Gospel Story Finder

When the show first premiered, ten-year-old Karin Anderson (an art lover from way back) attended with her family and was enchanted by the beauty of the selections. Two years later she was cast as a little boy in orange suspenders, gray pants, and a beanie in a Winslow Homer painting called Snap the Whip.

Since that time Karin has continued to participate in the yearly event, and has been serving as an assistant director for the past two years.

“I loved being in the pageant,” said Karin, now a Laurel in the Alpine First Ward, Alpine Utah Stake. Her smiles came spontaneously as she recalled opening night when she had posed as one of several small boys in front of a schoolhouse. “When the lights went out and the music came on and the curtain lifted, it was one of the biggest thrills of my life! The next year I tried out for the program again and didn’t make it, but I really wanted to be involved anyway. I started going down to help in the preparations and have been doing it ever since.”

In more recent years the Church has been established in Kenya. Julius Kasue became one of the early converts after receiving a copy of the Book of Mormon from a Latter-day Saint expatriate. In a few days, after having read half of the book, Julius returned to his friend with a full page of questions. His first question was: "How did Alma get his authority to baptize at the Waters of Mormon?"

Soon after Julius was baptized he returned to his isolated village of Chyulu, where he shared the gospel with others. He built a small meeting place out of palm branches and organized a group who worshiped together. At his request missionaries came to teach eight individuals but 75 showed up for the discussions. Forty people were baptized and a branch was organized with Brother Kasue sustained as branch president. Soon he informed the mission president that others were ready for baptism, including two men who rode their bicycles two hours to attend church each week. Concerned that the branch was too isolated, approval was given for only the two men and their families to be baptized. To provide for the baptism a corrugated steel tank was hauled by truck from Nairobi to Chyulu, an arduous journey that took four hours. Because of a severe drought, most of a day was spent pumping and hauling water four miles over a rocky trail. To raise the water level further ten brethren knelt around the inside edge of the tank so each candidate could be immersed. When 40 jubilant converts showed up for baptism the mission president learned that nearly every one in a village is considered family. The Chyulu branch was soon divided, a district was organized and a chapel was built. Last year, although the Chyulu district made up only 15% of the Church membership in Kenya, they provided half the Kenyan missionaries.

When my brother Jeff was called on a mission to Houston, Texas, we were all excited. It was hard to think that we wouldn’t see him for two years, but we had a strong feeling that Jeff would be safe and do well on his mission.
Time passed quickly and soon we went with him to President Pulton’s office where he received a blessing. The Spirit was truly there.
We are very happy now even though our brother is away from us. I know that this is the true Church and that Joseph Smith is a Prophet of God. If Jeff is reading this I want him to know I love him. I hope boys and girls can plan and prepare for a mission. It truly is the work of God.

Peace and forgiveness. Early in 2005 my husband gave two men a ride. When my husband returned home, he discovered that his sapelu (machete) was missing. This really hurt him: he’d done a good deed, and this was how he was repaid. The incident bothered my husband to the point that he was having trouble finding peace.Several months later, we awoke to find that our house had been broken into. Worse, we realized the intruders had come into the rooms where our children and we had been sleeping. I was angry and thought, “If my husband was so upset about a knife, he will go completely nuts now!” But he had a spirit of peace that spilled over to the rest of us. He expressed gratitude that nobody had been hurt and hope that the people who had taken our things would use them to improve their lives.I was speechless at the change. Why was I not able to feel the same peace? Then I realized: while I had been “too busy” to start reading, my husband was firmly entrenched in the Book of Mormon. Kathleen Arp, Pesega, Samoa

When my family moved here in August 2016 as part of the U.S. military, we were overwhelmed with new weather and a new culture, but we also met wonderful people and began to experience the strong presence of the gospel here.
After we adjusted to our new ward for a few weeks, our bishop invited us to attend the Talofofo Group, located in the village of Talofofo, several miles away from the chapel. Here a group of faithful saints met outside under a canopy each Sunday.
There were many challenges when meeting outside: the heat, dogs, rain, mud, mosquitos, ants, chickens, and so on. Regardless of these challenges, I have never felt the Spirit so strongly before. It reminds me of how the Saints in the time of Joseph Smith met outdoors in open weather, lacking necessities, with many distractions.
The Saints in the group feel like family, and I love each one of them as my brothers and sisters.

“Will the ice be solid enough today, Grandma?” asked Mary Running Deer. She pressed her face against the cold window pane in their little home on the reservation. The Dakota prairie was awash with snow as far as she could see.

