Gospel Story Finder

Gil Ja had learned service by example. Her mother always lived by that principle, serving Church members even before she became one herself.
Her mother had come to love the members of the Church and the sister missionaries who wanted to teach her. But it was difficult to give up her traditional religion. In her closet she had a small statue of Buddha to which she prayed each day. The turning point in her conversion came after she dreamed that she was praying to her Buddha when it began to cry tears from its painted eyes and slowly turned its back on her. She understood that the dream meant it was time for her to follow a new religious path.
Three years after her baptism and confirmation, her husband—by then the lone member of the family who was still outside the Church—finally consented to listen to the gospel and was converted. After he joined the Church, he became a changed man, his children say—sweeter, kinder, more tolerant.
Some 26 years after Cho Joong Hyun’s baptism, all of his family were at last members of the Church. It was a high point for the family when their mother and father were sealed in the Seoul Korea Temple. A touching moment for the entire family came at a later gathering when the Cho children sang to their father the lullaby he had sung to them when they were small.
Their mother served faithfully in the Church until the end of her life. Even in the hospital, suffering from stomach cancer, she was a missionary to the young woman in the next bed, introducing her to the gospel.
Her sons and daughters carry on the tradition of service. There are two President Chos in the family. Yong Hyun, the CES coordinator, has served in a variety of priesthood leadership callings through the years and is currently president of the stake in Gwangju. Cho Joong Hyun, who led the way into the Church for his family, has also served in a variety of leadership roles in Suncheon, including district president. He is currently president of the Suncheon Branch. Cho Gil Ja has served for more than 16 years as president of the Relief Society in the ward and stake. Other brothers and sisters in the family are active in their own areas as well, and all are married to active members.
Seven of the Cho children and grandchildren have served as missionaries so far, and still others are preparing to serve. Several of the children and grandchildren have married returned missionaries. Now the fourth generation of Chos is beginning to be reared in the Church. Their days have not been free of life’s difficulties, but blessings have come through their obedience.
The missionary who handed that pamphlet to a young postal worker nearly four decades ago could not have known what would grow from the small seed he planted. But the harvest has been plentiful—and it may be only beginning.

Eun-Suk was raised in circumstances that required both her parents to work and be out of the home for most of her younger years. She remembers a painful experience as a young girl. Following her school performances, it was the custom for parents to present the children with flowers. Her parents never attended any of her performances.

My parents had never been there, so it was the worst in my experience. All the families came, and they gave flowers, but no one ever gave me flowers. It was the most painful experience. I don’t want my children to have that kind of experience.

So where did Eun-Suk learn to become such an outstanding women? Where did she learn, as she puts it, her “best lessons”?

I learned a lot of things from family and school, but learned the best things from Church. I honestly say that—in the Church.

Edevanir Leopoldino of the São Paulo Brazil São Miguel Paulista Stake remembers a family home evening that changed his life. He was 16 years old and not a member of the Church when he stopped at his friend Leandro’s house to see if Leandro wanted to attend a local dance. His friend instead invited Edevanir to share in his family home evening. Not sure what to expect, Edevanir reluctantly agreed to take part.
Of the evening, Edevanir writes, “It was great!” Leandro’s brother was going on a mission, so the family home evening was a going-away party. Edevanir recalls: “The Spirit of the Lord touched me in such a way that I felt a warmth inside me so strongly that I didn’t know what to do, and I felt a joy so grand that I could no longer feel alone.
“After that family home evening I began the missionary discussions and soon was baptized. The following year I was called to serve in the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission [later the Brazil Santa Maria Mission]. Just eight years after that special family home evening with Leandro, I am now sharing family home evenings with my own family.”

