Gospel Story Finder

“They expelled me from school because I’m a Mormon,” said seven-year-old Raúl Aquino Gonzales. That may seem like a big price for one so young to pay. But Raúl doesn’t think so—even though he was happy at the school, had lots of friends there, and loved his teacher.
Raúl was a first grader in a religious school in a small town in Paraguay—and was the only Latter-day Saint in the school. One day, he said, “People started criticizing the Church without knowing anything about it. They were saying things that aren’t so.” Raúl—a likable, outgoing boy—felt he couldn’t just sit there without saying anything. “I tried to defend the Church by telling them they were wrong,” he explained. “I was expelled because I wouldn’t conform.”
Now Raúl, still a first grader, is enrolled in a different school. “I’ve already told the people at the new school that I’m a Mormon,” he said. And with a grin, he added: “But they didn’t expel me!” His best friend in his new class is also a member of the Church.
Each day, all the boys must wear long-sleeved white shirts and ties to school. As Raúl sat on his front porch talking about his experiences, he was still wearing his white shirt and tie. He looked and sounded very much like a missionary—even though he is still too young to be baptized!
“Ever since I met the missionaries,” Raúl said, “I’ve wanted to be like them. I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m a Mormon.”
“He talks about the Church all the time, everywhere he goes,” said his mother, Glaides. “When he visits the neighbors, he talks about the Church. And he is very open with people—he’s not afraid to talk to anybody.
“Once he saw a neighbor drinking alcohol,” she said, “and he politely told the man that he shouldn’t be drinking it.” (Raúl is trying to learn to be tactful and courteous while defending the principles of the gospel.)
In his new school, the students say a prayer each morning. “But they don’t pray the way we do,” Raúl said. “They say a memorized prayer, and sometimes they pray to the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus.
“Once I asked if I could offer the prayer. I folded my arms, shut my eyes, and bowed my head—and I prayed to Heavenly Father. I thanked Him for the beautiful day and for my new school, where I can study peacefully. I asked Him to bless my teacher and all of my classmates. I prayed especially that one boy who was sick would be able to return soon. Then I closed in the name of Jesus Christ.”
After school each day, Raúl changes out of his white shirt and tie and puts on other clothes. Some days, he helps his mother in her small store. Other days, he stays home to help care for his three-year-old brother, Luis Angel, and his one-year-old sister, Luciana Andrea.
He loves to climb the trees in his yard. He helps his brother and sister pick up nuts that have fallen to the ground; then he cracks open the shells on a rock, and they all enjoy the treat. Later they play with their pet rabbits and feed the pig out in the backyard.
Inside, Raúl helps tidy up the house. On the walls are pictures of his parents wearing white clothes, standing in front of the São Paulo Temple. The pictures were taken just a month and a half earlier, when his parents took the sixteen-hour bus ride to the temple to be sealed. Brother and Sister Aquino hope to be able to take Raúl, Luis Angel, and Luciana Andrea with them to be sealed as a family the next time they go to the temple.
Raúl and his family live in the small Paraguayan town of Piquete Cué. In the nearby town of Limpio, there is a beautiful LDS meetinghouse where a ward meets. But each Sunday, Raúl and his family pass the Limpio Ward meetinghouse on their two-hour bus ride to the town of Villa Hayes. There they attend a tiny branch that meets in a small rented house. Why don’t they go to the ward that is so much closer to their home?
“Because,” said Raúl’s father, Luciano, who works as an industrial engineer, “there are so few members in the Villa Hayes Branch that they really need us there.” Brother Aquino is first counselor in the branch presidency. Sister Aquino has been Relief Society president and now teaches a Primary class.
Raúl attends Primary and loves to learn more about the Book of Mormon. “I don’t know how to read it yet,” he said. “But my mamá and papá read it to me.”
Raúl often bears his testimony in sacrament meeting. He told the branch members recently that he’d had a headache, but when he prayed, it went away.
He also remembers the time his dad was seriously sick. Raúl’s mother thought he was going to die. She rode a bus to where the missionaries lived to ask them to give him a blessing. They weren’t home, so she left them a message. When they arrived several hours later, Raúl’s father was so sick that he could hardly talk. The missionaries gave him a blessing, and within half an hour, he was up and feeling much better.
“I really want my eighth birthday to come so I can be baptized,” Raúl said. “And I want to be a missionary.”
Raúl already is a missionary. “I know that the Book of Mormon and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are true,” he said. “I would tell the children all over the world to love everyone—especially the children in the streets who don’t have a home. They make me cry a lot. Be thankful to Heavenly Father and also to your parents. Love the Church, take the sacrament, and always pray.”
Then Raúl climbed up his favorite tree. From his leafy perch, he waved good-bye.

