Gospel Story Finder

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”
Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”
Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”
Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”
Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.
“Yes?” Grandpa called out.
“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”
“Sure.”
With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”
Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.
“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”
“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”
“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”
“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”
“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.
“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”
“Who?” Mom questioned.
“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”
Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.
“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”
“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’”
“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”
“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”
“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”
Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.
“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”
Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.
“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.
“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”
“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

Some years ago, as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee asked him, “What happens to you, Clark, when you turn 12?” This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Without hesitation Clark said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon.”

The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

After the fall harvest, Josiah Stowell and Joseph Knight traveled to the Manchester area on business. Both men knew that the fourth anniversary of Joseph’s visit to the hill was at hand, and they were eager to know whether Moroni would finally trust him with the plates.
Local treasure seekers also knew it was time for Joseph to get the record. Lately one of them, a man named Samuel Lawrence, had been roaming the hill, searching for the plates. Worried that Samuel would cause trouble, Joseph sent his father to Samuel’s house on the evening of September 21 to keep an eye on him and confront him if it looked like he was going to the hill.20
Joseph then readied himself to retrieve the plates. His yearly visit to the hill was to take place the next day, but to keep ahead of the treasure seekers, he planned to arrive at the hill shortly after midnight—just as the morning of September 22 was beginning—when no one expected him to be out.
But he still needed to find a way to protect the plates once he got them. After most of the family had gone to bed, he quietly asked his mother if she had a lockbox. Lucy did not have one and got worried.
“Never mind,” Joseph said. “I can do very well just now without it.”21
Emma soon appeared, dressed for riding, and she and Joseph climbed into Joseph Knight’s carriage and set out into the night.22 When they arrived at the hill, Emma waited with the carriage while Joseph climbed the slope to the place where the plates were hidden.
On the night of September 22, 1827, Joseph and Emma drove a carriage to this hill, where the Book of Mormon plates were buried. After obtaining the plates, Joseph hid them in a hollow log for a time to protect them from treasure seekers.
Moroni appeared, and Joseph lifted the gold plates and seer stones from the stone box. Before Joseph set off down the hill, Moroni reminded him to show the plates to no one except those the Lord appointed, promising him that the plates would be protected if he did all within his power to preserve them.
“You will have to be watchful and faithful to your trust,” Moroni told him, “or you will be overpowered by wicked men, for they will lay every plan and scheme that is possible to get them away from you. And if you do not take heed continually, they will succeed.”23
Joseph carried the plates down the hill, but before he reached the carriage, he secured them in a hollow log where they would be safe until he obtained a lockbox. He then found Emma, and they returned home as the sun began to rise.24
At the Smith home, Lucy waited anxiously for Joseph and Emma while she served breakfast to Joseph Sr., Joseph Knight, and Josiah Stowell. Her heart beat rapidly while she worked, fearful that her son would return without the plates.25
A short time later, Joseph and Emma came into the house. Lucy looked to see if Joseph had the plates but left the room trembling when she saw his empty hands.
Joseph followed her. “Mother,” he said, “do not be uneasy.” He handed her an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Through the fabric, Lucy felt what seemed to be a large pair of spectacles. They were the Urim and Thummim, the seer stones the Lord had prepared for translating the plates.26
Lucy was elated. Joseph looked as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But when he joined the others in the house, he made a sad face and ate his breakfast in silence. After he finished, he leaned his head forlornly on his hand. “I am disappointed,” he said to Joseph Knight.
“Well,” the older man said, “I am sorry.”
“I am greatly disappointed,” Joseph repeated, his expression changing to a smile. “It is ten times better than I expected!” He went on to describe the size and weight of the plates and talked excitedly about the Urim and Thummim.
“I can see anything,” he said. “They are marvelous.”27

At 12:51 p.m. on February 22, 2011, a magnitude 6.3 earthquake caused severe damage in Christchurch, New Zealand. One hundred eighty-five people were killed, and several thousand were injured. The fear and chaos in the city were palpable. It took me several hours of driving through rubble to collect my children from their schools and find my husband, who had been in the part of the city where the most damage occurred.
Once back at our home, we needed to decide what to do. It wasn’t safe to stay, so that same afternoon we hurriedly packed a few belongings and started driving north. We didn’t realize that we would experience many miracles along the way.
As we left the city, our van was nearly out of fuel, but we were able to get petrol at the first gas station to reopen. Our van was also struggling mechanically, so we dropped it off at a garage for repair. When we picked it up, the mechanic didn’t charge us, saying he wanted to help those who had been impacted by the earthquake. Friends and family showed us kindness, helping to calm us and our children.
We eventually drove to Hamilton, over 500 miles (800 km) to the north of Christchurch. Our young family was able to stay in one of the student dorms of a decommissioned school next to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple. It was there at the foot of the temple that we tried to help our children heal from the trauma of being earthquake refugees.
I remember looking up at the spire of the temple and taking a deep breath before stepping inside, as it took courage to convince myself that it too wouldn’t fall like the many buildings that had collapsed in our home city. In the temple lobby, the Spirit brought us peace as we planned our next steps: how we would start to make order out of chaos and move forward in our lives.
Early in the Restoration, the Lord declared, “I command you to build a house unto me, for the gathering together of my saints, that they may worship me” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:8). The Lord explained that this gathering of the Saints would be “for a defense, and for a refuge from the storm” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:6). In the aftermath of an earthquake, the Hamilton Temple was a gathering place of refuge for my family.

