Gospel Story Finder

Elder Orson Hyde, who became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, wrote:
“I attended the Saints’ meeting in Kirtland, Sunday, October 30, 1831, and offered myself a candidate for baptism, which was administered to me by the hands of Elder Sidney Rigdon; was confirmed and ordained an elder in the Church on the same day under the hands of Joseph Smith, the Prophet, and Sidney Rigdon. Not until about three days after did I receive any internal evidence of the special approbation of Heaven of the course I had taken. When one evening behind the counter, the Spirit of the Lord came upon me in so powerful a manner, that I felt like waiting upon no one, and withdrew in private to enjoy the feast alone. This, to me, was a precious season, long to be remembered” (Millennial Star, 26 [1864]: 761).

Tears filled my eyes and overflowed as I read Homer Ellsworth’s “Travail” in April’s New Era. Brother Ellsworth’s beautifully articulated message should indeed reassure us of our Heavenly Father’s love. It is imperative for our growth in his spiritual kingdom to know that whatever we may be asked to endure in this life is for our good. What may appear to be a tragedy can be a blessing.
The blind baby in the article could have been ours. Our baby boy also was born without eyes where blue eyes should have been. I don’t know if that other baby’s earthly parents had been conditioned for the shock and the grief they were to endure. I was, but I didn’t know it until my baby was born. Seven months before our precious little one arrived, I attended the dedication ceremonies of the stake center in Jacksonville, Florida, where our late President David O. McKay dedicated the beautiful Church building. After the closing prayer he moved rapidly past the waiting line of Saints, shaking each hand as he went past. To look upon his angelic face framed by the beautiful shock of white hair was a blessing in itself. As he came to me his smile faded momentarily and his countenance imparted a message I did not understand. With a warm, almost comforting voice he said, “Bless you, sister.” I did not connect that blessing with my unborn child. I did know that he saw my future, and that alone was another testimony that he was truly a prophet of God, a seer, and a revelator. During the next few months I felt an uneasiness, some undefined worry or some unrecognized fear. Again I did not think it had anything to do with my pregnancy, nor did I think of it in connection with what the prophet had said.
When my precious baby arrived, my initial, and I think normal, reaction was of shock and unbelievable grief. As that grief began to subside, I realized that this was what the prophet had seen. The love I felt for my Heavenly Father was magnified, for I knew we had been chosen by him to be the parents of this special spirit who had, such a short time ago, been in his presence. I don’t know why we were chosen, but I thank him each day for this privilege and the blessings we have that are directly related to our having this special one to care for and love. His five brothers know this too. Their love and empathy for anyone with a handicap or affliction is a joy to behold.
Although we have been told that for Rusty sight is impossible, that no operation will ever give him his vision, I believe he will see before his life is over. I have always believed it, and I believe my Heavenly Father has given me this assurance.
Almost 19 now, Rusty is a young man of great faith. His childlike innocence combined with a childlike faith continue to testify to me of God’s continuing love. We are all children of God, and Rusty is one of his special ones.
Joyce Carter MickiewiezOxnard, California

In my father’s personal history, he tells about Grandmother’s experiences growing up in Brigham City, Utah, in the late 1800s. Their family was very poor, having emigrated from Denmark with little more than the clothes on their backs. She wanted so much to have a pair of shoes she could wear on special occasions. To accomplish this worthy desire took a full summer’s work of picking berries and tending children, since money was very scarce and labor was cheap. But the joy Grandmother felt as she obtained those shoes is indescribable, for not only was she able to wear them, but her mother did also. In fact, they had it arranged so Grandmother would wear the shoes to Sunday School in the morning, and then her mother would wear them to sacrament meeting in the evening.

