Gospel Story Finder

It was in the middle of November, when I was looking for a yardstick in Mom and Dad’s closet, that I found the skateboard and other Christmas presents hidden behind a box and a bag of old clothes.
I had ached all over to have a new skateboard because the best skateboarding hill in the world was over at Adam’s Park, not two blocks away.
My best friend, James, and I went there every chance we got and used a skateboard that we’d bought together at Tilly’s Secondhand Store for five dollars. It was small, banged up some, and had metal wheels that squeaked and rattled as we bumped down the winding walk at the park. But this skateboard wasn’t something Mom and Dad had picked up at Tilly’s Secondhand Store!
Sitting in the closet, I ran my hand across the skateboard’s shiny, smooth surface and spun the red “poly” wheels. There was a picture of a guy flying through the air on a skateboard, and underneath, in brilliant red letters, was “SPEED DEMON.”
“I found my Christmas present!” I called out as I rushed up James’s driveway and found him trying to fix a back wheel on his little brother’s trike.
“Christmas?” he muttered, looking up at me and zipping his coat tighter around his chin. “Who’s thinking of Christmas? We haven’t even had Thanksgiving.”
“I accidentally found my parents’ Christmas gift to me,” I gasped, dropping down beside him.
James set his pliers down and squinted at me. “What’re you getting?”
“A skateboard! Not a crummy one, either. You know the one we’ve looked at in the window at Benson’s Bargain Barn?”
James nodded.
“It’s as good as that one any day.”
James whistled softly. “And it’s yours?”
“With four sisters who could care less about skateboarding, it has to be mine.”
“A skateboard!” James whispered, shaking his head. “You’re a lucky dog, Aaron.” He grinned, and I knew he was happy for me, but I could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes because he knew that there would be no new skateboard for him.
Since Dad had been on just sick pay for several weeks, we hadn’t had much. But James’s family was poor all the time. His mom was a cashier at the supermarket. On Saturdays and some evenings, she cleaned people’s houses to get money for clothes and stuff like that for him, his brother, and his little sister. He didn’t even know where his dad was. James never expected much for Christmas.
That night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought of James. I was happy about my skateboard, but I knew that having a skateboard wasn’t going to be all that great unless James had one too.
I tossed and turned, then started figuring. I’d already bought my family’s gifts, except the ones I was making in woodshop at school. The skateboard at the Bargain Barn cost over ninety dollars. I had twenty-seven dollars, money I’d been saving for months to buy a baseball glove. I had a set of baseball cards that Brandon had been coaxing me to sell him for fifteen dollars. I was sure that I could collect ten dollars’ worth of cans by Christmas. That was fifty-two dollars right there. And I could do odd jobs for folks in the neighborhood.
I had nearly six weeks till Christmas, and I was going to get James his own skateboard! Suddenly I was more excited about James’s skateboard than I was about the one Mom and Dad had tucked away for me in the closet.
“Do you still want to buy my baseball cards?” I asked Brandon the next day at school.
He stared at me. “You’re willing to sell?”
I nodded.
“Fifteen dollars?”
I nodded again.
“You have those cards over at my place this afternoon, and I’ll have your money for you.”
As soon as school was out, I sprinted home, dug my baseball cards out from under the bed, and galloped over to Brandon’s place. He had his money ready for me. Of course, Brandon didn’t ever have to worry about money. He was the only kid in his family, and his mom and dad gave him just about anything he wanted.
I checked with everyone in our neighborhood about doing odd jobs. Brother Tubbs let me clean out his garage. Sister Wells had me rake leaves and trash from her backyard. I took care of the Parkers’ dog and two cats and watered houseplants while they were gone for a week and a half.
Two weeks before Christmas I had seventy-two dollars. With my money stuffed into a bag, I entered the Bargain Barn. “I know the skateboard costs ninety-five ninety-five,” I said to Brother Benson as I pushed the bag across the counter, “but if you’ll save that skateboard for me, I promise to get the rest of the money to you as soon as I can.”
He thought a moment, rubbing his chin and gazing at my money. “Aaron, you must want that skateboard pretty bad.”
“I’m getting it for a friend.”
“He must be a pretty good friend.”
“The best a guy could have.”
“I’ll save the skateboard for you.” He hesitated, then added, “I could use a little help around here between now and Christmas. Maybe I could help you earn some of that money.”
“Would you?” I asked, hardly believing my ears.
Brother Benson’s eyes twinkled. “I think we could work something out.”