Grandma’s answer was a surprise. “Let’s get bundled up, for it’s cold out on the pond!” she declared with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“You really mean it, Grandma!” exclaimed Mary.

“Oh, I can hardly wait!” chimed in Mary’s sister, Nancy.

Grandma touched the tip of her nose and smiled. “It felt cold enough last night to frostbite my nose. I’m sure the pond is frozen solid enough for me to teach you girls our old Indian game.”

The proper name for Grandma’s old Indian game is Nit an tai sin um. But the girls usually just called it “Grandma’s old Indian game.”

Mary and Nancy scurried to find their winter coats. Grandma wrapped herself in an Indian blanket coat and slipped into a pair of sturdy buckskin leggings.

Suddenly there was a loud thumping underneath the wooden table in the corner.

Mary laughed. “Old Buck doesn’t want to be left out of the fun,” she said.

The big yellow dog slowly pulled himself up from his resting-place. He laid his graying muzzle on Mary’s knee as she sat down to put on her boots.

Grandma’s weathered face crinkled into a grin. “When will that dog realize he’s getting too old for these excursions?” she asked, shaking her head and then pushing her gray hair into place. “In dog years, Buck is even older than I am,” Grandma added.

Hearing his name, Buck wandered over and shoved his nose into Grandma’s hand. She patted the dog affectionately and spoke directly to him. “I’ll have to admit you are an amazing dog, Buck. What would I ever have done without you, especially with me trying to be both a mother and a father to Mary and Nancy!”

Mary spoke up. “I’ll never forget the time I fell into the pond when I was just a little girl, and Buck pulled me to safety while I held on to his tail.”

“And not only that,” reminded Grandma, “Buck pulled you all the way home on my travois. He was so careful to choose the best route because he knew you were hurt.”

Nancy opened the door with a mittened hand, and Buck was the first one out into the cold, clear air. Nancy smiled. “Buck knows where we’re going. He never lets Mary very far out of his sight, especially when we’re going near the pond.”

Mary grabbed a shovel from the side of the house, and everyone began trudging across the brilliant white snow.

Buck struggled along behind in their footsteps, but he just wasn’t up to bounding and playing in the snow as he had done in past winters.

Grandma explained how to play the old Indian game as they went along. “See all the sticks and small stones in this bag,” Grandma said, pulling open an old deerskin bag. “My grandmother and her grandmother before her used to play this same game on the ice when they were young girls.” She paused. “I’ve heard some people say that Nit an tai sin um is a little like a sport called bowling. But I’m sure bowling doesn’t compare to this game.”

Mary and Nancy couldn’t help smiling at each other. Grandma always preferred the old Indian ways.

When they reached the pond, the two girls shoveled the snow off a large space on the ice. And Grandma shook the contents of the little bag onto its smooth surface.

After handing several small stones to each of the girls, Grandma began her instructions: “Now you must sit about ten feet apart to play this game—”

Suddenly, everyone heard a sharp cracking sound from the other end of the pond, followed by the sounds of splintering ice and splashing. A shrill, terrified yelp echoed across the pond.

“Oh, no!” gasped Grandma. “Buck has probably broken through the thin ice where the little creek runs into the pond.”

“Grandma! We must save him!” cried Mary, dashing across the snowy pond.

“Stay close to the bank!” Grandma called hoarsely.

They could hear Buck thrashing desperately to keep from going under the ice. Mary, Nancy, and Grandma half stumbled, half ran along the snowy bank. Buck’s shrill yips were a plea for help. Then abruptly the yelping stopped. Mary and Nancy looked at each other in panic. Has Buck gone under? they wondered.

The girls’ footsteps became frenzied. Then they spotted Buck lying very still on the snowy bank. Somehow, the valiant animal had managed to pull himself from the icy water.

“Oh, Grandma!” choked Nancy, tears running down her cheeks. “Will he die?”

“Not if we can quickly get him back to the warm house,” panted Grandmother, gasping for breath. “But how will we ever carry him? He’s so heavy.”

“Grandma!” burst out Mary hopefully. “The travois! We can pull Buck back to the house on your travois.”

Mary and Nancy sped back to the house, and hauled to the pond the travois poles, blankets, and Grandma’s huge buffalo hide that had been in the family longer than any of them could remember.

The two girls wrapped the suffering dog in the blankets and comforted him with soft words.

Grandmother tied the hide to the two poles and made the travois sturdy. “I’m glad my grandmother saw fit to teach me some of the old Indian ways,” she observed.

This time when Nancy and Mary smiled at each other, they were in complete agreement with Grandma.

