Gospel Story Finder

As I look back over my life and remember the difficult decisions, one stands out far more than others: Should I go on a mission? Mom and dad want me to go. The bishop tells me I should go. Some of my friends are going, but others tell me it would be a mistake. They say: “Think of the fun you’ll miss.” “What about your education?” “How about your girl friend?” It just seems that there is so much going on that I can’t give up two years. What should I do?
Why should you serve a mission? Several things come to my mind as I think about the answer to this searching question. Surely, the answer is easy: The Lord says you should; the prophet has given repeated emphasis to this; your family, Church leaders, and others encourage you to serve—but they are not you. I remember how good I felt, from the inside out, from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head, when I finally said yes. I received a confirmation from the Lord that what I had done was good. It was right, and I knew it. For once in my life I had started thinking about others instead of only myself, and that gave me a feeling I have yearned for every day of my life since. It’s rewarding to give of yourself that others might be blessed. This is one of the reasons why our Savior made the following statement: “And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.” (Matt. 10:38–39.)

“My blessing promised me that my husband and I would live with mutual respect and love for each other. But my husband distanced himself from the family and developed an addiction. I told the Lord that I would do everything in my power to make the promise in my blessing come true. But I told Him that He would have to guide my footsteps. It has taken years, but my husband and I have overcome the problems, grown closer, and remained faithful. I know Heavenly Father gave me that promise in my blessing to help me to survive.”

A few years ago I taught a very difficult and troubled group of children in school. I was upset because I had so much trouble teaching them and I found myself depressed and tearful as I left school each day.
One day a woman working with me told me she had been praying for a calming influence to enter my classroom so I could teach. Although she was not a member of the Church, she knew the power of prayer and was, I feel, prompted by the Holy Ghost to tell me of her prayers to remind me what I should do.
I realized that I had been so involved with the problem that I had forgotten to go to the Lord for help. From then on I often found myself on my knees before school began, praying for help and inspiration. As the weeks went by, a calming spirit did enter the classroom and I was able to see I was making some progress with the children. There were still moments of frustration, but I seemed better able to deal with them.

“Are you a Christian?” It was a headline for an advertisement soliciting community service volunteers, and it attracted Roger Freeman’s attention. Brother Freeman is a faithful member of the Church—a Sunday School teacher, home teacher, and father of nine. Surely no one could accuse him of not serving his fellow man in a Christian way. Still, the question concerned him.
Brother Freeman contacted the community service agency that had placed the advertisement and asked how he could help. The agency gave him the names of several elderly people who needed someone to do various tasks around their homes.
Since that day several years ago, Brother Freeman has mowed lawns, repaired furniture, cleaned yards, and done odd jobs in many of the older sections of his city—often taking along a few of his children to help. Every few months, he calls the agency for more names. Sometimes he has cried, seeing people who are so poor and so lonely. Occasionally, he can befriend a person he serves and maintain some personal contact. He wishes he could do more.
Where does he find the time to reach beyond his circle of family and Church associations? “It doesn’t take much time,” says Brother Freeman. And what motivates him? He explains, “It’s mostly a matter of reaching beyond my own needs. Sometimes I think of the Savior walking down the dusty roads he traveled. He was aware of people’s needs.”
Serving those around us is not merely something added to the gospel. In fact, the Lord equates serving each other with serving Him. (See Mosiah 2:17.) Brother Lowell Bennion, who runs the community service agency in Salt Lake City that Brother Freeman called, feels that Saints should go to church not to be satisfied, but to “be motivated to go out and serve our neighbors in need.”

