Gospel Story Finder

In southern Arizona there is a prison complex operated by both federal and state agencies. This prison complex has maximum as well as minimum security prisoners in it. Once each year, for several years, the authorities have permitted members of the Church to come in and hold a conference for the inmates. I’ve had the great blessing of being there a couple of times. The last was a few years ago.

After our proper clearances, we came to the gates of the prison and were permitted in. The doors clanged behind us. You like the doors at home to close quietly, but the prison doors do not close quietly. We went into a room. It was a good-sized recreation room where we were to meet with fifty or sixty men. Appropriate guards were stationed around. There were men there who had done some very terrible things. Some would be there the rest of their lives.

As they came in, I shook hands with many of them. One—I had been his bishop many years earlier. Another—I had been his elders quorum president. Another young man reminded me that just a few short years earlier I had visited with him as a missionary as we toured one of the missions in Great Britain. These were men who had lost their priesthood, had lost their membership in the Church. Many had lost their wives and their children. These were men who were there to pay their debt to society for some horrible things.

We sang the songs of Zion. We used a little Cassio organ. One of them prayed, and then several of them were invited to speak. Each one—I think there were three or four of them who spoke—each one spoke about the Savior. Each one spoke about repentance and forgiveness and the feelings they had about the Savior. As they spoke, I felt an unusual spirit. The content of their talks was unusual, but beyond that, I was feeling stirrings inside that I hadn’t experienced very often: good feelings, warm feelings, peaceful feelings. I was confused because I couldn’t understand how, in a place like this with men who had done what they had done, I could be having the spiritual experience I was having. The meeting went on. Those of us who were called to speak finished, and the two-hour meeting was concluded.

As I got on the plane and went home, trying to understand, I turned to 3 Nephi and read the record there of the Beatitudes. Listen carefully to the words of this particular verse. I had not understood what I understand now until I had that experience: “And blessed are all they who do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled with the Holy Ghost” (3 Nephi 12:6).

The scripture does not say “blessed are the righteous for they shall be filled.” That’s obvious. But the scripture says blessed are they who want to be—blessed are they who want more than anything else to be righteous. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness. That’s the center focus of coming unto Christ.

After reading that verse, I began to understand why I was having such an experience in a place like that with men who will pay their debt to society. These were men who were now learning repentance and were participants in the process of “Coming unto Christ.”

But being an all-star can go to your head. Every now and then Scott has to remind himself what’s really important.
“Once you put the hockey jacket on it’s instant popularity,” he says after practice. Scott’s with his older brother, Troy. They sit cross-legged in their basement, trading hockey cards and playing video hockey. “Some of the guys think they’re pretty hot. Once in a while I might join them and put somebody down—let it go to my head. When I put somebody down I always end up thinking about my brother, Troy.”
Troy, 17, has had a slight motor-skills problem and learning disorder since birth. It’s not serious enough to affect his life much, but it does make him a little different from the other kids. “When he was in elementary school he got picked on a lot,” adds Scott. “I think about that and stop. I try to get the others to stop, too.”

As I think of home teaching, I am reminded of a man by the name of Johann Denndorfer from Debrecen, Hungary. He had been converted to the Church years before in Germany, and now, following World War II, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his own land of Hungary. How he longed for contact with the Church. Then his home teachers visited. Brother Walter Krause and his companion went from the northeastern portion of Germany all the way to Hungary to fulfill their home teaching assignment. Before they left from their homes in Germany, Brother Krause had said to his companion, “Would you like to go home teaching with me this week?”
His companion asked, “When will we leave?”
Brother Krause’s response: “Tomorrow.”
Then came the question, “When will we come back?”
Brother Krause did not hesitate; he said, “Oh, in about a week.”
And away they went to visit Brother Denndorfer and others. Brother Denndorfer had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw the servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed. He did not shake hands with them; rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a secret hiding place his tithing that he had saved for years. This tithing he gave to his home teachers, and then he said, “Now I can shake your hands.”

