Gospel Story Finder

Even though it happened 31 years ago, I vividly recall a time on my mission when I was an insensitive, ungrateful clod. I was nursing a bad cold, and my companion and I stayed in for a couple of days while I tried to get better. The sister missionaries were the only other members in our little town in France. They were also feeling sick, but they were worried about me, and brought me some soup one cold, rainy, evening. Instead of showing thanks, I scolded them for being out in the bad weather. The poor sisters were shocked by my attitude. One of them finally said, with much exasperation, “Elder Schlag, we were trying to do something nice for you. What is your problem?” Even now, I can feel the shame I suddenly felt as I realized how rudely I was treating them, while they were just trying to render service.
I have since tried to always look out for kindness sent my way. With heavenly help, I’m developing a sensitivity to service, and an appreciation for even little gifts of graciousness.

Joseph was always willing to help children in need. Once, in Nauvoo, Illinois, Margarette McIntire and her brother Wallace were walking home after a rainstorm. The ground had become very muddy, and the two children became stuck in the mud. Unable to get out, they began to cry. Soon, when they looked up, they saw the Prophet Joseph. He got them to higher ground, wiped the mud off their feet, and took out his handkerchief to wipe away their tears. He spoke kind words to them and sent them home with smiles on their faces.

On that same long journey around the earth, we met another friend who once was on the faculty of Brigham Young University. His children were then grown, and he and his wife concluded that rather than retire into idleness—as they could well have done, and as millions of others do—they would find some place in the world where they could help some of our Father’s children by teaching them the truths that would save them.

They found such a land. They sold their beautiful home; they sold their car; they left friends and relatives for a distant, less comfortable place. But as they cast their bread upon the waters, the Lord opened opportunities for them to teach and lift and help. No one can foretell the consequences of their pioneering.

As I have thought of this man and woman who left the comforts of home and society and friends at an age when most people want to slow down and take it easy, I have thought of the words of the Lord, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.” (Matt. 19:29) I have thought the same whenever I meet or hear of other elderly brothers and sisters, single or married, who either volunteer or accept calls to serve the Lord in the missions of the Church.

In late 1987, after a bloodless military coup, the new Fijian government declared it illegal for public transport to operate on Sunday. This posed little problem for people who belong to the country’s dominant Christian religion—there is a church in every village. But many Latter-day Saints live far from their branch or ward headquarters.
Vilisi and Fai Ucunibaravi and their six children decided that they would walk the twelve kilometers from their home to the Nausori chapel each Sunday. “Some people would laugh at us, and they wouldn’t stop to give us rides,” says Sister Ucunibaravi. “But that was all right. Our hearts were there before we left home.”

My memories of being a five-year-old consist mainly of frayed volleyball nets, floor polish on maple floors, referee shirts and whistles, and roughly scribbled rosters. My dad coached a team of young volleyball players in our ward in Taylorsville, Utah. I was his “assistant.”

My dad taught the team principles of hard work, team spirit, honesty, trust in self and in others, goal setting, perseverance, and sacrifice. There were prayers under the bleachers, 5:00 A.M. practices on Saturdays, and ice cream socials at our house.

One of the most important lessons I learned from my dad and his players was that of honesty. When a net was touched inadvertently, or a pass mishandled, my dad taught each boy that it was important to reveal his error with a raised hand. Later, that lesson would make a lasting impression, not only on the members of the team, but also on a five-year-old “assistant coach.”

The team had started out as a ragged group. But in May 1970, when the all-Church championships were held at the Deseret Gymnasium in Salt Lake City, the team from the Taylorsville First Ward was there to compete. (The last all-Church championships were held in 1972.) When it was time for the final match, the four years the team had spent playing together paid off. Just one more match against the Winder Third Ward stood in the way of their dream of winning the championship.

There was a spirited atmosphere at the championship match. Hundreds of people filled the bleachers to watch the competition. I took my place on the floor by the coach when the horn sounded to commence play. I don’t remember much of that match, but I do remember the end of the final game. The crowd cheered as the final point was scored by my dad’s team, and participants and spectators flooded the floor. A husky, formidable player on our team named Brent had made the final point with a decisive spike. So powerful was his contact with the ball that even the experienced referee didn’t notice that Brent’s finger had brushed the net. It was a penalty that could have easily been forgotten. But amidst the bedlam, Brent’s hand slowly rose into the air.

The teams were reassembled, the crowd took their seats, and the game continued. Shortly thereafter, the game ended, and my dad’s team had captured the championship they had been working at for four years. They could not only feel good about winning, but about doing it honestly.

