Gospel Story Finder

When we are willing to serve, we strive not to complain or murmur, because we do not want to tarnish our service in any way. Complaining may be a sign of wavering commitment, or that our love for the Savior is not as it ought to be. Left unchecked, murmuring can progress to outright rebellion against the Lord. This progression is seen in the life of Ezra Booth, an early convert to the Church in Ohio who was called as a missionary to Missouri.

As he left Ohio in June 1831, Ezra was upset that some missionaries were able to travel by wagon while he had to walk in the summer heat, preaching along the way. He murmured. When he arrived in Missouri, he felt deflated. Missouri was not what he had expected. Instead, he looked around and noted that “the prospect appeared somewhat gloomy.”

Ezra became increasingly cynical, sarcastic, and critical. Upon leaving Missouri, instead of preaching as he went, as he had been asked to do, he returned to Ohio as quickly as he could. His initial murmuring evolved into wavering and finally into losing confidence in his earlier spiritual experiences. Soon Ezra left the Church and “ultimately ‘abandoned Christianity and became an agnostic.’”

I will conclude by discussing another important question members and leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are asked by others: “Why do you send missionaries to preach to other Christians?” Sometimes this is asked with curiosity and sometimes with resentment.

My most memorable experience with that question occurred some years ago in what we then called the Eastern Bloc. After many years of Communist hostility to religion, these countries were suddenly and miraculously given a measure of religious freedom. When that door opened, many Christian faiths sent missionaries. As part of our preparation to do so, the First Presidency sent members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to meet with government and church leaders in these countries. Our assignment was to introduce ourselves and to explain what our missionaries would be doing.

Elder Russell M. Nelson and I called on the leader of the Orthodox Church in one of these countries. Here was a man who had helped keep the light of Christianity burning through the dark decades of Communist repression. I noted in my journal that he was a warm and gracious man who impressed me as a servant of the Lord. I mention this so that you will not think there was any spirit of arrogance or contention in our conversation of nearly an hour. Our visit was pleasant and cordial, filled with the goodwill that should always characterize conversations between men and women who love the Lord and seek to serve Him, each according to his or her own understanding.

Our host told us about the activities of his church during the period of Communist repression. He described the various difficulties his church and its work were experiencing as they emerged from that period and sought to regain their former position in the life of the country and the hearts of the people. We introduced ourselves and our fundamental beliefs. We explained that we would soon be sending missionaries into his country and told him how they would perform their labors.

He asked, “Will your missionaries preach only to unbelievers, or will they also try to preach to believers?” We replied that our message was for everyone, believers as well as unbelievers. We gave two reasons for this answer—one a matter of principle and the other a matter of practicality. We told him that we preached to believers as well as unbelievers because our message, the restored gospel, makes an important addition to the knowledge, happiness, and peace of all mankind. As a matter of practicality, we preach to believers as well as unbelievers because we cannot tell the difference. I remember asking this distinguished leader, “When you stand before a congregation and look into the faces of the people, can you tell the difference between those who are real believers and those who are not?” He smiled wryly, and I sensed an admission that he had understood the point.

Through missionaries and members, the message of the restored gospel is going to all the world. To non-Christians, we witness of Christ and share the truths and ordinances of His restored gospel. To Christians we do the same. Even if a Christian has been “saved” in the familiar single sense discussed earlier, we teach that there remains more to be learned and more to be experienced. As President Hinckley recently said: “[We are] not argumentative. We do not debate. We, in effect, simply say to others, ‘Bring all the good that you have and let us see if we can add to it’” (“The BYU Experience,” BYU devotional address, 4 Nov. 1997).

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints offers all of the children of God the opportunity to learn the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ as restored in these latter days. We offer everyone the privilege of receiving all of the ordinances of salvation and exaltation.

