Words of the Prophets

Likening chapter 5 of the first book of Nephi

1 Nephi 5:1-3

And it came to pass that after we had come down into the wilderness unto our father, behold, he was filled with joy, and also my mother, Sariah, was exceedingly glad, for she truly had mourned because of us.

For she had supposed that we had perished in the wilderness; and she also had complained against my father, telling him that he was a visionary man…

And after this manner of language had my mother complained against my father.

When I went back to Montreal after my two year mission, my father came at the airport to take me. My sister was there also with her family, my branch president and some of my friends too. It was a happy reunion. I felt my father was still proud of me and I was glad to see my friends and family.

My mother was living too far away to come to Montreal, so my father let me borrow his car to go visit her in Gaspésie. She was filled with joy when she saw me. She told me she was very pleased with all the letters I had sent to her. I wrote to her every week while on my mission.

It was great to see them all.

1 Nephi 5:4-5

And it had come to pass that my father spake unto her, saying: I know that I am a visionary man; for if I had not seen the things of God in a vision I should not have known the goodness of God, but had tarried at Jerusalem, and had perished with my brethren.

But behold, I have obtained a land of promise, in the which things I do rejoice; yea, and I know that the Lord will deliver my sons out of the hands of Laban, and bring them down again unto us in the wilderness.

I have personally received great promises from the Lord, and He has kept His word so far. I am deeply grateful to know Him and to serve Him. Through trials, I have learned to trust in God and remain at peace. He has blessed me in many ways, and I will continue to rely on His guiding hand.

When I am down, He comforts me. When I am weak, He strengthens me. He watches over me, my family, and those for whom I pray. My faith remains in the character and the works of the resurrected Savior, and in the hope that He will one day come again on Earth to reign with greatness and majesty.

Like Lehi of old, I can say: “I know that I am a visionary man; for if I had not seen the things of God in a vision, I should not have known the goodness of God…” He is loving and merciful. He cares for us. I know this. I bear witness of it. And I will continue to speak of Him.

It is my hope that this book adds to that testimony.

1 Nephi 5:6-7

And after this manner of language did my father, Lehi, comfort my mother, Sariah, concerning us, while we journeyed in the wilderness up to the land of Jerusalem, to obtain the record of the Jews.

And when we had returned to the tent of my father, behold their joy was full, and my mother was comforted.

In July 1994, when I told my mother that I was going to be baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she was deeply worried. She feared I was going to joined a strange and obscure cult. Her concern was genuine and intense. Providentially, the day after my baptism, I had the chance to travel with friends to Matane, where she lived, on my way to the Baie-des-Chaleurs in Gaspésie.

When I visited her, I wanted to help her understand my new faith. So I sat with her and read from the Book of Mormon—a passage that recounts the visit of the resurrected Christ to a remnant of Israel’s descendants in the ancient Americas. In this sacred account, God the Father introduces His Beloved Son to the people, and Christ teaches them, much as He did during His mortal ministry in Palestine.

As I read aloud, the words of scripture brought the Spirit into the room. My mother felt something. The Holy Ghost began to testify of the truthfulness of what I was sharing. The moment became especially powerful when I read this verse from 3 Nephi 11:3:

And it came to pass that while they were thus conversing one with another, they heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn.

As we read those words together, our hearts began to burn. We felt the love of God. My mother started to feel peace and reassurance. When I then read the Savior’s words in 3 Nephi 11:10:

Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.

—she rejoiced. With gladness, she exclaimed how wonderful it was that we believed in Jesus Christ. She said she believed this new religion was good and that it truly came from God.

It was a great relief to me.

The inspired words of the Father, the Son, and the prophet Nephi helped my mother feel the witness of the Holy Spirit—and her fears began to subside.

1 Nephi 5:8-9

And she spake, saying: Now I know of a surety that the Lord hath commanded my husband to flee into the wilderness; yea, and I also know of a surety that the Lord hath protected my sons, and delivered them out of the hands of Laban, and given them power whereby they could accomplish the thing which the Lord hath commanded them. And after this manner of language did she speak.

And it came to pass that they did rejoice exceedingly… and they gave thanks unto the God of Israel.

My mother rejoiced beyond measure years ago when I received an unexpected sum of money from the insurance company—enough to buy a small house. We were all deeply thankful to God, but she was especially moved. She said she was glad I hadn’t received that money earlier, convinced that I would have squandered it. To her, it was clear that God had been working quietly behind the scenes, guiding every circumstance, even the timing of it all.

It had seemed nearly impossible that I would ever receive that money. After my mission, walking had become painfully difficult. My condition kept deteriorating, and yet the state insurance company refused to acknowledge that it was caused by my accident. I was left without proper medical coverage—dependent only on what public health services could offer with meager earnings.

Still, by God’s grace, I managed to complete a bachelor’s degree in Computer Science in Rimouski, Québec, with the precious support of the student disability program.