Gently they eased Buck onto the travois. The exhausted dog looked up at his rescuers with soft, mournful eyes. Straining to lift his head, he weakly licked Mary’s hand.

A lump caught in Mary’s throat. “He’s trying to tell us thanks.” She paused. “Maybe by pulling him back on the travois, I can partly repay Buck for the time he helped to save my life when I fell into the pond.”

Mary positioned herself between the travois poles and pulled carefully. She wanted to give Buck as safe and comfortable a journey as her faithful friend had given her on this same travois many years before.

Football player Tom Brown was in line to be the starting quarterback, but went to the Canada Winnipeg Mission instead. After returning from the mission field, he filled in when the starter was injured, and led the Falcons to an upset against Brigham Young University, earning a share of the 1995 conference championship.
“Before my mission, I tried to justify all the good I could do as a football star,” Tom says. “But I had always planned on a mission. I finally told [the coach] I’d love to start, but it would have to be when I returned. It’s been good to come back and play again. But no athletic experience could ever overshadow what you learn on a mission.”

One cold Saturday morning when I was 12, Dad told me to start the tractor so we could take hay to some hungry horses. It was so cold that the tractor turned over only a couple of times before the battery died. When I informed my father, he told me to saddle up Blue and tie our sleigh to the saddle so we could pull a couple bales of hay to the horses to tide them over until we could get the tractor started.
Blue, our thoroughbred studhorse, was in the prime of his life. He was a beautiful, powerful animal. I remember how he pranced around that morning looking for a good ride.
We put two 90-pound (41-kg) bales of hay on the sleigh, Dad mounted Blue, and we were off. I walked behind the sleigh to balance it. We soon arrived at the lane that led us to the winter pasture.
Things went well until we had gone about a third of the way down the lane. The snow had drifted deep, and I could see that it was piling up in front of the sleigh. As the cinch tightened around Blue’s chest, it cut off his ability to breathe. Suddenly he reacted.
Blue whirled around two or three times, trying to relieve the pressure on his chest. Dad quickly tried to dismount but was lashed to the side of the horse in the process. To make matters worse, Blue lost his footing on the ice under the snow, causing him to pitch over on his side, pinning my father beneath him.
As Dad was losing consciousness, he yelled at me to run and get help at Uncle Carl’s place. That meant I would have to crawl through two fences and run across a big pasture before reaching help.
As I turned to go, I heard a voice tell me, “Don’t go. Cut the rope!”
I quickly obeyed, pulling my Boy Scout knife out of my pocket. I cut at the lariat rope for a few moments when, suddenly, Blue lurched to his feet and took off. The rope snapped, and my father rolled out of its coils rather than possibly being dragged to his death. I ran to his side.
Dad came to, got up, and assured me he was all right. We then went to find Blue, cleared the snow from in front of the sleigh, retied the rope, and again headed for the horse pasture. We fed the horses and returned home.
I normally obeyed my father without question, and I was ready to run 10 minutes to my uncle’s place for help. But his help would have come too late. That day, however, the voice of the Spirit came just in time.

We had a missionary in our mission who was particularly devoted and obedient. I said to him one time, “Elder, what is the source of your motivation?”
“Brother Monson,” he replied, “I slept in one morning. As I did so, my mind turned to thoughts of my mother and my father, who are operating a little cleaning establishment, working around the clock to earn sufficient money to support me on a mission. As I thought of my parents performing that strenuous work in my behalf, all signs of laziness left me; and I determined that I had an opportunity to serve the Lord in my behalf and in behalf of my own mother and my own father.”