Jake’s coaches and teammates crowded around his hospital bed. “Thanks!” he said as he opened their presents—books about his favorite sport, baseball.
“Get well, OK?” one of his teammates said.
“We need our shortstop back!”
“Yeah, we need you!”
Jake smiled as they waved good-bye. He liked the baseball books but he didn’t really feel like reading them. He didn’t feel like watching TV. He didn’t feel like doing anything. Sick with pneumonia, his throat and chest ached every time he coughed. He was so weak he had tubes attached to his arms delivering medication to his bloodstream, and whenever he stood up to go to the bathroom, his head hurt and he got dizzy.
Jake didn’t get better the next day or the next. The sicker he got, the stranger his surroundings seemed. The people in the room looked fuzzy. He wasn’t sure who they were. He didn’t know if it was night or day.
“He’s not acting like himself,” he heard his mother say.
He wondered what that meant, but he didn’t really care. All he knew was how weak and uncomfortable he felt and how much he wanted the pain to go away.
Finally, Jake fell asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but it seemed like days had passed when he finally cracked open his eyes. He was starting to feel better. Two days later, he was well enough to go home.
“What happened to me in the hospital?” Jake asked his mom during the car ride home. “I don’t remember much after the baseball team came to visit me.”
“You were too sick to know what was going on,” Mom said. “You were delirious.”
“Delirious? What does that mean?”
“Your fever was so high you couldn’t think straight,” Mom explained. “I knew you must be really sick when you yelled at the nurse.”
Jake was shocked. “I yelled at a nurse?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “You didn’t want to take the medicine she was giving you. I told her it wasn’t like you to be so impolite. That night you started mumbling and saying strange things in your sleep. I called for the doctor to come quickly, even though it was the middle of the night.”
“What did he say?” Jake asked.
“He discovered that you had meningitis in addition to the pneumonia. I was so frightened when he said that there wasn’t anything more they could do.”
Jake felt like he had swallowed a rock. He had been really sick! “Then how did I get better?” he asked.
Mom smiled. “I believe it’s because Dad gave you a blessing, and the ward members fasted for you. The bishop asked everyone to fast and pray for you last Sunday.”
“Everybody in the ward didn’t eat or drink for a whole day because of me?” Jake said.
“That’s right. They also prayed. The people who fasted used their faith and asked Heavenly Father to help you get well. Even Maddie fasted for you.”
Maddie was Jake’s friend from down the street.
“But she’s not much older than me,” Jake said.
“It was her first fast. She really wanted you to get well.”
Jake stared quietly down at his hands. “I can’t believe everyone in the ward would do that for me.”
“They were happy to do it, Jake.”
Jake smiled. “So fasting really works,” he murmured.
After a week of rest, Jake returned to school and the baseball team welcomed their shortstop back. Jake never forgot the people who had fasted and prayed to make him well. He knew he had been part of a fasting miracle.

My sister has Down syndrome. I try to help her and love her. One thing that helps me spend even more quality time with her is reading the New Era with her. We have lots of fun reading the articles, and she points out her favorite pictures. She sees things in them that I had never seen before. I love my sister, and I love the New Era. Thank you for the time and effort that is put into every wonderful issue.Kalia Robinson, Aurora Ward, Springfield Missouri Stake

