My Testimony

A personal testimony from Derek Briscoe

The book on my desk

I did not grow up thinking of myself as especially religious. I believed there was a God, but I did not really understand Him, nor did I understand what my relationship with Him could be. For many years I lived with a kind of distant respect for spiritual things, but without the conviction that would make me change the direction of my life.

That began to change in Lincoln, during a period of my life when I was helping a friend establish a small electronic publishing business. We needed someone to help with the work, and through a chain of events that seemed ordinary at the time, I employed a young man named Lyndon.

There was something different about him. He did not drink, smoke, or swear, and there was a conviction in him that I noticed before I understood it. Eventually he explained that he had been connected with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was trying to return to membership. I was curious about him, but I was not looking for religion. When he asked whether I would meet the missionaries, I declined. I assumed missionaries would know more than I did and would simply try to convert me.

Lyndon did not argue. Instead, he asked whether I would at least read the Book of Mormon and give him my honest opinion. I had worked in publishing, so he had found the one doorway I had left open. I agreed, thinking I might read a few verses, form a quick view, and move on.

The next morning, the book was sitting on my desk.

I took it home and began to read. I expected a brief look. Instead, I found myself drawn first into the witness statements, then into First Nephi, and then further and further into the record. I began finishing work early so I could read more. I read late into the night. Sometimes I read when I should have been eating or sleeping. Something in that book had reached me, and I could not easily put it aside.

A prayer that changed everything

When I reached Moroni’s promise, I knew I could not treat the Book of Mormon as merely interesting. I had to know whether it was true.

I finished reading it in less than two weeks, from beginning to end, and then knelt to pray. I had not prayed like that for many years. I do not know exactly what I expected. Perhaps part of me imagined that an angelic answer might come, or that something unmistakable would happen in the room.

Instead, I prayed for hours. I prayed with tears on my face, asking God with everything I had to know whether what I had read was true. When nothing happened in the dramatic way I may have imagined, I finally went to bed exhausted.

But when I woke, something had changed.

It was not the kind of answer I had expected, but the witness was there. I believed the Book of Mormon was true. I believed Joseph Smith had seen what he said he had seen. I believed the Holy Spirit had answered me in a way my heart could recognise even while my mind was still learning how to name it.

That morning I went to work and told Lyndon that I had read the Book of Mormon, prayed about it, and wanted to be baptised. His reaction still makes me smile. He was shocked enough that the ordinary office around us suddenly became part of the story: the chair, the desk, the mugs, the surprise of someone who had hoped but perhaps had not expected the answer to come so quickly.

I did not want to wait. I wanted to meet the missionaries immediately. Lyndon thought they would not be home at that time of day, but I felt that if God had answered my prayer, then He could provide a way forward. So we locked up and went.

The missionaries were home.

They welcomed me with smiles and surprise. I explained that I had read the Book of Mormon, prayed about it, and wanted to be baptised. They explained that there were lessons to be taught and meetings to attend. I was ready for all of it. What was meant to be a short lesson became a much longer conversation because I had so many questions, and for the first time I felt that the answers did not close the world down; they opened it.

The days before baptism

The days that followed were not simple. Once I had made the decision to be baptised, it felt as though everyone and everything wanted to turn me away from it. Some people were worried. Some thought I was being rushed. Some thought I had been influenced too strongly. Friends even came from London because they were concerned about what had happened to me.

I understood their concern, but I also knew the decision was mine. Something had happened through the Book of Mormon and through prayer that I could not honestly deny.

There were also darker and more unsettling moments during that time — experiences I would not want to sensationalise, but which left me with a deepened testimony of prayer, priesthood blessing, and the power of the Lord’s name. I learned very early that faith is not merely an idea. It is something lived, tested, protected, and strengthened.

Looking back, I can see mercy even in the difficulty. The opposition did not remove the witness. If anything, it made me more certain that I needed to hold onto it.

Entering the water

The day of my baptism remains one of the clearest spiritual memories of my life.

I remember the practical details as well as the sacred ones: rushing from work, trying to get everything ready, finding white clothing, making my way to the chapel, and feeling strangely calm. I was not nervous. I had prayed for help, and the fear I might have expected simply was not there.