Our family—my parents, my brother, and me—prepared for a long time so that my brother could serve a mission. Whenever we would talk about him being a missionary, I would joke with him, saying I wouldn’t miss him and that I would be glad to be alone.
The day finally came for him to send in his missionary papers. He had tried to do well in school, and we had all worked hard to save money for his mission.
One day the stake president called us and said the call had arrived. My brother decided to open the letter after dinner at home. He was called to serve in the Mexico City East Mission.
Not long after that we dropped him off at the airport and said goodbye. On the way home my mother could not stop her tears, but I did not cry. But only two hours later, when I was in the room I used to share with my brother, I suddenly realized that I would not see him again for a long time. Then I was the one who could not stop my tears, and I let myself cry and cry. My parents hugged and comforted me, and we all felt great joy and great sadness at the same time.
Since that day, I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to take care of my brother as he serves.
My brother taught me that I must also prepare for a mission. I must be worthy to receive the priesthood, attend seminary, and achieve the goals in Fulfilling My Duty to God. He taught me to work and save money, read the scriptures, and obey my leaders.
I want to serve a mission too so that other people can have the blessings of the gospel and know that it is true.

Long ago I worked for one of our railroads whose tracks threaded the passes through these western mountains. I frequently rode the trains. It was in the days when there were steam locomotives. Those great monsters of the rails were huge and fast and dangerous. I often wondered how the engineer dared the long journey through the night. Then I came to realize that it was not one long journey, but rather a constant continuation of a short journey. The engine had a powerful headlight that made bright the way for a distance of 400 or 500 yards. The engineer saw only that distance, and that was enough, because it was constantly before him all through the night into the dawn of the new day.

For 35 years many people discussed the gospel with me. My wife never missed an opportunity to talk about it, and she would cleverly leave the Book of Mormon and Ensign magazine in plain sight. Of course, I never picked them up. She invited the missionaries over on many occasions; two or three sets of them even taught me the missionary lessons.
So what was keeping me from entering the waters of baptism?
I always had an excuse. I worked long hours. I didn’t see that I’d ever have time for the gospel. I was much too busy making money. So I told Eva, “Sometime when things slow down and I have more time, I’ll read the Book of Mormon.”
But I never did. Besides, I had never been much of a reader, and when I tried to read the Bible, it didn’t make any sense to me. So that was the end of that.
There was another thing that was keeping me from joining the Church, something more serious: the sinful life I was leading. King Benjamin teaches us that “the natural man is an enemy to God … unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit” (Mosiah 3:19). I did not yield—I was sitting on the fence. The Savior said, “He that is not with me is against me” (Matthew 12:30). I realize now that because of the way I was living my life, I was against Him. I needed to change.
I was living around the gospel but never actually living it, but as time went on, I started to feel the Spirit. I stopped partying and drinking. When I made that change, the Spirit started to manifest itself more frequently. I still wasn’t where I needed to be—my language wasn’t very good and I had some other bad habits to work on—but I was changing.
Then one day I received a package. It was from one of my daughters, Linda. It contained a Book of Mormon and a Bible with lots of marked scriptures. She also wrote me a letter in which she told me how much she loved me and wanted me to know what she knew.
She wrote, “The only way to know if the gospel of Jesus Christ is true is to ask with a sincere heart and with real intent.”
Linda then shared a series of scriptures that led me on a journey of prayer and scripture study.
“The only way I get to know my Savior and Heavenly Father,” she wrote, “is by praying and reading about Them in scriptures.”
She then described how important humility is and how, without God in her life, she couldn’t have peace. Finally, she wrote, “Don’t procrastinate anymore. You have been given so much. Now it’s time to give back to Heavenly Father. This is the only way to true happiness.”
I no longer had any excuses. Work slowed down, and I had some extra time. So I started reading and studying the scriptures she had outlined for me, which gave me the desire to read the entire Book of Mormon. But there were still so many things I did not understand.
By this time I was attending sacrament meeting because my wife said it would be nice if I came and sat beside her. She also suggested I read the Doctrine and Covenants. I did, and I understood it better. Then, with my wife’s help, I read the Book of Mormon and experienced the scriptures coming to life. Through lots of prayer, the Spirit was ignited in me.
What made the difference in me? The Holy Spirit and a knowledge of the scriptures. Both gave me the courage to change my life and to ask God for forgiveness of my sins, which were what had really kept me from joining the Church all those years.
Confessing my sins was very difficult. It brought me such pain that I lay in bed for three days in sorrow. But through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I was forgiven. Then Heavenly Father gave me the strength to get up and get on with my new life.
My son Kevin baptized me on July 9, 2005. One of the missionaries who had taught my wife decades earlier attended. Two years later I took my family to the San Diego California Temple to be sealed for time and eternity.
The last seven years have been the happiest years of my life. I can finally take my place as the patriarch and spiritual leader of our family and share in the gospel with my wife, our children, and our nine grandchildren. This family unity has spiritually strengthened everyone. A son-in-law has joined the Church, and four of our grandchildren have served or are serving missions. My new life in the Church is a miracle. I had no idea what great happiness and growth it would bring me.
I am so thankful for this second chance. I am grateful to be making up for those lost years by doing God’s work.

