the two eggs, biscuit, and glass of goat’s milk that Mama had waiting for him. He hated goat’s milk, but today it seemed easier to swallow.
Mama turned from her work at the butter churn and regarded her son. “Is anything the matter, Gage?”
“Do you feel any different this morning, Mama, than you did yesterday?”
“Feel any different about what?”
“About … everything?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. Why?”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t rightly understand it myself.” He eyed the empty glass in his hand and set it on the table. The screen door banged closed on his way out.
Mama watched him through the wire door as he crossed the yard toward the big field. Then she smiled, shrugged, and turned her attention back to the churn.
As Gage walked behind his father, depositing seeds into the newly-plowed furrows, he glanced at the old scarecrow that stood a short way off. He had seen it a thousand times before. It looked just like it always had—a straw man dressed in raggedy clothes. So why did it seem like he was looking at it for the first time? “Do you notice anything different about the straw man, Papa?”
Papa glanced at the raggedy figure with the lifeless stare. “Yes,” he responded lightly, squinting from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, “now that you mention it, Son.”
“Really, Papa?” Gage exclaimed. “I was starting to think that I was the only one who—”
“No, no,” the tall farmer with the dark, laughing eyes interrupted teasingly, “I’d say that scarecrow looks at least a day older!” He chuckled.
Gage sighed. “That isn’t it, Papa. Can we talk a minute?”
Papa looked over his shoulder at the boy veiled in dust, and stopped plowing at the end of the row. “I suppose I could give Thaddeus here a little rest. He patted the big field horse on the rump and sat down with a little grunt. “What is it, Son?”
“I wish I knew what words to use to explain it, Papa.”
“Is whatever’s bothering you bad?”
“No, Papa—I just don’t understand it.”
Papa looked relieved. He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “You asked me a moment ago if I noticed anything different about that scarecrow over there—”
“It isn’t just the straw man, Papa,” Gage interrupted. “It’s everything.”
“What about everything, Gage?”
“It’s like I’m feeling and seeing and tasting and smelling and hearing everything for the very first time. It’s like I was a different person or something. The sky looks bluer. The scarecrow looks more … interesting.” He lifted a handful of dirt and let it sift between his fingers. “The dirt even feels good. What’s the matter with me?”
Papa’s eyes misted over. “I remember when I first felt the same way.”
“You did? When, Papa?”
Papa gazed off across the field into the morning light that spilled down the flanks of the hills. “The same day I was baptized.” His eyes returned to his son’s. “I felt alive all over, just like you.”
“I was baptized last night,” Gage uttered softly, his eyes rounding even more, like the sun above the hills.
“Yes,” his father said softly, “and you said you woke up this morning feeling different—about everything.”
“Will it be like this every morning, now that I’ve been baptized?”
“No,” Papa answered. “Not every morning.”
A tear slid down the boy’s dusty cheek. “I don’t ever want to stop feeling like I do. Never.”
“You made some very important promises to Heavenly Father at your baptism, and he made some to you. Be true to those commitments, Son, and your life will stay full, bright, and alive. It’s like this field—the harder we work to do everything right, the bigger and better and more beautiful the harvest. We can’t just sit here with our hands in our pockets and expect the corn to bang into those clouds, now can we?”
“Nope—we can’t!”
The two continued their slow journey down the lengths of the field, the tall man guiding the plow, the small boy seeding the furrows.
At the end of the day, Papa and Gage made their way back to the farmhouse. Even though he was tired, Gage wore a dusty smile. He had worked hard, and it had been a good day. Tomorrow would bring another beautiful morning.

When your faith is questioned every day, you have to decide pretty quickly which side of the line you’re on. Allison McEwen of Houston High School says, “When I was younger and my peers questioned things, I doubted too. But by going to the Lord in prayer, I found the answers that made me stronger. After I found out for myself that the Church was true, their questions didn’t bother me anymore.”
As the student body president, Allison gets a lot of questions about Church. “I like to be different,” she says. “The Church is something positive that definitely puts me aside from the rest.” Even in the face of difficult questions from friends, she knows that the Lord is aware of her and is willing to help her find the answers, and that has been a great blessing.

