Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes when decisions are to be made, they aren’t necessarily those involving a temptation to do evil but are decisions that will affect our lives. Now and again word comes back to me about my being offered a chance to play baseball for the major leagues when I was a young man. I was offered an opportunity to try out for the big leagues. But I turned it down. Recently I was asked if there was any hesitation in my decision. There wasn’t. I didn’t take it to my folks or even consider it at all. I knew ahead of time what playing for the major leagues involved, and it wasn’t the life I wanted. Shortly after this, I was called to serve a mission.

Thirty-three years ago, as a young boy, I received the ordinance of baptism. The baptizer was my father, Samuel E. Otuonye, who had just found the new faith and embraced it with the greatest joy. Though we had no full-time missionaries posted in our area then, as the Church was relatively new, I saw my father proselyting from home-to-home sharing the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. As a farmer, he would gather us, his children, for a service to those he was sharing the gospel with. The Church was very far from us, and my father would use his motorcycle to carry the investigators three to four times every Sunday to church and bring them back in the same manner.
During our family home evening or family council, he would always emphasize that all his sons would serve a full-time mission eventually. It was very easy for me and my other siblings to make the decision to serve a mission when it was time. We are all happy today for the good example of my father as we were growing.
In April of 2000, I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission. It became the greatest opportunity for me to show my love, share my beliefs and invite others to join me to come unto Christ. Four of my siblings have also served in various missions.
I then realized that there are many yet on earth who are kept away from the truth because they know not where to find it. (See Doctrine and Covenants 123:12). Because of this, I join my voice to encourage the stake presidents, the bishops, and the parents and guardians to prepare all our young men to serve a full-time mission and the young women, if they so desire. This period of 24 and 18 months, respectively, provides a time of great devotion to them. They deny themselves of worldliness and only focus on the Lord’s errand.
My wife, Kate, and I are both in the medical field. After our marriage, we looked at our circumstances and began to think of how to share our blessings with others. We both worked in the state hospital as a medical doctor and a laboratory scientist. We realized that it would not give us the full opportunity that we needed to share our love with others. After much consideration, we established our own hospital, Ensign Hospital, which has become a great avenue to show our love to others.
As a leader in the Church and a medical practitioner I often encounter those who are in pain, those who are depressed, some who suffer with substance abuse, some who are near the point of suicide, accident victims, etc. It offers a great opportunity for me as I help to restore life. During my one-on-one visits with patients, after giving medical attention, I restore hope to them by sharing my belief and how my family and I have been blessed. Several times, I have pulled out my family picture and shared the joy we feel together. Many develop an interest and listen to the missionaries and are brought to the waters of baptism.
Sharing the gospel alone may not be very productive. Rather, it is our lives and those of our family members, the joy that radiates within us, the unity and how we live our lives that becomes the nonverbal message that we share to those around us. This has the greatest impact in their lives.
Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Whenever we show Christlike love toward our neighbor, we preach the gospel even if we do not voice a single word.
“Love for others is the eloquent expression of the second great commandment to love our neighbor; it shows the refining process of the Holy Spirit working within our own souls. By demonstrating Christ’s love to others, we may cause those who see our good works to ‘glorify [our] Father which is in heaven.’
“We do this expecting nothing in return.
“Our hope, of course, is that they will accept our love and our message, though how they react is not within our control. …
“Through Christlike love to others, we preach the glorious, life-transforming properties of Christ’s gospel and we participate significantly in the fulfilling of His great commission.”
Brothers and sisters, there is no hard and fast rule on how and where the gospel of Jesus Christ should be shared. Sharing can be done directly or indirectly as you bear your testimony of the divine help of the Lord, during your discussions with friends.
Because I have lived almost all my years within my environment, my life has become a testimony to those who know me as I have been growing. Many are now coming to me to express their feelings after I invite them to join the Church. One of their questions in responding to my invitation is often “Will your Church take me to America if I join?”
I will then answer with my usual joke, “We better write in front of our Church gate ‘express visa to America after baptism’”.
I then tell them no, but what they will get is the everlasting gospel that brings peace and restores hope. I explain that they will learn about the plan of happiness and that their family will experience a great unity of love.
I bear witness and testimony that my family and I have been blessed tremendously beyond measure, we have a living prophet, God lives, Jesus is the Christ, and this is His Church.

