Gospel Story Finder

As their family grew and matured in the gospel, they taught their two sons about the importance of going to the temple. (Their youngest son is currently serving a mission.) The Powells were thrilled that when their oldest son, Barat, got engaged, temple marriage was immediately part of the plan. Ishla, his fiancée, was a new member of the Church. “From the first day I met with the missionaries, I knew the gospel was true, and I loved it,” she says. She grew close to the current branch president’s family, the Isaacs, who had been introduced to the Church by the Powells.
At the time of her baptism, Barat had four months remaining on his mission. “The Isaacs kept saying he would be the right match for me, but I wanted to postpone marriage and serve a mission myself,” Ishla says. Even though the branch and mission presidents approved her missionary application, Ishla explains, “Suddenly and unexpectedly my mind was completely changed. I wanted to pray for marriage.”
When he returned from his mission, Barat was surprised when several people told him that Ishla would be right for him. A short time later they met briefly at the wedding of President Isaac’s daughter but never talked much. Indian society is quite formal about men and women getting acquainted, and both Barat and Ishla wanted to behave appropriately.
Three weeks later Ishla was praying and wondering what to do, and so was Barat. “The Lord showed me through so many ways that Barat was the right one,” Ishla says. “But I was very reserved. I prayed, ‘Lord, if this is the way, then show me how I can speak to him.’”
Barat says, “I had talked to several people about her, and they all had nothing but good to say. Suddenly I thought, ‘I need to talk to her right now,’ but I didn’t know how. I called President Isaac’s sister and asked if she thought it was all right to call.”
Ishla continues, “As I was praying, the branch president’s sister telephoned and said, ‘Barat wants to talk to you. Can I give him your number?’” Half an hour later they were talking. Barat says, “It was as if we had known each other for years.”
Ishla had learned about temple marriage at institute and knew she wouldn’t settle for anything less. Barat felt the same way. But they would have to save money to travel to the temple, and it meant many friends and family members, including Barat’s mother and father, wouldn’t have enough money to travel with them.
“It’s a long way to go, and traveling is very expensive, but we all agreed they should go,” Sathiadhas recalls. “We told them we would celebrate with them at the legal ceremony before they left, and we asked them to take lots of pictures after they were sealed. Then we would celebrate again when they returned.
“We are teaching the younger generation the importance of the temple,” Sathiadhas explains. “We encourage all people to go to the temple, and we wanted our children to go there too.” He says he is particularly pleased with the way Barat and Ishla respected their parents, the customs of their people, and their own agency.
“In India people refer to ‘arranged marriages’ and ‘love marriages,’” Barat says. “We feel we have both.” In fact, Barat and Ishla prefer to call their marriage a “guided marriage.” “We were brought together by our families and friends but also by the Spirit,” he says. “We hope the Spirit will always guide our marriage.”

Brothers and sisters, the decisions we make in this life greatly affect the course of our eternal life. There are both seen and unseen forces that influence our choices. This point was brought home some five years ago in a way that almost cost me dearly.
We were traveling with family and friends in the south of Oman. We decided to relax on the beach along the coast of the Indian Ocean. Soon after our arrival, our 16-year-old daughter, Nellie, asked if she could swim out to what she thought was a sandbar. Noticing the choppy water, I told her that I would go first, thinking there might be dangerous currents.
After swimming a short while, I called to my wife, asking if I was close to the sandbar. Her response was, “You have gone way past it.” Unbeknownst to me I was trapped in a riptide1 and was being pulled rapidly out to sea.
I was unsure what to do. The only thing I could think of was to turn around and swim back toward shore. That was exactly the wrong thing to do. I felt helpless. Forces beyond my control were pulling me farther out to sea. What made matters worse was that my wife, trusting my decision, had followed me.
Brothers and sisters, I thought there was a high likelihood I would not survive and that I, because of my decision, would also cause my wife’s death. After great effort and what I believe was divine intervention, our feet somehow touched the sandy bottom and we were able to walk safely back to our friends and daughter.

Two and a half years ago I had an experience that I consider by itself to be repayment many times over for my meager offering in beginning to study this language of the ancient scriptures. I have, through my academic work, become close friends with a well-respected scholar who is also a rabbi. He has been very kind to me and has given me a number of professional opportunities. I learned from one of our mutual acquaintances that he is also an accomplished Hebrew scholar and student of the scriptures.

When I was in Baltimore in January 1984, I met with him about a joint writing project, and he invited me over to his home to spend the Sabbath. It was a profound experience, almost like a dream. I found that my friend is a collector and scholar of Judaica, with a very large home library of Hebrew texts centuries old (some on scrolls), ancient menorahs, seder plates, mezuzahs, etc. I think he was almost as surprised and elated as I was to find that a Christian could have such a consuming interest in these things that he loves so much. But as he told me about Kaballa, Yom Kippur, the ancient tabernacle and temple, the Shekinah (that is, the divine presence in the Holy of Holies), and the feasts and the holy days, I could see in it all the light of the doctrines of the Restoration. I kept thinking of Brother Nibley’s description in one of his classes of Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality for the weary traveler. My friend Aron and his wife, Sarah, prepared the dinner as their son Jonathan and I visited, and then we all rejoiced together in four hours of eating, dialogue, and singing. We discussed the Hebrew Scripture, the ideas that engage us, and the concerns of our lives. Occasionally we would sing; Aron would break forth with a hymn in Hebrew, would pass me the hymnbook pointing to the words, and we would all join in. The evening ended much too soon, but I will always remember it as one of the great experiences of my life, the culmination of many years of trying to comprehend “the law and the prophets,” learn a few words of Hebrew, and understand the Lord’s ancient covenant people. I came away from the experience not only with a deep love for Aron and Sarah and their son and an appreciation for the depth of their faith, but with an increased feeling of gratitude for the restored gospel and an additional testimony of its truthfulness.