Some time ago in my high priests quorum meeting, the instructor introduced the lesson by asking each of us to respond to who our hero is and why. As each member took his turn responding, the answers were not unexpected. Of course someone named the Savior, the Redeemer of the world. Another spoke of Abraham Lincoln, who freed the slaves, led the United States through a civil war, and eventually unified the country. Others chose the Prophet Joseph Smith and our beloved current prophet, Gordon B. Hinckley. As each named a hero, I silently concurred and acknowledged that all were men worthy of emulating and that I would be a better person if I possessed some of the qualities that made those men great.
I then turned to a brother on my left and said, “My hero is Jim Newton and his wife, Helen.” Shortly after Jim and Helen’s son Zach received his mission call to Peru, he was taken in an automobile accident. When I heard of the accident, I rushed to the hospital, hoping to hear that Zach was alive and would recover. The parents, in a most dignified and peaceful manner, explained that Zach would now be serving his mission on the other side of the veil. As I witnessed the calm resolve of these two strong parents, I realized that through the pain and anguish there was a peace that could come only through a deep and abiding faith in a loving Father and an atoning Savior. My faith was strengthened, and through their inspiration my resolve to follow their example in meeting similar trials and tragedies was reaffirmed.

In the midst of the late spring rainy season in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the Tonle Sap River—which has poured into the Mekong River for months—defies its natural movement and changes course to flow in the opposite direction.
This directional change causes the Tonle Sap Lake at the head of the river to swell to five times its size, bringing much-needed nutrients to the fish and birds that feed there.
Like the river that changes direction, members in Cambodia have felt how the gospel of Jesus Christ has helped change the direction of their own lives. Their hearts now overflow with the joy and peace the gospel brings. This swell of joy provides spiritual food for their souls.
Although the country has faced dark times, the gospel of Jesus Christ has helped many Cambodians see the light of a new day shine through the darkness of the past.
During the country’s political turmoil in the 1970s, many Cambodians were driven from their homes and lost family members.
Loy Bunseak, president of the Siem Reap Branch in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, was nine years old in 1975, when he and his family had to leave their home. They—along with millions of others—were required to perform hard manual labor in the country’s vast fields.
During this time, President Loy lost both of his parents and five of his eight siblings.
Despite the hardships, President Loy always had at least one thing to help get him through his pain.
“I always had hope,” he says.
The determined hope that helped President Loy get through the trials of his childhood is the same hope that later allowed him to recognize the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Cambodia is largely a Buddhist country, President Loy grew up without a knowledge of Jesus Christ. He began to learn about the Savior when Latter-day Saint missionaries came to his home and told him and his family they had an important message to share.
“I had never heard of Jesus Christ until I met the missionaries,” he says. “I wanted to learn more about Him.”
After intense study and discussion, President Loy and his family were baptized in 2001.
“The missionaries helped me learn from the Book of Mormon, but I received my testimony of its truthfulness from God,” President Loy says. “I could see how living by the teachings of the Book of Mormon made my family happier.”
President Loy’s experience is not unusual. Khan Sarin, president of the Sen Sok Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, was separated from his family as a teenager and forced to work in the fields.
“I felt hopeless at this time,” President Khan says. “I did not know if I would survive.”
Looking back, President Khan feels that the Lord protected him from harm several times in his life. As a young man he joined the army and was shot at from as close as 20 feet (6 m) away but was not hit. He also stepped on many active land mines that did not explode. One land mine he stepped on did explode, but he was not seriously injured.
Because of the dangerous circumstances soldiers found themselves in, they did whatever they could to be protected. Several men in the military got tattoos because they believed the tattoos could help keep them safe.
“Before I became a member of the Church, I didn’t know anything,” President Khan says. “Now I know that it was Jesus Christ—not the tattoos—that saved me.”
After President Khan’s wife, Suon Sokmo, met the missionaries and was baptized, he was impressed by the changes he could see taking place within her. He accepted her invitation to study the scriptures together, and he soon decided to be baptized.
“The most important thing that I ever received in my life is the testimony I obtained from studying the scriptures,” he says.
Pich Sareth, a member of the Phnom Penh 12th Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, also saw trials at a very young age. He was only five years old when he was separated from his family and forced to work in the fields. He would sometimes find crabs or frogs he could eat to quell his hunger.
Brother Pich’s wife, Seng Tha, and her family were also forced from their home. Because she was only four years old and small, she was not required to work, as other children were. She was separated from her family much of the day and was watched by elderly women who could not work.