We invite all to hear this message, and we invite all who receive the confirming witness of the Spirit to heed it. These things are true, I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

This time, as I opened my mouth, I felt a peace that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. “At church once, some old guy told a story,” I began. “It’s about a kid who’s 18 and goes to work on a fishing boat out of St. John’s. And sometime in the summer of his first year on the boat it hits a sandbar and sinks. Most of the crew climbs aboard the lifeboat, but this guy and the captain get caught by a current and pulled away.
“They don’t have life jackets or anything, and for a long time they just tread water—hoping for someone to find ’em.”
“Wow,” from Lanny, who had been on enough fishing boats to know how big the ocean was, and how impossible it would be to find anyone swimming in it.
“Anyway, finally the captain realizes that the water’s too cold for them to last much longer, so he swims over to the kid and says ‘We’re not gonna make it.’ And he asks the kid if he’s religious. Well, the kid is just like me. He’s a Mormon, but he’s been kind of goofing off and it’s been a while since he’s been active. But he says he’ll say a prayer for ’em.”
“And what happened?”
“He and the captain close their eyes, and the kid says a prayer out loud … And when they open their eyes they see the light of a buoy. They swim over and hang on, and a few hours later they are found.”
Lanny smiled. “And the guy telling the story turns out to be the 18-year-old kid, right?”
“Uh, no. The guy telling the story was the captain. He joined the Church.”

Home, family, and personal enrichment meeting is a wonderful place to socialize and establish the sisterhood necessary to create a sense of belonging among members of Relief Society and visitors. This is exemplified in an enrichment meeting held in Benidorm, Spain—a resort town where travelers are constantly coming and going. One evening sisters from Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, England, Scotland, and Spain meet together for an enrichment meeting. On this particular night the sisters from Switzerland teach the others how to make greeting cards that can be used for various occasions. It is a simple design, easily mastered while the sisters visit and strengthen friendships.
As the sisters work together, their friendliness and sincerity soon overcome language barriers. The sister missionaries have brought some investigators who are chatting happily with the others. When these investigators visit the little branch again on Sunday, they already feel they belong to the group.
It is a simple activity, but this enrichment meeting accomplishes the goals of learning, serving, and socializing. Some of the sisters might have thought, “I don’t need to go. I have plenty of greeting cards.” But the greeting cards are only a small part of the benefit of attending enrichment meeting this night. Sometimes we attend to get something out of it. Other times we’re there to give to others, if only a listening ear, a word of encouragement, or a welcoming hand of friendship.