In 1995 I was invited to give a welcome and some opening remarks at a scientific seminar in Salt Lake City on the subject of child nutrition. Ninety-six scientists from 24 countries attended. As I surveyed the audience during my remarks, I was impressed by the many nations represented, as evidenced by their dress, skin color, language, and other distinguishing features.
Three or four months later I attended a stake conference on the East Coast of the United States. As I sat on the stand in preparation for the priesthood leadership session, an African man entered the chapel and sat down by the aisle. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I might have seen him. I leaned over and asked the stake president who the man was. The stake president answered, “Oh, he is not a member of the Church. He is a visiting professor from Africa teaching at a prestigious university in the area. A few months ago he attended some kind of scientific seminar in Salt Lake City. He picked up a pamphlet about the Church, which led him to read everything he could find about the Church. He now attends every meeting possible.” Half in jest, the stake president then said, “I would be surprised if he were not attending Relief Society meetings.”
After the priesthood leadership meeting, I reintroduced myself to the visiting professor. He affirmed his excitement for this newly discovered source of truth. He explained that his family, still in Africa, was studying with the missionaries and would be joining him in America in about four weeks, at which time they would all be baptized together.
At the conclusion of the Saturday evening adult session, this man came rushing to the podium and, thumping his chest, excitedly declared, “My heart is throbbing just like this. I can hardly contain it in my body. I don’t know if I can wait the four weeks for my family to be baptized.” I suggested he ought to slow down his heart and wait for his wife and children so all could be baptized together.
When Elijah was fleeing for his life from the wicked Phoenician princess Jezebel, the Lord directed him to a high mountain, where he had a most unusual experience. As Elijah stood upon the mount before the Lord, he felt “a great and strong wind … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice” (1 Kings 19:11–12).
I am occasionally asked by those not of our faith why it is that our Church grows so rapidly, in both membership and activity, while other churches are reportedly declining in both. The answer to that question is simply a still, small voice and then a throbbing heart. In this busy, tumultuous, and noisy world, it is not like a wind, it is not like a fire, it is not like an earthquake; but it is a still, small, but a very discernible voice, and it causes a throbbing heart. It is a quiet burning within that this is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, with all of its doctrine, priesthood, and covenants that had been lost through the many centuries of darkness and confusion. Yes, it is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that testifies of the miracle of the Restoration.
It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates millions of members to emulate the life of Jesus in word, deed, and service. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates thousands of retired couples to serve missions, usually for 18 months or longer. They put aside the comforts of life to go into the world, serving others at their own expense and at what some would consider substantial sacrifice, often serving in remote parts of the world where a hot shower and a comfortable bed are luxuries that linger only in their memories.
It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that causes hundreds of thousands of young men and women to leave promising professions, put off their education (sometimes leaving athletic and other scholarships), or delay romances to serve the Lord at their own expense to declare the Restoration of the gospel. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that gives our young people the desire and courage to stand for purity, honesty, and principle, even at the expense of sometimes being ridiculed and rejected. It is a still, small voice and a throbbing heart that motivates one to joyfully keep God’s commandments and share the burdens of those less fortunate. Yes, there is power in a still, small voice and a throbbing heart.
Alma had his way of asking about the spiritual condition of our hearts. He asks, “Have ye spiritually been born of God?” And then: “Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?” (Alma 5:14; emphasis added). In other words, is your heart throbbing with a testimony of Jesus Christ?
May I tell you just three things of many that cause my heart to throb? First, my heart throbs with the knowledge that Jesus Christ is my personal Savior and that His love for me was sufficient that He would suffer unimaginable pain and even death. My heart throbs when, in the solitude of my deep thoughts, I realize I can be cleansed, purified, and redeemed through the blood of Jesus Christ. My heart throbs when I contemplate the price that was paid—the suffering incurred to spare me from similar personal suffering for my sins and transgressions.
Second, my heart throbs with the knowledge that a young boy only 14 years of age went into a grove of trees—and from a simple, humble prayer the heavens opened, God and Christ appeared, and angels descended. And thus the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored with all of its priesthood, covenants, and purity of doctrine. My heart throbs when I consider what this boy prophet endured to bring about the fulness of the restored gospel. While heavenly angels were descending, Satan’s angels were also at work. The persecutions began, and like the lives of prophets of old, Joseph’s life culminated in his martyrdom. Throughout all his trials and persecutions, the young prophet remained steadfast and determined.
Because of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I understand more fully the magnitude of Christ’s Atonement. Because of the Prophet Joseph, I better understand the significance of the Garden of Gethsemane—a place of great suffering as Christ assumed our personal suffering not only for our sins but also for our pains, infirmities, trials, and tragedies. I understand the infinite and eternal nature of His great and last sacrifice. I better understand the love our Savior exemplified in His last redeeming act. Because of Joseph Smith, my love and gratitude for the Savior is magnified and my worship more meaningful. Among the many hymns in our hymnbook written by W. W. Phelps is the familiar song with the words “Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!” (“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27). My heart throbs as I sing that song.
Yes, because we sing with enthusiasm and gusto, “Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!” we sing about the Savior with even more reverence, emotion, and gratitude with the words “Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me / Enough to die for me! / Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!” (“I Stand All Amazed,” Hymns, no. 193). My heart throbs because of the enlightenment the Prophet Joseph brought to my life regarding the personal effect of the Atonement of my Savior.
Third, my heart throbs as I study and ponder the sacred scriptures in the Book of Mormon, as it complements the Bible and further testifies of the divinity of Jesus Christ as the Son of God, the Redeemer and Savior of the world. Because of this sacred companion to the Bible, my understanding of Christ’s doctrine is expanded; thus many of the questions left unanswered in the Bible are explained to my full satisfaction. The Book of Mormon is tangible evidence that Joseph is a prophet of God, Christ did in reality appear to him, and the gospel has been restored in its purity and its fulness.
My heart throbs just to contemplate the miracle of the Book of Mormon’s existence—the laborious job of engraving on metal plates, the careful custodianship through the centuries by God’s chosen, and the miraculous translation. Truly it fits the perfect definition of holy writ. Because of God’s majestic love for us, He provided this evidence that we can handle, we can peruse, we can study, and we can even challenge. But, most important, God loves me enough that He will give me and anyone else who sincerely seeks a personal revelation of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon—the tangible evidence of the Restoration and that Joseph Smith was a true prophet.
In speaking of this sacred knowledge, the Book of Mormon prophet Alma testifies:
“Do ye not suppose that I know of these things myself? Behold, I testify unto you that I do know that these things whereof I have spoken are true. And how do ye suppose that I know of their surety?
“Behold, I say unto you they are made known unto me by the Holy Spirit of God. Behold, I have fasted and prayed many days that I might know these things of myself. And now I do know of myself that they are true; for the Lord God hath made them manifest unto me by his Holy Spirit; and this is the spirit of revelation” (Alma 5:45–46).
Like Alma of old, each of us, members and sincere investigators alike, can know with surety that these things are true. It is our great privilege to know. It is more than a privilege; it is our responsibility to know. It is our enormous loss to not know when such a privilege is given. The Lord has said, “Knock, and it shall be opened unto you” (Matthew 7:7). The Book of Mormon prophet Jacob says, “Come with full purpose of heart” (Jacob 6:5). We do not need to rely upon intellect or our physical senses. We study, we pray, and, like Alma of old, we may even fast, and then comes a still, small voice and a throbbing heart. Imagine a personal revelation from God that these things are true. The very thought of it makes my heart throb. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Two young men dressed in white shirts and ties came to our home in Honduras. “We are from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” they said.
Mama welcomed them in. The missionaries taught our family about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Though I was only nine, I felt the truth of their words in my heart.
“What must we do to become members of Christ’s Church?” Papa asked.
“Be baptized,” one of the elders said.
Mama, Papa, and I were baptized one month later. My brother, Tomas, who was six years old, would be baptized in two years.
While teaching us more about the gospel, the elders explained how families could be sealed together in the temple.
The closest temple was in Guatemala, many kilometers away. We would need to pay for a two-day bus ride and two nights’ lodging in the city. We had no money for such a trip, but Mama and Papa refused to let that stop us from attending the temple.
Every year our family grew corn. We used it to make tortillas to sell to travelers who passed through our village.
Mama pulled out a paper and pencil. She added up some numbers and said, “We must sell 2,500 tortillas to pay for our trip.”
My eyes widened. That was so many tortillas! “We have never sold so many tortillas,” I said.
Mama didn’t look worried. “The Lord will provide,” she said. “Raoul, you and Tomas must help your papa harvest the corn,” Mama told me.
Tomas and I helped Papa harvest the corn. Every day, Mama ground it, made the dough, and fried it. Tomas and I took the tortillas to the village.
“A bus of tourists came today,” I told Mama when we returned home the first day. “We sold many tortillas.”
“It is a miracle,” Mama said.
Every day we sold more tortillas. Within a few months we had saved the money we needed to make the journey to Guatemala. But I was still worried. I had heard stories about robbers who stopped buses passing through the jungle. They took all the passengers’ valuables.
“What about the robbers?” I asked.
“The Lord will protect us,” Mama said. Then she asked, “Raoul, do you believe in the gospel?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know that we must do all in our power to follow the Lord and His prophets.”
One year after we were baptized, my family was ready to make the trip to the temple. We rode to Guatemala City in a bus. I will never forget the Spirit I felt as my family was sealed together for time and eternity.
That night, as I knelt to say my prayers, I thanked Heavenly Father for the blessings of the temple.

