Gospel Story Finder

“The Japan Fukuoka Mission! I knew the call came from God, but how was I ever going to learn the language?” That question ran through the heart of Gary E. Stevenson, who was in his first year of college when he received his mission call.
“I felt anxious about learning Japanese,” he recalls. “And my concern continued to mount in the missionary training center. I knew I would have to rely on the Lord, and I hoped I could be equal to the challenge.”
After about six weeks, fervent prayer and diligent study led the young elder to a sense of peace that the Lord would bless him to learn Japanese—but not without hard work. “This taught me that the gift of tongues is like faith and works and other gospel principles,” he says. “After you have done all you can do, then you are endowed with the blessing.”
With time and effort, his language ability increased. He served faithfully, learned to communicate well, and developed a love for the culture and the people. Today he sees many reasons why he was called to serve in Asia and to learn Japanese.

A number of years ago, as a counselor in a bishopric, I was assigned to home teach some of the less active members of our ward. One of my families was a lone man who lived in a rented room. He was very hard to find at home. And try as I might to be Christian about it all, I was often glad when he was out and I missed him. He was an alcoholic.
One evening I found him home and very sober. He was sick with a liver disease which threatened his very life. His illness had scared him away from his passion for drink for a short while. As he sobered up, the painful memories of his life crowded him, and he sought relief. Usually his relief came through drink. This time I was there.
He opened up to me and told of his happy first marriage. His successes early in his life, his lovely wife, his children—his face beamed as he talked about this marvelous time of his life. And then his face clouded as he spoke of how the pressure to get ahead at work became hard for him to deal with, and he began to drink. And he drank, and he drank, and one by one his successes turned to failures. He lost his job, his wife, and his family.
Then again his face cleared and he told of a short interlude in his dissolute life during which he married again. He also destroyed that marriage through his drinking. The tears came. He sobbed that he was dying alone, dejected, unproductive, unhappy—the personification of one brand of human failure.
I did not visit him again before he died. It was only a short time after our conversation that his death came. I was saddened by it. Then came the shock. His first wife called and asked if I would speak at his funeral. I was to be the only speaker! What could I say? Oh, what could I say that would comfort his former wives and family?
I worried about that funeral sermon about as much as I have worried about today’s blessing.
A song, a prayer, my sermon, a song, a prayer, the trip to the cemetery, the brief ceremony there, and the dedication of the grave: It was all a blur to me. But at the end of it all one of his children came and thanked me. The words were something like, “As I listened to your sermon, a flood of memories came back—most of them bad. Yet some of them were sweet. My dad failed. He was weak. But he loved me. He was kind to me. Even when he was drunk, he wasn’t mean to me. It was so sad. I hope that from him I can learn to avoid his mistakes while emulating his good characteristics.”

I am reminded of a story about Elder Bruce R. McConkie’s father, Oscar McConkie Sr. As he was close to death, Brother McConkie called his family together to express his love and to give some departing counsel. He told them, “I am going to die. When I die, I shall not cease to love you. I shall not cease to pray for you. I shall not cease to labor in your behalf” (quoted in Robert L. Millet, When a Child Wanders [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1996], 133).
It makes perfect sense to me that just as we continue to think about and love those who are separated from us by death, they continue to think about and love us.