Gene Perrett, comedy writer and humorist, said, “Humor is serious business.” He is a writer for many of the top comedians. He shared an experience Bob Hope had:
Bob Hope was to present an award to a gentleman by the name of Charlie Boswell. . . . Charlie Boswell was this country’s outstanding blind golfer. That’s what the award was for. These gentlemen play a great game of golf. They have an assistant line the club up, but they swing themselves, and they hit the ball a ton. They really play a great game.
When he got to the podium, Bob Hope couldn’t resist kidding him a little bit. He said, “Outstanding blind golfer, huh. I’d like to play you sometime.” Charlie Boswell said, “Mr. Hope, I would love to play you a round of golf.” Hope said, “I don’t think you understand. I only play for money.” Charlie Boswell said, “I like to have a little side bet going, too. It makes things more interesting.” And Hope said, “But what kind of a handicap would I have to give you?” Charlie said, “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Hope, I’ll play you even up.” Hope was delighted. He said, “What time?” Charlie Boswell said, “Midnight.”. . .

Let me share with you some things I have discovered over the years, especially while I was involved in football. I didn’t have much confidence, but I wanted to play almost more than anything else. The coach told us to eat a lot of beans and drink lots of milk. I didn’t like milk, but I drank it. I really wasn’t all that hot on beans, but I persuaded Mom to make a pot as often as I could. The coach said to be in bed by 9:30, and I was in bed by 9:30. It wasn’t hard to do because the desire to play overshadowed all these little things. One thing the coach asked me to do that I couldn’t do was work out on Sunday. He had asked each player to do calisthenics on an individual basis on Sunday. In this thing I followed the teachings of the Church.

At regular football practice I would do every calisthenic exercise the best I possibly could. I felt like I needed to do more than the other guy because he had more talent than I did. I only remember missing one football practice in three years, with the exception of when I broke my leg. The one practice I missed was for my grandmother’s funeral. And even at that age I hoped the funeral would be at a time other than practice. For four weeks after I broke my leg I would go out and watch the team play. After four weeks I persuaded the doctor to take the cast off, and six weeks after my leg had been broken I had the privilege of playing in another game.

It sounded like a typical service project: round up a group of Relief Society sisters to put on a short choir program at a local hospital’s respite care center, though no one from our ward was a patient there.
We found ourselves crammed into a small room with nine elderly patients facing us in their wheelchairs. Their faces seemed blank, empty of expression. It was hot and stuffy, and I thought, “Let’s get this over with.”
I was to lead the music, so I turned my back to the patients and concentrated on the program. As we began, I heard one patient calling, “Mama, Mama,” while another clapped and made noises. I felt uncomfortable, but in a few minutes we would finish and go home.
As we prepared to sing our last hymn, “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), we invited the patients and medical personnel to join with us. I turned around to lead everyone in the singing, and that’s when I saw her—a tiny, wrinkled, white-haired lady with a lap full of tissues wet with her tears.
She motioned for me to come to her. I did so, and when I bent my head to listen, she took my hand. Her whole body trembled as she whispered, “I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s so wonderful to have my sisters come.”
The Spirit filled my soul, and I knelt beside her, tears streaming from my eyes. She put a frail arm around me and patted me as if she understood my emotions. Everyone began singing the hymn, but I couldn’t get the first verse out.
As the patients and staff sang of God’s greatness, the Spirit filled the room, and all were touched. I finally gained control of my feelings and joined the others, singing:
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, “My God, how great thou art!”
After the program the Relief Society sisters mingled with the patients and staff. The white-haired sister told us she had been lonely and had felt surrounded by strangers until we came. We didn’t know she would be there, but Heavenly Father did.
I was reminded that all of these people were our brothers and sisters, that they needed love and comfort, and that someday I could be in their place. I was touched that we could be instruments of a loving Father, and I was grateful that our service project had taught me a powerful lesson about love.

