Gospel Story Finder

One day in the summer of 1969, a young missionary in Chuncheon, Republic of Korea, handed a pamphlet on the purpose of life to the man at the post office who distributed the foreign mail. The young elder probably had no idea what a chain of conversions he had begun.
Neither did the postal worker who accepted the pamphlet. Cho Joong Hyun did not know why his civil service job had taken him so far from his home in Suncheon, near the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Only later would he come to understand that he had to be in that place at that time to receive the pamphlet.
This small incident would lead to the conversion of his entire family, as well as many others they would later influence. But those conversions would not come easily. “It took more than 20 years to get all of my family baptized,” he says. Through his efforts, his parents and his brothers and sisters and their spouses and children have come to enjoy the blessings of the gospel.
Cho Joong Hyun’s own conversion was difficult. The pamphlet given to him by the missionary was “really good,” he says, in that it provided answers about the purpose of life that he had never been able to find in the Christian church he formerly attended. Still, he did not think an unknown American church could be taken seriously, so he tossed the pamphlet into a drawer and forgot it for a time.
He forgot it until early one morning when, awakening after another evening of drinking and billiards with friends, he lay thinking that he ought to change his life. Then he remembered the pamphlet that gave him answers.
The first Sunday he attended a Latter-day Saint meeting, he was not impressed. The rented building was small, and the congregation at Sunday School, he recalls, consisted of the missionaries, their cook, a grandmother and two children, and a couple of college students.
But the answers supplied by that pamphlet, along with the humility and testimony of the young elders, kept him talking to the missionaries, even though he was wary of their Church. He remembers arguing with them about religion. When they quoted scriptures from the Book of Mormon, he thought to himself, “These guys are really good at making this up. It sounds like the Bible.” They gave him a Book of Mormon with Moroni 10:3–5 printed by hand in the front of it, carrying the promise that the reader would learn of the truth of the book through the Holy Ghost. Remembering the story of Joseph Smith, Cho Joong Hyun went to his favorite spot in the mountains to offer his personal prayer. But he received no immediate answer.
Then one day as he sat in a library reading the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, he clearly heard a voice speak to him saying, “These are true, and they are mine.” He looked around to see if anyone else had heard the voice. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the message had been for him alone.
After his baptism and confirmation in 1969, the world changed for Joong Hyun. People and things that had seemed disagreeable before no longer did. He saw beauty around him, even though nothing was different. He spent time going door-to-door with the missionaries sharing his testimony.
He had to put his missionary work aside for a time while he served in the military during the Vietnam War. But he began trying to share the gospel again when he returned home to Suncheon in the mid-1970s.
There were no other Church members in the city. One way he tried to change that was to give copies of the Book of Mormon to people he met. “I thought I needed to share this true and precious book,” he says. Little came of that, however. His greatest impact as a missionary would be with his own brothers and sisters.
His youngest sister, Cho Sungja (Korean women retain their birth family name after marriage), recalls that at first her brother simply held family home evenings with his brothers and sisters and taught gospel principles. But eventually he introduced them to missionaries.
His youngest sister accepted the gospel readily. She felt the Holy Ghost testify to her of the truth of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. Members of another faith had shown her a scripture in the book of Revelation that they said warned against adding to the words of that book (see Revelation 22:18–19). But as she opened the Book of Mormon one day to read in 2 Nephi 29, some of the verses in that chapter told her of the need for additional revelation (see vv. 11–14), and again she felt the Spirit testify that it was true.
Her father was against her joining the Church, but finally, in answer to her prayers, he gave his consent. She was baptized and confirmed in 1976, at age 16.
Like her pioneering elder brother, Joong Hyun, Sungja wanted to share the gospel she had found. She shared it freely with friends at school, and eventually five of them were also baptized and confirmed.
Sungja’s next oldest brother, Cho Yong Hyun, had listened to the missionaries with his siblings. Their parents were busy running the family restaurant, and Joong Hyun, the second son, was frequently charged with caring for his younger brothers and sisters. His siblings all learned to love him and trust his judgment. “I really respected my older brother, so when he first introduced the gospel to me, I could accept it,” Yong Hyun says.
But Yong Hyun’s conversion was not based on his brother’s testimony alone; he received his own strong witness of the truth, and once a member, he dedicated himself to serving faithfully.
That dedication led him, while he was a college student, to want to serve a mission—a choice his father opposed. But Yong Hyun won his father’s consent by promising to be a better student when he returned, and he kept that promise.
Father and son would clash over the Church again some years later when Yong Hyun was offered a position with the Church Educational System. He was doing well in his job with an oil refining firm at the time, but he accepted the Church position and has served as CES coordinator in the Gwangju area of southern Korea since 1986. His father opposed the change, considering it unwise for his son to leave a good position with a prestigious firm to work for a relatively unknown church that had started in America. His father said later that he had cried bitterly over Yong Hyun’s decision and had come close to disowning him. Fortunately, the rift was healed.
All of the Cho brothers and sisters will say that their father was the hardest opponent to their studying and living the gospel. He could be demanding and, in his traditional role as head of the family, expected obedience.
But some of the siblings also had their own reservations about the Church. The second daughter, Cho Gil Ja, had doubts centered in part on why her older brother was asked to give so much service to his church without being paid, as ministers were in other churches. She dated, married, and was raising her own young children before she finally heeded her brother’s request to listen to the missionaries.
When they asked her to read the Book of Mormon, she became absorbed in the reading and finished the book in three days. She heeded Moroni’s admonition to pray about its teachings and received a strong confirmation that they are true. At that point, she says, “I felt there must be something I could do for God.” The impression she received in answer to this desire was that she too should attend church and serve.
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.

