Gospel Story Finder

Just as important as these “mighty miracles” are the smaller “private miracles” that teach each of us to have faith in the Lord. These come as we recognize and heed the promptings of the Spirit in our lives.
I am grateful for a teacher who encouraged his students to keep a journal of the whisperings or promptings of the Spirit in their lives. He directed us to note what we felt and what resulted. Little things became evident. One day I was frantically trying to complete some assignments and prepare for a trip. I had just been down to the laundry area of the dorm to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Unfortunately, all the dryers were in use, and they all had many minutes to go. I went back upstairs discouraged, knowing by the time those dryers finished, I had to be on the road. I had barely returned to my room when I felt prompted to go back downstairs and check the laundry again. Foolishness, I thought—I had just been there, and I didn’t have time. But because I was trying to listen, I went. Two of the dryers were empty—and I was able to meet all my commitments. Could the Lord possibly have been concerned about smoothing my way in such a small but, to me, important matter? I have learned since through many such experiences that the Lord will help us in every aspect of our lives when we are trying to serve Him and do His will. [5]

At this point Martin pleaded with Joseph for permission to take the manuscript to Palmyra to show his wife, Lucy, who quite understandably wanted to see some evidence of what was taking up so much of her husband’s time and treasure. Yet, after inquiring of the Lord, Joseph was told twice not to let Martin take the manuscript.6

Desperate to placate the skepticism and increasingly shrill demands of his wife, Martin badgered Joseph again. In agony, Joseph went to the Lord a third time. In response, the Lord told Joseph that Martin could take the manuscript if he would show it only to five designated people and then promptly return it. Reluctantly, Joseph gave the manuscript to him, but only after Martin signed a written covenant to do as the Lord had instructed.7

This began a cascade of events that would bring Joseph as low as anything that would ever happen to him. Shortly after Martin departed, Emma gave birth to a baby boy. She and Joseph named their first child Alvin, a comforting tribute to Joseph’s dearly departed brother, who had died five years earlier. Tragically, rather than fill a void, young Alvin enlarged it when he passed away the day of his birth, June 15, 1828.

As if that were not enough to bear, between the exhaustion of a long and intense labor and the emotional distress of losing her child, Emma moved perilously close to death herself. For two weeks Joseph worried over Emma, nursing her back to health even as he worked through his own grief over baby Alvin. When Emma finally showed signs of stabilizing health, Joseph’s thoughts turned to Martin and the manuscript.8

Sensing Joseph’s anxiety, Emma encouraged him to return to Palmyra to check on Martin and the manuscript. With a visible gloom, he took a stagecoach north. Unable to eat or sleep on the journey, Joseph made it to his parents’ home—still a good 20-mile (32 km) walk through the dead of night from where the stage let him off—only by the steadying hand of a worried fellow passenger (a “stranger”) who took pity on him. 9

After Joseph arrived and finally took a little nourishment, Martin was summoned. He was to join the Smiths for breakfast but did not show up until noon. Walking slowly, he stopped at the gate to the home, got on the fence, pulled his hat over his eyes, and just sat there.10

Finally, Martin made his way into the home. Without speaking a word, he took up his utensils to eat. But before taking a bite, he cried out, “Oh, I have lost my soul!”11

With this, Joseph jumped up and burst out: “Martin, have you lost that manuscript? [H]ave you broken your oath, and brought down condemnation upon my head, as well as your own?”

Martin somberly replied, “Yes, it is gone, and I know not where.”12 (Martin had shown the manuscript pages to others besides the five, “and by stratagem,” Joseph later recounted, “they were taken from him.”13)

Joseph exploded into a wail, crying out: “All is lost! [A]ll is lost! What shall I do? I have sinned—it is I who tempted the wrath of God.” With this, “sobs and groans, and the most bitter lamentations filled the house,” Joseph showing the greatest distress of them all.14

The translation work ceased for a season, and the plates and interpreters were taken from Joseph until September 22—a poignant reminder of his earlier probational period. He also suffered this stern rebuke from the Lord:

“And behold, how oft you have transgressed the commandments and the laws of God, and have gone on in the persuasions of men.
“For, behold, you should not have feared man more than God. Although men set at naught the counsels of God, and despise his words—
“Yet you should have been faithful; and he would have extended his arm and supported you against all the fiery darts of the adversary; and he would have been with you in every time of trouble” (D&C 3:6–8).

Imagine the difficulty of receiving such a revelation. Joseph had just lost his firstborn son. He had nearly lost his wife. And his decision to give Martin the manuscript was driven by an earnest desire to help a friend who was helping him in a sacred work. Yes, however distraught Joseph was, and however dependent upon Martin Harris he thought he was, he had missed one thing God fully expects of His disciples: always trust in the arm of the Lord and not in the arm of the flesh. To Joseph’s everlasting credit, he learned this lesson in such a deep and profound way that he never made the mistake again and, not long after again receiving the plates and interpreters, he began a pace of religious contribution the likes of which the world had not seen since the personal ministry of Jesus Christ. Starting in the spring of 1829, now with Oliver Cowdery at his side, Joseph translated an astonishing 588 pages of the Book of Mormon in what was, at most, 65 working days.15 This is truly blinding speed when compared with his previous efforts. It is also instructive to note that the translation of the King James Bible took 47 trained scholars, working in languages they already knew, seven years to complete.16

A few months ago we took our grandchildren on an escorted tour of the Church printing facilities. There, all of us saw the missionary edition of the Book of Mormon coming off the delivery line—printed, bound, and trimmed, ready for reading. I said to a young grandson, “The operator says that you can remove one copy of the Book of Mormon to be your very own. You select the copy, and it will then be yours.”

Removing one finished copy of the book, he clutched it to his breast and said with sincerity, “I love the Book of Mormon. This is my book.”

I really don’t remember other events of that day, but none of us who was there will ever forget the honest expression from the heart of a child.

Growing up, I was a learn-by-doing kind of kid. Among other family chores was the twice-daily milking of our small herd of Jersey cows. We milked by hand, and, as I was the baby of the family and too small to milk, my assignment was to herd the cows in and out of the barn and then clean the milk-barn floors at the end of each milking session. It seemed as if those cows would save up all night so that they could relieve themselves on my shiny, clean floor.