If you were out for a drive in Rockledge, Florida, and happened to turn onto Faull Lane, you probably wouldn’t think twice about what you saw. Sure, the houses in the neighborhood are neat and clean looking, and the yards are well kept. But there’s nothing particularly unusual about them. Except, perhaps, for number 812.
Was that house there last week? Yesterday?
You think about it for a minute and realize that not long ago, there was nothing where that house is now standing but an empty lot. You’re almost certain that the house, complete with a fully finished yard, was nothing but a patch of dusty ground just a few weeks before. But how does a house appear out of nowhere?
Flash back to a very warm summer afternoon in Cocoa, Florida, at the Cocoa stake center. Ashley Foss, a Laurel, is giving what amounts to a pep talk to the youth from the Cocoa and Orlando South stakes.
“Remember, Florida is the Sunshine State,” she says. “It’s going to be hot tomorrow, so be ready and bring a squirt bottle!”
Ashley goes on to give other good advice for the outdoor activity they’re planning—like wearing clothes that can get dirty, drinking plenty of water, using sunscreen. Then Ashley delivers the clincher.
“It usually takes seven or eight months to build a house, and we’re going to do it in a day!”
Building a house in one day. They’ve been hearing about it for months, and the next day it will finally materialize.
Although the room is warm and the youth are perhaps a bit drowsy, there is a real change in the feeling in the room.
But you need a lot more than smiles and enthusiasm to build a house—especially when you’re doing it for youth conference. In fact, in many stakes a project like this wouldn’t be possible. But the Cocoa Stake is home to a lot of adults who are experts in construction, so with their help, the youth committee decided to give it a try. The young men and young women teamed up with Habitat for Humanity, a Christian organization dedicated to building decent housing for families who couldn’t otherwise afford it.
Sara Judd, a Laurel on the youth committee, was in charge of finding donors for materials, goods, and services to be used during the building. But where do you go when you have to find things like a crane, bottled water, T-shirts, two-way radios, sod and landscaping materials, tents, tables, chairs, and portable rest rooms? With items that diverse, there’s not exactly a place for one-stop shopping.
“Brother [Kerry] Gilger, the stake Young Men president, and I opened up the yellow pages at one of the youth committee meetings,” says Sara. “We made a list of the businesses that might be willing to donate something, and then we started making phone calls.”
Because many of the people Sara and the others on the committee worked with were members of other faiths, the project wasn’t just a good leadership and organizational skills builder; it was also a great missionary project.
“I went to all the Habitat for Humanity meetings we were required to attend as part of this project,” says Sara, who used her involvement as a Laurel project. “I learned a lot. Many of the people involved, including the family we were building for, were from different religious faiths. It was neat to work together toward the same goal.”
Although the homes built by Habitat for Humanity are simple and relatively small, construction usually takes at least a few months. But the youth committee knew that youth conference wouldn’t last longer than a few days. Their solution? Get the house done, start to finish, in one day.
“A ‘blitz build’ like this has been done before in other areas,” says Logan Newby, a priest on the youth committee. “But the people in charge of the Habitat chapter here weren’t sure that we could do it, especially with so many teenagers helping. We knew it would be great, and that everyone would really get into it, so we made a plan and presented it.”
The plan included an early start, 6:00 A.M., and a solution for every conceivable problem. For instance, most teenagers don’t know the first thing about building a house. So the youth were divided into groups and then paired with skilled laborers—people who volunteered to work for free—to oversee everything they did. There were so many teens involved that they couldn’t all work on the house at the same time, leaving them with a lot of time that wasn’t filled. No problem. The youth committee devised other projects to work on, things like putting in the yard, building a shed, and cleaning nearby vacant lots. Finally, there were countless safety issues to be addressed. That seemed to be the highest hurdle to clear.
“We thought that might be the end of this idea,” says Sara. “But the police, the Red Cross, and a local ambulance service all donated their time to help us. Once that was taken care of, we were ready to go.”
On the day of the build, more than 300 teens are up before the sun. In the darkness, the cement foundation—poured a few days earlier to give it time to cure—is barely visible. By the time the sun is shining, the cement is surrounded by studs, and the framework for the roof is being put on. Skilled laborers do the technical work, while teenagers happily sweep, nail, and paint where they are told.
By lunch, the house is starting to take shape. Housing inspectors are on hand to approve each phase of the project as it is finished. And though it’s scorching hot, smiles are seen all around.
“I think everyone really likes coming together for something like this. It makes us feel good to be here, helping a family out,” says Mia Maid Kristin Turley.
By mid-afternoon, youth are helping with finish work. One paints trim; another helps put house numbers on. One even tests the porch light to make sure it’s working. Soon, kitchen cabinets and fixtures are installed by an expert. He is cleaned up after by several broom-toting teenagers.
Later on, most everyone helps lay sod. A few people plant flowers and trees, and everyone—plants and people—gets a long drink of water.
By this time, some of the local media have come to see what all the excitement is about. Other important people in town have come to see, too. A few of them, including Rockledge Mayor, Jack Oats, even roll up their sleeves and help.
“These kids are unbelievable,” says the mayor. “With kids like this, who aren’t afraid to talk about and live what they believe in, we don’t have to worry about the future.”
Soon the building inspector comes for a last walk-through. He declares it not only up to code but one of the most soundly built houses he has ever seen.
At 6:00 P.M., just 12 hours after the project began, there is a house standing where there was just an empty lot. The youth gather in the yard and watch as the homeowner, Karol DeKlercq, is presented the keys to her new house.
“Your love will forever be a part of our lives,” she says. “For the rest of my life and as my [four] children grow and their hands touch all you have built, the prints of your love will forever be there.”
There are tears in just about everybody’s eyes as the reality of what has happened sinks in. The DeKlercq family had previously rented a house that had fallen into disrepair, and they had no hope of ever having a place of their own. They now have 1,200 square feet—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and an eating area—to call home.
Every time a new house is finished, representatives from Habitat for Humanity present the homeowner with a Bible to keep as a family treasure. This time, in addition to the Bible, the family also received a triple combination and a framed copy of The Family: A Proclamation to the World.
After these gifts have been given and the youth have a chance to hug or congratulate Karol, they load up into waiting vans and head for a park where a well-deserved barbecue is being prepared. After they leave, the neighborhood is still—the first time all day that the hubbub has quieted down to anything less than a dull roar.
After the dust has settled and the youth and their leaders have had a few days to rest, they’ll meet and discuss the conference. They’ll talk about things that were successful, things that could have been done differently. But by all accounts, the project was a huge hit.
“I love missionary work, and I love service,” says Laurel Kelli Baker. “What could be more fun than a youth conference project that combines both of them?”
And so when you’re taking that drive through a small neighborhood in the middle of Florida, you can be sure that your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. Yes, that house did spring up overnight.
To be sure, the lot the house sits on is a fairly ordinary piece of land, nothing special really. Nothing special unless you consider what the helping hands of hundreds of teenagers accomplished there: they’ve given a family a place to call home.