After meeting the missionaries in 1995, Brother Pich and his wife began to learn about the love Heavenly Father has for them. “When I had problems, I could see that praying helped me get through them,” Brother Pich says. “I knew Heavenly Father cared.”
After Brother Pich decided to be baptized, his wife also gained a testimony of the gospel and was baptized.
Since their baptisms, Brother Pich and his family have recognized the joy that stems from gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ. The Pich family takes time every day to read the scriptures. As they have done this, the joy of the gospel has permeated their souls.
“We feel we are on the right path now, and we want to stay on this narrow path and continue to progress,” Sister Seng says. “I am grateful every day that we can have our children on this path with us.”
The joy that President Loy feels extends in both directions—to his ancestors as well as his descendants. President Loy and his family visited the Hong Kong China Temple in 2004. Not only were President Loy’s wife and children sealed to him, but the saving ordinances of the temple were also completed for his father, mother, and the brothers and sisters he had lost.
“I cannot even explain the joy I felt in the temple,” President Loy said. “I knew my family was being made strong. I know that the temple is necessary for families to live together forever.”
President Khan and his family also had the opportunity to be sealed together as an eternal family in the Hong Kong Temple. “The feeling I felt at the temple is something I had never felt before. It is hard to express my feelings in words,” President Khan says.
Thanks to the spreading of the gospel, members in Cambodia are receiving the spiritual nutrients they need to survive. Although the Church is growing in Cambodia, members hope that this growth is just a precursor to a huge blossoming of the gospel in their country.
Just as the fish and animals receive needed nutrients when the Tonle Sap Lake overflows, a growing number of Cambodians are receiving the spiritual nutrition they need thanks to the overflowing desire in members’ hearts to share the gospel.
“When a pot is covered, it boils over,” President Khan says. “This is the feeling I have in my heart. I must open my heart to tell everyone what it is feeling.”
President Loy hopes the residual effect of the gospel being taught in his home will be that his daughters will continue to embrace the gospel and teach their children.
“After I found out about Jesus Christ, everything became better in my life and with my family,” he says. “Having the priesthood in our home brings us together. If we have a problem, we sit and discuss it as a family.”
Since the government of Cambodia granted the Church legal recognition in 1994, thousands of Cambodians have accepted the gospel. The Pich family looks forward to the day when the gospel will spread across all parts of the country. Brother Pich says, “I hope someday there will be a temple in Cambodia.”
Sister Seng agrees: “Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are alive. My hope for the future is that the Church will continue to grow so a temple can be built.”
President Khan recognizes the ways his life has changed since learning of the Savior. He believes the gospel of Jesus Christ is the only thing that can heal Cambodians from their past trials.
“After I became a member of the Church, I lost a lot of the pain I felt from things that had happened in the past. I’ve received a new light that I never had before,” he says. “Everything feels new.”

I was a junior in high school when Allison befriended me. She had moved from Boise, Idaho, that year, but to me it seemed she was from another planet. We sat next to each other in seminary, and I had never met a teenager who was so dedicated to her religion.
On the other hand, I was struggling with my testimony, slowly becoming inactive in Church and seminary activities. My parents were at a loss. They offered to answer any gospel questions I had, but I didn’t want their help. I wanted to find the truth on my own.
Despite our differences, Allison and I became good friends. We spent many weekend nights staying up late, lying on her trampoline. Sometimes I would bring up questions I had about the Church.
Her answers always made sense to me, and as our talks continued, the gospel began to make more sense to me, too. Still, there was one vital thing I lacked: the Spirit. It seemed the world always called to me much louder than the Spirit did.
One school day, I noticed Allison sitting on the floor in front of her locker. She was eating her lunch and wearing headphones. She looked up at me and smiled.
“What are you listening to?” I asked, trying to shout over the noise of the hallway. Lockers slammed. Students laughed and yelled. I wondered if she liked any of the same groups I liked.
“Listen and see,” she said.
I put on the headphones and suddenly the world melted away. The music played serenely. The singer sang of Christ, His life, His death, His love for us. This wasn’t what I had expected.
Amid the chaos, I felt peace enter my heart. I felt my Savior’s love.
I looked at Allison with tears in my eyes. I didn’t want to give back her head-phones. I wanted to keep that feeling forever. For a brief moment, I felt what it meant to be in the world but not of it.
It wasn’t a lightning strike, and I can’t say my life changed overnight. But that day, a seed began to grow in my heart. I had felt the Spirit, and I hungered to feel it again. As time went by, I gained a testimony that our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are there, and they love all of us so much. I now know that if I seek the Spirit and follow God’s plan, I can have the peace of the Holy Spirit with me always, and I can leave the chaos and confusion of the world behind.