In the September 1971 issue there appeared an article devoted to politics and why each Latter-day Saint has an obligation to become involved and see that capable men get elected to public office.
From my experience as administrative assistant and former campaign manager to California State Assemblyman Alister McAlister (also a member of the Church), I would like to make some suggestions as to how easy it is to become involved.
My own experiences in getting involved in politics form a pattern that many youth could duplicate. I graduated recently from San Jose State College in public relations but knew nothing of politics. I asked myself what type of work I wanted to do and decided that politics sounded interesting and rewarding, so I called my party’s local headquarters and asked who was running for office in my area.
At the time, I was editing the ward newspaper of Stanford Ward and was at the printer’s office checking some copy. I saw an issue of the San Jose Stake newspaper and noticed the name Alister McAlister. I remembered the name from my conversation with local headquarters. I called him that afternoon. Within a week I was his campaign manager. Of course, the first thing I did was to visit the library and take out some books on political campaigns.
Let me suggest what to do. First, in the U.S., if you are eighteen or older, you ought to pick a political party and register to vote. By reading newspapers and listening to radio and TV, you can find out what the leaders of the parties say, and this will give you an idea of where your views will be best represented.
In California many young people are not declaring any party affiliation, possibly because of not wanting to be tied to any party. Those who register as “decline to state” may be doing themselves a disservice because they are not allowed to vote in party primaries, thus not giving themselves an opportunity to choose the candidates who will run during the general election.
Registering to vote can be done in many places and takes no more than five minutes. Get information from your county’s registrar of voters.
Next, look for a candidate who will best represent your views. In doing so, if the candidate is already an elected official, check his voting record on issues of importance. Most major libraries keep copies of voting records. If you cannot find what you want, call your local representative’s office for help. If the candidate is not an office holder, check his past activities and the groups he belongs to, and sit down and discuss with him his views. Most aspiring candidates will be happy. to do this if they think they may get a good campaign worker as a result.
After you’ve picked a candidate, give him a call and express your desire to be of assistance. If he does not yet have a campaign office set up, call his party’s office and they’ll place you in contact with him. Chances are good, that you’ll be given duties immediately.
In Assemblyman McAllister’s victorious campaign, many young people were involved. The only qualifications required were a willingness to work and the possession of common sense. Duties for volunteers depend greatly upon the time they wish to donate. Assignments range from putting on major campaign dinners or assisting with advertising to stuffing envelopes and licking stamps. As campaign manager, I got to do my share of the mundane jobs as well as the important ones.
With some common sense and hard work you can make a difference in the election of a local official and give valued service and strength to state and national campaigns. I urge other Latter-day Saint youth to become involved as the Doctrine and Covenants instructs us to do.

On June 11, 1979, I climbed aboard a DC-3 that was headed for the Moose Creek Ranger Station in northern Idaho where I was to spend my summer working for the forest service. The station is 21 miles from the nearest road and about 60 air miles from the forest headquarters at Grangeville.
At about 9:30 A.M. the plane left the Grangeville airfield. Everything went fine until about halfway through the 30-minute flight. Suddenly the plane’s engines got very quiet. When I looked out the windows, I noticed that only one engine was running. A few seconds later the starboard engine exploded, and flames enveloped the entire right side of the plane. Everyone aboard (10 forest service employees and 2 crew members) was very quiet and frozen with fear, it seemed.
Never in my life had I been as terrified as I then was. All I could think about was the life I had led up to this time. I wasn’t so much afraid of dying, but I was terrified at the thought of having to come to judgment so soon. I have a terrible habit of procrastinating, and I had always had the idea that I could “play today and repent tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, the plane was steadily losing altitude and was pitching and bucking fiercely. I wanted desperately to get out alive so that I could get my life in order.
In the midst of this turmoil a voice seemed to speak to me. It said, “Bryant, why don’t you pray?” So I prayed, desperately and fervently. I asked for many things, but I clearly remember asking the Lord to help me accept his will. I also asked him to comfort me and to help my family understand. As I finished praying, we were just on the verge of crashing, perhaps 100 feet above the treetops. The pilot had been giving us instructions to fasten seat belts.
I was at this time very calm and collected. I no longer feared dying. In fact, I was actually curious as to what it would be like to die and who I might meet in the next world. About this time the plane hit a tree and veered sharply into the river. Authorities say that the plane hit the water at about 100 miles per hour.
When the plane hit, there was a terrific jolt, and several aftershocks. As the plane came to rest in the Selway River, I was thrown hard against my seat belt. I then came to my senses and thought, “I’m alive.” But what I saw made my blood run cold. The plane was floating down the river, which was at flood stage. The water was very high and very rough. Debris from the wreck was floating all around, and there was a sickening silence. I was still fastened to my seat by my safety belt, and I was sitting waist-deep in water. The water itself was colored a deep red with the blood of the passengers whom I could see in the plane. They looked unconscious. I tried to release some of them from their seat belts, but I couldn’t because the swirling water made it too difficult, and I was forced to abandon the plane.
The cargo doors of the plane were ripped open, so I let myself down through them, then tried to swim. The water was very fast and extremely hard to keep afloat in. I was caught in an undertow and forced to the bottom of the river.
One more time I asked the Lord to preserve my life and give me the strength I needed to pull myself from the river. Once again, as instantly as in my earlier prayer, confidence came to me. I felt a terrific amount of renewed energy, and when I was released from the eddy, which was holding me to the bottom, I found myself being swept down the river, right next to the bank. I grabbed hold of a tilting rock and easily pulled myself from the river.
Upon getting ashore I saw two other survivors, so I treated one for shock, then stopped the bleeding of the other and splinted his fractured leg. Then I started to walk the 12 miles to the Moose Creek Ranger Station to obtain help. The first two miles were very steep and without trails, but I’d worked in that area before so I knew which direction to go. I got very tired but eventually found help. Later I found out that one of the people I’d helped didn’t live. Only I and one other person survived the crash.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948–2020), the former chief rabbi of the United Kingdom, once spoke of attending a football match at Highbury Stadium (home to Arsenal) with the archbishop of Canterbury. Arsenal was playing Manchester United. After the public address announcer noted the religious leaders’ presence, Rabbi Sacks said, “You could hear the buzz go around the ground that whichever way you played this particular theological wager, one way or another, that night, Arsenal had friends in high places. They couldn’t possibly lose.

