Gospel Story Finder

Two and a half years ago I had an experience that I consider by itself to be repayment many times over for my meager offering in beginning to study this language of the ancient scriptures. I have, through my academic work, become close friends with a well-respected scholar who is also a rabbi. He has been very kind to me and has given me a number of professional opportunities. I learned from one of our mutual acquaintances that he is also an accomplished Hebrew scholar and student of the scriptures.

When I was in Baltimore in January 1984, I met with him about a joint writing project, and he invited me over to his home to spend the Sabbath. It was a profound experience, almost like a dream. I found that my friend is a collector and scholar of Judaica, with a very large home library of Hebrew texts centuries old (some on scrolls), ancient menorahs, seder plates, mezuzahs, etc. I think he was almost as surprised and elated as I was to find that a Christian could have such a consuming interest in these things that he loves so much. But as he told me about Kaballa, Yom Kippur, the ancient tabernacle and temple, the Shekinah (that is, the divine presence in the Holy of Holies), and the feasts and the holy days, I could see in it all the light of the doctrines of the Restoration. I kept thinking of Brother Nibley’s description in one of his classes of Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality for the weary traveler. My friend Aron and his wife, Sarah, prepared the dinner as their son Jonathan and I visited, and then we all rejoiced together in four hours of eating, dialogue, and singing. We discussed the Hebrew Scripture, the ideas that engage us, and the concerns of our lives. Occasionally we would sing; Aron would break forth with a hymn in Hebrew, would pass me the hymnbook pointing to the words, and we would all join in. The evening ended much too soon, but I will always remember it as one of the great experiences of my life, the culmination of many years of trying to comprehend “the law and the prophets,” learn a few words of Hebrew, and understand the Lord’s ancient covenant people. I came away from the experience not only with a deep love for Aron and Sarah and their son and an appreciation for the depth of their faith, but with an increased feeling of gratitude for the restored gospel and an additional testimony of its truthfulness.

This past November I was again near Baltimore for a convention, and again I was invited for Sabbath. This experience was every bit as great as the first. I joined with Aron as we faced the east and he recited, and I tried to read, Hebrew prayers and other scriptures, many of which I recognized from my study of the Law and the Prophets. And then, as we were ready to begin the Sabbath meal, he placed his hands upon his son’s head and gave him a father’s blessing. A number of times that evening I could feel the Spirit of the Lord present. I was amazed at the spiritual power of the law of performances, the schoolmaster to bring the Jewish people to the Messiah. I believe that it will indeed bring them to the Messiah.

This time we had many things to discuss, with it being just a few months since the difficulties connected with the BYU Jerusalem Center. Among other things I tried to explain to him how our beliefs differ from the rest of Christianity, especially our beliefs about the Jews and the scattered remnants of the house of Israel. For many of the Jews, the name “Christian” is associated with centuries of suffering and persecution at the hands of a Christianity gone awry. I told him about some of the prophecies found in the Book of Mormon concerning Judah and the house of Israel, and about something else important that I had recently read. Nephi had a vision of those dark medieval days of persecution and he said:
And also for the praise of the world do they destroy the saints of God, and bring them down into captivity. [1 Nephi 13:9]
George Reynolds and Janne M. Sjodahl give this commentary on the word “saints” in that verse:
This refers, probably, to the Jews. The Jews, as a people, chosen by God and consecrated to his service, are called “saints.” [Commentary on the Book of Mormon, vol. 1 (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1962), p. 114]
The persecutors foreseen by Nephi were to be enemies of all the saints of God, beginning with the children of Israel.

Last year I bought a book entitled Back to the Sources, edited by Barry Holtz. It is a collection of contemporary Jewish writings about the great books of Jewish tradition, such as Torah, the Prophets, Talmud, Midrash, Kabbalistic texts, the teachings of the Hasidic masters, etc. I read a number of things in that book that I wanted to discuss with Aron, but especially one particular thing almost seemed to jump off the page at me. On page 23 Holtz says,
There has been a kind of ongoing prejudice against the Jewish texts that is almost theologically inherent in Christianity itself. . . . The Hebrew Bible was called the “Old” Testament (a term never used in traditional Jewish sources) to contrast it with the fully realized “New” Testament. The effect of such an approach is to undercut the validity in its own terms of the Jewish Bible, but more than that there is the implication that Jewish creativity must have ended with the “Old” Testament. . . .
Thus any Jewish writing after the Bible is seen as necessarily insignificant. Judaism can have no contribution because, according to this view, it has been surpassed by the new religion and its teachings. Hence the persistence of Jewish literature—and Judaism itself—becomes a kind of ongoing embarrassment for Christianity. Perhaps that is why the Church burned the Talmud in the Middle Ages—as an attempt to deny the very existence of a living Jewish tradition. [Back to the Sources: Reading the Classic Jewish Texts(New York: Summit Books, 1984)]
Aron believed me when I told him that we are worlds away from the rest of Christianity on this issue. We don’t have this adversarial relation to Judaism. The traditions and the texts are not an embarrassment for us, but rather a source of edification, a connection to our roots. We believe that the religion Jesus taught was a restoration of something very ancient and pure, and that it ceased to exist upon the earth after the death of the apostles.