For the next two Saturdays and some afternoons after school, I worked at the Bargain Barn. I broke down cardboard boxes for recycling, straightened up the storeroom, swept the parking lot, ran errands, and did anything else I was asked to do.
“I can’t find my Christmas presents anywhere,” Brandon complained the day before Christmas vacation as we walked home from school. “Usually I’ve found where Mom and Dad have hidden them by now. They always give me one big thing that I really want, and clothes I need, and other stuff, but I haven’t found anything, and I’ve looked all over.”
I shrugged. “Why not wait and be surprised like everyone else.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what you’re getting for Christmas?”
A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “I don’t have to wonder this year. This is going to be my best Christmas.”
“Well, Aaron,” Brother Benson said the day before Christmas Eve as he was closing up his store, “you’ve been a real trooper. When I told you that you could work here for a few hours, I didn’t know you were going to give me such a hand.”
“How much do you figure I still owe on the skateboard?”
Brother Benson chuckled. He stepped into his office and returned with a huge oblong box, wrapped in silver paper and tied with red ribbon. “You’ve earned it,” he said, handing it to me.
I took the package with shaking hands. I could hardly wait to see James’s eyes bulge when he saw his gift.
Christmas Eve was a busy day. I helped Mom make cookies and candies for neighbors and friends. We finished doing a few decorations around the house—the Christmas tree had long since been decorated. There weren’t a lot of packages under the tree, but that didn’t bother me because I knew that the best gift was hidden away in Mom and Dad’s closet.
It was well after dinner before I could take my gift over to James. I rushed to my room, pulled the silver package out from under the bed, and ran my hand gently across the paper. “You’re going to love it, James,” I whispered. “We’ll both be skateboarding pros.”
I got up, threw on my coat, grabbed my gift, and rushed down the hall toward the back door. As I burst into the kitchen, Mom and Dad were there, and the skateboard was on the table. I froze in my tracks.
“I wish we could afford to buy one for our son,” Dad was saying to Mom, shaking his head and staring at the table.
Mom shrugged. “Janet just wanted to surprise Brandon for once, so she asked me to keep his gifts. Every other year he’s found his presents weeks before Christmas.” She laughed. “She told me yesterday that they’re sure he’s searched their house a dozen times and is pretty worried.”
“This is Brandon’s?” I asked, feeling sick.
Mom turned and saw me. She nodded. “His mother’s on her way over to pick all these things up.” She gestured to a pile of packages on the counter as well as the skateboard. “Where are you headed, and what’s that under your arm?”
“I was going to see James,” I rasped. “I have a gift for him.”
“OK. It’s nice of you to think of him.”
After I rushed out the back door, for a moment I stood in the driveway, clutching the skateboard. I’d never had a skateboard as nice as the one under my arm.
I can keep this one, I thought to myself, and find something else for James. No one would know. I deserve a good skateboard after I worked so hard. Then I thought of James and how fun it had been working to get something nice for him. And I knew that I could never truly enjoy this skateboard, knowing it had really been meant for him.
Slowly the sick feeling went away and a warm, peaceful feeling took its place. It was the same feeling I’d had since deciding to buy the skateboard for James. I started for his house.
“What is it?” James asked, surprised, as I pushed the huge silver package into his arms.
“Open it and see.”
“Now?”
“I won’t be around to watch you open it tomorrow,” I pointed out.
James hesitated, then tore the silver paper away and gazed at the skateboard. His mouth dropped open. “Are you joking, Aaron? You’re not really giving this to me, are you?”
“It’s all yours, James.”
“But—but how? … Why … ?”
“You’re my friend, and I knew you’d want one.”
“What’s yours like?”
I shook my head and laughed. “I found out that Brandon’s mother had asked Mom to hide that one for him. But I think yours is the best one around.”
James’s smile drooped. He pushed the skateboard toward me. “Aaron, I can’t take something as nice as this. But thanks for offering.”
“You have to take it,” I argued. “You can’t give a Christmas gift back.”
For a moment he just stood there holding the skateboard, blinking back tears. Then he said, “Half of it is yours, then.”
I shook my head.
“I’m giving half of it to you, and like you said, you can’t give a Christmas gift back. It will be ours together. And the day after tomorrow we’ll try it out at Adams Park!”
I nodded, fighting back tears, too, then headed home, knowing that no one—not even Brandon with all his gifts from Santa and his parents—would ever have as nice a Christmas as mine.

