Gospel Story Finder

The article “Be Not Ashamed: Facing the Issues” in the November New Era states: “If you have had similar experiences with important current issues in your schools, share them with us.” In response to this request I am writing to tell you of my experience.
As an undergraduate university student, I became more and more irritated at being taught evolution as if it were a fact, not a theory. So for my required essay in Zoology II, I decided to attack the accidental creation aspect of the theory of evolution. Thus began a search through many books in the library. I read each book until a specific term was mentioned. I then looked up the term in a chemistry book to find out the conditions under which the substance or process could be produced. Time and again, the chemical conditions necessary for the reactions to occur did not exist. I explained these problems in my paper and turned it in.
When I received my essay back, I was overjoyed to see a 7/10 mark on the front cover. I was afraid I might get a 0/10. The lecturer had typed two full pages in reply to my essay. He disagreed with my conclusions, but praised me for “being brave enough to contradict the topic after reading a number of pertinent references.”
Later I had a talk with him about both science and religion. He couldn’t understand why I had written the essay because I hadn’t mentioned religion. He said, “If you had religious grounds for your views, I could understand, but the whole text of your essay shows clearly that this is not the case.” Of course, I explained that I had been trying to answer science with science and took the opportunity to explain the gospel to him. We had several conversations and parted amicably, each respecting the other’s views.
About this same time I had several conversations with my physiology teacher. One day he began defending the spontaneous beginning of life, and he led me step by step through my own argument! As he made each point, I had a scientifically valid counterattack ready. When we reached the point at which I had the last word, he changed the subject. I then used this opportunity to tell him about the gospel.
I’m glad I wrote the essay. I’m prepared to admit that parts of it were scientifically flimsy. After all, I had studied very little genetics, and I’m sure it was easy to see the superficiality of my knowledge. The experience did the most good inside me, however, because I stood up for what I believed when it would have been easier to let everyone assume I believed what was being taught. It was also good for me to tell my lecturers about the gospel, and it was good for them to hear it.
This experience will go into my life history as a time when I was willing to speak out. Hopefully, the next time I speak out, I’ll be better armed.
Janice TurnerPenrith, New South Wales, Australia

The next part of Annapurna’s dream came true when at last she was baptized. There was no branch in Chandigarh, so the Muralas made the five-hour journey to New Delhi for the baptism. Ironically, now that Annapurna was free to go to church, the nearest branch was far away. “Before I was baptized, the church was very near my house, just on the corner at the end of the road, and I didn’t have the opportunity to go,” she says. “Now the church was five hours away, so we could go only once a month.” Then Annapurna became pregnant, and the five-hour trip was too taxing for her.
But then came another miracle, in the form of two Latter-day Saint families. “God takes care of you,” explains Santosh. A British couple, Brother and Sister Beer, came to Chandigarh, where Brother Beer worked in highway construction. Sister Beer taught institute classes to the Muralas, and the Beers held family home evening with the Muralas every week. A Korean family, the Moons, also moved to Chandigarh, where Brother Moon worked for a construction company. Every Sunday for two years, this little group of Latter-day Saints met at the Moons’ home for sacrament meeting. Shortly after Santosh finished his residency in Chandigarh, the Beers and the Moons moved away too.
In New Delhi, where Santosh is receiving specialized training in heart surgery, there are two branches of the Church. Now Annapurna’s knowledge about the Church is catching up with her knowledge of the gospel. She has learned how to sing hymns and conduct meetings.

Several years ago, we had a harsh winter in Utah, and the snow was deep in my neighborhood. Deer wandered into my yard all winter scavenging for food. They ate the bark off of trees and mangled bushes. Once spring came, my yard was a mess.

For weeks, I pulled out damaged perennials and planted shrubs and flowers. Finally, one evening, I finished. Early the next morning, I glanced out a window and noticed dirt on the sidewalk. I had swept everything the night before, so I stepped outside for a closer look and was dumbfounded with what I saw: dozens of plants were gone. Not half-eaten, but gone.

What do you do about stolen plants? Because it looked like vandalism, I called the police to see if any other yards in the area had been damaged. They sent a policeman who began walking around the neighborhood. Within minutes he was back, motioning for me to follow him. He led me to the backyard of my neighbors, who had just moved in, and there were my brand new plants lining their patio. “I assume these are yours,” he said. When I nodded yes, he knocked on the front door.

What a way to meet the neighbors, I thought, as horrified parents quickly put two and two together. Moments later, they came marching out with the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen. Oh no, I thought, I’ve called the police on a six-year-old.