Finally, may I share with you an email from a good friend and I hope he approves my using it to illustrate this most important imperative we must all learn to have.
Breakfast at McDonald's. (This is a good story and is true.) I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was sociology.The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called, "Smile."The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions. I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say hello anyway. So, I thought this would be a piece of cake, literally.Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald's one crisp March morning.We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and even my husband did.I did not move an inch... an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved.As I turned around I smelled a horrible "dirty body" smell, and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men.As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was smiling.His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God's light as he searched for acceptance.He said "Good day" as he counted the few coins he had been clutching.The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally challenged and the blue-eyed gentleman was his salvation.I held my tears as I stood there with them.The young lady at the counter asked him what they wanted.He said, "Coffee is all, miss" because that was all they could afford. (If they wanted to sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something. He just wanted to be warm.)Then I really felt it - the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes.That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me, judging my every action.I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray.I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue-eyed gentleman's cold hand.He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Thank you."I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, "I did not do this for you. God is here working through me to give you hope."I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son.We held hands for a moment and at that time, we knew that only because of the grace of God that we had been given were we able to give.That day showed me the pure light of God's sweet love. I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in "my project" and the instructor read it. Then she looked up at me and said, "Can I share this?" I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read and that is when I knew that we as human beings, all God's children, share this need to heal and be healed.I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn.

By noon the group was hiking toward another lake. The trail switched back and forth gently, dropping down the slopes. Sometimes a lower part of the trail would be only a few feet away.
“We thought it was crazy not to take a shortcut,” Mike Worthington said. Some tried it. Greg stopped everybody.
“Stay on the trail,” he advised. “You think you’re saving time, but you’re not. And if the trail erodes the wrong way, you ruin it for people who come after you.”
“The next lake has golden trout in it,” Greg announced. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch a few before dark.” Packs were repacked and lifted to shoulders again.
Even though they’d been warned once about shortcutting, some of the young men thought the route back to the main trail was too roundabout and tedious.
“It looked like we could just cut through the trees,” Clay Drake said. “But we got lost. It took two hours for us to get back together with the rest of the group, and they all had to wait while the guides went back to look for us. The next time a guide tells me what to do, I’ll listen to him.”
There are times, the Explorers and Scouts found out, when you have to trust someone else, times when your safety and well-being depend on it. The young men also learned a little bit about perseverance. They hiked more than five miles each of the four days they spent in the Wind Rivers. Every day it became easier and more enjoyable.

Every year my family spends Christmas at a beach near Matinhos in Paraná, Brazil. We begin preparing for the trip in November and survive the hot days of December only by anticipating the excitement of the Christmas holidays.
It is not just the chance to play in the ocean that makes the trip so exciting. It is also a reunion with my father’s family—all strong Latter-day Saints. My grandparents joined the Church long ago, and both my parents were born in the Church.
One year’s trip, the year I was 13, was particularly unforgettable.
It was 22 December 1994 when, after so many preparations, we finally arrived at the large beach house where we were met by my grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles.
“Hey, Isaac,” I heard my cousin Charles calling me. “Let’s go take a look at the waves.”
“Sure, let’s go,” I excitedly yelled back. After all, I did not want to lose one second of my long-awaited holiday.
As we made our way to the ocean, my mother counseled: “Do not go very far from the beach. Try to stay in the shallow water with your cousin.”
But after entering the water, we began pursuing the rolling waves and gradually moved farther out. Before we noticed it, we were far from the shore. Suddenly Charles said, “Isaac, the water is deep. It’s so deep I can’t put my foot down.”
“Let’s go back,” I answered. “I can’t touch the bottom either, and I don’t think we can swim against the tide.” Charles seemed to be more frightened than I, but I was also afraid, not knowing what was going to happen to us.
Some minutes passed as we tried to reach the shallow water, but it seemed the more we struggled, the farther out we went. We were a long way from the shore when I looked over the waves and saw many people running back and forth on the beach trying to see us. At that moment, I thought of my mother. She would be angry because I had disobeyed her, and she would be worrying that I wouldn’t return. I was glad my father was at work and hadn’t joined us at the beach yet. He would have been frantic. Oh, how I wanted to be safe on the beach with my family!
I kept struggling and telling my cousin not to quit as we tried to keep our heads above the water. He kept encouraging me also. When we saw a lifeguard coming to get us, he looked very small in that immense ocean. I yelled, “We’re saved!”
But my joy was short-lived as I saw how hard it was for the lifeguard to reach Charles and carry him back to the beach. Left alone, I was pulled by the current farther and farther away. I became so tired I could hardly breathe. At that moment, I remembered something I had learned from my parents: “All things are possible to him that believeth” (Mark 9:23).
Trusting my parents and my Heavenly Father, I began to pray. I asked Heavenly Father to send dolphins to save me. When the dolphins appear, I will grab one of their fins, and I will be saved, I thought. I had no doubts about my request; I knew my prayer would be answered. I waited … and waited.
I soon became so exhausted that I held my nose, went deep under the water, then returned to the surface. Nevertheless, hope and patience did not abandon me, not even for a second. I kept fighting.
By then, Charles was safe on the beach, but he was in a very bad condition. People asked him about me. He could only cry. The people on the beach continued trying to spot me among the waves.
From the other side of the beach, which seemed an easier means of rescue, two lifeguards started toward me. As they approached, I realized in my very tired mind that my prayers had been answered. Two courageous men had not become discouraged by what seemed a hopeless situation. They were the dolphins I was waiting for! I remember they said to me, “Rest and everything will be all right.”
When we reached the shore, I was laid on a stretcher and taken to a first-aid station. People watching from the other side of the beach could see only my motionless body, and they thought I had drowned.
My mother quickly reached my side and found I was still breathing. How good it was to see her! How good it was to be alive!
“Well, young man, you are very lucky,” the surprised doctor remarked. “Not one drop of water entered your lungs. I have never seen an accident like this where someone has been so lucky.”
My mother looked at the doctor. “It wasn’t luck,” she said firmly. It was clear that she knew it was the Lord, not luck, who had saved me.
My parents have always taught me to have faith. They have taught me through their examples to look to my Heavenly Father in any difficulty. I realized that day that there are always consequences when we disobey—sometimes serious consequences. But I also learned that faith and prayer can give us the will to endure even in the worst difficulty. I know that when we ask in faith Heavenly Father answers our prayers—not necessarily with what we ask for, but with what we need most.