I love the parables used by Jesus Christ to teach gospel principles. I would like to share a real-life parable of sorts with you this morning.
One day I walked into the cafeteria at Church headquarters to have some lunch. After getting a tray of food, I entered the dining area and noticed a table at which all three members of the First Presidency were seated, along with one empty chair. My insecurities caused me to make a quick detour away from that table, and then I heard the voice of our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, saying, “Allen, there’s an empty chair right here. Come and sit down with us.” And so I did.
Near the end of the lunch, I was surprised to hear a loud crunching noise, and when I looked up, I saw that President Nelson had stood his plastic water bottle straight up and then flattened it and replaced the lid.
President Dallin H. Oaks then asked the question I wanted to ask, “President Nelson, why did you flatten your plastic water bottle?”
He replied, “It makes it easier for those who are handling recyclable materials because it doesn’t take up as much space in the recycling container.”
While pondering that response, I heard the same crunching sound again. I looked to my right, and President Oaks had flattened his plastic water bottle just like President Nelson. I then heard some noise to my left, and President Henry B. Eyring was flattening his plastic water bottle, although he had adopted a different strategy by doing it while the bottle was horizontal, which took more effort than with the bottle straight up. Noticing this, President Nelson kindly showed him the bottle-straight-up technique to more easily flatten the bottle.
At that point, I leaned over to President Oaks and quietly asked, “Is flattening your plastic water bottle a new recycling requirement of the cafeteria?”
President Oaks responded, with a smile on his face, “Well, Allen, you need to follow the prophet.”
I’m confident that President Nelson was not declaring some new recycling-based doctrine in the cafeteria that day. But we can learn from the prompt response of President Oaks and President Eyring to President Nelson’s example and President Nelson’s attentiveness to help teach those involved a better way.

Remember names. One youth leader said: “I attended a youth fireside with a guest speaker from outside our stake. I was impressed to see the speaker mingle and visit with the youth before and after the talk. He asked the young people their names and called them by name. He made each individual feel included and important. I decided that if a visiting speaker could make an effort to learn names, I could certainly try harder.”
This youth leader set a goal to learn the name of every young person in his ward and at least a few others he saw regularly at stake functions. “I tried some memory techniques but didn’t find them as helpful as simply writing down names inside the folder I always take to church,” he said. “Then if I forgot a name during the week, a quick glance at my folder would refresh my memory.”

Beyond my family story, I want to share my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. A pivotal moment in my spiritual journey came when I received the Book of Mormon in French from a friend while working as a hotel security supervisor. Reading its pages filled me with hope and a sense of belonging I had never known. Its introduction, which humbly acknowledges human imperfections, inspired a profound exploration of its truths. Life’s trials have tested my faith and resilience. Loneliness, loss, and the struggle to find a place to call home have been persistent challenges. Yet these very hardships have refined me, teaching me to lean on the Lord and trust His timing. Quiet moments of reflection have brought clarity and strength, allowing me to feel the guiding influence of the Holy Ghost. Each trial reminds me that God’s hand is always at work, shaping me for a greater purpose.
Following those promptings, I eventually found my way to Tema, Ghana. It was here that I began committed lessons with the missionaries. I owe a heartfelt thank you to them, especially Elder Young, whose dedication and spirit inspired me to grow closer to the Savior.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, December 22, 2024, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the moment I joined, I have felt the love and care among the members. The Church has brought light and joy into my life, and I am forever grateful for the blessings it has provided.

It was years after I was a deacon when I learned what that means practically. For instance, as a high priest, I was assigned to visit a care center sacrament meeting. I was asked to pass the sacrament. Instead of thinking about the process or precision in the way I passed the sacrament, I instead looked in the faces of each elderly person. I saw many of them weeping. One lady grabbed my sleeve, looked up, and said aloud, “Oh, thank you, thank you.”
The Lord had blessed my service given in His name. That day I had prayed for such a miracle to come instead of praying for how well I might do my part. I prayed that the people would feel the Lord’s love through my loving service. I have learned this is the key to serving and blessing others in His name.