My senior year in high school was filled with student body responsibilities, classes, activities, and planning for next year at BYU. I felt my senior year was a time for me to evaluate and take stock, to plan for big changes in my life. And all my friends were getting contact lenses.
“It’s a whole new world!” Cheryl confided as we huddled in our band uniforms at the opening football game. “I can see things I never saw before!” I had to admit she looked much prettier, too. Her small Japanese features no longer hid behind the thick glasses she had worn for years.
I pushed my own glasses back up on my nose and considered the possibilities. If Cheryl and Carolyn and Ron and Celia could make the change, why couldn’t I? It couldn’t be all that big a deal.
Or could it? I pondered some more as my regular checkup with the ophthalmologist approached.
“Of course!” he reassured me. He could fit me with contacts. I would have them within two weeks, for a mere $200, including eye exam and fittings during the breaking-in period.
That, of course, was another problem. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for my family in 1970. I didn’t want to waste it. What if I couldn’t get used to the contacts?
I thought some more as I bicycled home. Daddy’s business hadn’t been going well. On the other hand, I had a good part-time job. Maybe I could offer to pay part of the bill. Maybe I would have to pay for the whole thing. Would it be worth it? I decided it would.
“Absolutely not,” said Daddy. “No daughter of mine is going to wear contact lenses.” I argued that everyone was getting them. I argued that I would pay part of the cost. I argued that I would pay all of it. I argued that I had $200, and more, sitting in the bank at that very minute. I argued that the doctor thought he could correct my vision more accurately with contacts. I argued that my glasses pinched behind my ears. I argued that contacts would give me better grades in school. Daddy was adamant, totally unreasonable. He finally put his foot down and refused to listen any more. “I don’t want you to go through all that,” he said flatly. “No. Don’t ask again.”
I stormed to my room in tears. The fight had bolstered my resolve. Anger had replaced any squeamish fears I had entertained. I would show him! I was 17 years old. I had my own life to live! Nobody was going to have control over me, not while I had $200 of my own money in the bank. I fantasized that I would be beautiful, independent. I would even lose weight, maybe streak my hair. Boys would take me out. I would show that mean, old-fashioned man a thing or two!
The next day I made an appointment for another eye examination.
I felt very shy and embarrassed the day I returned home wearing my new contacts. My eyes seemed different and foreign. The feeling was not unlike the strange tingle I had in my fingertips on the rare occasions when I used nail polish. I felt naked without my glasses, but I was astounded at the clarity of my vision. And in my heart a lurking fear was beginning to grow.
Lois had had her ears pierced against her father’s wishes. I remembered Paulette with the cork and needle at the slumber party, the alcohol-soaked strings, the infection. Lois had been grounded for a month. I pushed these thoughts aside and stiffened as I opened the front door. After all was said and done, the price had been paid and Lois had her pierced ears. I was a contact lens wearer now!
My father was more surprised and curious than shocked and angry. “Please let me see them,” he said. I held out the tiny green disk on the tip of a finger. He stared at it almost reverently. “Is this all there is to it? It’s so tiny. Are you sure you can see with it?”
I felt smug, superior, vindicated.
His next question surprised me. “Didn’t it hurt your eyes when they poured the latex in?” What on earth was he talking about? Nothing of that sort had gone on at all.
“I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning. I followed him upstairs to his room. From the back of his sock drawer, he pulled out a hinged leather case and opened it. On the white velvet lining were two glass balls. No, not balls. I picked one up. Doll teacups, of clear glass, an inch in diameter and an eighth inch thick.
“These are my contact lenses,” Daddy said sadly.
I was horrified. “How could anyone wear those? Why they must cover the whole eyeball!”
“That’s right,” he replied. “I wore them three times.”
My mother peered over my shoulder. “One of the times was on his second date with me,” she said. “His poor eyes watered so much and he was so miserable I made him take them off.”
“They made them by propping my eyelids open with a metal brace and pouring liquid latex over my eyes,” he explained. “The molds were then used for the glass lenses, which fit tightly over the entire eye. It took all my courage to put them in. I didn’t want that to happen to my little girl,” he finished lamely.
Remorse filled my heart. Daddy had only been trying to protect me from the pain he had suffered himself, while I had thought he was being mean and unreasonable. I shuddered as I remembered my misery when the orthodontist had made latex molds of my teeth. Then I thought of the young man, 20 years earlier, who had endured incredible agony for the hope of being freed from the burden of thick, heavy glasses.
Daddy hadn’t realized that times had changed. His actions toward me had been motivated by memories of his earlier experiences. I understood better now the reasons for other restrictions he imposed upon his children. He had once been a young man. Events during those years had shaped his relationship with his family; and the family rules, fair or unfair, were influenced by those experiences.
I knew the remaining months I would spend in Daddy’s household were limited. I would soon begin a new life that would lead me away from home. Very shortly, my parents would not be responsible for my welfare, and I was sorry my new understanding of them had come so late. I wished I had been more considerate and teachable.
Three years later, my mother called my Provo apartment with the news. “Your father got his new contact lenses today. Aunt Jeuney and I picked him up at the train station and asked him how he was doing. He really was excited! ‘When I got back to the office, I didn’t have to pick up a single thing on my desk to see what it was,’ he said.”
Tears filled my eyes as I thought of the man who had groped for so many years and had now found a fuller measure of vision. I prayed that in future relationships I would realize that people, especially parents, act according to their past experiences. It is impossible to understand all the reasons why people do the things they do. I hope I can remember that lesson all my life.