This past November I was again near Baltimore for a convention, and again I was invited for Sabbath. This experience was every bit as great as the first. I joined with Aron as we faced the east and he recited, and I tried to read, Hebrew prayers and other scriptures, many of which I recognized from my study of the Law and the Prophets. And then, as we were ready to begin the Sabbath meal, he placed his hands upon his son’s head and gave him a father’s blessing. A number of times that evening I could feel the Spirit of the Lord present. I was amazed at the spiritual power of the law of performances, the schoolmaster to bring the Jewish people to the Messiah. I believe that it will indeed bring them to the Messiah.

This time we had many things to discuss, with it being just a few months since the difficulties connected with the BYU Jerusalem Center. Among other things I tried to explain to him how our beliefs differ from the rest of Christianity, especially our beliefs about the Jews and the scattered remnants of the house of Israel. For many of the Jews, the name “Christian” is associated with centuries of suffering and persecution at the hands of a Christianity gone awry. I told him about some of the prophecies found in the Book of Mormon concerning Judah and the house of Israel, and about something else important that I had recently read. Nephi had a vision of those dark medieval days of persecution and he said:
And also for the praise of the world do they destroy the saints of God, and bring them down into captivity. [1 Nephi 13:9]
George Reynolds and Janne M. Sjodahl give this commentary on the word “saints” in that verse:
This refers, probably, to the Jews. The Jews, as a people, chosen by God and consecrated to his service, are called “saints.” [Commentary on the Book of Mormon, vol. 1 (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1962), p. 114]
The persecutors foreseen by Nephi were to be enemies of all the saints of God, beginning with the children of Israel.

Last year I bought a book entitled Back to the Sources, edited by Barry Holtz. It is a collection of contemporary Jewish writings about the great books of Jewish tradition, such as Torah, the Prophets, Talmud, Midrash, Kabbalistic texts, the teachings of the Hasidic masters, etc. I read a number of things in that book that I wanted to discuss with Aron, but especially one particular thing almost seemed to jump off the page at me. On page 23 Holtz says,
There has been a kind of ongoing prejudice against the Jewish texts that is almost theologically inherent in Christianity itself. . . . The Hebrew Bible was called the “Old” Testament (a term never used in traditional Jewish sources) to contrast it with the fully realized “New” Testament. The effect of such an approach is to undercut the validity in its own terms of the Jewish Bible, but more than that there is the implication that Jewish creativity must have ended with the “Old” Testament. . . .
Thus any Jewish writing after the Bible is seen as necessarily insignificant. Judaism can have no contribution because, according to this view, it has been surpassed by the new religion and its teachings. Hence the persistence of Jewish literature—and Judaism itself—becomes a kind of ongoing embarrassment for Christianity. Perhaps that is why the Church burned the Talmud in the Middle Ages—as an attempt to deny the very existence of a living Jewish tradition. [Back to the Sources: Reading the Classic Jewish Texts(New York: Summit Books, 1984)]
Aron believed me when I told him that we are worlds away from the rest of Christianity on this issue. We don’t have this adversarial relation to Judaism. The traditions and the texts are not an embarrassment for us, but rather a source of edification, a connection to our roots. We believe that the religion Jesus taught was a restoration of something very ancient and pure, and that it ceased to exist upon the earth after the death of the apostles.

I quoted to Aron from 2 Nephi, chapter 29, where Nephi prophesies of the Gentiles of America in the latter days. Nephi foretells that they will reject the Book of Mormon when it shall come to them, and then he answers the Gentiles by telling of the great debt owed to the Jews for their pains in bringing the ancient scriptures to us:
And because my words shall hiss forth—many of the Gentiles shall say: A Bible! A Bible! We have got a Bible, and there cannot be any more Bible.
But thus saith the Lord God: O fools, they shall have a Bible; and it shall proceed forth from the Jews, mine ancient covenant people. And what thank they the Jews for the Bible which they receive from them? Yea, what do the Gentiles mean? Do they remember the travails, and the labors, and the pains of the Jews, and their diligence unto me, in bringing forth salvation unto the Gentiles?
O ye Gentiles, have ye remembered the Jews, mine ancient covenant people? Nay; but ye have cursed them, and have hated them, and have not sought to recover them. But behold, I will return all these things upon your own heads; for I the Lord have not forgotten my people. [2 Nephi 29:3–5]
As we discussed these things, Aron became very thoughtful and spoke slowly and deliberately. He said that this was a very important thing for his people to know.