When Eva found that her husband was involved with pornography, she felt “intense pain, anger, heartache, depression, and obsession.” Obsession is actually a common feeling for someone who experiences the trauma of betrayal of a spouse’s pornography use, and Eva’s behavior in response to these intense emotions is also not unusual. She began to obsess about her husband and his actions. Where was he? Who was he talking to? What was he doing? His pornography and sex addiction became the center of her life, and she desperately wanted to fix him, believing that if she could get his problem under control, they would be happy.
Eva is divorced and regularly attending 12-step meetings, where she finds safety and validation as she works on her recovery. She has come to understand that while she once made her husband’s addiction the focus of her life, healing comes as she puts the Savior at the center of her life and efforts.

Some years ago, for instance, a brother in our ward mentioned that his wife and several of their children were sick with influenza. I sympathized and asked routinely if I could do anything to help. He surprised me by saying, “Yes, you could bring our dinner tomorrow night.”
All the next day I complained about spending my valuable time preparing a meal for his family when he was well and perfectly able to feed them himself. What a contrast that was to the happy feeling I experienced recently while preparing dinner for the family of a sister who was recuperating from surgery.
What happened between these two experiences to change my attitude? Discussions in Relief Society about compassionate service have helped; the examples of joyful service in our ward have been even more influential. So many sisters are anxious to serve that in some instances it seems one practically has to sign a list and wait for your turn to serve.

I would like to mention an experience to indicate what I think he meant when he said, “… unto him will I give power to bring forth my word … and not to the bringing forth my word only, … but to the convincing them of my word, which shall have already gone forth among them.”

While I was on my first mission in Holland, I was invited to speak to a Bible class of businessmen in The Hague. They met every week, holding a Bible class. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer; the only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house.

They invited me to speak for an hour and a half and explain our doctrine of universal salvation, which includes the work for the dead. I gave them chapter and verse and let them read these passages from their own Bibles so they would believe more completely, as they seemed to think we have a different Bible. Then I closed my Bible and laid it on the table, folded my arms, and waited for their comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said, “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything, and tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The father shook his head and said, “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say.” He said, “This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

That is what the Lord meant when he said that the prophet he would raise up would not only bring forth his word, but would bring men to the convincing of his word that had already gone forth among them.

Bang! Scritch! Scraaaatch!
Jesse didn’t like the noises coming from outside his window. He shivered and pulled his covers over his head. Jesse regretted watching that superhero movie. He knew it wasn’t real, but the bad guy in the movie was really scary.
Screeeech!
Jesse’s eyes flew open. What was that scratching sound against his windowsill? He sat up. Was it his windowpane rattling? Jesse said a quick prayer in his mind. With his heart pounding, he tore off his covers and ran across the hall to his brother’s room.
“Steve! Hey, Steve!” Jesse said as he skidded to a stop next to where his brother lay sleeping.
“Mmmph,” Steve answered, not lifting his head from the pillow.
Jesse tugged on Steve’s arm. “Steve, there are noises outside my window. I think something is trying to get in!”
Nothing.
Jesse talked to himself as he trudged back to his room. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Be brave.”
Scraaaatch!
Jesse froze. Trying to be brave, he lifted the corner of his window shade to take a peek. He searched the darkness outside of his window. He couldn’t see anything, but he expected something to pop up and scare him at any moment.
He stared hard, but the only thing he saw was the top of the bush below his windowsill. Relieved, he took a deep breath and sank back down onto his bed. He closed his eyes for a moment, but then he heard another sound. Scritch. Scritch. He sat up. He didn’t want to feel scared anymore. He said another silent prayer.
“Heavenly Father, please, please, please help me sleep. Please make the sounds go away.”
Jesse looked at the shadows on his walls and trembled. Why weren’t his prayers working?
Then he had a thought. He remembered that the Holy Ghost helps people feel peace. Maybe feeling the Holy Ghost could help him feel better.
Jesse glanced over at his bookshelf where there was a book of scripture stories and pictures. He rushed over to the shelf and snatched the book. Turning on the light next to his bed, he began to read some of his favorite scripture stories. Jesse felt calm as he read. His room felt warmer somehow. Though he could still hear scratching outside his window, the sounds seemed to be softer and not as scary.
Jesse read another scripture story, and then another. Soon he didn’t feel afraid anymore. Heavenly Father had answered his prayers—not by making the scary sounds go away—but by giving him the idea to replace his fear with the peace of the Holy Ghost.

