This little town had a small branch with a beautiful new chapel. After we got settled in and toured our new home, we found the members to be very friendly and helpful. They accepted us eagerly. It felt as comfortable to us as if were back home! The only problem was the geographic size of the branch. Its boundaries were over 400 square miles. This meant we did a lot of traveling to visit members and prospective converts across many miles and in many small towns and villages. We were not alone, though; there were many young elders and sisters on missions there to assist us. We loved working with them.

One hot summer day, two of our young sister missionaries were tracting on a street not far from their apartment. It got to be close to lunch time and they decided to stop and go home to eat and rest. They turned to leave, but then one of the sisters turned back again and said, “Let’s do one more home. We must go visit that house.” She pointed to a gray stucco home down the block. “But why?” asked her companion. “I don’t know why. I feel we just have to do it.”

They obeyed the prompting and proceeded to knock on the door of this home. 

As they did, a gentle older man answered the door. One sister started to explain who they were when the gentleman stopped her and said kindly, “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been waiting for you. Please come in.”

This stunned the sisters. They had never been so eagerly invited into a home before. The older gentleman, James, then went on to explain that a long time ago he had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Since then, he had fallen away and done some things since that had caused him to jeopardize his membership in the Church. He was getting older now and knew he had to amend his errors before he died. He had been trying to repent and get back into the Church but didn’t know how. The sisters said they would gladly assist him in doing so. After a while, they left and promised to return. This they did a few days later, only to be met by his wife at the door. She was not friendly at all and blocked them from entering the home. 

After a few more unsuccessful attempts to meet the gentleman again, they called on my wife and me to see if we could help them with this situation. We were glad to do so. 

On our first call, we were able to meet with James. He invited us in but it was an extremely uncomfortable visit. All the while we talked, someone was in the kitchen making as much noise as they could, trying to disturb us. James apologized and said it was his wife, who did not want us there. After a brief message, we left without accomplishing much.

We returned a few days later when an event happened that we shall never forget. As we knocked on the door, Mary, James’s wife, greeted us with, “We are not interested in talking to you at all, so please go away.” The more we tried to reason with her, the more belligerent she became. She finally pushed open the screen door and forced us off the porch. She didn’t stop there. She continued pushing us out and onto the sidewalk while raising her voice louder and louder so everyone on the block could hear her. It was quite embarrassing to us. But we just stood quietly there, saying nothing. Her tyrant lasted at least 10 minutes. I’m not sure if those young missionary sisters would have been able to withstand this assault.

via lds.org

Trying to find some way to stop her and allow us to get a word or two in, I looked around her front lawn and saw a pretty rose bush in bloom. When she finished a sentence, I took the opportunity to compliment her on her roses. At first, she said nothing and continued on. I complimented her on a few other things that were growing there. Little by little, she relaxed and finally agreed to show us her backyard. She was very proud of her garden there, where she had other flowers in bloom.

The ice was broken. Slowly we started to talk more socially with one another. After a few minutes it became apparent that Mary was afraid of us. She was worried we were there to take her husband away from her with our strange doctrine. We learned later that Mary was a very insecure person who came from a background of abuse. This marriage to James was the most secure and precious relationship she had ever had, and she was not going let us take it away.

When our discussion was over, we left each other on talking terms and said we would return in a day or two if that was agreeable to her. She said yes, we could, but not to expect much from her.

Driving to and from our area every day took us through a lovely small town with a huge roadside nursery. A few days earlier we had stopped to look around. As we did, we saw a beautiful hibiscus floral plant in full bloom. It had the largest pink flowers I had ever seen on a bush before. Each was the size of a pie plate. I remarked then, “I wish we had room for this at our place.” 

That evening as we reviewed our day, a thought came to us. It must have been the Holy Ghost speaking. We thought, What would happen if we bought that hibiscus and gave it to Mary? Would she accept it? Would that help us reach her as friends? We decided to do so and bought the flower the next time we drove past the nursery. 

With the lovely hibiscus flower in the back seat of our car, we went to see James and Mary again. As we marched up to the house holding that beautiful plant in full bloom, Mary came to the door. We held it out to her and said this flower was for her to plant somewhere in her yard. She looked at us, completely bewildered, and said nothing for a long time. She simply looked in disbelief at it and us. Then great tears welled up in her eyes. She was overcome with emotion to the point of being almost speechless. After a while she confessed, “I am 76 years old. I have had a rough life and this is the first time ever that anyone has given me a flower. Thank you so much.” 

I have had many emotional encounters in my life, but never one as deeply touching or life-changing as that moment. This poor soul had never even been given a simple thing like a flower before. No wonder she didn’t trust strangers.

The next day we returned in our casual clothes. Mary, James, and my wife and I found a nice spot of ground in their front yard. We all four got down on our hands and knees and happily dug a hole and planted that very special hibiscus. That flower still blooms to this day. 

Mary took the missionary lessons from us and our dear sister missionaries. Her husband met with the branch president and found his long-awaited road back to full fellowship. 

Our mission was coming quickly to an end. It was nearly time for us to return home to Utah. As it worked out, we were able to baptize Mary into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the last day of our mission. What a wonderful way to say goodbye to our dear new friends.

We still communicate with Mary. She is a changed person. She now serves in the Relief Society presidency of that small branch and writes or emails us almost daily.

I don’t know how we could have ever reach her if it were not for “Flower Power.”

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.

In July of 2019, I was officially bored of being angry all of the time. It was so old. I had a whole life to live and I was exhausted of hating. I knew I was missing out on extraordinary friendships and family relationships and it was entirely my fault for missing out on them. I was even less inspired in all of my writing ventures. All of the wisdom I once had was gone, and I was a far more bitter and immature person. The place I knew I needed to start was the deep-rooted anger I had towards some individuals who’d come into my life and had been nothing but disrespectful to me.

