I arrived in Norway in late November of 1983. My first area was Haugesund, and I flew there on Thanksgiving Day. I remember leaving the mission home, where they had cooked a turkey. The smell filled the house and felt familiar and comforting. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough for me to eat. I boarded the plane hungry, tired, and lonely, but a little excited. That excitement soon turned to trepidation as I listened to announcements in a language I didn’t understand at all.

When I arrived, I met my companion. It didn’t take long to sense that he was disappointed to have me. He wasn’t unfriendly, but he didn’t talk much either. Haugesund itself was beautiful in a stark, unforgiving way. During the four months I served there, it rained or snowed every single day but eight. I was constantly wet. My feet were always cold. I was homesick and lonely, and winter in Norway meant darkness for most of the day.

There were good moments. Some kind members invited us into their homes and fed us, and those evenings felt like small mercies. Christmas was mixed. I missed home deeply, but I was able to speak with my family which helped tremendously.

By late January, the weight of it all caught up to me. One particularly cold, wet, and dark day stands out clearly. We went out at 9:30 in the morning and came home around three for “middag,” the main meal eaten between lunch and dinner. The morning had been hard. We faced rejection after rejection. I have been blessed with faith and think I’ve always had it, but that day I realized it wasn’t enough on its own. I needed something deeper. Something more firm.

I went into the bedroom, closed the door, and knelt down to pray. I told Heavenly Father that I couldn’t get by on what I had right then. I needed to know more. I needed to know for myself. I asked specifically for a testimony of the Book of Mormon.

Later, I wrote in my journal on January 29, 1983: “Anyway in my prayer I just asked for a testimony for the Book of Mormon and it just started burning. I was sweating. It was intense. The Spirit was so strong. Anyway it made me feel good. It’s true, I know it!”

That moment has never left me. I remember it now, as clearly as if it happened yesterday. In a small, dark room in Norway, on a cold winter afternoon, the Lord answered me in a way I could not deny. The Book of Mormon is true. I know it. And that knowledge has stayed with me ever since.