Like millions of Latter-day Saints all over the world, LDS youth in Russia joined in last year’s sesquicentennial commemoration of the 1847 arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. Like the others, they relived the trek of those who traveled by wagon and handcart to Zion. But perhaps as much or more than any other group, they truly understood what it means to be a pioneer.
“Vperiod!” Brother Brigham shouts. “Forward!” He raises his hand high and points straight ahead. The pioneers grab their handcart, grimace at the effort of pulling it, and continue past a row of apartment buildings.
Wait a minute! That’s not how the Saints got to Utah!
Not to worry. This is Vyborg, Russia. The man playing the role of President Brigham Young is actually Aleksandr B. Tomak, a district president. And the pioneers, who have only a single handcart among them, are Russians from the St. Petersburg area, gathered at a youth conference to celebrate their heritage.
Yes, these are young members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That means that not only is the journey of the pioneers part of their history; so is the visit of God the Father and his Son Jesus Christ to the Prophet Joseph Smith. So is the translation of the Book of Mormon. And so is the Restoration of the gospel in the latter days, with living prophets, temple work, and missionaries all over the world.
That’s why, as the handcart they are now pulling has journeyed from Siberia on the east to Vyborg on Russia’s western border, the “Mormons” in each location have not only pulled it through forests and mountains but also through the streets and parks of the cities where they live. They are celebrating, not only the pioneers that were, but also the pioneers they are—young people eager to live the truth and to share it with anyone willing to listen.
“I love Russia,” says Katya Medvedeva, 16, of the Nevsky Branch. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. And at the same time, I love being a Latter-day Saint. I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. It is a worldwide church. You see the members here? They are strong and happy. They believe in Heavenly Father and in Jesus Christ. They believe the gospel has been restored to the earth.”
As she walks the pioneer trail, Katya can’t help thinking about the trials faced by Church members of an earlier era. “They were driven from their homes. They faced storms, starvation, and a journey of more than a thousand miles,” she says. “Here we are on paved roads in the sunshine, when many times they had to push through the mud and shiver from cold!”
Not that today is free from challenges. “We have different tasks before us,” Katya continues. “We’re blazing trails in new ways. Sometimes it’s as simple as telling people about the Word of Wisdom. When people drink tea or coffee or alcohol, or when they smoke or use drugs, they think that if they stop they won’t have freedom anymore. But if you stop you don’t lose freedom; you gain freedom because you’re not dependent on those things anymore.”
Blazing trails. Preparing the way for others. That’s what pioneers do.
Vitaly Yakushev, 18, says that, thanks to the youth conference, he has a deeper understanding of why early pioneers went through so much to gather to Utah. Local Church leaders gave him permission to take the train from his home in Kaliningrad, located in a small slice of Russia on the Baltic Sea, across Lithuania and Latvia, then back into Russia and on to St. Petersburg and Vyborg. The distance isn’t that far, but since the train stops in nearly every town, it took 21 hours.
That might seem like a lot to go through for a youth conference, Vitaly explains. “But I believe Jesus Christ lives and that he restored his Church through Joseph Smith. To be with so many others who believe the same things brings me happiness and joy. My soul wanted to be here.”
Vitaly’s physical journey parallels the spiritual journey of another young man, Dema Nicholayev, 18, of the Tosno Branch. A year and a half ago, “I was rebellious,” he says. “I listened to heavy metal music, I had brightly colored hair, I was looking for some kind of direction, and I thought I had found it.”
Then he met the missionaries. “At first, I didn’t believe them,” Dema continues. “I didn’t believe another lifestyle could be better than mine.”
Then the missionaries introduced him to a teenage member who bore his testimony. “That touched my heart, and slowly I started to believe what they were telling me. It changed my life.” As he grew in gospel knowledge, he wanted to share what he knew.
“Now,” he says, “I’m here at the conference with two of my friends that I baptized.”
As the youth walk and walk and walk, they sing. Someone strums a guitar, and everyone joins in folk songs. At other moments, silence reigns. And every once in a while, it just seems right to sing a hymn. “Come, Come, Ye Saints” is most popular, and those who sing it sometimes cry.
“Maybe I’m a little tired from walking so much,” says Natasha Kulenech, 16, of the Kolpino Branch. “But I feel the Spirit so strong that I know I can keep going. Life is like that. Sometimes I get tired, but then I think about the gospel. Before I became a member, my life was like a black-and-white film. Now it’s living color!”
“I think I’m just a normal member of the Church,” says Genia Slepukhina, 17, of Vyborg. “I can maybe go on a hike like this, in good weather with all of my friends. But I don’t really know what it would be like in the winter without food and fuel and shoes. I don’t know if I could do what they had to do.”
But Genia has already proven she can do some things they had to do, like endure persecution. When she first joined the Church, former friends at school scorned her.
“They said, ‘You are not like we are so we won’t speak with you,’” Genia explains. “One teacher said, ‘I will quiz you every day on my subject. Every day. And I know Mormons must be truthful, so don’t lie to me if you’re not prepared.’ That was hard, because I have six or seven subjects each day, and I must prepare for every one.”
Sometimes classmates would even hit her. “But my family, Church friends, and the missionaries really helped me,” Genia says. “They gave me great examples to follow. One of the missionaries showed me Matthew 5:10–12 [Matt. 5:10–12], where the Savior says if you are persecuted because of your faith, you will be blessed. So I kept after it. I always tried to testify of the truth. I think a lot of people thought my belief was just a temporary thing, and in time it would go away. Now they know it’s here to stay.”
“For us the LDS Church is new,” says Katya Pyshnyak, 13, of the Avtovo Branch. “Nobody in our branch has been a member for more than six or seven years. So we are the first, and that makes us like pioneers. We’re trying to be examples to others, like the pioneers who crossed the plains are examples to us. They had love and believed they would reach the right place and everything would be all right when they got there. They knew that God would help them.”
She and her friend Tanya Kuznezova, 16, also from Avtovo, foresee the day when The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will be a major influence in Russia.
“The true church must have its beginning in some country,” Katya says. “It isn’t important where it began. What is important is that it is true.”
“I think the LDS Church will be very big in Russia, that many people will want to be members,” Tanya says. “Right now people don’t understand that this is the only way we can live once again with our Heavenly Father. But some day they will understand how important it is and that they can know, as I know, that it is true.”
What do pioneers do? They go where others have not gone before, discover new things, mark a path, and prepare the way.
The Vyborg-St. Petersburg handcart company reaches the end of the trail at the shore of a lake in the forest. Here, workshops will be held and lunch served for those who have “safely completed the journey to Zion,” as President Tomak proclaims.
“Vot eto mesto!” he says, in his best Brother Brigham voice. “This is the place!”
It’s a phrase that was true 150 years ago in the valley of the Great Salt Lake. It is now a phrase that is equally true from Siberia to Vyborg, all across a vast country where modern pioneers are embracing the restored gospel today.
Two handcarts were actually used in various cities across Russia, one as a backup in case of trouble or in case activities were planned in two places on the same day. When the celebrations were through, one cart remained in Russia. The other was shipped to Church headquarters, where it was presented to President Gordon B. Hinckley, then displayed at the Church Museum of History and Art.
Members filled the handcart bound for Salt Lake City with souvenirs. The youth of St. Petersburg were eager to be part of the sharing, but what could they add to such a collection?
A perfect answer: each youth conference participant was given a sheet or two of paper. They were instructed to write their testimony, addressed to President Hinckley. Then all the testimonies were bound together in a blue velvet book trimmed with gold braid and bearing the Russian coat of arms.
Though there were many items in the cart, from teddy bears to dolls dressed in native costumes, none were more precious than the book of testimonies, a true gift from the heart.

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 arm?

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 was also oil painting again. And he resumed college.

After a year, he felt it was time to make use of his newfound strength and 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 missing 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.