Recognizing all of this, I decided to pray as an experiment for help to forgive these people. Kneeling, I began my prayer: “Dear Heavenly Father, I know that I’ve neglected and abused the mercy You’d extended to me before. But if You are still there, I’d like some help to turn over this anger and frustration to Christ. I’m so frustrated that anyone would feel free to be so awful to me after I’d done all that I could do to be kind to them.” Then, maybe a bit indulgently, I asked, “Also, God… If You’re there… If You could help me understand why I’d had such a hard time in the temple, why I felt so alone… I’d appreciate that help. If not, that’s okay.”

What I felt after the prayer was nothing short of a miracle. With warmth in my heart, I felt a gentle joy, recalling the past when I heard the Lord say “I’m here.” A series of clarity surrounding the people I’d been angry with and what I can and should do to bring peace to our relationship came like water bursting from a dam (because I was ready for it to and willing to put in the work). Furthermore, an answer concerning my temple experience came in the form of a memory of something an extraordinary man of God I’d once worked with said: “Three socks.” While the connection to this phrase and my experience is not something I think I should explain, I can tell you that God had once inspired this man to impart some great wisdom to me, and I immediately felt I was clear on why it all had happened, and that Heavenly Father did still love me. (A note about this man and the “three socks”: I believe, firmly, that were it not for him and his sweetness, I might have been fully swallowed up by the bitter waters the “ex-mo” community was drowning me in. He’d once been helped in a great way by personal revelation, and I had nothing but love and respect for him. I could never bring myself to discount or explain away his experience that he’d shared with me. He’d become my tether back to strait and narrow path in a very profound way.)

In addition to this, I’d never stopped questioning an experience I’d had years prior that was a very personal, extraordinary, sacred experience. I will not publicly share the details of what I’d seen and felt, suffice it to say that I received remarkable heavenly help from people who love me very much. I could not forget or explain away this experience, try as I might. I knew in my heart that night that I’d be making my return to the Church. I reached out to the sister missionaries in my area and began reading the Book of Mormon all over again. I felt the scales being lifted from my eyes. I informed loved ones that I was going to go back to the Church, that there was no discouraging me from it, and they could take it or leave me. I deleted any and all ties I had to hostile influences who would disrespect my progress. I have not left since.

Heavenly Helpers and a Divine Heritage

Looking back at my life, I’m filled with gratitude as I recognize the hard work Heaven has put into preserving me. I’ve been blessed with a spirit that responds to divine guidance. I’ve been blessed to have a heart full of integrity because of the examples that have gone before me. My pioneer ancestors, my great-grandmother Elda who faithfully and kindly raised 6 large boys on a small farm faithfully with my great-grandpa Levi, my Irish ancestors who fought for their new home, my father… All of these people have left a strong impression on me from a young age. I credit all of them for my development into a person who does what she knows is right the second she gets the opportunity to do it.

Heaven has always reached out to me. No matter where I stray, Christ always comes to shepherd me home. I sometimes feel like I’m getting off easy, like I was getting all of this help as a reward to my ancestors for having honored their covenants. I can’t tell you how much the Lord has intervened in my life, only that I’m deeply humbled because of it.

Reading and listening to my family’s history, I’m moved by the remarkable experiences they’ve each had as well. While I again can not share these beautiful and sacred experiences out of respect to them, I can say that heavenly helpers have walked beside my family for generations. I know that everyone has access to this same source of help, too. I’m sure if I asked, a number of people would have multiple stories to share. Many more would tell me that they believe, but still desire to feel an undeniable, sacred experience.

I want to address those who are wondering, “When will I get my extraordinary experience?” Many mistakenly believe that God reaching out to us so boldly is a sign of favor (or more accurately, favoritism). They ask what they’ve been doing wrong and others so right. I want you all to know that heaven only extends these sorts of experiences to people who need them to continue on their path of righteousness, either physically or spiritually (or because their experience will help to convert someone else in their life). Moreover, we often tend to recognize them only after some time has passed. If you have not felt that heaven has done big things to help you, it may be because you’ve been doing a great job without requiring such boldness to continue. Furthermore, sometimes when heaven is moving large things for our good, it seems like everyday life, or we dodge a potential tragedy so well that we’d never know there was one to begin with! Again, this is a sign that you are already perfectly responsive as you are. Please don’t feel that you are unloved or abandoned simply because you don’t have huge, biblical spiritual experiences on a daily basis.

The Power of Prayer

Something we can all learn from my experiences is the power of prayer. It was only when I was ready to see and hear what was right in front of me that I was blessed with peace and help. I demonstrated my readiness via prayer. Prayer was my way of exercising my free agency for the better. Without my choosing to pray, to approach Heavenly Father, I would not have made the progress I did because I wouldn’t have known what to do in the first place. We absolutely must pray if we want any improvement to happen in our lives. Please bring your troubles, hopes, dreams, deepest emotions, and most secret thoughts to the Lord. It is the only way you can come out triumphant.

My experience with prayer has taught me a lot about the Restoration. I’ve learned that God still answers us just as He answered Joseph in the sacred grove. My experiences have strengthened my testimony of the Restoration. I believe that Joseph did, by the mighty power of prayer, in humility, seek God’s will as to which of the existing churches he should join. I believe that Joseph was answered in a bold, moving way. I believe that Satan tried to interfere with Joseph’s reception of this answer, as he has interfered with mine personally. I believe that Joseph heard Christ, that he found ancient scripture hidden away to be brought forth to serve our days and convert us to Christ. I believe that because of Joseph’s desire, my life, the lives of my ancestors, and the lives of my children will all have been greatly blessed. I am so grateful for prayer. Prayer truly brings about mighty works.

I want you all to know that you will never stray so far that God would not have you sit at His table again. You are never so far gone that repentance isn’t an option. If you have left, you can come back. If you have never believed, you are welcome to ask for help to believe. I ask you all to pray for your testimonies to be strengthened. Seek the Lord in all things. Be willing to go and do the things the Lord commands.

I hope that my experience and testimony can be a comfort to those who love someone who’s left the Church. Today, they may hold nothing but seething anger towards God and His Church. They may be more interested in things of the world or feel that they’d have to give up precious vices in order to come back. They may have left due to hurt or misunderstanding. No matter the circumstance, have hope. Give them your unconditional love while the Lord works on them. Be an example of a loving, faithful follower of Christ. Be a safe, nonjudgmental person they can turn to with questions, concerns, and even confessions. Your gentle ear could be the key to retrieving them. Allow them to come to know God’s never-ending love for them through you.