After crossing the Colorado River by ferry, the company still faced more than 240 kilometers of rugged ground. Elizabeth M. Decker described this land in a letter to her parents. “It’s the roughest country you or anybody else ever seen; it’s nothing in the world but rocks and holes, hills, and hollows. The mountains are just one solid rock as smooth as an apple.” Because the land turned out to be rougher than anticipated, the journey took much longer than expected—six months instead of six weeks—making the so-called shortcut extremely arduous. Two babies were born along the way. Supplies had to be brought in to the company by mule train. On 6 April 1880, the exhausted company came upon a few acres of good farmland near a small river. They named the spot Bluff City.
Though travel worn, the pioneers had remained true to their resolve to follow the prophet and move forward, and they had endured the hardships in good spirits. As one member of the company recalled, “In a camp … moving … through extremely rough country, one would naturally look for some trouble and a few accidents, but this was not the case. All was hustle and harmony.”

Many years ago, my ministering brothers invited me to seriously study the Book of Mormon. When they gave me this invitation, I realized that, although I read a little from the Book of Mormon each day, I wasn’t seriously studying it.
They shared a promise with me that was based on words from President Ezra Taft Benson: “There is a power in the [Book of Mormon] which will begin to flow into your lives the moment you begin a serious study of the book. You will find greater power to resist temptation … to avoid deception … to stay on the strait and narrow path” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Ezra Taft Benson [2014], 141).
I accepted their invitation, and in the following months I saw that their promise was fulfilled. It has changed my life.