The month of December found me in the mission field, living my childhood dream. I had been serving in Siberia for six months, and though I wasn’t fluent in the language and had not baptized thousands, my time in Russia had been the happiest of my life.
Christmas had always been my favorite time of the year because of the chance to be with family, visit Temple Square, decorate the tree, and enjoy all of the other traditions that had developed over time. But this year all those memories I treasured were in the past, and my family was literally on the other side of the world. I tried to be positive, realizing I had the opportunity to make this the best Christmas ever. I thought and prayed about how I could make the most of this holiday season. I wanted to draw closer to Christ and serve those around me. But day after day, as I pondered how to make Christmas special, the inspiration I sought wouldn’t come.
I was frustrated with my failure to make the holiday unique. I finally decided to continue serving the Lord as I had since the beginning of my mission, knowing that simply serving Him with all my heart, might, mind, and strength would be the best way to observe Christmas.
On Christmas Eve we went with the branch president to give an older woman a blessing. I remember feeling that I was ministering in behalf of the Savior for one of Heavenly Father’s children in need. After coming home we read the account of the Savior’s birth in the Bible and reverently sang “Silent Night.”
Unlike my childhood years, I had no problem falling asleep. In the morning we arose, turned on Christmas music, and took turns opening the packages we had received from family at home and from our friends in Russia. After a while, torn wrapping paper covered the floor, and we only had a few presents left. I decided to open the nicely wrapped gift that Ella had given me two days earlier. She had been an investigator for the last few months and was slowly progressing toward baptism. Her circumstances led us to hope she would be baptized in February or March.
Ella was an English teacher with a wonderful family, and every week we looked forward to our discussions with her. We had become good friends, and I wanted her to have the blessings of the gospel in her life.
As I opened the package, I found a book of sonnets of a famous writer that I’d told her I wanted to buy. Opening the book I found a small note that read, “I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.” In the postscript, she had written, “I want you to baptize me in January.”
I screamed for joy loud enough to wake the neighbors. But following the initial excitement I started crying. The joy I felt is impossible to describe. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. This Christmas was a special one. I had been a part in helping someone else come unto Christ.
Two weeks later, Ella was baptized, and now she is working on bringing the rest of her family into the Church.
Christmas that year was unique, and the joy I felt was unmistakable.

David Baugh, the deacons quorum adviser, shared a story about a raw egg wrapped in several layers of egg cartons and tape. The teacher invited the class to bounce the bundle off the wall or drop it on the floor. Then he took the package back, pulled it apart, and showed the students the sheltered, unbroken egg inside. He taught the students that the gospel was designed to protect each of them in the same way—by helping them build layers of testimony as they kept the commandments.