Ramona Morris was born into a Christian home with parents who attended the Methodist church. During her late teens, she stopped attending regularly because she felt that church was more about money and people’s status than about Jesus Christ. Following some disappointing experiences with a few churches, Ramona stopped attending for a while.
One day, years after giving up on organized religion, she saw the movie Meet the Mormons. She didn’t give much thought to it. Shortly after that, she saw some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints sheltering on her gallery, or porch, from the rain. As a kind gesture, she gave them an umbrella.
Ramona and the missionaries exchanged the umbrella several times over the coming weeks. Eventually, the missionaries asked if she would be interested in learning about the gospel. At first, she told them no but came around after discovering that her grandmother had listened to a couple of lessons from two missionaries while in England working as a nurse after leaving Barbados as a part of the Windrush generation. However, she was naturally still a little nervous because 90 percent of her family was Methodist.
The new church was five minutes from her grandmother’s home near Rendezvous Hill. It had always been a source of curiosity, but she had never felt prompted to attend or to ask questions. “I asked the missionaries to give me the gospel lessons,” she recalls, “but it wasn’t easy with so many of my family being Methodists.”
The lessons began, but progress was slow. “I think the missionaries were going to drop me soon,” she shared, recalling her slowness of understanding the gospel. The missionaries asked me to go to church many times, but I didn’t want to go because I was afraid my family would find out I left my childhood religion.”
A few weeks later, she informed the missionaries that she would be traveling. The pair then gave her some homework. “I was planning on going on a cruise,” she said, “and the missionaries asked me to read the Book of Mormon during the week. I agreed just to get them to stop asking me.”
While on the cruise, she lost an expensive camera lens and had a massive panic attack in front of the dining area passengers. With the help of another passenger and a Barbadian waiter, she was able to locate the equipment in the ship’s lost and found.
Once she had returned to her room, she told her mother what had happened. Right then, she laid her hand on the Book of Mormon. She felt peaceful and began reading it. “Two months later I was baptized.”
Ramona’s mother came to the baptism after seeing the transformation in her daughter and was impressed by what she saw. “She liked the feeling she got when she was at the church and realized that it was different,” said Ramona.
Her mother started taking missionary lessons and was baptized four months after Ramona and a few days before her daughter’s birthday.
During the following year, Ramona enjoyed a temple trip to the Dominican Republic for a young single adult conference. “It was a special experience for me, even though I was sad because my grandmother had just passed away.” Reflecting on her experience, she added, “Later, during FSY (For the Strength of Youth) 2019, I was able to go and complete my grandmother’s temple work in the Dominican Republic. It was very emotional for me,” Ramona said.
Ramona had been her grandmother’s caretaker during the last part of her life. During that time, “I was going through a difficult time when my grandmother passed in 2018, I needed something to help me get out of the way I was feeling.”
Knowing her situation and needs, her missionary friends suggested she investigate The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints’ Pathway program. At first, the program wasn’t available in Barbados. This program is now called PathwayConnect and has grown from 50 students in three U.S. cities to tens of thousands of students in numerous locations worldwide.
Today, Ramona has a year left before she graduates with a bachelor’s in marriage and family studies. “I’m so grateful I kept on pushing through, especially in the difficult times,” she said.
She plans to continue her schooling until she has her master’s degree in marriage and family therapy. Ramona now teaches others about PathwayConnect while she continues her own educational goals.

When one woman visited Sequoia National Park in the western United States, she was astonished to learn that giant redwood trees have no major taproot to hold them deep in the ground. How is it possible, she asked, for the top-heavy trees to keep from falling when severe winds come? The guide responded that the trees grow close together. Their roots, although near the surface, intertwine with those of the other trees. A tree standing alone could fall. But the interconnected trees in a grove support each other well.