The little girl and some friends had been drawn to my yard by the flowers, and she thought they’d look nice in her yard. When they tugged on the newly planted flowers, they had come up easily. In short order, the little girl and her gang of flower-snatchers had worked their mischief.

We quickly made amends, but as I planted a new batch of flowers, I couldn’t get an obvious lesson out of my mind: the flowers came up easily because they hadn’t had time to root. So, the question: How deep are your spiritual roots? Are you rooted in the Lord and His gospel, or are you enchanted with the world? If you aren’t rooted in the gospel, the adversary will attempt to uproot you with his equivalent of a six-year-old–meaning, it won’t take much.

Brother John A. Widtsoe traveled to England during the First World War, and the English immigration official who interviewed him said, “No, we are not going to let you land. We have been letting your missionaries in, but we do not want any of your leaders.” He said, “Go and sit down.” So Brother Widtsoe went and sat down.
In a few minutes the official called him back and said, “If I let you land in my country, what will you teach my people?” And Dr. Widtsoe said, “I will teach them where they came from, why they are here, and where they are going.” The officer looked up at him and asked, “Does your church teach that?” And Brother Widtsoe said, “It does.”
“Well, mine doesn’t,” he said, and he came down with his stamp on the passport, signed it, and said, “You may enter.”

I’m grateful for a teacher who invited me to be a better learner. When I began college, I mistakenly thought of school as something to endure in order to be allowed to play sports. One day, after reading a paper I had written, my professor told me she thought I was a gifted analytical thinker. I didn’t even know what that meant. She said that with more focused effort, I could be a good student. That thought had never crossed my mind. Her interest, encouragement, and invitations changed the course of my education and greatly blessed my life.

I have observed throughout my life that the great men of the world, especially the great Saints, are always thinking—about the Lord, about others, about how they can serve. Their minds are fertile fields for the seeds of inspiration, and their thoughts naturally spawn actions. This principle is illustrated in a simple story of love that I read recently: An elderly widow gathered some windfall apples, prepared and bottled applesauce, and then presented twelve quarts of applesauce to a young single mother who was depressed because of her struggles. The elderly widow said simply, “I’ve been thinking about you.” The effect on the young single sister was dramatic and miraculous. This act of kindness helped her conquer her depression (see Kathy England, “Quarts of Love,” Ensign, July 1991, p. 40).

When Spencer was young, his father saved money to buy a piano.
Father: Children, learning a musical skill is very valuable.
Spencer thought his fingers were too short and chubby for piano playing, and they were often chapped from playing marbles.
After a few piano lessons, Spencer wanted to quit.
Father: Spencer, if you’ll practice the piano today, I’ll let you do that instead of digging ditches with your brothers.
Spencer: Yes, sir!
When Spencer was 14, he joined a band and earned money playing at dances.
He also played for his friends at parties.
Friend 1: Let’s sing!
Friend 2: Who will play?
Friend 1: Oh, I can’t play without my sheet music.
Friend 3: I haven’t practiced.
Spencer: You can play a hundred times better than I can, but I’ll try.
His musical skill helped him years later as a missionary.
Elder Kimball: Is that a Kimball piano? That’s my name too.Would you like to hear a hymn played on a Kimball by a Kimball?
Man: All right. Come in.
As an Apostle, he often played for families he stayed with during his Church travels. He wrote, “They’ll forget my sermons, but they’ll never forget the singing.”

