Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago, my younger sister, Brooklynn, and I visited my aunt and uncle for a couple of weeks. We had only been at my aunt’s house for a few minutes when my cousin Jenna and her boyfriend, Merrick, burst inside, eager to see us.
Over the next few weeks, we did many things with Jenna and Merrick. We went swimming together, rode scooters, watched movies, and jumped on Jenna’s trampoline. We also played card games together. But my favorite activity was dressing Merrick up in costumes.
Merrick was not a member of the Church. But since we had become good friends, I decided to invite him to come to church with us. Jenna, Brooklynn, and I were very happy when Merrick said yes. It was a wonderful Sunday being able to see Merrick at church, smiling and listening to the talks about eternal families. He wanted to know more about our beliefs and came to church the next week too.
Two months later Merrick was baptized. Then he left to join the military. He and Jenna wrote to each other while he was away. After two years Merrick and Jenna were married in the Salt Lake Temple! It was wonderful to see Jenna and Merrick coming out of the temple together. Who would have guessed two years ago that an eight-year-old girl asking a simple question could help lead to a temple marriage?
Knowing the wonderful happiness that can come from inviting someone to church has given me courage and excitement to be a young missionary to my friends and neighbors.

For example, immediately after being confirmed a member, bishop Doug Holladay of the Mesa 16th Ward asked me to speak in church. I protested because I had never spoken in front of a large audience before. He persisted, and I thought he had lost his mind; I mean, my hair wasn't even dry yet. I told him that I couldn't speak in church. He then said you can bear your testimony. I told him no again. To this day, I am amazed that he was able to persuade me to bear my testimony on that Sunday because I was terrified. Yet, these opportunities to serve continued - I was assigned as a home teacher. I remember calling my first home teaching companion, and after exchanging the normal courtesies I told him the purpose of my call. He, in essence, commended me for doing my duty, but said that he wasn't interested in doing home teaching. As I hung up the phone, I had a little bit of anxiety because even though I had never had home teachers, nor had I been home teaching, I knew that wasn't the way it worked. So I reported to my Elder's Quorum President what had happened. A change was made and I was given a new companion: Daniel Zimmerman. He taught me what it was like to be a true and faithful home teacher - we made appointments in advance, we prayed for our families prior to the visit, we visited with the families, we delivered a message, and we left with a prayer. I am grateful to have passed this pattern on to my own sons.

On October 6, in the year 1536, a pitiful figure was led from a dungeon in Vilvorde Castle near Brussels, Belgium. For nearly a year and a half, the man had suffered isolation in a dark, damp cell. Now outside the castle wall, the prisoner was fastened to a post. He had time to utter aloud his final prayer, “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes,” and then he was strangled. Immediately, his body was burned at the stake. Who was this man, and what was the offense for which both political and ecclesiastical authorities had condemned him? His name was William Tyndale, and his crime was to have translated and published the Bible in English.
Tyndale, born in England about the time Columbus sailed to the New World, was educated at Oxford and Cambridge and then became a member of the Catholic clergy. He was fluent in eight languages, including Greek, Hebrew, and Latin. Tyndale was a devoted student of the Bible, and the pervasive ignorance of the scriptures that he observed in both priests and lay people troubled him deeply. In a heated exchange with a cleric who argued against putting scripture in the hands of the common man, Tyndale vowed, “If God spare my life ere many years, I will cause a boy that driveth the plough, shall know more of the Scripture than thou dost!”
He sought the approval of church authorities to prepare a translation of the Bible in English so that all could read and apply the word of God. It was denied—the prevailing view being that direct access to the scriptures by any but the clergy threatened the authority of the church and was tantamount to casting “pearls before swine” (Matthew 7:6).
Tyndale nevertheless undertook the challenging work of translation. In 1524 he traveled to Germany, under an assumed name, where he lived much of the time in hiding, under constant threat of arrest. With the help of committed friends, Tyndale was able to publish English translations of the New Testament and later the Old Testament. The Bibles were smuggled into England, where they were in great demand and much prized by those who could get them. They were shared widely but in secret. The authorities burned all the copies they could find. Nevertheless, within three years of Tyndale’s death, God did indeed open King Henry VIII’s eyes, and with publication of what was called the “Great Bible,” the scriptures in English began to be publicly available. Tyndale’s work became the foundation for almost all future English translations of the Bible, most notably the King James Version.