What possible effect could a 14-year-old have on home teaching? I was just a kid. Who was I to tell an elder to do his home teaching? Not just an elder, but an elder I had never met or even seen at church. The only things I knew about him were his name and that he had been an athlete.
Three months earlier I had been called to be a junior home teaching companion, and I still had not visited anyone. It didn’t help that my two best friends were already active home teachers. One was assigned with his father and the other with a member of the elders quorum presidency. My own father was serving in the bishopric and at that time was not assigned as a home teacher. What could a 14-year-old companion do?
My feelings of guilt had to be Brother Jensen’s fault, I decided. He had been my deacons quorum adviser and had taught us the importance of home teaching. He also explained that as teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood, it was our duty to be faithful home teachers. He had warned us that we might have to remind and encourage a senior companion to go home teaching.
Well, I decided, my options were really very simple. I could wait for my senior companion to call and do my best not to feel guilty—or I could go to his house, introduce myself, and arrange to go home teaching.
On the one hand, he was the senior companion. He was supposed to take charge. Wouldn’t I be assuming too much authority by contacting him? He might even get offended. Better to wait, I thought. Then Brother Jensen’s words came back to me.
“If your senior companion doesn’t contact you,” he had said, “then you must contact him and let him know you are ready to go home teaching.” He explained that if the senior companion still wouldn’t go home teaching, the responsibility would rest on him. Until I made the effort to go, I had to share in the failure.
I finally committed to go to my companion and introduce myself.
At church that Sunday, I began to feel more and more nervous. What would my companion think? Would he laugh? Maybe he would get mad and run me off. I didn’t feel I could do it, but I had promised to follow through and make the attempt. If he responded negatively, then at least I would have done my part.
As I neared his house, I forced myself up the driveway and said a prayer, very simple, very direct: Lord, please help me. My fears left me for the moment, and I quickly climbed the steps and knocked. I knew someone would answer because I could hear what sounded like a party going on inside. The fear was coming back, but it was too late to run.
The door opened, and a woman asked me what I wanted. She may have been polite, rude, sensitive, or even abrupt. I don’t know because I was trying hard to remember what I was there for.
“Is Brother Johnson here?” I finally asked, timidly.
“Just a minute, please.” I thought I could hear laughter but wasn’t sure. I didn’t have time to breathe before a very tall man stepped to the door. He seemed none too friendly.
“Yeah?” he said.
I’m sure he knew I was scared because he started to smile a little. I calmed down just enough to utter a little prayer in my mind one last, desperate time.
“My name is John,” I began in a voice that didn’t sound scared to me, “and I’m your home teaching companion. I was wondering when we could go home teaching?”
I don’t know if he was amused or surprised, but he didn’t throw me off the porch. Good start, I thought.
He smiled and said, “Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you.”
I went home feeling pretty good. I had made a good effort, and if he didn’t call, I could say I had tried. When I arrived home, I told my parents what had happened. I don’t think they expected me to get a call.
Later that night, I received a call from Brother Johnson, my companion.
“Can you go home teaching Tuesday night at 7:00?” he asked.
“Uh, sure,” I stammered.
“I’ll pick you up then. Bye.” He hung up.
Tuesday night we went home teaching. I found out later he had called the elders quorum president after I left his house that Sunday to get the names of the families we were assigned to visit. Then he made appointments.
We established a routine. On the third Sunday of each month, I would stop by his house, and then he would set up appointments. We rarely, if ever, missed anyone in the two years we were companions. We also became pretty good friends. Brother Johnson even came to church a few times. He said he wanted to see if the quorum president would faint.
I learned two important lessons. First, an Aaronic Priesthood holder can have a positive influence on home teaching. Second, a less-active brother can be the most active home teacher.
As a home teacher, Brother Johnson taught me a lot.

I was born and raised in Korea in a loving family, and I joined the Church while in my teens. I would like to share the experience of my conversion with you.
My classmate and I were working together in the school library just after winter vacation when he asked me if I was interested in going to church with him. I asked him what kind of church he was talking about, and he told me it was near our school. He said it was a lot of fun, and there were many girls. I was 16 at the time, and that description of church appealed to me. I decided to go. I had gone to a Presbyterian church for a couple of years in elementary school, and I had good memories of church.
My friend and I went to a Saturday activity, and everyone came to greet me and welcome me. I was impressed that they would be so kind to welcome a small guy they didn’t know. I went to church the next day, and I was introduced to the missionaries.
The missionaries taught me about basic gospel principles, about Jesus Christ, and about the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith. All the lessons I was taught were reasonable and logical, and I was impressed by eternal progress and the plan of salvation. I had often thought about why I was here on earth and what things were waiting for me after death. It was comforting to know that if I would do all I could for myself, the Savior would do the rest.
Two months later I wanted to be baptized and confirmed, but I needed permission from my parents. They were Buddhist, but they trusted me. I decided it would be best to ask my mother first, so I asked the missionaries to come to my home during the day. Before I went to school, I told my mother that she might have some foreigners come to ask her something and that she should just say yes. And then I ran out the door to school. When I returned, my mom said she had two handsome American visitors. She said they spoke wonderful Korean, and she was so impressed that she said yes. So I got permission from my parents to join the Church.

For a first-grade class project we were asked to dress up a paper bear to look like someone we want to be when we get older. I decided to dress my bear as a missionary. My mom helped me cut out a white shirt, vest, and pants. I glued them onto the bear. My dad made me a missionary nametag. I wrote a few sentences about how education would help me become what I had dressed my bear as. I wrote that education would help me learn to read, write, and even learn a new language. We had a teddy bear parade for all the first-grade children and their parents. I do plan to be a missionary.

When DeNeece came home from college this summer, we shared a free, unpressured week, our strengths and talents working together. I played the piano while we sang duets, we created unusual gifts for our family, and we walked and talked again. We spent many nights until dawn sitting on her thick shag rug sharing memorable experiences of the past years. We also talked about qualities such as being thoughtful, fellowshipping, and understanding others. Then we prayed together that our love for each other might grow continually. We talked about serving the Lord, but each in her own individual way. Finally, we were able to begin unifying our growing snowballs to create one strong snowman.