Let my experience be a lesson to you. God will test each and every single one of us in many ways. These trials will hurt — a lot. There will be an abundance of doubt, suffering, and loneliness. There will come times where we feel abandoned and unheard. God doesn’t allow us to feel these things for His own sick, sadistic entertainment. Rather, He allows these things to happen for our own growth and benefit, much like how He allowed Christ to be brutalized and crucified for all our sakes.

Please do not allow hard times or difficult challenges to have more power and influence in your life than the teachings of Christ. Do not stray away from the iron rod in belief that those in the great and spacious building are somehow wiser and more enlightened or having more fun or living with more purpose than you can by traveling toward the tree of life. If you are considering leaving the Church for any reason, let this be your sign that you need to stay. We know that these latter days are the days of immense trials, where the wheat will be separated from the tares. Do not mistake a lack of comfort or ease for a sign that God isn’t there and does not care for you.

Guest Author

Elisabeth, mother of John the Baptist

My name, Elisabeth, is the germanic variation of the Hebrew name, Elisheva (אלישבע). The meaning of my name is translated roughly to “consecrated to God” (we can do a Hebrew lesson later). This name, let me tell you, has proven to be the most beautiful, sacred aspect of my life.

God has been far kinder to me than I will ever deserve. Certainly, when I am in the celestial kingdom, I will be even more humbled having a full understanding of what all He’s done on my behalf. I need to acknowledge that before I start this story. God is so merciful.

I was born into the Church. My mother’s a descendant of Danish pioneers who came to America with nothing but faith and then walked across the country to help settle Utah and build up the Church. My dad, a marine descended from Irish immigrants, converted to the Church when he was about 23 years old. I was raised with stories of brave, faithful people who were continuously brave in the face of adversity. I had a huge legacy to live up to and I told myself over and over again that if I ever came across opposition, I’d be brave like those who went before me, no matter what. Most importantly, I’d never abandon the faith that so many people suffered and died to build and defend.

My youthful vows of faith were rather short-lived. Due to many unfortunate circumstances, I spent my younger years in survival mode most of the time. As my need to survive increased, my exposure to the gospel decreased. My mother slowly slipped away from the Church for her own reasons, as many did. My sweet, hardworking dad was a single dad trying to make ends meet for his four young children during the recession, and, while he made sure our grandpa brought us to church every Sunday, had little time to do much else for us spiritually. With little understanding of what the gospel was actually about, I decided not to believe in the Church during my early teen years.

The First Reckoning

By the age of 17, I’d moved from a small, virtually Godless (trust me, visit there and you’ll be using the same words!) town in Northern California to my hometown in Idaho, which was full of all walks of spiritual life, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints being especially prevalent. 17 was a difficult year for me. I was on the verge of adulthood and experiencing a deep depression and serious illness (then undiagnosed, so of course I was still being pushed way too hard and given too much flack for my exhausted state). I was terrified that I’d end up unfulfilled and useless. Moreover, I had no real relationship with any of my family for a million different reasons. It was a dark, hard time.

One night, around February of 2015, it had all become too much. Graduation was speeding towards me, the pressure from home was immense, and I had no idea what I was going to do. Enough was enough. I’d been under so much pressure and I felt so hopeless that I decided to end it all. I’d been dealing with suicidal thoughts for years, almost a full decade, and that was the night I broke. I laid in bed that night actively formulating exactly how I was going to kill myself. A thought entered my head to say a prayer, and I quickly dismissed it. It’s just my brain trying to survive, digging into an archaic root of my being. Pay no mind, back to planning.

A second time, the thought to say a prayer came, a tug in the center of my psyche. Why would I do that? I don’t even believe in God. That would be useless, nevermind awkward. And again, it’s just my brain flailing its arms, trying to save its own life. Forget it. Finally, a third time, right when I’d figured out exactly what I was going to do to end my life, the thought to pray came again. It stood out from the rest of my thoughts in such a profound manner that I was almost afraid to ignore it anymore. “Fine,” I thought, “I guess I’ll pray. All it will do is prove once again that there is no God, and then I can get on with this.”

I awkwardly stepped off of my bed, shaking a bit, and got onto my knees. I realized I’d forgotten what it was like to pray. I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and prayed, “Dear God…uhhh…or Heavenly Father, you know how I’ve been. I don’t know if you’re there, or if you’d even want to hear from me after everything if you are. I hope my praying to you doesn’t make you angry. I’m just praying to see if you’re still there, because I felt like that might be the thing to do.”

Before I could finish the prayer or figure out what to say next, I felt the most real, distinct, comforting feeling I think I’ve yet felt. It was as though someone was kneeling by me, wrapping their arms around me in the most loving hug. For those of you who’ve experienced the Spirit before, you’ll know what I mean when I say I heard the Lord tell me, I’m here, I’m listening. I’m here with you, I love you so much, I’m so proud of you. To this day, I can’t say those words or remember that experience without tearing up or feeling overwhelmed by the Spirit confirming that He is still here, He does still love me, and He is most certainly still proud of me.

I crawled back into bed, abandoning my morbid plans, convinced that God was real enough for me. I spent the next two weeks investigating multiple religions and spiritual ways of thought. Inevitably, I found myself investigating the Book of Mormon. It felt good to read it again, and I decided to go to church for one Sunday to see how I felt. The Spirit was so strong that Sunday, confirming that my honest and humble question of the Church’s authenticity was not in vain. The next Sunday, I found myself sitting in the chapel before stake conference. I felt the Spirit testify to me, “This is where you belong. You will raise your children in this church.” From that day forward, I knew the Church was true and I was dedicated to living the gospel the best I could. God is so, so very merciful.