Rex watched the dust cloud around his bare feet as he walked up the path from the river in the summer sunshine. As he came within view of the farmhouse, he saw his mother tending the vegetable garden out back. She was a hard worker; her pantry was filled with canned beans, beets, tomatoes, and sweet fruit for the winter. She sewed and baked and took care of her family, but when she had a moment to spare, she spent it on her little flower garden in the front yard.
It wasn’t much to look at. With the list of chores she tackled each day, it was difficult to find time to weed and water her flower patch. Each year when the seed catalog came with the mail, she spent a week’s worth of evenings sitting by the fire, carefully turning through the pages to find just the right seeds for the coming year.
Suddenly, something flapping in the front yard caught Rex’s attention. His mother jumped up from the vegetable patch and ran toward her flowers. “Scat! Get out of here, you old turkeys!” There, in her flower garden, a flock of turkeys made a mess of her summer efforts. All the stems had been snapped, the flowers ruined.
Rex ran to help his mother, shooing the flock back to Mr. Lukin’s farm. Like many of the local farmers, Mr. Lukin had recently traded in his hens for a pack of turkeys. But the turkeys’ wings were stronger than hens’ wings, and they had escaped.
“Get on home!” Rex’s mother yelled, her face red. The turkeys waddled single file, demolishing every plant in their path. “Rex, chase those turkeys back where they belong.” She looked sadly at the trampled flowers.
Rex quickly herded the turkeys back down the road, yelling and flapping his arms to spur them on. As the turkeys entered Mr. Lukin’s yard, Rex decided to make one last attempt to make them stay. Looking down, he grabbed a rock lying on the ground. He yelled and threw the rock with all his might, intending to give them a good scare.
Thunk. Rex watched with horror as the largest of Mr. Lukin’s turkeys toppled over. Oh no. Thoughts of old Mr. Lukin raced through Rex’s mind. The man had never been kind to Rex or his brothers. Walking over to the turkey, Rex gave the bird a nudge with his foot, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing—the bird was dead.
What was he going to do? Mr. Lukin would be furious. Looking around, he realized no one had seen him throw the rock. No one would ever know what had happened. Maybe Mr. Lukin would think the bird had died of old age or eaten something bad. Maybe Mr. Lukin wouldn’t even notice the bird was gone. Without another thought, Rex grabbed the turkey and hid it in the bushes. He wouldn’t say a word. No one would ever know. He turned and ran home as fast as he could, fueled by uncertainty and guilt.
His mother praised him for his quick work with the turkeys, unaware of the turmoil in Rex’s belly. How could he tell her what he had done? What would she think of him? As the sickness welled inside him, tears filled his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” his mother asked.
He ran to her arms, sobbing as he unloaded the whole story, complete with his fears of Mr. Lukin’s anger. Finally, as his sobs quieted, she pulled back to look at him. “Rex, take the bird to Mr. Lukin. If you tell him what happened—”
“Oh no! I couldn’t do that!” Rex panicked as he imagined Mr. Lukin’s angry response.
“Rex, believe me,” his mother said. “You will never have peace if you don’t face him and confess. Mr. Lukin deserves to hear the truth.”
“Mr. Lukin will be so mad! He’s mean and he’ll yell at me.” Rex’s eyes filled with fresh tears as he looked at his mother’s tender face. Then he thought of Heavenly Father. Rex realized Heavenly Father expected him to tell the truth.
Finally, looking down, Rex asked quietly, “Will you go with me?”
The walk to Mr. Lukin’s house was torture. Leaving his mother in the yard, Rex stepped to the front porch with the dead turkey. He cautiously knocked, praying Mr. Lukin wouldn’t answer. The door opened.
“Hi, Mr. Lukin.” Rex handed him the bird. “He dug in Mama’s flower beds and I had to chase him out. I threw a rock and he fell. I … I guess I killed him. I’m sorry! Oh, please don’t be mad, Mr. Lukin!” Rex looked at the ground, too frightened to watch the reaction.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mr. Lukin spoke. “That’s all right, that’s all right. We’ll eat him for dinner today.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Rex couldn’t believe what he had heard. As he walked home with his mother, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized that doing the right thing was truly easier in the end. Facing his consequences had been far less painful than living with the guilt.

During my professional career, I helped the heirs of a noble couple settle their estate. The estate was not large, but it was the fruit of many years of hard work and sacrifice. Their children were all decent, God-fearing people who had been taught to live the saving principles of the Savior. But when it came to dividing up the property, a dispute developed about who should get what. Even though there was nothing of great value to fight about, feelings of selfishness and greed caused a rift among some of the family members that never healed and continued into the next generation. How tragic that the legacy offered by these wonderful parents turned out to be so destructive of family unity and love among their children. I learned from this that selfishness and greed bring bitterness and contention; on the other hand, sacrifice and giving bring peace and contentment.

Kim has consistently worn modest clothing. The other day I asked for her opinion on what she considers to be a modest skirt, a modest blouse, and a modest swimsuit. Instead of coming up with exact measurements for hemlines and necklines, we discussed the principles surrounding modesty and the challenge of finding modest clothing that looks attractive. We had fun brainstorming ways to creatively lengthen a skirt. Finally Kim said, “If I’m not comfortable when I first put something on, it usually means it’s immodest and I won’t be comfortable wearing it. I’ve learned to never buy it. I just put it back on the rack.”

It is good to be an answer to someone’s prayer. And this is what we found three weeks before Christmas as we approached our friends, the Holy Family Sisters of the Needy of St. Mary’s Cathedral, to see what the Church could do to help with feeding some of the homeless in Aberdeen.
They said they had been praying for food to make meals for at least 70 people on Dec 22, 2020. After they received an email from our stake director of communication offering help, we were soon working together to make it happen, with food, clothes, toiletries, and bags of groceries. The week before Christmas we collected and delivered all they needed. On the day some missionaries and some members went to the convent and cooked and cleaned.
Sister Mary Joseph said that she would never stop thanking the Church for their love and generosity.
Bishop Sean Goldie of the Aberdeen Ward also attended and met with Father Keith Herrera of St. Mary’s Cathedral, and Pastor NJ (Njabulo King Ndlovu) from the Seventh day Adventists in Aberdeen. Many long-lasting friendships were made that day.
It is good to just serve together.