When I returned to Montreal in the summer of 2005, I sought out the orthopedic surgeon who had operated on me back in 1994. I told him that the pain had grown unbearable and asked whether it was finally time for a hip replacement. I worried about how such an operation would be paid for, but he reassured me that the provincial insurance and the hospital would cover it. His own son would perform the surgery—“the best surgeon in the region,” as he put it.

By the end of November that year, I underwent the operation. I had to cancel my semester to recover, but I was full of hope. I believed this surgery would allow me to walk without pain. Yet, to my great disappointment, even weeks later, I could still barely walk, and the pain remained sharp and unrelenting. The surgery had replaced part of my pelvis and lengthened my leg by nearly five centimeters. After walking for more than twenty-five years with a dislocated hip, my muscles and tendons were severely atrophied. I had believed that fixing my hip would fix everything—but it didn’t.

My accident had left deeper infirmities than I had realized. My arms and legs were partially paralyzed from the concussion. I had long ignored that reality. More than ever, I was forced to face the truth: my whole body had been affected. Somehow, I had convinced myself that once the hip was replaced, the rest of me would follow, that I would be free from pain. But it wasn’t so—and the weight of that realization was crushing.

Months of physiotherapy, psychotherapy, and various treatments followed, and I was still struggling to accept my condition. My therapists gently, and sometimes firmly, urged me to consider that I might never return to school or work full time. I resisted fiercely. I was determined to regain what I had lost, to return to the life I knew before the operation. To them, my insistence was unreasonable, even delusional—but I clung to hope for full recovery.

Each session at the rehabilitation center left me drained and in pain. The professionals around me saw what I couldn’t—or refused to. There was, in their eyes, no realistic path back to full activity.

More than once, I found myself drawn—sometimes unwillingly—into conversations meant to help me “accept my limitations.” After nearly a year of therapy, they said, it was time to face reality, to evaluate what I could and could not do. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. My dreams for the future wavered under the pressure of so many grim assessments, but deep down, I still believed there was a way forward.

Diagnosis after diagnosis came in, each one reaffirming what I dreaded to hear: I would not be able to return to work. Some specialists even questioned whether I had ever truly been capable of it in the first place. Their words felt like a slow erasure of who I had been—and who I still longed to be.

Financially, things were growing desperate. I couldn’t work long enough to support myself. The insurance company had to reexamine my case. Years before, an agent had told me I wasn’t eligible for assistance because I had been able to study full time after the accident. But this time, the final decision came in my favor: they determined that I should have been receiving compensation all along.

That year, I received a lump sum—an amount representing the difference between what I had earned since my eighteenth birthday and what I should have received in benefits.

I was overwhelmed. My family rejoiced with me. That’s when my mother, her eyes shining, said that God had known exactly what He was doing—that if I had received that money earlier, I would have wasted it. Her words stayed with me. In that moment, we all felt the touch of divine providence. Gratitude filled our hearts; we praised God for His mercy and timing.

With that blessing, I started looking for a small house for my fiancée and me. We bought it before our wedding, and a month after we were married, we moved in—grateful, humbled, and full of hope for what was to come.

On the Purchase of Our First House

Journal excerpt (originally written in French)

Friday, November 16, 2007—Yesterday I bought a house. Amazing! While browsing the Internet Tuesday evening, I came across a house for sale in Laval (Québec, Canada)—a small, wheelchair-accessible home close to amenities. I immediately sent the listing to Annie [my fiancée]. She looked at it the next morning and liked it a lot. She prefers small houses.

That Tuesday night, I prayed about the house, and the Spirit came strongly into my heart to confirm that it was a good thing. He even spoke to me, telling me that the owner would sell the house to me for less than she could have, because I was handicapped—that she would lower her price to sell it to me.

Wednesday morning, I was hesitating between this house and another one in Deux-Montagnes. The one in Laval was more convenient, but the one in Deux-Montagnes was a bit cheaper and slightly larger. However, the Laval house was in better condition, and the landscaping was more attractive. I asked God for wisdom. I remembered (in fact, the Spirit reminded me) the words of our prophet, Hinckley, who advised the brethren to buy a small house within their means and current needs, and to expand it later if necessary. So I thought about how we could enlarge the small Laval house if we ever needed another bedroom. On the second floor, we could easily add one by extending over the living room. (I later confirmed this possibility with the owner, who assured me it was structurally sound.)

So, Wednesday evening, I called the owner of the little Laval house and learned that the house would be sold very soon—she already had two offers. I insisted on visiting and making my own offer, explaining that I was disabled and looking for an adapted home. She finally took my phone number, saying she’d call if the other offers fell through. I thought that was the end of it.

She called me back 30 minutes later to say she’d talk with her husband to see if we could come visit and make an offer. I told her I was ready to offer the listed price. She called back that evening to set an appointment for the next morning, Thursday at 10:30 a.m. Annie took the day off so she could come with me. I invited my father to join us for his opinion and reserved a community car for the meeting.