Owen woke up suddenly in the middle of the night and peeked out the window. It was hailing and the sky had turned green.
“Is that what I think it is?” Mitchell asked, sitting up in bed.
“A tornado,” Owen whispered. His eyes scanned the sky for signs of swirling.
Both boys jumped as Mom opened the door, a flashlight in her hand cutting through the darkness. “The power is out, and the storm’s coming,” she said. “Everybody get down to the bathroom.”
Owen grabbed Mitchell’s hand and followed Mom to the downstairs bathroom, the center of their home. They had talked about what to do during a tornado, but Owen’s hands were shaking. What if it hit their house?
When they were halfway down the stairs, a high-pitched alarm filled the air. Owen felt Mitchell’s hand tighten around his. Those were tornado sirens, and they only went off when a tornado was nearby. Owen froze, but Mom gently pushed him toward the bathroom, which was lit by a small lantern.
Owen’s two sisters were already huddled on the floor, so he crouched in a corner to make room for Dad, who came in holding a radio. The space was small for six people, but Owen was glad they were all together.
Dad turned the radio dial until he found a station reporting the storm. “We have four tornadoes in the area,” the announcer said. “Everybody within the sound of a tornado siren is to stay inside until further notice.”
Owen gasped. Four tornadoes? He imagined them barreling down the street toward his house, and he reached out his hand to Dad for comfort. His little sister started crying in Mom’s arms. Owen’s panic grew when the announcer read off a list of streets near the tornadoes. Owen recognized all of the street names. One was even right by his school. The tornado could hit them at any moment! He had never felt this afraid before.
Owen knew exactly what he needed to do to feel better. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer. When he finished praying, he felt a little better—he was still nervous, but he felt peaceful too. Mom saw his bowed head and said, “Good idea, Owen. I think we could use a family prayer right now.”
Dad prayed aloud, and Owen’s fear went away a little more. He turned to Mitchell, who still seemed scared. “Want to play I Spy?” he whispered. It was one of Mitchell’s favorite games, and the lantern gave them just enough light to play. Mitchell nodded, and Owen started.
“I spy something … pink!”
“Mom’s robe!” Mitchell giggled, and the game began. The wind still howled, but Owen’s little sister stopped crying. Owen could feel peace in the small bathroom, surrounded by his family.
It seemed like hours later, but the sirens finally stopped. Owen took a deep breath, knowing the tornadoes had moved on. Dad turned up the radio again, and the announcer said it was safe to leave cover. Dad opened the door and squeezed Owen’s shoulder as they walked out into the hall to stretch.
“I’m proud of you, buddy,” Dad said. “You were really brave tonight.”
Owen hadn’t felt very brave, but he’d felt more peaceful after his prayer. He hugged Dad back, took Mitchell’s hand, and led him back to bed. The storm was over.

When Elder Don Ray Clarke was president of the Bolivia Santa Cruz Mission, he transferred to mission headquarters an elder who made it clear he would have preferred to finish his mission in another area. Soon after, the elder met a woman looking for a daughter she hadn’t seen in 10 years. When she showed him a photo, this missionary recognized her daughter from a previous area. He played a key part in reuniting a mother and her child.
From this experience and others, “I’ve come to know that God cares deeply about people,” Elder Clarke says. He welcomes surprise transfers and new callings that allow him to help others. “I hope I can minister,” he says of his new calling, “and not just administer.”

It is a good thing I did, for a similar event occurred in my life with our youngest son, Clark.
Clark has always liked animals, birds, reptiles—anything that is alive. Sometimes that resulted in a little chaos in our home. One day in his boyhood he came home from Provo Canyon with a water snake, which he named Herman.
Right off the bat Herman got lost. Sister Monson found him in the silverware drawer. Water snakes have a way of being where you least expect them. Well, Clark moved Herman to the bathtub, put a plug in the drain, put a little water in, and had a sign taped to the back of the tub which read, “Don’t use this tub. It belongs to Herman.” So we had to use the other bathroom while Herman occupied that sequestered place.
But then one day, to our amazement, Herman disappeared. His name should have been Houdini. He was gone! So the next day Sister Monson cleaned up the tub and prepared it for normal use. Several days went by.
One evening I decided it was time to take a leisurely bath; so I filled the tub with a lot of warm water, and then I peacefully lay down in the tub for a few moments of relaxation. I was lying there just pondering, when the soapy water reached the level of the overflow drain and began to flow through it. Can you imagine my surprise when, with my eyes focused on that drain, Herman came swimming out, right for my face? I yelled out to my wife, “Frances! Here comes Herman!”
Well, Herman was captured again, put in a foolproof box, and we made a little excursion to Vivian Park in Provo Canyon and there released Herman into the beautiful waters of the South Fork Creek. Herman was never again to be seen by us.