During my growing-up years in the small farming community of Spring City, Utah, an opportunity afforded itself each summer to be with my father alone for two weeks herding sheep in the mountain range of the Manti-La Sal. On one occasion the fog rested heavily in the area to the extent that you could not see your outstretched hand in front of you, and the evening was drawing nigh.
My father suggested that I return to camp, and he would soon follow. I remember questioning how I would be able to find the camp amidst the fog. My father simply said to me, “Give the horse the reins, and he will get you to camp.” Following this counsel, I loosened my grip on the reins, and with encouragement to the horse, the journey began. At times I would be struck in the face by a low-hanging limb I couldn’t see or have my leg brush close to a tree. Eventually, the horse came to a complete stop, and the silhouette of the camp was in view.
Sometimes we may not always be able to immediately find the desired way before us, but the wisdom of those who have gone before, coupled with the wisdom of those who are with us still, will be our guide if we let them have the reins.

My experience trying a new recipe was surprisingly similar to my recent experience with setting goals.
Normally I love making goals. But this time I felt discouraged as I realized I was, once again, setting the same goal I’d been setting for years. I’d been wanting to change a habit but hadn’t made any progress. I felt like a failure.
Similar to how I felt about that bûche de Noël recipe, I felt like I wasn’t turning into who I wanted to be.
Jesus Christ, through His Atonement, is there to help me with my weaknesses, right? I found myself wondering why I was still the same, even though I was striving to turn to Him.
My thoughts continued to spiral in discouragement. And then I had a disheartening thought: “If I’m still the same weak, imperfect human I was five years ago, am I even worth the sacrifice He made?”
The Lord told His servants that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10). In Matthew, Jesus said: “Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29–31).
God knows every creature. If He cares about the number of hairs on our head, He definitely cares about our efforts and desires to overcome our weaknesses.
Pondering this, I realized, “Yes, I am worth it. We are all worth it.”
Jesus went after the one lost sheep because He cares about each of us—individually (see Luke 15:4–7).
Recognizing the perfect love that He and Heavenly Father have for us reminded me that though it takes work to improve, I am worth the sacrifice the Savior made.

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she walked along through the puddles on the narrow lane. The tiny trinket shop was selling gilded paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a step in the entryway and pulled off her boots before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and hurried down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers, who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See last page of this story.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects singing in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her skillful fingers moved so quickly that Anne could not see how she made the tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said. Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew how to make many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she bowed her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining,” she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and spoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children ran out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles and spirals while they laughed and talked.
When the sparklers were gone they picked up their Tanabata branches. Holding them above their heads, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Masanari’s mother.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk with everyone on their way home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “Oyasuminasai” (Good night. Please rest).
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow the illustrations carefully; the dotted lines show where the folds should be made.

One year after Mohamed Turay had joined the Church in Caldwell, Liberia, the 1989 war broke out. As rebels moved closer to Caldwell, he saw people in his community leaving. He had a dream in which a bomb fell near his home. Finally, after seeing an article in the newspaper describing how people were being beheaded, Mohamed knew he and his family were in danger and he resolved to flee Caldwell. Mohamed believed the dream was a warning from God. “It was a blessing for my family,” said Mohamed. “A serious blessing.”
“Come,” he told Abie, his wife. “Today, we’ll not sleep here.” Mohamed took Abie and their children to the border where they would be safe. But he had to return to Caldwell to make final arrangements for their departure. Just hours before rebels took the city, Mohamed managed to escape and join his family.
The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.
In 1991 war broke out again—this time in Sierra Leone—resulting in over a decade of famine and violence. “Rebels were killing civilians and the road to Freetown was blocked,” said Mohamed. There was not enough food to feed their children and Mohamed and Abie knew they needed the Lord’s help, so they knelt together in prayer. No sooner had they finished their prayer than a Church leader came to their door with a package containing enough money to provide a bag of rice to each family in the district. Their prayer was answered.
When the fighting reached Bo, Mohamed was targeted as a religious leader in the community. He was forced to separate from his family and to hide from the rebels until it was possible to get back to them. Once the family was reunited, they knew they had to leave. But where? How? As they were formulating their plan, a young man approached the family and asked where they were going. “We want to escape from here,” Mohamed said. “Follow me,” the young man answered. After following the young man through the bush for some time, he suddenly disappeared. “By the time we could wink our eyes, we couldn’t see him,” said Mohamed. “That was the greatest miracle, which we will never forget.”
They continued on their journey but they knew their safety depended on being able to travel through the dangerous territory without a sound. They worried that their baby’s crying would put them at risk, but, as Mohamed later recalled, “the angels sealed his mouth; he never cried.” They continued travelling through three more villages—an arduous trek through dangerous terrain—until they arrived at safety.
After the immediate danger had passed, Mohamed and Abie returned to Bo and joined the other Saints in looking out for one another. “Nearly every day, we used to go around and check on our members,” he said. “unity was built among the Church members.” In addition, food, blankets, clothing, and hygiene kits were provided by the fast offerings of Saints around the world—a gift that helped the Turay family recognize the value of their own tithes and fast offerings.
Following the war, the Saints in Bo helped rebuild their community. Abie worked in health clinics and shared her training in neonatal resuscitation with other professionals. In 2004, civic and tribal leaders attended a groundbreaking ceremony for the first Church-built chapel in Sierra Leone. Two years later, Mohamed was released after serving 14 years as a district president. In reflecting on this service, he said, “I know that the Lord had wanted to use me as an instrument in His hands to do His work.”