Many years have passed since my days of chasing volleyballs for my father and his players. But the memory of a coach teaching the value of honesty to his team still remains firmly planted in my memory. From my low vantage point on the floor that day, most people seemed tall. But the way I saw it, Brent stood the tallest.

While on a school trip to Las Vegas, my brother and I were wandering along “the Strip” looking for souvenirs and seeing the sights. We proceeded innocently into a large and impressive hotel, which, we discovered only after we went inside, had a casino attached. We had no intention of gambling, but everywhere we turned were opportunities to do just that.
We wandered deeper and deeper into the building, looking for a store with souvenirs we might be interested in. Built like a maze, the corridors of the casino all seemed to lead from one area of slot machines to another. At last we realized we were lost. The lights were dim, and we were surrounded by all sorts of flashy and offensive advertising. We knew that the buses to go back home would be leaving without us if we didn’t find an exit soon.
Finally we found a security guard and asked him about the quickest way out. He had an annoyed expression, but after giving a disgruntled cough he told us the way. The instructions were complicated, and we had to ask him to repeat them several times. Luckily, with his directions, we found a well-hidden set of doors which led out to the sunlight. We found ourselves on the main street and soon met our supervisors.

The summer I turned 12, just before I entered the seventh grade, I encountered the first doubts I’d had about the gospel. My parents seemed to know the Church was true, and so did the many Church leaders I’d had throughout my life. But I realized I couldn’t remember ever feeling the “warm, fuzzy feeling” that everyone talked about.
So for three months, I prayed hard every night to feel it too. I prayed for any sign that Heavenly Father was listening to me and ready for me to know. Still, no answer came.
I didn’t tell my parents, siblings, or friends about my inner turmoil. I was scared to think I was the only one without an answer, that I was the only one who didn’t know for sure that the gospel is true.
After those three months, at the end of summer vacation, it was time for our family’s annual father’s blessings. These were our “back-to-school blessings,” as we called them, so the things spoken for each of my siblings generally fit with that theme. My dad blessed my siblings with success in their schooling and academic goals.
When it was my turn, my dad laid his hands on my head. Just after he started the blessing, he spoke nine words without hesitation, in the surest voice I’d ever heard him use, which shocked me: “I testify to you that this gospel is true.” My dad didn’t even mention my academic life. Instead, he simply bore his testimony for the entire blessing.
My eyes welled with tears that confused the rest of my family—none of them, including my father, knew about the questions I’d been struggling with. However, as I learned then, my Heavenly Father did.
Since that day, I can testify that no matter how or when, whether it’s through a feeling or the words of another, Heavenly Father will answer every prayer.

“Hi, Valerie!” Lucy said. She ran across the gym to meet her friend. She and Valerie got to play while their moms met at church.
Lucy found some crayons. She chose a pink one. But she didn’t have any paper to draw on. So she drew a pink line on a chair instead. The line looked bright and pretty on the metal. Lucy looked at Valerie and giggled.
Valerie chose a purple crayon. She drew a squiggly shape on another chair. Lucy and Valerie covered both chairs with bright marks.
Soon Mom came over and saw the scribbles. “Lucy!” Mom said. “You know we only color on paper!”
Lucy looked down at the ground. She knew that crayons were only for paper. But once she started coloring, she just sort of … forgot.
She looked at the chair now. A few weeks ago, her family had helped clean the church. She liked taking care of Jesus’s house. She felt sorry for making a mess today.
“Come on, girls. Let’s clean it up,” Mom said. She got some paper towels. They were wet and soapy.
Valerie and Lucy scrubbed the crayon marks. Slowly they started to come off.
“This is hard,” Lucy groaned.
Mom patted her back. “Yes, but we can do it!”
Together they scrubbed the chairs. Finally the metal was clean and shiny.
Lucy looked at the clean chairs and smiled. She was sorry she had made a mess. But she was happy that she could make things better.

I was ordained an elder, and on the day of my departure for active duty with the navy, a member of my ward bishopric joined my family and friends at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed in my hand a small volume titled Missionary Handbook. I laughed and commented that I wasn’t going on a mission.
He answered, “Take it anyway. It may come in handy.”
It did. I needed a hard, rectangular object to place in the bottom of my seabag so that my clothing would stay more firm and would thus be less wrinkled. The Missionary Handbook was just what I needed, and it served well in my seabag for 12 weeks.
The night before our Christmas leave, our thoughts were of home. The barracks were quiet, but then the silence was broken by my buddy in the adjoining bunk—a Mormon boy, Leland Merrill—who began to moan in pain. I inquired concerning the reason, and he said he felt really sick. He did not want to go to the base dispensary, for he knew that doing such would prevent his going home the following day.
He seemed to grow worse as the hours passed. Finally, knowing that I was an elder, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing.
I had never before given a priesthood blessing, I had never received a blessing, and I had never witnessed a blessing being given. As I prayed silently for help, I remembered the Missionary Handbook in the bottom of my seabag. I quickly emptied the bag and took the book to the night-light. There I read how one blesses the sick. With many curious sailors looking on, I proceeded with the blessing. Before I could put everything back into my bag, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child. He awakened the following morning feeling fine. The gratitude each of us felt for the power of the priesthood was immense.