I’m going to share an experience I had with President Kimball to help you understand what a choice human being he is, besides a powerful prophet, and perhaps base the rest of my remarks on this incident. I stood alone in the basement of the Church Office Building about two years ago, waiting for an elevator. It was very early on a Monday morning, well before the influx of office workers. As the elevator lowered into place, suddenly two Church security officers appeared from out of somewhere and held back the opening doors. Now, nobody does that for me, so I looked around just in time to see President Kimball and his personal secretary, Brother Haycock, entering the area. They moved quickly into the secured area, and I quickly moved out of the way. Well, as President Kimball turned and faced the front of the elevator, he saw me standing out there waiting for the next one. And he said to me very graciously, “Good morning.” And I said, “Good morning, President Kimball.” And he said, “Aren’t you going to get on?” And I said, “Well,” and hesitated for a few moments, “I didn’t think I was supposed to under the circumstances.” And then he said, “Aren’t you going up?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, tell me, how do you intend to get there?” And then he said, “Come along.” So I got on! At the prophet’s invitation I was happy to ride up with him.

Tonight President Kimball extends an invitation to all of us, with some specifics, I am sure, for us as women to follow him as he follows the Savior. If we want to “go up,” we must “get on.” It is that simple. He is our leader; in all the world of would-be leaders, who can guide us back to the presence of God.

When I arrived in Perth, I was met by a colleague who took me to the lovely room that was provided for me. He asked if I might like to go out to the college and look over the auditorium where I would be speaking. I thought it a splendid suggestion. We drove quite a way out to the campus, and when we arrived at the building in which the main plenary sessions would be given, I found to my delight that they would be held in the chapel of the college. A custodian met us at the door and let us in. The podium and stand of the large chapel were in the center of the far wall, and on either side of the podium were windows floor to ceiling overlooking a beautiful lake and lovely trees. This was an amazing and inspiring setting. My host invited me to step up to the podium so that we could check out the audiovisual equipment. On the podium was one of the largest Bibles that I have ever seen, opened and inviting.

“Read something, and let’s check out the sound system,” he said.

I looked down at the Bible and read the first verse that came to my sight: “But covet earnestly the best gifts: and yet shew I unto you a more excellent way” (1 Corinthians 12:31).

I was stunned. I looked at my host and wondered if earlier in the morning he had deliberately opened the Bible to that page containing a scripture that was the essence of my message there in Perth, but he had no way of knowing what I would read, and the room had been locked when we arrived.

The next day when I delivered my first keynote address, there was a heckler in the audience. The local people knew about him and anticipated his behavior, but I did not. He was a brilliant and gifted but undisciplined maverick. He kept asking questions that challenged the validity of my remarks. Atone point he said, “What makes you think there is any such thing as gifts or giftedness?”

Immediately the incident from the day before came to mind and was so fresh in my thinking that I cited the scripture and told him that the scriptures verified the existence of gifts and our responsibilities relative to these gifts. The heckler remained silent for the rest of the session. Afterward it occurred to me that ordinarily I would never have dared to bring in scriptures or direct religious dialogue at a national conference. At lunch I was cornered by some people who asked me how I dared to mix the spiritual with the academic, and I told them that I genuinely believed there was nothing that was not basically spiritual.

When Leonie’s husband joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1965, she had little interest in the faith. Years later, her view of her husband’s church began to soften, and Leonie accepted lessons from faithful sister missionaries in Rockhampton, Queensland.
In 1968, although she still didn’t have much of a testimony, she decided to be baptised on her husband’s birthday, as a gift to him. It was probably not a great reason to take up a new religion, but Leonie said that joining the Church was one of the best decisions she ever made.
When she passed away in 2012, Leonie had been a diligent member of the Church for over 40 years. Her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren share precious memories of Leonie as they continue to be blessed by her legacy of faith.

Bowling also teaches you to “follow through and keep going.” How has this helped you to overcome challenges? Before I release my bowling ball, I must keep my body in proper alignment, especially my arm, hand, and wrist. Even a slight turn of the wrist can send the ball off course. This is also true for my spiritual and personal growth.
When I experienced ongoing bullying from a peer, I was troubled for a time. I sought advice and comfort from my parents and seminary teacher and through studying the prophet’s counsel and the scriptures. The bully eventually moved away, and I was able to “course correct” by remembering my divine worth.