Last year I had the chance to play a round of golf with Elder David A. Bednar. He is a very good golfer! On the second hole of our round, I noticed a single player approaching as we were preparing to hit our tee shot. It was a young man who had just returned from his mission. Pointing to Elder Bednar, I told him, “You probably know him, but you don’t know me.” He replied, “You are Brother Newman, and that is Elder Bednar.” I asked him how he knew me, and he said, “I read the Liahona!” Elder Bednar then said, “Just so you know, there is no swearing in this group!”

Members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles are always teaching, so after a few holes Elder Bednar said something like this to the young man, “It seems to me that you may be looking for an eternal companion soon. You probably don’t want any advice, but I will give you some anyway.” The young man was, of course, grateful to hear Elder Bednar’s counsel. He basically told this young man, “You will never find a perfect person out there. You aren’t perfect either.
So, my advice is that you find someone who has spiritual and life goals similar to yours and with whom you can create the marriage and family you hope to have. You do not find a person who will give you a happy marriage. You prayerfully find a person with whom you, together, can create a happy marriage.” What great advice!

Lucia and I have almost 40 years of creating a happy marriage together. It has been a wonderful journey. If there was a scoreboard that kept track of the number of times one of us has had to say “I’m sorry” during our marriage, the scoreboard would read Brother Newman 100 and Sister Newman 1! I am so grateful for Lucia’s forgiving heart.

“I appreciate the part in For the Strength of Youth that says we need to dress appropriately,” says María Alejandra Cabeza de Vaca, 12. “One day at school we were allowed to dress any way we wanted. I felt really bad because some of my friends dressed immodestly. I said to one of them, ‘Tomorrow I’m going to bring you something that will help you a lot.’ I gave her a copy of For the Strength of Youth. She read it and said she felt it was true and didn’t want to dress immodestly anymore. It’s good to share what we have so the world knows the good things we’re learning.”

Princess Jewel V. and her sister Princess Jazmine Miraede N. V. had a “remarkable experience” at the Giving Machines in the Philippines.
“Walking through the Giving Machines together was a profound moment for both of us,” Princess Jewel said. “It was heartening to select gifts for those in need, from essentials to educational supplies and medical care. Sharing this experience with my sister strengthened our bond and taught us the power of compassion and generosity, even at our age. It was a meaningful reminder of the impact we can make by simply giving.”

When Sister Anderson was a Scout leader, Jared’s class went to the planetarium at Idaho State University. They loved watching the constellations, and he still enjoys identifying many of them. Last summer Jared and his mother often put blankets on the grass and watched the stars from their front lawn.
“That is where we have had some of our best talks,” Sister Anderson says. “They are more than astronomy talks. We talk about the premortal existence and the hereafter, all under the stars. We talk about problems and how we can best face the life we have ahead of us.”

The panel discussions had everyone’s interest. All the participants were given slips of paper. They could write any question they wanted discussed without a name attached. They put all the questions into a hat and then the stake president, several bishops, and Young Women leaders would attempt to answer the questions as they were drawn at random. The panel did reserve the right to refer the question to someone more knowledgeable or simply not answer.
“All the questions were interesting,” said Jaran Rosaker, Oslo Third Ward. His friend, Tarjei Gylseth agreed, “And they gave good answers as well.”

Not long ago Wallace was able to see and hear a modern-day prophet when President Gordon B. Hinckley came to Nairobi. Wallace went with his family to listen to President Hinckley speak. “I couldn’t believe I was seeing the prophet,” Wallace says. “I thought I was going to faint!” At the meeting Wallace felt the Spirit tell him that President Hinckley is a prophet of God. Wallace also heard President Hinckley tell the people that if they will be faithful, someday there will be a temple in East Africa.