I quoted to Aron from 2 Nephi, chapter 29, where Nephi prophesies of the Gentiles of America in the latter days. Nephi foretells that they will reject the Book of Mormon when it shall come to them, and then he answers the Gentiles by telling of the great debt owed to the Jews for their pains in bringing the ancient scriptures to us:
And because my words shall hiss forth—many of the Gentiles shall say: A Bible! A Bible! We have got a Bible, and there cannot be any more Bible.
But thus saith the Lord God: O fools, they shall have a Bible; and it shall proceed forth from the Jews, mine ancient covenant people. And what thank they the Jews for the Bible which they receive from them? Yea, what do the Gentiles mean? Do they remember the travails, and the labors, and the pains of the Jews, and their diligence unto me, in bringing forth salvation unto the Gentiles?
O ye Gentiles, have ye remembered the Jews, mine ancient covenant people? Nay; but ye have cursed them, and have hated them, and have not sought to recover them. But behold, I will return all these things upon your own heads; for I the Lord have not forgotten my people. [2 Nephi 29:3–5]
As we discussed these things, Aron became very thoughtful and spoke slowly and deliberately. He said that this was a very important thing for his people to know.

May I offer two ideas that have been helpful to me when I have felt fearful? The first one came in the form of advice from Sister Michaelene Grassli, Primary general president. I served under her on the Primary General Board. We were on a training assignment together when a local leader began to describe in glowing details the auxiliary leaders who had come to that area the year before. As she told about the wonderful things they had done and expressed her hopes that we would do the same, a sick feeling began to settle in my stomach. That night after our hostess had left, I expressed to Sister Grassli my fears: I was afraid my performance would be far less than those who had come before, and I would certainly be a disappointment to everyone and probably an embarrassment to her and the Church. She said, “I have had those same feelings, but it is comforting to me to know that I need only be concerned that what I do and say is acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.” Her words brought such immediate peace to my mind that I have repeated them over and over to myself in countless situations.
As women, we like very much to please others—sometimes seeking approval so frantically that we become torn and confused by the conflicting needs of those around us. Concentrating on pleasing Heavenly Father brings peace, a respite from fear and anxiety. Think of that, young women, the next time you are asked to perform in church, or visit an inactive member of your class, or plan an activity: “I only need to worry about pleasing the Lord.” I think some of your fears will evaporate. The prophet David said: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Ps. 27:1.)
The second idea that has been helpful to me was reportedly expressed by Vincent van Gogh, a famous painter. He said, “I am always doing what I can’t do yet in order to learn how to do it.” A large part of conquering daily fear is simply doing things that we don’t know how to do—yet.
Are there things you don’t know how to do yet, that you are doing anyway? What about trying to make conversation with a young man at Mutual even though you feel very awkward? What about working hard in school even though it feels discouraging? I have often heard Sister Janette Hales, our Young Women general president, tell young people to work hard. She has said, “Working increases our abilities, and as you feel your abilities increase, you will feel more secure.”
I’ve just finished reading Eleanor Roosevelt’s biography. She was the wife of a president of the United States, but her influence went far beyond politics and position. Her life stands as a beacon to all women as someone who magnificently developed her own gifts through her service to others. This was a woman whose early life was ruled by fear and self-doubt. She described herself as an awkward adolescent, unattractively tall, with protruding teeth, dressed inappropriately, and so ill at ease with others her own age that parties and dances were dreaded occasions. How did she move from that to the kind of confidence that allowed her to contribute so widely?
She said, “You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.” (Karen McAuley, Eleanor Roosevelt, New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1987, p. 105.)
As we concentrate on pleasing the Lord rather than others and continue to work hard, doing the things we don’t know how to do yet, we will experience personal growth. We will increase our confidence in Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. This faith assures us that in the end, we will not only survive but we will know great joy and happiness.
After the death of Christ, Paul was converted and became a great missionary. He had a junior companion, whom he loved as a father loves his own son. When we pick up their story in 2 Timothy, they are separated in their service. Timothy is lonely and afraid—being a missionary can be a fearful business. Paul is in prison in Rome. He writes Timothy a letter: “To Timothy, my dearly beloved son. …
“I thank God … that without ceasing I have remembrance of thee in my prayers night and day;
“Greatly desiring to see thee, being mindful of thy tears.” (2 Tim. 1:2–4.)
Isn’t that a tender letter? Pretend it is coming to you from one who is mindful of your tears.
Paul then goes on to remind Timothy of his strengths: “I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee.” (2 Tim. 1:5.) He reminds Timothy that both his grandmother and his mother were women of faith.
Think of some of the strengths that your grandmothers and mother have passed on to you.
Then Paul asks Timothy to remember to use the gift of the Holy Ghost: “I put thee in remembrance that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee by the putting on of my hands.” (2 Tim. 1:6.)
Are you remembering that you have had hands laid on your head—that you have been given a gift? Use that gift to conquer your fears!
And then my favorite part of the letter: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” (2 Tim. 1:7.)
Are those just the things you want when you are fearful—power, love, the ability to think clearly?
Paul ends one of his letters: “All that are with me salute thee. Greet them that love us in the faith. Grace be with you all. Amen.” (Titus 3:15.)
All that are with me salute you. We love you and are aware of your fears and your faith. I bear you my witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, that he loves me, that he loves each of you, and that he will help us to replace our fears with faith. I say these things in his name, amen.