Being an observant child, I noticed that before they made their green deposits, they always lifted their tails. That signal gave me the best idea. I would stand by with my large aluminum scoop shovel, and when the tail went up, the scoop went under, and I caught the prize before it had a chance to splatter all over the milk-barn floor.

My dad, seemingly amused and unimpressed by my creativity, said, “Son, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I thought to myself, “Yeah, sure, but you don’t have to clean up this mess every day.”

So I chose to ignore him, and he allowed it. A couple of days later, after nearly total and very satisfying success, the tail went up and the scoop went under and midway through the event the cow gave a great cough. Now, at my age and stature, I had a birds-eye view of this fine part of the cow’s anatomy, and that cough sent a spray of pasty, green liquid that covered me from head to toe. I stood there mortified.

My dad came over laughing and wiped the outline of first one eye and then the other and simply said, “I told you not to do that.”

It was my first lesson of “lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). It was a lesson I would have liked to learn through obedience and trust.

The morning rain tapped lightly on the roof of the van, then danced into tiny rivers down a fogged windshield. I waited in the backseat with my books on the floor, trying to warm my fingers with my breath. After early-morning seminary, our teacher would usually offer to drive some of us to school if we couldn’t find a ride.
Sarah sat next to me in the backseat, filing her nails. The sweet smell of bubble gum filled the air as she unwrapped a piece and began to chew. Wendy Turner was up front, and we all sat in silence as we waited for our teacher to finish in the classroom.
Then Sarah snapped her gum loudly and started a sudden burst of words.
“You know,” she blurted, still smacking, “seminary is such a waste of time. I mean it’s just such a drag!”
I didn’t say a word as I looked in her direction. I guess it took me by surprise, and I really wasn’t sure what to say.
“It’s just that we have to get up so early, and for what?” She continued, “Just to hear someone preach at us for an hour before we go to school. It’s not like church isn’t already long enough on Sundays. Why should we have to torture ourselves through the week too?”
It’s not really a torture, I thought to myself. But I still wasn’t sure of what to say. Then just when I started to get a grip on what was going on, she added something else that really threw me for a loop.
“Besides, the Church isn’t really true anyway—only a total fool would actually believe that stuff!”
For the first time in my life, I really started to think about what I believed. Did I believe that the Church was true?
My parents had been converted when I was six years old, and the Church had been part of our lives ever since. My parents had taught me that it was true, and I could tell by their actions that they really believed it. But what about me? What did I believe? I guess when it came to the Church, I was just “along for the ride.” I had been baptized when I was eight years old, I had finished Primary, I held the Aaronic Priesthood, and I went to all my meetings and Young Men activities. But what did I really believe in my heart? I didn’t know.
Wendy finally spoke from the front seat. “I believe it is all true. I believe it is because I found out for myself, and I know it is in my heart—and that’s enough for me.”
Those words really impressed me—“I believe because I found out for myself.” I remember wondering how she found out for herself, but I didn’t ask. In fact, I didn’t say one word the entire ride to school. What do I really believe? I kept asking myself.
Time moved on, and soon my family moved to New Hampshire. We were no longer part of a large ward or an overflowing stake, but now members of a tiny branch which spread over several small towns. We soon discovered that my sisters and I were the only LDS youth in our town. I really had to cling to what the Church taught. I found myself defending it many times, but in my heart the question still lingered.
Was this what I really believed? I still couldn’t come up with the answer, and the question wouldn’t leave. It just kept getting bigger and more urgent. I had to find out for myself, but I didn’t quite know how to go about it.
The years passed by, and finally graduation was around the corner. It would soon be time to take the next step—serving a mission. Going on a mission seemed to fill every conversation I had with my parents, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I should go. How could I teach people the gospel if I didn’t know for myself if it “I believe because I found out for myself.”
It was time to stop living off of “borrowed light.” I was determined to find out.
I didn’t know where to start, but I decided the Book of Mormon would be a good place. I started to study it, not just read it. I also decided to study it prayerfully. While I was doing this, I realized that I hadn’t been having personal prayers very regularly. I also realized that this was the first time I had honestly studied the scriptures. Maybe the reason I didn’t know if the Church was really true was that I had never prayerfully tried to find out.
I kept a list of questions I had about the Church in the cover of my Book of Mormon. At nights I made an effort to pray about a certain question, and quite often I would find the answer to that very question as I read. This happened too often to be just a coincidence. My prayers were actually being answered, and every time a prayer would be answered, it gave me a deeper incentive to continue in my investigation.
I finished the Book of Mormon and started on the New Testament. I had seen books like A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and Jesus the Christ sitting on my parents’ bookshelves, and now I had an intense desire to learn what they had to say. I didn’t really read anything that I hadn’t heard before, but for the first time, I understood it. As I continued in my study and prayers, a strong testimony began to grow within me, and sometimes when I prayed, a warm feeling would overcome me entirely. I soon learned that the Holy Ghost was real.
I noticed one night that every question I had written on the list had been crossed out. Although it hadn’t happened all at once, my questions had been answered—every one of them.
Then I realized I knew that the Church was true. I knew it was true, not because my parents had told me it was true, not because the leaders of the Church had told me it was true, but because I had found out for myself.
The New Era is adding a department called “How I Know.” It will include short articles from our readers about how they learned the Church was true or how they learned to recognize answers to their prayers. If you have an experience that you’d like to share with other readers, please send it to the New Era, 50 East North Temple, Salt Lake City, Utah, 84150.

We all experience tragedy during which we need the reassurance of the Spirit. I felt it one day as I stood with my father in a hospital. We watched my mother take a few shallow breaths—and then no more. As we looked on her face, she was smiling as the pain left. After a few silent moments, my father spoke first. He said, “A little girl has gone home.”
He said it softly. He seemed to be at peace. He was reporting something he knew was true. He quietly began to gather Mother’s personal things. He went out into the hospital hallway to thank each of the nurses and doctors who had ministered to her for days.
My father had the companionship of the Holy Ghost at that moment to feel, to know, and to do what he did that day. He had received the promise, as many have: “That they may have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:79).