Andy Mair has heard many of the stories about sacrifices made in building the first Nauvoo Temple. He knows about the men and boys who cut stone by hand, hauled heavy loads with just horses and mules, went without good food and clothing, and spent every minute they could building a beautiful House of the Lord.
Andy has plenty to eat and wear and because he’s only 14 he’s not really allowed to work on the temple site. But Andy has made sacrifices. He willingly left his friends and home to come with his family to Nauvoo where his father would oversee the reconstruction of the Nauvoo Temple. “I am not sorry that I came,” says Andy. “I have been able to learn a lot more about the history of the Church and Joseph Smith. I can say that I have walked and lived where the Prophet Joseph and the early leaders of the Church did. As I see the temple workers, I notice that they all have shoes and shirts. They also have modern equipment like cranes, lifts, cement trucks, dump trucks, tractors, and power tools. I try to imagine how people in the 1840s built such a huge building without these things.”
Also, during the construction of the temple, Andy has seen what kind of man his dad is. “It means a lot to me to have my dad be able to oversee the construction of this temple, because I know I am one of a few young men who is able to participate so closely in such an historic event. My dad is a great example to me of hard work and dedication.”
Andy and his new friends in Nauvoo keep track of the reconstruction. One friend, Tally Smith, says, “It’s special to drive by and notice more stone going up or another window in place.”
Amanda Smith also has loved watching the temple go up. “It’s amazing to have a temple right up the road—a temple that’s really a part of your life because you’ve watched it and seen the changes.”
One unique event that took place at the start of the construction was the laying of all four cornerstones. For most temples built today the cornerstone laying is completed as the building is dedicated, but in rebuilding the Nauvoo Temple, the sequence of events from the nineteenth century was duplicated as much as possible.
On April 6, 1841, the members of the Church in Nauvoo gathered at the temple site for the laying of all four cornerstones. Under the Prophet Joseph’s instructions, each cornerstone was moved into place under the direction of the presidents of the various quorums of the priesthood. In those days, the Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidents were all grown men.
But on November 5, 2000, the quorum presidents of the Aaronic Priesthood—representing the deacons and teachers—were Jared Brown, 13, and Hans Smith, 15, both from the Nauvoo Illinois First Ward. They were surprised and honored to be asked to participate in the cornerstone laying.
“I had always thought it would be cool if the Nauvoo Temple were rebuilt,” says Hans. “Now it is happening, and I am going to be here to see it.
“One evening, my stake president, Durell Nelson, came over to my house and told me there was going to be a special cornerstone ceremony. He asked me if I would be interested in being part of this historic event since I was the teachers quorum president of the Nauvoo Ward, and the original teachers quorum president had helped at the original cornerstone ceremony. Wow!”
On the day of the ceremony, Hans was right there with President Gordon B. Hinckley and Bishop H. David Burton, the Presiding Bishop of the Church. Hans says, “I was humbled to represent teachers all over the world at this event. Because I have cerebral palsy, I needed help to scoop in the mortar and was grateful to have Bishop Burton help me. I was grateful that those in charge didn’t let my handicap stand in the way of my participating in this great event.”
As deacons quorum president, Jared also participated. “I felt really blessed because there are so many other young men who would have loved this opportunity. It was probably the best experience of my life. I got to meet the prophet. I also got to keep the trowel I used. It’s something I can always remember and someday tell my children.”

One of our main forms of proselyting was by using street meetings. On regular evenings we would start our meetings with a song and prayer at Pemberton Square in Boston or Harvard Square or Central Square in Cambridge. Sunday afternoon was usually spent on the “Commons” where there was a different meeting going on under every tree. Choosing a site for ourselves, we would pick up a discarded wooden ice-cream spoon, and stooping down, scratch out our topic in the gravel path. This usually brought a crowd of curious ones to see what was going on, and then it was up to the speaker to produce. It was interesting, and some lively conversations usually took place, but no conversions resulted.

“When my husband was four years old, he became very ill and went into a coma. Everyone thought he had died. In fact, his body had been placed in a casket for burial. In a little while they heard a faint knocking on the side of the casket. The child was alive! The casket was quickly reopened and the boy sat up. ‘I want a soda pop,’ he said.
Thereafter, he was known as the ‘soda pop kid.’ His parents have often said that after this experience he was a changed child. He was more responsible and would help tend the others in the family. He was concerned about others and seemed to be blessed with a special spirit.

Individual Worth is one of the seven values in the theme young women repeat every Sunday. For a long time, I didn’t believe individual worth applied to me. Just as I knew gravity existed, I thought I knew that I had no worth.
Some of us are left with long-lasting scars from the battle of adolescence, not making it through as gracefully as others. I was among these “casualties,” and about three years ago my lack of self-worth became crippling. I felt worse and worse about myself. I was sad a lot more than usual, and I was sleeping almost all day. Some days were better than others, and those days I was able to act like my normal, effervescent self. But other times it was a struggle to drag myself out of bed and brush my hair.
My emotional roller-coaster ride lasted for about two years, then I hit a low. Depression set in for good this time, and I could see no way out. Some mornings, a problem as trivial as running out of hot water for my shower was enough to make me weepy for the rest of the day. On days like these life seemed to me a cruel fate.
I stopped reading my scriptures and saying my prayers, and my efforts to draw closer to Heavenly Father came to a halt. Why should I pray to a God who didn’t care about me anymore? I felt utterly unworthy of asking for help from anyone, let alone my Maker. I believed I was helpless, hopeless, unloved. As a result, I became self-destructive.
When I hit rock bottom, my parents took me to a psychiatric rehabilitation center. Over time I learned to deal with my problems in healthy ways. I was able to reclaim the self-worth and self-confidence I had lost over the last three years.
As I struggled through the slow process of getting better, my mom and my good friend suggested I start praying again. The thought of praying terrified me. I couldn’t go to Heavenly Father for help now. What if I really wasn’t ready? For the longest time, I could not bring myself to address my Heavenly Father. I knew He loved me, but I just couldn’t feel it in my heart. Again, doubt about my self-worth blocked my ability to heal until one day I finally realized, “I have to start somewhere, and now’s as good a time as any.”
I found the courage to get on my knees and pray to my Heavenly Father. As I began confiding in Him about my fears, wishes, and what I was most thankful for, an immense feeling of pure love completely overwhelmed me. All I could do was sob. This was a sensation I hadn’t had for years. I had missed it so much, and now it was back, full force, and all I could do was cry and cry. I knew without a single grain of doubt that my Father in Heaven loved me, that I was His prized and precious daughter. Now every time I pray I experience a reaffirmation of that truth. I will never forget that I truly am a daughter of God who loves me. And I love Him.