One of my neighbors who is a member of the Church gave copies of the Book of Mormon to three families in our neighborhood in Argentina. I lived across the street and did not receive one of the copies, but I watched as the families learned about the gospel from the missionaries. My sister Sandra’s boyfriend was one of those listening to the discussions, and he invited her to join them.
They were all invited to attend church one Sunday, and Sandra invited me. I never imagined that accepting an invitation to attend church would completely change my life. From the moment I entered the meetinghouse, I felt a wonderful sense of belonging.
I met the missionaries and made arrangements to take the discussions. My parents wouldn’t let the missionaries into our home, so I was taught at the meetinghouse. After much prayer and fasting, I was baptized on 21 January 1990. Two weeks later, Sandra and her boyfriend were also baptized.
I feel I would never have accepted the Church if it were not for the efforts of this member family in giving away those copies of the Book of Mormon. I am eternally grateful to the Lord that I have such obedient neighbors who were willing to share their riches, the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I have kept track of how many baptisms have occurred because of those three copies of the Book of Mormon. There were 16 baptisms on our block, and now my sister Sandra and I are serving full-time missions. My mother, who was totally opposed to the Church at first, was baptized during my mission and is now the Relief Society president in our branch.
My neighbor gave me the knowledge that I needed to return to my Heavenly Father. We must give this same opportunity to everyone. I know this is the only true church, but others don’t know this. We must share the Book of Mormon with everyone.

As a young man, serving at the direction of my bishop, I called upon a rich man and invited him to contribute a thousand dollars to a building fund. He declined. But he did say he wanted to help, and if we would have a ward dinner and charge $5 per plate, he would take two tickets. About ten days later this man died unexpectedly of a heart attack, and I have wondered ever since about the fate of his eternal soul.

When my sixth-grade class talks about movies, they usually talk about PG-13 or R-rated movies. They ask me, “Have you seen them?” I answer, “No, I can’t watch PG-13 movies. I’m not allowed to watch R-rated movies either.” They laugh at me and say, “You can only watch baby shows.” It hurts me, but I get over it because I know I’m doing what Heavenly Father wants me to do. So even if people tease me, I will still keep my spirit high because I love the Lord. I will follow His teachings and always keep Him in my heart.

“Please, Heavenly Father,” Amy prayed as hard as she knew how, “bless Toby that he won’t die. I love him so much.”
Amy finished her prayer and rose from her knees. She tiptoed into the next room to say good-night to Toby, her cocker spaniel. He lay asleep on his blanket in the corner, breathing hard. Amy gently stroked his fur. Toby stirred and opened one eye partway. He tried to wag his tail, but even that effort seemed too much for him.
“Don’t worry, Toby,” Amy whispered. “You’re going to be all right now. I prayed to Heavenly Father to make you better.”
Amy left the ailing dog and went back to bed. Believing that everything would be all right, she was soon asleep.
As soon as Amy awakened the next morning, she hurried into the room where Toby slept to say good morning. But Toby didn’t move, even when she shook him. He was dead. Amy started crying, and Mom and Dad came to see why.
“We all knew that it would probably happen soon, honey,” her dad said as he put his arm around her and held her tight. “After all, Toby was pretty old, and the vet said that even with the medicine there wasn’t much chance that he could last through this illness.”
“But,” Amy whispered, “but …” It was all she could say. Her throat was too tight to let any more words through.
“It’s always hard to lose someone you love,” her mother said softly, stroking Amy’s long blond hair. “We’ll miss Toby, and no dog could ever take his place. But there are other little dogs who need a good home and lots of love. After a while we’ll find the one that’s just right for us.”
Amy scarcely heard her mother because her own thoughts were so loud in her head. Why? Why? WHY? she agonized. I prayed to Heavenly Father to make Toby well! How could He let him die?
Amy didn’t feel much like eating breakfast that morning. She pushed her cereal around in her bowl until it became mushy. Mom seemed to understand how Amy felt. “Why don’t you go out in the sunshine, honey? It’s the first day it hasn’t rained for weeks!”
Even though Amy didn’t want to play, she went outside and sat on the front porch. She just couldn’t understand why Heavenly Father had let Toby die. “I felt so good after I prayed, like He was promising me that everything would be all right. And now Toby is dead,” she murmured sadly.
She got up from the porch and walked around the house. Seeing her older brother Jonathan’s bicycle made her feel even worse. Amy had wanted a bicycle for her last birthday, but they lived on a steep hill and her mom and dad said no. “Your legs aren’t quite long enough yet,” Dad had said. “Maybe next year.”
Jonathan gets to do everything! Amy thought. I’ll bet I can reach those pedals.
The more she thought about it the more determined she became. “It’s not fair!” she suddenly said out loud. “I didn’t get a bike, and now Toby’s dead.” Almost before she knew what she was doing, she was taking Jonathan’s bike and wheeling it into the street. I’ll show everybody I’m big enough to ride a bike, she thought as she stretched her leg as high as she could to get it over the bar.
The bike wiggled and jiggled as Amy tried to balance on the seat. Finally she made it, and the bike began to roll downhill, slowly at first, but then faster and faster. “Wheeee!” Amy shouted as she raced down the hill. “I knew I could do it.”
Suddenly Amy saw a big chuckhole in the road, but she couldn’t turn quick enough to miss it. The front wheel lurched crazily when it went down into the hole, and Amy flew off onto the road. The bike careened into a tree a little farther down the hill. Amy lay very still.
“Amy! Amy!” Mom called frantically as she ran down the street. “Amy, are you all right?”
Amy stood up shakily. She wanted to cry. The whole side of her arm and her leg where her pants had ripped were badly scraped and bleeding. “Oh, Mom,” was all that Amy could say as she let her mother help her back up the street toward the house.
It took a long time to clean the gravel out of the wound. Amy winced at the pain but she held back her tears. She was trying to think.
Mom didn’t say anything until the scrapes were all patched up. Then she took Amy’s hand in her own and said, “You know, honey, when Dad and I decided not to get you a bicycle for your last birthday, we weren’t just being mean. We felt that you were still too little to ride one, and we did what was best for you. Sometimes you have to trust Dad and me.”
When Mom got up to put away the first-aid kit, Amy pulled her back down beside her. “Mom, I think … I think maybe that’s how it was with Toby.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, dear.”
“Well, I asked Heavenly Father to make Toby well. And I never prayed so hard for anything in my life.”
“So when Toby was dead this morning, you figured that Heavenly Father had let you down. Is that it?”
“Yes, because after I prayed I felt so good—like everything was going to be OK. But maybe it wasn’t right for Toby to live. Maybe I prayed for the wrong thing.”
“Why don’t you think it was right for Toby to live?”
“Well, Toby was old and almost blind. I guess I wanted Heavenly Father to make him well so I could play with him again, not so Toby would be happy.”
Mom put her arms around Amy and gave her a squeeze. “I think you’re right, Amy.”
Later that day Mom asked, “Would you like to go to the pet store next Saturday to look at some puppies?”
“Oh, Mom,” Amy squealed, “let’s. Maybe we can find another Toby.”