Let me read to you from a letter I received from a man ashamed to sign his name. He writes:
“I am a 35-year-old male and am a convert to the Church of more than ten years. For most of my adult life I have been addicted to pornography. I am ashamed to admit this. My addiction is as real as that of an alcoholic or a drug addict.
“I was first introduced to this material as a child. I was molested by an older male cousin, and pornography was used to attract my interest. I am convinced that this exposure at an early age to sex and pornography is at the root of my addiction today. I think it is ironic that those who support the business of pornography say that it is a matter of freedom of expression. I have no freedom. I have lost my free agency because I have been unable to overcome this. It is a trap for me, and I can’t seem to get out of it. Please, please, please, plead with the brethren of the Church to not only avoid but eliminate the sources of pornographic material in their lives. …
“Finally, President Hinckley, please pray for me and others in the Church who may be like me to have the courage and strength to overcome this terrible affliction.”

Haroon remembered the excitement of the day the announcement was made that the language would be written with the same alphabet he used to study English. Airplanes had dropped leaflets all over the city to tell the people the good news.
People began learning to read and write Somali at once.
Three months later Haroon’s father, who was a clerk in a government office, told him, “Next week I must pass a literacy test in Somali in order to keep my job.”
That same week Haroon and three of his friends sat at a sidewalk cafe sipping a spicy beverage. Jama ran up to them, waving the first edition of the Somali daily newspaper.
“Just look at this!” he shouted. Proudly he read the name “Xiddigta Oktoobar (October Star).”
Soon five heads were bent over the pages, sounding out familiar words that looked strange in print.
Radio Mogadishu began broadcasting literacy lessons daily. Everyone in town was learning to read now. Classes started all over the city.
In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.
Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.
“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is used as box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. Llaah ha ku barakadeya (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”
Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.
Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignore him.
Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And do you know what?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”
After they parted, Haroon thought about Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aquoon baro.” (If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.)
That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.
Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”
But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.
Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.
Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.
One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.
Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”
Chief Abdi became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.
Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.
The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.
Six months later Haroon was walking home from school one day through the noisy city streets when he suddenly caught the strong, unmistakable scent of a herd of camels. Memories rushed into his mind. Then he saw the herd come around the corner at the end of the block. They jostled each other as cars and taxis honked their horns. A bushman was bringing a herd to the slaughterhouse. Haroon went to talk to the nomad and found he knew Chief Abdi’s clan very well.
The man handed Haroon a letter showing signs of being carried many days in the folds of the man’s skirt. Haroon opened it and read greetings from many in the clan. It was written by the hand of Chief Abdi himself. He thanked Haroon for teaching him and his people.
Haroon was happy to know that Abdi was also following the president’s words: “If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.”

“I was a young boy during the depression. Our home was situated not far from the railroad tracks where the vagrants would ‘ride the rails.’ The men came in twos or threes to our back door for something to eat. I can never remember my mother turning those men away hungry. She would fix them a sandwich, give them a glass of milk, and send them on their way with a word of cheer, having a feeling in her heart that she had done some good.
“I was fortunate when I was a boy to have an outstanding Sunday School teacher. When she talked about the apostle Paul, we could almost hear him preaching. She made every character in the scriptures come alive. She was an unusually kind woman and let us boys know that she expected us to be gentlemen.
“In our class we had collected some money to use for a big party. One Sunday morning our teacher came to class and told us that one of our classmates would be absent—his mother had passed away. We were all very unhappy. The subject of the lesson that morning was that it is better to give than to receive. After she had presented the lesson, she talked about the hard times ahead for the absent boy’s family. ‘How would you students like to follow the Lord’s teachings?” she asked. ‘How would you feel about taking our party fund and giving it to this boy’s family as an expression of love?”
“The decision was unanimous. I remember that I was the treasurer of the class, and the teacher said to the boy’s father, ‘Brother Devenport, the class would like to make an expression of their feelings.’ Then she called on me to make an expression, and afterward I handed our party fund to him. I think that was one of the first times I saw a grown man weep. This simple act of kindness welded our class together. We learned through our own experience that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive.
“I would encourage the youth of the world to seek out opportunities to help other people, to do good to all, and to share what they have with others. It is the pathway to happiness. As we willingly share, we’ll strengthen our testimonies. But if we attempt to keep all good things to ourselves, we’ll lose everything.”