Cammon Randle got his first video camera when he was only eight years old. Now that he’s at BYU, he’s doing what he has always wanted to do—tell stories.

“I’ve always been interested in movies and how you can tell a story by showing it,” he says.

So how did this enterprising student go from an eight-year-old with a camera to a film student with his own production company? Well, first he tried.

Starting with small Claymation projects when he was nine, Cammon kept filming and editing through high school. He eventually decided to go to BYU and major in media arts. He has worked on films like The Best Two Years, a film about missionaries in Holland, and on some commercials and TV shows. Recently, he worked on The Work and the Glory, a film based on Church history, with Chantelle and Jimmy.

He says the secret to getting where you want to go is hard work. “People can see when you’re working hard and you’re doing your best, and they like that.”

In going into his line of work, Cammon realized he would face some challenges. Not the least of these is that the movie industry can be morally challenging. He says to stay spiritually strong in any working environment, you have to do a few key things: First, he says, “Know you are a son or daughter of God.”

Second, Cammon knows that, no matter what career you go into, you will likely face some faith-challenging situations. “Be prepared for it,” he says. “You have to decide beforehand what you’re going to do and stick it out. You just have to follow the Spirit, as always.”

Did they ever become discouraged? Of course they did. I quote now from James Brown, this remarkable experience and prophecy:
The winter of 1848–49 was quite cold. Many people had their feet badly frozen. . . . As the days grew warmer the gold fever attacked many so that they prepared to go to California. Some said they would go only to have a place for the rest of us; for they thought Brigham Young too smart a man to try to establish a civilized colony in such a “God-forsaken country,” as they called the [Salt Lake] valley. . . .
It was at this time of gloom that President Young stood before the whole people, and said, in substance . . . : “Some have asked me about going. I have told them that God has appointed this place for the gathering of his saints, and you will do better right here than you will by going to the gold mines. Some have thought they would go there and get fitted out and come back, but I told them to stop here and get fitted out. Those who stop here and are faithful to God and his people will make more money and get richer than you that run after the god of this world; and I promise you in the name of the Lord that many of you that go thinking you will get rich and come back, will wish you had never gone away from here, and will long to come back, but will not be able to do so. Some of you will come back, but your friends who remain here will have to help you. . . .
“We have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate his people, and here is where they will prosper; he will temper the elements for the good of his Saints; he will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil, and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go to now, and plant out your fruit seeds. . . .
” . . . We shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and to the south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the Saints will gather in from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here, while the wicked and ungodly will envy us our comfortable homes and possessions. Take courage, brethren. I can stand in my door and can see where there is untold millions of the rich treasures of the earth—gold and silver. But the time has not come for the Saints to dig gold. . . . For if the mines are opened first, we are a thousand miles from any base of supplies and the people would rush in here in such great numbers that they would breed a famine. . . . People would starve to death with barrels of gold. . . . It is our duty to preach the gospel, gather Israel, pay our tithing, and build temples. The worst fear that I have about this people is that they will get rich in this country, forget God and his people, wax fat, and kick themselves out of the Church and go to hell. [That is a quotation!] This people will stand mobbing, robbing, poverty, and all manner of persecution, and be true. But my greater fear for them is that they cannot stand wealth; and yet they have to be tried with riches, for they will become the richest people on this earth.” [See Life of a Pioneer: Being the Autobiography of James S. Brown (Salt Lake City: George Q. Cannon & Sons, 1900; New York: AMS Press, 1971), pp. 119–23, cited by Preston Nibley in Brigham Young: The Man and His Work (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1936), pp. 126–28]
I would like to say that we are a very rich and blessed people.
Notwithstanding the temptation to go to the California goldfields, where the entire world seemed to be rushing, the people accepted their leader’s words. They stayed here and grubbed the sagebrush and made their way. Brigham Young’s prophecy has been fulfilled. This is now a great and beautiful and fertile area. It has become the Crossroads of the West. Thousands and tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands pass this way constantly. We in the Office of the First Presidency are called upon day after day and week after week to meet the great of the earth.