The Stumbling

Yet despite God’s mercy, I went on to waver. There’d been a couple of people in my life who made me feel like I wasn’t being a good enough Saint for the silliest things like not preferring white, not believing certain things (which I’d later discover were debunked by general authorities) and, of course, tolerating certain people (basically anyone outside of the church). I found myself getting caught up in the “what-to-do’s” rather than focusing on the gospel like I should have. I was so worried about accidentally doing something horrendously wrong or offensive to God that my eyes were off of Christ and onto the world, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Soon, the time came where I was preparing to enter the temple. I was throwing myself into studies, but again searching more for “commandments” than I was actually searching for God. Looking back, I can tell you that what I thought was proper scripture study was really just me searching for more “me” in the scriptures, neglecting to remember I’m supposed to live my life like Christ. It didn’t help that I was still facing endless criticism from particular parties about every single thing I did. I went into the temple feeling fear about my worthiness. I was filled with more anxiety than the Spirit.

I can honestly say that despite all of the losses, abuses, and fears I’ve faced in my life, the feeling I had when exiting the temple was the absolute worst of them all — and while I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it, I absolutely blamed myself. I was hurt. I felt like all of the “inspiration” I’d received up to that point had been meaningless, wishful thinking. I felt my identity as a beloved daughter of God torn away from me. While I recognize now exactly what sort of blessing was being brought about by this temple trip (and that it continues to prove to be the catalyst for massive blessings), I couldn’t comprehend anything at the time other than the hell on earth that had possessed my heart. We often can’t see anything else aside from the trial we are in while we are fighting through it.

After a month of internal battles, I decided to step away from anything concerning God or religion. I wasn’t going to think about being a spiritual being, or God, or what would happen after death, or what was right and wrong. I was just going to do whatever brought me peace. At first, it was just a simple breather. Then, it turned into an indefinite break (which was compounded by new, rather extreme illness symptoms making it a hassle to really go anywhere). The pushback from others for me taking a break brought out my porcupine spikes, and eventually, I’d determined I no longer wanted anything to do with the Church and eventually resigned altogether thanks to certain pressures and circumstances.

At first, my exit was peaceful. I’d felt no disdain for the Church as a whole and I loved so many of its members. I even watched general conference out of habit and a desire to keep up with what would be happening in the lives of my friends. However, I quickly felt isolated and wondered if I could find friends with other people who might understand where I was coming from. This would prove to be a large mistake.

The “Ex-Mormon” community I’d stumbled into was full of obsessive, angry, hateful people. I can’t tell you how seriously obsessed some of these people were. They’d made full-time careers out of bashing the Church and disrupting its members. They kept a finger on the pulse of the Church and its leadership at all times. My generally supportive attitude towards the Church was immediately frowned upon. Being completely inundated by a constant flow of negative attitudes towards the Church eventually turned me bitter, and soon I began to find myself drowning because of them.

To find out how Elizabeth made her way back to the gospel despite having her name removed and feeling hatred toward the Church, come back next week for part two!

Guest Author

While I was growing up in the state of New York, the number of young Latter-day Saints was never too great. I happened to be the only member in my whole high school class. Yet the few of us living there did have a fine seminary program. We would gather from all over the city and suburbs for lessons held daily in our little chapel beginning at 7:00 a.m. When I returned from my mission, I attended a junior college near the chapel for a year prior to leaving for Brigham Young University. During that year, I was called to teach that small seminary class. Every school day at 6:00 a.m., I would borrow my father’s car and drive about 25 miles in and around the city and suburbs picking and dropping off class members. On many winter days it was so cold and snowy I barely had time to pick up my class members and get them back home before school started. Sometimes my lessons in between were only five or ten minutes long. But we had fun. Over that year, I developed a special friendship and love for these devoted young people. They were wonderful young saints who later grew to be wonderful missionaries and devoted fathers and mothers.

That seminary meeting program continued for years after I left for school in Utah. Many memorable spiritual events came about from that little seminary class over the years. One of these events that has always touched me deeply involved a sweet young sister, who incidentally was my niece, Ally.

She was a junior at a local high school and was very active in sports, student affairs, and her studies. Even with her heavy schedule, she never failed to attend that early morning seminary class. Quite often she would get behind in her scripture study and could find little time to catch up. Often she would rush through her lunch at school then walk out into the common area and either sit on a bench or find a quiet place in a corner and read a few chapters of scripture before her next class was to begin.

One day while reading from her Book of Mormon, out of the corner of her eye Ally thought she saw someone watching her from across the commons. A young man dressed in a black hoodie with a very tattered old backpack was staring at her. She knew it must be a fellow student but she had no idea of who he was or why he was watching her from so far away. She felt extremely uncomfortable that day but continued reading her scriptures.

This same young man was there again the next day and the day after that, always watching her. Her efforts to avoid him never worked. She became so obsessed by his presence that she could take it no more. On the fourth day, she jumped up from her bench and walked over to him. In a very belligerent tone, she confronted him and asked, “Who are you? What are you doing staring at me like this every day? I don’t know you and I don’t like it. So stop it and go away or I’ll report you.”

The young man was somewhat stunned by this challenge and was almost too shy to respond. After a moment, he quietly asked, “What are you reading?” Ally was taken aback by this question and simply said, “A book. Why do you want to know? What’s it to you?” The young man replied quietly, “What book is it?” Not knowing why he asked this question or what she should say, she simply replied, “It’s called the Book of Mormon. Why do you want to know?”

He sheepishly he opened his backpack and quietly withdrew a book. It was like hers. The same color. The same size. She looked closely at the title. To her surprise, it read “The Book of Mormon.” Ally was puzzled. Why did he have a copy of the Book of Mormon in his backpack? Shyly he looked up and confided to Ally that for days he was trying to get up the nerve to ask her about this book — that’s why he was watching her. He said a friend had given it to him a few weeks earlier and said something about how someday it could change his life. He confessed that he had seen her reading her copy of the Book of Mormon during lunch hour and quietly hoped he could get the confidence and find the opportunity to ask Ally about this book. His question was simple: “Can you please tell me what is so special about this book? It must be special if I see you reading it here every day after you eat lunch when you could be doing something else.”