Doug usually nodded pleasantly and then hurried past the two-story building where many elderly people sat on the front lawn. The people were frail and sad-looking, and most of them just sat there in the sun or shade watching the cars and people go by.
One day as Doug was walking home from school, a white-haired man with faded blue eyes suddenly reached out his hands. The sudden movement frightened Doug, and without thinking he moved to the edge of the sidewalk and started running.
Later that night Doug was ashamed of himself. All those people looked lonely, and probably the old man only needed a helping hand to rise to his feet.
The least I could have done was to stop and ask what the man wanted, Doug thought.
The next morning when Doug went out to feed his dog, Fluffy, he found the chain broken and his dog gone. After thoroughly searching the neighborhood, Doug decided to ask some of the elderly people if they had seen his dog.
He hurried around the corner to the Old Folks Home. And there was Fluffy, wildly wagging her tail while the old man who had frightened Doug the day before patted her.
The boy sighed with relief. “Thank you for finding my dog,” he cried as he dropped down on one knee to cuddle his pet.
“No use trying to talk to him, son,” another elderly man called. “He’s from Russia and can’t understand what you say anyway. We call him Nick because we can’t pronounce his real name. He’s nearly one hundred years old!”
Doug was suddenly filled with a mixture of feelings. He was relieved to find his dog but even more unhappy with himself when he remembered how he had felt the day before about this lonely old man whom Fluffy seemed to like so well. He felt even worse when he learned that the man had no known relatives and had never received a letter nor had a visitor.
Doug reached out and squeezed the old man’s arm in gratitude and sympathy. Then he picked up Fluffy and carried her home so he wouldn’t be late for school.
“Dad, do you know any Russian people?” Doug asked at supper that night.
“Russian? No, I don’t,” his father replied, looking surprised. “Why?”
Doug explained how he had met Nick. “He found Fluffy for me, and so I want to do something for him. It must be lonely not being able to communicate with anyone! I’m going to find someone who can speak Russian and ask him to visit Nick,” Doug said with determination.
“I wish I could help you, son, but I can’t,” his father said. “We have people of Polish and Italian descent in town, but I’ve never met any Russian families.”
Two nights later Doug was doing his homework when he thought of checking the telephone book. He found several long and difficult names, but when he called their numbers, he found they were all of some other nationality. None of them knew anyone who could speak Russian.
Doug began to stop by to visit Nick for a few moments every afternoon on his way home from school. The old man always seemed delighted to see him and enjoyed looking at his school work. On Saturday afternoons Doug brought Fluffy with him. Nick just smiled and nodded to Doug, but he talked softly to Fluffy as he patted her. After that he sometimes saved a piece of meat from his lunch for the dog.
How do you go about finding a Russian? Doug wondered, as he left the lonely old man each day.
One afternoon as he returned home, Doug thought of going to the university for help. He knew they had instructors from all over the world who taught different languages. So Doug raced to his room and wrote a long letter explaining about his friend Nick. He addressed and mailed it to the head of the university.
After almost two weeks went by without an answer, Doug had given up hope. But one evening a telephone call came for him. A man who spoke with an accent explained that he was a Russian touring the country with a group of Russian educators. One of the professors had told them about Doug’s letter. The man said he would be happy to go with Doug to visit his friend on Saturday afternoon.
The frail old man was in his chair as usual when Doug and the Russian educator reached the Old Folks Home. Nick was watching for Doug and Fluffy to appear around the corner, and he looked disappointed when he saw the boy wasn’t alone.
Doug smiled at Nick and then proudly said to the tall man beside him, “This is my friend Nick.”
The man bowed slightly, cupped Nick’s trembling hand in his strong ones, and began to speak.
Nick just stared, not daring to believe what he was hearing. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Then words started to pour out.
Nick’s excitement and his distinguished guest drew a group of other men. One of them brought a chair for Nick’s visitor. Although they couldn’t understand a word being said, they were all smiling as they watched Nick’s faded eyes sparkle while talking and listening.
Nick told the Russian visitor that his correct age was one hundred three and that he had left Russia over seventy years ago. Nick explained he had never learned English because he was a carpenter and had always worked and boarded with emigrants like himself.
The visitor gave Nick several newspapers in his language. He also gave Doug a simple Russian dictionary so he and Nick could really talk together.
Doug lay awake a long time that night. He was too happy to sleep. Finally he got out the new Russian dictionary and looked at the strange new words.
It will be great to talk with Nick, he thought, but we really don’t need words to be friends!

Sonora Dodd devoted her life to honoring fathers, and her strong feelings about fatherhood were passed to her son, Jack. In 1952 one of Sonora Dodd’s proudest moments came when Jack was named “Father of the Year.” Nineteen years later, an even prouder moment came. Sonora Louise Dodd, the woman known as “the mother of Father’s Day,” became the first and only woman ever to be named “Father of the Year!”

The smell of warm bread greeted Aiden as she walked through the door after school. She sat down, eager for a slice of bread with butter.
“Before you eat, will you please take this over to Brother and Sister Brown?” Mom asked, pointing to a small loaf she had just wrapped.
Aiden sighed, grabbed the loaf, and headed out the door. Sometimes she wished her mom would only make bread for her family. She trudged through the backyard and around the corner, slowing down when she saw the Browns’ house.
Brother Brown was in his eighties, but he still took great care of his lawn. Aiden and her brother, Patrick, would often see him mowing the lawn or trimming the hedges and bushes. He always waved when he saw them and usually talked with them over his white picket fence.
But Sister Brown was never outside. She had osteoporosis, which meant that her bones were very fragile and could break easily. She couldn’t walk very well, and it was painful for her to leave the house.
Today, Aiden didn’t want to visit with them. But even though she wanted to go back home for some of Mom’s yummy bread, Aiden tried to be happy as she opened the screen door and rang the doorbell.
Brother Brown opened the door, and a big smile lit up his face. “Why, hello! Come on in, Aiden!” he said.
Aiden felt a little better already. The Browns were always so nice and so happy to have company. Brother Brown dug into the candy jar and gave her a piece of butterscotch candy as he asked her questions about school.
Sister Brown looked like she was in a lot of pain. Her small body hunched over in her armchair as she wrote something down. Sister Brown was always writing in her journal, writing poems and letters, or making cards to send to her friends. Today she was writing a birthday card very slowly. Sometimes her hands shook, and it was difficult for her to print the words.
“Why do you write so many cards and letters?” Aiden asked.
“It gives me something to do,” Sister Brown said. “I can’t see my friends very often since I can’t leave the house, so I like to write to them to show I care about them.” She finished writing the card.
Aiden chatted a bit more with Brother and Sister Brown and then walked home. She thought about Sister Brown and how much pain she was in. She felt ashamed about not wanting to visit the Browns. “If Sister Brown can serve others, I can serve her too,” Aiden thought.
So whenever Mom made bread or cinnamon rolls, Aiden took some over to the Browns, often with Patrick or her sister, Emma. She and her family sang for the Browns, especially around Christmas. Dad even recorded Aiden, Patrick, and Emma singing so Sister Brown could listen to it.
A few years after Aiden graduated from Primary, Sister Brown passed away. Aiden and her family attended the funeral.
At the end of the service, the bishop surprised Aiden by asking the members of the congregation to stand up if they had received a card from Sister Brown on their birthday. Nearly every person stood up.
As she looked around at all the people that Sister Brown had remembered on their birthdays, Aiden smiled. She thought that she and her family had been serving Sister Brown, but she was wrong. Sister Brown had served them and so many others each day of her life.