That’s the second time Steve has looked in the door. I move the carpet cleaning machine a bit more quickly. I rationalize that no one will know if this corner isn’t soaped quite as thoroughly as the rest of the room.
It’s only my second day cleaning apartments on my own at my new carpet cleaning job, and I haven’t quite got the hang of running power vacuums yet. I know that everyone else has been finished for at least 20 minutes. They are waiting to return to our office where we can take a break. I’m eager to make a good impression and prove I can keep up with the crew.
The large vacuum scuttles across the floor as I move the wand back and forth. The mist of diluted soap that sprays out as I squeeze the lever on the handle now only sparsely covers the floor.
I see a shadow on the wall and turn around. It’s Gary this time.
“You almost done?”
“Yeah, there’s just this room left. Give me five minutes.”
He nods, and I carefully move the machine around the bed and allow my mind to wander. I run down a mental checklist of things I need to do when I get home. I have homework to finish for my Book of Mormon class tomorrow. I think about what my teacher said yesterday. It was something I’ve never thought about before. He said that most people usually think of Laman and Lemuel only as evil men who caused all sorts of problems for Nephi. But a part of the story we often overlook is that Laman and Lemuel did return to Jerusalem and they did help build the ship. In fact, they ended up doing almost everything the Lord commanded. The biggest difference between them and Nephi was that Nephi obeyed God willingly. Laman and Lemuel obeyed reluctantly out of fear.
I stop the carpet cleaning machine and look down at the chocolate-colored carpet uneasily, feeling the truth of my teacher’s statement that too often we are more like Laman and Lemuel than we would like to believe. Slowly, I move the vacuum back to the door and begin cleaning the room again, this time crossing the room in slow, thorough sweeps.
Completely cleaning that carpet was just a little thing, but it represented a much bigger one—my renewed commitment to maintain complete integrity in all my dealings, including on the job.

I’d like to share with you two important lessons that I learned in my youth. When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood there watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

Earlier this year, my husband and I moved across the country from Texas to New Jersey. A couple of months after settling in, I decided I was ready to brave the journey to the Manhattan New York Temple.
Getting to the temple from our house requires me to walk a quarter mile, catch a bus, walk a couple of blocks, and then take the subway.
On that first journey to the temple, I saw a lot of people, cars, buses, and bikes. I saw people playing instruments, taking photos, shopping, commuting to work, and eating at restaurants. I didn’t think much of it at the time; it was just another day in the city.
When I finally stepped out of the subway tunnel, I walked until I reached the temple doors. I was relieved that I’d made it and had time to spare before the session started.
As I walked in, I saw paintings of the Savior. I saw the beautiful, white, perfectly clean interior of the temple. I was greeted by the smiling faces of loving temple workers, welcoming me and directing me where I needed to go.
Out of nowhere, I was overcome with emotion. My heart filled with gratitude, and I realized my eyes were filling with tears.
I’ve thought about that moment a lot. I was overwhelmed by the stark contrast of my day—I experienced the hustle and bustle of the city and then the immediate and peaceful calm that the temple offers. I was moved by the tangible sense of refuge in the Lord’s house and the peace the gospel of Jesus Christ offers each of us.
I don’t think there’s anything inherently bad about living in a busy, fast-paced world. There are times when I really love it! But I learned that there is so much power in being willing to slow down and focus on what matters most.
President Russell M. Nelson said: “If you don’t yet love to attend the temple, go more often—not less. Let the Lord, through His Spirit, teach and inspire you there. I promise you that over time, the temple will become a place of safety, solace, and revelation.”
I went to the temple that day simply because I thought it had been too long since my last visit. I didn’t necessarily go with a question in mind or a desire for a certain prayer to be answered. Regardless of my intentions, I walked into the temple and knew it was the best possible place I could be that day. As President Nelson taught, the temple really did become a place of solace for me.

Several decades later, when I was in my fifties, while living outside my country, I began to feel a great lack of spirituality within me, but I did not know what to do or where to look.
Since I was Catholic and I was living in a very Catholic country (France), I decided to choose a church where I could go every Saturday to worship.
The beautiful church I found was often empty, with just a few little old women kneeling in prayer, and from time to time getting up to light one of the candles placed on a table at the back of the room.
And I imitated them because I didn’t know what else to do.
I did this for about seven months until my older sister, who was also seeking the truth, changed churches and convinced me to become a Pentecostal like her.
From that moment on I started reading the Bible, without understanding much about it.
But the advantage was that I started keeping the commandments and applying the teachings I received.
Still, I felt like I was missing something.
One night I had a dream in which someone said to me: “Blessings for you and your family can be found in your home country.”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but because of my son’s health problems, I had to leave the foreign country I was living in to return home to Cameroon to support my sick son.
Arriving in Cameroon in September 2009 after more than 30 years of absence, I went from one pentecostal church to another, but I still had the same feeling within me that something was missing.
I often saw young men passing by, dressed in a white shirt and ties, two by two. I thought they were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
And, since I was looking for the truth and didn’t know where to find it, why not try them? I said to myself.
When questioning them, they introduced themselves as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After two lessons, they invited me to attend sacrament meeting, and, miraculously, I finally felt inner peace. I finally felt at home because I had found the truth I was seeking.
Seven years later, when I went to the temple, I finally understood the meaning of the dream I had, because I performed ordinances for several people in my family.
I testify that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true restored Church on the face of the earth.

