Gospel Story Finder

Another dream of Joseph, again carrying a plea responsive to the special needs of the time, came to Brigham over a year later in Winter Quarters, as he was preparing for the great trek west:
“I dreamed that I saw Joseph sitting in a room in the South-West corner near a bright window and he sat in a chair with his feet both on the lower round. I took him by the hand and kissed him on both cheeks and wanted to know why we could not be together as we once were.
“He said that it was all right that we should not be together yet. We must be separated for a season. … Joseph said, do you be sure and tell the people one thing … that it is all important for them to keep the Spirit of the Lord, to keep the quiet Spirit of Jesus.”31

I worked for a manager who I felt was rude and who hated me also. I, too, wanted to be Christian and have love for everyone, but there are some people that no matter what you do, they will still try to knock you down. In my case, I tried and tried to be as nice as possible. I did everything my manager asked and more, but she never was any nicer to me. Finally, I realized that it was impossible to make her happy, so I quit. Now that I am away from her, I am able to forgive her and genuinely feel sorry for her.
James Yoder, 20Belleville, Illinois

After I quit drugs, I went way overboard with alcohol, and can honestly say I was a high school alcoholic. When I decided I wanted to quit, I couldn’t, on my own. I didn’t care enough about myself to do what I knew I needed to do.
Then I became close friends with a good, active LDS girl. She couldn’t understand what I was going through, but she did know I was honestly trying to get out of the hole I was in. It hurt her when I slipped back. I finally quit drinking because I knew it hurt her, and I knew I wouldn’t lie to her.
Keeping my morals straight was so hard under my weakened condition that I avoided any social contacts with girls except as good friends like this one.