His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives, remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”

During the annual First Presidency Christmas Devotional in December 2004, members of the First Presidency taught and testified of the Savior’s significance and encouraged members to make the Lord’s life their example.
“God be thanked for the gift of His glorious Son, the only perfect man ever to walk the earth,” said President Gordon B. Hinckley. “There is none to excel Him. There is none to compare with Him. He is the great example for all of us, our revered teacher and, most importantly, our Redeemer.”
Members of the Church tuned in to the annual devotional by satellite, Internet, television, and radio to watch or listen as the First Presidency, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and the Orchestra at Temple Square focused on the Savior.
“Our Conference Center here in Salt Lake City is filled with people, and our image, as we speak, travels … across the earth—to lands of winter and lands of summer,” President Hinckley said. “We are all together as one great family to sing and speak of the joys of Christmas.”
He Lives
President Hinckley taught of the Savior’s mortal life from beginning to end, from birth to Atonement. “Let us never forget as we celebrate Christmas with song and story, with gifts and mundane baubles, the greater message that Jesus Christ, the Firstborn of the Father, came into the world that ‘the world through him might be saved’ (John 3:17).
“Let us remember always that through His infinite Atonement salvation will come to all, and the opportunity for exaltation will be afforded those who walk in obedience to His commandments.”
President Hinckley also testified of the Savior’s continued ministry after His death and in years to come: “He has come again to usher in a dispensation. And He will come yet again in clouds of glory to usher in a millennium and reign as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.”
The President of the Church also honored the Prophet Joseph Smith, born 199 years ago. President Hinckley added his testimony to that of the dispensation’s first prophet regarding the Savior, saying, “He lives, resplendent, magnificent, the wondrous Lord Immanuel. He lives, the Eternal Son of the Ever Living Father. He lives, the Great Creator, the Jehovah of the Old Testament, the Savior of the New, the Wondrous Light in a dark and troubled world. He lives to bless us, to teach us, to heal us, to touch our troubled hearts, to give substance to our greatest dreams, to assure the immortality of our souls.”
In His Footsteps
President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, explained that “to catch the real meaning of the Spirit of Christmas, we need only drop the last syllable, and it becomes the Spirit of Christ.”
He testified: “With the birth of the babe in Bethlehem, there emerged a great endowment, a power stronger than weapons, a wealth more lasting than the coins of Caesar. … Born in a stable, cradled in a manger, He came forth from heaven to live on earth as mortal man and to establish the kingdom of God. His glorious gospel reshaped the thinking of the world.
“At this blessed season of the year, as we follow in the Savior’s footsteps, we too will have an opportunity to bless the lives of others.”
President Monson taught: “There is no better time than now … for all of us to rededicate ourselves to the principles taught by Jesus the Christ.”
Agents of God
President James E. Faust, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, related the story of a man who had no money to buy his father a Christmas gift during the Great Depression, so he gave him a diary in which he had recorded a good deed he had done every day that year.
“We are each the agents of our Father in Heaven to do Christlike deeds for [the] Father’s children, even as [the Savior] offered to do in the grand premortal council when He said, ‘Here am I, send me’ (Abr. 3:27). ‘Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever’ (Moses 4:2).”