“That night,” he added, “Arsenal went down to their worst home defeat in sixty-three years.”

The next day a British newspaper ran an article that said, no doubt in jest, that if the presence of these two prominent religious leaders couldn’t bring about a victory for Arsenal, then “does this not finally prove that God does not exist?” To which Rabbi Sacks rejoined, “It proves that God exists. It’s just that he supports Manchester United.”

Rabbi Sacks said this amusing story contains seeds of serious insight about the importance of interfaith and global harmony. “What if God is not only on my side, but also on the other side?” he asked. “What if God cares about the game, not just the team? … Our common humanity precedes our religious differences.”2

One summer I participated in a youth leadership summit hosted by a popular teen magazine. Once there, I soon made friends with the other girls. We addressed important issues like how to overcome bullying, the smart use of technology and social media, and how to be a good friend.
During my group’s free time, one of the girls pulled out her phone and began to watch a video that was very offensive. When I realized what they were watching, I was really confused. If we were the leaders, then why were they choosing to watch this awful video?
I asked them to turn the video off, which they did, but soon turned on another video that was even worse. I decided to walk away and left the room. Another girl followed close behind me, and we spent free time somewhere else.
I thought about Sister Ann M. Dibb’s general conference talk, “I Know It. I Live It. I Love It” (Oct. 2012 general conference). When we really know, love, and embrace our faith in the Savior, we can receive the help we need when tough choices have to be made.
I had been taught the gospel my whole life. In that moment, I had been able to live what I knew to be right, but most importantly, I loved the peace I felt from making the right choice.
Mia H., Missouri, USA

Joseph turned the page in his book. He frowned. He had two more pages to go.
“Are you OK?” Mama asked.
“I like to read,” Joseph said. “But I am so slow. How can I learn to read better?”
“I have an idea,” Mama said. “Read a chapter of the Book of Mormon every day. It will help you learn to read better.”
Joseph tried. At first it took him a long time. He had to sound out the long words. But he kept reading every day. Soon he could read more than one chapter.
Two weeks went by. Joseph’s bookmark moved from 1 Nephi to 2 Nephi. Then it was in the book of Jacob!
One night it was Joseph’s turn to give the lesson in family home evening.
“I know what to do!” Joseph thought. He found the Book of Mormon Stories book. It had words and pictures. He turned the pages until he found the perfect story.
Joseph read the story to his family. He read short words, like ship. He read long words, like commanded. Prophets wrote these words long ago. The words were easy to read.
When the story was over, Mama had tears in her eyes.
“Are you OK, Mama?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Mama said. “I’m happy. You have worked hard.”
Joseph smiled a big smile.
“I am reading every day, just like you said.” He showed Mama his Book of Mormon. His bookmark was in the book of Alma!
Someday Joseph’s bookmark would be at the end of the book. And then he could start over!

One night recently my seven-year-old son was having a hard time and was misbehaving, so I sent him to bed a little early. My two boys share the same room, and I usually read to them before bed. That night as I went down to read to them, I was in a hurry to finish a talk I had coming up in my Church assignment—as well as being a little frustrated with my son’s behavior. So I hurriedly read to them and, before leaving, gave my son one more short lecture on proper behavior. During that time I felt something—a feeling—that I should stop and give him a hug and tell him that I loved him. But in my haste and frustration I ignored the prompting, finished reading, and hurried back upstairs to finish my talk. That was a missed opportunity I regret.

Thankfully for me, Heavenly Father is patient—perfectly patient—and was patient with me on that occasion. The next morning, as I was lying in bed getting ready to get up and start the day, I felt that same prompting: give your son a hug and tell him that you love him. This time I followed the prompting. When my son awoke, I called to him and asked if he could come to my room. When he did, I asked him to sit down on my bed.