Brother Consky was an old, bent man with deep wrinkles and feathery white hair. He lived down our street in a small, beat-up house that seemed kind of spooky to us kids. Big strips of red paint had peeled off the outside walls, and ugly weeds grew wild everywhere. Once in a while Brother Consky pulled his curtains back and peeked out at us as we played, which made him seem spooky too. We decided to keep clear of him.
We would have done just that if it hadn’t been for Mom. “Boys,” she called to my brother, Jeremy, and me one day. “I need you to run dinner over to Brother Consky.”
Jeremy and I stared at each other in wide-eyed disbelief.
In the kitchen, we pleaded our cause. “Mom, we just can’t go. We’re in the middle of a very important scientific discovery (watching a spider devour a fly). We’ll miss the whole thing!” Our argument sounded good to us, but I guess it wasn’t very convincing to Mom.
She gave us that “if you know what’s good for you” look and handed us a couple of plates.
“It will only take a minute. Brother Consky is ill and can’t get his own meals. Dad has just been assigned as his home teacher, so you’d better get used to going over to his house. Besides, he could use your smiles. He doesn’t have any family to care for him.”
“Well, I’ll take the food,” I grumbled. “But I won’t promise a smile.”
Mom gave me another look and marched us out the door.
We walked slowly down the street and hesitated at the broken-down gate in front of Brother Consky’s house. It squeaked as we opened it. We stopped for a minute, then forced our trembling legs to walk through the scratchy weeds to the front door.
Jeremy slowly raised his hand and knocked timidly.
“Come in,” a raspy voice called out.
I hadn’t counted on going inside! I turned the doorknob and shoved Jeremy ahead. When I was sure it was safe, I followed him. For a moment I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. Then my eyes began to focus, and I’ll never forget what I saw.
The room was empty except for an old gray couch where Brother Consky lay looking dull and sad. The floors were bare and cold, and the curtains torn and stained. There were no bright autumn leaves in vases like Mom put in our house. But worst of all were the walls. Green paint had faded and chipped, leaving great big spots of moldy gray plasterboard. It was a cold, dreary place, and I was glad when we were finally out in the sunshine again.
From then on, Jeremy and I took food over to Brother Consky every Wednesday and Sunday. Each visit was the same. We sat in the dark, moldy room, answered a few questions, and waited for our release into the bright world outside.
Fall passed slowly into the first week of December. Christmas trees and bright lights appeared in other homes but not in Brother Consky’s. One Wednesday he didn’t answer our knocks.
“Try the door,” I said. “He’s always up waiting for us.”
I knew that if we returned home with plates still full of food, Mom would send us right back.
The rusty knob turned, and the door clicked open.
“Brother Consky?” I called. “Are you here?”
The house was dark and still except for the eerie humming of the refrigerator.
“Brother Consky?” I called again as I walked down the hall and into the bedroom. Then, “Jeremy!” I yelled. Jeremy came running into the room. Brother Consky was hunched up on the floor. “Run and get Mom and Dad.”
My heart pounded faster as I sat there and waited and watched. As much as I had complained about going to Brother Consky’s every week, deep down inside, I liked him. I didn’t want him to die. Tears stung my eyes, and I quickly brushed them back as Mom and Dad hurried into the room.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. I just found him like this.”
“Quick, Ken. Call the ambulance.”
Soon I heard the whining siren. In a matter of minutes Brother Consky was lifted onto a stretcher and taken away.
Two weeks passed. Each Wednesday and Sunday Jeremy and I walked to Brother Consky’s and stood outside the broken gate.
“I wish he was here for us to visit now,” said Jeremy glumly one Wednesday.
“Me too.” I also wished that I’d never complained about going to his house.
The next night Dad announced that Brother Consky was getting better and would be coming home the day before Christmas.
Jeremy and I jumped out of our seats and cheered.
Later that night Jeremy and I lay wide awake trying to think of something special to give Brother Consky for his homecoming.
“How about bringing in a Christmas tree and decorating it for him,” suggested Jeremy.
“Great idea, but it’s not enough. It has to be something really neat.”
“Good night, boys,” Mom called upstairs. Somehow she always knew when we were whispering.
Jeremy rolled over and went to sleep, but I was too excited. I thought of Brother Consky cooped up in his house. I remembered when I’d been sick how awful it was to stay inside all day, staring at the same four walls. I had felt like a prisoner caged in a cell, and I’d desperately wanted to escape the walls that held me in. The walls—that’s it! The perfect gift!
The next morning, before I could even gulp any breakfast down, I told my family about my plan.
“Dad, I need your help on a special project.”
“Sure, James. What is it?”
“Jeremy and I want to give Brother Consky a welcome-home gift, and I have the perfect idea—newly painted walls! You’ve seen his house. How would you like to lie in bed staring at those ugly walls?”
I ran on excitedly, “We have over a week before he comes home. If we all pitch in and paint, it will be done and we can bring him into a bright new room!”
“That’s a great idea, James. We’ll get the paint and start on it tomorrow.”
I saw him wink at Mom.
Later, as I was rounding up paintbrushes, I heard Dad on the phone: “No, Stan. We won’t need the elder’s quorum now. Two Christmas elves beat you to the idea. We’re going to start tomorrow.”
Early in the afternoon on the twenty-fourth, Dad wheeled Brother Consky into his newly painted home. The walls glowed with fresh paint. The new curtains Mom had made were parted to let the sunshine in. A Christmas tree glistened with lights and tinsel. Outside, last summer’s dead weeds had been cleared away and the fence fixed. To Jeremy and me, it looked like a castle.
Brother Consky sat there stunned. For a moment no one spoke as his eyes wandered from wall to wall. Then a smile cracked his lips. He looked at Jeremy and then at me. I saw tears in his eyes. He reached out a shaky hand and took my hand and squeezed it. I moved closer than I’d ever been to him and threw my arms around his neck.
Jeremy and I still visit Brother Consky. Only now we don’t go just on Wednesdays and Sundays. We stop off almost every day on our way home from school. He likes to hear about what we’re doing, and he even helps us with our math. Best of all, we just like being there with him, listening to his stories.