I share a final example that mortality works.
My mother did not have an easy journey through mortality. She received no accolades or worldly honors and did not have educational opportunities beyond high school. She contracted polio as a child, resulting in a lifetime of pain and discomfort in her left leg. As an adult, she experienced many difficult and challenging physical and financial circumstances but was faithful to her covenants and loved the Lord.
When my mother was 55, my next older sister passed away, leaving an eight-month-old baby daughter, my niece, motherless. For various reasons, Mom ended up largely raising my niece for the next 17 years, often under very trying circumstances. Yet, notwithstanding these experiences, she happily and willingly served her family, neighbors, and ward members and served as an ordinance worker in the temple for many years. During the last several years of her life, Mom suffered from a form of dementia, was often confused, and was confined to a nursing facility. Regrettably, she was alone when she passed away unexpectedly.
Several months after her passing, I had a dream I have never forgotten. In my dream, I was sitting in my office at the Church Administration Building. Mom entered the office. I knew she had come from the spirit world. I will always remember the feelings I had. She did not say anything, but she radiated a spiritual beauty that I had never before experienced and which I have difficulty describing.
Her countenance and being were truly stunning! I remember saying to her, “Mother, you are so beautiful!,” referencing her spiritual power and beauty. She acknowledged me—again without speaking. I felt her love for me, and I knew then that she is happy and healed from her worldly cares and challenges and eagerly awaits “a glorious resurrection.” I know that for Mom, mortality worked—and that it works for us too.

Kristin: “The first time I felt totally alone—isolated by the fact that my husband is not a member of the Church—was the day our first baby was blessed. Shortly before the meeting began, the ward clerk handed me a small card to fill out. Most of the questions were routine, but one made my heart leap to my throat: Had my baby been ‘born in [the] covenant’?

“Suddenly all my faith, activity, and service in the Church seemed very inadequate. I had failed, it seemed—failed myself and my innocent child. I have never felt so empty as when I checked the small box that said ‘no.’”

The court case was troubling for Portuguese labor judge Artur Manuel Ventura de Carvalho. An employer was being prosecuted because he did not pay the legal adult wage to a young man working for him.
But the young man, though in his late twenties, was mentally handicapped and he could not do as much work as the other employees. The employer would have to let the young man go if he had to pay him more, although he was sympathetic to the young man’s responsibility in supporting his mother.
The decision required by federal laws seemed plain. “My difficulty was that I felt something was not right in this case,” says soft-spoken Brother Carvalho. “I prayed, and suddenly the answer came.” He declared that although the young man was legally of age to receive the required minimum wage, his mental age and work capacity did not justify the adult pay level. Therefore, the employer did not have to meet the demands of the law. The young man kept his job, and the grateful employer even raised his wage a bit to help the man better support his mother.

The next step was to go to Ch’ungpoong to try to locate my father and brother. Ch’ungpoong is southwest of Jechon, in a secluded part of Korea. Many days later we took a country bus over dirt roads and rice fields to get there. When we arrived, we asked at the records office, but the officials had never heard of Kim Chin Ku. We also went to the school to check its records. The school had no record of the son, but we met a person there who knew of the family. He told us that they went by other names (not unusual for Koreans). We checked again and found a reference to a high school in Taegu, another city in southern Korea.
Back in Seoul, President Ch’oi consulted with some Church leaders in Taegu, and they were able to locate two addresses among the school records: one in Young Duk, where Kim Chin Ku had lived before his marriage to my mother, and one in Taegu. We decided to check them both. President Ch’oi’s son, who went with us, felt that we ought to go to Young Duk first. When we arrived at the village, we went to the police station. The men on duty knew of the family and offered to take us to meet them.
We rode into another secluded part of Korea through rice fields and mountains before we came to a little village at the foot of a canyon. We got out of the taxi, and Brother Ch’oi talked with one of the villagers. The man told us that Kim Chin Ku lived in the village and was working in the fields. The taxi driver offered to go find him and bring him back to us. As we waited, I felt panic. What if this man really was my father?
The taxi approached. In the back seat were two people—a little boy and an old man. We greeted each other. The elderly man was wrinkled and aged from the sun, but he had a sweet, sincere air. I felt confident that he was my father.
His real name was Kim Hong Suk, but he was also known as Kim Chin Ku. He invited us to his home. We walked up a dirt road and entered the yard, where an ox was tied to a tree. On the other side of his house was a barn. Inside the house, a straw mat was spread on the floor. We sat down, and this man—my father—sat next to me. He stared at me, and I at him. One by one, the villagers came to see us. We told him the story of our search, and he confirmed the account Mr. Ko had given.
Next we asked about the son—my brother. His name was Kim Do Yun, and he was attending a technical college in Taegu. My father indicated that he would telephone and arrange a time for us to meet. While he was telephoning, I asked the other family members if they had any family records. They brought out a huge published book of their lineage.
My father made arrangements for us to meet Kim Do Yun at a restaurant in Pohang that evening. When I met him, I had a sweet, peaceful feeling. I knew that this was the right family—my Korean family. My brother was very nervous. He trembled with emotion as we told him the story and showed him our papers. Up to now he had never known that the woman whom he had thought was his mother, was actually his stepmother. But after overcoming the initial shock, he seemed excited to be my big brother.