At a recent Eagle Scout recognition dinner, I heard an outstanding Eagle Scout talk about his relationship with his devoted father who was also his Scoutmaster:

“On those trips our Scoutmaster talked of things other than merit badges. He talked about Paul when we were hiking, Nephi when we were sitting around the fire, Abraham when we were looking at the stars, and Jesus of Nazareth just before we said our prayers and went to sleep. And at one time or another, he sent us each out alone to pray as Joseph Smith had prayed.

“I listened very closely to our Scoutmaster and tried to do what he said. My Scoutmaster is my father, and I want to be like him.

“If I can remember what I learned on those hikes up and over and down and into the mountains, I believe I can make it through the journey of life.”

Artur Tomaszewski could defend himself if the need arose. After all, he was the national jujitsu champion in his native Poland at age 17. But he believes the wisest course is always to seek peace first. That is what he was doing, in a way, when he won his greatest battle—the struggle to find truth.
As a young boy, Artur had studied the Bible and formed questions about his relationship to God and about God’s true Church. No one had answers to satisfy him. Finally, he prayed to God to show him which church was true.
Does this story sound familiar?
Both the answer Artur received and the way it came surprised him.
As a youth, he says, “I liked to study about different religions.” His study convinced him that the Church of Jesus Christ ought to be on the earth. Yet he could not find one that seemed to meet biblical criteria. He was even tempted at one point to wonder if God really existed, but the faith that lived inside him overcame that doubt. He knew that if anyone could provide answers, it would be God. There came a time when he was 18 that Artur prayed, specifically asking to be led to the true Church.
Not long afterward, while he was visiting at the home of his aunt, he saw a dusty book sitting on a shelf. It was titled the Book of Mormon. His aunt had received it from some sister missionaries, then had laid it aside and forgotten it.
Artur picked it up and put it back down three times, struggling over whether to read it. No, he would not; he believed only in the Bible. But this book said it was another testament of Jesus Christ. No, this Joseph Smith story at the beginning was too fantastic. But what if it was true? No, the story in the first 20 pages of the book was simply foreign to all he knew.
Still, what he had read stayed with him all week long. When he returned to his aunt’s house, planning to resume reading where he had left off, the book was gone!
It would be some time before Artur received his own copy of the Book of Mormon.
He introduced himself to missionaries on the street in Katowice. When they did not call him immediately as promised (this is a mistake Elder Tomaszewski the missionary does not make now), he decided to seek them out on a Sunday morning at the meetinghouse address on a flyer they had given him.
It happened to be a fast Sunday, and as members bore their testimonies, Artur felt the same feeling of peace and surety that had stayed with him after his first reading in the Book of Mormon. The feeling was so strong that he wanted to stand and bear his own testimony that the book was true, but he did not know if this would be permitted.
When the missionaries finally gave him his own copy of the Book of Mormon, they asked him solemnly if he would promise to read it and pray for an answer about its truthfulness. Artur laughed. He already knew he could get an answer from God.
He read and he prayed. The answer that came was so strong it seemed to be not only a feeling, but also “like light to my eyes,” giving great clarity to the truths he already knew from the Bible. He laughed out loud once more, wondering if the answer about the Church of Jesus Christ could really be this “clear and simple.” He had thought it might be some complicated thing. He prayed again to be sure and received the same strong answer, assuring him that God’s truths are plain, not complicated.
“When I found out it was true, I went home full of joy,” he recalls. But no one wanted to share the joy. His mother and two younger brothers were not interested. His father was antagonistic. After Artur’s baptism in 2002, he had almost no support from friends and acquaintances either, except within his branch.
Religious tradition is very strong in Poland. No one could understand why he wanted to leave the dominant faith. Still, he says, his parents’ teaching and example were very valuable in preparing him to find the truth. “I’m grateful they did what they knew how to do in teaching me.”
Being alone in living the gospel did not break down his faith. When he determined to serve a mission, he was willing to give up the jujitsu practices and competitions he loved—something that had been part of his life from childhood—to work and save money for a mission. Jujitsu, he says, was an art form for him. “I felt like a painter painting a picture when I practiced.” But working left him no time to practice.
Before leaving his hometown of Mystowice to serve as a missionary, Elder Tomaszewski left a challenge for his younger brother Patryk, who was also deeply involved in jujitsu. “If you want to find out why I’m doing this, why I’m giving up my sport, read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”
Elder Tomaszewski says some of the qualities developed through the discipline of jujitsu have been helpful in the mission field: patience, humility, and the capacity for hard work.
What does he like most about missionary work?
“Often when I’m really tired, when I feel like I don’t have any strength left and maybe I’m lacking a little in faith, we knock on a door and find someone,” he says. Finding someone who wants to listen sometimes makes him so excited he can’t sleep.
And what has been his best day as a missionary?
The day he learned that his younger brother had taken his challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. Patryk Tomaszewski also received a testimony. He was baptized in August 2004.
Now there are two Tomaszewskis to share the joy of the gospel.