Brother Joseph Stucki, a faithful Church member, died Christmas Eve in 1927 after a short illness, leaving his wife with seven children, the eldest son being on a mission. Two of the children and a nephew she was rearing were later taken in death. Another son was also sent on a mission. This was accomplished by much hard work—taking in sewing and living on a few dollars per month from an insurance policy.
During this difficult time, flour was being distributed to needy members of the ward. Some of the young men had been asked to deliver it. A bag of flour was brought to Sister Stucki’s home. Since she felt that there were other families in the ward that needed that flour worse than she did, she declined to keep it, telling the young man that she was trying to teach her family to be independent and self-reliant. While worthy members of the Church should feel free to accept help from the Church proffered by the bishop, Sister Stucki was trying to teach the young man who came to her door a lesson. You see, the young man delivering the flour was her own son! All the surviving children attended college and became very successful people. They lived by the motto, “Make it do, or do without.”

While cargo was delivered and provisions replenished in Honolulu, Brooklyn passengers were free to explore the island. Hundreds of natives were waiting for us to land. They greeted us with wide smiles and twinkling black eyes.
Some of the Hawaiians came on board and were delighted when they saw the nine-month-old Kittleman twins, Hannah and Sarah, and asked to take them ashore to show them to their queen. After they had been gone for more than two hours, Sister Kittleman became alarmed, and the ship’s crew organized a posse. Just as the sailors were ready to start a search, two young girls came running toward the ship with the babies. Queen Kalama had sent many gifts for their mother.

I remember one day going to my office and seeing outside the door of the faculty person next to me (a bishop) a young lady with a distraught look on her face. She waited and kept knocking on this door for some time, but my colleague was out. There was something about her appearance that was compelling to me, and so I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, but you look distraught. Is there anything that I can do?”
She said, “I’m waiting for Brother So-and-so. He’s my bishop, and he seems to be out.”
I said, “Is there anything I can do?” So she came into my office, we talked, and I found that this young lady was a cousin of mine, a woman of about 38. When she found that we were kin, the tragic story of her life began to unfold. I began to see the despair and the disappointment and the frustration and the hopelessness that she was experiencing at that point in her life—single, never married, distraught, worried about her future. Later, she undoubtedly received help from her bishop, but I as a kinsman tried to work for a period of months in a helping relationship with her, to talk with her, to sustain her, to counsel her as best I could. She finally decided that it was best that she go back with her family and help take care of her mother, who was an invalid. So she went home and was somehow able to put off her despair, invest herself intently again into the affairs of those things spiritual. Then came the time when I received a telephone call and later an announcement that she had met a young man whose wife had died and left him with five children. I was able to greet her in the temple when she was sealed to her companion and became the instant mother of five children. I have hope that at certain points my strength might have been a help to others. I pray that the strength you may have might be a help to those who are faltering in their race of life.

“I’m so excited for recess!” Ally told Lauren as they put their lunch boxes back on the shelf in their classroom. “Tami just said we’re all going to play tag together on the playground today.”
“Fun!” Lauren said. “I love tag.”
Lauren was happy and surprised that Tami had invited Ally to play. Tami had always been mean to Ally. Lauren was glad she was finally trying to be nice.
“I need to take a book to the library first, so make sure they don’t start without me.” Ally smiled as she ran down the hall to the library.
Lauren raced out to the playground. When she got there, Tami was already gathering the other kids into a circle. Lauren ran over to join them.
“Hurry up, everyone!” Tami called as she motioned everyone into a tight huddle. “I have a fun idea I want to tell everyone before Ally gets out here.”
Lauren didn’t feel very good about this.
All the kids squeezed into the huddle to hear. “Instead of tagging everyone like we usually do,” Tami said, “let’s just tag Ally. But no one better tell her, or else!” Tami giggled. She seemed so proud of herself.
Lauren looked at the other kids in the circle. A lot of these kids hadn’t been nice to Ally since kindergarten. That’s when the kids really started being mean to Ally. They would make fun of her and tease her. Most times Tami started it and the other kids would follow.
Lauren had never liked how they treated Ally. She decided right then that she wouldn’t follow along with them. She knew everyone was a child of God and should be treated with kindness.
She took a deep breath and looked Tami in the eyes. “That doesn’t sound like a fun idea to me. I don’t think we should treat Ally like that. So I don’t want to play.”
Lauren walked out of the circle and started back toward the school alone to find Ally.
At least she thought she was alone.
Then she heard, “Hey, wait up!” Lauren turned around and there were most of the kids from Tami’s circle. She couldn’t believe it!
“Let’s go find Ally and start our own game of tag,” Damon said.
Lauren and Ally live in Canada. They are in high school now and are still great friends.
“I want to play too!” Lea said. The others nodded.
Lauren smiled. That awful feeling in her stomach was gone. “Good idea!” she said. “There’s Ally coming over right now.”
She turned and tapped Damon on the shoulder. “Tag, you’re it!” she yelled, then raced toward Ally. And all the kids came racing after.

For many, the seeking requires sacrifice. “After my conversion, I had to wait half a year to be baptized,” recalls Olga Kovárová of Czechoslovakia. “Because we had no baptismal font, we needed to wait until summer when we could be in the woods and not be noticed.” When they reached the reservoir on the night of the baptism, they saw many fishermen. “We waited, and the time dragged on,” she said. Finally, a brother suggested that they pray and ask Heavenly Father for help. “This was my first miracle with a priesthood prayer. Within a few minutes of our quiet prayer, most of the fishermen left the river’s edge. … You can imagine my feelings of joy as I came up out of the water.” Olga was the first young woman convert in Czechoslovakia in almost forty years. When she was confirmed, she was told that through her, “many people would come to the Church.”