Dad dumped some compost onto the soil.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Caleb asked.
“I’m getting the soil prepared for our garden.”
“Why do we need a garden?” Caleb asked. “Can’t we just buy food at the store?”
“Yes, but the prophets have counseled us to plant a garden, and I want to obey,” Dad said.
Dad and Caleb worked to prepare the soil. Finally, the garden was ready to plant.
On Saturday the whole family planted seeds in their garden. There were beans, corn, yellow squash, zucchini, cucumbers, and pumpkins.
Every morning, Caleb walked around the garden looking for weeds. Before picking each weed he asked Dad to make sure it wasn’t a seedling.
Then one day, Dad announced that the first plant had popped up. Caleb ran out to the garden. When he saw the tiny leaves peeking out of the ground, he couldn’t hide his disappointment.
“What’s the matter, Caleb?” Dad asked.
“I guess I just thought it would be bigger.”
“Don’t worry. It will grow,” Dad said.
Dad was right. Every day the plant grew a little bigger. Then more plants popped up. Soon the whole garden was filled with plants.
One morning Caleb noticed a plant growing right next to the yellow squash. It looked different than the squash plant.
“Hey, Dad, what’s this plant over here?”
Dad came over. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like a squash. We’ll just have to wait and find out.”
Whenever Caleb was in the garden, he checked on the mystery plant. Before long, he noticed a green ball on the vine. Excitedly, he showed Dad.
“Looks like it might be some kind of melon,” Dad said. “That’s strange. We didn’t plant any melons.”
Each week the ball got bigger and bigger, and soon it started to turn a tan color.
“I think that’s a cantaloupe, Caleb,” Dad said one day. “It must have grown from some seeds that were in the compost.”
Caleb could hardly wait for the melon to grow. He loved cantaloupe.
Soon the garden was producing food for the family. Caleb enjoyed helping with the harvest. Mom bottled many of the fruits and vegetables, and they gave extras to neighbors.
“Caleb, would you go pick a yellow squash for dinner tonight?” Mom asked one evening.
“Sure, Mom!” Caleb ran to the garden. As he gently moved the cantaloupe so he could pick the biggest yellow squash, the cantaloupe fell off the vine. Caleb went to find Dad.
“Dad, I didn’t mean to, but the cantaloupe broke off the vine when I moved it,” Caleb said.
“That’s OK,” Dad said. “That probably means it’s ready to be picked.”
Caleb grinned. “Really? You mean it’s done?”
Dad laughed. “Let’s taste it and find out!”
Caleb brought the cantaloupe into the kitchen, and Dad cut off two slices.
“I guess this cantaloupe is one way Heavenly Father is blessing us for following the prophet,” Dad said.
Caleb looked at the colorful pile of produce on the counter that was waiting to be bottled. “Heavenly Father has blessed us a lot!” he said.
They both smiled as they took their first bite of cantaloupe. It was delicious!

While pneumonia often came as a complication of influenza, it wasn’t always the case. Herman Kerr Danielsen had just been honourably released from his missionary service in Belfast, and then passed away on 8 March 1919. He was preparing to return home when he contracted pneumonia. The physician noted that influenza did not precede the death, “as so often is the case at the present time.” It was a tragedy; the energetic missionary was known for being fearless and was “always ready to bear his testimony to the truth, and he made sincere friends wherever he went.”16 For his loved ones it was noted that:
“It should be consoling to those who are called upon to mourn his death in a foreign land, so far away from home and friends, to know that he performed a good mission; that his labours were acceptable to the servants of the Lord; that he was loved by the saints who knew him. and that, undoubtedly, he was called home for a wise purpose, which will be made plain in the due time of the Lord.”
The Saints in the Liverpool, Newcastle, and Irish conferences held him dear in their memories and treasured their associations with him.

Some years ago i was serving as a counselor in a stake presidency. as you know, counselors, stake presidency travel around to the different wards during Sunday meetings. this particular Sunday, I had come back to our ward building and everybody was in class. There was no one in the hallways, and I stopped at the water fountain. This water fountain was a two level water fountain. There was the tall one for adults, and the little one for short people, meaning children, and so as I was having a drink of water, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that this little boy appeared from nowhere and he got up on the little stool next to me and he pushed the button down to drink water. Now the water pressure in this water fountain was really very sensitive. And so as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, push his button down, and I watched my water pressure drop in half, I kept my eye closely on him until he was ready to drink. And as he leaned forward to get his drink of water, I let go of my button and I’d have to tell you, it was a great shot. It hit him right in the face and he stood back and let go, wiped his face off, and I didn’t know him, I had no idea who he was, but when he pushed his button down again, this big stream of water came up, and he leaned in for it and I pushed my button down. His water pressure dropped in half, he went down for it, I let go, it was another great shot. At this point, I looked down the hallway both directions, because counselors in stake presidencies aren’t supposed to act this way. But seeing nobody around, we continued our little game. I don’t know how many times I splashed him, but the interesting thing to me was that he never figured out who was causing him his grief. Even though I was right next to him, I could’ve put my hand on his head, he never ever figured out that it was me. And maybe, I don’t know, seven times later, he left for class.

