Gospel Story Finder

One of the most challenging experiences of my life happened shortly after the passing of our 10-year-old daughter from brain cancer. The saying “You can’t take it with you” came with clarity as we looked around her room one Saturday afternoon.
Clarissa was gone, but her room still held the identifiable remnants of her earthly stay. We now had the daunting task of deciding what to do with her personal belongings. I knew that parting with a single item would not be easy, especially for my wife.
Dealing with the whirlwind of details associated with hospitals, chemotherapy, and radiation had left us little time to clean and organize.
Memories came as we packed up items she’d arranged on her headboard or bookshelf. They all held heartfelt meaning—from her favorite blanket, book, or necklace to her stuffed animals, schoolbooks, and football. My wife sobbed as we asked what to do with each item.
We gathered many of Clarissa’s books and took them to her elementary school for other children to enjoy. We gave her dresser to a neighbor. Some of her clothes went to cousins. Focusing on others helped make the difficult situation of parting with her things a little easier.

The new home was just about ready for the Smith family in October, 1825, when Joseph went to work in Harmony, Pennsylvania. It was there he met Emma Hale, oldest daughter of Isaac and Elizabeth Hale. The tilt of her head and her sweet singing voice entranced Joseph. Unexpectedly he found himself more lighthearted than he had been for some time.
Their friendship deepened into love. A sweet peace filled Joseph. “You know how lonely I have been since Alvin died,” he confided to his parents. “Emma has lifted that loneliness. She is my choice above all others.”
Father Smith put his arm around Joseph’s shoulder. “We are happy for you, Joseph!” he exclaimed sincerely.
“You must bring her here to live in our new home with us,” Lucy added warmly.
They were married in January, 1827, a little over a year from their first meeting, and the year in which Joseph would receive the record. Their life together was to be one of great contrasts—Emma, with her gentle dignity and bewitching dark eyes, and Joseph, tall like his father, with his compelling blue eyes enfolding her in warmth and tenderness.
It was a proud Joseph who took his bride home to his family. The pathway to the big house was swept of snow and the window panes sparkled in the bright winter sunshine. Inside, every chair and table and floor was scrubbed and shining, and savory smells hinted at delicious food prepared and waiting.
“She sure has pretty hair,” approved William as Father and Mother Smith opened their arms in welcome. The rest followed with affectionate hugs and handclasps while little Lucy, now over five years old, curtsied shyly. In response, Emma flashed a smile of appreciation to each one. The family circle widened to include Emma in its love and concern.

In my last year of high school, I wanted to make the varsity (or advanced) tennis team. I had to beat the girl ranked immediately above me to make the team. But when I played her, I lost.
Even though I was disappointed, I played on the junior varsity team. In the final junior varsity tournament, I was ranked in first place. But what do you know? I lost the final match. I cried—again.
I was disappointed again later. After I received an award for earning good grades and playing sports, they decided to take the award away—because apparently, it was only for those who played varsity.
At the time, tennis was a big part of my life, and those disappointments felt huge. What I didn’t realize was that the Savior was always with me, helping me. Those huge disappointments didn’t last forever, even if it felt like they would.

During this holiday season, I’m reminded of a story about my grandma that my mom has shared with us many times.
It was Christmas Eve, and my mom was about 12 years old. She and her mom and sisters were traveling across town to visit family, and it was raining hard outside. Grandma had a tradition of making plates upon plates of Christmas goodies for family friends and loved ones. The car was full, traffic was crazy, and everyone was trying to rush home for the holidays or get their last-minute shopping done.
In the middle of it all was a homeless man with a shopping cart full of cans. He started to cross the street at a red light, and all of a sudden the whole cart fell over. Cans were everywhere! It seemed as though the chaos of Christmas went silent. My mom wondered why no one was helping. An outburst of horns began to honk, as if to tell the man to get out of the way.
To my mom’s surprise, her mom got out of the car and quickly began helping the man pick up his cans. Then other people followed. It was pouring rain, and my grandma was wet when she returned to the car. As they sat in the backed-up traffic, my aunts, mom, and grandma all had a wonderful idea to rush out of the car and give the man a plate of Christmas goodies. In that moment, as my grandma gave the man the Christmas gift, my mom’s heart was touched with the reminder of the true meaning of Christmas.