He was sincere and humble in his questions. He was searching for something. He did not mean to offend Ally or frighten her by watching her. But something had told him to seek her out. He was shy by nature but had a deep desire to know more about this strange book his friend had given him.

The two spoke for a while and it became apparent to Ally that he had had a rough time recently and was looking for help. He wanted answers. Deep inside had hoped that perhaps this book might give him some comfort, guidance, and inspiration.

Ally did not let this opportunity go to waste. Her attitude softened. She felt the Spirit telling her to help him. Slowly they became good friends. She explained the basics she knew about the Book of Mormon. Once she had his confidence, she did what was the next best thing to do under these circumstances: she asked if he would meet with her friends, the missionaries. They could tell him all he needed to know about this powerful book and they could meet at her home for these lessons if he liked. He agreed to do so.

After a few months filled with good teaching by two fine missionaries and Ally’s support, this boy’s life began to change. He accepted the missionary lessons without difficulty and prayed about their message. He was ready and searching for the gospel. A short time later, he was baptized, with Ally and her seminary friends and family present. With good fellowshipping from that little seminary class, he stayed active in the Church. He grew to be loved by his new ward friends. A good bishop worked with him to receive the priesthood. A few years later, this once shy, lost young man dress in a black hoodie who could only stare at Ally, watching her from far away, left to serve a worthy mission for the Church.

I too was a convert to the Church while a senior in high school in that that very same city. I know how he must have felt as he sought to find answers to life’s questions.

Thank goodness that there are saints like Ally who live the gospel with boldness and listen to the Spirit. And like Ally, they are saints who remember that they are called to be missionaries first. They are ready to gather in Israel at any time and under any circumstance, even while being observed from across a school lunch yard. Her kind actions changed the destiny of a young man who was searching for truth too. Further, who knew then how many other lives were changed for the better as he served a mission, married in the temple, and raised his family in the Church?

All this because a young seminary student answered a searching question from a total stranger.

Someone once told me, “We must live the gospel as if people were always looking at us, because our lives may be the only book some people will ever read.”

Ally not only read her Book of Mormon, but her life was also being read by someone seeking the truth of the gospel.

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.

Not many of us have had the firsthand opportunity to experience how thin this veil may become, even outside of the temple at times. But there are experiences that do happen and must be shared to strengthen our testimonies of this great work of Heavenly Father. In my own family, we have had one such experience that we speak of and share often among ourselves. It is a very precious experience that happened to one our ancestors. After more than a century, this testimony by John Johnson about how thin the veil is continues to inspire us. I hope it will inspire you too.

John Johnson was a young man living in Sweden near the city of Karbenning in 1886. He was the oldest of eight children. His father’s early death left him in charge of the family farm and the support of his widowed mother. During that year, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to his town. Their message of the Restoration profoundly moved John. 

He would have joined the Church at once had it not been for his mother’s strong opposition. He held off for a time, but he could not dismiss the principles that were so firmly rooted in his mind. His mental struggles were relentless. Finally, he realized he could have no peace of mind until he joined the Church. He was baptized on September 12, 1886. He was 22 at the time.

His baptism angered his mother, uncles, and the community. They wrote him off as a complete loss. 

One uncle had invited him to visit for a weekend at his home prior to hearing of John’s baptism. 

John was excited to spend some time with the family and his cousins. He was naïve enough to think they all would listen to his new beliefs. However, upon arriving at the door, he realized he was not welcome. Not a cousin was to be seen. A short time later, his uncle approached him and said “I want you to leave this house and never return. I understand that Mormonism has a strange power for evil which people cannot resist. I do not want my family contaminated.”

As John left the farmyard, he saw his cousins looking at him through a window. He turned towards them hoping to say goodbye, but the faces disappeared. They were locked inside.

On his way home, he walked through a wooded area. When he was out of sight, he sat down on a rock and wept. This rejection was a great sorrow to him. Kneeling beside the rock, he prayed for the ability to someday reach his people and give them the gospel.

Throughout the years that followed, John kept his testimony. He was called to serve two missions, both back to Sweden and to his hometown of Karbenning. The first mission came before he could immigrate to Utah with the Saints, his greatest desire. He was successful in baptizing many into the Church there, but never his mother or other family members. However, he was able to restore good relations with his mother before he left for the States.

The second mission call came after marrying a young lady also of Swedish descent, Edla, and starting a family in Utah. By the time the call came, they had three children: Elinor, Elsie, and Lawrence, who was only three months old. When he received the call, it took all his faith (and that of his dear wife Edla) to accept it and leave them for several years.

As John returned again to his homeland, he went with much more confidence. He even found that his relatives who once disowned him now took pride in him. On occasion they even befriended him and opened their homes for him to teach in. But none of them accepted his message. And again, he returned home without seeing any of his beloved family accepting the gospel. What would it take to bring them into the fold? 

However, over thirty years later, John did receive the desire of his heart — and in a remarkable way. His eldest daughter Elinor went on a mission to Colorado. While serving there, she contracted tuberculosis and suffered several years before passing. Her death at such a young age was a heavy blow to John. He was constantly tormented by the question, Why did my lovely, faithful, and first-born daughter have to die so young? It seemed so unfair; she had every right to live. She had given her short life to serving others.

Then one night he received his answer in a marvelous manner. He had gone to sleep for the night. Suddenly he was awakened by a voice saying, “You asked for a blessing, and I have given you a greater one.” He sat up in bed, thoroughly awake, and received what he called a “manifestation.” He could see Elinor before him well and strong, her face shining with happiness. She said to him, “I have been preaching the gospel to our dead relations, Father, and they are listening to me.”

He remembered her saying before she died, “Dad, I wish I could go on another mission.” Well, she had her desire; she was on another mission within the family and doing what John had never been able to do. The prayer that he had offered so earnestly in the wooded area so long ago in Sweden was being answered. John thanked God for this beautiful and satisfying experience.

Yes, at times the veil is very thin.

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.

As the events unfold, like a slow-motion, global train wreck, it can be hard to look away. And why would we look away? These are real events, right? These wars and riots and pandemics and debates and studies and policies — these have far-reaching consequences. We need to be good global citizens and stay informed, right? We need to stay attentive — involved, even. Perhaps we should even try to lead.