President Gordon B. Hinckley recounted this childhood experience: “When I was a boy I raised a question with my father … concerning the expenditure of Church funds. He reminded me that mine is the God-given obligation to pay my tithes and offerings. When I do so, [my father said,] that which I give is no longer mine. It belongs to the Lord to whom I consecrate it.” His father added: “What the authorities of the Church do with it need not concern [you, Gordon]. They are answerable to the Lord, who will require an accounting at their hands.”

Jack McConnell grew up in the hills of southwest Virginia in the United States as one of seven children of a Methodist minister and a stay-at-home mother. Their circumstances were very humble. He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table, his father would ask each one in turn, “And what did you do for someone today?”1 The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.
Besides Dr. McConnell’s distinguished medical career—where he directed the development of the tuberculosis tine test, participated in the early development of the polio vaccine, supervised the development of Tylenol, and was instrumental in developing the magnetic resonance imaging procedure, or MRI—he created an organization he calls Volunteers in Medicine, which gives retired medical personnel a chance to volunteer at free clinics serving the working uninsured. Dr. McConnell said his leisure time since he retired has “evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid work, but [his] energy level has increased and there is a satisfaction in [his] life that wasn’t there before.” He made this statement: “In one of those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.”2 There are now over 90 such clinics across the United States.

On the evening on the 21st of September, A.D. 1823, while I was praying unto God, and endeavoring to exercise faith in the precious promises of Scripture, all of a sudden a light like that of day, only of a far purer and more glorious appearance and brightness, burst into the room, indeed the first sight was as though the house was filled with consuming fire; the appearance produced a shock that affected the whole body; in a moment, a personage stood before me surrounded with a glory yet greater than that with which I was already surrounded. This messenger proclaimed himself to be an angel of God, sent to bring the joyful tidings that the covenant which God made with ancient Israel was at hand to be fulfilled, that the preparatory work for the second coming of the Messiah was speedily to commence; that the time was at hand for the Gospel in all its fullness to be preached in power, unto all nations that a people might be prepared for the Millennial reign. I was informed that I was chosen to be an instrument in the hands of God to bring about some of His purposes in this glorious dispensation.
I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this country and shown who they were, and from whence they came; a brief sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments, of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known unto me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient Prophets that had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the morning of the 22nd of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord delivered the records into my hands.
These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance of gold, each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long, and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the whole. The volume was something near 15 cm. in thickness, a part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many marks of antiquity in its construction, and much skill in the art of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument, which the ancients called “Urim and Thummim,” which consisted of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to a breast plate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim, I translated the record by the gift and power of God.

Is this guy completely crazy?
That’s what I asked myself as I talked to Darrin Shamo at his family’s home in Hurricane, Utah.
Sure, he looks pretty normal: tall, skinny, with short blond hair. He wears glasses. You wouldn’t know from looking at him that he has an artificial leg.
But that’s not the strange part. What’s strange is that Darrin is happy. I mean extremely cheerful. His right leg is gone, but he laughs, he jokes, and he tells stories about his artificial leg while holding it in his lap.
How does he do it?
Darrin lost his right leg to cancer in June of 1991. But he hasn’t let his loss hold him back. His only regret is having to interrupt his mission to Chile, where his condition was diagnosed.
“I never wanted to leave,” he says. “I enjoyed every single day.”
But it was decided that Darrin should go home for further tests. Within an hour or two after arriving in Salt Lake City, doctors told him he definitely had a cancerous tumor on his knee.
Surely he was worried, right?
“I was a little bit scared about cancer because I didn’t know what it was,” Darrin says. “When you hear cancer, you think something really scary.”
What helped Darrin’s outlook was a little scripture reading on his plane ride to the United States from Chile. He had been reading in Alma about the Anti-Nephi-Lehis, and how they didn’t fear for their lives when the Lamanites came to attack them.
“I looked at that and I said, ‘I’m not going to fear for my life.’ I told that to people on the plane.”
After getting home, Darrin decided to maintain a positive attitude. “We had some long discussions,” says Darrin’s dad, Ronald Shamo, “and Darrin said, ‘I can approach this one of two ways. I can accept it and make the most of it, or I can be bitter. People don’t like to be around people who are complaining and unhappy. But when you’re positive and can look forward to getting better, people enjoy helping you along the way. They enjoy being with you.’”
And that has made all the difference. Darrin admits chemotherapy sickness had him depressed at times, but he even managed to conquer that. “I made sure no matter what I was doing in the hospital, I was happy. I especially enjoyed going to the fourth floor from three to five in the morning and looking at the babies.”
But Darrin’s condition required more than chemotherapy. His knee had to be removed, and doctors let him choose between joint replacement surgery and amputation just above the knee. Joint replacement would let him keep his leg, but it might leave him with little or no control over that leg because the muscles running through the joint would be cut.
With amputation, however, Darrin could get an artificial leg and soon be back to his old hobbies, like basketball, volleyball, bowling, and rappeling. Yes, rappeling. Having fun with his friends was important to Darrin, so the decision to amputate was not overly difficult. His bowling scores are down since the operation, but he’s confident that will change with practice.
What made Darrin most happy was when he learned he would be able to complete his mission. He was sent to the California Sacramento Mission and returned home this fall.
“Whenever we have a trial, there’s always something we can learn if we’re looking for it. There’s always some blessing,” Darrin says. “Cancer just made me look harder for the blessings, but they’re still always there.”
Hmmm. Maybe I exaggerated about Darrin. Maybe he’s not so crazy after all.