I grew up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, where there are a number of big canals. One hot summer day when I was nine years old, I was hurrying to finish mowing the lawn so I could go swimming in the canal with my friends. But before I was through, my mother came outside and told me that she didn’t want me to go swimming that day. Not long after Mother had talked to me, my friends came along and helped me finish my work. Then I disobeyed my mother and went to the canal with them anyway.
When we got to the canal, we floated on inner tubes and swam and had lots of fun. Even more fun was going over the check, a kind of dam in the canal. We would come floating along on our inner tubes and then drop over the check to be shot rapidly forward as the water fell with great force over it. After a short ride below the check, we would get out of the canal, walk upstream a mile or so, and float down again.
One time my friends went ahead, and as I walked by the check I thought, If it’s fun going over in an inner tube, it’ll be a lot more fun going over without the inner tube!
I left the inner tube on the bank and jumped in. But when I realized how swift the current was, I knew I had made a mistake. The force of the water propelled me over the check. And instead of coming up as we did on our inner tubes, I just kept going down deeper and deeper. I thrashed and churned and tried to get out, but I couldn’t. It seemed as though the devil had hold of my feet, pulling me down and laughing all the time. Soon my air began to run out.
I was desperate. I prayed with all my heart and promised our Father in heaven I would serve Him all of my life if He would just help me. I also told Him, before I passed out, that I was sorry for not obeying my mother.
When I opened my eyes, I thought I was in heaven. I could see some green branches and leaves and could hear birds singing. I watched the white clouds move against a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful. Thinking I had died, I closed my eyes again to thank my Father in heaven for bringing me to such a lovely place.
The next thing I remembered was water washing over my arms and chest. I opened my eyes and found that most of my body was in the slowly moving water of the canal, and my head was lodged on a large rock above the water on the bank. I was still alive! I closed my eyes and thanked my Heavenly Father for saving my life and promised Him I would always try to obey my mother.
Shortly after I climbed out, my friends came down the canal. They shouted at me and wanted to know where I had been. I only told them I didn’t feel like swimming anymore that day and that I was going home because my mother needed me.
I have always been sorry that I didn’t obey my mother that beautiful summer day in Idaho, but I am grateful that she taught me how to pray and to have faith in our Father in heaven. I know He hears our prayers.

At this point, Henry interrupted his steeple-chasing to fulfill a mission to Brazil. He grew spiritually in the mission field, and to his chagrin he grew physically as well.

“For about 12 months in the middle of my two-year mission I didn’t run a step. I put on 20 pounds, and I was pretty out of shape. But the last six months I started running and trying to incorporate running with missionary work. I went to an athletic club, and we taught the people as we ran with them.”

Nevertheless, the Henry Marsh who returned home in August of 1975 struck no terror in the hearts of the world’s other steeplechasers.

Picture with me a little six-year-old orphan girl traveling across the plains of America. Her name is Elsie Ann. Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried, and so for a time she had a stepmother. Then her father died at Winter Quarters when she was five. Her stepmother remarried and moved away, leaving this little orphan behind with Peter and Selina Robison, who were related to her stepmother. Elsie Ann left Winter Quarters with the Robisons in July of 1849 to come west. She no doubt ached for the love of her own mother. Sometimes she would even ask, “Where is my mother?” Elsie Ann was my great-grandmother.