First of all, Shawn Bradley is tall.
Not just the ordinary, over-six-feet, hard-to-find-trousers-long-enough kind of tall.
Shawn is the duck-through-doorways, watch-out-for-light-fixtures, can’t-fit-in-some-cars, look-over-the-heads-of-everyone-in-a-crowd kind of tall. He is literally the tallest person most people will see in their lifetime. His height simply astounds people.
But Shawn Bradley is more than a seven-foot-six freshman college basketball player. His honest concern for others and wonderful attitude about life hint at depths that match his amazing size. But first of all, before anyone can come to understand that inner person, there is Shawn’s height.
“I intimidate people,” Shawn says half apologetically, “just because I’m so big. It’s hilarious what some people do. It’s crazy.”
“Yeah,” says Justin, Shawn’s six-foot-two, 13-year-old brother, “when we see another seven-foot guy, we don’t think he’s so tall.”
Sitting in the front room of his parents’ home, Shawn doesn’t seem extraordinarily tall while slouching in a comfortable chair. But as soon as he stands up, the room’s normal eight-foot ceilings shrink. The doorways cause problems when Shawn forgets to duck. He and Justin sometimes get roughhousing together as brothers will do, “When I get chasing him around, once in a while I’ll forget,” says Shawn. “Then, wham! I’m flat on the floor. It knocks me silly.”
Teresa, Shawn’s mother, lists a few other adjustments they have had to make at home. “We had to extend our mirror up in the bathroom so Shawn can see. We’ve had to order him an eight-foot bed.”
Friends and family are completely used to Shawn’s height, but they find it entertaining to go places with him and notice other people’s reactions.
“My family treats me horribly when we go to the mall,” Shawn says, in mock complaint. Justin and sisters Tasha, 15, and Adrianne, 9, just smile because they know what he is going to say next. “We’ll all be walking together, my family and friends, and I’ll look around and no one will be there. I turn around, and they are about 20 or 30 feet behind me watching everyone look at me. I’ll say, ‘Thanks a lot, guys.’”
His sister Tasha adds, “You can’t believe the looks he gets.”
Doesn’t he get sick of it, never being able to go anywhere without causing a sensation?
“Sometimes he gets tired of it, but he loves it,” says Corinne Pugmire, one of Shawn’s best friends from high school. “He wouldn’t trade it for anything, and he’ll be the first one to tell you that.”
“I love being tall,” says Shawn. “I do get tired of people always looking at me and always saying things, but I try to represent myself in a good, upstanding manner for my faith and my family. I am what I am. I’m seven feet, six inches, and nothing is going to change that. I have to deal with it and live with it. My family and my coach have taught me to look positively at things. Make the best of the situation is a slogan I live by. Look for the best in everything. That’s what I’ve tried to do so far in my life, and that’s what I want to do the rest of my life.”
It’s the kind of attitude that would make anyone stand out in a crowd. Shawn gives a lot of credit for his positive outlook to his parents.
Teresa and Reiner met in a hospital. She was visiting a friend, and he was working his way through college as an orderly. When he walked into her friend’s hospital room, Teresa remembers thinking, “Boy, this guy is tall.” Standing six feet herself, she was aware of height. Reiner is six-foot-eight. “He remembered my phone number when I gave it to my friend and called me,” said Teresa. They were married a year later. It was while the couple was stationed in Germany, fulfilling an ROTC obligation in the army, that Shawn was born. After finishing his schooling as a medical technologist, Reiner moved his young family back to Teresa’s hometown of Castle Dale, Utah. They wanted a small-town atmosphere for their children.
“I wanted my children to become well rounded,” says Teresa. “I wanted them to participate in lots of different activities so that when the time came for them to choose what they wanted to be in life, they’d have a good background. It’s happening. My kids are involved in almost too much. We have animals, and they can sort of learn how to work doing chores.”
“No sort of about it,” Shawn interrupted. “We do chores. I like doing most chores, but the worst is in the middle of the winter when it’s snowing, and out in the corral it’s really yucky. The milk cow is wet and gross, and you have to go out and milk her at 6:00 in the morning when it’s ten below zero. It’s got to be the worst chore in the world.”
Shawn may have to face the cow in the freezing barn some mornings alone, but in everything else his family offers encouragement and love. “We were there behind him to support him,” says Reiner, “not to push him. I don’t think he ever felt pressure to play in any sport.”
Shawn loves to play baseball and was the second-string quarterback in football during junior high until he felt he couldn’t risk injury. He was on the high school golf team, although he’s quick to add that when they organized the eight-member team, only seven tried out. “They had to let me on.” He likes to horseback ride, rock climb, and water-ski with his friends.
“We knew quite early that Shawn would be good in basketball,” says Reiner. “I played ball with some men in the ward early mornings at the stake house. I asked Shawn if he would be interested in coming along. He went with me many mornings to the stake center and played with the adults when he was only eleven or twelve.”
Some time in his early teens, Shawn could beat his Dad in one-on-one. “I don’t remember when it happened. When Dad would win, it would make me feel bad, so the next time, he’d let me beat him. I never really knew when I could actually beat him.”
But Shawn is not quite so kind to his younger brother, Justin. Would he like to beat his older brother? Justin answers very quickly, “Yeah.”
Under his breath, Shawn mumbles, “It’s never going to happen. I’m not going to let him. When he beats me, he’ll know it.”
Of course, Shawn’s basketball prowess has not gone unnoticed. He has attracted national attention since he was in the ninth grade. College recruiters roamed around Castle Dale trying to persuade Shawn to consider going to their colleges.
But Shawn had one big requirement, and if schools would not agree, then there was no more discussion. Shawn told them that as soon as he turned 19 he would be taking two years off to serve a mission. That point was nonnegotiable. All the colleges that talked with Shawn agreed. His family supported Shawn’s decision as he selected a school. Teresa confesses to being delighted when her son chose to go to Brigham Young University, just about a two-hour drive from home.
As many prospective missionaries do, Shawn has thought about some of the places he may serve a mission. “I’ll go anywhere,” says Shawn, “but I hope I don’t go to Japan. We have a family friend who was six-foot-four who went to Japan and had an uncomfortable time. He said things there were built for short people.”
His mother adds, “We’re hoping he’ll go to a country that feeds missionaries really well so he can gain weight.”
And that brings up the subject of food. Shawn is too skinny for his height. He weighs 210 and is consciously working to put on weight. “I eat anything I can get my hands on,” Shawn explains. “It’s like a constant hunger. I can always eat.”
But serving a mission is more than living and eating in another place. It is teaching others about your deepest beliefs. Shawn has already had some experiences that have prepared him for teaching the gospel.
When Shawn was 15, he and a friend attended a prestigious national basketball camp with 120 of the best high school players in the United States. A new friend talking with the two Utah players had some pretty wild misconceptions about Mormons.
“He asked me, ‘There are Mormons where you’re from, right? Do you see them? Do you live by them?’
“I answered him,” says Shawn. “Yeah, we go to school with them. We see them all the time. Mormons are like you and me. They are normal people. They look like us. They dress like us. They act like us. They talk like us.
“He didn’t believe me until I said, ‘I can prove to you that Mormons are just normal people.’ He said, ‘How?’ I said, ‘We’re both Mormons.’ It really shook him up. A few days later, that kid started asking more about the Church and our ideals. He couldn’t believe we wouldn’t have sex until after we were married, and that we wouldn’t drink and stuff. It was a heavy-duty discussion for 15-year-olds.
“I ended up bearing my testimony to him. That is the best missionary tool in the world. I just couldn’t find a way of explaining everything I knew. But I knew it was true. It was an excellent feeling to know something is really true.”
Shawn finds himself more and more often talking about the Church. Besides his television interviews with national press, he spends time speaking at firesides. His friend, Corinne Pugmire, says people can sense his testimony. “When he speaks, you can tell that he is not making it up to impress people. He definitely has a strong testimony. He’s adamant about standing up for what he believes and not backing down one bit.”
Friends mean a lot to Shawn. He wants to be able to trust everybody, but he’s already met people who just want to take advantage of him. “Deep down I can sense their motives. I can tell when people want to know me for what I am, not who I am. I think it’s the Holy Ghost saying, be careful.”
“People ask, is he stuck up?” says Corinne. “He’s not at all. He’s down to earth. He’s always quick to say he’s sorry if he does something wrong. He’s totally cool.”
In his ward, Shawn’s bishop, Scott Johansen, says, “He’s just one of the guys. He’s quiet, friendly, and very considerate of others. He goes out of his way to cheer someone up. He would be an outstanding young man if he were five-foot-eleven.”
When asked to think about someone Shawn has helped, his friend Bill Wright thought for a fraction of a second before answering, “He’s helped me. He’s incredibly caring. He puts everybody ahead of himself. My mother died two years ago, and he was the only one of my friends who came to her funeral. That has stuck with me. He was so caring and thought about me so much.”
Then with a touch of amazement in his voice, Bill said, “I have a hard time even believing he’s my good friend because he is such an awesome friend.”
When asked what advice Shawn would give to young people, he said, “It bugs me when people don’t think well of themselves. They need to have high self-esteem. If I had advice for anyone anywhere, it would be that you have got to think of yourself as the Lord would think of you, as one of his children.” Maybe that’s part of Shawn’s secret, why he treats people with such kindness and courtesy.
And his ability to see the good side to things has something to do with his favorite scripture, 2 Nephi 2:11. [2 Ne. 2:11] “That’s the one that talks about opposition in all things,” says Shawn. “If something goes wrong, I say, well, there is opposition in all things. This is the opposition. You have to put it aside and go on.”
Shawn has learned how to take gospel truths into his life and let them guide his actions and decisions. It is in this way he continues to grow.
Yes, Shawn Bradley is tall, and he is definitely someone to look up to.