Our family enjoys nature. We spend almost every Saturday outside—hiking, camping, bike riding, or sightseeing in the summer; and sledding, skiing, or taking walks in the snow in the winter. These are wonderful family times that give my husband and me opportunities to converse with our three children.
One summer day we hiked around a lake in a nearby forest. It was perfect weather: sunny and warm with a refreshing, cool breeze from the lake. As we made our way down the trail, we pointed out the wildflowers and trees. We discussed how much Heavenly Father must love us to create such beauty for our enjoyment. We tried to decide which was the most beautiful place we had seen. One child suggested nearby Yellowstone National Park. Someone else suggested a favorite camping spot. We thought about our trip to the ocean and the beauty of a cross-country ski trail with trees covered in glistening snow.
Our youngest child, Jacob, age 7, who had been quietly listening to our discussion, said, “I think the most beautiful place in the world is where all the things about Jesus are.” Things about Jesus? My mind searched for a connection, and then I realized that Jacob meant Temple Square in Salt Lake City. With the magnificent temple, trees, fountains, and flower gardens, Temple Square is indeed a beautiful place. But to Jacob, Temple Square means more than the outward beauty of nature alone.
Born with a complex congenital heart defect, Jacob is the veteran of three heart surgeries and numerous medical tests, with many more surgeries anticipated. His doctor frequently comes to Idaho, but for Jacob’s surgeries and some tests, we must travel to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City. These trips are often filled with anxiety and worry about Jacob’s health, and we have found that a trip to Temple Square helps calm our nerves and reminds us of Heavenly Father’s plan and of our need to trust in Him.
The night before Jacob’s most recent and most complicated surgery, we took him to the Temple Square visitors’ center, where we sat together looking at that glorious statue of the Savior—the Christus. Peaceful, warm, and safe in a parent’s lap and not wanting to leave, Jacob sat uncharacteristically still and kept asking to stay for “just five more minutes,” until our time there stretched past an hour. When at long last we needed to leave, we all felt at peace and ready to cope with whatever the surgery would bring.
I believe that Temple Square is beautiful to Jacob not because of what he sees there but because of what he feels there. Heavenly Father’s gifts of peace, hope, and comfort are more beautiful than anything Jacob can remember seeing with his physical eyes.
Understanding Heavenly Father’s plan and accepting and trusting in His will can bring indescribable peace and joy. When we become discouraged, upset, or afraid, there is somewhere to turn—not to a specific beautiful place but to our Savior Jesus Christ. And I think Jacob is right: nothing is more beautiful than that.

There are many single adults in the Church well beyond their early adult years. While finding their present life different than they had anticipated, they keep the law of chastity.11 It can be a trial of their faith. I express my deep respect and admiration for these disciples of Christ.
“God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.”12 In the New Testament the Savior lifted the moral standard for His followers when He declared, “Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.”13 He taught us not to condemn others, but He was unafraid to speak directly: “Go,” He said, “and sin no more.”14
Our family has a friend. You probably know someone like her, or perhaps you are like her. Always faithful, serves nobly in the Church, admired professionally, adored by her family, and while she anticipated marriage and children, she is single. “I made the decision,” she said, “to put my … trust in Jesus Christ. Going to the temple frequently helps me keep a more eternal focus. It reminds me I am never alone. I have faith … that no … blessing will be withheld … as I … remain faithful to my covenants, including the law of chastity.”15
Another friend served an outstanding mission, followed by rigorous academic training. He hoped to have a family. His trial of faith: feelings of same-sex attraction. He wrote me recently: “I am promised in my patriarchal blessing that I will have my own family someday. Whether that will occur in this life or the next, I do not know. But what I do know is that I don’t want to do anything that will jeopardize the blessings God has promised both me and my future posterity. … Living [the law of chastity] is a challenge, but did we not come to earth to confront challenges and to show God our love and respect for Him by keeping His commandments? I am blessed with good health, the gospel, a loving family, and loyal friends. I am grateful for my many blessings.”16
The world protests, how can you ask so much? The Lord responds:
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. …
“For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.”17
These two followers of Christ and tens of thousands like them have felt the Savior’s promise: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”18

Sometimes people rejected the prophets because they were jealous of them and their power.