Before reaching Nauvoo, Kane described the area of Iowa through which he traveled by boat and horsedrawn carriage as being a sanctuary for “horse thieves, and other outlaws.” He said he grew tired of seeing “everywhere sordid, vagabond and idle settlers; and a country marred, without being improved, by their careless hands.”
I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun; its bright new dwellings, set in cool green gardens, ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill, which was crowned by a noble marble edifice, whose tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles; and beyond it, in the back ground, there [were well-tended fields]. The unmistakable marks of industry, enterprise and educated wealth, everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty.
Kane obtained a small boat and rowed across the river to the city’s shore.
No one met me there. I looked, and saw no one. I could hear no one move; though the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz, and the water ripples breaking against the shallow of the beach. I walked through the solitary streets. The town lay as in a dream, under some deadening spell of loneliness, from which I almost feared to wake it. For plainly it had not slept long. There was no grass growing up in the paved ways. Rains had not entirely washed away the prints of dusty footsteps.
Kane walked through workshops where materials of wood, leather, and iron were stacked ready for use, and equipment and tools lay where they had been left by the craftsmen. He then walked into well-cared-for gardens; examined fruits, vegetables and flowers; and helped himself to a drink from a well.
No one called out to me from any opened window, or any dog sprang forward to bark an alarm. I could have supposed the people hidden in the houses, but the doors were unfastened; and when I timidly entered them, I found [cold] ashes white upon the hearths, and had to tread tiptoe, … to avoid rousing irreverent echoes from the naked floors.
Bedroom of the Jonathan Browning house. Browning, a convert to the Church, invented one of the earliest automatic rifles.
On the outskirts of the city was the graveyard. But there was no record of the Plague there, nor did it in anywise differ much from other Protestant American cemeteries. Some of the mounds were not long sodded; some of the stones were newly set, their dates recent, …
Kane said that beyond the houses fields upon fields of grain lay rotting on the ground with no one to harvest it. As he walked around the suburbs at the southern edge of the city, he made two important discoveries.
Houses looking out upon the country showed, by their splintered woodwork and walls battered to the foundation, that they had lately been the mark of a destructive cannonade. And in and around the splendid Temple, which had been the chief object of my admiration, armed men were barracked, surrounded by their stacks of musketry and pieces of heavy ordnance. These [men] challenged me to render an account of myself, and why I had the temerity to cross the water without written permission from a leader of their band.
Though these men were generally more or less under the influence of ardent spirits [alcohol]; after I had explained myself as a passing stranger, they seemed anxious to gain my good opinion. They told me the story of the Dead City: that it had been a notable manufacturing and commercial [center], with 20,000 population; that they had waged war with its inhabitants for several years, and had been finally successful only a few days before my visit, in an action fought in front of the ruined suburb; after which, they had driven them forth at the point of the sword. The defence, they said, had been obstinate, but gave way on the third day’s bombardment. They boasted greatly of their prowess, especially in this Battle, as they called it; but I discovered they [could not agree on the details]; one of which, as I remember, was that they had slain a father and his son, a boy of fifteen, not long residents of the fated city, whom they admitted to have borne a character without reproach.
Kane was then shown around the “massive sculptured walls of the curious Temple,” which the invaders had vandalized. He was shown various features of the building including the baptismal font, “a large and deep chiselled marble vase or basin, supported upon twelve (life-size) oxen, also of marble.”
They permitted me also to ascend into the steeple, to see where it had been lightning-struck on the Sabbath before; and to look out, East and South, on wasted farms like those I had seen near the City, extending till they were lost in the distance. Here, … close to the scar of the Divine wrath left by the thunderbolt, were fragments of food, cruses of liquor and broken drinking vessels, …
It was after nightfall, when I was ready to cross the river on my return. The wind had freshened since the sunset; and the water beating roughly into my little boat, I headed higher up the stream than the point I had left in the morning, and landed where a faint glimmering light invited me to steer.
Here, … sheltered only by the darkness, without roof between them and the sky, I came upon a crowd of several hundred human creatures, whom my movements roused from an uneasy slumber on the ground.
The “faint glimmering light” that had guided him came from a candle that provided poor illumination for a woman tending a man dying of fever. Two little girls, sobbing, sat in the darkness nearby. Kane was to discover that this was a typical scene.
Dreadful, indeed, was the suffering of these forsaken beings. Cowed and cramped by cold and sunburn, alternating as each weary day and night dragged on, they were, most of them, the crippled victims of disease. They were there because they had no homes, nor hospital nor poor-house nor friends to offer them any. They could not satisfy the feeble cravings of their sick; they had not bread to quiet … hunger cries of their children. Mothers and babes, daughters and grandparents, all of them alike, were [camped] in tatters, wanting even covering to comfort those whom the sick shiver of fever was searching to the marrow.
These were Mormons, famishing, in Lee county, Iowa, in the fourth week of the month of September, in the year of our Lord 1846. The city—it was Nauvoo, Illinois. The Mormons were the owners of that city, and the smiling country round. And those who had stopped their ploughs, who had silenced their hammers, their axes, their shuttles and their workshop wheels; those who had put out their fires, who had eaten their food, spoiled their orchards, and trampled under foot their thousands of acres of unharvested bread; were [now] the keepers of their dwellings, the carousers in their Temple, whose drunken riot insulted the ears of their dying.
The party encountered by me at the river shore were the last of the Mormons that left the city. They had all of them engaged the year before that they would vacate their homes, and seek some other place of refuge. It had been a condition of a truce between them and their assailants; and as an earnest of their good faith, the chief elders … , with their families, were to set out for the West in the Spring of 1846. It had been stipulated in return, that the rest of the Mormons might remain behind in their peaceful enjoyment of their Illinois abode, until their leaders, with their exploring party, could with all diligence select for them a new place of settlement beyond the Rocky Mountains, in California, or elsewhere, and until they had opportunity to dispose to the best advantage of the property which they were then to leave.
[But] the enemy had only waited till the emigrants were supposed to be gone on their road too far to return to interfere with them, and then renewed their aggressions [against the Saints remaining in Nauvoo].
The Joseph Smith family may have used this log cabin while adding to the Joseph Smith Homestead, their first home in Nauvoo. The cabin has been reconstructed by the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Photo by Dick Brown.
Kane said that during the truce while the Saints were still allowed to remain in Nauvoo, they worked on the temple.
Strange to say, the chief part of their respite was devoted to completing the structure of their … beautiful Temple. Since the dispersion of Jewry, probably, history affords us no parallel to the attachment of the Mormons for this edifice. Its erection had been enjoined upon them as a most sacred duty: they were proud of the honor it conferred upon their city, when it grew up in its splendour to become the chief object of the admiration of strangers upon the Upper Mississippi. Beside, they had built it as a labor of love; they could count up to a half-million [dollars] the value of their tithings and free-will offerings laid upon it. Hardly a Mormon woman had not given up to it some trinket or [money saved]: the poorest Mormon man had at least served a tenth part of his year upon its walls; … Therefore, though their enemies drove on them ruthlessly, they succeeded in parrying the last sword-thrust, till they had completed even the gilding of the angel and trumpet on the summit of its lofty spire.
The completed temple was dedicated in May 1846. With the sacred rites of consecration ended, the Saints emptied the structure of anything of value, and anything that could be desecrated by the mobs.
[The work] went on through the night; and when the morning of the next day dawned, all the ornaments and furniture, everything that could provoke a sneer, had been carried off; and except some fixtures that would not bear removal, the building was dismantled to the bare walls.
It was this day that saw the departure of the last elders, and the largest band that moved in one company together. The people of Iowa have told me, that from morning to night they [the Saints] passed westward like an endless procession. They did not seem greatly out of heart, they said; but, at the top of every hill before they disappeared, were to be seen looking back on their abandoned homes, and the far-seen Temple and its glittering spire.
Prior to his visit to Nauvoo, Kane had observed the westward-bound Saints at work and at play in the Camps of Israel. He was impressed that they were honest and sincere in their testimonies of the gospel. He expressed amazement at the sacrifices many of them made and at the love that existed in the camps in spite of the hunger and hardships the Saints suffered. In later years, he made three visits to the Saints in Utah, where he was very welcome. His last visit, in 1877, was at the death of Brigham Young to whose “masterly guidance,” he said, the Saints were indebted for their prosperity. Hours before his own death in 1883 in Pennsylvania, he asked his wife to send “The sweetest message you can make up to my Mormon friends—to all, my dear Mormon friends.”