Rowena first wanted to be a gymnast, but there wasn’t a good gymnastics program close by. There was, however, a good swimming coach in town. As her mother says, “Rowena became very good very quickly. She thought she’d go to the 2000 Olympics in swimming. But the pool in town is only open half the year.” She was not able to train consistently.
That’s when her plans changed. She and her brothers and sisters had taken up cross-country skiing because alpine skiing was too expensive. When Rowena was 11, a girl on her school’s ski team broke her arm. Another person was needed to complete the team. The team knew Rowena cross-country skied and asked her to try alpine. As Rowena says, “That’s when I started, and I’ve never looked back.” The following year she was the Australian children’s champion.
The Bright family lives about an hour and a half from the only mountains that have much snow in Australia. Even then, with bad snow years and short ski seasons, Rowena has had to train in less-than-ideal conditions. Once she was asked to join the Australian training institute, and gained sponsors to help with the expense, then she was able to do some training and participate in competitions in Europe and North America where snow is more abundant.

It is a scary thing, going up in a balloon for the first time. But it’s hard to worry too much, because there are so many things to do in advance.
On a typical launch day, the Komadinas and anyone accompanying them gather in the family living room for prayer. Then Amy and Jennifer give talks, much like stewardesses preparing passengers for takeoff on an airplane. They discuss safety (it’s important not to get in or out of the basket unless told to, because ballast is critical), preparation for landing (it’s important to remember to bend your knees to help absorb the impact), and flying techniques (the balloon drifts with the wind, but by ascending or descending, the pilot can usually find a breeze headed in the direction he wants to go).
At the launch site, two or three people unpack the balloon and spread it on the ground. Around the top of the fabric “envelope,” velcro strips are fastened together to keep flaps closed until the balloon stands upright. The mouth of the balloon is held open and a large fan is used to blow air into the nylon or polyester envelope. The propane burner then heats the air, which rises inside the envelope, inflating it even more.
The balloon then tries to assume an upright position. But if that happens too fast, the balloon will not inflate properly, so crew members use a “crown line,” a rope attached to the top of the envelope, to pull against the force of the air. It’s a tug-of-war that two adults or six kids never win.
While all this is going on, the pilot checks gauges which indicate fuel quantity, altitude, rate of climb or descent, and air temperature inside the envelope. As the balloon becomes more buoyant, he will have passengers join him to act as an anchor while he adds more hot air. Finally, when everyone’s ready, he blasts still more hot air into the envelope until the balloon begins to rise. To keep rising, he heats the air, to come down, he can let it cool off or he can pull a rope that allows air to escape.
Any fear a passenger has disappears quickly. It is as though the balloon remains where it is and the earth moves away. The only sound is the occasional hissing of the burner. The only feeling of height comes when you look down and suddenly realize that you’re 1,500 feet in the air!
It is flight without wings, flight without a runway or the whine of jet engines. Because the balloon floats with the breeze, there is no sensation of motion. It is, indeed, like standing on a cloud, quietly watching the earth beneath.
“When I’m up here, I think about Heavenly Father,” Jennifer said. “I feel close to him, peaceful, when I see the world he’s created and how big it is. You somehow know he’s in charge.”
Her father agreed. “You get some idea of who you are and how small you would be on your own. But you also get a feeling for what Heavenly Father has made, what he can help you accomplish if you have him on your side.”

I remember when I was assigned to give my first talk in church. I was given the liberty to choose my subject. I’ve always liked birds, so I thought of the Seagull Monument. In preparation, I went to Temple Square and looked at the monument. First I was attracted to all the coins in the water surrounding the monument. I wondered how they would be retrieved and who would retrieve them. I shall not confess any thought of taking them. Then I looked upward at the seagulls atop that monument. I tried in my boyish mind to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer watching the first year’s growth of precious grain being devoured by crickets and then seeing those seagulls, with their lofty wings, descending upon the fields and eating the crickets. I loved the account. I sat down with a pencil in hand and wrote out a two-and-one-half-minute talk. I’ve never forgotten the seagulls. I’ve never forgotten the crickets. I’ve never forgotten my knees knocking together as I gave that talk. I’ve never forgotten the experience of letting some of my innermost feelings be expressed verbally at the pulpit. I would urge that we give the Aaronic Priesthood an opportunity to think, to reason, and to serve.