In the Book of Third Nephi when Nephi was ministering with great power, “they were angry with him, even because he had greater power than they” (3 Nephi 7:18). The people even saw Nephi raise his brother from the dead; “and the people saw it, and did witness of it, and were angry with him because of his power” (3 Nephi 7:20).

When Thomas Marsh came back to the Church after his disaffection, he explained what happened:
“I must have lost the Spirit of the Lord out of my heart. …
“I became jealous of the Prophet … and overlooked everything that was right, and spent all my time in looking for the evil; … I thought I saw a beam in Brother Joseph’s eye, but it was nothing but a mote, and my own eye was filled with the beam; … I got mad and I wanted everybody else to be mad. I talked with Brother Brigham Young and Brother Heber C. Kimball, and I wanted them to be mad like myself; and I saw they were not mad, and I got madder still because they were not. Brother Brigham Young, with a cautious look, said, ‘Are you the leader of the Church, Brother Thomas?’ I answered ‘No.’ ‘Well then,’ said he, ‘why do you not let that alone?’”2

“A friend shared that in sacrament meeting she had the idea to get her patriarchal blessing. The Sunday after, the same idea came to my mind, but I didn’t feel worthy. So I worked on my worthiness until I was able to receive my blessing. At a youth camp, I shared my testimony about patriarchal blessings, which inspired a friend to receive his blessing. Then this whole story inspired my brother to prepare to receive his!”
Theodor W., Switzerland, received blessing at 17

It all started when my dad got an email from a company in Utah. We were going to move there! Everyone in my family was bursting with excitement! At first I was excited too, but when I thought of leaving all of my friends, I was kind of sad about it. Since it was my first time moving, I was sure I was going to miss them. When I told them I was going to move, they were sad too. But they encouraged me that I could do it. This made me feel a lot better. I decided to play it by ear and just believe that I could do it.
The day of the move, I was excited and sad at the same time! But I knew that Heavenly Father had a plan for me, and I would start out fresh. After the long drive, we finally got to see our new home. And after only a few days, I had made two friends already! I felt grateful for all the hard work it took to move. Months later I loved my new friends, my new house, my new school, and my new city. I even discovered there would be a temple built in my new town! I felt glad that I moved and also that Heavenly Father had a great plan for me.

Not only did the project build awareness of family history, but it also brought families closer as they got involved in researching family names. For Kacie and Shelby Cox of the Sixth Ward, it became a family activity. Kacie says, “We worked on our family history every Monday night for family home evening. When we went to the family history library, my sister and I spent six hours researching names and found a bunch of them. We felt more connected to our family.”

When my husband was serving his mission in Switzerland, he and his companion felt like they should walk down a road they hadn’t tried before and saw a lady sitting on a bench. They didn’t know yet, but she had been baptised when she was around 20 years old and had left the church not long after. A few years later she had a son, who was now 9 years old. While she was waiting for him to come out of school that day she had started thinking about the church. She remembered the missionaries and the songs she used to sing. She looked up the church and found a video about missionaries on her phone and was watching that video when she looked up and saw two missionaries were standing there. She realised an unspoken prayer had been answered.

On Wednesday, Charlie was hurrying past the picture on the wall when he ran smack into Billie Jo and knocked her down. She began to cry. Charlie was about to say something like, “You big baby, watch where you’re going next time.” But his eyes looked right into the eyes in the picture, and he remembered Brother Park telling them about the people who had hurt Jesus. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, especially Billie Jo. He knelt down and put his arm around his little sister. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Billie Jo quit crying and smiled. “I’m OK,” she said and went off to play. Charlie was glad that he had taken the time to show love for Billie Jo.