André
On our move to Maryland, I was driving while Giselle slept. It was early in the morning when I saw the Washington D.C. Temple.
“Wake up! Wake up! Can you see it?” I said to Giselle. “It’s like a castle!”
Giselle
I told André that maybe we could go and visit one day. We had no idea what it was. A few days after arriving in Maryland, I went to the library to use the internet to apply for jobs and check my email.
A lady who worked there heard my accent and asked where I was from. I told her I was from Brazil and we started to talk. Her name was Edna. I told her we had just moved from Michigan and mentioned where we lived.
“I live in the same apartments,” Edna said.
When I went back to the library the next day, Edna said, “I’m so glad you’re back. I want to invite you and your husband to my house for dinner.”
I thought that was strange because she didn’t know me. Then she said, “I prayed about you because I felt something really special when I met you yesterday.”
We went to her house and learned that her husband had recently passed away. After dinner, she played, “Lord, I Would Follow Thee” (Hymns, no. 220) on the piano. She said it was her husband’s favorite hymn and it was played at his funeral. Then she talked to us about the plan of salvation and invited us to go to church with her.
We went to church, and the people there were welcoming. We decided to go the next Sunday. We agreed to have the missionary lessons. Edna offered to have the lessons at her house. For five months we went to church every Sunday. Our hearts and spirits were being prepared for baptism.
André
When our baptism was announced, everyone looked surprised. “Wow, you’re not members?” they said. “But you’re here every week!” Our baptism was special. Almost the whole ward attended.
We were sealed in the Washington D.C. Temple one year later. When we went to the temple, we realized that it was the castle we saw over a year earlier!

“Come, Patrick,” the old shepherd called to the boy who was warming his hands by the roaring fire, “time to climb the hill for the night.”
The boy stood up and, wrapping the bearskin cloak around him, answered, “Coming, sir.” Obediently, he followed the old man away from the warmth of the fire into the cold blackness of the surrounding countryside.
“It’s been a hard winter,” the old man said to Patrick as they trudged up the steep hill, “but you’ve learned your job well, and you haven’t complained about the cold or the long nights. When it is time for me to report to our king, I will tell him what a good servant he has in you.”
“Thank you,” the boy replied, “but I like the sheep. Caring for them is not hard for me. As for the cold,” he shrugged his strong young shoulders, “one learns to live with it. No use complaining.”
They reached the top of the hill and approached the fire that the day shepherd had lit as soon as the sun had started to set.
“Ho, Finn!” the old man called.
“Ho, Ober!” came the answer from a man kneeling by the fire. “I am very glad you are here. I fear my old bones are nearly frozen.” He smiled up at Patrick. “Ho, lad. Mind this fire tonight. Don’t let it die down. Listen.”
Patrick strained his ears. Mixed with the low whistle of the icy wind came another sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
“A-ooooooooo,” it sounded again from the distance, low and ghostly.
“Wolves,” Patrick whispered.
“Yes, boy,” old Finn agreed. “It’s been a hard winter for them too. One or two young sheep would make them a real banquet. Keep a sharp eye out.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going down now. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Finn. We’ll see you at dawn,” Ober answered.
“You make the rounds to the west tonight, and I’ll make them to the east,” Ober instructed Patrick.
“Yes, sir.” Patrick picked up a pine stick and stuck it into the fire until the end blazed. Using it for a light, he set off into the inky darkness to check his master’s flock of sheep. He whistled his own little tune, so the sheep would know it was he who walked among them and not be frightened. Now and then he stopped to pat a woolly head.
It was on these dark, lonesome rounds that Patrick most missed his homeland and his family. It had been two years now since that night when he had been carried away by the strange and wild boatmen and transported to this harsh land. It had been two years of service to the king; two years of learning, growing, and longing to return to his home. But I must not let myself feel sad, he inwardly scolded.
Patrick finished checking the sheep and started back to the fire. “I must do my job while I look for a chance to get home again—somehow—someday,” he murmured.
Ober was sitting by the fire when Patrick returned.
“All’s well,” he said.
“It may be, lad, but keep the fire up. Those wolves seem bold tonight.”
“Would they come so close to the fire and humans, sir? I always thought wolves were wild and stayed well back in the forest.”
“They do, mostly,” Ober answered, “except when a winter like this one comes along, and there’s no game left in the forest for them. Hunger is a powerful thing, Patrick. I’ve lost many a sheep close to the fire on a winter night such as this.”
Ober and Patrick leaned against the big trees near the fire. Patrick stomped his feet to keep them from freezing. Something caught his eye on the other side of the fire. It was a strange, small gleam of light. No, two small gleams, like summer fireflies. Now there were four, now six!
Patrick’s heart thumped hard in his chest with a sudden fear. He knew what those lights were—firelight glinting in wolves’ eyes.
“Ober!” Patrick shouted. “Look!” As he shouted, a low growling came from where the small, hard lights gleamed.
“It’s a pack of them,” Ober called back. “Run, Patrick. It may be your only chance. It will be impossible for only two people to keep them from the sheep.”
“And leave you alone, sir?” Patrick asked, certain he had misunderstood.
“I’m an old man,” Ober answered, “and a servant like yourself, Patrick. I must stay and defend our king’s sheep, even if it means death for me.”
Patrick looked over at Ober. The old man had been his teacher, but, more than that, he had been Patrick’s friend ever since the king’s boatmen had captured him and brought him to this strange land. Run away and leave Ober here to fight the wolves alone? Run, even if it might mean a chance to escape? he asked himself.
“If you must stay, then so must I,” Patrick said firmly.
He looked up at the brittle black sky where tiny cold stars flashed. “Help me in this strange land,” Patrick seemed to say as he gazed toward the heavens. Then he grabbed a flaming pine bough in one hand and a heavy, club-like stick in the other. Hollering and shouting, he ran toward the growling pack of wolves.
He swung his club. Back and forth he passed the burning stick, all the time stomping and shouting. The startled wolves growled deeper and bared their yellowed teeth at him, but, helped by Ober, Patrick managed to drive them back, farther and farther.
At last the leader of the wolf pack, with a nasty, helpless snarl, turned and ran off into the trees. For a moment the others growled and snapped at Patrick’s club as he swung it at them. Then they, too, followed their leader into the trees.
“Well done, Patrick!” Ober thumped the young boy on the back soundly. “What a brave lad you are. You fought with the strength of ten men, and you saved the sheep. I would not have thought it possible that you could do it. It is truly miraculous!” Ober hugged the boy happily.
“We did it together, Ober.” Patrick smiled at the old man. Then he lifted his face to the stars and said quietly, “Together.”