Carol Hyatt will never forget the day her bishop asked her to facilitate a self-reliance class on personal finances. She and her husband, Ted, had only recently returned to activity in the Church after a 42-year absence, and she was naturally shy.
Carol had known her bishop, Todd A. Josi, since he was a boy. Decades earlier, he had attended her Sunday School class.
“Now, Bishop,” she frankly told him after she and Ted had begun attending church again, “I don’t want to give a talk. I don’t want to do a calling. I just want to come to church.”
But two years later, Bishop Josi was sitting in the Hyatt home talking about the Church’s Self-Reliance Services initiative—something Sister Hyatt had never heard of. After introducing it, the bishop asked her to facilitate a 12-week class on principles of successful financial stewardship. Then he gave her a copy of the Personal Finances for Self-Reliance manual.
“I don’t know why I said yes,” Sister Hyatt recalls. “It’s frightening for me to be around people I don’t know—and to think I had to be there one night a week for 12 weeks with Church members who were certainly more ingrained in the gospel than I was. I didn’t know if I’d even be able to help them.”
Bishop Josi wasn’t surprised that Sister Hyatt accepted the assignment despite her hesitation. He says that during a stake self-reliance committee meeting in Forest Grove, Oregon, USA, a short time before, “It came to my mind that Sister Hyatt needed the blessing of facilitating the personal finances group. It just hit me so hard.”
Bishop Josi hoped that by facilitating the class, Sister Hyatt would overcome a major stumbling block to her spiritual progress: paying tithing. “As I drove home that evening,” he says, “I had a strong spiritual impression that as Sister Hyatt went through this class, she would come to understand the importance of paying tithing.”
Feeling nervous and ill-prepared, Sister Hyatt began facilitating her class in October 2017. As she led class discussions on managing finances, creating and sticking to a budget, preparing for hardship, getting out of debt, managing financial crises, and investing in the future, Sister Hyatt became comfortable as a facilitator but uncomfortable with her personal example.
When she read the manual in preparation for her third class, she learned that the “self-reliant approach to financial stewardship” includes paying tithes and offerings.1 She also learned that the foundation principle of that approach is repentance and obedience.2
“During one of the later lessons, I admitted to everybody that I was probably the only one in the whole group who wasn’t paying tithing,” she recalls. That admission prompted support from her 13 class members and discussions and testimonies about the blessings of the law of tithing.
“I don’t know why I was so troubled before about tithing, but I realized that I needed to get serious about getting a testimony of it,” says Sister Hyatt. “As I listened to encouragement from my group and from my husband, the Spirit said, ‘You can do this!’ I gained that little extra faith I needed, and I realized that I would be a better facilitator if I was doing what I was asking my class to do.”
A few days after her 11th class, Sister Hyatt approached Bishop Josi at church, took his hand, and told him she was ready to live the law of tithing. “He was so excited,” she says.
Brother Hyatt, who was attending his wife’s class, was also excited. As he paid his own tithing during the previous year, he often encouraged Sister Hyatt by reminding her of a blessing she longed for. “We won’t get to the temple unless you pay your tithing,” he would say.
On May 26, 2018, the windows of heaven opened and poured out a blessing on Ted and Carol Hyatt that they had not imagined possible months before when Sister Hyatt began facilitating her class. On that day, the day before their 58th anniversary, they made covenants and were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple.
The Hyatts describe that experience as “a beautiful day and a marvelous blessing” for which they will always be grateful. Sister Hyatt adds that she will also always be grateful for an encouraging husband, an inspired bishop, and a class of students who, she feels, helped her more than she helped them. To show their love and support, nearly every member of her class attended the Hyatts’ sealing.
“People can gain so much from the Church’s self-reliance initiative, especially the spiritual part of it,” says Sister Hyatt. “It’s the spiritual part that makes it so valuable. For my husband and me, it has made an eternal difference.”