When we observe the covenants we make at the altar of sacrifice, we discover hidden reservoirs of strength. I once said in exasperation to my wife, Marie, “The Lord placed Adam and Eve on the earth as full-grown people. Why couldn’t he have done that with this boy of ours, the one with the freckles and the unruly hair?” She replied, “The Lord gave us that child to make Christians out of us.”
One night Marie exhausted herself for hours encouraging that child to finish a school assignment to build his own diorama of a Native American village on a cookie sheet. It was a test no hireling would have endured. At first he fought her efforts, but by bedtime, I saw him lay “his” diorama proudly on a counter. He started for his bed, then turned around, raced back across the room, and hugged his mother, grinning with his fourth-grade teeth. Later I asked Marie in complete awe, “How did you do it?” She said, “I just made up my mind that I couldn’t leave him, no matter what.” Then she added, “I didn’t know I had it in me.” She discovered deep, internal wellsprings of compassion because the bonds of her covenants gave her strength to lay down her life for her sheep, even an hour at a time.

I sat with my mother-in-law on her porch one morning. She said something that was so meaningful to me. For the first time in my life, I heard the Spirit testifying to me that Heavenly Father really existed.
“When you know Heavenly Father is really there,” she said, “everything changes.”
From there, everything did change! My testimony grew as I sought to know more. Now I know when the Spirit speaks to me. I know that sweet feeling when He is near.

In addition to collecting offerings, deacons have helped the needy by donating muscle power: painting houses, raking leaves, shoveling walks, running errands. Illustrative is a case that took place near the turn of the century when deacons aided two families in their ward:
“On the tenth of May, the Deacon’s quorum, with the consent of the Bishopric, assembled at the beet field of Sister __________, whose husband had recently died. The quorum with the aid of relatives, to the number of sixty-eight, went to work, and they cultivated and thinned nine acres of beets before they quit the field. This work lifted a heavy load off the family of Sister __________, was in great distress at the time.
“A few days later, the Deacons went to the farm of Sister __________, a widow, and thinned several acres of beets for her also.”