When Nick Barton and his wife, Morgan, moved to Arizona, USA, where Nick would attend law school, they started praying for missionary opportunities. “We asked Heavenly Father to help us become more sensitive to the promptings of the Holy Ghost and to be bold enough to take action,” Nick says.
One Saturday, Morgan needed their car for work, so Nick rode his bicycle to campus. When it was time to return home, however, the bike was gone.
“Stolen bicycles were so common that the police asked if there was anything that would help identify it. I remembered that Morgan had glued a label on the handlebar that said, ‘I Love You.’”
Once again Nick prayed. “I asked that I might learn something from the situation,” he says. Then he hopped on the train to get as close as possible to home before calling his wife to come and get him.
Illustrations by J. Beth Jepson
“At the next train stop, I saw a big guy with a backwards cap board the train, carrying my bicycle! I saw the ‘I Love You’ on the handlebar, so I knew it was mine,” Nick said. He tapped the man on the shoulder.
“I said, ‘I need to ask you where you got that bike.’ He responded, ‘At a yard sale down the street.’” Nick explained that his bike had been stolen. The young man replied that he was not a thief and that Nick could have the bike back.
“I thanked him and said I would have the police call him so the ‘yard sale’ could be investigated,” Nick says. “He told me his name was Harley and gave me his phone number. I told him I would share the cost of what he had paid, since we had both been wronged, and I walked off the train glad to have my bicycle back.”
But that was only the beginning.
“Out of curiosity, I called Harley the next morning. He said the police were following through. Then he asked if my wife and I might want to do something later in the day. I realized he was trying to become friends.
“It being Sunday, I told him we were going to church but that we would be happy to get together with him another time. As I hung up the phone, it dawned on me that this was a missionary opportunity pure and clear. I called him back and asked if he would be interested in coming to church with us. He agreed! He attended all the meetings and let me know afterward that he felt the speakers and teachers were talking directly to him.
“Harley had family overseas and moved away shortly after we met,” Nick says. “But he did become our friend, gained respect for the Church, and was reassured that his Heavenly Father is mindful of him.”