When Brandon arrived at his grandparents’ home to spend the day, he hugged Grandma hello, said goodbye to his mom, and pulled off his jacket. Then he quietly peeked into the living room to find Grandpa.
Grandpa was sitting in his favorite chair, reading the newspaper in his pajamas and robe.
Brandon ran to the middle of the room and yelled, “Boo!”
Grandpa jumped and dropped the paper into his lap. “Who are you?”
Brandon giggled. “I’m Brandon.”
Grandpa laughed. “You’re not Brandon. You’re too big. My Brandon is little. He sucks his thumb and always has his blanket with him.”
Brandon laughed. “That’s when I was a baby. I’m bigger now.” He stretched as tall as he could. “I can do a somersault.”
“You can’t do a somersault,” Grandpa said. “You don’t know how.”
“Yes I do,” Brandon insisted. “Watch.” He did a somersault right there on the living room carpet.
Grandpa clapped. “That’s wonderful! Come and give your old grandpa a hug.”
Brandon ran across the room and threw his arms around Grandpa.
“My Brandon gives better hugs than that,” Grandpa said.
Brandon squeezed him tighter. Then Brandon giggled and said, “You’re not my grandpa. My grandpa doesn’t wear glasses.”
Grandpa took off his glasses.
“And my grandpa doesn’t have a prickly face.”
“Is that so?” Grandpa said. He folded his newspaper and led the way to the bathroom, where he spread shaving cream over his cheeks and chin. With each stroke of the razor, more of his face appeared. When he finished, he wiped his face with a towel and asked Brandon, “Do I look like your grandpa now?”
“You look like him,” Brandon answered, “except that my grandpa wears regular clothes.”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll find some.”
Grandpa stopped in the hallway. “Have you checked the bird feeders? My Brandon always checks the bird feeders.”
“No,” Brandon answered. “I’ll do it right now.”
Brandon ran to the dining room and knelt on a chair by the window. A tiny green bird was at the sugar-water feeder. The bird’s wings moved so fast that Brandon couldn’t see them.
Grandpa came in and watched the bird with Brandon. After the bird flew away, Grandpa asked, “Did you like that robin?”
“That was a hummingbird,” Brandon answered.
“My Brandon calls them robins,” Grandpa said.
“Not any more,” Brandon insisted. “You told me the birds that use that feeder are hummingbirds.”
Grandpa laughed. “They are hummingbirds, but you’re not my Brandon.”
Brandon jumped off the chair. “Yes, I am your Brandon. I’ll show you I am.” He pulled Grandpa to the workshop in the garage and picked up a wooden box without a top. “This is the birdhouse we’re making. Here’s the first nail I pounded. See, it’s crooked. And this is the brown paint we bought to paint it with.”
“Well,” Grandpa said, “you know a lot of things my Brandon would know. But my Brandon likes to go to the park on a nice day like today.”
“I am your Brandon, and I want to go to the park.”
“Are you sure you’re my Brandon? I don’t want to go to the park with a stranger.”
“I am your Brandon, and I want to go to the park.”
“Do you have a red jacket? My Brandon has a red jacket.”
“I have a new jacket,” Brandon answered. “It’s blue, just like yours.”
Brandon ran to the kitchen and put on his new jacket.
Grandpa got his jacket from the closet. “Well,” he said, “look at that. Our jackets do match. Do you have a red baseball cap? My Brandon always wears a red baseball cap.”
“Here it is.” Brandon put on his cap. “My grandpa wears a black cap.”
“Here it is.” Grandpa put on his black cap. “My Brandon has a ticklish spot right here.” Grandpa tickled Brandon.
Brandon wiggled and giggled and squirmed all the way to the back door. He opened the door and ran outside. “I’m your Brandon, you’re my grandpa, and we’re ready now. Let’s go to the park!”