Chelsea’s prayers and hard work paid off. In their second season, the Oak Hills Neighborhood Theater put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which Chelsea shortened and simplified for the children. The production went so well that the group was invited to participate in the Utah Shakespearean Festival’s Elementary Shakespeare Showcase in Cedar City, Utah.
“It was the best thing that could have happened to these wonderful, talented children,” says Chelsea.

Every evening after dinner is over and the dishes are washed and dried, Klees and I scrub our faces, brush our teeth, and put on our pajamas. Papa sits in the rocking chair, unbuttons the top button on his shirt, and rolls up his sleeves. Mama sits on the couch, takes off her shoes, and tucks her hair behind her ears. Then we are all ready for our special time.
“What shall it be?” Papa asks.
Sunday I lifted Papa’s golden trombone from its stand and carried it over to him. Klees followed with the mute for Papa to use so that the people in the apartment below wouldn’t be disturbed. “A concert by Papa!” we announced.
Monday Klees picked up Mama’s clarinet, and we watched her open the green-gold case and assemble the shiny black pieces. “A performance by Mama,” we declared.
Tuesday I took my wooden recorder out of its cloth bag while Klees unlatched the toy box and grasped the shiny tin drum. “It’s a program by Klees and Katrina!” Papa exclaimed.
Wednesday we all played together with Papa beating time as he rocked back and forth, back and forth in his rocking chair.
“Let’s sing now,” Papa said. “Do you know this song?” and he began to hum.
“Oh, yes!” We all joined in.
“Do you know this one?” We each took a turn humming, then singing hymns and lullabies, rounds and carols.
Thursday Papa and Mama set thick music books on the heavy metal stand and played duets. I closed my eyes and saw colors swirling in my head. I got up very quietly and fetched paper and crayons, and Klees and I drew pictures of how the music made us feel.
Friday Mama sang nursery rhymes. Klees and I made the eensy weensy spider climb up Papa’s “waterspout legs.” We pretended to be blackbirds and “snipped off” Mama’s nose. We all joined hands to “Ring-Around-the-Rosy,” and we all fell down.
Saturday Papa played dance tunes, and Klees and I hopped about the room. “Let’s all dance!” Papa said. He pushed the couch and the chairs against the wall and started a record.
“This is how you do it,” he explained. He showed me how to waltz, and Mama taught Klees. We danced through the room, out into the hallway, and back.
The music on the next record was livelier.
“A polka!”
Papa and Mama whirled round and round, faster and faster. Klees and I clapped our hands until the music stopped.
Tonight is Sunday again, and there is a special religious concert on the radio. Papa twists the knobs until the sound enters our room, loud and clear, from a faraway city. He sits in his rocking chair and rocks back and forth, back and forth. Mama lies on the couch, her head on a patchwork pillow. Klees curls up next to Mama, and I climb onto Papa’s lap. It is as if the music is being played just for us.
When our special time ends, Klees and I kiss Mama and Papa good night, say our prayers, then crawl into bed. The house is quiet, but there will be music again tomorrow. Music and love.

Class was starting, and I felt as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm.
After roll call we’d be starting with Kenny’s speech. That would give me about 15 to 20 minutes. Why do I have to give my speech today? I thought. Why did I choose Joseph Smith as my “famous American”?
The majority of the class were Baptist, including the teacher. I was the only Mormon in the whole group. Boy, I had nerve the day I chose this topic.
Kenny was almost finished. No one had any questions about Kenny’s speech on Eisenhower.
It was my turn.
“My ‘famous American’ is Joseph Smith,” I began. ‘He was born in …” My speech lasted about ten minutes—not bad.
“Any questions?” the teacher asked.
It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.
“Well, I have one,” my teacher replied. “What is the name of the church that Joseph started?”
I knew I had left out something and it would be the most important part. I answered, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormons.”
That started the questions: Where did the plates come from? Who was Moroni? How did he get the plates? And oh, yes, the usual question—What about polygamy? By this time I was feeling pretty good. I answered all of the questions that I could, and then one guy, who I’ll always be thankful to, asked, “How do you know it’s true?”
This question touched me. I truly felt the Spirit in my heart and in the room.
I looked at my questioner and said, “Billy, have you ever felt so right about something that no matter what anybody else says, you know it’s true? You know in your heart, and no one can persuade you otherwise?”
A hush came over the class. Even the teacher didn’t have a reply.
I’ll always be thankful to Billy for helping me realize that I do have a testimony and that I shouldn’t keep it inside.
I had been in front of the class answering questions for over 30 minutes. We even missed part of our break. And I felt radiant the rest of the day.
This experience helped me realize that people want to know about the gospel. I also realized that I have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

At times, the Lord needs a little help to assist some as to the validity of this truth. I recall when I served as chairman of the Church Missionary Committee that I received a telephone call from a member of the presidency of the Missionary Training Center at Provo, Utah. He advised that a particular young man called to a Spanish-speaking mission was having difficulty applying himself to his language study and had declared, “I never can learn Spanish!” The leader asked, “What do you recommend we do?”