When the world seems like a whirlwind, or the earth seems like an earthquake, where can we look for help? Where can we find peace? Where is God? Amazingly, the scriptures have an example of just this situation.

In the Book of Kings, the prophet Elijah looked for God in the whirlwind:

“Behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” (1 Kings 19:11-13).

The prophet Elijah found the voice of the Lord only after the fire was gone and the earthquake was over. Only when he was still and things were quiet could he hear the Holy Spirit.

The cacophony of the world offers a myriad of reasons to be afraid, to be distracted and to be angry. It all seems so urgent. It all seems so unparalleled. But it isn’t unparalleled. Gordon B. Hinckley spoke about a very similar situation in the April General Conference of 1964. In 1964, the President of the United States had just been assassinated. Congress was a tumult of opinions about the Civil Rights Act. The Soviet Union had nuclear weapons and was winning the Space Race. Things were in commotion. Big time. Here’s what Elder Hinckley had to say:

“The word of God … has come to us, not with trumpets, not from the council halls of the learned but in the still small voice of revelation. Listening to those who seek in vain to find wisdom and who declaim loudly their nostrums for the ills of the world, one is prone to reply with the Psalmist, ‘Be still, and know that I am God’ (Ps. 46:10).”

If Twitter existed in 1964, it would have been a hurricane of excitation, accusation, blame, shame and name-calling. But they didn’t have social media or a 24-hour news cycle in 1964. Have these new media helped us get closer to God? Or do they distract us?

President Russell M. Nelson said:

“We live in a world that is complex and increasingly contentious. The constant availability of social media and a 24-hour news cycle bombard us with relentless messages. If we are to have any hope of sifting through the myriad of voices and the philosophies of men that attack truth, we must learn to receive revelation.” 

The headlines and commentary online is like a great and spacious building, hovering over the ground with real no foundation. Onlookers can be mesmerized by its glitter and flash. Billions of people crane their necks to gaze unceasingly at the cloud of swirling controversy, like Eve gazing harmlessly at the fruit. The cold, rough iron rod is so drab, so banal, so ordinary. Not like the Great and Spacious Drama — with a million salacious plot lines and dark emotions. Without even knowing it, without meaning to, they’ve let go of the rod, totally caught up in the thrall.

The beauty of the iron rod is its banality. The word of God is so ordinary, so obvious, so personal, and so simple. You don’t need a PhD to interpret it and you don’t need a project manager to carry it out. Anyone anywhere can follow the commandments, without any great organizing. The word of God is very personal.

The “relentless messages” of the whirlwind are anything but personal. They are the devil’s perfect perversion of God’s word. Instead of being close, they are distant. Instead of being specific, they are general. Instead of being spiritual, they are worldly. Instead of being personal, they are impersonal. The great and spacious building is so big and important, it doesn’t even touch the earth. The rolling controversies we subscribe to are so big and important, they can’t ever touch our heart.

We can take wisdom from the rabbi who was asked: “Why doesn’t God reveal Himself and speak to us like He did in ancient times?” The rabbi replied: “Because no one is left who will bow low enough.”

Joseph Smith Jr. taught:

“The Lord cannot always be known by the thunder of His voice, by the display of His glory or by the manifestation of His power, and those that are the most anxious to see these things, are the least prepared to meet them . . . We would say to the brethren, seek to know God in your closets.”

God is low. The gospel is found in simple, personal, modest and ordinary ways. The Holy Ghost speaks to us about the little things — in our closets, in our gardens, in small acts of kindness to our siblings and spouses.

Do we drift off to sleep with an echo chamber of the day’s worries in our heads? Do we lie on the pillow and replay commentary or outrages we witnessed online that day? Praying before we sleep is supposed to focus us. Reverting right back to the latest indignation du jour defeats the whole purpose of praying before we lie down to sleep.

When His followers came to Him with what seemed like real problems, Christ pointed them to the lillies: “Consider the lillies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin.” God’s glorious creation blooms eternal. Outside. Away from our screens. The trees grow green and the rains keep nourishing the earth, oblivious to the self-important “relentless messages” of doom and gloom, anger and outrage, blaring around them.

If we search for God in the whirlwinds of the world, we’ll never find Him. If we search in the causes and movements that shake the earth, we won’t find Him. If we seek him in the flames of outrage and indignation, no matter how justified our outrage feels, we will never find God. God moves the world through individuals and with whispers, not with loudspeakers. The world today needs less grandstanding and more gardening, less cynicism and more cycling, fewer presentations and more prayer.

 “Much of what appears in your various social media feeds is distorted, if not fake,” President Nelson warned. He encouraged the youth and women of the Church to fast from social media. Stop looking up in the sky for God. Instead, bow low.

The ultimate example of “lowliness” is the King of Kings, Jesus Christ. If we want to “lead” during these times of tumult, we should lead like Christ led. He comforted beggars and children. He led no marches. He founded no non-profits and wrote no speeches. He paused to speak with lepers, cripples, fig trees and to draw in the dirt. He was a “low” man. His message was dangerously personal, uncomfortably direct and pitifully simple: “blessed are the peacemakers,” “blessed are the meek,” “be still,” and “be of good cheer.”

The Holy Spirit is strongest when we work on things near to us, like a leaky faucet, a weedy patch on the lawn, a family member who needs a phone call, a neighbor who needs some cookies, or a rose that needs smelling. If we unplug, hold to the rod, bow low enough, and be still, we will find God no matter what whirlwind swirls around us.

Jonah Barnes

Jonah Barnes is the author of Turning Little Hearts – Over 90 Activities to Connect Children with Their Ancestors. In addition to running a wholesale bakery, he enjoys doing family history, gardening, music, and caring for his six children and a flock of chickens. To learn more about Jonah and his work, check out his website, www.turninglittlehearts.com!

There is always a challenge to meet and overcome before the next one comes. Some challenges are hard to handle and some are more bearable. We all look forward and hope someday to reach what we call “perfection.” Yet in the entire history of mankind, there has been only one living soul who ever attained that lofty state of perfection: Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God.