As I think of home teaching, I am reminded of a man by the name of Johann Denndorfer from Debrecen, Hungary. He had been converted to the Church years before in Germany, and now, following World War II, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his own land of Hungary. How he longed for contact with the Church. Then his home teachers visited. Brother Walter Krause and his companion went from the northeastern portion of Germany all the way to Hungary to fulfill their home teaching assignment. Before they left from their homes in Germany, Brother Krause had said to his companion, “Would you like to go home teaching with me this week?”
His companion asked, “When will we leave?”
Brother Krause’s response: “Tomorrow.”
Then came the question, “When will we come back?”
Brother Krause did not hesitate; he said, “Oh, in about a week.”
And away they went to visit Brother Denndorfer and others. Brother Denndorfer had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw the servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed. He did not shake hands with them; rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a secret hiding place his tithing that he had saved for years. This tithing he gave to his home teachers, and then he said, “Now I can shake your hands.”

Shane Aldous steps to the front of his karate class.
“Taegeuk Seven Jang,” he shouts and begins leading students through a complex series of movements called a kata. The movements are liquid, light on water, motion flowing into motion. Shane Aldous, stocky and strong, drops down into a low stance. His hands move into position, palms up, fingers together. His eyes wide, alert, he steps into another low stance. The transition is smooth and fast. Then with practiced precision, a hand moves in a graceful circle, stops, pulls in, and punches upward. A fast high kick follows.
A karate class might seem an unlikely place for missionary work, but for Shane Aldous, 15, and his family, members of the Manassas Virginia Ward, almost any place can present an opportunity.
“Two years ago I was the biggest guy in my class,” Shane explains. “All of the tough guys wanted to fight me. But I didn’t like fighting. My mother saw an ad in the paper for karate classes and asked if I wanted to take lessons.”
Chol H. Kim, the instructor of the class, teaches TaeKwon Do, a Korean style of karate, which emphasizes both physical and mental discipline. “In TaeKwon Do character development is as important as physical development. It’s a school rule,” Shane says, “to show respect to your teachers and your parents.”
Shane’s parents and his brother Brad, 14, were so impressed with what Master Kim was teaching that they also signed up for his classes. “We do things as a family whenever we can,” Shane says.
Because they worked together and could help each other learn, the Aldous family progressed rapidly.
Brad and Shane began entering karate tournaments, and at the National Junior Olympics they took top honors in their divisions. Shane brought home a silver medal in sparring, and Brad won a gold in form and a gold in sparring.
From the time the Aldous family enrolled in his school, Master Kim had been watching them closely. There was something about them that made them stand out from other people. “I was impressed by the support they gave each other,” he says. “And by the emphasis they put on family and personal growth.”
Eventually the Aldous family invited Master Kim to church. He began taking the missionary lessons and was baptized.
Not long after he was baptized, one of his students, Gloria Lee, 19, was also baptized.
“I thought Master Kim was making a terrible mistake,” she says. “I’d heard some bad things about the Mormons. I didn’t want him to fall into a false religion and ruin his whole life. I decided to do something about it, so I confronted him and some other members of the Church. But I had a lot of questions about my own religion, and everything they told me about Mormonism made sense. I couldn’t deny it. I started taking discussions from the missionaries, and instead of saving Master Kim from the terrible religion, I ended up being baptized myself. I am pretty lucky. My family belongs to another church, and they worry about me the way I worried about Master Kim. It’s not easy, but I’ve never regretted joining. The Church is true. The Aldous family has always been a good example for me. Without them I would not have found the Church.”
According to Shane, working together as a family and living and knowing gospel principles are important keys to being successful missionaries. “You never know when people are watching you,” he says. “Or when they are going to become interested and start asking questions.”