It reminds me of two trees that were close to my home when I was growing up. The one was a Russian olive and grew right in our yard. It was watered every time the lawn was watered, and in that kind of protected environment it grew to be a beautiful tree. Yet one night a tremendous wind came up. Trees all over town were blown down, and with them went our Russian olive. We had watered it so well that the roots did not have to reach down into the soil; and because they were so close to the surface, the tree toppled over.
The second tree withstood the gale. It was a tremendous cottonwood, which still stands in the lane just half a block from where I was born. This tree was in the fullness of its growth when I was a child. It has always stood by itself, completely exposed to the elements, with nothing but a ditch running by, which most of the time is dry. It is gnarled and tough, and its roots have had to sink deep in order to drink of the water of life; but because its roots were forced downward, it lives. I was out home the other day and noticed that most of the trees around this cottonwood are gone. But in all of its power and majesty, it still hangs on.

Wise parents see in every need of others a way to bring blessings into the lives of their sons and daughters. Three children recently carried containers holding a delicious dinner to our front door. Their parents knew that we needed help, and they included their children in the opportunity to serve us.
The parents blessed our family by their generous service. By their choice to let their children participate in the giving, they extended blessings to their future grandchildren. The smiles of the children as they left our home made me confident that will happen. They will tell their children of the joy they felt giving kindly service for the Lord. I remember that feeling of quiet satisfaction from childhood as I pulled weeds for a neighbor at my father’s invitation. Whenever I am invited to be a giver, I remember and believe the lyrics “Sweet is the work, my God, my King.”
I know those lyrics were written to describe the joy that comes from worshipping the Lord on the Sabbath. But those children with the food at our door were feeling on a weekday the joy of doing the Lord’s work. And their parents saw the opportunity to do good and spread joy over generations.

After sacrament meeting the bishop called me into his office for a talk. Here it comes, I thought. I’m going to be the new teachers quorum president, I’ll bet. I was filled with pride and excitement. Wow, is the ward ever going to heap handshakes on me. Mom will be so proud!
I sat in the big chair across from the bishop. He was a pleasant man, smiling as always, but I felt that even so, this conversation was going to be an important one.
“Steve, we have an assignment for you,” he said. My heart raced.
“This is a special ‘good neighbor’ assignment. We’re concerned about Hasty McFarlan. He’s a pretty sad old man, you know. He needs someone to befriend him. He’s not a member of the Church, but God’s love reaches to all people, and we as members of his church have the responsibility to show it. Maybe I should say we have the privilege of showing that love.”
I guess I must have looked stunned.
“You know Hasty, don’t you, Steve?” asked the bishop.
My memory jumped back a couple of weeks to when some friends and I had made fun of the old man by singing jingles and shouting the jokes we had made up about him.
“Yes, I know him,” I said, choking down my disappointment and guilt. “He’s the old hermit who lives outside of town.”
“Right,” said the bishop. “I would like for you to go out and visit him two or three times a week.”
“Okay,” was the only answer I could manage.
The bishop must have detected my crestfallenness, because he leaned forward in his chair and looked at me carefully.
“Now, if this assignment will be too much, don’t be afraid to say so.”
I sighed. “Oh, I’ll do it, sir,” I said.
“Good,” said the bishop with a smile, and before I could catch my breath, he went on. “You can chop wood for the fire, and get him food, blankets—whatever he needs to help him feel wanted. Be a friend. Your father is aware of the assignment, and he told me he would help you. Your Heavenly Father will be prompting you, too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was 15 years old then, and there were other things I would rather do—play football, hunt, fish, or just do the things my friends were doing. But I had told the bishop I would carry out the assignment, and I knew it wasn’t good to go back on my word.