When the call came to be a mission president, there was no question about his accepting it. But none of the family realized how profound would be the change it would bring in their lives. Becoming a mission president required him to give up a good job, and his daughters were concerned about that. As the time neared for him to be released, in July of 1981, one of them asked him several times where he planned to work afterward. He had no answer, except that he was not worrying about it.

Then, on 16 March 1981, there was a telephone call from President Spencer W. Kimball in Salt Lake City. The prophet asked how things were in the mission, and asked about the welfare of Elder Abrea and his family. But “I didn’t think he had called me just to see how I was,” Elder Abrea says, smiling. Then President Kimball issued the call to the First Quorum of the Seventy, as well as to the presidency of the temple that was to be built in Buenos Aires. He talked to Sister Abrea and called her to be the first matron of that temple.

Suddenly, everything about the Abreas’ life had changed. Elder Abrea remembers that President Kimball told him on the telephone that day, “You will never finish your mission. This mission is for the rest of your life.” He was sustained a member of the quorum 4 April 1981, and moved easily into full-time service as a way of life.

How does a man who is so dedicated relax? “My only hobby is to work in the Church,” Elder Abrea replies. When there is an opportunity, he enjoys watching soccer, a game he used to play on high school and university teams. (Claudia notes that he also used to make a creditable contribution as a member of Church basketball teams.) “I like to read. I like to talk to people. I like to be with people.”

Elder Abrea undoubtedly has the opportunity to be with many people as temple president. The Buenos Aires urban area includes approximately eleven million residents, more than a third of Argentina’s population. His wife and daughters recall the pleasure of living in Salt Lake City, a “small city” where most people they meet are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It is time for more Argentines to become Latter-day Saints, Elder Abrea says. Many are better prepared than ever before to hear the gospel message because of the growth of the Church and the building of the temple in their country. Sister Abrea notes that the Church has become well enough established in Argentina for its influence to be felt over decades; her nephew represents the fourth generation of Church members in his family. Elder Abrea says Church growth has accelerated in his native country during the past fifteen or twenty years.

“The Church has the great respect of the government and the people. They respect the members. They don’t know the doctrine, but they can see how the Mormon people act, how they live. I think that example of the people of the Church is the best proselyting tool we have.”

In fact, he says, people throughout South America are now much more prepared to hear and accept the gospel. “I think the hand of the Lord is at this moment on those countries. We have more missionaries working. More local members of the Church are doing missionary work.” Handling rapid growth is one of the Church’s biggest challenges in South America. But that very growth makes Latter-day Saints more visible and gives them more influence.

When he was fifteen, reflects Elder Abrea, “the only temple I heard about was in Salt Lake City. I couldn’t imagine a temple in my country.” But the House of the Lord that is there now is a symbol of the progress being made in Argentina, and throughout South America. So, too, he says, are the rising attendance figures; in some areas, there is a 75 percent activity rate for Melchizedek priesthood holders.

“I am a witness of the latter-day miracles,” Elder Abrea affirms. “We need to look at what the Church is doing with the eyes of faith. There are so many miracles being done in South America.” Members who look beyond the routine affairs of the organization will see the hand of God at work.

He speaks quietly, but firmly. He is back in South America to work. With Elder Abrea, and South Americans like him, laboring under the Lord’s direction, one expects that the Church will continue to experience many more miracles of growth and spirituality.

While this is a lesson that the Lord is constantly teaching me, I learned it most profoundly during what was probably the biggest storm of my life. After a beautiful and relatively easy pregnancy, complications from the delivery brought me to the edge of life. I lay in the hospital for a month, only partially aware of what was going on and closer to death than I actually then realized. I literally could do nothing on my own. I remember the day that I first felt lucid enough to get perspective on it all and I wrote myself a list so I wouldn’t forget the moment of pure inspiration. Do you think my list had groceries on it or work deadlines? Nope. It said, “Everyone has been amazing. Love them and remember that. Remember that you thought you were going to die. Life is good…live it, be grateful for it. Listen. Simplicity. Slow down, relax, be less worried. Be authentic. Miracles have happened.” But some of my favorites that relate specifically to what we are talking about today are: “Guess what, the world didn’t stop without you!” (Meaning, I realized that I didn’t have to do everything I had thought was so essential before). Another was, “sometimes you just have to say, ‘oh well’”! (Which was very uncharacteristic of me at the time). And finally, “The Lord and Heavenly Father know…follow them.” In the center of it all, in the eye of that storm, the Lord healed me, and not just physically. He taught me the things that mattered most. My family who made extraordinary sacrifices, my health, my job, the priesthood, angels and prayers. I saw that I had been “careful and troubled about many things” but not all of them were needful.

I remember when I was serving as a branch president and was working on our annual tithing report. It was a beautiful winter day, and my wife was waiting to go for a walk with me. I was used to doing finances as a government officer, so this was no big task for me. But every time I tried to balance the figures, they did not add up right. I kept trying and trying, but nothing worked, and I was getting frustrated. I asked Heavenly Father to help.
After I got up from my knees, I couldn’t see that anything had changed. But I felt prompted to review a specific portion of the donation receipt file again. In those days the receipts were glued together in pads, and this time I discovered that two receipts had stuck together and looked like one receipt. The problem was solved.

Last spring the softball team was playing a game against Louisiana Tech. The score was 0 to 0 in the fifth inning. The Louisiana Tech lead-off hitter sent a ball deep to center field. The umpire ruled that it was a ground rule double because the ball had bounced over the fence. The BYU center fielder, while chasing the ball, stumbled over the fence. Coach Amicone went to see if she was okay, and she told her she was but that the ball went over the fence, making it a home run. This was also confirmed by both the left and right fielders.

Coach Amicone went to the second-base umpire and told him the ball had gone over the fence without bouncing, so it was a home run. The second-base umpire met with the home-plate umpire, and they decided since it was a judgment call, he had to leave the Louisiana Tech player at second base.