We showed up on time and visited the house. I liked it. It was small but very well arranged. The husband had done all the work himself, clearly with skill, taste, and durability in mind. My father arrived later with my uncle. They also toured the house and were both very positive.

We chatted with the couple. Then Nicole, the owner, told me there were already two offers and that mine would be the third. She said if I could provide a 5,000 dollars deposit that same day, I’d have a good chance of getting the house. I asked for 30 minutes to think. She gave me her cell number and left with her husband.

I discussed it with my father, my uncle, and Annie. My father and uncle both assured me it was a good deal. Annie also felt reassured. My father said that with 150,000 dollars in my account, I’d have no problem getting a mortgage for the difference. The house had been appraised at 161,000 dollars by the municipality for taxe purposes. We called back and set another meeting 45 minutes later, at noon, in a nearby restaurant, giving us time to stop by the bank for the money (I hadn’t brought a cheque).

So off we went, looking for a Bank of Montreal branch. It took a while to find one, but finally we spotted the logo in the distance. It gave us a good chance to see the neighborhood. It’s a city—I don’t particularly like living in a big city, but Annie does, and it’s more convenient for me. When I arrived at the bank, I asked for a cheque; they didn’t have any. The teller offered a bank draft, but I didn’t know the full name of the owner. So I decided to go to the appointment anyway without the money, since it was already five minutes past noon. But as we drove off, the thought (or inspiration) came that I had no proof that I was telling the truth about having 150,000 dollars in my account and that I wouldn’t have trouble getting a mortgage. So I went back to the bank to withdraw the cash. That took some time, since they had to open the vault to release such a large amount.

We got to the restaurant at 12:30 p.m., but they weren’t inside. I called Nicole on her cell, and she said they were waiting in the parking lot. A few minutes later, we all sat down at a table with them and the real estate agent.

And then everything started moving quickly. They began by telling us that the 5,000 dollars deposit wouldn’t be necessary. The owners, visibly very happy, started sharing stories about the house they had lived in for about 29 years. The agent—a former teacher—told us she always puts a St. Joseph statue behind every “For Sale” sign, asking the angel to help her sell the homes. Nicole and Alain told us they had been hoping to sell to someone with a disability. Annie kept exclaiming, “Oh my gosh, we’re buying a house! We’re actually buying a house!” We told them we were very religious, living chastely (since we weren’t living together yet), and that we were getting married soon. Everyone thought that was “cute.” The agent tried to keep things on track while the owners told us all kinds of stories about the house, the lovely landscaping, and the recent renovations.

Then the agent asked if we wanted to raise our offer. She pointed out there were two other offers and that she had met with another potential buyer the previous night who might raise hers. She suggested we raise ours by at least 1,000 dollars. I’m not very good at gambling, so I said I’d keep my offer as discussed on the phone—the listed price of 179,900 dollars. I added that I trusted St. Joseph. The husband said it’s better to trust God, and we confirmed that indeed, we did.

One problem remained: the agent said they had no proof that I was telling the truth about my finances. She asked for evidence of my account balance. Then I remembered the withdrawal receipt the bank had given me when I took out the cash. I took it from my pocket (careful not to pull out the whole bundle of bills also in my coat pocket) and handed it to them. It showed a 5,000 dollars withdrawal and a 150,000 dollars balance. Their reaction was instant—“Ah!” Everyone relaxed. They also found it a lot of money. I quickly explained that I had just received retroactive payments from the insurance covering ten years of aids. The agent joked, asking if she could marry me too, or if I had a friend she could meet. We laughed.

She then asked for a few minutes alone with Nicole to decide which offer to accept. While they talked, I spoke with Annie, who was trying not to panic. She’s a bit nervous—“Things are going so fast,” she said. “A year ago, we weren’t even dating!”

Then came the signing. Our offer was accepted. I wasn’t surprised—they had wanted to sell the house to us ever since she called me back that first evening, and I knew it. We signed paper after paper—the offer, the acceptance acknowledgment, the sales contract—all in four copies.

We shook hands. The owners congratulated us. The agent reminded them that the deal wasn’t final yet—we needed to secure mortgage approval within 14 days. But Alain replied that Annie and I were people of our word, so he wasn’t worried.

They left, and Annie and I stayed at the restaurant to breathe and use the washroom. Later, in the car, as I was thinking about what the Spirit had told me—that they would sell for less because I was handicapped—Annie told me she had seen one of the other offers while signing. The other buyer, a very serious woman to whom Nicole had nearly promised the house verbally Tuesday night, had offered 189,000 dollars. The agent had met with her Wednesday night after I made my offer by phone. They sold it to us for 179,900 dollars.

I cried with gratitude—deeply moved by such genuine kindness.