Now permit me to relate some personal and family stories. First a brief story from my own mission to the south of France. My companion and I had labored some time in the town of Périgueux and had met with limited success. One evening, after a long day of tracting, we were ready to return to our apartment, but we decided to knock on the doors of one last street. Here we met a great family of three: a father, a mother, and a teenage daughter—the De Mets family—who were interested in hearing our message. The father, a large man, was a former police officer who had been injured in the line of duty and was paralyzed from the waist down. We taught the family about the restored gospel and returned to teach them a couple of more times. The Spirit was working on them, and they were receiving the word.

Then came the fateful announcement that many European missionaries (and missionaries elsewhere, I’m sure) hate to hear: the family announced that they were leaving on their annual vacation and they would be gone for a whole month. A month was a long time, and we were worried that the small flame of testimony would flicker and fade. All we could do was challenge them to read the Book of Mormon and to pray while they were away. They accepted the challenge. And while they were away we, too, prayed.

As soon as they returned, we anxiously and somewhat nervously went to their home. They told us that when they opened the door to their hotel room, they saw a picture of the Savior on the wall, and seeing that picture reminded them of their commitment to study and pray. They were baptized shortly thereafter. We rented a small pool in a physical therapy office for our baptisms. Sister De Mets was baptized first. Brother De Mets was baptized next. To baptize him, we helped him onto a chair, which we then lifted into the pool. Following the baptismal prayer, one elder tipped the chair backward while the other held Brother De Mets’ legs to keep them underwater. The daughter was baptized after her parents. We returned to the branch meeting hall, where all three were confirmed and we all enjoyed an outpouring of the Spirit.

It was two weeks before Christmas, and the familiar stress of the season was upon me. I had presents to buy, a tree to decorate, and gifts to deliver.
For several months I had felt overwhelmed by the daily tasks that face a mother of five young children. I had even felt mechanical in my church attendance as I wrestled with my little ones on the bench. I longed for an increase of the Spirit and of spiritual experiences in my life.
About this time, my sister purchased a new home in a neighboring state and was trying to get things settled before Christmas. That would be a lot of work for any family, but for hers it would be even more difficult. My sister was eight months pregnant, a mother of two small children, and the caregiver of her quadriplegic husband.
Realizing the struggle she faced, I called her to see how things were progressing. She was optimistic about the move and hopeful that members of her new ward would be supportive. After our conversation I hung up the phone, wishing her good luck and wondering how I could help from 400 miles (650 km) away.
That evening, the thought kept coming to my mind that I needed to be there to help. But as I looked at my schedule, I dismissed the thought and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke with the same prompting. The feeling was so strong this time that I could not deny it. I called my husband and said, “I need to go help my sister.” Without hesitation, he responded, “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
I called my sister, told her my plans, and booked a flight for that afternoon. I quickly packed my suitcase, kissed my children goodbye, and headed to the airport.
Over the next three days, I unpacked boxes, organized rooms, and helped decorate a Christmas tree. After most of the boxes were unpacked, I sat with my sister and her family, admiring their pretty tree. My five-year-old niece, pleased that her family was ready for Christmas, exclaimed, “This is going to be a great Christmas!”
As I flew home, I knew that by giving part of myself to this sweet family, I had felt the Spirit, which I had been yearning to feel. It came because I had served others.