Maria stirred her scrambled eggs around and around with her fork. “Mom,” she asked, “do we have to go to church next Sunday?”
Mother looked surprised. “Why, of course!” she declared. “We always go to church on Sunday.”
Maria continued to play with her food. Finally her mother asked, “Are you still worried about your talk?”
Maria nodded. She and two other children had been asked to give talks in Primary. Because it was the week of the Mormon Pioneer celebration, the topic of the talks was to be “pioneers in my family.” Maria and her mother had been members of the Church for only a few years.
Mother had told Maria that her Primary teacher probably didn’t realize this. She suggested that Maria talk about the early Mormon pioneers instead. Maria had followed her mother’s advice, but she felt uneasy about it because she wasn’t really following the assigned topic.
Maria finished her breakfast and hurried to school, but all day long she worried about her talk. It seemed forever until the three o’clock bell rang. When she came home, the apartment was empty. Mother wouldn’t be home from work until six o’clock, so Maria fixed herself a snack and thought about her talk. Finally she decided that since she couldn’t talk about pioneers in her family, she simply wouldn’t give a talk at all. Maria was sure Sister Robinson would understand. Besides, Jason and Nancy would still be speaking.
When her Primary teacher answered the phone, Maria explained why she couldn’t give the talk. Instead of agreeing with Maria, Sister Robinson said, “I gave the assignment to you, Maria, for a very special reason. Why don’t you ask your mother if you can come over to my house after dinner, and we’ll talk about it.”
Later that evening Maria went to Sister Robinson’s house. When she returned home, she had a talk all ready for Sunday.
After the opening exercises in Primary on Sunday, Jason stood up and told about his ancestors who had left Norway in 1860 and sailed to America. They had been persecuted in their homeland because they were Mormons.
Nancy read excerpts from her great-grandmother’s diary. It told how she had traveled west in a covered wagon and settled in the Salt Lake Valley.
When Maria walked up in front of the class, her knees were wobbly because she had never given a talk in church before. She was grateful for her notes, because suddenly she had forgotten everything she was supposed to say. Finally, after a quick look at her notebook, Maria began: “Five years ago my mother and I were living in Germany, where I was born. I was in kindergarten then, and my mother was in medical school, studying to become a doctor. My father had just died. The following year my mother graduated, and she had the opportunity to do her internship in Baltimore, Maryland. That’s how we came to the United States.
“On the plane coming over, we sat next to two young men who said they were Mormon missionaries. They had spent two years in Germany preaching the gospel. My mother and I had never met a Mormon before, and we thought they were very brave to leave their homes for such a long time.
“After we had been living in Baltimore for about six months, my mother found out that a doctor she was working with was a Latter-day Saint. She told him about the two missionaries she had met and how impressed she had been by them. The doctor invited us to his home later on, and we began to attend church with him and his family. After a few months my mother was baptized. When I turned eight, I was baptized too.”
Maria paused and looked out over the room. “When Sister Robinson asked me to talk about pioneers in my family, I told her we didn’t have any. I thought pioneers were only people who lived a long time ago, like Nancy’s great-grandmother. Then Sister Robinson asked me to look up the word pioneer in the dictionary. I did, and it said that a pioneer is a person who goes before others and prepares the way for them. So, because my mother and I are the first Latter-day Saints in our family, we are pioneers!
“It’s a great responsibility to be a pioneer, because it’s up to us to set the example for our descendants. But I know that if I stay faithful to the Church, maybe a hundred years from now another girl will stand up in Primary and tell about how her great-grandmother Maria came from Germany with her mother and joined the Church.”
When Primary was over, several people came over and told Maria how much they enjoyed her talk. One sister said that she, too, was a convert but that until Maria’s talk she had never thought of herself as being a pioneer.
When Maria left church, she knew that this was one Pioneer Day that she would always remember.

Within the city of Sete Lagoas, Brazil, is a shelter for women with disabilities whose lives have been affected by drug abuse. Each day they struggled to survive. They had a small oven they used to produce about 30 loaves of bread a day. Though the women had received some aid from a local humanitarian association, they scarcely had enough to feed themselves. When Church leaders from the Sete Lagoas Brazil Stake learned of the needs of these women, they wanted to help.
They spoke with the women about their needs. The women said that if they could produce more bread, they could not only better feed themselves but perhaps could sell a few loaves and earn some desperately needed income.
Church leaders and members worked with the local military police and a local school to improve conditions for these women. With the help of a Church humanitarian grant and volunteers from the Church and the community, they were able to create a new bakery—one that allowed the women to produce 300 loaves of bread daily.
With the proceeds they have received, the women at the bakery have been able to hire their first employee—one of the women at the shelter.

An inspiring funeral was held for eighteen-year-old John Anderson. John was a remarkable young man who courageously battled muscular dystrophy and lost. He was confined to a wheelchair during his Aaronic Priesthood years.

Conspicuous at the funeral were devoted members of his priests quorum. John’s influence upon his quorum was profound, and yet he never played a football game, nor went camping with them, nor danced, nor did any of the usual teenage activities. It was his faith and commitment to the Church that touched his quorum members. And something else—John provided his quorum with an opportunity to serve with love.