Ariana walked slowly down the sidewalks which at that time of the morning were beginning to fill with people rushing from one place to the next. Many were going to work, while others were taking their children to school. The intersections became congested with traffic and some drivers became impatient in their rush to get to their destinations on time.
Ariana had just walked Sandra, her daughter, to school. There was a school bus, but she preferred to take the child to school herself every day. She enjoyed the morning walk, as well as the evening walk when she went to pick her up, and it also gave her the chance to spend precious minutes with her little Sandra.
They always talked as they walked. The child had so many things to say, so many little secrets to share, so many laughs to laugh. This tiny little person opened a whole new world to Ariana that was fascinating to explore and discover.
This morning, however, Ariana already felt tired and even a little sad. Her husband was out of town for a few days and she missed the comfort and support she received as a wife and mother, and in her Church callings. And also there was another child on the way.
Suddenly Ariana felt overwhelmed by the countless things that she had to attend to, and too tired to walk all the way back home. Her brisk stroll was part of her physical exercise program, but this morning something inside of her was rebelling. The distance to her home seemed just too far to walk. She decided to wait for the bus at the next stop.
While she waited, she reflected sadly that her decision hadn’t alleviated her feeling of discouragement. Nevertheless, something inside of her made her stay. She thought of her husband, who at that time would be driving his car far from home on unfamiliar roads. His work demanded extensive travel and she always feared that something would happen to him.
She also thought of Sister Lago, who was sick with hepatitis, and who could barely get out of bed. Ariana was her visiting teacher and she wondered how she could further help Sister Lago without neglecting her own responsibilities.
Her thoughts turned to little Sandra, who had been sick with a cold for three days, and she wondered if she should take her to the doctor.
It also occurred to her that she should write to her mother, as it had been a long time since she had done so. Now that Ariana and her brothers and sisters were grown and living away from home, their parents must feel quite lonely.
As these thoughts passed through her mind, and as she reflected on all the responsibilities that awaited her that day and in the days to come, she again felt overwhelmed and wished her husband were home so she could turn to him.
Standing on the crowded bus, she remembered something else: she had forgotten that she needed to buy some tomatoes for the salad she was going to make. If she had walked, she would have bought them on the way. The bus would pass in front of several supermarkets, but it wouldn’t stop.
She sighed, feeling even more melancholy, and on doing so felt the impulse to look to her left. Close to her, also standing, was another woman whose eyes met hers. A little embarrassed, Ariana decided to smile, to which the unknown woman responded fleetingly and then looked in the other direction.
Ariana’s thoughts returned to the tomatoes. “I’ll get off one stop before mine, and I’ll buy them at Alfredo’s store,” she decided. “Then I’ll walk home. It’s not very far.”
A seat became vacant and Ariana hurried to take it. But as she was sitting down, she accidentally collided with the woman who had looked at her a few moments earlier.
“Excuse me,” they both said at the same time.
“Sit down,” offered Ariana.
“No, please, you take it,” the stranger declined.
Ariana thanked her and dropped into the vacant seat, truly grateful. The bus continued on and for a few moments Ariana looked at the woman. She was plainly dressed and her eyes looked tired and sad. They were light brown and had large circles under them. Then the stranger turned around abruptly, and Ariana smiled again, this time a little flustered at having been caught watching her. Turning to look out the window at the morning traffic, she wondered why she felt there was still something else that she should do that day. The feeling had persisted and it had nothing to do with the tomatoes.
A few minutes later, the seat next to her was vacated and she quickly advised the woman. “Ma’am, there’s a vacant seat here,” she said smiling. The woman mumbled a “Thank you” and sat down beside her. Each time Ariana glanced at the woman, she’d discover that this stranger was also looking at her. She decided to start a conversation.
“We’re having a delightful autumn aren’t we?” The woman didn’t seem too eager to talk, but Ariana felt a warmth toward her. In an effort to encourage her, Ariana told her about her poor memory and how she had forgotten that she should have walked home because she needed to buy some tomatoes.
“If you’d like,” the woman responded, “I could sell you some of my tomatoes. I grow them in my own yard and right now I’ve got too many.”
“I would like that very much,” exclaimed Ariana enthusiastically. “Homegrown things are always better anyway, aren’t they?”
When the stranger told her that she lived three stops past Ariana’s, Ariana hesitated for a moment. She would have to go past her house and then return home loaded down with the tomatoes. That would be a waste of time, and she couldn’t allow herself to waste time when she had so many things to do. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to offend this woman, whom she was beginning to like, and so she agreed to go with her.
By the time they got off the bus, Ariana had found out that the woman’s name was Teresa. Together they walked along a row of small houses with yards until they came to a humble, but very clean and well-cared-for house.
“How marvelous!” exclaimed Ariana. “I’ve always wanted a home with a yard. We live in an apartment, and sometimes we feel caged in.”
Teresa smiled, but said nothing, as she led Ariana around to the back of the house, where she had her small garden. The two women began to pick tomatoes, putting them in a little basket which Teresa had let Ariana use. While picking, Teresa began to open up and talk more. She told Ariana that she had recently been widowed, and that her only child had to quit school and go to work in a factory so that they could make ends meet.
With the little basket full and her back hurting a little from the exertion, Teresa asked:
“Would you like to come in for a nice hot drink before you go?”
Ariana thought despairingly, “Time! I can’t; I can’t waste any more time!” But something urged her to say, “Yes, I’d love to.”
A few minutes later, they were seated across from each other at the kitchen table with cups of steaming hot chocolate. Little by little, Teresa began to tell Ariana about herself.
“It was funny how we happened to keep looking at each other on the bus,” she said, laughing. “Nothing like it has ever happened to me before. I’ve been so lonely, so lonely. …”
Suddenly her eyes clouded and Ariana thought she saw pain and sadness in them. Teresa started to talk of the financial struggle that she and her husband had had since they were married, and how he had often been unemployed, and of the many hardships they had gone through so that their daughter could get an education, only to see her quit half way through and go to work in a trade where she was practically a slave.
Then Teresa became even more serious and, almost as if talking to herself, asked why it sometimes felt as if God were looking in the other direction. It felt as if no one in the whole world, including God, loved her. As she spoke the lines around her mouth hardened and her eyes took on a bitter expression.
Ariana searched desperately for something to say. Surely there was something in the gospel for this sweet and anguished sister. But she could think of nothing. Any words of comfort seemed vain and empty against the burden of reality that this woman had experienced.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” mumbled Teresa, looking down.
Ariana responded, not knowing who put the words in her mouth: “Because the Lord has sent me.”
Teresa broke into tears. At first Ariana thought that she should say something to comfort her, but she soon saw that her new friend was crying out of gratitude.
They looked at each other in silence. Ariana felt very peaceful now. “Neither take ye thought beforehand what ye shall say;” the Lord said, “but treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man.” (D&C 84:85.) That is how it had happened. The spirit had inspired her to say the exact words that Teresa needed to hear.
“I want to know more about you,” said Teresa. “I want us to be friends.”
Ariana took her by the hand. “Can you see that the Lord never looks away?” she said gently.
“Do you belong to any kind of church?” Teresa asked curiously. Ariana began to tell her and Teresa listened with great interest. When Ariana invited her to attend their next family home evening, Teresa assured her that she would be there with her daughter.
“We have been searching for the light for so long,” she added, while they both stood up.
They hugged each other for a few moments and then Ariana picked up her purse, her coat and her tomatoes. Once in the street, she felt relieved and strengthened. “Truly, only in the service of our fellow men do we find happiness,” she thought. “That is the secret.”
It was late and lunch would be delayed that day. She would prepare a good salad and would take it to Sister Lago and they would eat it together. She would make an appointment with the pediatrician and have him look at Sandra as soon as possible to set her mind at ease. That night she would call her husband at the hotel and try to be the one to give encouragement. She would tell him, “We are thinking of you here at home and we love you.” Later, after putting Sandra to bed and before going to bed herself, she would write a letter to her mother and send her the recipe she asked for so long ago.
A spirit of joy flooded her heart, and while she waited at the curb for the light to turn green, she realized that the feeling of still having something else to do had left her. She had listened to the whisperings of the spirit, and had put the kingdom of God first, and everything else had been added unto her.