1. Alexander’s breathing sounds funny. What’s wrong?
I’m not sure. Before Daddy goes to work, we’ll ask him to check Alexander.
2. Dad walked into the room wearing his doctor’s coat. Because Dad was a doctor, he was often able to help Kiersty and her baby brother feel better.
3. Dad checked Alexander.
Kiersty, you’ll need to come to the hospital with Mommy and Alexander so we can take some X-rays.
OK. But are you going to give him a blessing first?
Of course, Sweetie.
4. Kiersty knew that because Dad held the priesthood, he could give people blessings to help them. She closed her eyes and folded her arms as Dad placed his hands on Alexander’s head and gave him a blessing.
5. After the blessing, the family got into the car to go to the hospital. Kiersty sat in the backseat beside Alexander. She hoped he would start to feel better.
6. At the hospital, Dad and another doctor took Alexander to a special room. Mom and Kiersty sat and waited in big blue chairs. Kiersty looked at a book.
7. A little while later, Kiersty saw a doctor carrying Alexander as he walked down the hallway toward them. Dad walked with him.
Is this your brother?
Yes.
He is just fine.
8. The blessing worked. We need to thank Heavenly Father.
You are right, Kiersty.

During Primary opening exercises, Sister Ashbourne, the Primary president, held up a painting of Jesus Christ.
Dustin liked that picture of Jesus. His family had the same picture in their home. It had a special place over the piano.
A white cardboard mat surrounded the picture. “We’d like everyone to sign his or her name on the mat,” Sister Ashbourne said. “That way we’ll frame Jesus with our love. We’ll take it to each classroom so all the children and teachers can sign it.”
Dustin struggled with his handwriting. A third grader, he was learning cursive writing, but a learning disability slowed his progress. His hand shook each time he had to write in cursive. He was nervous about the idea of signing the mat.
The Primary presidency brought the picture to Dustin’s class. Sister Beeker, his teacher, passed the mat to the children. Each one took a turn signing it. When it was Dustin’s turn, he hesitated.
“I don’t write very well,” he whispered to Sister Beeker.
“You can print your name if you feel more comfortable,” she said.
Dustin looked down at his feet. He didn’t want to admit that his printing was not much better than his cursive writing.
“Do you think Jesus cares how good your handwriting is?” Sister Beeker asked gently.
Dustin thought about it. He knew that Jesus loved everyone. “No,” he admitted.
His teacher nodded encouragingly. “That’s right. Do you know what Jesus does care about?”
Dustin shook his head.
“He cares that you’re here in church. He cares that you love Him and honor Him. He cares that you treat others kindly.” She handed the pen to Dustin.
Dustin smiled at Sister Beeker. “Thank you,” he said. He wrote his name the best he could and gave the mat back to his teacher.
The following week, Sister Ashbourne showed the painting in the mat and frame to the entire Primary. “We’ll hang it right here,” she said, pointing to the front wall of the room, “where we can see it every week.”
Dustin looked at Jesus’s face, which seemed to shine with love, and he felt a warm glow in his own heart.