It wasn’t necessarily easy when, in December 1945, President George Albert Smith chose Elder Benson to serve as president of the European Mission. This was not just any mission assignment. World War II had only been over for a few months, and the Saints in Europe had largely lost contact with the Church during the war. Many of them had been scattered from their homes, had lost everything, and were in desperate need of welfare supplies. President Benson’s assignment was to locate members of the Church throughout Europe, get welfare supplies to those in need, and generally reestablish order in the Church organization there.

This was a demanding, even dangerous assignment. He knew he would be in Europe for at least one year. He could not take his family with him. Food was in short supply and being rationed in many parts of Europe. Bridges, roads, and buildings throughout the continent had been destroyed, and transportation was difficult to obtain. Even housing was hard to come by. Almost everything about his assignment was unusual and challenging. Aware of the odds he would face when he got there, Elder Benson headed for Europe with the belief that if he worked his hardest, even when things got difficult, the Lord would assist him.

Throughout the ten months he spent in Europe, Elder Benson encountered one difficult situation after another. Again and again he was faced with tough assignments that seemed impossible to perform, and repeatedly he found ways to get the job done.

By the time Elder Benson returned home he had accomplished a great deal. In a little over ten months he’d traveled 61,236 miles by plane, train, ship, automobile, bus, jeep and droshky, a two-wheeled, horse-drawn conveyance. He had located thousands of Saints throughout Europe and distributed tons of welfare supplies to those in need. Mission presidents were functioning in most European missions, and missionaries were proselyting in many countries. And the Saints had a renewed spirit of hope.

But none of it had been easy.

Years ago, following a mission tour, my wife, Jeanene, told me about an elder she had met. Jeanene had asked him about his family. She was surprised as he responded that he had no family. He further explained that at his birth, his mother had given him to the government to raise. He spent his childhood going from one foster home to another. He was blessed as a teenager to find the gospel. A loving ward family had helped him to have the opportunity to serve a mission.

Later Jeanene asked the mission president’s wife about this fine elder. She learned that a few months earlier this elder had been in the mission home for a few days due to an illness. During that time he had joined them for a family home evening. Before he left to go back into the field, he asked the mission president if he could spend two or three days at the end of his mission in the mission home again. He wanted to observe how a Christ-centered family functions. He wanted to be able to pattern his family after theirs.

This past week you received an invitation from Sister Rasband and me that was posted on your discussion board. It gave you the links of two different videos that Elder Bednar and I made while we were in Rome. Sister Rasband and I asked if you would please watch the videos and then share them with your friends. We have now had the opportunity to read a few of your posts and have been very touched by your comments; thank you for responding to our invitation.
As you may recall, one of the videos is with Elder Bednar and I standing in front of the Mamertine Prison in Rome, where the Apostles Paul and Peter were imprisoned. We went into that prison, a dungeon, two levels underground. There is just a little rock stump where Paul was chained for two years; you can imagine how that made us feel. We had decided to record spontaneously, with no teleprompter, no script—to just stand out in front of this prison and testify to the world that the same keys that were on the earth at the time of Peter and Paul are on the earth again with the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
In reference to the other video where Elder Bednar and I gave a virtual tour of the Rome Temple, we hope you have had the opportunity to share this video with your member and non-member friends. Think of someone you can do a little missionary work with using one or both of these videos.
Perhaps you could send a little note such as, “I am sending you a video of two of the Apostles of our Church bearing testimony in Rome of the divinity of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.” Then you could add your testimony. Or you could say, “I know you have wondered about our temples. Well, let me show you a virtual tour of the recently dedicated Rome Italy Temple.” Then bear your testimony about temples. I hope you are willing to do this if you have not already done so.