They never told us any of this in the Missionary Training Center,” was all I could think of as I followed my companion down a dismal Düsseldorf side street, shuffling my frozen feet through the dirty snow as I went.
Less than a week before, I had left the Missionary Training Center after two intense but glorious months filled with grammar and vocabulary, discussions and scriptures, and a growing recognition of the workings of the Spirit. Still ringing in my ears were countless stories from teachers and General Authorities of the immeasurable joy that awaited me in the mission field and of the way lives would change because of the message I carried.
As I tracted that day I felt betrayed. The only changed life I could see was my own: changed from the comfort of Arizona sunshine to the misery of a German winter and from the freedom of my pre-mission existence to a life-style of exhausting physical work and infinite restrictions.
I wondered where all the joy could be as we climbed endless staircases to talk to people who didn’t want to talk to us. I wondered too, how the truth could possibly make a difference in the lives of those who shut their doors before hearing a complete sentence. Most of all I wondered where the promised Spirit was: the Spirit that softened the hearts of men like Alma and Saul, that guided missionaries like Ammon and Aaron to proclaim the right words to the right people, and that gave messengers like Abinadi and Samuel the Lamanite the strength of conviction and love for the people to carry on despite all persecution and rejection.
I felt no love for the people, no joy in the work, and no Spirit to comfort or inspire me. All I felt was an unfamiliar bitterness, and an aloneness I never knew existed.
As I trudged along, fighting back tears, I turned my thoughts to home, hoping to ease my desperation for even a second. In that frustrated, confused moment, a single picture unfolded in my mind. I saw my parents kneeling at their bedside, heads bowed and brows furrowed in prayer. Their words were for me. “Dear Father, bless our daughter. Keep her from discouragement and lead her in thy paths.”
As that picture faded, a hundred others tumbled one after the other into its place—pictures of six brothers and a sister; of relatives, friends, and ward members all bowed in prayer for me. I glanced at my watch and realized that it was early morning at home and that those earnest prayers were being said right then. And I knew, with undeniable clarity, that they were being answered right then as a feeling of love and warmth dissolved every negative emotion from my soul. I sensed a powerful, glowing triangle, linking home and heaven and me.
I knew then, with a witness that comes only from the Spirit I had sought, that I was a part of a work not my own, but that of a wise and loving Father who sent his Son to show me the way. “I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing” (John 15:5).
Snow still falls and doors still shut, but weekly letters bring a renewed assurance as I read “You are in our prayers,” for I know that each of those prayers ascends to the Source of all love and distills daily upon every servant in His vineyard.

The assignments given us may be difficult. Years ago I was on a mission in England. One day three or four of the London papers carried reviews of a reprint of an old book, snide and ugly in tone, indicating that the book was a history of the Mormons. [The mission president] said to me, “I want you to go down to the publisher and protest this.” I looked at him and was about to say, “Surely not me.” But I meekly said, “Yes, sir.”

I was frightened. I went to my room and felt something as I think Moses must have felt when the Lord asked him to go and see Pharaoh. I offered a prayer. My stomach was churning as I walked. I found the office of the president and presented my card to the receptionist. She took it and went into the inner office and soon returned to say that the president was too busy to see me. I replied that I had come five thousand miles and that I would wait. Finally he invited me in. He was smoking a long cigar with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t bother me.”

I do not recall what I said after that. Another power seemed to be speaking through me. At first he was defensive. Then he began to soften. He concluded by promising to do something. Within an hour word went out to every book dealer in England to return the books to the publisher. At great expense he printed and tipped in the front of each volume a statement to the effect that the book was not to be considered as history, but only as fiction, and that no offense was intended against the respected Mormon people.

I came to know that when we try in faith to walk in obedience to the requests of the priesthood, the Lord opens the way, even when there appears to be no way. May we place our trust in our Father in Heaven, to go forth with willing hearts, that we may be worthy of His blessings.

Here's a little modern story that illustrates how forming and sticking to a plan helps to organize circumstances.

Years ago, my wife's little sister Cindy came to stay with us for a summer. She was a beautiful girl and later became "Days of `47" Queen in Utah. She was instantly popular among a number of local boys who invited her on many activities: to beach parties, on hiking and fishing dates, swimming, ventures on Waikiki. Since she was staying with us, I felt some responsibility for her and worried a little bit because I knew some of the boys she went with had a reputation as "fast movers." I queried Cindy one night after a date and asked what she thought of the boys she was going out with.

"Oh they're wonderful," she said. "They are so fun and humorous. They really know how to show a girl a good time. They'll be my island brothers forever."

I asked Cindy if any had made romantic moves on her.

"Oh no," she said. "They are all perfect gentlemen."

"Oh really?" I said. "And how did you keep these lover boys from pawing after you?"

"Oh that was easy. The moment I got in the car with each one of them at the beginning of the first date, I looked him squarely in the eye and said, 'There will be no kissing.' Of course they were so startled with this out-of-the-blue declaration, they didn't know exactly how to respond. But I smiled and kept my eyes on them, and pretty soon they laughed and said, 'That's cool.' And we had such a glorious time because that little passionate possibility was nipped in the bud in the very beginning."