In contrast to the southern Idaho summers I had grown accustomed to during my growing-up years in the United States, the summer spent at Awaji Island, Japan, was almost unbearable with its humidity. Being a young missionary endeavoring to conquer the Japanese language and understand the Japanese culture, I found to my chagrin that I tired easily during my first months under the summer sun of Japan.
Awaji Island is a small island, lying a short distance from the Kobe and Osaka ports. Sumoto, the largest town on the tiny island, is full of typically Japanese odors, sounds, and sights. This culture, unlike that found in neighboring Osaka and Kobe, has received only minimal influence from the far-distant countries lying to the west. Even though the island is just within sight of Osaka, one of the more metropolitan areas of Japan, it is virtually isolated except for the daily speedboat and ferry which connect the sleepy island and its neighbors.
The early-morning light found me seated by my desk, carefully balancing my chair on its back legs with the Doctrine and Covenants propped on my lap. I commenced reading the 105th section [D&C 105]. My eyes skimmed over the first two verses but stopped in the third verse. I reread: “But behold, they have not learned to be obedient to the things which I required at their hands, but are full of all manner of evil, and do not impart of their substance, as becometh saints.” Wondering what exactly was meant by “as becometh saints,” my attention wandered from my book. Suddenly, my weight shifted backwards, causing me to lunge forward just in time to save myself from falling backwards. Falling backwards on the tatami mat that covered the floor in the Japanese apartment would probably not have been too painful, but as a proud, young missionary, I was happy not to disturb my senior companion by falling on top of him and his bedroll which lay behind me. Outside, a cheery cricket greeted the morning rays, while the insects in a neighboring rice paddy orchestrated a lively production of a summer serenade.
After my companion and I ate breakfast, I began studying the priesthood discussion which I was to teach later that week. I slowly began to vocalize the sentences. It was always amazing how much harder it was to vocalize the Japanese language compared to the rapidity I prided myself in when I merely ran the phrases through my head. The humidity seemed to intensify as I strained to remember the words necessary to explain the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood. As I carefully tried to recall the perplexing sentence structure, I heard the door slide open from the outside of the large Japanese house that we used as a church house. With no cheerful greeting coming from the intruder, I realized that Brother Shinooki, the new deaf member, had come to pay one of his frequent visits. Brother Shinooki was a small, thin man, who rode his antiquated bicycle on his daily rounds. His house was a small, humble shanty at the end of a precariously steep path which carefully crept up a small, rugged hill outside of Sumoto. His life of solitary living must have enhanced his eagerness to make friends, which was not quelled by his deafness. Brother Shinooki had met the missionaries previous to my arrival in Awaji and had become attached to the friendly, Christian foreigners. With the help of a member from Osaka who knew sign language, Brother Shinooki was taught the restored gospel and received the blessings of baptism. Even though my ability to communicate with the deaf was lacking, I did enjoy my attempts to communicate with my deaf friend. By charade-like hand motions and simple pictures, we were able to acquaint ourselves to an amazing degree. Still, since he was unable to vocally communicate and considering Brother Shinooki’s simple mind, I often wondered about the depth of the testimony and understanding of the gospel principles which lay behind his big, warm smile.
It was an extremely hot day. Realizing that study possibilities were diminished by Brother Shinooki’s jubilant presence, my companion and I decided to walk with him to the neighboring store for an ice cream bar in order to fellowship the deaf member and also to give ourselves an extra boost before braving the humid island in search of souls prepared for our cherished message. The three of us each bought a bar and took cover in the shade of an old wooden building with its heat-singed front offering small protection to its three unusual guests. The ice-cream bars did not even taste exceptionally delicious, but they were inexpensive, and this made them irresistible. If one were lucky, after eating the ice cream substitute from his stick, he would find the Japanese symbols “atari” impressed on the stick and this could allow the proud owner to exchange the naked stick for another ice cream bar at no extra cost. The chance of finding one of these coveted sticks became more and more enticing as the temperature rose higher and higher. As if following an instinctive ritual, I ate the frozen substance around the stick leaving a thin white ice cream covering over the area of the potential “atari.” The last important bite always informed me whether or not the next ice cream bar would be free or come out of my money supply. As I gave the last, important bite, my tongue slid over the smooth stick. My eyes only reconfirmed that the stick was indeed smooth, without any Japanese symbols engraved in the wood. My companion, I noticed, shared the same fate, having no magic word on his bare stick. To our amused dismay, Brother Shinooki was luckier than either of us. The “atari” characters proudly adorned his ice cream stick. As my companion and I covetously eyed the stick held by Brother Shinooki, we glanced at each other as if to share our condolences.
Our deaf friend was happy to find his uncovered treasure. Brother Shinooki’s face glowed, and he smiled at my companion and me. Without a second thought, Brother Shinooki decisively took the stick, jumped into the narrow street, and handed the cherished stick to a young boy who was lazily passing on his bicycle. As if our deaf friend’s smile was contagious, the small boy’s face burst into instant delight as he grabbed the stick and headed to the store to claim his frozen treat. Brother Shinooki returned to his two humbled missionary friends. Though not realized by our friend, he had become the teacher of the moment, teaching true unselfishness. Sharply, I realized that Brother Shinooki understood what was meant by imparting one’s substance “as becometh saints.” We realized that although a person may be unable to vocally bear his testimony, he is not impaired in his ability to live it. Quietly, the communication barrier melted, and the three of us shared a moment of total communication—a moment which cannot be described by words, but can only be understood through the heart.