Do you think that the Lord cares about the little decisions that you make? I know that He does. I saw it firsthand as a mission president. One young elder was a fine young man, who was good, but he had just a couple of little things that he was struggling with—he loved music, some of which was not missionary-oriented, and he loved his pillow, especially in the early morning hours. I invited him and his companion to come visit with me in the office. I had a great talk given by Elder David B. Haight on “exact obedience” that I wanted them to read and study together. Just a moment after they left my office to read the talk aloud together in another room, my telephone rang. As I answered it, I was stunned by the voice at the other end: “This is Elder So-and-so’s mother,”—of course, the very young man I was counseling with—“I just had a feeling that he needed some extra help. Is he okay?” she asked. I began to weep. I immediately called the missionaries to come back to my office. I told them what had just happened and then asked them, “Do you think the Lord knows you? Do you think the Lord cares about you? Do you think the little things matter to the Lord?” The Lord as much as reached out and spoke to him. He became a powerful missionary.

Sister Soares: My father and the rest of us in my home were not religious. But my dad always said prayers, every night, kneeling, and I would watch him from when I was very little. He did not teach me with words, but he taught me by action. And when I was little, I also remember that sometimes I said the name of God in vain. I did not know that I was doing something wrong, and my mother taught me that I should not speak in that way. She wasn’t religious but knew what was right and wrong. When I was nine years old, a girl in my neighborhood, who was also nine, invited me to go to Primary for the first time.
Elder Soares: You grew up in the Church without your parents in the Church and still you built your faith in the gospel, and now you have decided to dedicate your life to teaching our children that same faith.

Alma’s teachings were very instrumental in my intention to serve a mission. Although my grandmother ensured that I was baptized when I was eight years old, I seldom attended church in my youth. When missionaries crossed my path when I was a young adult and I began thinking about the Church, I started to study the scriptures. Alma’s discussion about being compelled to be humble versus choosing to be humble caught my attention (see Alma 32:13–15). I felt inadequate because of my shortcomings, but I gave it some serious thought—deciding to serve a mission would require significant change. I already had a career and my own business, and I wanted to marry my girlfriend (who, by the way, is now my wife). Could I give all of that up to serve the Lord?
I went to a private place and took time—real time—to pray and commune with my Heavenly Father. In humbling myself, I came to recognize that Heavenly Father did want me to serve. I decided to follow His word, and in doing so, I found the truth of Alma’s promise: “He that truly humbleth himself, and repenteth of his sins, and endureth to the end, the same shall be blessed—yea, much more blessed than they who are compelled to be humble” (Alma 32:15).
Even though I was well over age 26, I went to my bishop, who helped prepare me. I submitted my mission papers and waited for months. Finally, I received a call telling me I was not eligible to serve a full-time mission but that I could serve in public communications, the field I was already working in. It was an exciting time. I was trained and then appeared in media discussions soon after the Church in Mexico was officially recognized by the Mexican government. I helped stakes train their public affairs specialists and established relationships with government officials. This opportunity to serve blessed me in more ways than I can describe and in ways I never could have anticipated. It affected many aspects of my life for good.

On Saturday night, a friend of mine took me to the supermarket. While I sat, waiting for him to get a bulb, the sun was setting in the west behind the mountains but still illuminating the mountain tops of the Wasatch Front, and the moon was shining with the vibrancy of a circle of lace.

The stark horizontal light showed patterns of relationship and connection in those beautiful west-facing mountains. It was a beautiful golden evening, and I thought of the writings of a great ancient Christian, Saint Gregory of Nyssa. One of his insights was that he saw Christian discipleship not just as something to be achieved—becoming a one-off possession. That is neither scholarship nor discipleship; it is, rather, the process of learning to walk step-by-step. As the road gets steeper, we are more equipped to take those more difficult steps, recognizing that it is an infinite ascent into the very being of the Father in the Son by the power of the Holy Spirit.