A few years ago, President Oldroyd, a member of the stake presidency, visited my ward and said something I will never forget: “I promise you that if you attend the temple, every part of your life will be blessed.”
As I thought about it, I couldn’t imagine how attending the temple could touch every part of my life. But after church, I decided I would take his challenge anyway and attend the temple on a more regular basis. I wanted to test his promise. My husband had wanted to go to the temple more often, but I was reluctant because we had young children. We would have to drive an hour and a half to the temple in San Antonio, Texas, USA, complete an endowment session, and then drive home. It didn’t work to ask someone to watch our kids for seven or eight hours.
At first we tried trading babysitting with another family, but someone inevitably got sick or had something come up. We decided that we just needed to set the dates for the entire year and go! We then came up with the “pizza and play” method. We would drive to the temple together. One parent would go to a temple session while the other would take the kids to get pizza. Then we would switch: the second parent would do temple work while the other parent walked the temple grounds with the kids. This worked well. Our kids knew the temple was important to us—they knew all the other things we could have been doing on a Saturday—and we got to spend time as a family.

During my investigation of the Church, my mom was against my joining. But Dad gave his consent to my baptism and sometimes sat with me during discussions. I’m very grateful to him for that. To all the Latter-day Saints out there whose parents are members, I want to say, “Count your many blessings.” When you don’t have a family to go to Church with on Sunday, or the privilege of experiencing the spiritual enlightenment that the family home evening program brings, or have the Melchizedek Priesthood in your home, you miss out on a lot of blessings. But one great blessing I do have is a father and mother and family who love me. Since I joined the Church we’ve drawn closer together than ever before.

During the week of April 5 through 9 of this year, my community education class sponsored a Marriage Awareness Week at Brigham Young University. We set up a table near the west entrance of the Wilkinson Student Center and put out an assortment of books, videos, pamphlets, and tapes—all describing the importance of marriage in America. Many students and faculty members stopped by our booth during the week, and some were more enthusiastic than others about our endeavor.
While I was with my students at our Marriage Awareness Week booth, one young coed briefly stopped for a moment and then asked, somewhat in jest, “Do we really need something like this at BYU?” My students and I tried to convince her that, yes, indeed, we do need a Marriage Awareness Week, and particularly at BYU. I would like to tell you why I feel so during the few minutes I speak at this BYU devotional this morning and share with you my renewed testimony that, in light of recent trends, “marriage is,” indeed, “ordained of God” (D&C 49:15).

Rhoda Byrne Jared was born in Putnam, Tennessee, in 1820. Her father died when she was seven years old, and, being the eldest of seven siblings, she learned early how to perform many household duties done mostly by adults. She grew up three miles from a neighbor boy named Adolphia Young and married him at the young age of 16. Together they had eight children.

In the spring of 1842, her husband's distant cousin brought the message of the gospel to them. In a life history written by her daughter, it stated, "They were amazed to hear the message of the restoration and it rang true to them. They embraced the newly restored church with all their hearts."

Since Rhoda and her family accepted the invitation to be baptized, they now had a great desire to join the Saints in Nauvoo. With heavy hearts, they left behind their parents, families, and close friends, since they were the only ones that had accepted the gospel.

The years that followed came with many heartaches and trials but also many miracles.

Arriving in Nauvoo at the very peak of great persecution, and after two years of living and laboring among the Saints, they were among those who first heard the devastating news of the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum.

Rhoda's husband worked among those laboring desperately to finish the Nauvoo Temple. In three months' time, from December of 1845 to February of 1846, they were among the 5,615 Saints that received the ordinance of the endowment in this temple.

While living in Nauvoo, Rhoda wrote a letter to her mother, which gives great insight of where she found strength to endure. She wrote, "Nauvoo is a city of Saints gathered from all parts of the world, as the old Prophet said, 'Two of a family and one of a city,' to do the commandments of God; even to build a house to His name. With a few exceptions, I believe they are the best people in the world. All is peace and quietness. The people are industrious, virtuous, and temperate, but now are the words of Paul verified, 'They that live Godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.' But in the midst of our afflictions, our hearts are made to rejoice, for we put our trust in that God who is able to light up a smile in the aspect of woe. His favor is richer than the finest gold, and His wisdom transcendeth all human understanding. His plans are founded in wisdom. He will perform His work and accomplish His purpose. Man cannot prevent it."

After being forced by the mobs from their home in 1846, the family arrived in Council Bluffs, Iowa. One year later, Rhoda experienced the first of her life's deepest sorrows when their 18-month-old baby boy died from ague, or later known as malaria. Many of their family members were also very ill, and it became clear they would not be able to start the journey west. As a family, they decided to give their oxen team, wagon, and supplies to another family who were healthy enough to make the trek west. This humble sacrifice meant that the family would have to start working all over again to obtain the necessary supplies.