I sat down and wrote the first few verses and laughed. And then I thought about Eric when he was six.
“Eric’s got a girl friend! Eric’s got a girl friend!” I remembered how Brad teased as he and Eric came home from school.
Eric was silent. I couldn’t detect a smile, a frown, anything on his cherubic face. He just ignored Brad totally and asked, “Can we eat breakfast sooner tomorrow, Mom? I want to go to school early.”
“Yes,” I answered. I was surprised at his coolness. “Yes, of course. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” He shook his head, smiled, and walked out the back door to play.
“See. I told you!” Brad confirmed.
I’m not a nosy mother—well, only a little nosy. I wanted to know why Eric went to school 15 minutes early and came home 15 minutes late for a week. But he volunteered nothing.
On Tuesday I had to return library books. I decided to go at 1:50 so I would be driving by the school at 2:20 when school was out.
I was late and had to drive almost home before I saw Eric. He was with a girl. From the back I could see she had long, blonde hair and a pretty dress. But something was different. She didn’t raise her left leg far from the sidewalk, and as I passed I could see her left arm was limp. Eric saw me. He grinned widely and waved. As I smiled back my eyes surveyed a beautiful little girl with an enchanting smile and blue eyes.
At dinner I decided it was time to be open about the whole thing. I wanted Eric to know it was acceptable to have lots of friends in the first grade—even if one was a girl.
“I saw your friend today, Eric. She’s pretty.”
“She’s nice,” he added.
“So that’s the reason you go to school early?” his father asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me about her. What’s her name? What does she took like?”
“Her name’s Jena. And she looks like … like … uh … like a girl.”
The family laughed. “She’s very pretty.” I explained. “She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a warm smile.”
“What’s wrong with her leg?” Brad asked innocently.
Eric bristled and raised his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with her leg.”
“Brad wasn’t being mean, Eric. She does have a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy, Eric. That doesn’t change her being pretty or nice.” I taught physically handicapped children and accepted the fact that everyone has limitations of some kind.
In early December I got a phone call.
“Is this Eric’s mother?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“This is Mrs. Hamilton. I’m Jena Hamilton’s mother.”
“Oh, yes. Hello!”
“I called because I wondered if you were aware of what Eric has been doing for us—I mean for Jena—but really it affects all of us.”
I was puzzled. “No, I suppose I don’t,” I replied honestly.
“Do you know Jena?”
“I saw her going home from school. She’s a very pretty girl.”
“Then you know she has a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy.”
“I see.”
“When we moved here last summer and I went to register her, the school said they wouldn’t accept her. Her learning isn’t impaired. It’s just a motor involvement, but they insisted the other children would taunt her until we would be sorry. They asked me to enroll her in a special school, but I insisted they let her try here. They were skeptical, but I was quite firm in my decision.”
“I understand your feelings.”
“When school started, it was just like they said. Some of the children wouldn’t stop yelling names and making fun of her. And no one would play with her. After the first week and a half of school, with her coming home in tears every day. Then a little miracle happened—Eric!”
“Eric?”
“He decided enough was enough. He asked Jena if he could play with her at recess. The boys laughed at him and called him names too. But he ignored them.”
“That’s not my Eric,” I thought.
“He walked home with Jena to the accompaniment of jeers. From that day on he has walked her to school, played with her at recess, and walked home with her. The third week of school some boys started throwing rocks at Jena. Eric challenged them to a ferocious fight if they didn’t stop.”
That’s my Eric. He was two inches shorter than anybody, but he was never afraid of a fight if it was necessary.
“I guess he said it so firmly they decided to leave her alone. Jena is doing so well now. Other children are playing with her, and no one seems to be paying attention to her problem.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“There’s more,” she continued. “Yesterday I stopped Eric out in front—I was so happy how things are going—and I said, ‘You’re such a nice boy! How did you ever get to be such a nice boy!’ It was a comment, not a question of course, but he spoke right up and said, ‘Our church teaches all the boys to be nice boys.’”
“Well, I was so surprised, I said, ‘And what church do you belong to, Eric?’
“And he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church. Would you like to have the missionaries?’ He’s quite a boy!”
Well, do you want the missionaries? I was hoping my voice would say. But it didn’t. “Yes, I guess he is. I really appreciate your calling me.”
Jena Hamilton didn’t need Eric much after that. They were friends, but he went back to playing with the boys and calling all girls “dumb.” In a year or so Jena moved, and we moved.
I looked down at the birthday card I was making. I decided not to write a verse about Eric when he was six. It was too special.