I thought for a moment, then suggested, “Place him tomorrow as an observer in a class of missionaries struggling to learn Japanese, and then advise me of his reaction.”

My caller responded within 24 hours with the report, “The missionary was only in the Japanese language class one-half day when he called me and excitedly said, ‘Place me back in the Spanish class! I know I can learn that language.’” And he did.

About a month ago four of the Young Adults gathered in Loughborough for a Young Adults conference, along with others from all over England. This group of four went to perform, as did the others, some unsolicited Christian service. Their intended activity, through no fault of their own, could not be performed, so they were left with some time on their hands. While walking along the street, they decided to stop at a pay telephone and call the local public hospital to see if they could be of help. A nurse in one of the wards answered the telephone and was asked by the one calling if four young people could come over to the hospital and scrub floors or walls, wash dishes, or do any other similar needed task without pay. Apparently this was an uncommon request, because the young man calling said, “After the nurse picked herself up from the floor, she said, ‘Are you kidding?’”

During a morning of helping to scrub and of visiting patients, these four Young Adults had an unforgettable experience. They seek, as Aristotle said, to be those “who have at heart the best interests of the state and of its citizens.”

Recently at the funeral of a friend, I visited with two distinguished brothers—former surgical colleagues of mine—whose lovely companions had both passed away. They said they were going through the most difficult period of their lives, adjusting to the almost unbearable loss of their partners. These wonderful men then told of their cooking breakfast for each other once a week, sharing that rotation with their sister, trying to lessen their loneliness imposed by the doors of death.

I share just one tender experience. While President Monson was serving as a bishop, he learned that a member of his ward, Mary Watson, was in the hospital. As he went to visit her, he learned that she was staying in a large room with several other patients. When he approached Sister Watson, he noticed that the patient in a neighboring bed quickly covered her head.
After President Monson had visited with Sister Watson and given her a priesthood blessing, he shook her hand, said good-bye, and prepared to leave. Then a simple but amazing thing happened. I quote now from President Monson’s own recollection of this experience:
“I could not leave her side. It was as though an unseen hand [was] resting on my shoulder, and I felt within my soul that I was hearing these words: ‘Go over to the next bed where the little lady covered her face when you came in.’ I did so. …
“I approached the bedside of the other patient, gently tapped her shoulder and carefully pulled back the sheet which had covered her face. Lo and behold! She, too, was a member of my ward. I had not known she was a patient in the hospital. Her name was Kathleen McKee. When her eyes met mine, she exclaimed through her tears, ‘Oh, Bishop, when you entered that door, I felt you had come to see me and bless me in response to my prayers. I was rejoicing inside to think that you would know I was here, but when you stopped at the other bed, my heart sank, and I knew that you had not come to see me.’
“I said to [Sister] McKee: ‘It does not matter that I didn’t know you were here. It is important, however, that our Heavenly Father knew and that you had prayed silently for a priesthood blessing. It was He who prompted me to intrude on your privacy.’”

Thirty-five years later, my son encouraged me to visit Mexico with him. We hoped to find some of the people I had taught. We attended a sacrament meeting in the little town where I began my mission, but I didn’t recognize a single person. After the meeting, we spoke with one of the members and asked if he knew anyone on my list of people I had taught so many years before. We went through the list without any success, until we got to the last name: Leonor Lopez de Enriquez.
“Oh, yes,” the man said. “This family is in another ward, but they attend church in this building. Their sacrament meeting is next.”
We didn’t have to wait long before Leonor came walking into the building. Although she was now in her mid-70s, I recognized her immediately, and she recognized me. We shared a long, tearful hug.
“We’ve prayed for 35 years that you would return so we could thank you for bringing the gospel to our family,” she said.
As other family members entered the building, we shared hugs and tears. Soon we discovered that the bishop of this ward was one of Leonor’s sons, the chorister was a granddaughter, the pianist was a grandson, and so were several young men in the Aaronic Priesthood. One of her daughters was married to a counselor in the stake presidency. Another daughter was married to the bishop of a nearby ward. Most of Leonor’s children had gone on missions, and now grandchildren have also served missions.
We learned that Leonor was a much better missionary than I was. Today her children thankfully recall her tireless efforts to teach them the gospel. She taught them that small decisions, over time, result in a full, righteous, and happy life, and they have taught those things to others. All told, more than 500 people have come into the Church because of this one wonderful family.
And it can all be traced back to a conversation over lunch. I often think that if Dr. Pingree had been more focused on his career or other worldly pursuits, he might never have asked why I wasn’t serving a mission. But his focus was on others and on furthering the work of the Lord. He planted a seed that has grown, brought forth fruit, and continues to multiply exponentially (see Mark 4:20). My mission taught me the eternal consequences of a single decision to do the Lord’s will.