Next week I will have the opportunity to go to the House of the Lord in order to perform sacred temple ordinances on behalf of a cousin who did not live long enough to complete these for himself. His life ended tragically in the company of a supposed friend early one cold, wet autumn morning, when the car he was riding in careened off the road, hit a telephone pole, and then was literally ripped in half when it slammed into a tree. Members of his extended family would like to believe that my cousin died instantly, since the injuries that his body sustained were too horrific to describe. It was no longer a fit or sustainable tabernacle for his spirit, and thus a merciful God allowed his mortal probation to come to an end there amidst the dead leaves and litter at the side of a road in the hilly midlands of Staten Island, New York.

While I am in no position to judge him, I fear that my cousin was still woefully unprepared when his life ended. He had experienced a very tempestuous and violent youth, and his adulthood was marred by perverse and even satanic practices that he encountered and too frequently embraced when he wandered into "forbidden paths" and became lost. Nevertheless, he and I stayed in touch over the years and we conversed frequently on the phone or via email. I had grown up viewing him as a wayward younger brother, born out of season and out of context, who should have been an heir to the blessings of the gospel had things worked out differently for him. Despite his many incorrect choices, I was not ready to abandon him. As time passed we spoke with increasing frequency about gospel-related topics and about the purpose of our life here on Earth. In small but consistent increments I could see his heart softening, and I was quite confident that one day, with the Savior's help, he would be strong enough to turn away from his sinful past and enter the waters of baptism. I had looked forward to that day, had prayed for that day, and had worked toward that day. When I was a young man, I had made a promise to my grandmother that I would not forget my cousin nor would I fail to stay in contact with him, no matter how troubled he might be or how much trouble he might find himself in. I'd like to believe that I kept that promise while my cousin lived, and by completing his temple work, I shall continue to keep that promise now that he has passed beyond this life.

The Savior taught: "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection. And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them; and they that die not in me, wo unto them, for their death is bitter" (D&C 42:45-47).

My cousin lost his life, based in part on his own choices and, more specifically, as the direct consequence of the driver of the car in which he rode being incapacitated by drugs and alcohol. That man how faces many years in prison as a result of his choices and their tragic consequences. I do not believe that my cousin was ready to leave this life so soon, but I do believe that he had already reversed his fall and was moving with increasing speed in the right direction.