When you talk now to Cindy, who has a husband and six children and one grandchild, she will tell you that she was never treated better, with more respect, or had more fun than she had in Hawaii.

A musical play written by Pat Davis and Dean Murdock, presented by the service and activities committee, illustrated the problems faced by both youths and advisers when it comes to planning activities.
Bill Harrington, a priests group leader, planned to spend Saturday with his girl friend Leslie Ann until he remembered his assignment to plan an activity for Tuesday night. (“There goes today. My Saturday down the tube. Tomorrow’s Sunday and church, and Monday is school and family night, and zap, it’s Tuesday. Today’s the only day left.”)
But a friend offers an easy way out.
“The solution’s a snap. There’s no need to go bananas. Just turn the whole thing over to the service and activities committee people.”
Bill and his friends decide to assign their three advisers fried chicken, potato salad, and 14 gallons of lemon-lime slush. They consider their planning for Tuesday complete.
When alone Bill admits that “lately I just go around in circles.” He sings of living on a merry-go-round, and wishes “before my life’s through, please can’t I be blessed with nothing to do?”
Meanwhile the advisers have gone to the bishop. They don’t recall any prior plans for a “cook out/ sing out next Tuesday night to be held on the lawn of the State Capitol.” The priests adviser remembers another activity involving a “bowling party at 3:00 A.M., and then the Explorer Bake-off contest, with the smallest cookies being three feet in diameter.”
The advisers feel that young people don’t know how to have fun anymore, and they suggest a return to the “good old days” of 1942 and argyle socks, Ellery Queen, jitter-bugging, the Andrew Sisters, and dances that had “dignity.” One recalls his first roadshow: “I was an onion in the garden of love … or was it an artichoke?”
But the bishop points out that there is room for both the experience of the advisers and the enthusiasm and desires of the youths. He tells the adults: “You people are resource people. It’s through you that these young folks can obtain specialists to assist with their projects. lt’s up to you to subtly and gently lead our youth to the realization that service comes before activity. Your job is twofold—to help carry out plans, but also to help make plans. When working with youth, you people can be partners, equals, and friends, rather than worrying about the importance of your role.”
With the advisers put at ease the bishop turns his attention to Bill, who confesses that “this time I really blew it. I just remembered your saying that the service and activities committee people were there to help us, and I guess I didn’t bother to read the exact points of contact you gave me to follow. I forgot I was supposed to go through my adviser.”
The bishop tells Bill of the examples of other youths who have had to face up to situations that seemed overwhelming—David against Goliath, Joseph and his brothers, Joseph Smith and his New York neighbors. “Bill, we’re not asking you to exceed the best of these brethren. We’re asking you to equal the best of yourself. And if you try, I promise that you will see some of those whose abilities and talents you admire running behind you trying to catch up. But remember, there are no shortcuts.”
Bill meets with the members of the service and activities committee and his adviser. Together they work out a feasible plan for Tuesday’s activity. He presents the idea of a box-lunch supper exchange involving the entire ward to his friends, who agree with his suggestion that they provide the entertainment.
After congratulating Bill on the outcome of the evening, the bishop reminds him that “no one ever achieved true greatness without a few setbacks. The really great ones kept on trying and never gave up.”
“That’s true,” adds a member of the service and activities committee, “men like Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Sebastian Webber.”
“Sebastian Webber?” asked one youth. “I never heard of him.”
“Exactly, he gave up.”

I was 14 when my grandmother passed away. During this time, sadness wasn’t a stranger to me. I wanted to know where she was and if I would ever see her again. I needed to know how to overcome the pain I was feeling. For two years, these questions weighed heavy on my mind.
One day, my dad invited missionaries to our house, and they taught me about the restored gospel. They taught me how to find the healing power of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Their teachings of the plan of salvation entered my heart with force and answered my questions. These answers brought the peace I was looking for.