When John was a deacon, he wanted to pass the sacrament. One boy was assigned to push his wheelchair while John held the tray on his lap. It seemed awkward at first, but soon others were anxious to help him perform his priesthood duty.

By the time John was ordained a priest, he was very weak and could not kneel to bless the sacrament. His quorum found a solution. They placed his wheelchair next to the sacrament table. One would break the bread, then kneel for him, by the wheelchair, and hold a microphone while John pronounced those sacred words. To do this for their brother soon became an honor for each one in the quorum.

They enthusiastically followed his leadership as first assistant in the priests quorum. Because John was unable to realize his dream of becoming an Eagle Scout, the priests raised money to buy a special achievement plaque which was given to him in sacrament meeting. It read: “Presented to John Anderson for outstanding service to your quorum and for being a great example to us all.”

Over the years, the young men in John’s quorum enjoyed many fun activities, but none had greater impact or taught them more about magnifying their priesthood callings and loving each other than this choice experience they shared with their friend John.

As President Cowley’s traveling companion in the mission field, I received instructions from him to keep my briefcase packed with a couple of changes of clothing. He said, “When I say ‘We’re going,’ you grab your bag, start the car, and don’t ask any questions.”

When that would happen, I would grab my bag and go to the car. Being a young, eager missionary, I often wondered where we were going; but I didn’t ask.

Once, after we had driven a few kilometers, he asked, “Would you like to know where we’re going?”

I said, “Yes.”

Then he said, “So would I! I’m not sure just where we’re going, but we’ll keep going; and when the Lord tells us to turn, we’ll turn, and we’ll end up where He wants us to be.”

When I was seven, I thought I had the true meaning of Christmas all figured out. Christmas was more than just receiving gifts. You had to be willing to give a gift if you expected to receive one in return.
Each year our gifts to friends and neighbors were Mom’s holiday cookies and candies. Her walnut divinity was famous. My sisters and I would pitch in to help deliver plates of treats around the neighborhood. The neighbors would reciprocate by delivering their own favorite treats to our house—completing the exchange program.
That year the last of the neighbors came by with their gift on Christmas Eve. However, instead of a plate of cookies, they gave us a small, beautifully wrapped present. They instructed us not to open it until we had opened all the other gifts under the tree the next day. I used my best detective skills to try to determine what was inside. But the only clue I could find was a gift tag that merely added to my curiosity: “To the Luebke Family—the Greatest Gift of All.” That was quite a promise for such a small box—especially when all we had given them was homemade cookies and candy.
Christmas morning finally came, and we opened all our presents. Then, as we sat in the carnage of torn wrapping paper and opened boxes, Mom brought out the mysterious gift and read the tag. My sister and I fought over who would open it. I don’t recall who won, but I clearly remember my disappointment when I saw what was inside the box—nothing except a card. I had been skeptical that this gift would really be “the Greatest Gift of All,” but I had certainly expected more than a handwritten card. Mom, on the other hand, was visibly touched by the card.
The next year when the Christmas decorations went up, the little present was back under the tree, like an unwanted fruitcake. I lifted the lid, hoping that I had missed something the year before. But it proved again to be an empty box with a simple card in it.
As the years went by, that little gift became a family tradition. Every year it was the first present under the tree and the last one opened on Christmas morning. In my teenage years my attitude began to soften toward the little gift.
The first Christmas after my mission, I headed home for the holidays after a semester at college. As I walked through the door, the memory of many Christmases at home came flooding back. As I looked in the living room, I saw it, that unusual little present, alone under the tree. It showed the wear of having many heavy packages piled on top of it over the years. I picked it up with a reverence I had never shown it before. The tag was still attached: “To the Luebke Family—the Greatest Gift of All.” As I lifted the lid and read the card inside, I now had a testimony that it truly did represent the greatest gift our family could ever be given. It read, “From Jesus Christ—The Gift of Eternal Life.”
I am grateful for the family who gave us this family tradition that has blessed our Christmases by reminding us of the greatest gift of all.