Building anything in Alaska in the winter can prove quite a challenge, and constructing a temple is no exception. When work on the Anchorage Temple had to be delayed because of the weather, the youth in the area decided to give themselves a preview of what having a temple in their city would be like.
So they built a scale replica of the temple out of snow bricks, complete with an Angel Moroni statue on top. With a little help from the temple’s architect, who gave a youth fireside prior to the project, they came up with a pretty good likeness. The snow replica is about one-fifth the size of the real thing, which the youth can hardly wait to see.

When I was 19, I left my small village in central Cambodia to live with my older brother in the capital city of Phnom Penh. Several years earlier my brother had met two young men wearing white shirts, ties, and name tags. Now my brother introduced me to the gospel and baptized me into the Church.
When I was baptized, my district president, President Pen Vibol, told me, “Memorize the Articles of Faith. They explain everything that is good in the Church, things you should always remember.” I thought this was wise advice, so I memorized all 13 and reviewed them regularly. After all, if someone asked me about Christianity, I wanted to be able to explain my faith. But I never imagined how important President Vibol’s advice would turn out to be.
My brother always encouraged me to improve myself and get an education. A few years after I was baptized, I was able to pass the English university entrance test, and I received a four-year scholarship to study international marketing at Brigham Young University–Hawaii.
But as difficult as the entrance test was, the hardest part was still ahead—getting an American visa. Permission to enter the United States is difficult and expensive. Sometimes permission is denied even for students who have scholarships to attend American universities. I filled out the proper forms, made an appointment for an interview at the U.S. Embassy, and soon found myself sitting across the desk from a young man with blue eyes.
“There are a lot of American universities,” the interviewer said. “Why do you want to go to BYU–Hawaii?”
“Because I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and it’s a Church-owned university,” I replied.
The interviewer shuffled his papers. “I see your brother is already there,” he said. I knew that the embassy didn’t like more than one member of a family to leave the country at the same time.
“Yes,” I admitted. “My older brother is attending BYU–Hawaii.” The interview wasn’t looking good.
“Can your parents support you?” was the next question.
“My father is a farmer, and my mother is a seller,” I said. I told him they didn’t make much money.
“Then how can you afford to study in the United States?” asked the interviewer.
I pulled out my acceptance letter and explained that I had a scholarship to attend the university.
After looking at the letter, the interviewer reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small card. “Recite four of these Articles of Faith,” he said.
I knew them as well as I knew my own name. “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost,” I began. After I had finished the third, the interviewer stopped me.
“OK, great!” he said, putting the card back in his desk. “You can pick up your visa tomorrow.”
I don’t know why the interviewer had an Articles of Faith card in his desk, but I was grateful I didn’t have to think twice when he asked me to recite them. Knowing the Articles of Faith may not always bring such dramatic results, but they’ll always be good to know.

You could start back in your room today. Is there an unfinished paper somewhere in the stacks? (I assume there are stacks there; I think I know your room.) Perhaps it is typed and apparently ready to turn in. Why bother more with it? I learned why during a religion class I taught once at Ricks College. I was teaching from section 25 of the Doctrine and Covenants. In that section Emma Smith is told that she should give her time to “writing and to learning much” (verse 8). About three rows back sat a blonde girl whose brow wrinkled as I urged the class to be diligent in developing writing skills. She raised her hand and said, “That doesn’t seem reasonable to me. All I’ll ever write are letters to my children.” That brought laughter all around the class. I felt chagrined to have applied that scripture to her. Just looking at her I could imagine a full quiver of children around her, and I could even see the letters she’d write in purple ink, with handwriting slanting backwards; neat, round loops; and circles for the tops of the i’s. Maybe writing powerfully wouldn’t matter to her.