I last felt this way in August 1966, when I was taking prelim exams in economics at the University of Chicago. The purpose of the exams was to ascertain whether or not one could continue on in the doctoral program and whether or not there would be a fellowship for the next year. It was well known that about half of the class failed the exam each time. Fortunately you could take these two four-hour exams over again in six months if you failed, but the exams were a terrifying experience. The stench of fear of failure and feelings of inadequacy were all about me as I took those exams. So, try to recall how you felt when taking the exam for which you were the least prepared. That is the feeling I have here at this podium when I think of the wonderful messages and ideas that have been expressed here.

Three weeks ago, I had the privilege of meeting a very unusual convert, a former Protestant minister. This young man, as I was told, upon completion of his training for the ministry, became a spokesman for his church against the Mormons. He studied carefully the anti-mormon literature and developed powerful presentations to discredit the Church. In time he became rather popular and famous. I am told that on one occasion he attended a lecture given by an LDS professor. He was impressed by what he heard and stayed after class to meet the Mormon instructor. He proceeded to tell the professor of his work, his special ministry in opposition to the Mormon faith. The professor listened politely and responded somewhat like this: “I suspect you should do what you think is right; however, be certain that what you teach about Mormonism is true.”

The minister could not get these words of the professor out of his mind. A few days later he revisited the Mormon and invited him to read and criticize the text of his anti-Mormon talks, stating that he was sincere in his desire to teach the truth. As you might guess, the professor found a few errors in the material and proceeded to make the necessary corrections. He also suggested that the minister might obtain further truth about Mormonism by attending meetings of the Church, listening to the missionaries, and fellowshipping with the Saints in that particular area. He did all of these things and more. The time came when truth overcame error, and prejudice was replaced by understanding and love.

Allow me to describe the concluding scene of this conversion story as it was told me. A great high priest, one of the finest missionaries I know, visited the minister and invited him to be baptized. The minister admitted that he knew the Church was true, but evaded the baptism issue by saying that he did not want to break up his marriage.

“Well,” said the high priest, “have you spoken with your wife about joining the Church?”

“No,” he said, “I haven’t dared to do so.”

“Do it now,” urged the Church member.

So he did; he called his wife into the room and announced his desire to become a Mormon. The wife—and I should say that she had been fellowshipped well by the Relief Society sisters—flew across the room and jumped into her husband’s arms, exclaiming. “I’ve been waiting weeks to hear you say this!” As I said earlier, I met and visited briefly with this remarkable couple. Their expression of testimony to me was simply, “We have never known such joy.”

When I enrolled in a philosophy class in high school, my dad was a little concerned. In philosophy, everything is questioned, including the existence of God. My teacher taught us things that go against religion and deny God’s existence.
One philosophy test asked, “Why have we come to the earth?” The answer I was supposed to give was so that we could become self-actualized and take our place in the circle of life. I didn’t write that answer because it’s not what I believe.
Instead, I wrote, “We have come to the earth to be tested and to return to live with our Father in Heaven for eternity with our families.”
Afterward, the teacher called me up and asked me if I knew the correct answer to the question. I told him I did but that I wasn’t going to write something I knew was untrue.
He asked me if I was religious and which church I belonged to. I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He told me that he had never known any religious student who was courageous enough to stand up for his beliefs and write such an answer.
“I did not give you full credit because your answer wasn’t the correct one,” he said. “But I gave you points for having the courage to write what you believe.”
I was happy because I had answered according to my convictions and according to the gospel truths I know and am trying to live.
Benjamin M., Chile

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.