Later in the game the umpire told BYU’s catcher that he had never seen anyone come to an umpire to tell him the ball went over the fence as a home run when the call was favorable to their team. He was amazed by the honesty of the players. In all his experience he had never seen anything like that before.

Elizabeth Ann Whitney, wife of Newel K. Whitney, recalled, "One night when the mob were in search of the Prophet, and he had taken refuge in my home, the little children gathered in one of the rooms and prayed, as they often did, that the Prophet might be unmolested and rest there in peace. They all knelt down and prayed earnestly to the Lord and said they would not rise until they had a testimony. Very soon one of the children rose from her knees,-- saying "I have the spirit, brother Joseph will be safe." The Prophet and Brother and Sister Whitney had been standing at the door and when Joseph heard this, he turned to Bishop Whitney and said, while his eyes were filled with tears: "You need not hide me to-night, I will be perfectly safe."

We were not blessed with children for fifteen years, and then we adopted a baby boy; two and a half years later I gave birth to a son. When Douglas was three, I took him to Sunday School because I had decided that my children would be taken, not sent as I had been. I had no intention of getting involved; I just wanted our two boys to get a good religious background. One of my favorite sayings was, “My bad habits hurt no one but me, but if I ever accept a call in the Church I will live the standards fully.” I felt safe, since I never intended to accept a call. But when Steven was nearly three, I was called to teach the 3-year-olds group in Junior Sunday School. With great reluctance I accepted the call; Steven wouldn’t go to Sunday School without me, so I was trapped. And I began to live the Word of Wisdom and all other commandments to the best of my ability.
Gradually I discovered that the gospel was what I needed and wanted for my family. I gained a strong testimony, went through a very painful period of repentance, and dedicated my life to the Lord. In 1956 I received my patriarchal blessing and in it the comforting assurance: “If you are faithful and prayerful the Lord shall go before you and by his messenger shall prepare the way that in due time the righteous desire of your heart, and the prayer of your life, shall be answered, and all shall be well.”
What happiness I now knew! Yet it was not without its sadness, because my dear husband would have none of it. I was stubborn and I tried to force the gospel on him. I wanted him to understand and accept this wonderful thing that I had found. With me pushing and pulling, we came close to divorce in 1958.
This crisis completely humbled me and I spent a great deal of time in prayer, putting the matter in my Heavenly Father’s hands. I knew that there must be no more pushing and pulling, no more making my husband feel guilty that he did not attend church with us. And I began trying to make a truly happy home for him. I resolved to be an exemplary and loving wife in every way and leave him his free agency. Norman, being an honorable man, held to his agreement to let me raise the boys in the Church. This was admirable, because his deep prejudice had been there since childhood. My boys and I accepted every call to serve in the Church, and we always returned home with happy smiles and love for dad. We prayed for him, fasted for him, but above all, we loved him. He was always the head of the family.
I felt I must know the gospel well in order to answer any questions Norman might ask, so for fourteen years I studied diligently—and the more I learned, the more important the gospel became. I spoke of it to him only when moved by the Spirit, and many times I received definite promptings as to what to say and when to say it. To talk about these fourteen years in just a few sentences is not really enough. There were many setbacks and much heartache, but the boys and I never ceased to live the gospel.
In 1967 Norman elected to join a religious service fraternity, and I worried that this would be one more barrier to his conversion. Strenuously, I told my objections, telling him it would lead to further prejudice against the Church. When he said he was not prejudiced, I asked, “Are you tolerant enough to go to church with me?” He didn’t answer, but later that day he said that if I really wanted him to attend, he would. So he began attending the investigators’ class in Sunday School, and within a year he was also attending sacrament meeting. Of course, the boys and I were delighted, and we will be forever grateful to the ward members for the way they welcomed him and made him a part of the ward. But through that year I could sense a great struggle going on inside him. He questioned many doctrines. (Later, when we asked him what was most instrumental in his conversion, he said that his family meant more to him than anything else, and this church’s family orientation was a strong appeal. Second, he was unable to prove the gospel wrong, so decided it must be right.) I was also gratified that we were invited to many social activities in the homes of ward members, and Norman found that we could enjoy ourselves without the need for alcoholic drinks. He also supported both boys on missions and gave brief talks in sacrament meeting prior to their leaving.
But it was the inspiring words of Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve, given at the Relief Society conference in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1971, that gave me the courage to tell my husband how I felt about him joining the Church. Among other things, Elder Packer said:
“I have often said that a man cannot resist membership if his wife really wants him to have it, and if she knows how to give him encouragement.
“If you have faith enough and desire enough, you will yet have at the head of your home a father and husband who is active and faithful in the Church.
“Some who have long since lost hope have said bitterly, ‘It would take a miracle!’ And so I say, Why not? Why not a miracle! Is there a purpose more worthy than that?
“And I repeat, if your husband doesn’t feel at home going to church, then do everything you can to make him feel at church while he’s at home.
“Sisters, make the gospel seem worthwhile to them, and then let them know that that is your purpose.
“He needs to know, he needs to be told that you care about the gospel and what it means to you.” (“Begin Where You Are—at Home,” International Magazines, July 1972.)
Now an apostle of the Lord had told me to tell my husband what it would mean to me for him to accept the gospel. What a task! In our home the gospel was never mentioned unless my husband started talking about it first. I wept, trying to figure out how I’d ever be able to do it. Then I remembered the scripture, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10). I decided once again to fast and pray and trust in the Lord. It took me until January 1972 to find the courage to speak.
Then, one night, I asked Norman if he felt he could ever accept the gospel. He gave me a firm, but not unkind, no. Taking a deep breath, I told him how much the boys and I loved him, what a fine father and husband he had been; but, I said, he was unable to give me the thing I wanted most of all. Well, I had done it! An apostle of the Lord had told me to do it. Within six months of that night, after thirty-seven years of marriage, Norman was baptized. It was indeed a miracle.
Looking back on the months following that January conversation, I can see that many things happened to bring this about. Some friends from Salt Lake City gave Norman the book, No More Strangers by Hartman and Connie Rector, and challenged Norman to take his place at the head of his family and bear the priesthood. After our younger boy’s missionary farewell, where Norman spoke briefly, Norman’s Sunday School teacher challenged him to be baptized. Steven wrote letters of encouragement and asked his dad to read the Book of Mormon. Douglas also bore testimony to him. Though Steven had left a nonmember father behind in 1972, he returned in 1974 to find his father sitting on the stand as second counselor in the bishopric.