Photographs by Soubanh Phanthay
On that August morning in 2015, I felt particularity lethargic after getting off of a bus I had been in for 10 hours coming from Ontario, Canada, to a wilderness in Maine, USA. But I did feel some exuberance as I glanced toward the handcarts lined up in rows.
My friends and I stuck together as we knew we would soon be split into our “families” and companies. I love my friends, yet I was excited to meet new people from all over the eastern region of North America. Each of the youth was given a coloured* or patterned bandanna connecting them with a corresponding colour beside their handcart.
When it was my turn, they assigned me to my family and gave me a deep red bandanna. I ran to search for the handcart with the same bandanna. As I ran I noticed the shining sun and how stunning the weather was and felt absolute glee.
I met my Ma and Pa, three brothers, and two sisters and listened to the leaders’ opening remarks. The theme of the trek was “Go Bring Them In,” in reference to people who went and rescued companies who needed aid back in the pioneer days. I must admit that at that time I didn’t really understand why this theme was chosen or how it related to us. A prayer was said asking that we would continue to have good weather, and we were finally off!
We worked as a team and learned quickly that communication was vital. Those in the front must warn the others of rocks or holes. To distract us from the deathly heat of the sun, the three of us in the back began singing Disney songs quite loudly. We all bonded quickly and laughed a lot. Things were off to a good start.
Going into the second half of the day, our water bottles were being emptied fast. The August heat and humidity were not our friends. Still, we remained cheerful.
One of my brothers, Ian, who is tall, looked ahead and pointed out rainclouds. We all inwardly begged for rain because we were so hot and sweaty. A rain shower was sounding great right about then. Soon the captain of our company called for our rain ponchos to be put on. As the clouds drew nearer, they seemed to get darker and darker. The first raindrop came down as hard and fast as a bullet, warning us of what was to come.
Ten minutes later we were engulfed in a horrific storm. Heavy wind and rain made the pathway slick under my feet. My skirt soon became weighted with water. I jumped as a boom of thunder seemed to shake my bones! For two hours the weather never lightened one bit. Lightning flashed. Trees swayed in the wind. Everyone became covered with mud. The leaders started thinking that we wouldn’t be able to camp outside that night.
After reaching the field where we were meant to camp, I was exhausted. But it soon dawned on me that I wasn’t scared, and the other youth didn’t seem to be either.
The fire department had been called to evacuate us in buses. I felt strength and comfort that everything was going to be OK. One fireman said, “I’ve never seen a group of young people behave this way in this type of crisis—ever. It’s miraculous!”
The people of the nearest town in Maine came to our rescue. They let us stay in an empty university dorm building and offered up their own washers and dryers for our clothes! It felt incredible to get into new warm clothes and get grub into my stomach. That night the food was the best I had ever tasted. The people of the town just kept offering their services.
A town official met with one of our leaders and said in slight disbelief: “Ten years ago over 100 emergency blankets were donated to our town. The weird thing is, they were donated by your church!”
Humility overcame all of us! The theme for our trek was “Go Bring Them In.” Yet we were the ones who had been brought in. We had been rescued.
We headed out the next day as the sun finally came out. Paths had been flooded from the first day, and the rest of the trek was hard. But we all treated each other with kindness, because we had learned that kindness should never be overlooked. We would never forget that.
I’m sure everyone says this, but my experience was special. It was an amazing growing experience for me, and my testimony was strengthened. The blankets showed us that when we serve, the service can come right back to us. This gospel is true. The pioneers sacrificed so much for us. I know my Saviour died for me, and I wish to serve and continue to try to love as He did.

Note: The following youth from Paradise, California, USA, reflect on the meaning of Christmas after the most destructive wildfire in California’s history burned down their community.
“After the fire I realized that the most important things to have are your family and friends. So although we didn’t get many gifts, it was so really nice to just be surrounded by family. It was still a happy time for us, even though it wasn’t like our normal Christmas.”
Rachel W.
“I got to help unload and organize several truckloads of donated toys. Then we opened the doors and let everyone in. It was really fun to watch all the kids. Their eyes would light up. They were so excited! It made me happy to see them so happy and peaceful after living through something so awful.”
Audrey V.
“It was great to see everyone kind of get thrown together and depend on each other socially. … I learned that material things don’t matter as much. Service, family, and time spent together matters a lot more. Life is valuable. Things can always change for the worse, so we need to try to enjoy the positive times while they’re around. We’re the ones that make those positive times!”
Billy A.

Let me share briefly one of the great blessings of my life, which involved sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ with a good friend and colleague, John Chen, shortly after Margaret and I returned from presiding over the England London Mission. At that time, John and I were working together on a business school project in China.

As we were traveling and meeting with people in China, we had an open Saturday in Beijing, and John agreed to take me to the Great Wall of China. As I was leaving the hotel, I had the distinct impression that I should take with me my small red travel copy of the Book of Mormon and find an opportunity to share a gospel message with John. As we rode out to the Great Wall, I began asking John about religious beliefs in China and what he knew of Jesus Christ. I quickly learned that he had no Christian background but that he was concerned with providing his son Kenny, then age 10, a moral framework for life. He thought that religion might perhaps offer that. We had a wonderful discussion of the Savior and His teachings, and I presented John with my travel copy of the Book of Mormon and invited him to read and pray about it.

Upon our return to Boston, I invited John, his wife Wei, and his son Kenny to attend church with us. While everything was new, they enjoyed it enough to join us the following week for a broadcast session of General Conference at our ward building. Within a short time, John and Wei had agreed to meet weekly for a discussion. Because they lived in the same ward as the Boston Mission President, which was not our ward, I set it up so John and his family could have Margaret and me join the missionaries one week and the Mission President and his wife join the missionaries the next week. John was diligent in his efforts to study, discuss, and apply the gospel and within a few months was ready to be baptized. The teaching continued and some months later his wife Wei and his son Kenny were baptized as was his daughter Susan who had been away at university.

A year later, Margaret and I had the wonderful blessing of joining the Chen family at the temple, and I had the opportunity to perform the sealing for them. Let me share the two minute video of John’s testimony found on the Mormon.org website.

[Video]

The blessings of John and his family preparing their hearts to love the Savior and His gospel have only continued. A few years ago, their daughter Susan completed a master’s degree in accounting at BYU–Provo and met her eternal companion, and they were sealed in the Orlando, Florida temple. Six months ago, Kenny was called to serve in Paris, France as a Mandarin-speaking missionary.

What a blessing it has been that John and his family were willing to be taught by the missionaries and the Holy Ghost and to prepare their hearts to love the Lord and His gospel. And like each of us, they have continued to deepen their testimonies by continuing to learn, engage, and improve through their scripture study, prayer, faithful church service, and regular temple attendance.