I had 467 full-time missionaries given to me over a period of three years. What a glorious experience. I remember I hadn’t been in New England more than an hour when the telephone rang. On the line was an elder I hadn’t met yet, an elder who had been in the mission field just one week. He had some concerns, as sometimes missionaries do, and he wanted to go home. He didn’t just say, “I want to go home.” He announced he was going. He was a small young man in stature, quite good-looking, and a sharp athlete; but he was born with a handicap, and this was one of his barriers. He had only half a larynx. When he spoke he spoke with a harsh voice, and people often made fun of him. He announced on the phone, “President Dunn, I just called to tell you I’m going home tonight, so don’t try to stop me.”
I said, “Well, at least pay me the courtesy of coming over and getting acquainted and saying good-bye.”
“All right, I’ll come by on my way to the airport.”
He came over. In the meantime, I checked his file and found among other things one thing in my favor—he wanted to be an athlete. He was a good one. He wanted to make a career out of sports. I sat him down. He said, “Now, President, you’re not going to talk me into staying.”
I said, “Didn’t intend to. Tell me your problem.”
He said, “It’s very simple. I don’t have a testimony. I don’t believe in the Lord. Furthermore, and you’ll learn sometime, my home life hasn’t been what it ought to be. I hate my dad, I hate my mother, I hate this Church, I hate this mission, and I already hate you.”
I thought, “Well, this is a thrilling challenge; first day on your mission and you’ve got a young man thinking like this.” I said, “I don’t know what all the circumstances are, but let me tell you something. The Lord lives, and he loves you. Your parents, for reasons you can’t fully comprehend, love you. This Church loves you, this mission loves you, and I like you a little bit. Now,” I said, “you can walk out of this mission anytime you want; but I don’t think you’re going to and let me tell you why. You’re not a quitter. You may have a lot of hang-ups and problems, but you’re not a quitter. I noticed from your athletic record that you don’t quit. Let me tell you something you may not know. I played professional baseball for a number of years and found myself behind in early and middle innings of many a ball game. If you were my coach, and we were behind five to two in the seventh inning, and I came to you and said, ‘Coach, let’s get out of here while we can and save face,’ what would you say?”
He said, “We’ve got two more innings to catch up and win.”
I said, “Exactly, and a mission is no different!”
“Well,” he said, “that’s baseball.”
I said, “No, it isn’t. The game of life plays by the same rules and principles. I just don’t think you’re going to quit because you’re not that kind of player. There’s the door. You can go if you must, but I don’t think you will.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll try it one more week.”
“Fine. One more week. You call me next week, and we’ll talk about it.”
He called me the next week, and he gave me the same dialogue. He didn’t even miss a line. He had it out again, and would you believe for the next 103 weeks. Every week, through the mail, in person, on the phone, “I’m going, President!”
“So long, Elder; but I don’t think you are.”
And then it happened, the 104th week. Another phone call and he said, “I’ve got to tell you. It happened. I got the spirit!” And he told me of some very special experiences he had had that week, how the Lord had answered his prayers and how he received a testimony. Through real hardship and prayers he got an answer.
The following Sunday he came into the mission home for his last evening prior to his departure home. We used to have a simple ceremony when a group departed; and when it came time for him to speak he said, “Can I say something, President?”
I said, “You haven’t hesitated up to now. What do you want to tell us?”
He said, “You know what I found out this week? I’ve found what a testimony is. I believe in the Lord. He lives, and I love him. I love my mom and dad. I love this Church. I love this mission, and I kind of like you.”