I applied for a classical piano competition a few months ago. I knew it would likely be on a Sunday, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I started practicing three months before the competition, and it took a lot of time and effort to get ready.
A month before the competition, a seminary lesson on the Ten Commandments made me think about whether or not competing on a Sunday was a good idea. I wanted to push away the thought, because I’d already paid the application fee of TWD$1,400 (about US$50)—not to mention that I’d spent so much time practicing. I asked my seminary teacher if going to a piano competition would be breaking the Sabbath. He told me that was between God and me. But he bore his testimony that keeping the Sabbath day holy would be a blessing. I thought about it, and I really didn’t want to have to forfeit the competition.
Each day, I read a general conference article. I had just finished one talk and was about to put down the articles, but the next article caught my eye: “Stand in Holy Places” by President Thomas S. Monson (Ensign, Nov. 2011, 82). When I began reading it, I hadn’t been thinking at all about my piano competition, nor was I expecting an answer from the talk. But as I read, it was as if Heavenly Father were chastising me. President Monson’s words hit me hard:
“The Ten Commandments are just that—commandments. They are not suggestions. They are every bit as requisite today as they were when God gave them to the children of Israel” (83).
Then as I continued, I found:
“His constancy is something on which we can rely, an anchor to which we can hold fast and be safe, lest we be swept away into uncharted waters.
“… There is nothing which can bring more joy into our lives or more peace to our souls than the Spirit which can come to us as we follow the Savior and keep the commandments” (83).
I knew then what my Heavenly Father expected of me. I said a prayer and told Him that if it were necessary, I would forfeit the competition, even if I didn’t get a refund. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to forfeit if it were possible, that there might be a way for me to still compete, but that I would keep the Sabbath day holy no matter what.
At the end of the day, I told my piano teacher I couldn’t compete on a Sunday. She was surprisingly understanding. She said the competitions were divided by area and that I could try to transfer to an area that competed on a different day. I made a call the next day and successfully transferred to compete in Tainan, Taiwan, where the competition was held on Saturday.
I am so grateful that I made the decision to obey my Heavenly Father’s commandments. God not only wanted me to keep the Sabbath day holy, but He cared that the piano competition mattered a lot to me. Because I was willing to obey, my testimony of God’s love for me and of the blessings that come from obeying His commandments has been strengthened. I know that when we do our best to do what He asks, God will provide the rest.

I have been a member of the Church all my life, but it took a girl who lived the standards to make me realize that I should do the same, and also that I should go on a mission. Naturally I enjoyed “By the Way She Is” in the September issue. I am deeply grateful to this young woman, for not only did she impress me with the importance of a mission and open up an entirely new world for me in the gospel, but she also helped me indirectly to find the joy of reading the New Era. You see, after two weeks out in the mission field I contracted an illness that left me with some time on my hands, and I happened onto a copy of the New Era. I read it and then frantically started searching for more copies. It may interest you to know that in a four-hour period, I read and reread seven copies.
Elder Leslie Dale MartineauCanada Halifax Mission

In 1837, when the Church was struggling in Kirtland, Ohio, the Prophet Joseph Smith called Heber C. Kimball to go to England to open the work there. Brother Kimball exclaimed in self-humiliation: “O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue, and altogether unfit for such a work; how can I go to preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for learning, knowledge and piety; … and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial!”
But then on reflection he added: “However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration” (quoted in Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1967, page 104).
He traveled over the sea and commenced the work in Preston, Lancashire, with the very devils of hell opposing him and his companions. And thus began a work in that part of the world that has blessed for good countless lives.

I had been excited to turn 12 so that I could go to the stake firesides. But when I was old enough, I never wanted to go. My parents told me that I would know the right thing to do. That made me feel like a jerk because I did know what I should do; I just didn’t want to do it. But I finally decided to go to a fireside, and am I glad I did. On that night, I learned the Church is true.
The speaker told many stories that made everyone laugh and cry. Then he asked his daughter to sing. She had a beautiful voice. But at the end of the program, he showed pictures of the Savior and talked about how he did many kind things. I was so touched by the Spirit that my doubts completely left me.