Now you might say, What does that have to do with being at war with Satan? May I suggest to you that in each of our lives, we have buttons that people push to get us to react. Perhaps you’ve had a younger brother or a younger sister, or an older sister, who used to push your buttons, raise your hand if you know what I’m talking about. See, all the button pushers’ hands went up.

The adversary is a button pusher. He and his angels know a great deal about us. They know our strengths and our weaknesses. They know where the chinks are in our armor, and they know how to get us. And so they push buttons, and frequently, we don’t even recognize that our buttons are being pushed, but we react frequently our reaction is not in a very Christlike manner.

When I joined the Church in Taiwan as a teenager, paying tithing was not difficult because I had little income. After I graduated and began working, it became a little harder. There were always so many things to buy and so little money to buy them with. But each year at tithing settlement, I could honestly tell the branch president that I had paid a full tithe.
Then last year my mother had to be admitted to the hospital intensive care unit. I was sorely worried about my mother and also about how we would pay for her care. The following Sunday I remembered I hadn’t yet paid my tithing that month. Thinking I would need all my money to pay the hospital, I decided to put off paying my tithing until the next week. As Sunday approached once again, a small voice reminded me that the Lord has promised to open the windows of heaven when we pay tithing. “Now is the time to give my faith a test,” I thought.
I withdrew some money from the bank and placed it in a tithing envelope. I felt a little hesitant, but summoning my courage, I gave the envelope to my branch president. Although I felt reluctant to let go of the envelope, I decided to leave the matter in God’s hands.
Just a week later, I received a telephone call informing me that our insurance company would soon be sending a check. “For how much?” I asked. The amount was many times more than the tithing I had paid. I know that when we are faithful, God will never forsake us.
Lu Chia, BYU Chinese Ward, Brigham Young University Sixth Stake

At Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women youth activity night, I had another opportunity to try out my new goal. We took our roadshow to the infirmary. It was a wonderful experience. We loved putting it on for the patients, and they loved watching it. These people had few visitors, so we talked with some after the performance. They all expressed gratitude that someone listened and cared about them. It really made us feel special too.

Some time ago I visited a friend who belongs to another church. I have talked to him about our Church on many occasions, but he isn’t interested. So it surprised me when he told me he was reading a manual titled Teaching, No Greater Call: A Resource Guide for Gospel Teaching. He was fascinated with the content. I asked him how he had obtained it, since as a member and leader in the Church I didn’t have it yet. He replied that he had gotten it from his nephew who, in turn, had received it from someone else.
I am very grateful to my Heavenly Father for the standard works and for all the Church publications. They are helping not just Latter-day Saints but the whole world.Felipe Urbina,Rubén Darío Branch, Managua Nicaragua Rubén Darío District

My second experience is quite recent—it actually occurred while I was writing this talk. But, by way of background, we first need to go back thirty-six years. My companion and I were some of the very first missionaries to work in a town called Chunan. There was no branch of the Church there; there were no members there. Over a series of weeks we knocked on hundreds of doors in that town, without any visible success. At that point, to me the only memorable thing about the town was that at night, after tracting all day, as we trudged in the dark with our bikes through the rice fields back to our apartment, we would often stop and admire those rice fields filled with fireflies.

One day, after weeks of no success, we came to a house. A teenage boy answered the door and said, “????,” which literally means “nobody is here.” He had been coached by his mother to say that.

We looked at him, and I said, “Well, you are home. Can we talk with you?”

He turned out to be a wonderful young man, and he quickly developed a strong testimony of the gospel and of the reality of his Heavenly Father, and he entered the waters of baptism. Brother Wu very soon thereafter went on to serve a mission himself and then married and raised a righteous family.

Now, fast-forward to just four weeks ago in early May of this year. I was accompanying the BYU Ballroom Dance Company on their tour of China and Hong Kong. Shortly before we left I learned we would be in the city where Brother Wu’s son, Wilford, was living. I emailed ahead and asked if we could meet. My wife and I spent a wonderful evening together with him and his wife, Alice, and talked at length about what a blessing that day thirty-six years ago had been in both of their lives as well as in ours.