He did so and looked at me and asked, “What?” like he was expecting to get another lecture like the night before.

I said, “Hayden, I sure love you and am grateful that you are my son.” I then gave him a big hug. He got up and left, and a few minutes later I could hear my son in his happy element, making siren sounds while playing with Legos. The experience was nothing spectacular, but it was a tender mercy, and I am thankful for a second prompting from the Spirit to do what I should have done the night before.

Years later, on April 19, 1893, a special meeting was held for all General Authorities and stake presidencies in the recently dedicated Salt Lake Temple. By this time, Brigham Young had long since passed away, and Wilford Woodruff was president of the Church. In this meeting, President Woodruff spoke of seeing Brigham Young and Heber Kimball in a vision. They were riding to a conference in a carriage, and they invited Wilford to join with them. Wilford got in the carriage and asked Brigham Young to speak.

Brigham stated, “I am through with my preaching on earth, but I have come to impress upon your mind what Joseph had told me at Winter Quarters, and that is: seek always to have the Spirit of God, and it will direct you aright.”15

President Woodruff passed the same message to those in the meeting: “Teach the people to get the Holy Ghost and the Spirit of the Lord, and keep it with you, and you will prosper.”16

Illustration by Vlad Gusev
I was in the middle of the Forbidden City in Beijing, China. Only minutes before, I had been surrounded by friends and teachers, but I was suddenly completely and utterly alone.
I immediately understood the danger I was in. A solitary 15-year-old American stood out like a sore thumb in the bustling palace museum. I had come to China with other high school classmates on a school-sponsored trip, and our teachers and guides had warned us numerous times about the possible dangers of touring a foreign country if we were not careful.
I walked around the area, pushing through crowds of tourists—Chinese and foreigner alike—and stood on my tiptoes trying to look for the matching red and white shirts that each member of our group wore. But I saw nothing. Somehow, my group had slipped away without me and I had no idea what direction they had gone in. I sat down and watched the entrances and exits. Ten minutes passed, then 30, then 45. No one from my group appeared.
Someone grabbed my hand. I looked up to see a short woman with slightly crazed eyes and long fingernails. She pulled at my hand. “Follow me,” she said in broken English. “Pretty girl, follow me.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Get back,” I yelled, pulling my hand back. Before she could grab it again, I raced through an exit and entered another section of the city.
I ran for a while until I was even more lost than before. I sat on a nearby step, away from the groups of people, and started to cry. I knew a few words of Chinese but certainly not enough to get directions back to our hotel, somewhere on the other side of the sprawling city of Beijing. And at this point, I was not even sure where an exit was.
Amid tears, I started to pray. I admitted that I had been foolish to wander from the group, even for a moment, and I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me find a way back to my group.
I stood up and walked back in the general direction I had come from. I did not receive any immediate revelation—and I was unsure of what that revelation would sound or feel like even if I did receive it. I had felt the Spirit before, a warm feeling after serving someone or hearing a talk in church, but I had never felt anything specific—certainly not directions on where to go. I started walking forward uncertainly, continuing the prayer in my heart.
I finally reached a fork in the road. I started to go right when I heard a voice whisper, “Stay.”
The voice was so soft that I almost disregarded it completely as one of my own thoughts. But it contained a sureness that I certainly didn’t feel at the moment. “Sit on that bench,” the voice said. I looked up and saw a bench in the middle of the fork. I went over and sat down. Only three minutes later, a familiar white and red shirt appeared in the crowd and waved toward me. It was our tour guide for the day.
I jumped up from the bench I was sitting on. I was so happy I almost hugged the woman.
“We have been looking for you for an hour!” she said. “Where were you?”
As she led me back to my group, I explained to her where I had been, starting with my separation from the group and ending with my decision to sit down instead of going right at the fork in the road.
“You’re very lucky,” she said. “If you had gone right at that turn, it would have taken you in the opposite direction from the rest of the group. The city is so big, I would never have been able to find you.”
I left China a few weeks later, managing to not get lost again during the trip, but I have thought back many times to the moment when I heard the voice of the Spirit whisper to me. It was not the kind of prompting I had received before, but it is what the Lord knew I needed in order to avoid going down a wrong path. I also recognized how easy it would have been to ignore it if I had not been listening.
Since that day, I have heard the Spirit many times in many different ways, warning me of both physical and spiritual danger. Sometimes I have seen the consequences of following or disobeying that voice like I did that first day in the Forbidden City. More often, I haven’t been able to see the results. But I have learned that when I humble myself and am willing to listen, the Lord will help me recognize the Spirit’s promptings and He will guide me back to where I need to be. With Him, I am never alone.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Let me tell you about this old wallet that was returned to me by a BYU student after nine years.