When you think of Argentina, you might picture cattle ranches and cowboys. But Hugo Lopez lives in the city. He lives in Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina—one of the largest cities in South America. Hugo is a member of the Palermo Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Belgrano Stake, which covers a large section of downtown Buenos Aires. This means that his home, his school, and his ward meetinghouse are all located among the skyscrapers and busy traffic of this city of nearly 14,000,000 people.
Hugo, age 10, was born in Buenos Aires, but he also lived in Santiago, Chile, for two years. He is the youngest child in the family and has an older brother and sister. His sister is married and has two children. Hugo is very proud to be an uncle so young!
Hugo is in the fifth grade. He walks to his school, which is not too far from his apartment. From the street, the school looks like many of the other big buildings in the city, but hidden behind the tall double doors are classrooms that fill two stories and surround an outdoor courtyard and recreation area in the center of the building. When school is dismissed each day, hundreds of students with uniform white jackets swarm through the halls and out into the street. It is sometimes difficult to tell the teachers from the students, as they also wear the same white-jacket uniforms.
Because he wants to be a good student, Hugo works very hard at his schoolwork, and his studies keep him busy every day. He tries very hard to do the things he knows are right and to be a good example. He is the only member of the Church in his school, and he has learned it can be difficult to be the only one in a group who wants to choose the right. When his friends use bad language, for example, Hugo tries to show them a better way to talk. “It makes me feel sad when they won’t listen,” he says, “but I still try to choose the right way.”
Each week, Hugo looks forward to Wednesday and Friday afternoons. “After school on these days, I go to the Conservatorio de Música, a special music school,” Hugo says. “I am learning to play the flute, and I sing in the choir!” His eyes sparkle with excitement when he talks about music and what he is learning at the music school. He will study the flute for two years, and if he studies seven more years, he can become a teacher. Or he may specialize in a mechanics course in high school so he can earn money to fulfill his dream of going on a mission.
Actually, Hugo is working very hard right now to prepare for a mission. Bishop Sergio Lohrmann, of the Palermo Ward, says: “Hugo has a great knowledge of the gospel. He bears his testimony every month—and when he does, it strengthens the testimonies of the members of our ward as he tells of his love for Jesus Christ and for the gospel.”
When Hugo bears his testimony, he always thanks his mother and the teachers who have taught him to come to church, where he can learn. And he tells of a special prayer in his heart that his father will someday listen to the missionaries and come to church, where he can feel the love of all the ward members. Hugo feels very sad that his father and his brother are not interested in learning about the Church right now. He says: “My brother thinks that coming to church is a waste of time. But it’s not a waste of time—it is gaining eternal life!”
Hugo tries to set a good example at home, as well as at school. “I have a good relationship with my Dad. I know he has very sensitive feelings, and I try not to do anything to make him feel left out,” he says. “We sometimes go on walks together and just talk—these are our special times together.”
And, as a good missionary should, Hugo studies his scriptures. When asked about his favorite scripture, Hugo quickly turns to Joseph Smith—History 1:52–53 [JS—H 1:52–53] and begins reading aloud about the Prophet Joseph’s first experience seeing the gold plates. “I love the Joseph Smith story,” he says when he completes those verses. But one look at the pages of his scriptures shows that this is only one of his favorites. His scriptures look like a missionary’s—many important verses are marked clearly in bright colors, and he knows them well.
Each day brings opportunities for Hugo to be a missionary. Whether he is studying his scriptures, setting a good example for his friends at school, or going on long walks with his father, he tries to always do and say the things he has been taught.
So each Sunday, Hugo and his mother will walk again through the busy streets of Buenos Aires to attend their Church meetings and to learn more about the gospel. And—if it happens to be a fast Sunday—Hugo will bear his testimony!

My mom was very gifted, creative, and talented. She was a strong leader in her callings and gave of herself to many.

Sadly, she spent most of her life battling some type of illness. In her later years, she suffered from seizures which sapped all her energy, leaving her unable to do what she used to. However, throughout the many struggles in her life, I always knew she loved God, the gospel, and had an unwavering testimony.

The last few years she struggled with dementia, which made her very forgetful and unable to remember; it was a hard time for all of us. She passed away a year and a half ago.

At her funeral, the speaker said that he went to the temple to help him prepare his talk. As he was there, he was trying to listen so he might know what my mom would want to say to us, her family and friends. He was filled with the Spirit as he heard the words, “come home.”