“You want to work, and you don’t want me to pay you?” Residents of quiet neighborhoods in Fairfield County, Connecticut, can’t believe their ears.
It’s all part of a very special scavenger hunt held by the youth in the New Haven Connecticut Stake. They’ve had many similar activities, but none have been as much fun as scavenging for service projects.
On a Saturday afternoon in late autumn, 200 youth gathered for the activity before the stake dance that evening. Each service the youth performed for residents in various neighborhoods was worth a certain number of points, and the team that earned the most points in the allotted time would win an enviable prize.
They realized that scavenging for service projects isn’t like asking for a pink stocking with a hole in the toe, or a green birthday candle. “Everyone gets something out of this,” said Scott Halverson, a priest in the Trumbull First Ward. Service makes you feel good.”
The youth crowded into their advisers’ cars and drove to their assigned neighborhoods. They were a little apprehensive at first, wondering how people would react.
“Everyone was amazed,” said Curry Andrews, a priest from the Newtown Ward. “One guy took about ten minutes just deciding what he wanted us to do.” And the neighbors were even more surprised when they saw that youth enjoyed what they were doing.
Dave Blanchard, a teacher from the Trumbull First Ward, walked a huge dog. “The dog was giving the owner a lot of trouble, so we offered to take him for a walk,” Dave said. “The dog sure was hard to control. He would turn around and snap at me and all of a sudden he would run off. I could hardly hold on to the leash. It got to be funny.”
Jeff Blanchard, Dave’s older brother, carried items from a tag (yard) sale back into a man’s garage and stacked the boxes against the wall. “The guy asked for my phone number so he could call me anytime he wanted me to do some work for him,” said Jeff.
Becky Rupart’s team found themselves in a very well-to-do neighborhood. “It was a little bit scary, but that made it more fun,” said the Laurel from the Southington Ward. “We were surprised to discover rich people can be just as friendly as anyone else.”
Many people wanted to pay the youth, but naturally, they refused. “Although one man gave us a six pack of soda pop,” said Nancy Busby, a Laurel in the Trumbull Third Ward.
New Englanders are traditionally reserved and not accustomed to being open with strangers. Many New Englanders live a fast-paced life and are less involved with their neighbors. “I was kind of surprised this worked here where people keep to themselves,” said Leslie. “It’s fun to loosen people up,” Jeff added, “although one guy thought it was a trick. I guess it’s hard to trust a group of teenage boys.”
The diversity in people’s reactions amazed the youth. “It was really weird,” said Jeff. “You’d offer to do anything for a guy and he would tell you to go away because you were a stranger. I guess our experience going door-to-door is kind of like missionary work.”
And they found plenty of missionary opportunities along the way. Before they had even arrived at their assigned neighborhood, Leslie Randall’s team saw a man on his lawn. They got out of the car and showed him the list so he could choose which service he wanted. “He asked us to tell him about the Church,” Leslie said. They told him about Joseph Smith, and he responded, “I’ve heard that story before, but I’ve never heard it so well said.”
“It’s fun to give the people a good impression of the Church,” said Becky. “Maybe if the people meet the missionaries someday, they will remember us.” Some of the boys even left pamphlets with people in hopes that it would lead to something later.
“We are like the missionaries who represent the Church when they bring the gospel,” said Jeff. “We represent the Church when we bring service.”
Along with the missionary work, the youth enjoyed just being with each other. “Working together was the most fun,” said Leslie Randall. “At one house, two of us washed dishes in the kitchen, while two dusted the living room and one changed a diaper in the baby’s room. All the time we were singing a song.”
Diaper changing was the most notorious assignment of the day. In one group, all five teammates, girls and boys, pitched in together to complete the odious task. But in another group, Joanna McLay, as the only girl among four boys, found she was the one selected whenever her team encountered a diaper to change.
The competitors learned that they had to work quickly and efficiently. “The boys on my team practically grabbed the rake out of one guy’s hand, while I introduced the group and told him why we were there,” said Bret Smith, a Young Men’s adviser. The teams generally split into two groups, two people taking one house and the other two going across the street.
“We washed two cars at one house in record time,” said Curry Andrews.
When the time was finally up and the scores were tallied, Curry’s all-boys’ team found itself in second place, defeated by an all-girls’ team. “I don’t believe they beat us,” Curry said. “How could anyone work faster than we did?”
Next time Curry wants girls on his team. “Girls are allowed to go inside a house because people trust them,” he said.
Kelly Corkrin, a member of the winning team, won’t disagree. She found everyone her team met had a little something for them to do. “It made me feel good that the people trusted us and let us into their homes,” she said. “Nowadays, I’m not sure I would do that. I guess they were impressed that we weren’t just hanging out, wasting time.”
There were no hard feelings between the two top teams, however. Both first- and second-place winners received the coveted prizes: water squirting toys. As the winners loaded their weapons, everyone else ran to arm themselves with the same old tools they’d been using all day: water buckets and empty soap bottles. The activity ended with a splash.

When I was young, I wanted to be a general in the army. I planned to apply to the military academy in order to further my goal. That decision meant that I wasn’t expecting to serve a mission because I knew that the program in the academy for military officers would not excuse anyone for any religious activity.
Then I had the opportunity to go to a regional conference in Seoul, Korea—an experience that changed the direction of my life. During the conference, I heard President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) counsel youth to:
attend seminary,
serve an honorable mission,
marry in the temple, and
work toward exaltation.
I knew his counsel was right, and I remembered the verse that says, “My word shall not pass away, but shall all be fulfilled, whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same” (D&C 1:38).
When I heard the prophet speak about the importance of serving a mission as a priority in life, I knew I should put my trust in the Lord, serve a mission, and forego my dream to become a general, remembering to “seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).