Chances are you haven’t heard of the town of Santa Maria in the Philippines. There’s not much to see in this sleepy farming community—or so you think until you climb the mountains for a sprawling view of the national capital, Manila. It’s definitely kahanga-hanga—a marvel.
And chances are you haven’t—but must—hear of Santa Maria’s other marvel, an ordinary-looking elder who is surely kahanga-hanga too. Elder Bienveniedo Cayetano can tie neckties single-handedly or give left-handed handshakes nonstop. But it’s an armful of spiritual strength that has made him an exceptional missionary.
At first glance, Bien is like any other 19-year-old Filipino Latter-day Saint serving in the Philippines San Pablo Mission. But shake hands with him and you’ll notice something unusual. Bien lost his entire right arm during an earthquake. But that’s going ahead of the story.
Bien comes from a large family. To support their widowed mother, all of the Cayetano children did backbreaking labor in the rice fields. Nevertheless, they managed to attend school. Bien garnered medals in English, newswriting, and fine arts. He won track-and-field awards.
An older brother, Chris, had previously been baptized, but the rest of the family did not follow. While serving a mission, Chris requested that the elders back home visit Bien, who was taught and soon accepted baptism. But as Bien started high school, other pursuits—including a new group of friends—made church seem less attractive.
“My brother could not force me to go,” says Bien, “and I resisted attempts to reactivate me.” But Bien knew that despite good grades and many friends, he felt empty and aimless at times. He remembered how happy people at church were, and finally decided to return.
After graduating with honors from high school, Bien studied political science at the Christian College of the Philippines. “We were talking in class about earthquakes,” Bien remembers, “laughing about getting caught in one.” Suddenly, the whole classroom swayed. It was an earthquake.
Terrified, everyone scrambled to escape. The building was dancing madly. Just as Bien was about to dash to safety through an open door, he was pinned by an avalanche of concrete.
“A broken chair jabbed at my stomach, one of my legs was in a half-kneeling posture, and I was face down,” he remembers. His fractured right arm bled profusely under a block of collapsed flooring. Yet, incredibly, a huge chunk of fallen concrete had barely missed his head. “Classmates were crying for help, but I couldn’t budge,” Bien recalls. One by one they died, including three lying on Bien. The quake struck in late afternoon, and by evening it was pitch dark. Everything was silent.
“I cried,” Bien admits. But as he wept, a Primary song crossed his mind. He started singing “I Am a Child of God.” As each word pierced the silence, a feeling of peace came, a feeling that he was no longer alone. “I prayed, saying, ‘Father, if I still need to live, then please let me live.’” As he prayed, Bien remembered the Savior. “He suffered a lot more than I did,” Bien realized. The cave-in became a tremendous spiritual experience.
As the sun rose the following morning, so did Bien’s hopes. Rescue workers pried him from the rubble and carried him to safety. His relieved family was notified. Bien was rushed to a hospital. Doctors immediately amputated his right arm. “I woke up, looked at my right side and cried out, ‘What’s happening here?’ I thought I was dreaming.” Shock turned to sorrow. “I felt so lonely because I might not be able to do what I used to do.”
After three bedridden months, Bien went home. Nearly all of his 50 classmates had perished. It seemed the same thing happened to Bien’s will to live. How could he, a right-handed person, manage with just his left hand?
While tutoring his nephews one day, Bien felt prompted to practice writing the alphabet. At first it was pure frustration. “My mind knew the shapes, but my hand had difficulty following.” However, practice makes perfect; less than a year after that fateful day, Bien was not only writing with ease but also back to his oil-painting hobby. And he resumed college.
After a year, he felt it was time to make use of his newfound strength to serve a mission. His family was aghast. “We’d really worry about you,” his mother protested.
“I know this is what the Lord wants,” Bien reassured her.
Months later, as a missionary, Bien received a family letter. “Don’t worry about us,” they wrote. “We’re boasting about you already.”
Bien’s personality affects just about everybody. At the Manila Missionary Training Center he was an inspiration, and his dedication has touched the Santa Maria branch. But Bien admits there are still some challenges, like forgoing basketball and service projects like harvesting rice.
One of Bien’s favorite scriptures says God “will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will … also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it” (1 Cor. 10:13). It’s a scripture that helps Bien see everything as a learning experience.
Mission life, he says, “is like a school where I learn much, not only about the gospel but also about myself.” He hastens to add that it was in the rubble of another school where he learned to trust Heavenly Father.
Ask Bien to sum up his blessings and he’ll share his motto: “I asked God for health that I might do great things, and I was given an infirmity that I might do greater things.”
Then he’ll smile and extend his friendship to you—with a warm, left-handed handshake.