The next morning, on Sunday, we attended a local branch meeting with them and afterward were taking pictures together to remember the occasion.

At that moment someone tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I know you. I used to be your missionary companion.”

I looked up to see Elder John Vance and remembered we had been companions when Brother Wu was baptized so many years ago. We had had no contact since the mission field.

I pointed to Wilford and asked, “John, do you know who this is?”
He did not. Imagine his surprise when I told him that Wilford was the son of our very own Brother Wu from so many years ago.

There we were, on separate business trips to a third country in which none of us had ever had any contact and in a city of twenty-four million people, and we just happened to run into one another—and at the same time I had located Brother Wu’s son, Wilford. I knew it was an answer to my own prayers, but, as with my previous experience, it blessed everyone involved and was not just for me.

Craig checked the invoice as he loaded the sprinkler parts into the cardboard box and wondered if there was possibly a more boring job on the planet. He put the box on the conveyor belt and decided the girls down the line had it worse. At least he got to pull the orders. The girls got each order off the belt and had to sort through the boxes and verify that the order pullers had pulled the right stuff, then place their tag, “Checked by number whatever,” in the box and check the next one. And the next. Yawn.
He couldn’t complain too much, though. He’d found the job after high school graduation, when he’d been thrown into the uncomfortable phase of life known as “Now What?” He’d planned on a mission for a long time, and this job would help pay for one if he decided to go, but he wished his parents would help. He didn’t know if he could do it without their support.
He rubbed the back of his head. Another headache was coming on.
He noticed that Mike, another order puller, had stacked his boxes too high. Suddenly, most of them came crashing off the line, spilling sprinkler parts at the feet of the startled order pullers. There were groans from everywhere.
Craig was the closest to the disaster.
“Oh, no!” he said. The belt stopped.
“Congratulations,” said a voice at his elbow. Amber, an order checker, had come to see what had happened, while some of the others smirked. The break bell sounded, and all the order pullers except Craig made a beeline for the break room. The other order checkers left, too, leaving Amber standing there.
“I know,” said Craig. “Pretty swift.”
“No, I meant congratulations that you’re the only one who doesn’t swear his head off when that happens.”
Craig looked at her, surprised. He’d never really noticed her. He’d have thought her pretty if she didn’t have the worn, burnt-around-the-edges look. Her dark roots advertised obviously over-dyed blond hair, frizzy at the ends, and her perfume was eau de tobacco. But she had stunning green eyes, though they looked tired. That she would notice he never swore, unlike most of his co-workers, astonished him.
Amber was busily checking one of the boxes that had fallen to make sure it held the right parts.
“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” Craig told her.
Amber shrugged. “I’ll have to do it anyway. I might as well do it now.”
They worked in silence for a while, hearing barks of laughter from the break room. Whenever anyone opened the door, a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed in.
Craig sneezed and his head pounded. He rubbed at his eyes.
Amber asked, “You go to high school around here?”
Craig shook his head. “Graduated,” he said, “from Sand Valley High.”
She nodded. “I never did. Graduate. Used to go to Clairmont, though.” She looked at him as though she had more questions but said nothing.
When the bell rang to signal the end of break, she seemed relieved, though her co-workers gave her a hard time for not coming.
Craig didn’t see Amber again the rest of the day and didn’t really think about her. His mind was occupied with the mission decision. He knew what his parents’ reaction would be if he decided to serve. His dad would think he was wasting his time. His mom would go to pieces and would worry excessively for two years straight. Neither one would be happy for him, and he wondered whether they would even write. Mom, maybe, letters full of anguish. Dad, no. They had been active when he was little, but by the time he could drive himself to church, they had stopped going.
That Sunday he drove to church alone but found his friend Dan and sat with his family. Dan’s missionary farewell was only three weeks away. Dan would get plenty of letters from home. His parents were proud of him.
They were sitting near the back, and Craig found himself squinting to read the hymn numbers. Dan looked at him and laughed.
“You must be near-sighted. Better get some glasses.”