When the time came, I entered the water. I remember the stillness of that moment, the awareness that I had finally arrived at the point I had been moving toward since the book first appeared on my desk. Then I went beneath the water.

Everything seemed quiet.

When I came up, I remember taking in air almost like a first breath. For a moment I felt disoriented, as though the world had not changed around me so much as the way I saw it had changed within me. I felt clean. I felt joyful. I felt almost unable to stop smiling.

It was a special day for me, and also for the missionary who baptised me, as I was his first baptism. That detail has always stayed with me. The Lord had brought several lives together in that moment, each of us changed by the same ordinance in different ways.

Afterwards I was confirmed and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I remember the room becoming very still. I remember listening, but also feeling as though my heart and mind were somewhere deeper than the words alone. I remember accepting that gift inwardly, not as a formality, but as something real and precious.

The first testimony I ever gave

I spoke at my baptism because I wanted to testify. It was the first talk I had ever given, and I remember feeling no fear.

I wanted others to know that the Holy Ghost is real, that faith still matters, and that miracles have not ceased. I spoke to those who were already members and asked them to remember their own baptism. I spoke to those who were still investigating and encouraged them to consider what faith in Christ could mean for them.

That evening I felt surrounded by kindness. People shook my hand. The missionaries gave me scriptures and gifts that pointed my mind toward the temple. Friends and visitors shared in the moment. I remember feeling as though I could hardly carry everything I had been given — not only the books and physical gifts, but the welcome, the joy, and the sudden sense that my life had turned toward something larger than myself.

Later, walking through Lincoln, even the familiar streets seemed different. I had seen the world change once when I first began to believe; now I felt I was seeing it change again.

What followed

Many great and wonderful things have happened in my life since that day.

I was able to return to Lincoln some months later and take part in Lyndon’s own baptism and confirmation, which remains a deeply meaningful part of the story. The young man who had placed a book on my desk had helped open the door for me, and the Lord, in His kindness, allowed me to see that blessing return to him.

I later received my patriarchal blessing and, a year after my baptism, went to the London Temple for my own endowment. I served in missionary work, in bishoprics, and eventually as bishop. I have had opportunities to teach, to testify, to baptise others, and to walk with people during important moments in their own spiritual journeys.

One of the things I will always cherish is the time shortly after my baptism when I was able to go out with the missionaries almost daily, sharing the gospel and bearing testimony while the experience was still new and burning brightly in me. I believe new members can carry a special kind of witness. They remember clearly what it feels like to stand just inside the doorway of faith, still amazed that it opened.

Life since then has not been perfect or easy. Faith does not remove every sorrow, nor does baptism make a person immune from weakness, trial, loss, confusion, or the long work of becoming better. But the witness I received through the Book of Mormon has remained one of the fixed points of my life.

Why these songs exist

That first witness is part of why these songs exist.

I wanted to leave something that might help children, youth, families, and weary listeners feel the scriptures a little closer. I wanted the stories of the Book of Mormon to be remembered not only as ancient record, but as living witness — something that can still reach a person late at night, alone with a question, hoping that God will answer.

The Book of Mormon reached me that way. It did not arrive with noise or spectacle. It sat quietly on a desk because someone had enough faith, persistence, and courage to put it there. Then it waited for me to open it.

I hope the music, lyrics, reflections, and family resources on this site can do something similar in a small way. They are not official Church materials. They are not meant to replace scripture, prayer, worship, or personal discipleship. They are simply an offering — a way of remembering what the Lord has done for me, and perhaps helping someone else look again toward Him.

What I know now

I know that Jesus Christ lives.

I know that the Book of Mormon is a true witness of Him.

I know that Joseph Smith was called as a prophet and that the Restoration of the gospel was not the invention of man, but the work of God.

I know that our Father in Heaven knows His children and wants us to return to Him.

I know that the Holy Ghost can speak to ordinary people in ordinary rooms, through scripture, through prayer, through quiet impressions, and sometimes through the small courage of another person who simply places a book on a desk.

There are many great things in our lives if we learn where to look. My hope is that these pages, songs, and reflections help someone look again: toward Christ, toward scripture, toward prayer, and toward the quiet gifts of the Spirit that God gives for the good of His children.