This made me think of the Latter-day Saint emphasis on continuing and of Joseph Smith’s words that echo Saint Gregory so closely:

The nearer man approaches perfection, the clearer are his views, and the greater his enjoyments, till he has overcome the evils of his life and lost every desire for sin; and like the ancients, arrives at that point of faith where he is wrapped in the power and glory of his Maker, and is caught up to dwell with Him. But we consider that this is a station to which no man ever arrived in a moment.13

But unity between members cannot simply be attributed to Dominican warmth and hospitality. Leaders and members alike work hard to maintain closeness and cooperation, a sometimes difficult accomplishment when people of every social class come together as they do in the Church. People who have otherwise remained distant from each other socially, geographically, even religiously need inspired leadership, and Dominican Church leaders such as Santiago district president Ramón Lantigua and his wife, Victoria, have provided just that.

“The problem of class differences is something I’ve prayed about a great deal,” Ramón comments. He noticed that sometimes at Church gatherings, the women of high social standing would embrace each other upon meeting, while giving only obligatory greetings to the other sisters. “Would the Lord do that if he were here—smile only to the high society?” Ramón questioned. Victoria was bothered by activities such as gift exchanges that “for the wealthy are no problem. But the poorer members have to save and save just to buy one small gift.”

Now serving as a branch Relief Society president, Victoria plans activities that avoid bringing out class differences and that value everyone’s talents. President Lantigua encourages leaders to set good examples by treating everyone “equally and as a child of God. After all, members follow their leaders’ examples.”

The result? A togetherness that serves to make new, old, and nonmembers feel completely welcome. When César and Lillian Lozano were baptized in 1989 after having lived in the United States, Spain, and Puerto Rico, they received such a warm reception from Dominican members that “we knew this had to be God’s church. People were so good to each other.”

At a time in the early Roman Empire; a long time even before Jesus walked the earth, the Romans were putting up with a rebellious group of people who inhabited the Italian peninsula among whom were a group called the Falerians. The Falerians had declared their independence from Rome and felt comfortable that the Romans could do nothing about it due to the exceptionally strong wall and other fortifications that encompassed their city. After the Falerians' independence was declared, the Romans sent one of their best generals, a man by the name of Camillus, to put down the rebellion and bring them back under Roman rule.

When Camillus saw the great fortifications, he knew he was in for a long and difficult siege. In fact, all he felt he could do was surround the city and wait until something, hopefully in his favor, might occur. But the siege went on and on with no end in sight.

Since the Romans were camped quite far away from the wall, to be out of range of the Falerian archers, occasionally Falerian citizens would venture a little ways outside of the wall for short periods. Sometimes even the children would go outside the walls to play. In fact, all of the Falerian children happened to be under the tutelage of one schoolmaster. This schoolmaster, occasionally, would lead them a little outside the wall so they could get some exercise. However, little did they know that this schoolmaster, who felt that the Romans would eventually win the war, saw an opportunity to gain the Roman's favor by betraying the Falerian children into their hands. Day after day, the schoolmaster led the children a little farther away from the wall, until the time came when he was able to deliver the children to the Roman camp. He explained to the Romans that they could use the children's lives as barter to force the Falerians to surrender their city.

Shortly after their children had gone outside of the wall, the Falerians realized what had happened. And looking afar off, and seeing their children as captives of the Romans, the Falerians experienced unimaginable agony. The city became a site full of weeping and wailing. Parents were screaming, terrified they would lose their children. Also, the Falerian leaders now knew that the war was lost.

Camillus, the Roman general, upon hearing of this betrayal, and seeing the Falerian children and their schoolmaster in his camp, realized that this act would win the war for him and bring him great glory. But Camillus was one of those rare individuals who put honor and integrity before dubious cultural rewards. According to the Roman historian Plutarch, Camillus said, "War, indeed, is of necessity attended with much injustice and violence! Certain laws, however, all good men observe even in war itself, nor is victory so great an object as to induce us to incur for its sake obligations for base and impious acts. A great general should rely on his own virtue, and not on other men's vices."

At that point Camillus ordered the schoolmaster's hands to be bound behind him. He then had his soldiers cut pieces of branches that the children could use to whip their schoolmaster. Camillus then ordered the children to whip their schoolmaster all the way back to the city. Well, you can imagine, the shock and the relief the parents felt when they witnessed their children running happily and laughing as they whipped the schoolmaster back to the city.

Well, after that incident occurred, the Falerians thought that maybe the Romans weren't so bad after all. They opened up peace negotiations with Camillus and the whole affair was soon settled. So, war was avoided and many people ended up being the beneficiaries of Camillus' willingness to put honor and integrity before his culture's strong emphasis on conquest, fame, glory, and victory.