Then a young man stood up, near the back. He’d said little during the term; I’m not sure he’d ever spoken before. He was older than the other students, and he was shy. He asked if he could speak. He told in a quiet voice of having been a soldier in Vietnam. One day, in what he thought would be a lull, he had left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand, he heard a bugle blowing and shouts and mortar and rifle fire coming ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. The wounded were evacuated. Then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and he opened his letter. It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her that he would live to come home if he were righteous. In my class, the boy said quietly, “That letter was scripture to me. I kept it.” And he sat down.

You may have a child someday, perhaps a son. Can you see his face? Can you see him somewhere, sometime, in mortal danger? Can you feel the fear in his heart? Does it touch you? Would you like to give freely? What sacrifice will it take to write the letter your heart will want to send? You won’t do it in the hour before the postman comes. Nor will it be possible in a day or even in a week. It may take years. Start the practice this afternoon. Go back to your room and write and read and rewrite that paper again and again. It won’t seem like sacrifice if you picture that boy, feel his heart, and think of the letters he’ll need someday.

The excitement of Valentine’s Day was growing. The valentine boxes in Cady’s class were decorated and ready to receive the special cards. The teacher, Mrs. Duncan, gave everybody a class list so that each child could address a valentine to every other class member.
Cady loved Valentine’s Day. She enjoyed sending and receiving special notes any day of the year. It was not unusual for her to put a note under her mom’s and dad’s pillows. When her sister went on a trip, she neatly tucked a note in her bag. She looked forward to getting notes from her family in her lunch box or a word of encouragement in her backpack. Cady knew how good it felt when she got notes, so she tried to help others have the same feeling.
When Billy* wasn’t around, the other children in his fifth-grade class were talking about the big day when the valentine boxes would be emptied. One said, "Let’s give valentines to everyone but Billy." Hesitantly each agreed on the plan.
Cady was troubled, though. She knew that Billy came from a family that didn’t have very much money. Sometimes he came to school scruffy and dirty. The children made fun of him and didn’t include him when they played. Cady felt sad about that, and she knew she had been wrong to agree with her classmates.
That afternoon as she sat at the kitchen table, addressing her valentines with her best friend, who was in another class, she had an idea! She explained to her friend and Mom how sad Billy would be if he didn’t get any valentines. Then she asked her mom for some more valentines.
Soon Cady and her friend had a whole bunch of valentines for Billy. They hoped that their cards would make Valentine’s Day a happy day for him. The next day they secretly tucked the valentines into his box.
When Billy opened it and saw all the valentines, he was thrilled. Cady’s heart swelled as she remembered the words of the Savior, "Love one another, as I have loved you."

The last example I’ll share is this tender memory of 1862 written by Hannah Dalton:
All of us children hung up our stockings Christmas eve. We jumped up early in the morning to see what Santa had brought, but there was not a thing in them. Mother wept bitterly. She went to her box and got a little apple and cut it in little tiny pieces and that was our Christmas. But, I have never forgotten how I loved her dear hands as she was cutting that apple. [Madsen, Christmas, p. 58]

How many dear hands have helped our lives be better, have reached out to us in our times of crisis, and have given us what we’ve needed? The Lord is often by our side by way of the service of others. Although they were obviously extremely difficult times, the Lord was there beside Hannah’s mother to help her through her trials. And he was by Hannah, as well, touching her heart with feelings of love and gratitude—for a mother’s hands and for the Christmas spirit.

It all started when Brother Noble visited the meetinghouse library and saw that there were nearly 70 Church films available for viewing. He thought that it would be nice to show a film on television once a month. “I figured that with 70 films, we could be on the air for four or five years.”

“I knew people liked Mr. Kreuger’s Christmas, and I thought they might like these other films,” said Brother Noble. “I phoned the television cable company and was invited for an interview. The manager said we couldn’t just show a film. We had to have some local content. He suggested an hour show where we show a half-hour film and discuss it afterward with two or three guests. We set the formula for the show based on his suggestion.”

Before the first episode of the show could go on the air, a crew had to be assembled. The studio personnel would train the people involved to run the cameras and sound equipment and be the floor director. Brother Noble thought of using the young men of the ward. He asked the teachers quorum to help. His aim was to have a trained, established group who would stay with it for several years.

Were there any problems using such an inexperienced young crew? Brother Noble said, “There was some opposition to my using kids. But we stuck with it. They are just the right age to learn.”

It takes a four-man crew to get a show on the air. So far six have worked on the program, Allen Oram, Mike Noble, Martin Kyle, Bill Graham, Doren Quinton, and Chris Arnold. Not only are friends impressed when they beg off from other after-school activities because they “have to go film a television show,” but parents too have been impressed by what their sons have done. Indeed, most of the boys’ families and other ward members tune in to watch the show. But the crew doesn’t always sit back and enjoy the program.

“When we watch the show on Tuesday nights,” said Doren, “we’re critical of how we did.”

Allen quickly added, “We’re getting better all the time.”

Things have not always gone smoothly as the young men were learning how to run the equipment and anticipate the requests of the director. Some of the first tapings were plagued by pictures with no sound and potentially embarrassing zoom shots.