As a 17-year-old nursing student, I found my second year of college a challenging one. (In the Philippines we finish high school at age 16.) I found the endless quizzes, research projects, and reading assignments to be exhausting. I felt as though I always had dark circles under my eyes, since I normally got little sleep. Despite the heavy workload, I always tried to remember that “sacrifice brings forth the blessings of heaven.”1
I knew that if I worked hard, I would have a better future. Whenever I wanted to give up and go to bed without studying, I imagined how sad and defeated I would feel the next day if I did poorly on a quiz or assignment. This was enough motivation to keep me awake so I could study.
Many of my classmates were upset when they got a low score on a quiz. However, they did not want to work and study hard. As a result, students would often “help” one another by sharing answers during quizzes or tests, allowing others to look at their papers when the professor wasn’t watching. I was often tempted to do the same, but I never dared. I have read countless times in Church magazines that members of the Church should have high standards, which means no cheating. So I studied hard and resisted the temptation, even though this sometimes meant getting lower grades than my classmates, since they had each other’s help.
On one particular day I had classes from 7:00 in the morning until 7:00 in the evening, and I had a quiz scheduled in each class. I studied 10 pages for my first quiz alone. “How will I get through all this?” I wondered. Thankfully, I did well on my first quiz. During lunch I studied for my next one. When I went to class and started the quiz, I realized that I knew the answers to every question but one. “How can this be?” I thought. “I’ve studied hard for this quiz. I should know this answer!”
As I tapped my pen furiously on my chair, it occurred to me that it would take just a moment to turn my head, give my hair a flip, and dart my eyes toward my classmate’s answer. “I could do this just once,” I thought, “and I’ll ace the quiz. Just once won’t hurt. Besides, it’s so unfair for me. I study hard, yet I get lower grades than my classmates because I don’t cheat!” Still, I felt uncomfortable. I fidgeted in my chair, trying to make a choice: to cheat or not to cheat.
Then a voice inside me said, “No, Shery! Cheating is wrong, and you know it!” Suddenly I realized that even if I got a perfect score on the quiz, I wouldn’t feel good about my score if I cheated. My Heavenly Father was counting on me to make the right choice—this choice was the real test.
Just then a scripture I’d learned in Sunday School came to my mind: “How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?” (Genesis 39:9). I knew that Heavenly Father had helped me through countless challenges, including many quizzes and school assignments. How could I forget all He had done for me and choose to sin?
To this day I can’t remember the result of that particular quiz. Whether I came up with the answer or not, I can’t recall. But I have always remembered that I felt good for making the right choice.
Now as a junior I still face the same mountain of schoolwork and the same temptations; however, choosing not to cheat isn’t difficult because I’ve made that choice already, at a time when the temptation was hard to resist. I’ve learned that the joy and satisfaction of getting high grades is greater when I work hard and earn it. Wickedness, indeed, never was happiness (see Alma 41:10). True happiness is found in keeping the commandments and following the counsel of our prophet and other Church leaders. I truly believe the words “Keep the commandments. In this there is safety and peace.”2

Sandy Yang, the Beehive president, is also doing her best to be a good example, though she says it is more difficult to share the gospel with her family than with her friends. Her parents divorced when she was eight years old. “It was hard, but I felt the warmth of Jesus Christ, and I knew everything was going to be okay,” she says. “I started to come to church more, and I learned the divorce was not about me. It was about my parents.” Sandy’s father is no longer active in the Church, but her mother and some of her brothers and sisters are. She says it’s her testimony that takes her through the hard times and keeps her coming.

He also saw the gathering from every land when we didn’t have temples outside of Utah. When I filled my first mission in Holland, back in 195­7, as soon as we’d bring new converts into the Church, the first thing they wanted to do was to come to Zion. I was the secretary of the mission, and on our mission books we had many accounts of our people, humble people there, saving their money by nickels and dimes till they could get enough to come to Zion. I had a very earnest investigator, a businessman, who said, “I’ll never join your church.”

I said, “Why?”

“I don’t want to go to America.”

I said, “Good for you. You just join the Church and stay right here and help strengthen these branches.” He’d been a member only a few months when he came to me one day and said, “Brother Richards, I have a chance to sell my business.”

“What do you want to sell your business for?”

“Oh, I want to go to Zion.” And he came. They’d sell everything they had—their furniture and everything—and leave their loved ones and come to Zion. Isaiah saw all of this when he said that all nations should flow unto the mountain of the Lord.