One day at work, I had to leave for a few hours to take care of some important errands for my mother. I went to the office in the morning and told a colleague that I would be absent in the afternoon. During a break she whispered to me, “I can help you with the time clock.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
As I left the office to catch the bus, my friend followed me to the time clock. She said quietly, “Why don’t you clock in for the afternoon period, and then I’ll punch your time card when I go home?”
Before I could utter a word, she added, “Look, our salary is below minimum wage, so it would be OK to do this. It’s just a small amount. Besides, we are not the only ones who do it.”
I began to consider what she had said. She had some good points, and I knew she had good intentions. But this was not what I had been taught in the Church.
Gathering all my strength and resolve, I told her softly, “My friend, the Lord is good, and if He blesses us, we can receive from Him more than that amount.”
She left and was somewhat annoyed with me for rejecting her offer. While I walked to the bus stop, I worried about how small my paycheck would be. I knew we would have to forego buying some food the following month.
As I walked, I remembered the words of one of the hymns: “Be honest in your heart; and God will love and bless you and help to you impart.”1 A phrase from another hymn came to my mind: “Choose the right! And God will bless you evermore.”2
These lines strengthened my decision not to give in to temptation but to trust in the Lord’s promises.
Three years have passed since that incident, and I now have a new job. The Lord has definitely blessed me. It took time, but the promise of the hymns indeed came true, and I can feel that many blessings will continue to come to me as I continue to choose the right. I am grateful for the hymns, which give me courage to hold on to that which is right in the sight of God.

It started just a little over two years ago. Jason Hardman was ten then, and it was summer. The tulips along the main street of Elsinore, Utah, were only a bright blur of color to Jason as he streaked by them on his bike. He slowed and turned the corner at the post office and then, passing the Cash Store, he started pedaling even faster, moving up toward the town hall. He didn’t want to be late. The sidewalk ended, and he turned his bike onto the deserted street.
It was late in the day. The town was quiet. Nighthawks were sweeping the warm air above the streets for bugs. Jason rode his bike through the long-flung shadows into pools of light so bright and liquid he half expected to splash through them.
As in most small towns there is a kind of quiet eloquence to summer evenings in Elsinore. It’s a good place to be in summer. Just south of town in the thickets of mulberry bushes and Russian olives there are quail, pheasants, jackrabbits, and coyotes. In town there is a ball park, two rock shops, the Eat at Steve’s and Get Gas service station and cafe, and the Cash Store; but two years ago there was no library.
There was no place to check out books telling of pirate Long John Silver and his treasure or of the terrible Captain Ahab’s relentless pursuit of Moby Dick across wild seas. After you’d read all the good books you had at home, there was no place close by to get books to read late at night under warm and safe covers, solving the mysteries of Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie. Agatha Christie mysteries were Jason’s favorite.
The mayor leaned back in his chair. The other members of Elsinore’s town council were smiling as Jason stood in front of them.
“We need a library,” Jason said.
“Nope, not enough money.”
“No place to put it.”
“No one to run it.”
Jason told them they could put the library in one of the unused rooms in the town hall and that it wouldn’t cost much money. They could get people to donate the books. He also told them he would run it. They turned him down again, thinking he would just give up. They didn’t know Jason.
“I knew I could do it. I could get a library started,” Jason says. “I wasn’t about to give up.”
For months he kept asking and the mayor and council kept saying no, but finally either the mayor and the city council wore down or they became convinced Jason could get a library started. They gave him permission to use a room in the basement of the town hall. They offered him no money or assistance. If there was going to be a library, it would be up to Jason.
“Maybe he will look at the room we gave him and give up.”
The city hall was in a restored grade school and the basement was in bad shape. Jason, his family, and several friends had to scrub the floor with wire brushes. The walls and ceilings had to be thoroughly cleaned. Lights had to be found. Shelves had to be built.
“I couldn’t have done it without my family,” says Jason. “I couldn’t have built the bookshelves without my father’s help. I can’t run a power saw.”
After hundreds of hours of work, the room was ready. Now the library needed books.
“You can tackle almost any project you want to,” Jason says. “You just let your imagination go, and then you do it. No matter what happens, do not give up.”
Jason started looking for books. He went from door to door asking friends and neighbors if they had any old books they didn’t need. If it was too far for him to walk he called on the phone. Over 2,000 books were donated. The library opened.
That was when Jason almost gave up.
“I got very discouraged,” he recalls. “My hours were six to nine, and no one was coming in.”
It was winter then, and he didn’t need the library to get books for himself. He could check out books from his school library. He went to school in another town five miles from Elsinore.
“I wanted to quit, but my parents wouldn’t let me,” Jason says. “They said, ‘you started it; you stick with it.’ So I did. I spent a lot of time alone in there.”
Jason let his imagination go again. He knew if his library was to succeed he had to get more books, good books, books people would want to read. He called and wrote to anyone he could think of that might help. A few more books came in, but not enough. He wrote to politicians, to publishers, and even to other libraries.
Then a small newspaper in a neighboring town, the Richfield Reaper, ran an article about Jason and his library. The story was printed in the Salt Lake Tribune, and it was then picked up by the Associated Press. Jason became national news. Everyone wanted to know about the youngest librarian in the country. Articles about Jason and his library were published in dozens of national magazines. When he received a call from a man asking him if he wanted to appear on Johnny Carson’s “Tonight Show” he said, “Who is this really?”
Jason told his story on the “Tonight Show” and on several other television shows. He was also asked to testify before a congressional hearing on rural libraries. He told them of the need for libraries and of the problems he had getting his started. The committee members promised to help Jason in any way they could.
People from all over the country began donating books. Jason received up to a hundred books in one day for his library. With the publicity and the new books, more people are coming into Jason’s library. It has become quite a popular place.
What now?
Jason is sorting and indexing his books, writing thank-you notes to donors, and making plans to improve the library. He talks about getting a computer, better shelves, improving the genealogical section, building a ramp (it’s hard for older people to walk down the stairs), and even of a new building for the library.
A new building?
That’s a big project for a 12-year-old, but who knows, even the Elsinore town council takes Jason seriously now when he starts talking about wanting to do something.