“We just have to get that colt,” I whispered to Jared as I thought of Woody Peterson’s new colt wobbling around on his long, skinny legs. Since we had seen him that morning, I hadn’t thought of anything else.
Jared scrunched up his nose and closed one eye as we sat in the front yard under our willow tree. Finally he asked, “Jarom, do you think that Dad would buy us Woody’s colt?”
I shook my head sadly. “If we’re going to get a colt, we’ll have to buy it ourselves.”
“But we don’t have any money.”
I sighed and nodded my head. For a long time we lay on our bellies under the willow tree, trying to think of some way to buy Woody’s new colt.
Suddenly I yelled, “I know! Let’s start a store.”
“A store?” Jared asked. “What would we sell?”
I pressed my lips together really hard and squinted so that I could think better. “First we have to save up our candy and treats. And we can make lemonade. … We can sell anything we want to!”
That night when Mom served us chocolate cake, Jared poked me and whispered, “Jarom, remember—we have to save this for the store.”
I froze. I stared down at Mom’s chocolate cake, then thought of Woody’s wobbly colt. I wanted that cake badly, but I wanted Woody’s colt more. So we wrapped our cake in plastic and stuck it in the freezer. And later, when our home teachers brought a plate of cookies, Jared and I put ours in a plastic bag and stored them in the freezer too.
Before we went to bed that night, we checked our drawers. Jared found three sticks of gum, and I found two candy canes that I’d saved from Christmas. From then on, every time we got ready to eat something, we’d stop and ask ourselves if we could sell it in our store.
The next morning Mom gave us oatmeal mush for breakfast. Jared made a face at his. Suddenly he jumped out of his chair, ran over to the kitchen cabinet, and jerked out a plastic bag. Before Mom knew what was happening, Jared had dumped his mush into the bag.
“Jared!” Mom scolded. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m saving my mush for the store.”
“Nobody’s going to buy mush in a bag,” I growled at Jared.
“Maybe there’s somebody who just loves mush,” Jared argued.
“I don’t care who loves mush,” Mom said to Jared. “You’re going to eat yours—right now!”
Two weeks later, after Jared and I had saved everything that we could, we dragged the family picnic table around to the front of the house and set it under our willow tree. Then we spread out our treats on it: four pieces of pie—two cherry and two apple—cake, candy bars, gum, cookies, candy canes, licorice ropes, fudge, brownies, and other stuff. Mom made the lemonade for us, then printed a huge sign—THE JJ WILLOW-TREE STORE.
I grinned at Jared. “With all this stuff, the whole town will come to our store. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt today!”
Jared looked at a piece of cake. “Do you think that this stuff is still good?”
“We kept it in the freezer, didn’t we?”
“Don’t you think that we ought to make sure? We don’t want anybody buying bad stuff.”
I grinned. “Well, maybe you’re right.” Without another word, we each gobbled down a piece of cake.
Besides Mom and Dad, who each bought a cup of lemonade, Sister McCauley, from across the street, was our first customer. “Well, my, my,” she twittered, looking down at all the good things that we had there on the table. “I’m just dying for something good to eat. How much is that piece of chocolate cake?”
Well, I knew that Sister McCauley had plenty of money, and we were going to need lots of money to buy Woody’s colt, so I told her, “One dollar.”
She gulped. “It must really be good cake,” she said, looking down the table at the cookies. “How much is one of those cookies?”
“Only a dollar,” I answered. “They’re good too. Most of this stuff’s a dollar,” I explained. “Everything except the pie.”
“How much is the pie?” Sister McCauley asked, her face brightening up.
“Just two dollars. You see, the pie’s the best thing we have.”
She coughed. “I only have a quarter with me.”
“We sold Mom and Dad some lemonade this morning for a quarter,” Jared blurted out.
“I’ll take it.” Sister McCauley slapped her quarter onto the table.
“Don’t you think you’re charging too much?” Jared asked after she left.
“The more we charge,” I explained, “the more money we’ll make. Shoot, by the time we sell all this, we’ll have about a hundred dollars. We’ll be able to buy Woody’s colt for sure.”
“What are you two doing?” our friend Robert asked. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking up and down our table.
“We started a store,” Jared announced. “Do you want to buy something?”
“How much are those brownies?”
“A dollar apiece.”
He frowned, dug his money out of his pocket, and counted it. “I only have seventeen cents,” he finally announced.
“Oh, come on, Jarom,” Jared protested. “Let him buy something for seventeen cents. After all, he’s our friend, and how are we going to keep any friends if we sell things for a dollar?”
“We’re trying to buy a colt, remember?”
“There are things more important than colts,” Jared came back. “I’ll give him something of mine for seventeen cents.”
“Oh, all right,” I gave in. “What do you want, Robert?”
“I’ll take a brownie,” he said. He stuffed the whole thing into his mouth and swallowed it in about three chews. Then he hurried off.
As soon as we lowered our prices, business picked up. Mr. Gibson bought two cups of lemonade when he came home for lunch. James, Randy, and Russell, who live down the street, finished off our cake. Aunt Salina bought our fudge and a cup of lemonade.
A little before noon two boys who had moved in down the street the week before came tromping down the sidewalk with their little sister. They were all sweaty and tired, and they stopped in the shade of our willow tree to rest. They stared wistfully at our goodies. After they’d been there a while, I asked, “What do you want to buy?”
The older boy shook his head and mumbled, “We’re just looking.”
“Well, if you’re not going to buy anything, you’d better not be using our shade,” I grumbled. “The shade’s just for customers.” I looked away so that I wouldn’t see the little girl, who was staring longingly at the pitcher of lemonade. Jared saw her staring, too, and he grabbed a cup, poured it full of lemonade, and pushed it across the table to her.
“But she doesn’t have any money,” I protested.
“I know, but she looks awfully thirsty.”
“How are we going to make money if we give our stuff away?”
Jared shrugged. “What’s wrong with making people happy instead?”
“Well, her brothers look thirsty, too,” I grumbled, grabbing the pitcher and pouring two more cups of lemonade.
By a little after lunch we had sold everything except one squashed brownie, but we had made only four dollars and seven cents. I glared at our empty table and the little pile of money.
“It’s all right, Jarom,” Jared said. “We can have a store another time.”
“I wanted to buy Woody’s colt today,” I muttered.
“But we had fun running the store.”
“I didn’t want to just have fun. I wanted Woody’s colt.”
“A lot of other people had fun because of our store too. That’s as good as a colt any day, isn’t it?”
Just then we heard Trina Wheeler coming down the street; she was rubbing her eyes and sobbing. “What’s the matter, Trina?” Jared asked.
“I was going to Becky’s birthday party,” she sobbed. “I didn’t have a present to give her, so I was taking her two dollar bills that I’d saved. But I lost them. Now I don’t have anything to give her.” She sat under the willow tree and began to cry even louder.
“Where’d you lose the money?”
Trina shrugged. “I have a hole in my pocket. I’ve looked all over, but I can’t find the dollars.”
Jared reached for the squashed brownie. “You can take this if you want. At least it’s something. Becky will understand.”
Trina shook her head and cried.
I fidgeted on the picnic bench, feeling sort of empty inside.
“Shoot! Don’t cry, Trina,” Jared burst out. “We’ll give you two dollars.”
“Two dollars!” I put my arms protectively around our little pile of money. “What about the colt?”
“Well,” Jared said, shrugging. “We don’t have enough for the colt, anyway. In fact, we don’t even have any place to put the colt if we could buy it. Couldn’t we give her two dollars?”
I shook my head furiously, still thinking of Woody’s colt. Then Trina sobbed again, and I wondered what it would be like to have to stay away from a birthday party because I’d lost my present. “Oh, all right—we’ll give her the two dollars.”
Jared handed Trina our only two dollar bills, and her face lighted up with the happiest grin that I’d ever seen. It was so big that it spread right over to my face too. “Oh, thank you!” she squealed, jumping to her feet. “You’re the best friends ever.”
I felt a warm, happy tickle in my stomach. “You might as well take this, too,” I said, pushing another dollar’s worth of change toward her.
“Oh, no,” she said. “You have to save something for your colt.”
I shrugged. “We still have over a dollar left. That’s plenty.”
As Trina headed down the street to Becky’s party, I broke the last brownie in two, and handed the bigger piece to Jared. The happy feeling that we had was lots better than a colt any day.