Lindsley: When I first got my call, I was talking to a teammate who had served his mission there, and he told me the mission was great but that there was one area that was bad—it was an inland area with smog, lots of people, and a high crime rate. It was a tough place to serve. I couldn’t believe it when my mission president told me that would be my first area. But it ended up being one of the highlights of my mission.

Yes, it’s true—a blind postman! His name was Owen Jones, and he delivered the mail for almost twenty-five years.
Owen was born in 1819 in a little village in Wales. When he was just a small boy, he fell into the fireplace, severely burning his face and losing the sight in one eye. When he was about thirty, he lost the sight in his other eye.
At first, he was discouraged and depressed, but before long, his natural, happy disposition returned. He continued to play the violin, and he worked at developing his talents for mimicking voices and telling stories. He learned to accept his blindness without bitterness, and, like many blind people, he developed his other senses.
When the missionaries came to Wales, he and his family were baptized and decided to go to America. He and his brother and sister arrived in New Orleans in 1849 on the ship Hartley. From there they made their way to Utah. Owen settled in Brigham City, a small community about sixty miles north of Salt Lake City, where there were other Welsh pioneers.
The neighbors found him cheerful, sociable, and friendly. He often did small repairs for them, and he made chair seats of rush (a course grass), cane, and rawhide.
He never had any trouble getting around the little town. He had an excellent sense of direction, counted the steps between fences and trees, and listened to the sounds around him.
When the job of postman became available, someone suggested that “Blind Man Jones,” as he was affectionately called, could do it. He was happy for the opportunity to be useful and to earn a steady paycheck.
He did well at his new job. Each day an associate sorted the mail for him and put it in the proper order in his canvas bag. Then away he went. Carrying a long buggy whip in front of him much like blind people nowadays use a white cane, he made his way around the town, delivering the mail. If he was not sure he had the right letters in his hand, he asked homeowners to check and resort them for him.
Owen took his meals with many of the townspeople; they all enjoyed his company and loved to hear stories about his early life in Wales. He spoke English almost as well as his native Welsh, and he was often called on to translate for immigrants who had not yet learned English.
Many children remembered having him in their homes for meals and parties. Owen loved to be a part of these happy times. Sometimes the carpet was rolled up, and the children danced to his violin music. He particularly enjoyed hearing the children’s laughter as they hopped and skipped to the music.
After one evening of dancing and merriment, the host asked his son to walk Owen home. After a block or so, he said to the boy, “You’d better go back; it must be very dark.”
“But what about you?”
“Oh, I can find my way without any trouble. Remember, the world looks the same to me whether it is night or day!”
The children always watched for him, and they took his hand and walked along with him, especially when he came to a small footbridge over a little creek. He probably would have had no trouble getting across, for the bridge had a railing, but he let the children feel that he really needed their help, and they loved it.
Owen never complained, and he never seemed to feel sorry for himself. He often said, “I would much rather lose my eyesight than my hearing. I can laugh and joke with friends, play the violin, and enjoy the music. I can hear the birds and the rushing streams and the other sounds of the world around me. Those are the things that give me joy!”
Owen Jones died of pneumonia in 1894 and was buried in the Brigham City Cemetery. He never married, but he enjoyed the love and affection of all the townspeople just the same as if he had been part of their families. He was an inspiration to all who knew him because he was willing to make the most of his abilities.
“It is not so bad to lose your sight,” he once said. “After all, what counts is what is in your mind!”
We could all learn a thing or two about living from Owen.

Reader 3: My dad and I used to fight all the time. Anytime I wanted anything or wanted to do something, I’d always give all my reasons because I was afraid dad would say no. And he always did. Then once, when I argued with dad and he said no, I went to mom. All she said was:
Reader D: “Why didn’t you ask him?”
Reader 3: “I did ask him, mom. I just told you what happened.”
Reader D: “You told me you argued with him. But you didn’t ask him. If you treat your father as if he’ll argue, he’ll argue. Next time, simply ask him.”
Reader 3: It sounded so simple it seemed stupid. But I tried. I stopped defending myself as if I didn’t deserve it, and he was more positive, too.

An experience I had in Guatemala observing some welfare missionaries had a great impact on me. When the welfare sisters walked onto the church grounds, the atmosphere became electric. Men, women, and children alike ran to them and embraced them. I was told the sisters had helped them through a recent epidemic. They had helped deliver some babies and were present when some members of the families had died. They had brought food for both the soul and the body.

Seventeen-year-old Brandon Frampton shared an experience about simply saying thank you.
“At my high school, I usually eat in the cafeteria. Every day I get in line, buy my lunch, eat, and leave. One day I felt impressed to say thank you to the lady who was serving me my lunch. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but later I learned that because of my remark she had a much better day. I still always say thank you, and I have noticed others doing the same now. Everyone can make a difference.”