After the martyrdom of the prophet, the Lord took the Church to a new frontier almost as immediately as he had introduced the Restoration itself. A new prophet was called, with a new voice and different gifts. And just like in Kirtland, the Saints were again asked to leave behind what had only just become familiar and comfortable. Newly constructed homes, meetinghouses and businesses would soon be left abandoned. I marvel at the words of pioneer sister Bathsheba Smith who described what she left behind in Nauvoo: My last act in that precious spot was to tidy the rooms, sweep up the floor, set the broom in its accustomed place behind the door. And then with the emotions in my heart . . . I gently closed the door and faced the unknown future.

“Kids, I’m leaving now,” Mom called from downstairs. “David is in charge.”
“Bye, Mom,” I yelled. I was trying to finish my math homework so I could watch my favorite TV show. We weren’t allowed to watch TV until our homework was done. I solved the last problem, then snapped the book shut. “Finished!”
I strolled into the family room, settled into the couch, and clicked on the TV.
Suddenly, my older brother David barreled into the room. He grabbed the remote control and pushed me off the couch.
“Ow!” I cried as I hit the floor with a thud. “Hey, I was here first!”
“Yeah, but Mom left me in charge. And I say we’re going to watch my favorite show.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a new book I want to read, anyway.” I walked back to my room. Pulling the book off a shelf, I sat in my special reading chair.
“Heather, go get me something to eat,” David called.
“I’m busy,” I called back, turning a page.
“So am I. This is the best part of the show. Go get me something to eat.”
“Why should I?” I asked. “You can do it yourself.”
“If you don’t I’ll take your book and hide it.”
I sighed. If I got him a snack, maybe he’d stop bothering me. “David is such a bully,” I thought as I grabbed some chips. “Why can’t I have a nice older brother?”
At dinner, I noticed the red plate by my seat at the table, which meant I had done something special. “Why do I have the red plate?” I asked.
“Your teacher called me today,” Mom said. “Your reading and writing skills are very good, and your teacher wants to challenge you more. So, during your class’s English section, you will go to the fourth-grade class.”
I couldn’t believe it! They were moving me up two whole grades!
“That’s my girl. So smart,” Dad said.
David didn’t say anything. He was quiet during dinner. Was he mad at me?
The next day, I was nervous as I made my way to the fourth-grade class. My teacher had given me directions and a note, then sent me off. As I made my way to the upper elementary classrooms, I felt like I was entering enemy territory. Our playgrounds didn’t even mix—first through third grade were on one side, and fourth through sixth on the other. I was sure that at any moment someone was going to shout: “Stop! You don’t belong here!”
But the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Randall, helped me feel better with her smiling face. She introduced me to the class and pointed me to an empty desk.
I listened carefully to the lesson, and tried not to stand out. When Mrs. Randall dismissed me, I hurried back to the safety of the second grade.
After school, I waited for the bus with the other kids.
“Hey. Hey, you!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw two girls coming toward me. I recognized them from Mrs. Randall’s class.
“Hi, little second grader,” the taller girl said. “My name is Janna, and this is Kylie. So how’d you like class today?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, it was … fine,” I stammered.
Janna made a face. “You must think you’re so smart being in our class. Smarter than us, even.”
I looked down at my feet. “I don’t think that.”
“Good! Because you’re not smart. You’re a freak!”
“Yeah.” Kylie laughed. “And a geek.”
Janna stepped closer. “I don’t like you,” she said, “and I don’t like you in our class.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned to find my brother David standing beside me.
Janna stepped back. “This little nerd thinks she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s not a nerd. She’s my sister.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “And she hasn’t done anything to you. If you keep being mean to her, I’m going to hear about it.”
Janna looked at my brother. He was taller and wider than she was. “What grade are you in?” she asked.
“Sixth.”
“Oh,” she said. She and Kylie took a few more steps back. “Well, OK. We’ll leave her alone.”
David turned me around and guided me to the bus. Then he went to join his friends.
I got on the bus and sat down, feeling a little dazed. I couldn’t believe it. David had stood up for me! I knew then that even though we didn’t always get along, David was my brother and he loved me. I suddenly felt very grateful for him.
At dinner that night, David seemed surprised when he noticed the red plate at his seat. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I put it there,” I said. “It’s for being a great older brother.”
David laughed as I told our parents what had happened. I made David sound like a superhero.
“We’re proud of you for helping your sister,” Dad said.
David smiled. “It’s good to be a hero,” he said.
I grinned at him. “It’s even better to have one as an older brother.”