Jesus Christ was perfect before He dwelt on Earth, and then He completed His Father’s mission here on Earth with total perfection. The legacy to us of His monumental work is eternal life to those who continue seeking perfection — or in other words, we are to work to become like Him. The Savior even commanded us to “[b]e ye therefore perfect” (Matthew 5:48).

We are all imperfect beings and will always be so until we finish our work here on the earth and return to our Father in Heaven. Until then we will always be struggling in a constant effort to overcome our weaknesses an imperfections. The great promise we have been given is the knowledge that through our attitudes and work ethic, we can overcome or learn to cope with most of our weaknesses. In making the effort to improve ourselves, we become stronger. A weightlifter never will gain the strength he desires to compete in his field if he simply thinks about it and makes no effort to constantly lift heavier and heavier weights. All his struggles are not in vain — they make him stronger.

The imperfections we must overcome are not all the same. Some of us are born with physical deficiencies, like loss of limbs or a congenital problems that limit our physical or mental growth. Others have physical impairments come to them either by illness or accident. For many of us to achieve any degree of proficiency or skill in this life, we must expend great effort to overcome these limitations. Very few people achieve greatness without extreme devotion to their cause, and practice makes perfect. Whatever effort we chose to make will improve us and will always bear fruit.

History has shown us that physical or mental limitations do not mean we cannot grow and rise above them. Emma Smith, Joseph Smith’s wife, was quoted as saying that Joseph at the time of the translating of the Book of Mormon could hardly write a grammatically correct sentence, let alone the entire Book of Mormon. Yet it did not stop this largely self-educated man from writing countless letters and articles during his short life.

For another example, look to the great prophet and leader Moses. For forty years he led his people in the wilderness and gave us the first five books of the Bible. Yet he could not speak well in public — so the Lord gave him Aaron to speak for him. His inability to speak never prohibited him from doing the Lord’s work in a monumental way.

Finally, in our own day, who cannot learn from the example of Helen Keller? Born blind and deaf, she was destined to remain in a cocoon of darkness and solitude with no contact with the world around her. But she had the sense of touch and used it to communicate with the outside world. She learned to use her fingers to tap out her thoughts in a form of braille. In doing so, she changed the whole world.

The greatest challenge we have in life is to do the absolute best with what we have. That is all God asks of us. For many years I have had a comic strip mounted on my office wall. It’s a piece by Johnny Hart from his B.C. comic strip series which runs in most newspapers daily. I look at it often because it has changed my life. It is the most perfect explanation of this desire we all must have to do the best we can with what we have.

In the strip, an old handicapped man sits under a tree. He has one good leg and a one peg leg. The captions read:

I’m thankful that I have one leg.

To limp is no disgrace.

Although I can’t be number one

I can still run the race.

It’s not the things you cannot do,

That makes you what you are,

It’s doing good with what you’ve got

That lights the morning star.

To all of us who feel somehow crippled and as though we are running too slowly in life’s race, let us remember: “It’s doing good with what you’ve got that lights the morning star.” Never give up. The world always needs another morning star.

B.C. comic strip by Johnny Hart

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.

46 Wherefore, my beloved brethren, if ye have not charity, ye are nothing, for charity never faileth. Wherefore, cleave unto charity, which is the greatest of all, for all things must fail—

 

47 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever; and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.

But sometimes it takes the example set by others to wake us up to our often insignificant commitment to true charity as taught by Heavenly Father.

This wakeup call came to me on a quiet Saturday morning in my own backyard. That morning I was up early and walking on my lawn when I thought I heard a bird chirping nearby. I looked around and saw nothing. Then it called again from under my feet. I heard it coming from the window well of my basement! As I peered inside, I saw a little bird — a starling — there.

Evidently, he had flown down into the window well perhaps looking for food or shelter. However, he was unable to fly back out due to the steel bars on the cover. He had inadvertently trapped himself and was chirping for help to get out.

I put on a gardening glove for protection from his beak and removed the window well grate hoping he would fly out. But he was either too afraid or too exhausted to even try. He just cowered in a corner until I picked him up and removed him from his prison.

Once out, I gently threw him up into the air thinking he would fly away. But instead he jumped from my hands and flew downward about twenty feet into the grass. There he laid, not moving. So I picked him up and tried once more to send him on his way, only to see him fall to the grass again. After several more attempts to revive him, I gave up, thinking he had lost too much strength and would shortly die.

Not wanting to view this sad event, I left him alone in the grass to his demise and walked off. But my curiosity got the better of me, and after about fifteen minutes, I returned again to this little starling. There he was. He had not moved an inch. He still looked frightened and lost.

But as I drew near to him, a large red robin flew in over my shoulder and came to rest about a foot in front of the distressed little guy. I looked closely at these two birds to see what would happen. The robin had flown in with a huge worm in his bill. He took several steps toward our needy little friend and before I knew it, he offered him the worm. I stood amazed at how tenderly he held the worm up over the mouth of his new friend. Eagerly the worm was swallowed. They looked at each other for a while after that, and then the robin flew away. It took a few moments, but the little starling started to revive himself. First, he shook his head a little. Then he flexed his wings and jumped into the air and flew away. I can only guess that the worm he received from a friendly robin had been sufficient to nourish him and give him the strength and courage to fly home.

What I observed in this little exchange was truly remarkable. It has taught me a great lesson about true charity. The robin saw a fellow bird in distress. He could have paid no attention to it and gone about on his own path. But rather than think of himself, he answered the call of a creature in distress.

The robin had only one possession in his life: a worm. He could have eaten it himself or perhaps given it to his chicks, but he gave it to a stranger in hopes of helping him. I have asked myself if I would ever be brave or caring enough to part with one of my precious possessions to help a friend in need like this robin? It seemed his only desire was to help a friend in need. His tender gift brought life and hope to a dying bird. Would I be able to do the same if called upon?

The greatest example of this kind of love and sacrifice was set by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He gave his everything to provide eternal life to all who would keep His commandments.