She spent the next six years in Bath, living with the family of a missionary, Thomas Yates, and spending her small earnings on a fruitless search for her children. “After years of fasting and prayers, and many tears, the Lord opened the way for me to come to Zion,” with the Yates family and their son Thomas, just back from his 6 1/2 year mission.

We do not know what it cost her to leave England. She only says, “I prayed earnestly to God to help me in the long tedious journey that was before me, that I might not murmur on the way, or complain if a lion should be in my path, and he answered my prayers, for I saw nothing to murmur at. My heart was filled with gratitude all the way.”

Her son tells us what she, in the patience of her faith, omitted. She nearly died of seasickness, which lasted the entire voyage. She and Thomas were married on the morning of July 22, 1863, in Florence, Nebraska, and began the trek westward that afternoon. When Elizabeth discovered that there was not room for both her and her trunk in the wagon, she thought of her carefully packed china, the loveliest things she owned, and walked every step of the way, “my heart filled with gratitude.”

“Many shed tears of joy,” she says, “on first beholding the City of the Saints.” She does not say if she was among them, but she must have been.

Elder Choi:
I applied for several jobs in Korea before I finished my master’s program because I planned to go back home as soon as I finished my education in the United States. Although I was asked to be ready for interviews from some good companies in the computer field, I had no final offers before we left the United States. Many people said how silly I was, as the head of my family, going back to my home country without any money or job. Many people did not go back home after finishing their education. We were going back, anyway. The choice was not difficult for me because I felt, even before becoming a student that I needed to return to Korea once I completed my education. That feeling was confirmed during my new-student orientation at BYU-Hawaii, where I understood clearly that we would need to go back home to serve our home country and to strengthen the kingdom of the Lord, in accordance with the counsel of the prophet, Harold B. Lee, in his General Conference address on April 6, 1973, entitled “Strengthen the Stakes of Zion”.[3] Yes, I had great fear to go back home without money, home, or job. I doubted whether or not I was making the right decision when I thought about those worries. In addition, I found many opportunities and excuses to stay in the United States. Fortunately, my faith to do the will of the Lord was stronger than my fear and doubt. The Lord said, “Look unto me in every thought. Doubt not, fear not.” (D&C 6:36)[4]

Sister Choi:
As Elder Choi mentioned, we did not have money. We did not have our own home when we went back to Korea. We started living with his parents. We thought he would be hired in a short time, but all his job applications were rejected. He had more than twenty interviews, but all ended up for nothing. He could not find a job for two months.

Elder Choi:
I was patient and faithful until then, but it was hard to be patient anymore because I expected to find employment easily and quickly with my credentials. I was very disappointed, hung my head with shame, and started doubting myself. “What did I do wrong? Is this the result of listening to the words of the prophet? Should I have stayed in the United States to look for a job there? It would have been easier to find a job there. What shall I do to support my family? How can I take care of my wife and my two little children? My friends who told me to stay in the States will laugh at me. Does this mean I should go back to the States?” I couldn’t find the answer at all and thus I was not happy for a while. In spite of that difficult time, I did not miss a single day to pray, to study the scriptures, and to hold weekly family home evening. As I did these basic things, I found the energy to push myself to continue to be faithful.

One day I went to the Church Distribution Center to buy a book and met a senior missionary couple. We introduced ourselves to each other and they learned that I was looking for a job. They said they had a friend who was the general manager for Data General Korea and he was looking for a manager. Data General was an American computer company opening an office in Korea. After two months of rejection and waiting, I was so humbled that I told them I did not have any work experience except part-time jobs on the university campus. I meant I was not qualified for the position he was trying to fill. They said, “Let’s see if there’s any other position.” I received contact information and called the general manager in Korea that day. He wanted to see me the next day.