One afternoon my mission companion and I unexpectedly found ourselves with an extra block of time and were discussing what we should do. We were assigned to a United States Army base in western Germany, and as we drove to the base, I pulled out a list of all the branch members there. On the bottom of the list was a name that I had penciled in just the day before. It was the name of a less-active member who was living on the base alone while he waited for his family to arrive from the United States. The branch president had given his name to us and asked us to find the brother and invite him to the next week’s stake conference. I said a silent prayer that we would be able to find and invite him.
When we entered the base, I received an interesting impression that we should go buy batteries. I shared the impression with my companion, and he drove us to a small electronics store. We quickly found our batteries and were standing in line when I bumped into one of the soldiers standing there. Fortunately for us, all U.S. soldiers have their last names stitched onto the front of their uniforms. My spirits soared as I saw that he had the last name of the man we were looking for. His eyes grew wide in recognition as he exclaimed, “Elders! It’s good to see you. I had been praying that you would find me.”
With the Spirit’s guidance, my companion and I were able to bring that brother to stake conference and help him become firmly rooted in the branch before the rest of his family arrived. I know that if we, like Nephi, let ourselves be “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [we] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6), then Heavenly Father will allow us to be tools in His hands to bless others, especially his fallen sparrows.

My mother loved that scripture and lived its principle. The greatest affliction of her life was the death of her husband, our father, after only 11 years of marriage. This changed her life and imposed great hardships as she proceeded to earn a living and raise her three little children alone. Nevertheless, I often heard her say that the Lord consecrated that affliction for her gain because her husband’s death compelled her to develop her talents and serve and become something that she could never have become without that seeming tragedy. Our mother was a spiritual giant, strong and fully worthy of the loving tribute her three children inscribed on her headstone: “Her Faith Strengthened All.”

When Sabrina was a freshman, Eva gave her a Book of Mormon with her testimony written in the front. As Sabrina read, she and Eva would talk about it. But another friend saw her reading it and persuaded her not to finish her reading. It took two years of talking with her LDS friends and taking the missionary discussions before Sabrina was ready for baptism. She said, “I prayed one day and I got part of my answer. I felt I was doing the right thing. Everything seemed to be right. The more I prayed, the stronger I felt it was right.”
Sabrina’s baptism affected her life in many ways. “My dad was glad because he’s seen a big change in me.” When asked how she has changed, Sabrina is a little at a loss for words. Her friends chime in with a list. “She’s a lot happier, getting better grades, involved in a lot more things, more self-confident.” Then Sabrina added a few more. “I was kind of shy, but now I’m not as much. It has changed how I feel about my friends and my family, my brothers and sisters.”
Sabrina’s friends and family aren’t the only ones who have noticed a change for the better. Sabrina says that before she joined the Church, she barely made passing grades. She will be the first one of her brothers and sisters to finish high school and the first to go on to college. “My teachers and counselors have all seen this big change. They look back at records and say, ‘What happened? What did she do that is so different?’ I was nowhere, and now I set goals.”

Katie Daines, 16, of the Manhattan Second Ward, used a history assignment at school as the reason to write a short history of her great-great-grandparents, Nels and Ingra Carlson. Katie found that her relatives joined the Church in Sweden and emigrated to the United States to join the Saints in Utah. While waiting on the ship in New York harbor, Ingra gave birth to her son, John. Eventually, the family moved to Utah, where they lived and raised their children.
Now Katie, who has lived all her life in New York City, can look out on the harbor and see some of the same sights and shoreline that greeted her ancestors on their journey. Their willingness to be pioneers for their faith reminds Katie that she too is willing to be a pioneer for her beliefs. As she faces being one of only a couple of members of the Church in her school, she learns to be an example.

A story is told of a man having a conversation with the Lord one day. He said, “Lord, I would like to know what heaven and hell are like.”

The Lord led the man to two doors. He opened one of the doors, and the man looked in. In the middle of the room was a large round table. In the middle of the table was a large pot of stew, which smelled delicious and made the man’s mouth water.