Rebecca liked having family activity night on top of the cinder knoll, but getting there was scary. When Daddy drove the jeep up the steep hillside, the tires dug deeply into the cinders. Yet even so, Rebecca had the feeling they were going to tip over backward. When the family reached the top of the knoll, the smoke and flames shooting up from the campfire near the volcano’s crater seemed to make it come alive.
It’s so pretty up here, Rebecca thought, as she looked out over the countryside. She could see La Verkin and Hurricane snuggled against the hill to the east, their windows reflecting shafts of sunset gold. In the sky, gold-edged clouds turned redder and redder before the sun disappeared.
Eating dutch-oven spuds and burgers on top of a cinder cone was fun, but Rebecca was impatient for the lesson to begin. As she sat with the others, watching the campfire burn low, she asked, “Daddy, when are we going to have our lesson?”
“Tonight is activity night, and I haven’t prepared a lesson,” he replied. “But we can surely have one. What do you think a good subject would be?” he asked Grandma.
“We could talk about repentance,” she suggested.
“What’s repentance?” asked Rebecca.
“It’s when you’ve done something wrong that you’re sorry for,” Leon answered.
Later during the discussion, Rebecca cuddled against Mama, thoughtfully silent. Finally, she sighed and whispered, “Once I did something I’m sorry for. I took some bubble gum that I didn’t pay for.”
“When did you do that?” Mama asked quietly.
“Last winter when I was with you in Graff’s store,” she replied.
“Then you need to do something about it, don’t you?” Mama suggested. Rebecca nodded.
The next day Mama wasn’t feeling well so she let Rebecca do the dishes to earn a little money. Then Rebecca put on her prettiest dress and brushed her hair and ran to Grandma’s house. Slipping inside the kitchen door, she said, “Grandma, will you take me to Hurricane so I can pay for some gum I took?”
“Of course,” Grandma replied. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
As they rode to Hurricane, Rebecca said, “When I get to the store can I just run in and put my money on the counter and then come out?”
“No. That wouldn’t be right,” Grandma answered. “No one would know what the money was for”
“That’s what Mama said,” Rebecca told her. Then she added, “She said to tell Sister Graff about it, but I don’t want to. I’m afraid.”
They found the storekeeper in the back of the store when they arrived, going over her books. Grandma spoke first. “Rebecca would like to talk to you.”
“I’m happy to see both of you,” Sister Graff said. “Won’t you sit down?”
Rebecca sat on a chair next to Grandma. In her hand she had been clutching a nickel, but now she nervously turned it over and over in her fingers without speaking. Finally, Grandma said, “Rebecca, tell Sister Graff why we’re here.”
Rebecca’s eyes moistened. “I can’t remember just what I wanted to say,” she hedged.
“What is the nickel for?” Grandma prompted.
Rebecca quickly thrust the nickel into Sister Graff’s hand. “Here,” she said. “I took some bubble gum without paying for it.”
“You did right to come tell me about it,” Sister Graff said kindly.
“I was just this old when I did it,” Rebecca continued, holding up four fingers. “I wouldn’t do it now because I’m five.” Then impulsively she added, “I only took a penny’s worth, but I want you to have the whole nickel.”
“I can only take a penny for a penny’s worth of gum,” Sister Graff replied. “I will give you your change.” Taking one of Rebecca’s hands in hers, she patted it tenderly. “Remembering this day will help you always to do right. Thank you for coming.”
Rebecca breathed a sigh of relief. The telling was over and the gum paid for. She didn’t want to ever feel that bad again. Lighthearted, she skipped as she followed Sister Graff to the checkout counter. Sister Graff rang up a one-cent sale on the cash register and placed four pennies in Rebecca’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, and smiled.
Looking at Grandma, Rebecca declared, “I want to spend two of my pennies.” She picked out two pieces of bubble gum and paid for them. She gave one to Grandma and popped the other into her own mouth. As they drove home, she chattered between chewing and blowing little bubbles that plopped and popped.
“I like the paid-for gum the best, Grandma,” she said happily.

I remembered an experience I had three years earlier while I was at a university. I had finished my classes for the day at the medical school and was rushing down the street to arrive at my father’s office so we could go home. I was about to run across a street when the Spirit told me, “Stop!”

With my view of the street obstructed by a wall, I had been unable to check for traffic. I stopped immediately, just at the side of the road, as a car came speeding past me. Shaken, I sat down on the side of the road and thanked the Lord for watching over me.

A friend called me one evening while I was driving home from work, and when he asked how I was doing, all kinds of emotions bubbled to the surface. I had been feeling concerned about some questions I was having. Certain aspects of the Church didn’t seem to be adding up for me. I felt frustrated that answers to my questions hadn’t been made clear. And even though I’m not typically an angry person, I felt mad and upset. I had been wrestling with my questions for a while, and I didn’t know what to do.
As I pulled into my driveway, I spit everything out. I told him about the questions that were bothering me and how I had been feeling. After our conversation, I felt a lot better. And it wasn’t because he had all the answers for me—he didn’t. However, he was willing to just listen to me. He validated how I was feeling and helped me to know that I wasn’t the only person with questions. My questions weren’t a reflection of a lack of faith on my part, and it was OK to be unsure.
I still don’t have answers to all my questions. One of the biggest things my friend helped me to do was to realize that I don’t have to have all the answers right away. As time has passed, answers have come to me in bits and pieces. I trust that God has the answers and that He is watching out for me. I have hope that answers will come when I need them. And that’s enough for me right now.