It was like a big fair day in the town of Preston, England, that warm day of July 22, 1837. People everywhere were rejoicing as they looked forward to the rule of Queen Victoria. She had finally been crowned and, to the joy of all her people, had ordered new elections for Parliament. Everyone hoped for honesty in their new government.
The celebration was in full force. Signs reading “Truth Will Prevail!” decorated the roads. Everywhere people lined the streets, listening to bands and waving flags.
To Jed it was a time of excitement. Never in his fourteen years had he seen people look to the future with so much hope. It truly was a time of rejoicing.
In the midst of the turmoil, three modestly dressed men stood and stared at the commotion around them. Jed could tell that they were strangers, because they didn’t seem to know what the celebration was about. Then to Jed’s amazement, the men read the banners and shouted, “Amen! Thanks to God, truth will prevail!”
Jed watched them thread their way through the crowd and disappear in the jubilant throng. As the fun of the festivities continued, he forgot the men and enjoyed the rare day of vacation.
When Sunday rolled around, the excitement was still high. In Jed’s family everyone was up early, as usual, preparing for their day. Mother had a fire going in the fireplace and was cooking breakfast. Jed’s little brothers and sisters were sitting by the fire, rubbing their sleepy eyes and waiting to be fed. Jed had already been to the town pump for water. He set the buckets on the bench by the back door.
“Thank you, Jed,” Mother said. The soft Scottish lilt could still be heard in her voice, even though they’d lived in England for over ten years. “Now you can wash for breakfast.”
Jed took a basin of water up to his room. He was thankful that it was summer. Winters were so cold that he couldn’t wash fast enough! Carefully he washed, then rejoined his family.
His mother dished up a steaming bowl of porridge, which he eagerly ate, then asked for more. Mother laughed as she dished up another bowl for him. “Well, Jed, you surely have an appetite! I hope that you can last until dinnertime. Are you going to the meeting with me today?”
Before he could answer, his father came in with the milk pails. “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said. “I need the boy today. Da’s (Father’s) cow is sick, and I’ll need Jed to hold her whilst I give her the draught (medicine).”
“But, Tom,” Mother protested. “Can’t Da help you? I would really like one of you to come with me.”
“Da’s arm hasn’t healed properly,” Father answered. “He doesn’t have the strength for the job. I’m truly sorry. We’ll both try to go with you the next time.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. He knew that religion was important to her. She had been looking for the true church for years. He and Jed had gone with her from church to church, looking for the truth. She was convinced that she’d soon find it.
She smiled at her men. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Tom. And I’ll expect Jed to come too.”
She took the younger children with her. After leaving them in their Sunday School classes, she slipped into the Vauxhall Chapel to listen to Reverend James Fielding. A member of his church ever since he had started preaching there, she had been drawn to him because of his belief that the true church of Christ was not on the earth at this time but would come before the Savior returned.
Mother had listened to Reverend Fielding tell of a church in America that his brother and sisters had joined. It was reported to be like the one Christ established long ago. The minister was expecting to hear more about this church, and he had asked his congregation to pray for the truth to be brought to them.
That morning as Mother sat in the front of the chapel and listened carefully to Reverend Fielding’s sermon, he spoke forcefully about a need for prophets and a latter-day church. Then he told of three preachers here from America who were personal friends of his family in America. He invited everyone to return at three o’clock and listen to them preach.
Mother sat up even straighter in her seat. This was it! She just knew that what she’d been waiting for was about to happen. As soon as the meeting was over, she slipped out of the chapel and almost ran for home, pulling the little ones behind her.
“Tom! Jed!” she called. They still weren’t home from Da’s. Leaving ten-year-old Ann in charge, Mother ran from house to house, leaving a message with her neighbors: “Preachers from a new religion in America are going to speak at the Vauxhall Chapel. Everyone come!”
Never had she been so excited! Jed could feel the excitement when he walked through the door. Mother twirled Father around, and then Jed. “My prayers have been answered!” she exclaimed joyfully. “They’re here! The men from America. You must come with me!” After she calmed down enough to explain, they quickly agreed to go with her.
Knowing that there would be a crowd, they left early for the chapel. They found seats toward the front and squeezed in next to neighbors and friends who were already waiting eagerly for the meeting to begin.
When the hour for the meeting arrived, the door near the pulpit opened, and Reverend Fielding stepped through, followed by three men. Jed immediately recognized them as the three men he’d seen in the streets during the queen’s celebration. The sounds of “Truth will prevail!” echoed in his ears as he remembered. Now he knew what truth they had been shouting about.
He heard his mother gasp as she squeezed her husband’s arm. “Those are the men!” she whispered urgently. “The ones that I told you about—the ones in my dream!”
All around them whispers and murmurs were heard. Behind them to the left, Jed heard a man say reverently, “I saw those faces as I slept. These are the men sent to teach us the truth!”
One of the men stood up and introduced himself as Elder Heber C. Kimball. Jed didn’t know that this man was called the “Herald of Grace” by the Prophet Joseph Smith, but Jed did know that he bore a powerful testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Kimball told of John the Revelator’s prophecy that the Lord’s Church would again be restored to the earth. He explained that it was the complete church as Jesus had organized it, with apostles and prophets and so forth. He told them of the need for all people to repent, to believe in Jesus Christ, and to be baptized by someone with the divine authority to do so.
The second man, Elder Orson Hyde, bore testimony that the true Church had been restored. The third man also preached. Jed sat very still. He didn’t want to miss a single word.
It was announced that the elders would be preaching again that night. Jed and his family went to that meeting, too, and to the one held Wednesday evening.
Jed was surprised when his mother angrily announced the next day, “Reverend Fielding has refused to let the elders preach anymore in his chapel! He’s been preaching for years that the true church had to be restored. Then when it happens, he’s afraid that he’ll lose his job! Well, we who believe know what to do!”
From that night on, the American elders preached at Jed’s home and in the homes of their friends. More and more people came to listen. They were like thirsty plants drinking in pure rainwater.
The time came when Jed, Mother, and Father were to be baptized. Jed grinned later as he thought back on the first baptism in England. He and his family had attended, and two of their neighbors had a footrace to see who would be first to reach the river and have the great honor of being the first person baptized in Christ’s Church in England.
When Jed himself was baptized, he felt a glowing sensation that what he was doing was right. He remembered again the day when he saw the three elders shouting for joy in the streets that truth would prevail. He felt great joy, himself, at being there when the truth had come to England.