When I interviewed with him, he said he was looking for a person exactly like me who knew the cultures of both America and Korea. He was looking for someone who could be a bridge between headquarters in Boston and New York in the United States and the Seoul Korea office. I told him I did not have enough experience, but I would work hard and do my best. When he asked me how much I wanted to be paid, I submitted the least amount and told him I did not mind how much. He said, “Do not underestimate yourself. You studied hard and you are qualified enough for this position. I found a diamond in the rough.” He then offered me a salary that was double the amount I would have gotten from any of those companies that had rejected me during the previous two months. I also received more benefits with better working conditions to spend more time with my family and church responsibilities. I repented for not being patient during this process of learning how to be more humble. Soon, I was called as the Young Men’s president in my ward and became a young bishop one year later. My job at Data General was the perfect job for me to fulfill the needs of my family and my church assignments. This job was the blessing and the reward for my decision to listen to the will of Heavenly Father and return to my home country. He prepared the best job for me, but I didn’t know His plan for me.

In the April 2003 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson shared a story that occurred while he was still working as a heart surgeon. Please note that he was not a member of the Twelve Apostles at the time of this incident; he was simply a faithful member of the Church who had made and kept his covenants. The event happened in the pioneering days of heart surgery, and a man came with hope that Dr. Nelson could repair his heart and save his live.

President Nelson said, "Extensive evaluation revealed that he had two faulty valves. While one could be helped surgically, the other could not. Thus, an operation was not advised. He received this news with deep disappointment."

This faithful man then said, "Dr. Nelson, I have prayed for help and have been directed to you. The Lord will not reveal to me how to repair that second valve, but He can reveal it to you. Your mind is so prepared. If you will operate upon me, the Lord will make it known to you what to do. Please perform the operation that I need, and pray for the help that you need."

Dr. Nelson finally agreed to do the operation and said:

"In preparing for that fateful day, I prayed over and over again, but still did not know what to do for his leaking tricuspid valve. Even as the operation commenced, my assistant asked, 'What are you going to do for that?

"I said, 'I do not know.'"

President Nelson continued:

"We began the operation. After relieving the obstruction of the first valve, we exposed the second valve. We found it to be intact but so badly dilated that it could no longer function as it should. While examining this valve, a message was distinctly impressed upon my mind: Reduce the circumference of the ring. I announced that message to my assistant. 'The valve tissue will be sufficient if we can effectively reduce the ring toward its normal size.'

"But how? We could not apply a belt as one would use to tighten the waist of oversized trousers. We could not squeeze with a strap as one would cinch a saddle on a horse. Then a picture came vividly to my mind, showing how stitches could be placed--to make a pleat here and a tuck there--to accomplish the desired objective. I still remember that mental image--complete with dotted lines where sutures should be placed. The repair was completed as diagrammed in my mind. We tested the valve and found the leak to be reduced remarkably. My assistant said, 'It's a miracle.'

"I responded, 'It's an answer to prayer.'"[12]

Elders Pratt and Johnson taught the gospel to Erastus, barely a teenager, during their brief stay at the Snow home. He and his mother both believed, but father Levi was less enthusiastic. “I began to mend my ways,” Erastus noted, “and prayed to God to soften the hearts of my parents that I might have the privilege of obeying the Gospel.”

His prayers were answered. Through his mother’s intercession with his father. Erastus was allowed to visit his LDS brother, William, at nearby Charleston, Vermont. William baptized his teenage brother on February 2, 1833, through ice in cold Lake Derby. His baptism was ice-cold, but his eagerness to spread the gospel grew red-hot. “I then desired to preach the Gospel and began to search the scriptures that I might be able to instruct others.”

I know this might sound strange, but I have been saving money to pay for my mission since before I was born. When my mother learned she was going to have a baby, she took an empty milk can, put a hole in it, and labeled it, “Mission Fund.” Since that day, my family and I have been saving for my mission.
Saving for my mission has been a family effort. After I was born, my uncles and aunts who came to visit would drop Philippine pesos into the mission fund can. And when holidays like Christmas or New Year’s came around, family members gave me money to add to my mission fund.
Sometimes my grandparents give me money for doing well in school and competitions. These gifts go to my mission fund too. Once, when I received several medals, my aunt counted all the medals I earned and gave me money for each one. After I paid tithing, this money also went into my mission fund.
When I was baptized, my desire to serve a mission grew even more. My family set a goal to save enough money to pay for my mission in full. Because I now have siblings, money we save is added to their mission funds too.
I am now nine years old and almost halfway to the age I will be when I serve my mission. My desire to serve a mission has increased because I know there have been so many people who have contributed to my mission fund.
I will continue to save for my mission. I know that Heavenly Father will bless me so that I can serve Him as a missionary one day.