Today it requires great courage to be a loyal Latter-day Saint. For many it is not easy, and it will likely not become easier. The tests of our day are severe. This is particularly so for you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. Being true to the way of life the Lord has given us does not always make us public heroes. Having the courage of our convictions has its own rewards, however. Armin Suckow, Jr., a thirteen-year-old boy from Germany discovered this. He tells of an interesting experience in a letter he wrote to the New Era magazine. Armin says, “We spoke one Christmastime with one of our school teachers about Jesus. He said that after Jesus died, he had gone from the earth and was now dead. As the teacher spoke, I thought about our church and knew that after three days Jesus was resurrected and was seen by many people. Later, then, he ascended into heaven. I had the feeling that I should tell the teacher and the students that the truth was entirely different from what the teacher had just said. The teacher didn’t want to hear my opinion at all, but in spite of that, I … told them that Jesus was resurrected. It didn’t please the teacher at all that I should correct him, but I continued. Then he said that this was simply a matter of opinion. I answered him that anyone can read of this event in the scriptures and that it is so clearly described there that no one can get a different opinion on the story than the one that I had given. After the class the teacher wanted to know to which church I belonged. I told him that I belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. On that day I had a real good feeling inside of me.” (“The Savior Lives!” New Era, Dec. 1977, p. 18.)

We have to admire Armin’s decision to speak out on what he believed. It was not easy for him, but his action was consistent with what he knew to be right.

Elder Delbert L. Stapley, who served for many years as a General Authority, once told about an incident that occurred when he arrived in the Southern States Mission. Charles A. Callis was the mission president. Shortly after Elder Stapley arrived in Atlanta, President Callis told him that they were catching a train together that would take the young elder to his field of labor.
The train stopped in a very small community and the bags were unloaded. They were transferred to a buggy. There was only room for two riders, the driver and one passenger. President Callis climbed up on the seat beside the driver and asked Elder Stapley to follow on foot.
The horse and buggy kicked up the dust as Elder Stapley walked along behind. He said he began to resent his new mission president. The farther he walked and the more the dust was raised, the more he came to dislike his mission president. He felt he was losing respect for this leader.
After he had walked a mile, however, the president had the driver stop. Then President Callis traded places with Elder Stapley and he walked for two miles.
“I grew to love him more with every step,” Elder Stapley recalled. “I thought he was about the greatest man who had lived.”