The group learned quickly that they had to do it right the first time. “There are no retakes,” said show host, Brother Noble. “If you stutter or clam up, it’s right there on tape, no second chances. It doesn’t bother me to talk to different people, but once you get under those lights, it shakes you a bit.”

Chris remembers learning about how to produce the show. “I was really surprised at first. The first time was quite rough, but we learned. Now when I watch television, I know what the cameras are doing and when they mess up.”

Martin was also involved in that first program. “Everyone decided on what area they wanted to work, sound or camera. I thought the whole thing was a great idea. I had always wondered how they actually did television productions, and here we were doing it too.”

Martin chose to do the sound mixing. His interest has been stimulated, and he finds that knowing a little has added to his appreciation of professional sound mixers. “I went to a concert, and I was really interested in the complicated sound mixing. It was amazing because I knew just how good it was.”

At first, the LDS Hour seemed to be a service just for Church members. But Brother Noble and the boys found out that the show was being watched by an audience they hadn’t quite expected. They found that members who have not been attending church for years are tuning in.

“They don’t want to commit themselves to attend church meetings, but they want some connection. One lady who watches our show was baptized 33 years ago,” said Brother Noble. “Her home teachers and visiting teachers have never been successful in encouraging her to attend the ward. But she watches the program and calls her friends to watch it.”

The group really didn’t know how well the program was being received until one day the LDS Hour had to be cancelled because of a scheduling conflict with another program the cable station was airing. That was when the telephone started ringing. Viewers wanted to know what had happened to “their” program. The following month the show was back in its scheduled spot, and both the cable station and the local wards were glad to know they had a program that was missed when it didn’t make it on the air.

The young men have caught on that they are involved in something more than just publicity for the Church. They recognize it as a service project. “Yeah, but it’s fun,” is the quick response. It has involved the community because the subjects of the films and the discussions are of general interest.

Bill explains, “It’s not really a preachy show. It’s about good things that society wants. It’s about human relations. It’s something we can all share.”

Bill also tells about one man that was touched directly from the program. “I know a lot of people call their friends and tell them about the show. One man saw the show and called the missionaries and wanted to know more about the Church. It’s a missionary tool. We aren’t directly teaching people, but we’re helping. I like being a part of that.”

The crew has arrived at the studio ready for another taping. With an air of knowing exactly what needs to be done, they quickly arrange the furniture on the set. Chris and Allen pull cables out of the way of their cameras. Martin clips the tiny microphones to their guests’ lapels. Mike is seated at the switching board, giving instructions over his headset.

Suddenly someone yells, “Quiet.” Bill counts down with the fingers of one hand. “Five … four … three … two … we’re on the air.”

Our youngest daughter, Abby, saw a unique opportunity to stand as a defender of the role of mother. One day she got a notice from her children’s school that they were having Career Day presentations at the school. Parents were invited to send in an application if they wanted to come to school to teach the children about their jobs, and Abby felt impressed to apply to come and speak about motherhood. She didn’t hear back from the school, and when Career Day was getting close, she finally called the school, thinking they may have lost her application. The organizers scrambled around and found two teachers who agreed to have Abby come talk to their classes at the end of Career Day.
In her very fun presentation to the children, Abby taught them, among other things, that as a mother she needed to be somewhat of an expert in medicine, psychology, religion, teaching, music, literature, art, finance, decorating, hair styling, chauffeuring, sports, culinary arts, and so much more. The children were impressed. She finished by having the children remember their mothers by writing thank-you notes expressing gratitude for the many loving acts of service they received daily. Abby felt that the children saw their mothers in a whole new light and that being a mother or father was something of great worth. She applied to share again this year at Career Day and was invited to present to six classes.
Abby has said of her experience: “I feel like it could be easy in this world for a child to get the sense that being a parent is a secondary job or even sometimes a necessary inconvenience. I want every child to feel like they are the most important priority to their parent, and maybe telling them how important being a parent is to me will help them realize all that their parents do for them and why.”

After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8).
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts ot the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness (see Leaves From My Journal, pp. 16–18).
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