I recall when working in the Dean of Students Office having a young man referred by the Testing Center for sporting a tongue piercing. When I met with the young man, he denied this, stating that he was playing with a rolled up wad of tinfoil from a gum wrapper, which they had mistaken for a piercing. (Sometimes I wonder if I have a neon light on my forehead, shining brightly the label, “I’m Stupid.”) I asked to see his tongue, and it was evident that there was a hole for which a piercing could be supported. He acknowledged that he had pierced his tongue prior to coming to Ricks College, but had not worn it since. After committing him to the Honor Code, I told him that this would serve as a warning, and I expected not to see him again. Some few weeks later, I had another referral from the Testing Center, and this same young man came in again for a report of same infraction. This time however, he did not lie but was argumentative, justifying his piercing as an expression of his individuality, and criticizing the institution and the Church for its judgmental attitude of putting a person down by what they wore rather than what they are.

After listening for a bit, I turned to the young man and read this quote from Elder Bednar: “I am convinced that students violate the honor and dress codes for two and only two reasons: (1) they either do not understand the codes, or (2) they choose to willfully rebel.”[14] I offered a question: Is it possible that you do not understand, or are you in a state of open rebellion? I asked if he understood why the Brethren have made statements about piercings. He replied that he did not understand. We then reviewed the statement from the Strength of Youth, and also scriptural reference of our body being a temple of God. Statements and scriptures that he had heard, but did not understand. Like unto the American inhabitants that we just read of, he needed to look steadfastly upon Christ for full understanding to occur.

I then asked him if he were a missionary, would he wear the piecing. He said no. I asked why not. He then had a great revelation and understanding come about as he replied, “Because I would be representing the Lord.” When he looked steadfastly to the Lord, and realized his desire to be fastened to Him, he understood. We concluded with our acknowledgment that we are always representing the Lord by the fact that we have taken upon us a covenant that we are willing to take upon us His name and always remember Him by keeping His commandments. This time when this young man departed from my office, I knew I would not see him again because he humbled himself, turned to the Lord, and his natural man weakness had become a strength. However, I did see this young man once more, many months after…but this time it was not with a letter from the Testing Center, but a letter from the Prophet, calling him to serve as the Lord’s servant.

American servicemen, their families, and others living in the Philippines loved the Filipinos and in 1960 pleaded with Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles assigned to supervise the Church in Asia, to open the Philippines to missionary work.2
On his first visit to the Philippines in 1960, Elder Hinckley realized the potential the Philippines offered as a mission field. Legal challenges slowed official recognition for the Church, but Elder Hinckley and Robert S. Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission, believed permission for missionary visas would soon be granted. With authorization from the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, they scheduled a meeting at the American War Memorial Cemetery on 28 April 1961 to initiate missionary work.
At 6:30 on a quiet, peaceful morning, around 100 members of the Church—mostly servicemen and their families, but including David Lagman, a Filipino member—met near the small memorial chapel. At the conclusion of a brief meeting, Elder Hinckley offered a prayer in which he invoked blessings “upon the people of this land, that they shall be friendly and hospitable, and kind and gracious to those who shall come here, and that many, yea Lord, we pray that there shall be many thousands who shall receive this message and be blessed thereby. … We pray that there shall be many men, faithful, good, virtuous, true men who shall join the Church.”3
Since that time, his prayer has been answered many fold. Visas for full-time missionaries were soon approved, and on 5 June 1961 the first four missionaries were transferred from Hong Kong to Manila. Probably because the people were curious about them, the elders were invited into every home they visited that day.