Janette Hales Beckham related this experience her husband had while attending medical school. “Getting into medical school is pretty competitive, and the desire to do well and be successful puts a great deal of pressure on the new incoming freshmen. My husband had worked hard on his studies and went to attend his first examination. The honor system was expected behavior at the medical school. The professor passed out the examination and left the room. Within a short time, students started to pull little cheat papers out from under their papers or from their pockets. My husband recalled his heart beginning to pound as he realized it is pretty hard to compete against cheaters. About that time a tall, lanky student stood up in the back of the room and stated: ‘I left my hometown and put my wife and three little babies in an upstairs apartment and worked very hard to get into medical school. And I’ll turn in the first one of you who cheats, and you better believe it!’ They believed it. There were many sheepish expressions, and those cheat papers started to disappear as fast as they had appeared. He set a standard for the class which eventually graduated the largest group in the school’s history.”
The young, lanky medical student who challenged the cheaters was J Ballard Washburn, who became a respected physician and was recognized by the Utah Medical Association for his outstanding service. He also served as a General Authority and is now the president of the Las Vegas Nevada Temple.

I was one of only four Spanish-speaking missionaries in the New England Mission. We worked hard to learn the language and share the gospel, but we met mostly with rejection.
One day we knocked on the door of Hugo and Niza Diaz, a couple in Providence, Rhode Island. After they invited us into their apartment, I asked how long they had lived there.
“We just moved here from New York,” they said. “The Lord told us to move to Providence and He would send us messengers to teach us the truth. Are you the messengers?”
We responded assuredly, “Yes, we are the messengers.” We taught Hugo and Niza about the gospel of Jesus Christ, and they readily accepted our message and were soon baptized.

The Lord gives us truth when we live righteously. Sometimes it comes in response to an urgent, sincere prayer for help when we need guidance. I remember one night in the mission field, after kneeling in prayer with my lovely wife, having thanked the Lord for the blessings of the day, I had a strong impression that one of the missionaries was in trouble. I tried to think who it could be but could not. I excused myself from my sweet companion and went up onto the flat part of our mission home roof. All night long I labored, reviewing in my mind each companionship, everything I knew about every missionary, and pled with the Lord that he might let me know where that missionary was that needed help. Finally, as the dawn began to break, I was impressed to know in which part of the mission he lived. That, of course was all I needed. I went there and through appropriate interviews found and helped the individual the Lord wanted to help. Yes, God answers prayer and gives us truth when we live obediently and exercise the requisite faith.