Many years ago, I took the Scouts on a campout in the desert. The boys slept by a large fire they had made, and like every good Scout leader, I slept in the back of my truck. In the morning when I sat up and looked at the campsite, I saw one Scout, whom I will call Paul, who looked particularly rough around the edges. I asked how he had slept, and he replied, “Not very well.”
When I asked why, he said, “I was cold; the fire went out.”
I answered, “Well, fires do that. Wasn’t your sleeping bag warm enough?”
No answer.
Then one of the other Scouts loudly volunteered, “He didn’t use his sleeping bag.”
I asked in disbelief, “Why not, Paul?”
Silence—then finally the sheepish reply: “Well, I thought if I didn’t unroll my sleeping bag, I wouldn’t have to roll it up again.”
True story: he froze for hours because he was trying to save five minutes of work.

By the time I returned home from my mission, I believed I knew everything there was to know about the Book of Mormon. I never admitted that out loud, of course—but looking back, this attitude influenced how I approached the scriptures after my mission.
And not in a good way.
When I studied the scriptures, I often found myself returning to familiar passages over and over again—mostly to recall and reaffirm the things I’d learned before. I definitely tried to keep pondering the scriptures to learn something new, but I never felt like I was making any discoveries. The enthusiasm I once had for the Book of Mormon started to dwindle.
Soon after returning home, I also started a new job, and my scripture study time shrank from the full hour I had studied on my mission to 30 minutes. Then I received a calling, and those 30 minutes became 15. Then over the summer I served as an FSY counselor. And I used most of my study time to review a handful of verses that I repeatedly shared with youth week after week.
I knew that Heavenly Father loved any time I set aside to study His word. But, frankly, I didn’t feel like I was following Nephi’s invitation to “feast upon the words of Christ” (2 Nephi 32:3). I convinced myself that there couldn’t be anything new to learn. Instead of feasting on the Book of Mormon, I was barely nibbling.
This attitude of complacency continued into my first semester at Brigham Young University, during which I attended a Book of Mormon class. On the first day, my professor stood up at the head of our classroom. Fixing us with a friendly but piercing gaze, he said, “My goal in this class is to convince you that you don’t know the Book of Mormon—at all.”
I was intrigued by this, but it seemed more like the sort of sharp one-liner professors say to get your attention rather than an actual promise.
Thankfully, I turned out to be totally wrong.
As part of the class, my professor assigned us to read the Book of Mormon. Not just open it and scan the words or gloss over a chapter to recall the same story we may have consumed a million times.
He wanted us to actually read.
For example, he taught us about how the original manuscript of the Book of Mormon didn’t include punctuation at all—and he had us add in punctuation to a long, confusing passage from Alma 13 to teach us about the difference that commas and periods can make. He had us read a single verse alongside an 1828 Webster’s dictionary, looking up keywords that held radically different meanings than I’d first assumed.
The class challenged a lot of my basic assumptions about what the Book of Mormon even was. I’d never realized, for example, that Nephi wrote 1 Nephi years after he and his family had journeyed to the promised land (see 1 Nephi 9:1–5; 2 Nephi 5:28–31).
I also discovered how many of the deep flaws of the Nephite culture have startling parallels to the challenges our own cultures face today.
I came to understand the careful, deliberate messages that Mormon, Moroni, and others had implanted specifically for us—and how deeply anxious they were that we didn’t get caught up in the radical skepticism and doubt of the world.
My whole perception and testimony of this book started to change as I pondered these truths.
Through truly feasting on its words, I discovered that the Book of Mormon reveals who Jesus Christ is—not just doctrinally, but personally and intimately. The book bears His signature on every page. It’s an enduring record that testifies how He hasn’t forgotten His covenant people and He never will.
I don’t have all the answers to life. But I’ve come to understand that I didn’t learn everything there was to know about the Book of Mormon from my mission—there is always more to learn and to add to our faith.