Some goals stretch you more than others. And then there are other goals that hardly seem possible at first glance.
The youth planning committee from a stake in Texas, USA, knew they were shooting for the moon on this one.
“We weren’t really sure how we were going to do it,” says Kyle O., 17, one of the young men on the planning committee for their stake’s annual stake youth conference. Even the adult leaders let out a bit of a gasp after the youth proposed their plans.
So, what was the goal? Simply this: to send out 200 youth in pairs to bear their testimony about a gospel message with 100 different nonmember or less-active families. In the families’ own homes. During a single hour.
No point in setting goals that are boring, right?
The annual two-day conference is something the youth in this stake look forward to all year. It takes a ton of planning, praying, and courage to try things that have never been done before.
Each conference starts with the youth planning committee. “We really wanted the youth to have a positive experience in sharing the gospel,” says McKenna F., 17, one of the young women on the committee.
Specifically, they hoped to provide a positive experience for those young men and young women who didn’t think they had the confidence to share the gospel with others. “We wanted to give them a taste that it really is doable,” McKenna explains.
One thing the youth committee didn’t want was 100 doors slammed in their faces. They didn’t want to spend the hour trying to find families to visit.
So they had the adults throughout the stake ask friends and neighbors if they would allow the youth to come share a testimony about Christ. In the end, 115 families accepted the invitation.
As part of preparation, full-time missionaries and other leaders provided tips and advice to the youth during the conference so that when they talked to others, they could say what was in their hearts. Many of the youth were still nervous, but they headed out anyway.
The next hour would prove to be the favorite of the entire two-day conference, hands down.
Luke E., 17, and his younger companion approached the home of their assigned family to visit. A small cross hung on the front door. “With that cross on the door, I knew they were probably a pretty faithful family,” Luke says.
Inside the home they had a great spiritual discussion with the family. Luke and his companion shared their testimony and thoughts based on Christ’s words in the Bible, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
As the conversation unfolded, the couple asked a question that Luke and his younger companion hadn’t expected.
“What is the Book of Mormon?” they asked.
The adult leaders in the room remained silent in order to allow the youth to answer.
“I took this one,” Luke says. In a few minutes he explained the meaning of the title and subtitle (“Another Testament of Jesus Christ”) of the Book of Mormon, as well as a basic overview of the contents inside. He shared with them how Jesus visited and taught other nations after His Resurrection. Luke also bore testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and left them a copy.
When Luke finished answering the question, the couple was touched. They thanked everyone for coming and said, “We are grateful for young people in the world who believe something so passionately.”
For Luke, the experience was a huge boost in confidence for sharing the gospel.
“Sometimes in high school you clam up and stay quiet about spiritual things, and then you lose your confidence,” Luke says. “That day was very strengthening for me as a young man preparing to serve a mission.”
Tristan S., 17, served on the planning committee and was excited about the whole conference. But even with all that energy, he still felt a little unsure about the actual teaching experience.
“I was nervous,” Tristan says. For one thing, part of the goal with each visit was to stay and talk for at least 15 minutes. In other words, no showing up, sharing a scripture or two, and leaving within a few minutes. Sometimes 15 minutes can feel pretty long.
Tristan went with a younger companion to the home of a single man in his 30s. “We shared scriptures from Matthew about how Jesus Christ brings peace in our life,” Tristan says.
The man they were visiting added to the conversation right away as he shared his own insights and experiences. They sailed right past the 15-minute mark without noticing. By the time they reached 45 minutes, the man told them, “There’s something different about you guys.”
Tristan and his companion gave the man a card directing him to mormon.org, which he accepted gladly.
“It was an amazing experience,” Tristan says. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”
Lindsey J., 17, and her companion for the day visited a woman who’s been investigating the Church for three years. Her husband was not investigating.
The conversation with the wife was going well when, after a few minutes, her husband decided to enter the room and join in. “They were a very talkative family,” Lindsey says.
As they continued to visit, Lindsey felt a strong prompting. “Usually I’m not the kind of person to ask somebody something so direct,” she explains, “but I felt like I should ask the husband if he would be interested in going to church.”
So she did.
To Lindsey’s surprise, the husband answered that, yes, he’d like to attend even though he wouldn’t make any promises. Two Sundays later, both husband and wife came to church together. They’ve been attending ever since.
Lindsey has most enjoyed getting to know the couple better and better. “I say ‘Hi’ to them all the time,” she says. They’ve become close friends. Lindsey even brought flowers on Mother’s Day because the woman doesn’t have children of her own.
Ever since the youth conference, Lindsey has chatted with many other youth about their experiences. With each conversation, it became clearer just how much everybody enjoyed sharing testimonies about the Savior.
“A lot of the youth said that this was the best weekend of their lives,” Lindsey explains.
That one short hour of teaching was just the beginning. Some families began meeting with full-time missionaries afterward. Others attended a Church meeting for the first time, prayed, or started reading scriptures.
As for the youth who participated, they’ll never forget the experience. They also gained confidence in sharing their beliefs with others. “A lot of youth were really nervous about this,” says Kyle O. “But going out to share increased their confidence. They realized it really wasn’t that hard to open your mouth and share the gospel, to share the love of Christ.”
It just goes to show that you don’t have to be afraid to shoot for the moon when it comes to setting goals.
You might just get there.

On Friday morning, Johnny looked happy. He had finally decided on a project. “Let’s go through our toys and clothes. Richard’s family is having a hard time since his dad was hurt. We could give them some of our things.”
“What a great idea, Johnny,” Susan said. “I’ll write a note, and we can sneak up and deliver the things without them seeing us.”
The children were amazed at the many nice things they found that would be just right for someone in Richard’s family. They decided to give puzzles, a teddy bear, a ball, a baseball mitt, books, and some outgrown clothes that were still as good as new.
Mom came by and added two good blankets and some canned food to the pile.
“Wow,” said Johnny. “This looks great!” The children carted their box to Richard’s home. They left it by the front door with a note that said:
To Richard’s family—
Here is a gift to let you know we care.
The Sunshine Club

Let me illustrate this, about twenty years ago, I had a friend who told me his story about himself. He grew up in the church, was a faithful member, and served an honorable and successful mission. He returned home and decided to attend a good university in California that would further his potential career. The worldly influences around him began to take their hold on him. He met a young woman and started to date her. He let his defenses down and broke the law of chastity and as a result he contracted from her the HIV virus.

Later because of his testimony of the church, he repented and returned to full church activity. He told me, with tears in his eyes, that because he broke the Law of Chastity, just once, he could never marry and have the blessings of children bound to him forever because of the risk and threat of them getting the HIV virus. At that time, he said that the virus had progressed and likely would advance into Aids. He knew he would eventually die soon from it. I have lost touch with him, but I have a feeling he is now passed on.