The people sitting around the table were thin and sickly. They appeared to be famished. They were holding spoons with very long handles that were strapped to their arms. Each found it possible to reach into the pot of stew and take a spoonful, but because the handle was longer than their arms, they could not get the spoons back into their mouths.

The man shuddered at the sight of their misery and suffering. The Lord said, “You have seen hell.”

They went to the next room and opened the door. It was exactly the same as the first one. There was the large round table with the large pot of stew that made the man’s mouth water. The people were equipped with the same long-handled spoons strapped to their arms, but here the people were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking.

The man said, “I don’t understand!”

“It is simple,” said the Lord. “It requires but one skill. You see, they have learned to feed each other, while the greedy think only of themselves.”

When I was six years old, my family moved to the United States. We loaded everything we owned into a truck and drove to my grandmother’s house in Mesa, Arizona.
I remember standing on her porch with my father when a truck playing music came down the street.
“Dad, what’s that?” I asked. He explained that it was an ice-cream truck, and he gave me money to buy something. I ran over to the truck and said, “I want a paleta (frozen dessert on a stick). I had grown up in Mexico and spoke English and Spanish, but I didn’t know the English word for the thing I wanted. My father told me that I had to ask for a Popsicle.
I remember walking up the steps of my new school on the first day of first grade. When I saw some of the other children crying, I asked my mother, “Why are those kids crying?” My mother had taught us how important education was, so I couldn’t imagine what was so sad about going to school.
I soon learned that in the United States, most children my age had many things that I didn’t have. One of those things was a bike, and I wanted one badly. Somehow, my dad got me a bike for $5. Unfortunately, it had one major defect: it was a girl’s bike! It was humiliating for me to ride it. I found my shiny new dream machine in a mail-order catalogue, and it cost $65. I decided to earn the money to buy the bike myself, so I started working in the cotton fields every day after school. I would drag a long canvas bag up and down the rows of plants, filling it with cotton. Each afternoon, I could usually pick between twenty and forty pounds of cotton. I was paid two cents a pound, so I could usually make at least fifty cents a day.
As the end of the harvest drew near, I realized that I was not going to earn enough money for the bike. I told my dad, and he agreed that if I could raise half the money, he would pay the other half. Even after I had earned my part, the bike didn’t show up immediately. But then on Christmas morning, I got my beautiful new bike. From that experience, I learned that sometimes when we work very hard to reach a goal but fall short of reaching it, we can ask someone for help. Just as my father helped me, our Heavenly Father will help us, too.

In 2006 I returned to Taiwan to teach a short course in my research area. While there I attended church in the last area I served as a missionary. That day, immediately after I had returned from church to my hotel room, the phone rang, and the caller, who was in a different city in Taiwan, told me the following.

She said that as a part of the fiftieth anniversary of the Church in Taiwan, the members had been given a form in church meetings that very Sunday to fill out. The purpose of the form was to help them locate “lost missionaries” they hadn’t heard from for years. She and her sisters had filled out the form and had decided to put my name on it. She said that almost immediately after returning home from their church meetings, their uncle had called to say that I was in Taiwan—he had seen me at church. As a result, they were immediately able to find me!

I was speechless. My companion and I had taught this family all through the late fall and winter of 1977. We had fallen in love with them, especially the six children, who ranged from junior high school age down to a toddler. They were a wonderful family. But when I left, they had not accepted the gospel. Only later I learned that they had been baptized. As we visited on the phone that day in my hotel room, I learned that not only had they joined the Church but that almost all of the children in the family—daughters and sons alike—had served missions, had married faithful members, and were now raising their own families in the light of the gospel!

A few days after receiving that phone call I traveled to where some of the family now live so I could visit them. Upon arriving, I walked in and saw that the room contained more than forty family members! During the visit many tears—certainly many of mine—were shed.

To quote Elder Bednar:
Some may count this experience as simply a nice coincidence, but I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. [“Tender Mercies,” 99]

I have since wondered just who that tender mercy was intended for. This family’s desire to reconnect with one of the missionaries who had taught them the gospel had been fulfilled that very day, and I had been allowed to see a part of the results of my missionary labors. I will forever love the Tan family.