Now, I wish to move to a different matter. I spoke of this same thing many years ago. I repeat it because those who heard it then have long since forgotten, and those who did not hear it need to hear it. It concerns President Joseph F. Smith, who served as President of the Church from 1901 to 1918, altogether 17 years.
Joseph F. Smith was the son of Hyrum Smith, who was the brother of the Prophet Joseph and was martyred with him in Carthage. Joseph F. was born at Far West, Missouri, on November 13, 1838. He came out of Missouri as an infant. As a lad not yet six years of age, he heard a knock on the window of his mother’s home in Nauvoo. It was a man who had hurriedly ridden from Carthage and who told Sister Smith that her husband had been killed that afternoon.
When he was nine, he drove an ox team with his mother across the plains to this valley. At the age of 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He made his way to San Francisco and there worked in a shingle mill to earn enough money to buy passage to the islands.
Hawaii was not a tourist center then. It was populated by the native Hawaiians, who were, for the most part, poor but generous with what they had. He learned to speak their language and to love them. While serving there he experienced a remarkable dream. I quote from his narrative concerning this. Said he:
“I was very much oppressed [when I was] on a mission. I was almost naked and entirely friendless, except [for] the friendship of a poor, benighted … people. I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look a … man in the face.
“While in that condition I dreamed [one night] that I was on a journey, and I was impressed that I ought to hurry—hurry with all my might, for fear I might be too late. I rushed on my way as fast as I possibly could, and I was only conscious of having just a little bundle, a handkerchief with a small bundle wrapped in it. I did not realize … what it was, when I was hurrying as fast as I could; but finally I came to a wonderful mansion. … I thought I knew that was my destination. As I passed towards it, as fast as I could, I saw a notice [which read B-A-T-H], ‘Bath.’ I turned aside quickly and went into the bath and washed myself clean. I opened up this little bundle that I had, and there was [some] white, clean [clothing], a thing I had not seen for a long time, because the people I was with did not think very much of making things exceedingly clean. But my [clothing was] clean, and I put [it] on. Then I rushed to what appeared to be a great opening, or door. I knocked and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and [replied]:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’
“He clasped my hand and drew me in, then closed the great door. I felt his hand just as tangible as I ever felt the hand of man. I knew him, and when I entered I saw my father, and Brigham [Young] and Heber [C. Kimball], and Willard [Richards], and other good men that I had known, standing in a row. I looked as if it were across this valley, and it seemed to be filled with a vast multitude of people, but on the stage were all the people that I had known. My mother was there, and she sat with a child in her lap; and I could name over as many as I remember of their names, who sat there, who seemed to be among the chosen, among the exalted. …
“[When I had this dream,] I was alone on a mat, away up in the mountains of Hawaii—no one was with me. But in this vision I pressed my hand up against the Prophet, and I saw a smile cross his countenance. …
“When I awoke that morning I was a man, although only [still] a boy. There was not anything in the world that I feared [after that]. I could meet any man or woman or child and look them in the face, feeling in my soul that I was a man every whit. That vision, that manifestation and witness that I enjoyed at that time has made me what I am, if I am anything that is good, or clean, or upright before the Lord, if there is anything good in me. That has helped me out in every trial and through every difficulty” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 542–43).
The core of that meaningful dream is found in the reproof given by Joseph Smith to young Joseph F. Said the Prophet, “Joseph, you are late.”
Replied Joseph F., “Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!”
The result of that dream was that a boy was changed into a man. His declaration “I am clean” gave him self-assurance and courage in facing anyone or any situation. He received the strength that comes from a clear conscience fortified by the approbation of the Prophet Joseph.

Take for instance, Orson Hyde. Brother Hyde was a sales clerk in the village of Kirtland when he met Joseph Smith, the youthful prophet. It was to this unknown, unpromising young seller of buttons and thread and calico that Joseph, speaking in the name of the Lord, would say that he, Orson Hyde, was ordained “to proclaim the everlasting gospel, by the Spirit of the living God, from people to people, and from land to land, in the congregations of the wicked, in their synagogues, reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto them.” (D&C 68:1.)

This young man, this clerk in a village store, under the inspiration of that prophetic call, walked two thousand miles on foot through Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Maine, and New York, “reasoning with and expounding all scriptures unto” all he met.

I recall being in Orson Hyde’s home in Nauvoo, the comfortable home he left to travel to England and Germany and to visit Constantinople, [now Istanbul], Cairo, and Alexandria en route to Jerusalem where on 24 October 1841, he stood on the Mount of Olives and dedicated by the authority of the holy priesthood the land of Palestine for the return of the Jews. That was a quarter of a century before Theodor Herzl [1860–1904] undertook the work of gathering the Jews to their homeland.