July 1990: I had come home. I was back in Prague, in my native country of Czechoslovakia—a country I had left twenty-two years before. I left because I couldn’t tolerate the political climate of the time. Now, within a few months, an overwhelming change had been wrought in the country, and I was free to return.
I suppose I expected to feel the same as I had so many years before. But I felt like a tourist. Everything seemed smaller and shabbier, and I felt as though I had lost my family and childhood roots.
But a few days after I had arrived, as I was walking along a crowded street, I suddenly felt a kinship with the people around me. I was among my own people. A great feeling of love and belonging came over me, and I felt the joy of the freedoms that they had gained after forty-five years of strict control.
It was exciting to meet with family and friends to tell them what I had been doing since I left home and to introduce them to the gospel. At a meeting I had with former school friends, I explained that I was a member of the Church and shared my testimony with them. I gave each one of them a copy of the Book of Mormon, along with any other Church literature available in Czech, and I referred them to the missionaries. I told them that now they had the freedom to choose, and that the best thing they could do for themselves and their families was to choose to accept the gospel. “If you are going to build a new home,” I told them, “start with a good, solid foundation.”
Eagerly I attended church in Prague, where the members met in a rented room. They were very happy to be able to gather together publicly and to openly discuss the gospel with relatives and friends.
My oldest son, David, had the opportunity to pass the sacrament, and later, at a testimony meeting back home, he said the experience made him realize the responsibilities and blessings that came with the priesthood.
A special experience for me was meeting with my sisters. One of them, Ilona Kebrt, and her daughter, Olga, went with me to church. Olga was very impressed with the appearance and behavior of the full-time missionaries. “I have never seen boys my age act and look like this,” she said. “They look as though they came from a different world.”
We had the opportunity to meet President and Sister Richard W. Winder. He is the first mission president in Czechoslovakia since before World War II. My sister was very curious about President and Sister Winder, the life they had left behind in Salt Lake City to fulfill their mission assignment, their unpretentious way of living in Czechoslovakia, and the love they showed for the people. She felt of their spirit, and cried.
Five days before I was due to leave Czechoslovakia for home, President Winder informed me that President Gordon B. Hinckley of the First Presidency would be visiting Czechoslovakia and holding a meeting in Brno, 160 kilometers from Prague. President Winder asked if I would attend the meeting and act as an interpreter for President Hinckley. I accepted, and with Ilona, I drove to Brno.
That meeting was a highlight of my visit. With President was Sister Hinckley, and President Hans B. Ringger, president of the Europe Area, with Sister Ringger, President and Sister Winder, and my brothers and sisters in the gospel. President Hinckley understood how nervous I was, acting as his interpreter and translating Church terminology into Czech, and he was very considerate. It was a very spiritual experience for us all. My sister didn’t take her eyes off of him, and her face shone at me from the congregation.
Since my visit, I have learned that the gospel seeds I planted have started to bear fruit. My niece, Olga, has been baptized, and she is now living with a family in London, England. She wrote to me: “When you visited with us, I heard you share your testimony of the gospel, and although I didn’t completely understand what you meant, I wanted to know more. Now, as a member of the Church, I know. I feel as though I have grown in wisdom beyond my years. Life makes sense to me, and for the first time I know what to do.”
In returning to Czechoslovakia, I found my family and friends—roots that I thought were lost. And I have come to realize that the basic desire for truth is never dead. I am sure that the gospel will spread in Czechoslovakia and that the Czech and the Slovak Saints will take their rightful place in the worldwide family of the Church.

“It must be nice to be God’s favorite.”

That was my first thought when, just weeks after I had a miscarriage, one of my closest friends got pregnant again. Seemingly effortlessly. Because I had lost my baby, I thought, in my bitterness, that He must just love me less or at least see me as a less capable mother than my friend.

My friend’s announcement was the first of many that reminded me of the painful loss of my miscarried baby. Siblings, mission companions, friends I’d met years ago — they all seemed to be announcing their perfectly healthy pregnancies while I could do nothing but mourn the one I had lost.

I held on to hope. I subconsciously thought that, having experienced a miscarriage, I’d paid my dues. I had suffered! And I’d learned from my experience, just like I was supposed to! So surely God would bless me with a healthy baby soon. But it didn’t happen that way.

In the painful, isolating months that followed my miscarriage, I was again confronted with the thought I had when my friend announced her pregnancy to me: “I guess God just loves me less.” And even though this thought completely contradicted everything I know about God as my loving Heavenly Father, I started to believe it.

But my perspective changed one day when I read 1 Nephi 1:1, the very first verse of the first chapter in the Book of Mormon: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in all the learning of my father; and having seen many afflictions in the course of my days, nevertheless, having been highly favored of the Lord in all my days” (emphasis added).

I cried at how directly this scripture answered the pleadings of my heart. Had I really thought that God loved or favored me less because of my afflictions? Nephi didn’t seem to think that was the case. And neither did Paul the Apostle, who reminded us in the book of Hebrews that “whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth” (Hebrews 12:6). Neither did Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who expounded on why a God who loves us so deeply could possibly present us with trials that seem so unbearable:
“It simply will not work ‘to glide naively through life,’ saying as we sip another glass of lemonade, ‘Lord, give me all thy choicest virtues, but be certain not to give me grief, nor sorrow, nor pain, nor opposition. Please do not let anyone dislike me or betray me, and above all, do not ever let me feel forsaken by Thee or those I love. In fact, Lord, be careful to keep me from all the experiences that made Thee divine. And then, when the rough sledding by everyone else is over, please let me come and dwell with Thee, where I can boast about how similar our strengths and our characters are as I float along on my cloud of comfortable Christianity.”1

The fact of the matter is that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ do not show Their love by protecting us from all pain and opposition. They show us Their love by helping us endure these experiences so that one day we can be more like Them, a process that is both necessary to our eternal joy and impossible to achieve without enduring the refiner’s fire.