Hasty lived in a little log cabin at the foot of a mountain, just outside the Idaho farming community I grew up in. On the long hike to his cabin after school that first afternoon, it seemed to me that every pine along the trail whispered Hasty’s loneliness.
Once a year at Christmas the old man got a free bath at the hotel, compliments of the sheriff. Probably, we all thought, it was the only bath he got all year. We used to say he looked like a pirate with that growth on the side of his head and his black eyepatch. Most of the kids and even some of the townspeople had the habit of making unkind remarks or doing something “clever” whenever Hasty was around. Would he remember me as one of the tricksters? By the time I reached the cabin, I was genuinely frightened.
I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. I knew he had to be in there. Where else could he go?
“Hasty?” My voice broke halfway through the word. I don’t know how long I must have stood there before I decided to go inside. The thick oaken door creaked as I pushed it open.
“Hasty?” I called again. “Hasty, are you there?”
Hearing a rustling, I poked my head in as far as I dared and peeked around the door. It was cold in Hasty’s cabin and very dark. I could just make out the figure of a man on the bed. Hasty was all slouched down, but not like he’d been asleep, or even like he’d been thinking. He looked like he was slouching because there was no reason to do anything else. I noticed that the soiled, mildewed blanket he was sitting on was more hole than blanket.
My heart was beating in my throat. I swallowed hard.
“Hasty, is there anything I can do for you?” I managed to blurt out.
I told him my name and that the bishop from the LDS Church had sent me to see how he was doing and to help out. He said nothing. The silent, staring troll was freezing my nerves.
“Hasty, your fire is out.”
No reply.
“Can I chop some wood?”
No reply.
I went outside, found an axe and some stacked stumps, and began chopping kindling. With every strike of the axe my brain pounded. What am I doing out here? Why me? Why?
“Quit grumbling,” a voice inside me said. “The old man is cold and lonely, and you can help him.”
I got a fire going and tried to talk to him, but after a few minutes I decided he wasn’t really listening. He needed a new blanket, so I told him I would get a thick, clean, comfortable one, and the next day I did. After that I came every other day. Slowly, over the next several weeks, he began talking.
One day after we had talked some he said, “Boy, why do you come? I’m sure a kid your age can find better things to do than visit a sick old varmint like me. But I’m glad you come.” And then he smiled.
At Thanksgiving I invited Hasty to our house for dinner. He didn’t come, but our family took part of the dinner to him. There were tears in his eyes as he tried to thank us.
I discovered as our visits continued that Hasty had been a sheepherder. Once he had had a wife and children, but they had gotten a terrible fever and died of it.
Feeling in his grief that his life had been shattered, Hasty wandered the whole country as a vagabond. A diseased growth on the side of his face made one eye blind. And the teasing and practical joking had begun.
But to me the old man didn’t seem as ugly and frightening anymore. In fact, after school I hurried to his cabin to help him and to listen to his stories.
When Christmas arrived, we invited him to dinner once again. This time he came, and what’s more, he came in a suit, all cleaned and handsome. He looked great. A smile curved his lips. Hasty was happy because we showed him he was needed.
As we finished dinner, the old man bowed his head for a second, and then raised it and said, “You people sure are wonderful. My life has been a shambles for a long time, but the love you’ve shown is making me a different person. I’m very grateful.”
As he said that, I could feel a little fire in my chest getting big. It felt good.