We found Athens hot and humid when our group arrived there. Without air conditioning, the bus trip left us tired and bedraggled. But it didn’t take long before the light-hearted quips and personal concern of the young people had the rest of us forgetting our discomfort. It was Carolyn who decided we needed some singing, and Virnell, Shelley, Bonnie, and Diane soon joined in.
As usual, Melvin was the first to help with the luggage when we reached our hotel, checking the number of pieces and helping the ladies with their heavier bags.
“How do you control them?” the lady had asked.
It was just past noon when we returned from a spectacular tour of the Acropolis and Mars’ hill where Paul preached to the Athenians. The young people had assisted their not-so-young associates along the rugged terrain among the ancient ruins, not only giving their physical strength, but sharing their excitement and wonder as well. When we returned to the hotel, we were stunned by the news that Greece was at war with Turkey. Cyprus had been invaded by Turkish troops. All of the Greek men between the ages of 18 and 45 were to be mobilized within the next few hours. Suddenly the streets were filled with people. Young men carried small tote bags; neighbors gathered for brief farewells; a woman stood in her doorway weeping as she saw the men leave. She told us her children were too young to go, but she had five brothers who would have to fight.
This was not just a disruption of the afternoon-scheduled tour to Corinth. This was not just the temporary inconvenience of having no other bus at our disposal. Greece was at war! Greece’s borders were sealed. Her harbors were closed. Her airports were shut off. No commercial transportation was allowed in or out of the country. With the shortage of help in the hotel, we were informed that we would receive no further clean linen, there would be no room service, and the waiters from the dining room were gone. Making our own beds would be no problem. Hanging our towels to dry was no inconvenience. But what kind of chaos would the dining room be in without anyone there to help?
Dinner time arrived, and we walked into the dining room. To our delight there seemed to be plenty of help. John seated me at our table, and Jerome filled our water glasses. Carolyn was serving the rolls to other hotel guests, while Virnell followed up with butter. Bonnie was laughing and joking with some of the tourists as she and Diane served them cool beverages. Shelly was clearing dirty dishes from the tables and refilling glasses with ice. Melvin did anything that might have been overlooked—clearing tables, bringing a salad where one was forgotten, or resetting tables for the next group. They had not been asked; they had volunteered. For the duration of our stay in Athens, their service made the dinner hour something to look forward to.
With the tension of the war mounting, rumors of a military coup circulated throughout the city. Tanks were brought in, and armed police platoons became numerous on the streets. The U.S. Embassy warned us to remain in our hotel until further notice. Thus confined, we were threatened with boredom. But again our young people came to the rescue; they would have nothing to do with boredom. At our sacrament meetings our priests, Melvin and Jerome, prepared the sacrament and were assisted by John in passing it. Virnell and Carolyn served as chorister and organist. By recalling our experiences of the previous week in the Holy Land, our sacrament hymns were even more meaningful to each of us. We followed the admonition that “the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me.” (D&C 25:12.)
In the days that followed, the strain of being in war-inflicted Greece, our evacuation from Athens, and many long delays between planes were all made lighter by the humorous good nature and thoughtful consideration of the young travelers in our group. The lives of all those who traveled with them were made richer by their influence. Our LDS youth serve as an ensign, proclaiming the spirit of the gospel to all the world.