It was a routine she knew well. She would get up a little before 6:00 A.M. to catch the 6:30 bus, which would take her to school. School would last nine hours. But when the bell rang, dismissing classes, it would seem like her day was just beginning. She would leave class and head to the library for three more hours studying the day’s lessons. At 8:00 P.M., she would hop on the bus and ride 40 minutes to her home, where she would shower, eat, catch up on the world’s latest happenings from the newspaper, read from the scriptures, and then go to sleep. The next day Liu Kwan Ling, who also uses the English name Angel, would do it all over again.
Free time wasn’t one of the luxuries in Angel’s life then, and it certainly isn’t now.
Even Angel admits it was a grueling schedule. She will also admit it was worth it. Last year Angel graduated from the Taipei First Girls’ High School and is now in her first year at National Taiwan University, rated the top college in this island country near mainland China.
Having survived the rigors of high school, Angel is probably busier now that she has graduated. Her college schedule, compared to her daily high school routine, really isn’t that much different. In fact, it’s about identical. It’s just that the college courses she is taking are a little more demanding. Yet Angel knows how she has been able to juggle all the things in her busy schedule.
“I can increase my spirituality by reading the scriptures and praying,” she says. “I think without doing that and by not going to my Sunday meetings I would become easily discouraged and depressed about school and life. But if I go to sacrament meeting and listen to the talks, it seems that my life is always more positive and happy. I think the most important thing in my life is my spirituality.”
It was a tough two years on Angel as she both prepared for college and tried to remain active in the Peitou Ward of the Taipei East Stake, where she is her ward’s sacrament meeting pianist.
The bulk of her time was spent studying English, math, Chinese, physics, chemistry, biology, physical education, music, and housekeeping (cooking and sewing).
Scripture study was a welcome break for Angel, even if her friends didn’t understand why she would take time away from her school classes to bother with religion. “A lot of them think it’s strange that I spend time with my church. Most of my classmates don’t have any religious beliefs,” says Angel, who was the only Church member in the Taipei First Girls’ School student body of 4,000-plus. “Some students will discuss religion with me, but most of the time they just think being LDS is strange because it takes me away from my schoolwork.”
One of those classmates is a friend Angel invited to church one Sunday. Angel says her friend had a generally positive experience at church. She even told Angel afterward that she felt religion was good and that she might think about becoming religious herself—after she graduates from the university. “She just didn’t think she had the time for church,” Angel adds.
Even Angel’s father, Liu Chuen Hsin, isn’t completely convinced the time his daughter spends learning the gospel is all that productive. He often questions if Angel’s time wouldn’t be better spent studying or going to the library. When Angel’s mother, Catherine, joined the Church in 1984, Angel was only seven. Although Liu Chuen Hsin didn’t object to his wife’s baptism, he had no interest in joining the Church with her. However, he did allow Angel to be baptized when she turned eight.
“My father is interesting,” Angel adds. “Sometimes he will say, ‘Since you have an exam coming up, maybe you shouldn’t go to church.’ But there are other times when he’ll tell me to hurry up because he doesn’t want me to be late for church.
“My parents have high expectations of me. My father thinks I can have a great impact on our family by continuing my education and doing well,” Angel adds. Angel is quick to point out she can also have a great impact on her family by staying active in the Church.
“In Taiwan, parents who are members of the Church set examples for their children,” says Kent Liang, a former regional representative and stake president. “They go to church and perform their callings, and the children are able to see this. But some kids whose parents aren’t members are often tempted to rest and not go to church on Sundays. And the school competition is so high that school is sometimes all they see. They think, Should I go to church or go to the library? Sometimes they don’t worry that much about church things because they don’t see that far into the future. Right now, many of the kids in Taiwan are worried only about school.”
And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”
Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

Recently I visited with Relief Society leaders who have many single women in their stake. The Relief Society president began our conversation by saying, “Sister Jack, our single women are a real problem for us.” What I noticed immediately was the labeling of all single women as a problem. But this good president did not realize what she had said. She continued, “I feel our singles bring so many of their problems on themselves.”
I asked, “Have you talked with any of your sisters who are single about their problems?”
She said, “Well, no. Not formally. But the ward presidents bring me reports, and I never feel very warm or good when I speak to them. I don’t think they want to speak with me.”
“When have you spoken to these single sisters? Are any of them your friends?” I queried.
“Not really. I do speak to singles at stake conference or at stake leadership meeting. But, as I said, that’s always so unsatisfying,” she responded.
I asked further, “Have you invited any of the singles in leadership positions to discuss their points of view in your meetings so all the sisters might get better acquainted with them?”
“I have never thought of doing anything like that,” she responded.
My friends, do you get the point? This very conscientious president does not know these sisters as individuals. It’s no wonder she calls these sisters “them.” Not one of them is her friend. Not one has been asked to participate in a meeting.