Most college tennis players expect to lose matches to some pretty mean backhands at a large university, but they don’t expect to find a junior high student gripping one of the racquets. For the past five years members of the Brigham Young University women’s tennis team have had to contend during daily practice sessions with Kristine Clark, a Provo, Utah, veteran of overhead smashes, service aces, and hard-hitting baseline groundstrokes. She started at age six, and now, 12 years later, her mother attests that she has enough old racquets to build a house.
Kris has hit balls in cities from Florida to California while competing in tournaments and attending specialized tennis sessions. She goes through a pair of leather sport shoes in three weeks, runs 1 1/2 to 3 miles a day, and devotedly subscribes to four tennis magazines. “Tennis was always my first choice for an activity. If I missed out on doing other things, it was because I had chosen tennis first.”
While many players will swing out of position to avoid a backhand shot, Kris feels this is her most competent and confident stroke. She credits this to good basic instructions in the game at an early age from BYU coach Wayne Pearce, Salt Lake pro Sima Nikolic, a former member of the Yugoslav Davis Cup Team, and all-American Zdravko Mincek.
Kris liked the sport from the start. She won her first tournament at eight and has been playing in singles, doubles, and mixed doubles competition ever since. During the winter months of her Primary years, Kris played at 5:00 A.M. on a makeshift court—a tennis net strung across a BYU basketball practice floor. Getting up early became a habit, and Kris attended early morning seminary in order to schedule her other classes and leave school at noon for more tennis practice.
Having spent the past five summers traveling, she’s gathered recognitions and friends across the nation and finds the social advantages of tennis as appealing as the game’s challenge. Playing in tournaments has also given Kris good opportunities to talk about the gospel. “Most people know something about the Church but are generally reluctant to bring it up. Many know friends and neighbors who are members, often converts. They know that we don’t swear and that we believe in the Word of Wisdom.”
She’s also noticed that people watch more than her game when they find out she’s LDS. “I’ve realized that I’m observed by other tennis players and tournament officials when they find out I’m a member of the Church, and a bad show of temper doesn’t impress new friends. A lot of kids get away from their homes and want to party. Many of them lack direction in their lives and are very unsettled. The gospel gives my life such purpose that I find I’m respected for my beliefs.”
Match victories are as much a ribbon for her parents as for Kris’s exacting backhand. Her mother has been a faithful chaperon, sideline supporter, and confidant; and Kris calls her dad “my sponsor.” Her scrapbook is a two-volume collage of pictures, newspaper clippings, tournament programs, airline tickets, and autographs of tennis stars.
Kris feels working with the BYU women’s team, an opportunity given her by Ann Valentine, BYU women’s coach, has been the greatest boost to her game. Playing on the school’s indoor courts has allowed her to practice year-round, while the school’s televised replay of games has let her see her weaknesses. “People can tell you repeatedly you’re doing something wrong, but there’s a chance you may not grasp the concept. Once you see your mistakes, you can improve. The errors become really obvious on television.”
As the first girl to play on a varsity sports squad at Provo High, Kris found the tennis team a fun experience and good practice. But it was often hard on her opponents who were ribbed by friends for competing and losing to a girl. She graduated a semester early so she could devote more time to her game before entering BYU this fall.
For people taking up the sport Kris says, “I would hesitate learning from a book. Private lessons are the best, but make sure the teacher is good. Group lessons can also be a good start, but many don’t teach the basics. Some teach too much at once; others confuse the order of importance.”
Garage-door tennis has its strong and weak points. “It helps concentration, form, and consistency. It can also strengthen your wrist and help you train your eye on the ball, but as a regular practice routine it may get monotonous. After a while you learn to anticipate backboard returns. You also don’t have to run as much and this will slow you down in a real court situation. There’s nothing as good as playing with a tough opponent.”
Almost as important as good instruction in the basics is equipment. Beginners often overlook some essentials, says Kris. Foot blisters and cramped muscles won’t improve your game. Keep the following in mind:
When selecting a new racquet, test your racquet grips. They are generally 4 3/8 or 4 1/2 for women and 4 1/2 or 4 5/8 for men, depending on hand size. Not all 4 1/2 grips have the same feel. There may be some variation in the actual measurement.
Leave your racquet out of a press unless you don’t plan to use it for long periods of time. Use of a press also depends on the area you live in. Humid climates require the use of a press more frequently.
Playing with gut strings is more expensive but gives you a better hold on the ball. If they get wet, however, they are ruined. Nylon is slicker, with less control, but is not affected as much by water.
Squeeze balls to see if they’re dead. The more you are able to squeeze a ball, the less bounce it has. (Dead balls make good service practice balls.)
Wear extra pairs of socks if your feet blister, plus a good shock-absorbing innersole.
In considering the comparative qualities of wood versus metal racquets, personal preference prevails. Kris feels that placing precision shots is easier with wood racquets. Aluminum racquets, because they are more flexible, provide more power and speed.
With beginners there are some common problems. Males often attempt overpowering shots that inevitably end up outside the baseline or in the net. Some girls tend to be slow and indecisive in their footwork. Both men and women will watch the ball attentively until it’s about three feet away and then take their eyes off it. Keeping your eye on the ball at all times will mean more accurate shots.
“Tennis is becoming an increasingly popular game because people are realizing the importance of individual sports. You can play the game for a lifetime, and you don’t need to have a team,” says Kris. “It’s great exercise, both mentally and physically, and a fun way to socialize and meet new people. The clothes are becoming more attractive, especially for women. And it’s no longer strictly associated with country club types—more and more young people are taking up the sport.”
When Kris attended a Pancho Gonzales tennis school and played with the tennis great, he commented, “There’s another woman who’s coming up to beat the men.” But Kris says her real match will be with children. She wants to teach the game to children. Their energy, enthusiasm, and stick-to-itiveness are what tennis takes—and what Kris has had for years.
1. Don’t walk across the back of a court when others are playing. It’s very annoying to them.
2. Don’t applaud the mistakes of others at a tournament. Applaud only fine plays or shots.
3. Take turns bringing the balls so that your partner isn’t the one to always end up with dead balls.
4. If you don’t know whether the ball is in or out when you are receiving, give your opponent the point.
5. Call the shots on your side of the net and let your opponent call the ones on his side.
6. If you disagree with his call, ask for a re-serve.
7. Retrieve balls hit into your court from another. When you hit one into another player’s court, wait for him to return it. If he doesn’t, do not go onto his court to pick it up until a stop in his game.
8. When playing doubles, don’t hog the court; play your side.
9. If a ball comes between doubles players and there is a doubt as to who will hit it, call your shot. It should preferably go to a player’s forehand.
10. Volunteer to play doubles when others are waiting for a court, or cut down your singles playing time.