I feel a little today like something Elder Matthew Cowley said one time. He said when he was a young man getting ready to leave on a mission, his father went to the railroad station with him and said, in effect: “My boy, when you go out on that mission, you will stand before groups to speak, and you will think you are wonderfully prepared, but when you stand up your mind will go completely blank.”
Brother Cowley said to his father, “What do you do when your mind goes blank?”
And his father said, “You stand up there, and, with all the fervor of your soul, you bear witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of the living God, and thoughts will flood into your mind, and words to your mouth, to round out those thoughts in a facility of expression that will carry conviction to the heart of everyone who listens.”
Brother Cowley, being a man with a great sense of humor, said,
And so my mind, being mostly blank during my five years in the mission field, gave me the opportunity to bear testimony to the greatest event in the history of the world since the crucifixion of the Master.
Try it sometime. . . . If you don’t have anything else to say, testify that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and the whole history of the Church will flood into your mind. [Adapted from Matthew Cowley Speaks (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1954), pp. 298–99]

When President Soares asked Luan what he would like to do when he left the hospital, Luan said he would like to perform vicarious baptisms in the Recife Brazil Temple. After Luan left the hospital, President Soares and Bishop Farias helped him fulfill this desire. Luan performed as many baptisms as his strength would allow. At the end of his day at the temple, even though he was in great pain, he was happy he could do something for others.

Once again the Lord guided me to be in the right place at the right time. When the Americans had cleared the mountain and were gone, we left the house and marched on again toward home. A few days later, we were stopped once more by the Americans. At first I didn’t speak. I wanted to act like I didn’t know English. I heard them say, “Well, we’ll just let them sit here, and we’ll put them on the next truck that comes to transport them to a camp.” Trucks had been going by every two to three minutes.
We sat there waiting for a truck to come by any second. We waited and waited, for an hour or longer, but no truck came. I finally went up to one of the military policemen.
I told him who we were, and he said, “Oh, all of a sudden you speak English.”
“Yes, I speak English. I learned it in school. I was just scared.”
“How old are you?” he asked me. I told him I was 17-and-a-half years old.
“Where have you been?”
I explained the whole thing—what we had done, why we had civilian clothes on, where we wanted to go—home. He called up on the phone and checked the outfits where we had been to see if the information I had given him was correct. Then he looked at me for a long time and said, “I have a boy about your age, and if he would say to someone, ‘I’d like to go home to Mother,’ I hope they’d give him the chance. If you take this road, there is an American headquarters; but if you take that road, they can’t see you. Good luck.”