That lesson has never left me. Indeed, years ago I relearned its meaning and partook of its power. My teacher was the Lord. May I share with you this experience.
Far away from Salt Lake City, and some 130 kilometers from Shreveport, Louisiana, lived the Jack Methvin family. Mother, Dad, and the children are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There was a lovely daughter who, by her presence, graced that home. Her name was Christal. She was but 10 years old when death ended her earthly sojourn.
Christal liked to run and play on the spacious ranch where her family lived. She could ride horses skillfully and excelled in 4-H work, winning awards in the local and state fairs. Her future was bright, and life was wonderful. Then there was discovered on her leg an unusual lump. The specialists in New Orleans completed their diagnosis and rendered their verdict: carcinoma. The leg must be removed.
Christal recovered well from the surgery, lived as buoyantly as ever, and never complained. Then the doctors discovered that the cancer had spread to her tiny lungs.
Christal’s condition deteriorated. The end drew nigh. But her faith did not waver. She knew that stake conference was approaching. To her parents she said, “Do you think whoever is assigned to our stake conference could give me a blessing?”
Meanwhile in Salt Lake City, with no knowledge of the events transpiring in Shreveport, an unusual situation developed. For the weekend of the Shreveport Louisiana Stake conference, I had been assigned to El Paso, Texas. President Ezra Taft Benson, who was then President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, called me to his office and explained that one of the other Brethren had done some preparatory work regarding the stake division in El Paso. He asked if I would mind were another to be assigned to El Paso and I assigned elsewhere. Of course there was no problem; anywhere would be fine with me. Then President Benson said, “Brother Monson, I feel impressed to have you visit the Shreveport Louisiana Stake.”
The assignment was accepted. The day came. I arrived in Shreveport.
That Saturday afternoon was filled with meetings: one with the stake presidency, one with priesthood leaders, one with the patriarch, then yet another with the general leadership of the stake. Rather apologetically, stake president Charles F. Cagle asked if my schedule would permit me time to provide a blessing to a 10-year-old girl afflicted with cancer. Her name: Christal Methvin. I responded that, if possible, I would do so, and then inquired if she would be at the conference, or was she in a Shreveport hospital. Knowing the time was tightly scheduled, President Cagle almost whispered that Christal was confined to her home many kilometers from Shreveport.
I examined the schedule of meetings for that evening and the next morning, even my return flight. There simply was no available time. An alternative suggestion came to mind. Could we not remember the little one in our prayers at conference? Surely the Lord would understand. On this basis we proceeded with the scheduled meetings.
When the word was communicated to the Methvin family, there was understanding but disappointment as well. They prayed fervently, asking for a final favor—that their precious Christal would realize her desire.
At the very moment the Methvin family knelt in prayer, the clock in the stake center showed the time to be 7:45 P.M. The Saturday leadership meeting had been inspirational. I was sorting my notes, preparing to step to the pulpit, when I heard a voice speak to my spirit. The message was brief, the words familiar: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” My notes became a blur. My thoughts turned to a tiny girl who desired a blessing. The decision was made, the meeting schedule altered. After all, people are more important than meetings. I turned to Bishop James Serra and asked that he leave the meeting and advise the Methvins.
The Methvin family had just arisen from their knees when the telephone rang and the message was relayed. They were informed that early on Sunday morning—the Lord’s day—in a spirit of fasting and prayer, we would journey to Christal’s bedside.
I shall ever remember and never forget that early-morning journey to a heaven the Methvin family called home. I have been in hallowed places—even holy houses—but never have I felt more strongly the presence of the Lord than in the Methvin home. Christal looked so tiny, lying peacefully on such a large bed. The room was bright and cheerful. The sunshine from the east window filled the bedroom with light as the Lord filled our hearts with love.
The family surrounded Christal’s bedside. I gazed down at a child who was too ill to rise—almost too weak to speak. Her illness had now rendered her sightless. So strong was the Spirit that I fell to my knees, took her frail hand in mine, and said simply, “Christal, I am here.” She parted her lips and whispered, “Brother Monson, I just knew you would come.” I looked around the room. No one was standing. Each was on bended knee. A blessing was given. A faint smile crossed Christal’s face. Her whispered “thank you” provided an appropriate benediction. Quietly, each filed from the room.
Four days later, on Thursday, as Church members in Shreveport joined their faith with the Methvin family and Christal’s name was remembered in a special prayer to a kind and loving Heavenly Father, the pure spirit of Christal Methvin left its disease-ravaged body and entered the paradise of God.