My birthday party is next week! I hope you can come.
My mom said I could only invite five friends. Sorry.
Hi, Becky! How was—
Sweetie, what’s wrong?
Kristie’s having a party, but I’m not invited.
I feel so left out.
That’s really hard. I’m sorry your feelings are hurt.
It’s not fair!
Maybe there’s a reason we don’t know about.
Dear Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Kristie for not inviting me.
The next day …
Hi, Kristie.
Hi, Becky. Sorry I couldn’t invite you to my party.
It’s OK. Do you want to jump rope with me?
A few months later …
Time to plan your birthday party! Who are you going to invite?
Kate and Jenny and Latisha. And …
Kristie didn’t invite me to her party. But she’s still my friend.
Do you want to come to my party, Kristie?
Yes! Thank you for inviting me!

In France, it isn’t unusual to see sleek sports cars whizzing around the streets. But it is unusual to see a large family van driving down the road—with a father, a mother, and seven children squeezed into it.
Many families in France have only one or two children. People are often surprised to learn that Michel and Pascale Küsseling have seven.
The Küsselings live in Gournay, a beautiful town of about 6,000 people on the outskirts of Paris. They are members of the Torcy Ward, Paris France East Stake. There’s a row of child-sized bicycles in their driveway. In the backyard are trees to climb and a slide to play on.
There are four boys and three girls in the family. Julien, age 14, is a teacher and likes to swim. Jérome, age 13, is a deacon and likes to swim and play the piano. Next come twin girls, age 10—Claire, who plays the flute and likes ballet, and Laurence, who also plays the flute but prefers swimming to dancing. Marie, a 9-year-old girl, is next; she likes to dance and play the piano. The youngest two are boys—Christophe, age 6, who is learning to swim, and Nicolas, age 4, who likes to play ball.
“I always wanted to have a large family, even before I was a member of the Church,” says Sister Küsseling. “I love children.”
“The most difficult time,” laughs Brother Küsseling, “was when Marie was born and the twins were only a year old. We suddenly had three girls nearly the same age. They became a little jealous of each other, because I had three girls to hold and only two knees to hold them on!”
Large families can have lots of challenges—but also lots of blessings. On the challenging side, sometimes the children need to have patience when Mom and Dad are busy with the others. And sometimes brothers and sisters tease one another.
On the positive side, there’s always somebody to play with—or to work alongside. “I’ve always had lots of brothers and sisters,” says Laurence. “For me, it seems normal. It’s nice to have older children and younger children in the family. That way, we all learn from each other and help each other.”
And there are plenty of family members to share assignments for family home evening. “We try to give each child a responsibility every Monday evening,” says Sister Küsseling. “Someone leads the music; somebody tries to find something for the lesson; somebody makes a treat for refreshments. They all try to participate.” Family home evening is also a time to share things the children have learned or made in Primary.
They love to go to Primary. “I learn about Jesus, about His life and what He did,” says Laurence. “And we learn about Joseph Smith. He translated the Book of Mormon and organized the Church when it was restored. I believe he was a prophet.”
The children enjoy reading stories from L’Étoile, the Church magazine in French. They also read the scriptures together and have family prayer. And they love to sing. Laurence’s favorite song is “Love One Another” (Hymns, number 308). Claire’s favorite is “Silent Night” (Hymns, number 204). “I love Christmas,” she says, “because we remember the birth of Jesus and can all be together. That’s important to me.”
Brother Küsseling has been a member of the Church all his life; as a young man he served a mission in New Caledonia, an island in the South Pacific. He currently serves as a counselor in the mission presidency in Paris. Sister Küsseling, a Primary teacher, was baptized 16 years ago and is the only member of the Church in her family. Brother and Sister Küsseling were married in the Swiss Temple. Claire says it’s a wonderful feeling to know that their family can be together forever.
Claire is also thankful for many other blessings that come with being a member of the Church. When she was three years old, she became extremely sick and began having seizures. “We were very frightened,” says Sister Küsseling. “Her dad gave her a blessing, and then we took her to the hospital. The next day, Claire was well. She hasn’t had any seizures since.”
Claire can’t remember that incident, but she knows she was healed through the power of the priesthood. She does remember another time when the priesthood was especially important in her life. She clearly recalls when her father baptized her. “It made me happier than before,” she says. “I knew Jesus would forgive all my sins.
“I have seen my father bless and baptize the children of our family. And when he was bishop, he also blessed other people in the ward who were sick or needed a blessing,” says Claire. “He gives us blessings when we start a new year at school. When he does, I know I will have a good year.”
Her twin sister, Laurence, says: “I believe Heavenly Father hears me when I pray. He has answered my prayers. When our father lost his job four months ago, we all prayed for him to get a new job. And he got a new job in two weeks!” Brother Küsseling now works as a financial adviser for a British company in Versailles.
Both Claire and Laurence like to study math, and both are good students. Although they are the only Latter-day Saints in their school, they have learned to choose friends with similar standards and values, and they have talked with some of them about the Church. “Since my parents and relatives are not members of the Church,” says Sister Küsseling, “the children often bear their testimonies to their uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents.”
And they try to show by their actions that they are followers of Jesus Christ. For example, they often help their neighbor, an 87-year-old man who lives alone. They help carry his groceries into his house because they are worried he might fall. And they help feed his dog. In return, he lets the children eat cherries off the branches of his tree that reach over the fence into the Küsselings’ backyard.
“I’ve learned in church to be more polite,” says Laurence. “The gospel teaches me to be kinder to people around me, including my family.”
Most of all, Claire and Laurence each want to be the kind of mother their own mother is. They are glad to be part of a family that people notice. Some may notice the Küsselings because of the size of their family or the size of their car. But more important, people notice them for their love for one another and for their efforts to live the gospel.