The January night was cold and dark. Six-year-old Brigitte huddled next to her nine-year-old sister, Wanda, both of them trying to stay close to the wood-burning stove. Black paper covered the windows so that not even a bit of light would show through to show enemy planes where to bomb. Papa held out a paper, straining to read it by the light of one tiny candle.
“I am to report to Augsburg (Germany) for military training by February first,” he said. “I have been drafted.”
To be without Papa? It was unthinkable! Papa with his funny stories. Papa, who had always kept the family safe. Brigitte looked at the shadowy faces of Mama, Papa, and Wanda. They were sad faces, but without tears.
Papa’s voice was calm. “Over three-fourths of Nuremberg has already been bombed. We ourselves had to find a new home when a bomb tore the hole in our kitchen. Elizabeth, I think that after I am gone, you and the children should try to find a place to stay away from here. It will be safer in the country.”
Mama nodded her head. “My sister Margarete is already looking for a place for us.”
Shuddering, Brigitte remembered the bombs hitting the top floor of their apartment building before they could escape to the shelter. She remembered burning mattresses being flung out of windows. And she remembered being pulled along to the bunkers by her father’s strong hand as they ran through the street in terror, the upper part of it engulfed in flames. That time there had been no warning.
As though reading her mind, Papa said, “Gitte, remember the time Mama covered you with blankets in the shelter to try to block out the noise and screaming? You had been crying. I know that you were very much afraid. Then you heard one of our neighbors say, ‘I want to sit by Mrs. Baier—she has such strong faith, nothing ever happens to her.’ You pushed the blanket off and looked at Oma (Grandmother), who was sitting quietly. Do you remember what you did then?”
“Yes, Papa. I crawled into Oma’s lap, and I stopped crying.” Brigitte smiled. “I always want to be just like Oma.”
“We must all have faith like Oma,” Papa agreed. “Ever since I was baptized when I was fifteen years old, I have never doubted the truthfulness of the gospel. This war will be over soon, but I will never have peace in my heart until I can move us to America and we are sealed in the temple. I have to leave you for a little while now, but we will be together again, and then, somehow, we will get to America.”
Mama smiled. “Yes, George, I’m sure that your dream will come true when you come back to us. You could have gone there after your mission in 1931. I’m glad you stayed here to marry me, instead.”
Papa grinned back at her. “I thought we could go in 1936, after Wanda was born—we even gave her an American name—but by then the government wouldn’t let us out of the country.”
“You were the branch president, however—perhaps you were needed here for a while. I was really frightened, though, when the police came to our home to search for Church books.”
“I was, too, Elizabeth, but no harm came to us.” Papa looked at his two little girls. “I want to give you each a father’s blessing before I leave. And don’t ever doubt that Heavenly Father will take care of you. He won’t ever leave you.”
Brigitte felt comforted after she was given the blessing. Somehow it made her feel like Papa was always close by, even after he had to go away.
Aunt Margarete found a place for them to stay in the country with a kind farmer and his family. Brigitte started school in the nearby village. There was no word from Papa since he had written that he was being transferred. Every day Mama faithfully wrote to him.
“Mama! Mama!” Wanda cried one day as she hurried home. “The Americans have come. The war is over! Surely Papa will be home soon.”
Mama looked up from the stove where she was cooking potato pancakes, wiped her brow with her apron, and sighed. “I hope so, Wanda. I wish we would have some word of him.”
Although the long war was over and there were no more alarms, no more hurrying through the streets to get to the underground shelter when the bombs came, there was no word yet from Papa. Was he alive? Mama still wrote to him. But it had been two years. …
When she came home from the post office with a letter one day, Brigitte and Wanda both ran to her crying, “Is it from Papa?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Oma needs us to come back to Nuremberg. Opa (Grandfather) is very sick. She needs help taking care of him. We must leave right away.”
What about school? Brigitte wanted to ask. But she kept silent. Oma needed them. They walked over an hour, and then two American soldiers gave them a ride in a jeep to Nuremberg. All of the American soldiers treated the people with kindness.
“Oma, let me sweep this floor for you,” Brigitte said, hurrying to take the broom from her grandmother. Opa did not have much longer to live, and Oma looked worn out. Brigitte watched for every chance to help her.
Mama had been called to be Relief Society president. “I don’t know what we’d do without this help from the Saints in America,” she said, opening a big box of food to distribute to people in need.
Brigitte loved the powdered milk that came in some of the boxes. How she loved to put a bit of the white powder on the end of her spoon and lick it off. Mmmm!
Spring came. Opa died in March, and Mama, Wanda, and Brigitte planted a garden where he had always planted one. He had always been so proud of his garden. In the years before he got sick, he had risen at five o’clock each morning and hurried to it, a small part of a shared lot about a twenty minute walk from their apartment.
The garden wasn’t doing very well, though, and Mama was discouraged. “Throw these plants away, Brigitte. They’re so scraggly and the soil is very poor. I don’t think they’re worth bothering with.”
Brigitte looked at the plants with their drooping leaves. They looked dead already. She started to pull them up, then stopped. Opa always worked hard in his garden, she thought. I can’t give up on these plants. I know he wouldn’t. She carefully loosened the dirt around each one and gave them a drink of water. “Please help them to grow, Heavenly Father,” she prayed. Every day she came to the garden and watered it or pulled weeds or both.
One day after she had worked in the garden, she returned home to find her mother sitting and rocking back and forth with tears chasing each other down her cheeks, clutching a letter. “Papa’s alive! This letter is from him. He is a prisoner of war in France and has been clearing the forests there. He didn’t get any of my letters, so he wrote to our friend Peter Loscher in America to see if he could find out if we were all right. Peter sent him our address.” She started to read from Papa’s letter:
“I am so happy to finally know how to reach you and to find that you are safe and well. I am too. My biggest problem is lack of food. Sometimes I have been so hungry that I have had to eat insects. But my faith remains strong. Once when I was clearing a forest, I climbed to the top of a high mountain, where I was able to be alone for a few minutes. I asked the Lord for renewed strength to endure it here. I haven’t forgotten our dream—surely we will be together soon!”
(To be continued)

Another candidate for authorship of the Book of Mormon was Sidney Rigdon. He was a Protestant minister and theologian. The supreme irony of this argument, however, is that he was converted by the very book he was supposed to have written. Parley P. Pratt, a former member of Rigdon’s congregation, introduced him to the Book of Mormon in October 1830—about six months after the Book of Mormon had already been published. Do we have any witnesses that this is how Sidney Rigdon was converted? We do. In fact, the historical evidence is compelling.

First, Sidney Rigdon’s daughter, Nancy Rigdon Ellis, was eight years old when Parley P. Pratt and Oliver Cowdery presented her father with a copy of the Book of Mormon in their home. She said that she recalled the event because of the conflict that arose:

I saw them hand [my father] the book, and I am as positive as can be that he never saw it before. He read it and examined it for about an hour and then threw it down and said he did not believe a word in it.10

Later, however, he did accept the Book of Mormon, joined the Church, and became one of its leaders.