Dr. Walker came one evening with a book under his arm and a flower in his hand. “Kari, I want you to have this book. I noticed you and your mother reading together, and I guess I wanted to get into the act. I think you of all people might understand a little of what this young boy went through. He was about your age.”
Kari reached for the book and smiled when she realized it was about the Prophet Joseph Smith. As she read she began to feel that Joseph was a good friend as they traveled together through pain, trials, endurance, and above all, loneliness.
A few weeks after the operation, Dr. Walker told Kari she would have to have radiation therapy. The first snowfall had covered the old oak tree when Kari’s mother drove her to the first treatment. Dr. Walker had prepared her for the aftereffects as best he could, but she soon learned to hate the radiation treatments, even though she knew they were probably saving her life. She wrote in her journal, “A radiation treatment is 100 stormy nights all mixed into one.”
Kari’s mother kept her promise. She was there every step of the way. She was a cheerleader in a house dress and apron, keeping up the faith and the fight.
Christmas came and went. The words “Kari, make it just one more day,” became Mother’s battle cry. Or if the fatigue or nausea was unbearable, the words were, “Kari, make it just one more hour.”
As winter dragged on, the hours and days merged into a gray landscape of pain and exhaustion. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Kari gave up. She lay in bed looking at an unopened valentine from her mother. Finally, she let it fall to the floor, still unopened. She was tired beyond caring. Her leg burned and itched. She was on the verge of vomiting. She lay back and gave herself up to “What if?” and “Why me?”
Turning her head as if to hide the pointless tears, she saw through her window the ropes of her swing. They moved lazily with the wind, pale lines against the bare oak limbs and gray sky. She struggled to her elbow, then slid heavily from her bed and limped to the window. As she looked down at the swing, a memory stirred and grew strong. She knew what she had to do.
She had made it down the stairs somehow and was halfway out the door when her little brother John found her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said. “Please get back to bed. It’s cold out here. You’ll catch cold and …”
“Just help me get to the swing.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The swing? You want to swing? It’s freezing out here.”
Kari kept limping toward the swing. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get there myself.”
John put an arm around Kari’s waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. Together they moved on toward the swing. Each step took forever. Kari held her stomach to keep from retching, dragging her leg behind her.
Finally they reached the wooden seat. Kari sat down and John began pushing her. At first she could do nothing but hold on weakly, but then she felt a change. Her grip tightened. Her head felt less heavy on her shoulders. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, strength came flooding into her from some hidden reservoir. For the first time in weeks she felt fueled by a purpose. She began pulling hard on the rope and stretching her toes forward. She felt as if she were reaching with her legs for the height her soul required. With all the strength she possessed she struggled higher and higher, hanging at each summit in a weightless, timeless calm, then dropping back into a dizzy gulf. Soon she was higher than she had ever been before. Street on street opened to her. Suddenly the whole valley was before her, clear to the horizon. She could see to the edge of the world. Her toes touched oak twigs. She felt as if she had left her body behind while her spirit soared. With every swing the world looked new and different. The oak limbs blurring past were the color of Thomas’s new suit.
The pages of Dr. Walker’s book began to dance in circles through Kari’s mind. She thought of Joseph crying out to the Lord in the jail at Liberty, and she heard the answer:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity … shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (D&C 121:7–8).
She felt as if she were kneeling with the Prophet as he searched the heavens again for the height he needed, and again heard the voice. “If the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Bells chimed somewhere in the valley, and Kari thought they were ringing in her soul.
All her newfound strength suddenly drained from her. She was barely able to hold on as the swing slowed. She went limp as John grabbed the ropes and stopped her.
He came around from behind the swing and faced Kari, steadying her as she slumped forward. He was surprised to see a calmness about her. And something that had been missing much too long seemed to have come back.
“John?”
“Kari, what is it? Do you need the doctor?”
Kari shook her head. “I was just wondering how long a woman lives. How old is a woman usually when she dies?”
John shivered in the 35-degree weather. “I had a teacher at school tell me the average life of a woman was 70 or so. She was about 50, and I think she told us that to take away our hopes of getting a different teacher in the near future.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and the air felt less harsh. “John, Dr. Walker says I’ve got three more months of radiation treatments. Right now that looks like forever, but when I think of living 50 or 60 years after that, it’s really just an instant.”
John took his jacket off and put it over Kari’s shoulders. He glimpsed his mother at the kitchen window and knew that in a few moments she would be running out to bring Kari back to the safety of the house.
Kari made circles for a moment with her toe. “The surgeons think they got all the cancer, but they won’t be sure for at least five years, and even then there are no guarantees. But, John …” She took his hands and found that they were strong, like Thomas’s, like her father’s. “Even if they didn’t get it all—when I think of even the longest life compared to forever, it’s like sitting here on the swing and seeing just beyond the yard compared to being so high I can see the entire valley. It’s just a moment.”
John looked a little dubious. “I’d have to say it was a long moment, in my opinion.”
Kari smiled despite the churning of her stomach and the screaming of her leg. “Okay, a long moment, but still a moment.”
“Now let’s go in, Kari. Please? Mom’s coming out of the house, and she’s going to be madder than wet hornets.”
John lifted Kari from the swing. Her head began to swim, and her stomach lurched. He held her tight and started guiding her back to the house. Suddenly she stopped and turned around to look once more at the swing. She knew, as some things are just known, that she would swing again when the bluejays began to fly and the sun warmed the house once more.
“John, Thomas was right.”
John turned around and looked at the swing too. “Thomas is usually right, Kari. He’s the brains in this family.”
The swing began to move slightly as the wind picked up. Kari saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, running to help.
Kari turned her back to the swing, and at the same time she turned her back on giving up. Snow began to fall, but Kari’s thoughts were on the coming spring. She was thinking about the hours she would spend on the swing, and about how far she would learn to see.