My family and I arrived October 22, 1970 in the Philippines where I was assigned to start the Church construction program. At that time my family consisted of my wife Mary and daughters Renee and LaVonne.
President Dewitt C. Smith who was then the new Mission President gave us a lot of good counsel. We had only been in the Philippines a month when powerful Typhoon “Yoling” hit Manila causing wide destruction. It tore up our village—except our house. We were without water and electricity for several weeks. I had to take my bath in the rain and let the rain water wash the soap off my body. I collected rain water to flush the comfort rooms and take baths. During the height of the typhoon I had my family sit under a beam over the door and as I looked at their scared faces I thought “what did I bring my family into.”
I was in the country only two months and I already had the first chapel under construction—the Quezon City Chapel. This first project was bid November 19, 1970 during the week of Typhoon “Yoling.” But it had to be rebid due to the difficulties caused by the typhoon. Ground breaking was done January 4, 1971 and work was started by the contractor, Juanito Gutierez who was not a Church member at that time. In fact he did not know what a “Mormon” was.
Construction work on the Quezon City Chapel progressed fairly well. However, I encountered a little problem—the construction approach and methods used in the Philippines varied from the construction approach and methods I was used to in the United States. For instance, it was hard for me to get used to seeing so much timber set up prior to actual digging of the foundations but I learned soon that I cannot change the methods used and expect to get chapels constructed, at least right away. But one method that I insisted the contractors use is the use of pumped concrete to the ridged frames so that there will be a monolithic pour and not have any cold joints in the truss structure. The workers were not familiar with this method but later on the men worked well in handling the moveable pipes for the flow of the concrete.
About five months after construction work on the Quezon City Chapel started, work on another chapel—the Caloocan Chapel, began with the same contractor. The aesthetics of the chapel site and the chapel itself can be classed as possibly the best in Asia at that time.
Even before the Caloocan Chapel was finished we bid another chapel—the Clark-Angeles Chapel in 1972. Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio was the contractor who won the bid. Ground breaking was held on June 6, 1972 on the very day that the big flood of 1972 started. Construction work started on September 1972. This chapel became a landmark to travellers going to Baguio and the northern parts of the Philippines. It is located along the national road and people now are able to see a Mormon chapel springing up in their midst.
In 1973 President Carl D. Jones became the President of the Manila Mission. Plans to build more chapels were placed on the drawing board. We were also beginning to purchase more chapel sites.
After Clark-Angeles Chapel was completed, work on the Cavite Chapel started. It was interesting to note that laborers digging the foundations of the Cavite Chapel were always digging in one meter of water because the water table was almost ground level and we had two pumps constantly pumping out the water so that steel could be set and concrete poured. I respected those laborers for the way they worked and the conditions under which they worked. I had to learn tolerance to a greater degree than I had known before.
Members have now become excited with the building program. Until the Quezon City Chapel was constructed there was only one chapel in the Philippines. It is the Buendia Chapel which was reconstructed in 1974 due to the deterioration of the laminated trusses. A Stake office was also built within the chapel compound. The tremendous growth of the Church by now demanded the construction of more chapels. When the Cavite Chapel was finished and the reconstruction of the Buendia Chapel was accomplished, we planned the construction of chapels in the southern regions as all of the chapels so far built were in the Manila area.
In 1975 chapel construction was started in Davao, Bacolod and Cebu and they were completed in 1976. At this time the Marikina Chapel and Los Baños Chapel were constructed.
The Cebu Chapel was a construction challenge due to its location, being on the site of the last resistance of the Japanese in World War II and the hill it was constructed on had many tunnels which had to be sealed and filled. Because of its split level type of construction and its aesthetics, people from far and wide acclaim the Cebu Chapel as the best in Asia. It is a very prominent looking edifice which also serves as a missionary tool in proselyting.
By this time nine chapels were constructed and one rebuilt—the Buendia Chapel. In 1977 four more chapels were constructed for Pasay Ward, Manila Ward, Santa Mesa Ward and Baguio Branch, making a total of 13 chapels built and one rebuilt. At present there are a total of eleven chapels now to construct and/or ready for ground breaking. There are approximately 25 additional chapel sites and a Stake office to build, new Mission offices, building to be remodeled in Ozamis, and the remodeling of the Manila Mission office.
But with all these construction works, the highlight of my stay in this country is seeing the baptism of two fine men who worked with me—Juanito Gutierrez, my first contractor who is now Bishop of the Marikina Ward, and Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio who is now Governor Elect of the Kiwanis of Luzon. I will cherish my association with many wonderful people and friends especially my efficient secretary, Miss Nilda Austria.
My family and I will go home with our hearts full of love for the Filipino people and will long remember our experiences here in building chapels for the Lord. I have constructed many buildings in the million dollar bracket but I can say without reservations that the last eight years in the Philippines have been the greatest challenge of my life. Truly, the best eight years of our life have been well spent in the Philippines.
Since we arrived my family has increased three more. I now have two sons, David and Daniel, ages 5 and 8, and a daughter Rebecca Rachel, 3 years old. This is an actual fulfillment of our patriarchal blessings. Certainly, we will leave with mixed emotions when the time comes. My daughter LaVonne said, “Papa I don’t know anything except in the Philippines, I grew up here.” I think we all did a little.

When I was a young mother, my husband and I found ourselves taking our five children under the age of eight to live in South America. Although none of us spoke the language, my six-year-old had the greatest difficulty learning a new language. We decided to put her in preschool with four-year-olds, even though she should be starting first grade. Our hope was that interaction with younger children would be less intimidating to her and might facilitate her ability to communicate in Portuguese.
But the reality for my daughter was that she was as foreign to the children as they were to her. Each day was a struggle, and I anguished for her every morning as I walked her to school and then waited for her to return, dejected, at the end of the day.
One day, some children were particularly unkind to her. A few even threw rocks and bullied her, laughing rudely at recess. She was scared and hurt and decided she couldn’t go back into class. Sitting alone while the playground emptied, she remembered what we had taught her about loneliness. She remembered that Heavenly Father is always close to His children and she could speak to Him at any time, not just before bedtime. He would understand the language of her heart. In a corner of the playground, she bowed her head and said a prayer. She didn’t know what to pray for, so she asked that her father and mother could be with her to protect her. While she was returning to the classroom, a Primary song came into her mind.
I often go walking in meadows of clover,
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over;
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
[“I Often Go Walking,” Children’s Songbook, 202]
As she opened her eyes, she noticed one little flower growing between the cracks of the cement. She picked it up and put it into her pocket. Her troubles with the other children did not disappear, but she walked back into the school feeling that her parents were with her.