As a student at BYU years ago, I had used the telephone in the Joseph Smith Building and had carelessly left my wallet in the booth. After returning to the lost and found department regularly for several days, I finally gave up my desperate hope of ever getting my wallet and the much needed money back. Nine years later, on a snowy afternoon, the mailman delivered a letter. It began, “To Whom It May Concern.” The letter stated that I was involved in some unfinished business at BYU. I wondered what unfinished business I needed to set in order. I found the name of the person who had signed the letter in the Salt Lake telephone directory. I dialed the number. I identified myself. The author of the letter began unfolding her story. As the words spilled out, I learned that this young woman was now a wife and mother, but earlier she had been in nurse’s training at BYU. She had worked and put herself through school, but she needed an additional ten dollars for tuition, so she had turned to her boyfriend for help. She had promised to return the loan by the following Friday. When Friday arrived, in spite of her earnest prayers, she was still short ten dollars.

Seemingly without reason she had walked into the telephone booth and found an old worn wallet. She held her breath as she opened it to find a single ten dollar bill. Then the question: Was this indeed an answer to her prayer? She had learned that Satan knows when we are being tested and when we might weaken under pressure. She told of paying her boyfriend, whom she later married, graduating in nursing, and now raising a beautiful family.

She then poured out her heart as she told of her suffering for what she acknowledged as sin—sin because she had known better. For nine years, through many moves, the old burden had lain deeply tucked away in her top dresser drawer. It seemed impossible for her to throw away the wallet, though she considered it many times. There is no way you can throw away a wrong, and yet, there was no way, as far as she knew, to return the wallet—there was no identification.

One day while she was straightening the drawer, the old wallet surfaced again. This time she felt she must get rid of it, but only the right way. She thoughtfully opened the old wallet once again, and while examining it this time her fingers uncovered a small orange card tucked away in a tiny compartment not previously noticed. The card gave the address of the Calgary Clinic in Alberta, Canada, where the medical exam for the student’s visa had been given. With a prayer in her heart she took a chance and sent the letter “to whom it may concern” to the Calgary Clinic to be forwarded if possible. Contact had been made, but the wallet was yet to be returned. During the telephone conversation she indicated the wallet would be mailed that very day. I asked her if she would consider delivering the wallet in person. She seemed a little embarrassed at the thought until I assured her it would be an honor and a privilege to meet a person possessing such honesty of character. She agreed that she would deliver it. At the appointed hour we met in my office. As I approached, she smiled nervously and then stood up. As though she had rehearsed this experience in her mind a hundred times, she reached out her steady hand, looked me squarely in the eye, and handed me the wallet as she whispered, “Will you please forgive me? I want to be honest.” Words could not come. I could only reach for her hand and nod affirmatively.