Zasha Maldonado, 15, remembers being frightened by a terrible rainstorm that was flooding her home. As family members were frantically trying to save their possessions, one of the children said they ought to say a prayer. “We all knelt down in the water and pleaded with Heavenly Father to help us. After a few minutes, the rain started to die down. Heavenly Father answered our prayer. With Him, nothing is impossible.”

Josh carefully colored in the last black spot on his white T-shirt. Normally he’d be grounded for a million years for coloring on his clothes. But Mom said it was OK this time. Josh was going to a Primary activity, and all the kids were supposed to dress up like their favorite book or movie character. Josh was going as Dex the Dalmatian, the mystery-solving dog!
After Mom dropped Josh off, he spotted Robbie and Nate from his Primary class. Robbie looked like a pirate, and Nate was some kind of superhero.
“What are you supposed to be?” Robbie asked when Josh came closer.
“I’m Dex from Sticky Ricky.”
Robbie and Nate laughed. “That show is so lame!” Robbie said.
Josh felt his face go red. “Well, who did you guys dress up as?”
“Can’t you tell?” Robbie asked. “I’m Percy, from The Pirate’s Revenge.”
“And I’m Captain Scorpio,” said Nate. “You seriously haven’t seen those movies? Everybody has!”
Josh looked down. “I guess my family watches different kinds of shows.”
Just then Sister McCarthy called everyone to get in a circle for a game. Josh made sure he was far away from Robbie and Nate.
The next week, Josh played basketball with some other boys from Primary. He tried his best, but he wasn’t very good at it. He couldn’t bounce the ball right or make a basket. The other boys laughed when he couldn’t throw the ball very high.
Josh ran home, trying not to cry. I’m not doing that ever again! I don’t even like sports! he thought. And I’m not going to any more Primary activities, either. I just don’t fit in. When Josh got home, he played the piano to calm himself down. Then he read his favorite book until he felt better.
A few weeks later, a boy named Mark moved into Josh’s ward. Josh could tell right away that he was cool and popular and good at sports. Would he make fun of Josh like the other boys did?
But he was actually really nice! Mark sat by Josh and talked with him about a book he was reading. A few days later he invited Josh to play basketball.
Josh didn’t really want to play basketball. It had been pretty awful last time. But maybe with Mark there it would be better. He decided to give it another chance.
The first time Josh tried to shoot the ball, it didn’t get very far. It dropped to the ground and bounced away. Josh froze, waiting for Mark to laugh at him. But instead, Mark just grabbed the ball and smiled.
“Hey, good try!” Mark passed the ball back to Josh. “Try again.”
Later, during a game, Mark kept passing the ball to Josh. Their team lost, but Mark didn’t seem mad about it.
“Great game!” he said with a smile. “If you want, we could stay and practice for a little while.” Mark taught Josh how to hold the ball when he was shooting and how to aim for the basket. After a little while, Josh made a basket!
“Awesome!” Mark gave Josh a high five.
“Thanks for helping me,” said Josh.
“It was fun! See you tomorrow?”
“OK!”
As Josh walked home, he couldn’t stop smiling. He was glad to have a friend like Mark. And maybe one day, he could be a friend like Mark to someone else.

For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.

When I was young, we moved to the city of Cartagena. Many boys there were smoking marijuana. I feel that I was blessed because I was never invited to do it. When I was ten or eleven, I became a Boy Scout. I was the only one in my public school, so I was chosen to be the leader for many things, and I wore my uniform in parades. I remember collecting things for the poor people in the city. I remember the joy of giving.

The way for you to be happy is to love others and to be obedient. You can set a good example at school and in your family. You can also set an example as a good citizen of your country. If we want to have strong nations, they must start with you children.

Life was rough for Viktor Russo. As a boy he was scrawny. Other boys beat him up. Out of resentment, he made a mistake. He joined a gang when he was 15. “I wanted the others to be afraid of me,” he says, looking back.

And that’s what started to happen. He became one of the “bandits,” as he calls them. But before he got in too deep, he discovered the Church. His aunt, a Latter-day Saint, invited Viktor and his mother to attend Sunday meetings.

“Right from the opening prayer there were tears in my eyes,” Viktor explains. “They didn’t just recite words. They spoke with their Father in Heaven. I felt a great love overpowering me, an understanding that I also have a Father in Heaven who loves me.” Viktor was so impressed that he continued to attend. And he began discussions with the missionaries.

“I had always wanted to know if there really is a God,” he says. “So I prayed, ‘Please tell me if what I am learning is true.’ The same powerful feeling I had during sacrament meeting surrounded me again.”

He was particularly impressed as he learned about the priesthood. “I felt this love among the men, something I had never felt in the gang. Then during one of the missionary discussions I remember thinking, ‘I can’t be in a gang and serve God, too.’ From then on, I tried not to meet with my old associates. I tried to be only with good people.”

And what happened was remarkable.

“I was amazed. Some of my former ‘friends’ teased and taunted me, but most of them just said, ‘All right then, go. We’ll leave you alone.’” Enemies didn’t retaliate. True friends took an interest in his new religion. Some of them even met with the missionaries, but Viktor is the only one so far to be baptized.

“I had a lot to repent of first,” he acknowledges. “But I knew it was the right thing to do.”

Today Viktor is 17. He’s been a Latter-day Saint for almost two years. He spends his time with other Aaronic Priesthood holders, helps with the sacrament, and goes home teaching. He looks forward to a full-time mission and foresees the day when there will be a temple in Ukraine. Day after day you’ll find him with the elders when they’re teaching. “I like to share my testimony of Jesus Christ,” he says. “I like to tell people they need to believe in Him.”