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.

Sarah Thompson was hurrying to gather the dirty clothes so she could get the laundry finished before her husband, Ted, got home from work. She opened Melissa’s bedroom door and hurriedly picked up a shirt, blue jeans, and socks. When she turned to leave, she realized that she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Why, Melissa, I thought you were outside playing with the rest of the children. What’s the matter, dear?”
Melissa had obviously been crying, and it took a while for her to get out the words: “I—I don’t want to get baptized on Saturday.”
Sister Thompson quickly joined her daughter on the bed and took her in her arms. “Melissa, dear, it’s all right. But you’ve been talking about your baptism for months, and you could hardly wait for your eighth birthday. Why have you changed your mind?”
“I’m scared.”
Sister Thomspon smiled. “Melissa, you’ve been to baptisms before. What is there to be afraid of? Besides, your friends Ann and Sarah will be baptized on Saturday too. Won’t they help to give you courage?”
“But they’re different from me,” Melissa said in a soft, unsteady voice. “They’ll have their fathers there to baptize them.”
Sister Thompson knew that Melissa’s nonmember father couldn’t baptize their daughter, but she had thought that Melissa was pleased that their home teacher had promised to do it. “I thought you liked Brother Adamson, dear,” she said. “He’s such a special man.”
“I love Brother Adamson,” Melissa sobbed, “but it’s not the same. He’s not father.”
“Oh, Melissa …” Sister Thompson tried to comfort her daughter. She loved her husband very much, but at the same time her own heart was breaking. She thought of all the times she had wanted to share special spiritual experiences with her husband but had been unable to. Now the fact that he was not a member of the Church was hurting their child. Maybe she had made the wrong decision when she had listened to the missionaries and had decided to be baptized. Yet she had received a strong testimony of the truth of their message, and she had been sure that Ted would soon realize how true and good the gospel was. But that had been three years ago, and he still showed no sign of ever wanting to become a member of the Church.
“Melissa,” Sister Thompson began again gently, “do you enjoy going to Primary?”
“Oh, yes! I love the stories, and my teacher, Sister Westover, is so nice.” Melissa had stopped crying.
“Do you believe those stories?” Sister Thompson continued.
“Yes, of course I do,” Melissa answered confidently. “I know that the Church is true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“How can you show that you know it is true?” her mother urged.
Melissa realized what her mother was trying to tell her, and she knew that she would be baptized on Saturday. But without her father to share the experience—it just seemed kind of frightening. Melissa smiled at her mother and said, “Maybe daddy will come to see me get baptized on Saturday. I’m going to ask him just as soon as he gets home.” Melissa went outside the house to wait for her father to come home from work.
Sister Thompson remained sitting on the bed, deep in thought. Ted hasn’t attended a Church meeting yet. He has gone with us to several church social activities, but nothing about the gospel has really interested him. She hoped that Melissa wasn’t in for another disappointment.
Melissa saw her father coming and ran to meet him. Ted Thompson took his daughter in his arms, and gave her a big hug. “What’s my little one so excited about today?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, Daddy! I’m getting baptized on Saturday, don’t you remember?”
Mr. Thompson suddenly grew serious, “Yes, your mother told me about it.”
Melissa hurried on, not noticing her father’s concerned look. “Father will you come and see me—will you, please? Everybody else’s father will be there. You’ll come, won’t you?” Melissa pleaded.
Mr. Thompson was unprepared for her question, and he didn’t know what to say. Finally he said, “We’ll see. We’ll see. It’s still a long time until Saturday.”
Melissa was disappointed, but she decided that a “we’ll see” was better than a “no.” She gave her father a final hug and ran to play with her friends.
Saturday was a beautiful, clear day, and Melissa thought that it was a perfect day for her baptism. She hadn’t talked to her father about coming with her since that day she met him in front of the house. But he hadn’t said anything, so she assumed he would be there.
That afternoon Melissa took a long, hot bath, and her mother helped her get dressed in her prettiest Sunday dress. Hanging on the door was the lovely white baptismal dress Sister Thompson had made for Melissa. When they were ready to go, Sister Thompson said, “We’d better hurry, dear, or we’ll be late.”
“I’ll get daddy,” Melissa replied. But when she found him Melissa saw that her father was still in his work clothes, reading the newspaper. “Daddy, aren’t you ready for the baptism? We’re going to be late!”
Mr. Thompson looked at his daughter’s anxious face and said, “Melissa, dear, I can’t go to your baptism. I’d feel out of place. I just don’t belong there. Please don’t be angry with me.”
Melissa was out of the house and running before he had even finished. Sister Thompson saw the tears in her daughter’s eyes, and for the second time that week she wondered if she had made a mistake in joining the Church.
There was great excitement in the girls’ dressing room as Ann, Sarah, and Melissa changed clothes for their baptism.
“I’m so excited!” Sarah exclaimed. “Daddy gave me my very own Book of Mormon. It has my name on it and everything!”
“That’s really nice,” said Ann. “My whole family’s going over to my grandma and grandpa’s after the baptism. Grandma promised to help me start on my Book of Remembrance.”
Sarah and Ann noticed that Melissa was very quiet. “What are you going to do afterward, Melissa?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I’m not sure.” Melissa knew that they would just be going home, but she added, “Mother and father are probably going to surprise me.”
Melissa slipped her white dress off its hanger, and as she began to pull it over her head, she noticed a piece of paper pinned inside. She unpinned it and saw that it was in her father’s handwriting! “My dear Melissa,” she read, “I’m sorry that I won’t be there with you today. I want you to know that I am very proud of you. You have made a very important decision in your life. I only hope that I can have enough courage to make that same decision some day. Please remember that I love you very much. Daddy.”
Melissa wiped the tears from her eyes as she finished dressing. When Brother Adamson helped her down the the steps of the baptismal font, Melissa had the most radiant smile that her mother had ever seen. Sister Thompson knew then that she hadn’t made a mistake three years before when she, too, had entered that same baptismal font.