I know from experience the troubled mind of such a young person. When I was preparing to go on my mission, some surprising forces tried to discourage me. One was my dentist. When he realized my appointment was so I could be a missionary, he tried to dissuade me from serving. I had not had the least notion that my dentist was against the Church.

The interruption of my education was also complicated. When I asked for a two-year leave of absence from my university program, I was informed that it was not possible. I would lose my place at the university if I did not return after one year. In Brazil, this was serious since the only criterion for admittance in a university program was a very difficult and competitive examination.

After repeatedly insisting, I was reluctantly informed that after being absent for one year, I could apply for an exception on extraordinary grounds. It might be approved or not. I was terrified at the idea of retaking that difficult admissions test after two years away from my studies.

I also was especially interested in a young woman. Several of my friends shared that same interest. I thought to myself, “If I go on a mission, I’m running a risk.”

But the Lord Jesus Christ was my great inspiration not to be afraid of the future as I strove to serve Him with all my heart.

Remember the challenges that I thought I faced prior to my mission? My dentist? I found another. My university? They made an exception for me. Remember that young woman? She married one of my good friends.

But God truly blessed me richly. And I learned that the blessings of the Lord can come in ways different from how we expect. After all, His thoughts are not our thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8–9).

Among the many rich blessings He has given me for serving Him as a full-time missionary are a greater faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement and a stronger knowledge and testimony of His teachings, so that I am not easily swayed by “every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14). I lost my fear of teaching. My capacity to face challenges with optimism increased. By observing individuals and families I met or taught as a missionary, I learned that the teachings of God are true when He says that sin does not bring true happiness and that obedience to the commandments of God helps us prosper both temporally and spiritually (see Mosiah 2:41; Alma 41:10). And I learned for myself that God is a God of miracles (see Mormon 9).

All of these things were instrumental in my preparation for adult life, including possible marriage and parenthood, Church service, and professional and community life.

For as long as I can remember, every time my mother came back from the temple, she would tell us about the peace she felt there. Throughout my teenage years, we had visited the temple in Johannesburg, South Africa, to do baptisms. Finally the time came for me to receive my endowment just before I left to serve a mission.
We traveled 900 miles (1,400 km) that day to get to the temple, and my mother spent much of the journey telling me about her experiences there. She talked about the things she felt and of her closeness to Heavenly Father. By the time we arrived at the temple, it was getting dark. The sky’s blue color faded into pink, then red, and finally black. The lights came on and lit up the temple’s beautiful white spires. As we walked around the temple in the cold night air, the golden statue of the angel Moroni glistened under a spotlight. The temple grounds were quiet and restful, undisturbed by the buzz of the city.
During the endowment session, I marveled at the incredible beauty of the Creation and the amazing plan of salvation. It made me long to see my Heavenly Father again. Now I understood what my mother had talked about so often—I felt completely at peace, as if I had come home. The session ended, and it was time to leave.
We were staying with my grandparents, and as we drove home with them, we saw that there had been a storm that evening while we were in the temple. I was amazed that I had not heard the thunder, rain, or wind while I was in the temple. In disbelief I stared through the car window at all the damage: electricity poles and trees had fallen down, road surfaces had been broken up or were flooded with water, and a few roofs had been blown off.
As I pondered the events of the evening, words came into my mind as the Spirit spoke to me: “Go to the temple often. It will be a refuge from the storm.”
I have been to the temple several times since then, and every time I go, I leave behind the troubles and difficulties of this stormy world and take shelter in the peace and comfort of my Heavenly Father’s love (see Isa. 4:6; D&C 115:6).