When he shared this with us, those words told me that my mom was telling us that Heavenly Father’s plan was real, that her unwavering testimony was still strong and right: there is an afterlife with our Father in Heaven. I knew she was whole again, and more than anything she wanted us to come home—home to her and other family but most of all home to the presence of our Heavenly Father.

Her words were another gift of hope that we can do this mortal life and that there is a Heavenly Father who loves us, and He too wants us to come home. I will never forget her beckoning, which has made me more desirous to fulfill His beckoning. Come home!

Many years ago, I went on assignment to Brazil. As part of the trip, I was to travel by car from São Paulo to a conference in a city about two hours distant. A member of the Quorum of the Twelve was going to preside at that conference. I hoped to ride in the car with him so that I might learn. But he suggested that I make the trip in another car with missionaries. He said, “Teach them while you travel.” So, when I climbed into the front seat of the car, I learned that two young lady missionaries, companions, were going to that city for a transfer. After we had become acquainted, I leaned back over the seat and asked, “What would you like to know about?” Both of them, eagerly and almost in chorus, said, “Tell us how we can become more humble.”
You might have struggled with that as I did. I only remember the green hills of Brazil going by as I tried—and the feeling at the end that I failed. If only I could have that chance again on this beautiful day. I have learned some things about their question since President Hinckley invited me to meet with him yesterday afternoon and issued the call to this sacred office. I think I could help them a little more now.
First, I would have realized that they already had the first lesson in their hearts. The fact that they even asked meant that they had gone beyond being overwhelmed by their doubts about themselves to hope that if they would just submit, if they could just learn what to do, they could be better. If I had the chance again, I would have told them that. And then I would have given them just this one bit of counsel—counsel about what to do. I would have said just this: “Always remember him” (Moro. 4:3; 5:2; D&C 20:77, 79).
I would have tried to help them do that by taking them in their minds to a garden where they would hear the Savior of the world’s words: “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).
And then I would have taken them forward in time to that glorious day reported in the Book of Mormon when the resurrected Lord appeared to the people in the Americas and said, “And behold, I am the light and the life of the world; and I have drunk out of that bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father in taking upon me the sins of the world, in the which I have suffered the will of the Father in all things from the beginning” (3 Ne. 11:11).
I know from the softness I heard in their voices and saw in their eyes that those missionaries would have then, and perhaps always, remembered him. And from his perfect example they would have felt their hearts breaking and received the answer to their pleading, “Tell us how we can become more humble.”
When we drove away from them in the city of our destination, they were standing waiting for a bus. I looked back. There they stood alone. I wish I had known what I learned last night so that I could have read to them while they were in the car these words from the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the twenty-third verse: “That the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world, and before kings and rulers.” And then starting at the twenty-sixth verse:
“And inasmuch as they sought wisdom they might be instructed;
“And inasmuch as they sinned they might be chastened, that they might repent;
“And inasmuch as they were humble they might be made strong, and blessed from on high, and receive knowledge from time to time” (D&C 1:26–28).
They would have known the Savior spoke of them. And then in their humility they would have found that they were given power to proclaim his name.

I enjoy reading Q&A. A previous edition had a question about cheating (Sept. 2001). I was faced with a similar problem, where one of my classmates wanted to copy my test answers. So I was reading these young people’s responses to the question, and I took some of their advice. I prayed about it, and then I spoke to my friend, telling her that I would not break the commandment but instead I would help her as best as I could. Your magazine has not only helped me but also a lot of teenagers who were faced with the same problem.Oddett AllicockWest Coast Demerara, Guyana

It has been more than 50 years, but I vividly remember Christmas morning 1959. With childish anticipation, I hoped desperately for a new bicycle. My older brother and sister and I shared the same bicycle, a 24-inch (61 cm) antique we had each used to learn to ride. It had long been less than stylish, and I had appealed to my parents for a new bicycle. Looking back, I am a little embarrassed that I did not have more sensitivity to the cost of such a present to a family with limited income.
Christmas morning came, and I leaped up the stairs from our basement bedroom. Running into the living room, I looked in vain for a bicycle. My heart dropped as I noticed a small present under my stocking, and I tried to control my disappointment.
As we sat as a family in the living room, my father asked me to get a knife from the adjoining kitchen so we could open a box holding a present for my brother. I walked into the small kitchen and fumbled for the light switch to find my way. As the light illuminated the room, my excitement soared. Right before me stood a beautiful black 26-inch (66 cm) bicycle! For many years I rode that bicycle, took care of it, watched over it, and befriended it—a gift long appreciated and treasured.