Desiree listened to her Primary teacher, Sister Ruiz, in wonder. She couldn’t believe what Sister Ruiz was saying. It seemed too good to be true. Desiree looked at the other children in her class. They didn’t seem to be as amazed as she was. Finally Desiree raised her hand. “Do you really mean it, Sister Ruiz? Would you really do anything for us?” she asked.
“Yes, Desiree.” The kind look in her teacher’s eyes, even more than her words, showed Desiree that she really meant it. But Desiree continued to wonder if it was really true. Maybe someday she would find out.
It wasn’t even a week later that Desiree was able to test her Primary teacher’s promise. One day when she came home from school, Desiree found a note taped to the front door and grabbed it. When she entered the house, no one answered her calls. The house was empty. A strange, spooky stillness surrounded her, making the hair on her neck prickle.
“Where are you, Mommy?” Desiree whispered as tears trickled down her face. She dropped her backpack on the couch and sat down next to it. Remembering the note in her hand, Desiree opened it. She recognized her mother’s handwriting, but the letters were joined together by slants. Her mother had forgotten that she couldn’t read cursive writing.
“I’ll do anything I can for you, because I love you.” The memory of her Primary teacher’s words came to Desiree’s mind. Maybe she couldn’t read cursive, but she could read typing and she could read numbers. She could find Sister Ruiz’s phone number and call her to ask for help.
When Sister Ruiz heard Desiree’s dilemma, she told her that she would be right over. To Desiree it seemed like a long time before she arrived, but even though Sister Ruiz lived in another town, she made the trip in just 10 minutes.
Desiree flung open the front door and ran down the sidewalk when she saw Sister Ruiz get out of her car. Through her tears, she handed her Primary teacher the note left by her mother.
Sister Ruiz read the note and smiled. “This says that your mommy is at your grandma’s house working on a quilt.”
Desiree suddenly remembered that her mother had told her to go to Grandma’s house, just down the street, after school. She had left the note to remind Desiree but had forgotten to print it in letters Desiree could read.
“Do you want me to walk you to your grandma’s?” Sister Ruiz asked.
Desiree shook her head. She looked up at Sister Ruiz. “You drove all this way just to read a note. Thank you.”
Sister Ruiz smiled, and Desiree noticed that her eyes were glistening with tears. “This wasn’t much, Desiree. I’ll do anything I can for you.”
“It was a lot to me,” Desiree said.
Sister Ruiz hugged Desiree. “I’m glad you think so.”
Desiree carefully looked both ways before crossing the street and walking down to Grandma’s house. Sister Ruiz watched to make sure she arrived safely. Then she drove away.
“Where have you been?” Desiree’s mother asked when she walked in. “I was starting to get worried.”
“I just learned that my Primary teacher will come all the way to my house to read me a note.”
“Why didn’t you read it yourself?” Desiree’s mom asked.
“Because I can’t read cursive.”
Desiree’s mother’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I didn’t even think about it, Desiree. I’m sorry you had to call your teacher to help you.”
“That’s OK.” Desiree grinned. “My teacher said she was glad to do it, because she loves me.”