Pia is a 16-year-old Laurel in the Frederiksberg Ward, Copenhagen Denmark Stake. Her mom is a lifelong member of the Church and Pia can remember going to Primary when she was younger, but Pia has been a Church member for only one year.
“My mom and dad are Church members, so when I was young, I went to Primary. But I never was baptized,” Pia says.
After her parents divorced, Pia, her two brothers, and their mother stopped going to church. Pia turned 8 but wasn’t baptized. She turned 12 and didn’t attend Young Women. For about 10 years there was little Church involvement in her life. Home teachers still came and visiting teachers called on her mom, but the Hentzens stayed home on Sundays.
Then a Young Women leader called Pia and invited her to start attending activities. “My leader wrote letters inviting me to go to church. I went once but thought it was boring and didn’t want to go back. But the missionaries changed my mind about church,” she says, laughing.
The missionaries knew Pia had never been baptized, so they scheduled a time to visit her. At that first appointment, they brought a short spiritual message. That pattern continued for several weeks until one day they tried something different, bringing with them something every missionary has to offer—the first discussion.
“They asked if they could give me the first discussion, and I said, ‘OK.’ It didn’t take long—probably a few weeks—before I finished all the discussions and agreed to be baptized.” About this same time, Pia’s mother started becoming active again, as did her two brothers.
Today, in the small group that makes up the Young Men and Young Women program of the Frederiksberg Ward, Pia is at home. Joining the Church and being active took some getting used to. Now it’s a way of life. “I’m the only Laurel in the ward. We also have two Mia Maids and two Beehives. That’s our Young Women,” she says. Then she stops and thinks seriously about how the Church has changed her life. “I think my life is better now,” she concludes. “I have something I know is true.”

I had an experience with my four-year-old son recently that taught me a tremendous amount about faith.
It was later than I had planned bedtime to be. We were very close to getting into bed with our bedtime routine done, when my son turned to me and said, “My Lego piece is missing.”
I hurriedly answered that we would find it in the morning. He would not be deterred. “Mama, I need it, or I can’t go to sleep.”
I sighed deeply and barked, “Where did you last have it?”
“Right here,” he answered, pointing to his bedside. “It must have fallen on the floor.”
The floor was covered in books, toys, and other debris from an evening of playing that I hadn’t had time to tidy away. It was hopeless to try and find one little piece of Lego. Again, I said we would find it in the morning. My son turned to me and, with determination etched into his little face, said, “If we pray to Jesus, we will find it!” I was taken aback by his powerful declaration but impressed at the same time.
My four-year-old had more presence of mind than I had as he knew, not hoped but knew, that if he prayed, Jesus would help him find it. So, he prayed to Jesus to find his piece. Despite the prayer of an innocent and precious child of God, I still doubted. I searched for a moment then, humbled by his faith and ashamed of the lack of my own, said my own silent prayer that my Father in Heaven would help me. This moment would be a precious faith-builder in my son’s life that he could look back on, and I could not fail.
A few moments passed, and just as my search seemed hopeless, I lifted a book, and there was the piece underneath. A wave of relief and gratitude filled my heart. My little boy turned to me and said, his face beaming with pride, “See, I told you!” I was humbled by my precious son and his amazing faith.

My friends Wilford and Kathleen Andersen, who served as mission presidents in Guadalajara, Mexico, literally saw the spirit of the Book of Mormon at work. Sister Andersen felt impressed during the final year of their mission to educate her three sons at home rather than in a public school. However, she needed help in teaching them Spanish. She prayed to find a suitable tutor. She was led to Irma Encinas, who had been a teacher for 20 years and had just recently moved into this new city. Irma Encinas came twice a week to work with the boys.

Three weeks into the school year, Sister Andersen realized that she had hired someone who might be interested in learning more about our Church. So she told her about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. Sister Andersen then decided to have the Spanish curriculum for her boys be the Book of Mormon. The boys each read out loud in Spanish from the scriptures on every visit. Then the teacher was instructed to ask them questions about the reading, and the boys had to answer her in Spanish. While the boys were learning Spanish, Irma Encinas was learning about the Book of Mormon.

After Christmas, Irma Encinas came to Sister Andersen and started to cry. She needed to tell her what was happening. She said that every time the boys read from the Book of Mormon, she saw light around their faces. When they closed their books, the light immediately went away. She confessed that her sister who lived with her had received a copy of the Book of Mormon 11 years earlier but had not read it. This unusual experience caused them both to search their bookshelves to find that dusty book. They wanted to discover for themselves what this light was that emanated from this book. I’m sure you can figure out the rest of the story. They started reading the Book of Mormon and desired to have missionaries teach them. Two weeks after their first missionary discussion, they were baptized.