More than once I have repeated an experience I had in getting my portrait painted.
In the temple on the fourth floor is the room of the Council of the Twelve Apostles with large chairs in a semicircle. Here important meetings of that body are held. Around its walls are portraits of the Brethren. When I came to this service, I looked upon them with admiration and affection, for these were truly great men with whom I was associated.
Sometime later authorization was given by the First Presidency of the Church for my portrait to be added to the others.
Lee Greene Richards was selected as the artist, and we began immediately. I sat on a chair on an elevated platform in his studio and tried very hard to look handsome, like some of the other brethren. With paints, brushes, and palette ready, the artist scrutinized my features and daubed on the canvas alternately. I returned many times to the studio. After weeks the portrait was exhibited to the First Presidency and later to my wife and daughter.
It did not pass, and I was to submit to a redoing.
The angle was changed, the hours—many of them—were spent, and finally the portrait was near completion. This particular day was a busy one like most others. I suppose I was daydreaming, and quite detached from this world. Apparently he had difficulty translating my faraway gaze onto the canvas. I saw the artist lay down his palette and paints, fold his arms, and look straight at me, and I was shocked out of my dreaming by the abrupt question: “Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
My answer seemed to be a shock of equal magnitude to him as I said without hesitation: “Why, yes, Brother Richards, certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.” I saw him assume a relaxed position and look intently at me, with wonder in his eyes. I continued:
“Yes. Just an hour ago. It was in the holy temple across the way. The sealing room was shut off from the noisy world by its thick, white-painted walls; the drapes, light and warm; the furniture, neat and dignified; the mirrors on two opposite walls seeming to take one in continuous likenesses on and on into infinity; and the beautiful stained-glass window in front of me giving such a peaceful glow. All the people in the room were dressed in white. Here were peace and harmony and eager anticipation. A well-groomed young man and an exquisitely gowned young woman, lovely beyond description, knelt across the altar. Authoritatively, I pronounced the heavenly ceremony which married and sealed them for eternity on earth and in the celestial worlds. The pure in heart were there. Heaven was there.
“When the eternal marriage was solemnized, and as the subdued congratulations were extended, a happy father, radiant in his joy, offered his hand and said, ‘Brother Kimball, my wife and I are common people and have never been successful, but we are immensely proud of our family.’ He continued, ‘This is the last of our eight children to come into this holy house for temple marriage. They, with their companions, are here to participate in the marriage of this, the youngest. This is our supremely happy day, with all of our eight children married properly. They are faithful to the Lord in church service, and the older ones are already rearing families in righteousness.’
“I looked at his calloused hands, his rough exterior, and thought to myself, ‘Here is a real son of God fulfilling his destiny.’
“‘Success?’ I said, as I grasped his hand. ‘That is the greatest success story I have heard. You might have accumulated millions in stocks and bonds, bank accounts, lands, industries, and still be quite a failure. You are fulfilling the purpose for which you were sent into this world by keeping your own lives righteous, bearing and rearing this great posterity, and training them in faith and works. Why, my dear folks, you are eminently successful. God bless you.’”
My story was finished. I looked up at the portrait artist. He stood motionless in deep thought, so I continued: “Yes, my brother, I have had many glimpses of heaven.
“Once we were in a distant stake for conference. We came to the unpretentious home of the stake president at mid-day Saturday. We knocked at the door, and it was opened by a sweet mother with a child in her arms. She was the type of mother who did not know there were maids and servants. She was not an artist’s model, nor a society woman. Her hair was dressed neatly; her clothes were modest, tastefully selected; her face was smiling; and though young, she showed the rare combination of maturity of experience and the joys of purposeful living.
“The house was small. The all-purpose room into which we were welcomed was crowded and in its center were a long table and many chairs. We freshened up in the small bedroom assigned to us, made available by ‘farming out’ to the neighbors some of the children, and we returned to this living room. She had been very busy in the kitchen. Her husband, the stake president, soon returned from his day’s labors and made us welcome and proudly introduced us to all of the children as they returned from their chores and play.
“Almost like magic the supper was ready, for ‘many hands make light work,’ and these numerous hands were deft and experienced ones. Every child gave evidence of having been taught responsibility. Each had certain duties. One child had quickly spread a tablecloth; another placed the knives and forks and spoons; and another covered them with the large plates turned upside down. (The dishes were inexpensive.) Next came large pitchers of creamy milk, high piles of sliced homemade bread, a bowl at each place, a dish of fruit from storage, and a plate of cheese.
“One child placed the chairs with backs to the table, and without confusion, we all knelt at the chairs facing the table. One young son was called on to lead in family prayer. It was extemporaneous, and he pleaded with the Lord to bless the family and their schoolwork, and the missionaries, and the bishop. He prayed for us who had come to hold conference that we would ‘preach good,’ for his father in his church responsibilities, for all the children that ‘they would be good, and kind to each other,’ and for the little cold shivering lambs being born in the lambing sheds on the hill this wintry night.
“A very little one said the blessing on the food, and thirteen plates were turned up and thirteen bowls filled, and supper proceeded. No apologies were offered for the meal, the home, the children, or the general situation. The conversation was constructive and pleasant. The children were well-behaved. These parents met every situation with calm dignity and poise.
“In these days of limited families, or childless ones, when homes often have only one or two selfish and often pampered children, homes of luxury with servants, broken homes where life moves outside the home, it was most refreshing to sit with a large family where interdependence and love and harmony were visible and where children were growing up in unselfishness. So content and comfortable were we in the heart of this sweet simplicity and wholesomeness that we gave no thought to the unmatched chairs, the worn rug, the inexpensive curtains, the numbers of souls that were to occupy the few rooms available.”
I paused. “Yes, Brother Richards, I glimpsed heaven that day and many days, in many places.” He seemed uninterested in his painting. He stood listening, seemingly eager for more, and almost involuntarily I was telling him of another flight into heavenly situations.
“This time it was on the Indian reservation. While most Navajo women seem to be prolific, this sweet Lamanite wife in their several years of marriage had not been blessed with children of her own. Her husband was well employed. These new converts to the Church were buying their weekend groceries. As we glanced at the purchases in the large, well-filled basket, it was evident that only wholesome food was there—no beer, no coffee, no cigarettes. ‘You like Postum, do you?’ we asked them, and their reply touched our hearts: ‘Yes, we have had coffee and beer all our lives, but since the Mormon missionaries told us about the Word of Wisdom we use Postum, and we know it is better for the children and they like it.’
“‘Children?’ we asked. ‘We thought you were a childless couple.’ This brought from them the explanation that they had filled their home with eighteen Navajo orphans of all ages. Their hogan was large but their hearts even larger. Unselfishness—the milk of human kindness! Love unfeigned! These good Indians could shame many of their contemporaries who live lives of selfishness and smugness.”
I said to the artist: “Heaven can be in a hogan or a tent, Brother Richards, for heaven is of our own making.” I was ready to return to the picture but apparently he was not so inclined. He stood and listened intently.
“This time I was in Hawaii in the beautiful little temple at Laie. It was a missionary group. The spirit was there; the proselyters could hardly wait their turns to bear testimony of the Lord’s gospel. Finally, the little Japanese missionary gained the floor. By the pulpit in her stocking feet she knelt reverently, and with a heart near bursting with gratitude for the gospel and its opportunities, she poured out her soul to heaven.
“Heaven was there, my brother, in that little room, in that sacred spot, in that paradise of the Pacific with those sweet, consecrated young soldiers for Christ.”
I continued: “Heaven was in my own home, too, Dr. Richards, when home evening was held. Through the years the room was filled with our children, when each, eager for a turn, sang a song, led a game, recited an Article of Faith, told a story, and listened to faith-promoting incidents and gospel teaching from parents who loved them.
“Again, I found heaven in Europe:
“Elder Vogel was a local convert German boy of great faith. His parents refused to assist him in the mission which he so desired to fill. A kind American member helped with a monthly check to assist with the mission expenses. He enjoyed his work and all went well for a year and a half. One day a letter came from the wife of his sponsor, advising that her husband had been killed in an auto accident and it would be impossible to send any more money.
“Elder Vogel kept his disappointment hidden and prayed earnestly for a solution. As he and his American companion, Elder Smith, passed a hospital one day, a solution to his financial problem was born in his mind. The next day he made an excuse and was gone for a time. When he came back he said little but went to bed early. When asked the reason, he said he was a little extra weary. A few days later Elder Smith noted a small bandage on the arm of the German brother, but his question was passed off lightly.
“Time passed and Elder Smith became suspicious of the periodical bandages until one day, unable to keep his secret longer, Elder Vogel told him: ‘You see, my friend in America is dead and can no longer give support to my mission. My parents are still unwilling to help me, so I visit the blood bank at the hospital so I can finish my mission.’ Selling his precious blood to save souls! Well, isn’t that what the Master did when he gave his every drop in the supreme sacrifice?
“Do you believe in heaven, Brother Artist?” I asked. “Yes, that is it. Heaven is a place, but also a condition; it is home and family. It is understanding and kindness. It is interdependence and selfless activity. It is quiet, sane living; personal sacrifice, genuine hospitality, wholesome concern for others. It is living the commandments of God without ostentation or hypocrisy. It is selflessness. It is all about us. We need only to be able to recognize it as we find it and enjoy it. Yes, my dear brother, I’ve had many glimpses of heaven.”
I straightened up in my chair and posed again. The artist picked up his palette and brushes and paints, did some touching up of the portrait, and sighed contentedly as he said, “It is completed.”
In due time it was placed with those of others of the Brethren in the Council of the Twelve room on the fourth floor of the Salt Lake Temple, where it hangs to this day.