And now another example. [Some of the actual names and places have been changed.] In March of 1978, a letter was received by the Wilson family, who live in Idaho. It began, “Dear Brother and Sister Wilson, Just a short note to see how things are going with you and let you know how things are with me.”
This letter was written by the Wilsons’ Lamanite foster daughter, Celia Red Horse, whom they had not heard from for several years.
The seeds of their relationship had been planted in 1965 in a talk delivered by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Brother Wilson, who was a bishop at the time of Elder Kimball’s address, was impressed with the words of a scripture from the Book of Mormon: “I will soften the hearts of the Gentiles that they shall be like unto a father to them” (2 Ne. 10:18). As the meeting continued, Bishop Wilson was further touched in his heart and determined within himself to help with the Indian student placement program. In the fall of 1967, a wonderful new experience came into the lives of the Wilson family when sixteen-year-old Celia Red Horse came to live with them for the school year.
To quote the Wilsons: “We enjoyed Celia and had some special times with her. She was a good student and very obedient. When she went home to the reservation, we communicated with her for some time, but gradually, as the years passed, there was less communication.”
After Celia left, the Wilsons had several other young Lamanites in their home over the years, all of whom they came to love, appreciate, and have a special relationship with. By 1978, when Celia’s letter arrived, eleven years had passed. The Wilson family had grown to include ten children of their own, and they had not participated in the placement program for two years. May I continue to read from Celia’s letter:
“Right now, I am working as a secretary. I am saving a lot of my pay so that I can buy clothes for my daughter before she can go on placement.
“I guess I haven’t seen you or your family for about ten years. I know everyone has changed quite a bit. I imagine the kids are all grown up and gone. …
“I have one little girl. Her name is Margaret. She is seven and will be going on placement this fall. She wants to go. I have told her all about the program. She has never been away from home in all her seven years.
“Do you remember my brother David? Well, he has already been on his mission, and now he is at BYU. He is coming back this summer to baptize Margaret. He came home in December for the Christmas vacation. Then, while he was back for Christmas, he blessed my brother’s little girl. Before that, he baptized two others in our family.
“How old are Joy, Curt, Rhonda, Gary, and Jenny? I remember them all—Joy and her allergy, Curt and his accordion, Rhonda and her ballet lessons, and how Gary used to swim like a little frog in the swimming pool. I can still remember Jenny and her red hair. All of these kids are probably teenagers or older. How are they all doing?”
Celia goes on to mention that the problems of modern youth having to do with alcohol and drugs have infiltrated the reservation as seriously as they have the inner city. She indicates deep gratitude for the Church and its teachings, which have such a profound effect in keeping young people from some of the mistakes of their peers. She also indicates that through the teachings of the Church her family is closer and more secure. She tells us that most of her little brothers and sisters are going to be involved in the placement program this year, and then she goes on to ask:
“Are you still participating in the placement program?
“Please write and tell me all the news. …
“I think I better close here. Take care, and may the Lord bless you in all your righteous endeavors. Love. …”
As Brother and Sister Wilson read this lovely letter from Celia, Brother Wilson vaguely remembered a portion of the address he had heard Elder Kimball deliver twelve years earlier. “Elder Kimball had said that success would not be felt in the first generation, but real success would come in the second, third, or fourth,” Brother Wilson recalled. “When this statement came back to me, I felt that we should invite Celia’s daughter to come into our home, for this would be the second generation of the same family in the same home.”
An inquiry was made through the Indian placement program as to whether it would be possible for Margaret to live with the Wilsons. When Celia found out this was possible, “she immediately called us and with tears said how pleased she would be to have Margaret come to the home where she had once lived,” Brother Wilson said.
Margaret spent the 1978–79 school year with the Wilson family and, like her mother before her, brought as much to the Wilson family as she received from them.
“She is very generous with others,” Sister Wilson said. “If someone comments on something that she has and says, ‘I like that,’ then Margaret will give it to him. Each of our children receives an allowance, and since Margaret is considered one of the children she also gets an allowance.
“Last Christmas we talked about doing something as a family to help somebody else. Margaret had saved up quite a bit of her allowance, which she gave to the family project.
“She helps out with household chores just like any other member of the family. She and Angela, who is also eight, share kitchen duties one night a week. They also have other responsibilities in the home.”
Brother Wilson recalled that when Margaret first came into their home, she was very quiet and did not express herself very well. Her mother, Celia, had asked the Wilsons to help Margaret learn how to pray and express her feelings.
Now “she asks if she can ask the blessing on the food or if she can offer prayers,” Brother Wilson reports. “And when she prays, the rest of us really listen because she has some very good thoughts.”
As the end of the school year approached, the Wilsons made arrangements for Celia to visit with them in Idaho, and a special reunion time was held with her at that time as she came back to her foster home and stayed with her daughter and her foster family. She took Margaret home with her and, in discussion with the Wilson family, decided that Margaret should remain home with her family this year and attend school on the reservation.

A second experience in the branch dealt with a kind and conscientious woman who faithfully turned in envelopes containing a few coins for payment of her tithing. One day as she came to church, she was also holding in her hand a plastic sandwich bag with a piece of dried-up bread in it. She handed the plastic bag to us and said: “If you are going to belong to a church, you ought to contribute. I can’t contribute much, but I can contribute the sacrament bread.”
As we used her bread for the sacrament, the whole experience carried an additional meaning that day. Going through my mind was the verse that reads: “And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much.
“And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing.
“And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury:
“For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.”

(2) At a nursing home in our valley, two young men prepared the sacrament. While doing so, an elderly patient in a wheelchair spoke aloud the words, “I’m cold.” Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the young men walked over to her, removed his own jacket, placed it about the patient’s shoulders, gave her a loving pat on the arm, and then returned to the sacrament table. The sacred emblems were then blessed and passed to the assembled patients.
Following the meeting, I said to the young man, “What you did here today I shall long remember.”
He replied, “I worried that without my jacket I would not be properly dressed to bless the sacrament.”
I responded, “Never was one more properly dressed for such an occasion than were you.”
I know not his name. He remains anonymous.