Caleb waved goodbye to Mom. He and his brother and sister were going to spend a whole week at his aunt’s house. It wasn’t too far from where Caleb’s family lived in the Philippines, but it still felt like an adventure. They were going to have so much fun!
They all got in the car. Dad drove them to their aunt’s house. Caleb ran to give his aunt and his cousin a big hug.
“I missed you!” he said.
His aunt smiled. “I’ve missed you too! Come on, I made some treats for you.”
For two days, Caleb played with his siblings and cousin all day long. They played video games. They drew pictures. They ran outside. But on the third day, Caleb didn’t feel well. His body felt weak and achy.
“You must be tired from playing so much,” his aunt said. She gave him a glass of water. Caleb went to bed early.
When he woke up, he felt even worse. He could hardly move! A rash had spread all over his legs. His aunt was worried. She called Mom.
Soon Mom and Dad picked Caleb up and took him to the hospital. The doctor did some tests. He told them that Caleb had a sickness called dengue fever. It sounded scary.
“It’s good that you brought him in,” the doctor said. “He needs to stay here for a while so we can watch him.”
A nurse took them to a room with three other sick children. Mom helped Caleb get into his bed. She hugged him tightly and said a prayer. Then Mom and Dad left.
Caleb was scared. He began to sing a Primary song to help him feel better.
“Heavenly Father, are you really there?” he sang. “And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?”
The other children listened. “What was that song?” a boy asked.
“I learned it in Primary,” Caleb said. “It makes me feel brave. It reminds me that Heavenly Father is always there for me.”
“Will you please sing it again?” a girl asked. “It’s beautiful.”
As Caleb sang the song again, his fears went away.
“What’s Primary?” asked the other girl. Caleb told them all about church and Primary. He shared his testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Caleb sang Primary songs to the other kids every day until he went home. He also shared scripture stories. It made him feel better, and he knew it helped them too. He was glad he could share the gospel, even in the hospital.
This story took place in the Philippines.

What would it be like to live where Jesus lived—to walk the streets of Jerusalem or stand on the Mount of Olives? Dan Ball knows. Dan (9) and his family have been living in Jerusalem for the past year. His dad, Dr. Terry Ball, is an Assistant Professor of Ancient Scripture at the Brigham Young University Center for Near Eastern Studies there.
Dan’s favorite place in the Holy Land is the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus did much of His teaching. It is beautiful and green, and Dan loves to swim and look for crabs there with his younger brothers, Cody (4) and Alex (4). The Ball family took a boat ride across the Sea, just as Jesus and His Apostles did. While there, the Balls read about how Jesus walked on the water and calmed the waves (see Matt. 14:22–33).
Dan has also sat on the Mount of Beatitudes, near Galilee, and read Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5–7).
Another place Dan likes to go to is the ancient city of Jericho. He loves the story of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho and how the walls of that city crumbled when the children of Israel shouted and the priests blew rams’ horns (see Josh. 6). Dan also likes the story of when King Hezekiah, as a defense against possible attack from the Assyrian army, had a tunnel dug under Jerusalem to bring water into the city (see 2 Kgs. 20:20; 2 Chr. 32:1–4, 30). Dan has even waded through the tunnel himself.
He has been learning about many events that occurred in and around Jerusalem as recorded in the Old and New Testaments; he has also been learning about Jerusalem from the Book of Mormon. Lehi and his family lived in Jerusalem until the Lord commanded them to leave because the people were so wicked that He was going to destroy the city. And Nephi and his brothers returned to Jerusalem to get the brass plates from Laban and to get Ishmael and his family to go with them to the Promised Land (see 1 Ne. 2–4, 7).
Dan, his brother Christopher (15), and his sisters, Cami (16) and Carla (13), attend an international school in Jerusalem. They have friends from all over the world, including from Jerusalem itself and nearby cities. Even though many of their school friends are not members of the Church, the Ball children know that Heavenly Father loves these children just as much as anyone else. They have learned about many cultures and religions, but they’ve especially learned about the cultures of the Jewish and Palestinian people who live in the Holy Land.
Dan is trying very hard to follow the example that Jesus Christ has set for us. Last year he was baptized because he knew that that was what Jesus wanted him to do. And he was baptized in the Jordan River, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist (see Mark 1:4–11).
DeAnna, Dan’s mom, said that he worked very hard to prepare himself for baptism by learning more about the gospel and by studying the scriptures every night. “He is a wonderful example to his younger brothers,” she said. “They want to be baptized, too, when they reach the age of accountability, eight years of age.”
Easter time was very special for Dan. He learned about Palm Sunday (the Sunday before Easter), when people waved palm branches to celebrate the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem (see John 12:12–13). Dan thought a lot about Jesus Christ and His Atonement, especially when he visited the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus suffered for the sins of the world (see Matt. 26:36; Luke 22:40–45; Matt. 26:45). Dan also spent time at the Garden Tomb, where the Savior was buried after His crucifixion and where He was resurrected three days later (see John 19–20).
Living in Jerusalem has helped Dan to learn a lot about Jesus Christ. He says that the scriptures seem more real to him now, and his testimony is growing stronger every day.

Among the early Saints who gathered to Zion was Hannah Last Cornaby, who settled in Spanish Fork, Utah, USA. In the difficult early days of the restored Church, Christmas was sometimes marked with a precious orange or a carved toy or perhaps only a rag doll—but not always. Hannah wrote of December 25, 1856:
“Christmas Eve came, and my darlings, with childish faith, hung up their stockings, wondering if [they] would [be filled]. With aching heart, which I concealed from them, I assured them they would not be forgotten; and they fell asleep with joyful anticipations for the morrow.
“Not having a particle of sweetening, I knew not what to do. They must not, however, be disappointed. I then thought of some squashes in the house, which I boiled, then strained off the liquid, that, when simmered a few hours, made a sweet syrup. With this, and a little spice, I made gingerbread dough which, when cut into every conceivable variety of design, and baked in a skillet, (I had no stove,) filled their stockings and pleased them as much as would the most fancy confectionaries.”1
Between the lines of this story is an account of a mother working through the night without even an oven to ease her efforts. Yet she was committed to bring joy to her children, to reinforce their faith, to affirm in their home, “Happy day! All is well!”2 Isn’t that the message of Christmas?

One of my favorite “cry out during the night children’s stories” is about a four-year-old boy who came during the middle of the night to his parents’ bedroom, sobbing and crying. His mother put her arms around him to give comfort, saying, “What happened?”
He said, “I fell out of bed.”
She asked, “Why did you fall out of bed?”
And he cried, “Because I wasn’t in far enough.”
It has been my experience that most people who fall out of the Church do so because they were not in far enough.