When I was 15 years old, I realized the significance of a testimony of the Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and how it affects our choices.

My brother, Joe, was 20 years old. It was during the Korean conflict, and only one young man in each ward could go on a mission. The others had to be available to be drafted into the military. A young man in our ward had gone on a mission early in the year; my brother’s birthday was in September, so he didn’t think he would get the opportunity to serve a mission.

Our stake president called my brother in and told him that one of the wards had not used its allotment and he might be able to go. Missionaries were called at 20 years of age in those days, and my brother had just filled out his application to medical school. He was a good student. My father, who was not active in the Church, had made financial preparations to help him with medical school and was disappointed when he learned of the conversation with the stake president. My father counseled Joe not to go and suggested that he could do more good by going to medical school.

This was a big issue in our family. That night my brother and I talked about the choice. He was five years older, so it was mainly his thinking. As we reasoned it out, we concluded: If Jesus Christ was a great man but not divine, if Joseph Smith was a wonderful teacher but not a prophet, or if the Book of Mormon had wonderful counsel but was not the word of God, then Dad was right—it would be better to go to medical school. But if Jesus Christ is divine, if Joseph Smith is a prophet, and if the Book of Mormon is the word of God, then it would be more important to accept the call and proclaim the gospel.

That night, more than ever before, I wanted to know the answers to these questions. I had always believed in the divinity of Jesus Christ. I believed in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, but I wanted confirmation from the Lord. That night, as I prayed, the Spirit bore witness to my soul of the Savior and the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. My brother received the same witness and made the choice to serve a mission. Incidentally, when my brother returned from his mission, he went to medical school. When I reached my 20th birthday, my father was happy to see me serve a mission.

One day President Monson received a phone call from a woman he did not know. She explained that her father, Bernardo Salas, was dying of cancer and that his great desire was to meet President Monson before he died. She left an address and asked if the prophet would consider visiting her father.

According to President Monson, as he left the office that night, he felt impressed to visit Brother Salas in his home. In rather heavy traffic and with dimming lights, President Monson several times missed the street where Brother Salas lived. After offering a silent prayer, he felt impressed to turn around and attempt to find the home driving from the opposite direction. As he approached the street, he noticed a street sign lying on the ground and a tiny residence some distance from the main road. Driving into the lane, he was greeted by a small girl who ushered him into the house. President Monson speaks tenderly of the blessing he shared with Brother Salas and of his opportunity to minister to the Salas family.

In President Monson’s own words he shares how he felt upon leaving the Salas home:

As I drove homeward, I reflected on the special spirit we had felt. I experienced, as well, as I have many times before, a sense of gratitude that my Heavenly Father had answered another person’s prayer through me.

Erica walked into her parents’ room and looked at the picture on the wall. It was a picture of Jesus Christ. She had seen it many times before, but this time she noticed something.
“Hey, Dad? Where did this picture come from? And why is the frame broken?”
Dad looked up from making the bed. “That picture was Oma’s.”
Oma was her grandma who lived in Holland. Erica liked to hear Dad tell stories about her life.
Dad sat on the bed next to Erica. “When Oma grew up and left home to be a nurse, her mother gave her this painting,” he said. “She hung it up in her room. One day it fell off the wall, and the corner broke. She wasn’t able to fix it, and it’s been broken ever since. Then when I grew up and moved away from home, Oma gave it to me.”
Erica asked, “Why haven’t you fixed it?”
“I could fix it,” Dad said. “But it’s a good reminder. It helps me remember that even though we might sometimes feel hurt or broken, Jesus Christ can help us. And it reminds me that He knows and loves our family.”
Erica felt warm inside as she looked up at the picture again. It felt good to know that the Lord cared for her family.