I simply ask myself now, how much am I willing to give someone in need? I hope and pray this little event will always remind me of true charity. I must always “cleave unto charity,” even as my little robin friend has taught me.

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.

via Janette Beverly’s personal blog

In the morning when the sun isn’t quite up yet, these breathtaking flowers remain closed, waiting for the sun to come up and give them the light they need to fully open. While they wait for the sun, it is the most remarkable thing to watch: they literally lean in the direction of the sunrise. The flowers crave the light and know from what direction it will come, but they aren’t sitting there passively waiting for the light—they actually reach toward it. They are proactive in obtaining their need for light and the strength it brings.

They instinctively know the direction of their source of life and light. They gather strength from knowing throughout the night that the dawn will always come, and that they will be able to draw from its light.

The Savior told us, “I am the light of the world: he that follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12). He is that light to which we should lean towards, but like these beautiful poppies, we have to be willing to reach for Him.

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.

 

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.“ (Matthew 7:7-8)

Sometimes in life, we lean away from His source of light—we lean unto our own understanding and rely on our own strength. Then the problem arises: we’ve walked so far into the darkness that our “petals” no longer open at all. We lose our natural instinct of where the light comes from because we have not leaned into it for such a long time.

The Savior tells us:

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and our heavy laden and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

The truth of this statement came to me during a particularly difficult time in life where I had to put my trust in Jesus Christ and all of my energy focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. I found that all the chocolate and Diet Coke in the world couldn’t make me feel ok.  I needed more. I needed strength that surpassed my own and the peace that passeth all understanding. He gave me that, but only when I asked Him for it and then trusted and waited. I asked Him for it every day—sometimes even every hour, every minute.

If we, like these beautiful poppies, wait patiently on the light of the Savior to permeate our lives and bring us growth and strength, He will make something glorious from our lives—more glorious than anything we could possibly make on our own.

Janette Beverley

Janette Beverley is a lover of life, family, music, and the gospel of Jesus Christ.

She has a bachelor’s degree in psychology with an emphasis in marriage and family therapy, and has five amazing children and one equally amazing husband.

Janette is excited to be writing for LDS Blogs and sharing her love and passion for finding the miraculous among the mundane, the awe-inspiring among the obvious, and the uplifting among the underestimated.

To read more of her work, you can visit Janette’s personal blog here.

As we gathered, Elder Fyans asked us to be seated at our long high council table. But rather than sitting randomly, he instructed us all to sit in a row on one side of the table. He then sat looking at us from the other side. I happened to be seated directly across from him.

Following some words of greeting and an opening prayer, Elder Fyans proceeded to look directly at me and said, “President Domm, will you please tell us of a spiritual experience in your life?” The request came at me so quickly I was stunned. I wasn’t ready to for it. I first thought, “Why me? Couldn’t he ask someone else and give me time to think?” But in only a moment, a calmness came over me and I felt a strong impression to tell him of an event earlier in my life when, on a late evening while driving my family home from an activity, the Holy Ghost suddenly warned me to stop my car. I slammed on my brakes only to look to my right and see an out-of-control car racing across the intersection at well over 100 miles per hour. Miraculously, our lives had been spared by this voice I heard.

After I recited this event, Elder Fyans said, “Thank you, President Domm, for sharing that with us.” He then in turn asked the same question of every person in our presidency. These individuals were able to relate wonderful spiritual experiences they’d had in their lives. Each was touching and meaningful.

After we all had spoken, he asked us a very simple question: “Brethren, who else knows of these spiritual experiences you have shared with me today? Have you shared them with your wives or children? Do your friends and relatives know about them? Have you written them down for future generations to read?”

The point he made with us that day was that these very special spiritual events are sacred and should be shared to strengthen others too. Not only were they given to assist us with a specific event or situation in our lives, but to help others. They are gifts from God and should be cherished and used to strengthen others and to build stronger testimonies of a living, caring God.

This lesson has been a constant influence in my life ever since. He went on to say that Heavenly Father has given us spiritual experience for several reasons. The first is to testify to us as that He hears and answers our prayers. He loves us and these events testify of that great love. They testify to us that He lives and is always watching over each of us. Secondly, He gives us these spiritual blessings not just for our personal edification, but also to bless others who can learn and gain strength from hearing them. They testify to the world that He lives. We read in Luke 11:33, “No man, when he hath lighted a candle, putteth it in a secret place, neither under a bushel, but on a candlestick, that they which come in may see the light.” These events are a light to the world. We are duty-bound to share them.

We would have no Bible, Book of Mormon, nor modern-day revelations if the authors did not write their spiritual experiences down to share with us and with future generations.

In his Teachings of the Book of Mormon series, Hugh Nibley, the great scholar of ancient scripture, said that the greatest invention of all mankind was the ability to write. He says that taking 26 letters or symbols in the English language (or other characters in other languages) and arranging them in calculated manners gives mankind the ability to pass these sacred events forward from generation to generation. We can write things down—or, in other words, we can use these letters to make words, which make ideas. We then we use those words and ideas to pass on the many spiritual events we experience. If properly done, like in the Book of Mormon, our spiritual happenings could be read by generations many hundreds of years in the future.

Over the last few decades, Family Search has evolved into just such a vehicle to help carry our spiritual events forward. We can post pictures, stories, journals, and even verbal and video transcriptions on this site. In so doing, we know that they are safe and protected for now and hopefully forever. The Church has all but guaranteed that they will never be lost. Generations to come will either read, hear, or see them.

May we take the time to speak of these spiritual blessings to our loved ones in our lives and also to record them for all who are to come. Someone will surely be blessed by them.

George Domm

George Domm was born and raised in upstate New York around historical LDS sites such as the Hill Cumorah and Palmyra. He was very familiar with the Church long before he was baptized in 1959. Soon after joining, he found himself serving a full-time mission for the Church in Berlin, Germany. That was his first of four missions! George currently lives in American Fork, UT with his wife, Margaret, and busies himself trying to keep up with their 11 children and 42 grandchildren. He loves to do family history and play golf with “all the old men in our neighborhood.” His goal is to one day shoot his age, 74.