I should be clear that I don’t think God caused my miscarriage. Loss, illness, and death are simply natural consequences of living in a fallen world. And while I don’t think Heavenly Father keeps us from experiencing the pains of mortality, I do know He gave us a Savior, who is an expert at “consecrat[ing] [our] afflictions for [our] gain” (2 Nephi 2:2) and giving “beauty for ashes” (Isaiah 61:3).

Even though I never want to go through that pain again, I’d much rather be the person I am now than the person I was before I had a miscarriage or dealt with other challenges. Through them, I now feel empathy in a way I never thought I could. I’m more sensitive in the things I say and do. I see that others who have seemingly perfect lives have different struggles they face each day too. I know better how to fulfill the covenant I’ve made with God to “mourn with those who mourn; … and comfort those who stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). Jesus Christ has truly given me beauty for ashes and can do the same for all of us who struggle with afflictions.

I wish that the refiner’s fire were easier to get through, but then I wouldn’t be refined as I am now. I now understand that, despite the difficulty of the trial, my miscarriage and all my afflictions are not a sign that God loves me any less. The opposite is true. It’s through this trial, and a million others like it, that the grace of Christ can mold me into the person God knows I can become—a person who will be worthy of leaving this life and spending the rest of eternity with those I love most.

Over a year ago, as I was walking through Temple Square, one of the sister missionaries approached me and asked, “Do you remember me? I am from Florida.” She told me her name, Sister Aida Chilan. Yes, I remembered meeting her and her family. Her stake president had suggested we visit her family. It became apparent that we were there for their daughter Aida, who had not been baptized. After our visit and more than a year of teaching and fellowshipping, Aida was baptized.

After we visited on Temple Square, she wrote me a letter. She said: “I know with all my heart that Heavenly Father knows each of us and that He continues to place us in each other’s paths for a reason. Thank you for being one of my missionaries, for reaching out to me and finding me five years ago.”14 Aida also sent me her conversion story recounting the “divine coincidences” which have taken place in her life that have led to her baptism and confirmation, serving a mission on Temple Square, and her recent temple marriage.15

Was it a mere coincidence that the stake president had steered us to the Chilan home or that she and I would later meet on Temple Square? Aida’s testimony bears record that this was all part of God’s “divine design.”

A wonderful story of perseverance took place right here in Laie many years ago. In 1885 Joseph F. Smith served his third mission in Hawaii. At that time Saints in Laie were suffering from a devastating drought and were very discouraged. In fact some even wanted to give up on Laie as a gathering place and seek another location to settle. At that time President Smith made a great prophecy. I quote. “Dear Brothers and sisters, do not leave this land, for it is the land chosen by God as a gathering place for the Saints… Do not complain because of the trials which have come upon you, because of the desolation and lack of water… and the great poverty in which you live. Be patient for a while for the day will come when this desolate land will become a land of beauty. Springs of water will gush up and spread upon the land, and upon this dry waste you now see, the Saints will build beautiful homes, they will plant taro and they will eat and drink in abundance. They will also plant trees which will grow to furnish pleasant shade, and the fragrance of flowers will fill the air…. Therefore do not go backward. Work with patience, persevere, stand firm and keep the commandments, including the commandment of gathering, which have been given you, and you shall receive blessings.”

Well, the Saints in Laie were obedient and did not give up. They endured in righteousness and were greatly blessed. Joseph F. Smith’s prophecy came true and Laie is now a beautiful topical paradise.

When I was a boy, I was my mother’s most difficult young child to raise. I had an overabundance of energy. My mother tells me that her greatest fear was that I would not live to see adulthood. I was just too active.

I remember as a young boy sitting in one particular sacrament meeting with our family. My mother had just received a new set of scriptures. This new set combined the entire standard works into one bound edition, and in the very center was lined paper for note-taking.

During the meeting, I asked if I could hold her scriptures. With the hope of promoting my reverence, she handed them down the pew. As I perused her scriptures, I noticed that she had written a personal goal in the note section. To provide context for her goal, I must tell you that I am the second of six children and my name is Brett. My mother had written, in red, just one goal: “Patience with Brett!”

As further evidence to help you understand the challenge my parents faced in raising our family, let me tell you about our family scripture reading. Each morning, my mother read the Book of Mormon to us during breakfast. During this time, my older brother, Dave, and I would sit quietly but irreverently. To be completely honest, we weren’t listening. We were reading the print on the cereal boxes.

Finally, one morning, I decided to square up with my mother. I exclaimed, “Mom, why are you doing this to us? Why are you reading the Book of Mormon every morning?” I then made a statement that I am embarrassed to admit to. In fact, I can’t believe I actually said it. I told her, “Mom, I am not listening!”

Her loving response was a defining moment in my life. She said, “Son, I was at a meeting where President Marion G. Romney taught about the blessings of scripture reading. During this meeting, I received a promise that if I would read the Book of Mormon to my children every day, I would not lose them.” She then looked me straight in the eyes and, with absolute determination, said, “And I will not lose you!”

Her words pierced my heart. Notwithstanding my imperfections, I was worth saving! She taught me the eternal truth that I am a son of a loving Heavenly Father. I learned that no matter what the circumstance, I was worth it. This was a perfect moment for an imperfect little boy.