As a young boy, Artur had studied the Bible and formed questions about his relationship to God and about God’s true Church. No one had answers to satisfy him. Finally, he prayed to God to show him which church was true.
Both the answer Artur received and the way it came surprised him.
As a youth, he says, “I liked to study about different religions.” His study convinced him that the Church of Jesus Christ ought to be on the earth. Yet he could not find one that seemed to meet biblical criteria. He was even tempted at one point to wonder if God really existed, but the faith that lived inside him overcame that doubt. He knew that if anyone could provide answers, it would be God. There came a time when he was 18 that Artur prayed, specifically asking to be led to the true Church.
Not long afterward, while he was visiting at the home of his aunt, he saw a dusty book sitting on a shelf. It was titled the Book of Mormon. His aunt had received it from some sister missionaries, then had laid it aside and forgotten it.
Artur picked it up and put it back down three times, struggling over whether to read it. No, he would not; he believed only in the Bible. But this book said it was another testament of Jesus Christ. No, this Joseph Smith story at the beginning was too fantastic. But what if it was true? No, the story in the first 20 pages of the book was simply foreign to all he knew.
Still, what he had read stayed with him all week long. When he returned to his aunt’s house, planning to resume reading where he had left off, the book was gone!
It would be some time before Artur received his own copy of the Book of Mormon.
He introduced himself to missionaries on the street in Katowice. When they did not call him immediately as promised (this is a mistake Elder Tomaszewski the missionary does not make now), he decided to seek them out on a Sunday morning at the meetinghouse address on a flyer they had given him.
It happened to be a fast Sunday, and as members bore their testimonies, Artur felt the same feeling of peace and surety that had stayed with him after his first reading in the Book of Mormon. The feeling was so strong that he wanted to stand and bear his own testimony that the book was true, but he did not know if this would be permitted.
When the missionaries finally gave him his own copy of the Book of Mormon, they asked him solemnly if he would promise to read it and pray for an answer about its truthfulness. Artur laughed. He already knew he could get an answer from God.
He read and he prayed. The answer that came was so strong it seemed to be not only a feeling, but also “like light to my eyes,” giving great clarity to the truths he already knew from the Bible. He laughed out loud once more, wondering if the answer about the Church of Jesus Christ could really be this “clear and simple.” He had thought it might be some complicated thing. He prayed again to be sure and received the same strong answer, assuring him that God’s truths are plain, not complicated.
“When I found out it was true, I went home full of joy,” he recalls. But no one wanted to share the joy. His mother and two younger brothers were not interested. His father was antagonistic. After Artur’s baptism in 2002, he had almost no support from friends and acquaintances either, except within his branch.
Religious tradition is very strong in Poland. No one could understand why he wanted to leave the dominant faith. Still, he says, his parents’ teaching and example were very valuable in preparing him to find the truth. “I’m grateful they did what they knew how to do in teaching me.”
Being alone in living the gospel did not break down his faith. When he determined to serve a mission, he was willing to give up the jujitsu practices and competitions he loved—something that had been part of his life from childhood—to work and save money for a mission. Jujitsu, he says, was an art form for him. “I felt like a painter painting a picture when I practiced.” But working left him no time to practice.
Before leaving his hometown of Mystowice to serve as a missionary, Elder Tomaszewski left a challenge for his younger brother Patryk, who was also deeply involved in jujitsu. “If you want to find out why I’m doing this, why I’m giving up my sport, read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”
Elder Tomaszewski says some of the qualities developed through the discipline of jujitsu have been helpful in the mission field: patience, humility, and the capacity for hard work.
What does he like most about missionary work?
“Often when I’m really tired, when I feel like I don’t have any strength left and maybe I’m lacking a little in faith, we knock on a door and find someone,” he says. Finding someone who wants to listen sometimes makes him so excited he can’t sleep.
And what has been his best day as a missionary?
The day he learned that his younger brother had taken his challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. Patryk Tomaszewski also received a testimony. He was baptized in August 2004.
Now there are two Tomaszewskis to share the joy of the gospel.

I had just gone through some dating heartache and was spending a lot of time at my sister’s. Inevitably we ended up eating junk food, watching TV, and taking naps. Waking from one of these naps, I remarked, “I don’t think we’re very good for each other.” We laughed, but that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the realization that I was using my sister as a security blanket and prayed for greater understanding of what I might do to move forward with my life. Over the next few months, that prayer was answered as I gained understanding one concept at a time.
The next day, while attending a Relief Society meeting, I noticed a particular scripture: “Others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well. … Therefore, wo be unto him that is at ease in Zion!” (2 Nephi 28:21, 24). I had always read these verses as describing the proud who went through the motions of worship. I had not considered myself as being at ease in Zion by spending so much time with my sister. But I began to realize that instead of seeking healing, I’d sought comfort. I resolved then to try harder to get out of my comfort zone.
The resolution helped, but stepping out of my comfort zone made me more aware of my inadequacies, which led me to feel more critical of myself. When I mentioned these feelings to a friend, he commented, “Isn’t forgiving ourselves great?” His comment helped me desire to better forgive myself of my shortcomings—without becoming complacent like those who are “at ease in Zion.”
One day I was struck by Mormon 2:13–14: “Their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin. And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits.” I came to understand that my feelings of failure were stunting my personal growth, and I began to ponder what appropriate sorrow would entail. It was in Sunday School that I found my answer.
Our teacher drew a line on the chalkboard, labeling one end, “Being too hard on ourselves” and the other end, “Eat, drink, and be merry.” We talked about avoiding either extreme. I wondered what words would be in the center of the line, and the Spirit guided my thoughts to the phrase “a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” It seemed to me that the solution to a tendency to be too hard on oneself might be described as a contrite spirit—one that is repentant, accepting of the Lord’s help, and grateful for His mercy. The remedy for being at ease in Zion might be called a broken heart—one that is justly motivated to change and to heal.
The Savior taught, “Ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20). I am grateful to know that as I seek the Lord’s help to avoid being at ease in Zion and to avoid harshly judging myself, I am offering an acceptable sacrifice to Him—a sacrifice that helps me move forward with my life.