“It’s my life! I’m not hurting anybody else.”
What most amazed everyone was that John* seemed so sincere when he said it. He really didn’t seem to realize that he was hurting people all around him. He obviously loved his family. He was, in fact, remarkably sensitive and thoughtful. He saved his money to buy his mother a figurine she admired. He cleaned the garage for his dad when he hurt his back. He was consistently kind to his brothers and sisters, especially Becky, who was two years younger.
John had walked Becky to school when she started kindergarten, let her wear his baseball caps, and listened to her talk about which boys were really cute. The day she registered for junior high school, he showed her how to open her locker.
John’s problems had started in the seventh grade when he had tried marijuana. He soon moved on to a variety of drugs. Despite prayers and counseling from both the bishop and professional therapists, he continued his drug use. He also began a life of flamboyant immorality. “Hey, I’m not hurting you. And I’m not hurting them. Every one of those girls knows what she’s doing. What we do doesn’t hurt anybody else. Besides, we’re careful.”
His whole family continued to love John and looked for ways to help him. Becky especially stuck by him, and he stuck by her. When Becky married Hal, John immediately put his arm around his new brother-in-law and said he’d always be available if they needed help. And he always was. He drove out into the rain to help pull a stalled car off the freeway. He helped clean the house when Becky was pregnant. He brought wonderful little surprises to his nephews as they came along. Sometimes he simply showed up with a bag of groceries and offered to fix dinner.
Then, suddenly, Becky needed a lot of help. When Becky became sick that summer, the doctors found that her constant cough stemmed, not from flu or pneumonia, but from cancer. Chemotherapy had very little effect; radiation helped but did not stop the tumor.
The cancer continued to spread so rapidly that the doctors said Becky’s only chance would be to have massive radiation. The problem was that radiation strong enough to kill all the malignant cells would also kill the healthy cells in her blood. They could be replaced by a bone marrow transplant, but the donor needed to be a person genetically similar to the patient, usually a brother or sister. When Becky explained the need, each of her brothers and sisters hurried to the hospital to give tissue samples.
A few days later, the entire family went with Becky to the hospital to learn the results. They sat together in the waiting room, watching anxiously as the doctor came toward them carrying a file folder and one of the little blue cards the lab technician had made for each of them.
When Hal asked if there was a match, the doctor said, “Possibly.” Then he asked which one of them was John. John stood, and the doctor asked if he would come with him for a moment. They disappeared into a small office. When they returned, John sat down dejectedly at the end of a long couch. The doctor explained that John was the only member of the family whose genetic pattern was a close match to Becky’s. He was, in fact, an excellent match, but he couldn’t be a donor, at least not for six months.
John’s blood test showed no infections, but his history of sexual activity and IV drug use put him at high risk for AIDS. If he were infected, he could pass that infection along to his sister. The doctor explained that there is no test for the AIDS virus itself. All that can be detected are the antibodies produced to fight the disease, and those take six months to develop. The hospital continued to look for a good match.
It turned out that Becky didn’t have much time, certainly not six months. Within a few weeks the cancer was so widespread that even massive radiation couldn’t stop it, and Becky was gasping for every breath she took. A friend, watching her labor to breathe, expressed his anger with John, but Becky simply said, “I knew when the doctor first told me about the tests that John’s lifestyle would make it impossible for him to help me. I forgave him then.”
Hal made arrangements for a burial plot and tried to explain to their children why Mommy couldn’t play with them anymore. Becky’s parents cared for their daughter and their grieving son.
And John? In some ways, his life changed. Yet his addictions and patterns of behavior are so strong that he has been unable to change them right away. But it’s been a long time since anyone has heard him say, “I’m not hurting anybody.”

When the girls’ mother was a teenager, her brother used to take her out on a boat in the river and read to her the names painted on all the other vessels. There was one racing yacht that she particularly liked. It was called the Treasure Lee. “That’s what I’m going to name my first daughter,” Susan told her brother.
The treasure she was to receive, in the form of two loving, giving daughters, was more than she could have hoped for.

My dear wife, Christy, is a daily example to me of Christlike love, of placing people above tasks. Through years of selfless service, the Spirit has refined her ability to look into the hearts of others. I remember going with my wife and my mother to a large warehouse shoe store. After a few minutes in the women's section I became bored and wandered off to the men's area. When I returned, a tearful middle-aged woman was giving Christy a hug near the check-out counter. I was fairly sure my wife did not know this person and asked my mother what was happening. Mom told me that my wife noticed this stranger sitting in an aisle with new shoes on her feet but a distant look on her face, so Christy asked if she could help. The woman replied that she was too distraught to make even a simple shoe purchase decision; her mother died the previous day, that very day was her own birthday, and the following day was to be her mother's funeral. Christy assisted this sorrowing woman in trying on several pairs of shoes, advised her which looked the best, and guided her to the cash register.

I was reminded of the Bible teaching, "Lord,… When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?… And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me" (Matthew 25:37-40).