Monday, October 11
Dear Grandma and Grandpa, (Oops! I mean Elder and Sister Wall. I keep forgetting!)
How do you like Nigeria? Mom showed me where it is on the map. It’s very far away! But I’m glad you got to go on your mission. You always said you’d serve wherever Heavenly Father wanted you to go. Remember? But I still wish you weren’t so far away.
Love,Vera
Monday, November 1
Dear Vera,
Yes, Nigeria is far away from where you live, but we are so glad we’re here. The people are so warm and loving, and Heavenly Father has blessed us so much.
On Sunday, four children were confirmed. We met in a tiny chapel with a concrete floor, and the Spirit was so strong. It was beautiful!
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. We love the Primary children so much that we want to give them a special Christmas present. Do you have any ideas?
Monday, November 22
Dear Elder and Sister Wall, (See? I remembered!)
I’ve got a great Christmas present idea! And I’ve even talked to Mom and the Primary president about it. But I’m not going to tell you what it is because I know how much you like surprises. (Remember the surprise birthday party Mom gave you, Grandma? You were so funny!)
I will give you a hint. It starts with the letter P, and we’ll be sending it in a couple of weeks.
Love,Vera
P.S. Can you guess what it is?
Friday, December 3
Dear Vera,
What could it be? Grandpa and I have been thinking about what you might be sending for the Primary children. We can hardly wait to find out!
There are lots of things that start with P in Africa—like pigs, parrots, and potholes! But I don’t think that’s the surprise you’re talking about.
Love,Sister Wall
Monday, December 13
Dear Vera,
Dalu and Merry Christmas! Dalu means “thank you” in Igbo (a language spoken in Nigeria). P stands for “pictures,” doesn’t it?
All the children here in our Primary liked the Christmas pictures you and your friends drew for them at the Primary activity.
We wish you could have seen them! All the children were smiling and laughing and saying how wonderful it was to hear from faraway Primary friends who love Jesus just like they do.
Thanks so much for your Christmas present. It was perfect! (That starts with P too!)
Love,Elder and Sister Wall
P.S. The Nigerian Primary children like to send surprises too!
Friday, December 31
Dear Elder and Sister Wall,
Please tell the Primary children in Nigeria dalu for their pictures! All the kids in my Primary liked them! We especially enjoyed the pictures with the palm trees, fans, and baskets.
Love,Vera
P.S. Even though I still miss you, ever since we sent you the special present for your Primary children, Nigeria doesn’t seem far away at all!