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.
Saini Agavale, Samoa

It was December—a bright frozen day in the early morning. Far out in the country there was an old Negro woman with her head tied in a red rag, coming along a path through the pinewoods. Her name was Phoenix Jackson. She was very old and small, and she walked slowly in the dark pine shadows, moving a little from side to side in her steps, with the balanced heaviness and lightness of a pendulum in an old grandfather clock. She carried a thin, small cane made from an umbrella, and with this she kept tapping the frozen earth in front of her. This made a kind of grave and persistent noise in the still air that seemed meditative like the chirping of a solitary little bird. . . .
Now and then there as a quivering in the thicket.
Old Phoenix said, “Out of my way, all you foxes, owls, beetles, jack rabbits, coons, and wild animals! Keep out from under these old feet, little bobwhites. . . . Keep the big wild hogs out of my path. Don’t let none of those come running in my direction. I got a long way.”
The story continues, the adventures unfold, in most pleasing and picturesque language. She goes up hard hills, and her aged feet feel like they’re bound in chains. Down through the oaks, past the little bushes that her old eyes think to be green, but are instead thorny and brambled and worrisome as she catches her skirt that must not be torn. And then she climbs over barbed wire past big, dead trees that look like black men with one arm, standing in the field of purple stalks of the withered corn and cotton. And through pathless cornfields then shaking the dry husks to whirl around her skirts, past snake pits, bull pens, alligator ponds, and scarecrows dancing and frightening. And then she comes to a terrible place in the path that she’s following to her destination to town, loses her step, and tumbles over and down into the ditch and she can’t get back up.
After a time a white man comes along, a young man, a hunter, with his dog on a chain.
He sees her lying there and he says,
“Well, Granny, what are you doing there?”
She gives this marvelous line:
“Lying on my back like a June bug waiting to be turned over, mister,” she said, reaching up her hand.
He lifted her up, gave her a swing in the air, and set her down. “Anything broken, Granny?”
“No sir, them old dead weeds is springy enough,” said Phoenix when she had got her breath. “I thank you for your trouble.” . . .
“On your way home?”
“No sir, I going to town.”
“Why, that’s too far! That’s as far as I walk when I come out myself. . . . Now you go on home, Granny!”
“I bound to go to town, mister,” said Phoenix. “The time come around.”
When the man leaves, she finds a nickel on the ground that apparently fell out of his pocket when he stooped to pull her up. She takes the nickel, puts it in her pocket, and goes the rest of the way to town. Finally, arriving at her destination where she sees the stone building, she climbs the tower of the steps until her feet know where to stop. She goes in and is greeted by a nurse there, and the nurse asks her about a grandson who apparently had swallowed some lye some two or three years before.
Granny Phoenix has made that long, perilous journey that I’ve spared you many of the details of to get the medicine for that little boy. The nurse asks Granny if the boy is dead, and Phoenix replies:
“No, missy, he not dead, he just the same. Every little while his throat begin to close up again, and he not able to swallow. He not get his breath, he not able to help himself. So the time come around, and I go on another trip for the soothing medicine.” . . .
“My little grandson, he sit up there in the house all wrapped up, waiting by himself. We is the only two left in the world. He suffer and it don’t seem to put him back at all. He got a sweet look. He going to last. He wear a little patch quilt and he peep out holding his mouth open like a little bird.”
She adds this important line:
“I could tell him from all others in creation.”
“All right,” the nurse says, trying to silence her. She doesn’t want the story to turn into one of those old-people recitations. She gives her the medicine, marks down, “Charity,” and then says:
“It’s Christmas time, Grandma, could I give you a few pennies out of my purse?”
“Five pennies is a nickel,” said Phoenix stiffly.
“Here’s a nickel,” said the attendant.
Phoenix rose carefully and held out her hand. She received the nickel and then fished out the other nickel out of her pocket and laid it beside the new one. She stared at her palm closely, with her head on one side.
Then she gave a tap with her cane on the floor.
“This is what come to me to do. I going to the store and buy my child a windmill they sells made out of paper. He going to find it hard to believe there such a thing in the world. I’ll march myself back there where he waiting, holding it straight up in this hand.”
She lifted her free hand, and gave a little nod, turned around, and walked out of the doctor’s office. Then her slow step began on the stairs, going down.