It took four more years to raise the funds necessary to make the trek west, in which time they returned to Tennessee to work and sell their share of the family estate. While living with Rhoda's parents, their 10-year-old daughter passed away after a one-day illness. This was the second child to be buried and left behind since they were still determined to make their way to Zion.

The family boarded a steamboat in St. Louis, Missouri, called the Saluda, carrying many Mormon immigrants bound for Iowa. Along the route, a narrow channel with very strong currents made it difficult for boats to make a sharp turn in the river. After two days of no progress, the frustrated captain ordered an increase in steam pressure, which caused the boilers to explode. Approximately 100 people were killed, but, miraculously, none of Rhoda's family were harmed. All of their possessions were destroyed except for the money that Adolphia had in his pocket, but because of their faith and determination, they eventually joined the Saints in Winter Quarters and joined the Captain Tidwell wagon train.

One hundred miles into Nebraska, cholera struck their camp, and Rhoda's husband passed away on July 5, 1852, and 3 days later, and 50 miles further west, their 8-year-old son also died. This faithful wife and mother buried both husband and son along the trail west without a coffin or marked grave and only a blanket to wrap them in.

At this point, brothers and sisters, I feel it would have been understandable for Rhoda to pick up her remaining five children and return to her family in Tennessee for the much-needed comfort and support. She now had the task of raising her children without a companion, without extended-family support, and without the means to provide for them once they reached Salt Lake Valley. What would you do if you were Rhoda? Would you continue on to Zion? Would you have enough faith in the Lord to stay on the path?

At this seemingly impossible time, Rhoda decided her children needed a family motto to live by and to sustain them. After praying for guidance, the family decided on the motto "Hope on, Hope ever." The family continued with the wagon company and arrived in the Great Salt Lake in September of 1852.

Neill Marriott:Noelle, thank you. It’s a privilege to be here in your beautiful home with you and Janson. I am so honored that you would spend time with me. I don’t know a thing about skeleton racing or sledding or whatever you call it, but would you just talk to us about what it is, how you race, how you train, how you steer, how you flop down on your tummy on that sled and scoot down the track, and what part Janson has played?
Noelle Pikus Pace: So skeleton is a crazy headfirst sport, where an athlete runs and jumps headfirst onto their stomach on a tiny little cookie sheet. We fly down the side of a mountain going ninety miles an hour, and we steer using our shoulders and our knees, applying pressure—just light pressure—to guide the sled the entire way down a mile-long course to hopefully and ultimately cross the finish line.
Marriott: And the sled is only about three feet long, isn’t it?
Pace: Yeah, it’s about three feet, and it weighs about sixty-five pounds, so it has got some weight to it. Janson actually built and designed my sled for the 2010 and 2014 Olympic Games, so he actually knows a lot more about the content of the sled. And then I enjoy driving it down the track.
Marriott: Janson, how did you know how to do this, and how does she move one shoulder and get it to go? What does the sled do?
Janson Pace:I had a small background in designing with Solidworks, a 3D modeling program, and it seemed like a fun opportunity for me. More important, she really needed a sled to get down the track. I realized that in order for her to be able to focus and to get down the track where she needed to go, she needed some equipment that was going to help her do that. And she struggled for a while to find the right equipment, so I just crossed my fingers one day—one summer, I guess I should say—and went to work.
Noelle Pace: A lot of prayer—a lot went into that.
Marriott: This is a long journey. You were injured in—was it 2004?
Pace:So leading up to the 2006 Winter Olympic Games, I was hit by a bobsled. I remember realizing at that time when this Olympic dream was just taken in a split second that I had a choice to make. I could either look back and be upset and frustrated that I missed out on this grand opportunity or I could choose to move forward. At that time I decided to move forward with the help of a great team, with the support of my husband, my family, and so many wonderful people around me. We were able to come back. And in order to do that, I had to set goals along the way.
Marriott: So how do you get to the finish line, to the goal, when you have no steering wheel? There doesn’t seem to be any visible sign of control.
Pace: So as a rookie, a lot of times you make the mistake of thinking that it’s these massive changes that you need to make in order to get yourself down the track. But as an elite athlete, you start to realize that it’s the subtle changes and that something as simple as looking where you want to go will put you where you need to be. “Where you look is where you go” was a statement that I would tell myself for years leading up to that Olympic podium. Just look where you want to go and then make the subtle adjustments to get there.
Marriott: Well, thank you. Thank you for your wisdom, your courage, and your determination to make it after having broken legs and all kinds of problems before. But I just have in my mind your statement that you go where you look. To me there is great wisdom in that, and it applies to our life and to all our decisions and choices. So thank you for the great example you’ve been. It’s been a joy to talk to you.
Pace: Thanks so much.