A few years ago, our family started going through some trying times. Our daughter, who was two at the time, had received a cancer diagnosis that required ongoing rigorous treatments. We also had a baby who had her own medical complications requiring frequent monitoring and visits to specialists. Life was not going quite as we had planned!
Based on our circumstances, we needed to make a few changes—and do so quickly! Upon the cancer diagnosis, I quit my job, dedicated my time to my children’s health-care needs, and started traveling out of state frequently for my daughter’s treatment.
As a six-year stretch of various cancer treatments for her began, I didn’t know that I was going to get an intensive course on how to be ministered to and in turn how to minister to others.
I’d like to share a few of the lessons that personally helped me when I was the one being served:
Say yes to help—if it actually is helpful. It can be hard to be on the receiving end of service. It is humbling since it can bring up vulnerabilities and weaknesses. But if someone offers something that would be helpful to you, say yes! Some offers may not be helpful, and in those cases, it is appropriate to politely decline. Maybe in that case you can suggest something they could do instead. In the future, you can offer to serve someone else.
Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.
Be graceful in response to people’s well-meaning comments. No one but our Heavenly Father and the Savior can know exactly what you are going through. Be generous in accepting people’s comments or words of sympathy. We all have been in the position of wishing we could take back something we have said. On the rare occasions when people said something that came across the wrong way, I would try to focus on their good intentions and move on.
When able, share your thanks! When you are in the trenches of your trials, thank-you notes or expressions of gratitude might not be a possibility. In those times, it can feel overwhelming to notice and receive any gifts of generosity or love. If you missed an opportunity to share your thanks, remember there is no expiration date for gratitude. You can always reach out later and let them know how much their service meant to you at the time.
During our daughter’s first few months of treatment, our time and energy were filled with the daily grind of our children’s health-care needs. Normally, I like to give people thank-you notes but didn’t make the time for that. Instead, I kept a list on my computer of some of the gifts and acts of service we received, both to remember to thank later and to remind us of the wonderful people watching out for us. This is a list I hold dear to my heart, and it serves as a reminder on how I can help those around me.
To follow Jesus Christ, our ultimate example of being a minister, includes being “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8). I have received many Christlike acts of service, making my burdens light. Being on the receiving end of this kindness is humbling, and I am grateful to have learned more about our Savior’s love by being ministered to by His disciples.

Sam Beaver and his father are in Canada on a camping trip. Sam likes to explore and finds two trumpeter swans and their nest of five eggs at the edge of a pond. Sam watches the nest, and finally five little cygnets hatch. The swans discover that one of their little ones, Louis, is different—he doesn’t have a voice. Sam tries to help; he takes Louis to school, where the swan learns to read. Things go well until the beautiful lady swan, Serena, spurns Louis because he is defective. Louis’s father decides his son must have a voice, and so he steals a trumpet for Louis. The story of how Louis struggles to pay off his father’s debt, becomes a successful trumpeter, and wins Serena is an exciting tale.