It was a long process for Sukardi of Indonesia and his family to find closure and hope following the 2004 tsunami that devastated the coasts of Southeast Asia.
“We thought it was the end of the world; it was unbelievable,” said Sukardi, looking back to December 26, 2004, the day a massive underwater earthquake struck off the coast of Indonesia, causing a tsunami that killed more than 225,000 people in 11 countries. “But we are alive, and we are together, and we are happy.”
Sukardi, like thousands of others, lost family members and friends, his home, land, and nearly his life. After being washed away with the tsunami, he managed to grab hold of a coconut tree and cling to it as he waited for the floodwaters to recede.
Joined by family members, each with similar survival stories, Sukardi now resides in a home built with the help of Latter-day Saint Charities, an arm of Church Humanitarian Services, as part of the Church’s efforts to assist tsunami survivors.

“I was happy when my parents, my brother, and I were sealed in the temple,” says Juanita León, 12. She explains that her father used to own a restaurant and would drink a lot. “Then one day, a boy came by and talked to my father about the Church. We received all the discussions and were baptized two weeks later. A month after our baptism, my father was called as the president of the San Benito Branch. A year later, we were sealed in the temple. My father doesn’t drink anymore!”

I remember a critical time in my life when a still small voice gave me direction to make an important decision. My family lived in Boston, Massachusetts, at the time. I had been with a retail firm for a number of years. To expand the business, we merged with a larger firm. Within a matter of months, I found myself in a very difficult situation. The new owners wanted me to violate a trust. I felt that I just could not do it. They continued to insist, and I continued to refuse. Finally, in order to solve the disagreement, I agreed to leave the company. The timing for me was devastating. I had a wife who was seriously ill and required a lot of medical attention, a daughter away at college, and a son on a mission. I spent the next year getting just enough consulting work to pay our expenses.
After struggling for about one year, a company called me from California and invited me to come out and talk to them about working for them. I went and was delighted with the opportunity. I told them that I had to return home and discuss it with my family before I could give them an answer. I returned home and convinced my family that it was the right thing to do. As I was calling the firm to accept the offer, a voice just as strong and powerful as I have ever heard came to me and said, “Say no to the offer.” I could not ignore the voice, so I turned the offer down, but I couldn’t understand why I had been told to do such a thing. I went upstairs to my bedroom, sat on the bed, and opened the scriptures. They fell open to the Doctrine and Covenants, section 111. These words in verses 5 and 7 jumped out from the page and met my eye: “Concern not yourselves about your debts, for I will give you power to pay them. …
“Tarry in this place, and in the regions round about.”
A great peace came to my soul. Within just a few days, I was offered a fine position there in Boston. A few months later, I had the great privilege of hosting a conference in which President Harold B. Lee, then First Counselor in the First Presidency, was the featured speaker. The following July, President Joseph Fielding Smith passed away and President Lee became the prophet. Three months later I was asked to come to Salt Lake, where I received a call to become a General Authority.

Not long ago a young mother wrote to me: “Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.

“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied: ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’” The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.” What a magnificent lesson a child learned from his mother.

Learning by study was a very high priority in my family. My parents were plantation laborers on the “big island” of Hawaii. Both of them had been obliged to leave school at about the sixth grade. High school was out of the question for both of them, and college was an impossible dream. But they desperately desired an education for their children. Perhaps because I was their only child for five years, they dreamed that dream for me, even though it is unusual for a daughter to receive more advantages than a son in traditional Japanese families. They made many sacrifices so that I could go to high school and more so I could graduate from college. They did the same for my brothers with their chosen professions, although my brothers did not pursue academic interests. Neither one of my parents ever set foot on a college campus until my graduation. The only college graduate they knew socially was one teacher in our village.

But they gave me my tools, and they gave me trust. What do I mean by tools? They taught me to be curious, to ask questions, to observe nature closely, to watch people—especially in a new environment—to treat people respectfully and learn how to make connections with them, to work very hard, and to always do my best. They believed that no matter what I chose to do with my life, these skills would help me. And they were right.

And what do I mean by trust? They sent me away to high school at age fifteen. They let me know in dozens of little ways that they trusted my decisions, trusted me to stay focused on my goal, and trusted me to lead an upright life. It is one of the great joys of my life that I did not disappoint my parents.

Because I was willing to study the gospel of Jesus Christ, I became a member of the Church and developed great faith in the Savior. My faith gave me more strength to seek knowledge by study. I cannot separate learning by study and learning by faith. Both of them touch my heart, enlighten my mind, and encourage me in service.

Learning by study and learning from the Spirit are the two halves of my life. These oars have helped me row my professional boat, make a good marriage, raise my sons, and serve in the Church. I need them both as I strive for self-reliance. You need them both as you strive for self-reliance.