Beginning in my home under the loving care of my faithful parents and through my mission and marriage and family life, Jesus Christ and His gospel have been the rock upon which I have built my testimony. As I look back now, I find that my knowledge and testimony of the doctrines and principles of the restored gospel came sequentially in four ways.

First, during my childhood and youth my testimony was one of faith—faith in the words, the testimony, and the examples of parents, teachers, and leaders.

Second, my testimony was strengthened intellectually during missionary service. I immersed myself in the scriptures, especially in the Book of Mormon. I read and studied all four standard works and found a symphony of divine doctrine—so reasonable, so logical, and so satisfying.

Third, my testimony developed through experiences such as receiving answers to prayers, giving and receiving priesthood blessings, paying tithes and offerings, recognizing the blessings of fasting, and many others.

Fourth, I received absolute assurances of the Holy Ghost—revelations that came directly to my mind and my heart.

The testimony that took root in me those many years ago—like the seed that is watered, nurtured, and cared for—has grown into a tree and continues to grow today.

Sister Jensen and I dated in high school and graduated together in 1960. In January 1961 we decided that we would marry and that I would not serve a mission. We attended sacrament meetings together, either at her ward in Springville or at mine in Mapleton. In mid-January we attended my ward and listened to a returned missionary report on his mission to Mexico. Following that meeting I turned to Lonie and said, “We have made a mistake. I want to serve a mission.”

At that time prospective missionaries were interviewed by a General Authority. The Presiding Bishop of the Church, Joseph L. Wirthlin, interviewed me. I remember only two questions he asked me: The first was “Can you walk 25 miles a day?”

I said “yes.” I was playing a lot of basketball and was in excellent physical condition.

The second question was “Can you stand on a street corner anywhere in the world, gather a crowd around you, and testify to them that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God?”

I said “yes” to Bishop Wirthlin because of the second book I brought with me today, the Pearl of Great Price. This book was always visible in our home. Of course it is shorter than the triple combination, so, as a boy, I read it. I read it several times, especially the accounts of the First Vision and the coming forth of the Book of Mormon. I knew that what I read was true. I began to feel the power of the word in my heart. There were other influences on my testimony, such as the hymns of the Restoration, experiences in seminary, Church meetings, and service, but at its bedrock, my testimony was founded on the word of God as recorded in scripture.

Sister Jensen said she would wait for me, and, as you can see, she did—although during the mission I did detect some apostasy on her part when I learned that she was dating another man. A few well-worded letters from me about not getting serious with him had their desired effect. I am thankful she listened. We married in the Manti Temple 33 days after I returned home.

Although I left for my mission partially relying on the borrowed light of the faith and testimony of excellent parents, wonderful neighbors, and good teachers and leaders, I soon lost myself in the service of others. I worked hard and I was obedient. As a result, I experienced what President Gordon B. Hinckley experienced on his mission. “Something happened inside of me in England that was so significant and deep-rooted that I have never gotten over it,” he said. “It is the same thing I have seen happen to thousands of other young men and women who commit themselves to the Lord, and their faith in Him becomes their anchor. Everything good that has happened to me is a result of what happened while I lived in that land” (in Sheri L. Dew, Go Forward with Faith: The Biography of Gordon B. Hinckley [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1996], 547).

Harold B. Lee learned to recognize the Spirit at an early age. One day he started toward some rundown sheds, but a voice called his name and told him not to go there. Harold obeyed. He continued to follow the Spirit throughout his life, such as when he led the Church Welfare Program. He also led the Church department that developed learning materials to help members recognize the Spirit in their own lives.

Sister Mayra is a recent convert from Ecuador. Her joy in the gospel skyrocketed immediately following her baptism as she invited friends and loved ones around her through social media accounts. Many family members and friends who saw her posts responded with questions. Mayra connected with them, often inviting them to her home to meet with the missionaries together.
Mayra’s parents, her siblings, her aunt, two cousins, and several of her friends were baptized because she courageously invited them to “come and see,” “come and serve,” and “come and belong.” Through her normal and natural invitations, over 20 people have accepted her invitation to be baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ. This came about because Sister Mayra simply invited others to experience the joy she felt as a member of the Church.

One summer I spent time in a foreign country working with children with special needs. When I first met the children, I was incredibly nervous. I did not speak their language, but I trusted that the Spirit would guide me in my interactions. As I got to know each child, I realized that language is not a barrier to love. I played, laughed, and did crafts with the children and could not help but feel complete love for them. I glimpsed the love that Heavenly Father has for His children, and the joy that filled my heart defied description.