“Now may I make a personal reference, which I’ll try to treat in such a way as to preserve the confidentiality. It involved a beautiful, young wife and mother from a prominent family. She had gone away from her home and was now in the East. She had gone out into an area where she and her husband had taken up with those in the ghetto, and she wrote me a rather interesting letter, and I quote only a paragraph: ‘Tomorrow my husband will shave off his long, full beard. Because of the request of the stake president and your direction in the Priesthood Bulletin, he must not have the appearance of evil or rebellion if he is to get a recommend to go to the temple. I have wept anguished tears; the faces of Moses and Jacob were bearded, and to me the wisdom and spirituality of the old prophets reflected from the face of my own spiritual husband. It was like cutting out for me a symbol of the good things my generation has learned.’ Then the letter concluded with a challenge to me: ‘We are prepared for clear, specific, hard-line direction as youth. Wishy-washy implications are not heard very well here. We look to you to tell it straight.’
“I don’t know whether she knew just what she was asking for when she asked me to tell it straight, but these are some things I wrote to her: ‘In your letter you address me as, “Dear President Lee,” and in your first sentence you refer to me as the Lord’s prophet. Now, in your letter you tell me that you are saddened because with the shaving off of the beard and the cutting of the hair, which, to you, made your husband appear as the prophets Moses and Jacob, he would no longer bear that resemblance. I wonder if you might not be wiser to think of following the appearance of the prophets of today. President David O. McKay had no beard or long hair; neither did President Joseph Fielding Smith; and neither does your humble servant whom you have acknowledged as the Lord’s prophet.
“‘The inconsistency in your letter has made me reflect upon an experience that I had in the mission field when, in company with some missionaries and the mission president, we were at Carthage Jail, where the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph and his brother, Hyrum, took place. In that meeting there were recounted the events that led up to their martyrdom. Then the mission president made some significant comments. He said, “When the Prophet Joseph Smith died there were many who died spiritually with Joseph.” Likewise there were many who died spiritually with Brigham Young, and so with others of the presidents of the Church, because they chose to follow the man who had passed on, rather than giving allegiance to his successor upon whom the mantle of leadership had been given by the Lord’s appointment.’
“And then I asked her, ‘Are you following, in looks, prophets who lived hundreds of years ago? Are you really true to your faith as a member of the Church in failing to look to those who preside in the Church today? Why is it that you want your husband to look like Moses and Jacob, rather than to look like the modern prophets to whom you are expressing allegiance? If you will give this sober thought, your tears will dry, and you’ll begin to have some new thoughts.’” (“Be Loyal to the Royal Within You.” Speeches of the Year, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1974, pp. 97–98.)

My parents met at a Church activity and shortly after decided to get married and sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple. Waiting at the railway station, having spent the last of their little savings for the trip to the temple, they wondered how they would make ends meet but were confident that it would all work out. And it did!
They started to raise their family from a very humble single attic-room apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. After several years of washing their clothes by hand, they had finally saved up enough money to purchase a washing machine. Just before they would make the purchase, the bishop visited them, asking for a contribution to build the meetinghouse in Amsterdam. They decided to give all they had saved for the washing machine and continued to do the laundry by hand.

From the time she was a young teen, Emilie struggled with substance abuse. Experimentation led to habit, and habit eventually hardened into an addiction that held her captive for years, notwithstanding occasional periods of wellness. Emilie carefully concealed her problem, especially after she became a wife and mother.

The beginning of her deliverance did not feel like deliverance at all. One minute, Emilie was undergoing a routine medical exam, and the next, she was being driven by ambulance to an inpatient treatment facility. She began to panic as she thought of being separated from her children, her husband, her home.

That night, alone in a cold, dark room, Emilie curled up on her bed and sobbed. Her ability to reason diminished until finally, overcome with anxiety, fear, and the oppressive darkness in that room and in her soul, Emilie actually thought she would die that night. Alone.

In that desperate condition, Emilie somehow summoned the strength to roll off the bed and onto her knees. Without any posturing that had sometimes been part of previous prayers, Emilie completely surrendered herself to the Lord as she desperately pleaded, “Dear God, I need You. Please help me. I don’t want to be alone. Please get me through this night.”

And immediately, as He had done with Peter of old, Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught her sinking soul. There came over Emilie a wondrous calm, courage, assurance, and love. The room was no longer cold, she knew she was not alone, and for the first time since she was 14 years old, Emilie knew everything would be all right. As she “awoke unto God,” Emilie fell asleep in peace. And thus we see that “if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.”

Emilie’s healing and ultimate deliverance took a long time—months of treatment, training, and counseling, during which she was sustained and sometimes carried by His goodness. And that goodness continued with her as she entered the temple with her husband and children to be sealed together forever. Like the people of Zarahemla, Emilie now gives thanks as she reflects on the immediate goodness of God and His power in delivering her from bondage.

A little while later, another of Candace’s relatives, her great-great-aunt, Lorna Call Alder, was lying in the darkness of her family’s home, not sure what would happen next. Angered at the U.S. government, Pancho Villa was headed straight for the town of Dublan, threatening to kill any and all Americans he found. And although the colonists had been living in Mexico for many years, they had remained loyal to the United States. The entire town was in grave danger. The people of Dublan made preparations to flee, should it be necessary, and then waited for the bishop, who happened to be Lorna’s father, to instruct them.

Lorna remembered and recorded exactly what her father told the people. “Calmly and without wavering he said, ‘Go to your homes, pray to your Heavenly Father for protection, turn out your lights, and go to sleep. The Lord will be with you this night.’”

With a great deal of faith, the Saints did exactly as they were told. At about three in the morning Villa’s army reached the north end of town. Villa stopped his army and looked out over Dublan. Much to his astonishment, he saw what appeared to be the campfires of a large army. Frightened, Villa led his men in another direction, avoiding the town completely.

No one knows for sure what Villa saw that night. Some people think that it might have been a prairie brush fire reflected in the windows of the homes in town, which could have looked like the campfires of an army. Others believe that heavenly beings protected the town that night. But no matter what he saw, the people in the town then and now believe it was a miracle.

On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.