Craig was startled at the joking suggestion, but it stayed on his mind.
Lindsay Carter gave a talk on scripture study, using a quadruple combination as a visual aid. She blew along its pages, sending an obvious cloud of what appeared to be dust flying.
“Don’t let this happen to your scriptures,” she said, and the congregation laughed. Craig decided she had probably put flour or baby powder on the scriptures to emphasize her point. His own parents’ scriptures had sat on top of the bookcase for literally years. He could see them in his mind’s eye: one black set, one brown, his parents’ names imprinted in gold on their covers. Lindsay could easily have used their scriptures for her visual aid—no powder necessary.
He knew his parents’ inactivity had been gradual. Over several years’ time, the gospel, which had become so important to him, had conversely dwindled in importance to them. They had unintentionally drifted. Their distance from the gospel was now reflected in the way they acted and talked—more negative, more cynical, less hopeful. He wished his parents would come back. He prayed for it every night. But would a mission bring them closer to the Church or drive a larger wedge between them?
He spent a lot of time at work thinking about it, since his work didn’t require much thought. He’d been at it long enough to pull orders on autopilot. So he was unaware of Amber at his elbow again one day when she spoke.
“Can I ask you something?” Her eyes had dark circles around them, like she’d spent the weekend partying. “Are you happy?”
He wasn’t sure what he thought she would ask, but that wasn’t it. It caught him off guard.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said. “I mean, when I’m doing what I know is right, I am.” He could tell the answer was important to her.
“See, I don’t expect to be happy constantly, but I’m mostly happy.” He hesitated. “I know God loves me. He’s given us the way to be happy if we’ll make the right choices.” He looked at Amber, surprised to hear himself saying things he’d never said before, but he was being nudged. She still needed to hear one thing more.
“God loves you, Amber. He knows you and wants you to be happy.”
She looked like she was about to cry. She turned away and went back to work. Craig wasn’t sure whether she believed him or not. But he knew what he had said was true.
After work he had an eye appointment. He realized he had been squinting at anything farther away than about 50 feet.
The ophthalmologist called him in and did so many things Craig wasn’t sure what he was doing. He sat Craig in front of a strange apparatus and kept turning wheels that changed the lenses in front of his eyes: right, left, both; asking him if each was better or worse until Craig was so confused he wasn’t sure of anything. After a while the doctor studied the data and told Craig the results.
“Looks like you’re quite near-sighted and will need some glasses or contacts.”
Craig took the prescription and staggered outside, shielding his dilated eyes from the sun. He sat down and waited until his vision cleared.
On Friday Amber came up to him.
“Hey, you got glasses. They make you look smart,” she said. “Not that you didn’t look smart before,” she added hastily. She hesitated for a moment, then asked him a question.
“What would you do if you were trying to get off drugs and your friends were all doing them at lunch and expected you to join them?”
He considered this, wondering if she could just go with them and not do any drugs. He decided against the suggestion, not sure how tough it would be to resist. The right answer hit him, as awkward or unlikely as it would be.
“Come have lunch with me.” It wasn’t important what anyone thought. Amber was the important one, and she needed to know it.
“Serious?” she said.
“Sure. I usually bring my lunch and go out to the patch of lawn next to Carpet World.”
They spent more time talking than eating lunch over the next several weeks. At first Craig didn’t think they would have much to say. Then he began looking forward to lunchtime.
They talked about their families. He told her he was disappointed in his parents, that there was a cold feeling in his home.
“Cold? Your house doesn’t sound so bad,” Amber said. “If your house is cold, my house is Antarctica. I’m working this job so I can get enough money together to move out. My mom sneaks around with boyfriends, and my dad thinks I’m some kind of a punching bag.”
Craig stared at her and suddenly noticed a series of bruises on her arms and one on her cheek he’d mistaken for too much dark blush. Why hadn’t he ever noticed those before? It was like he was seeing her for the first time, like he was seeing his father and mother for the first time. Since he’d gotten his new glasses, he could see a lot better far away. Yet he was looking at his immediate surroundings in a new way. It was like the old saying about not being able to see the forest for the trees.
When he went home that night, he hugged his mother and told her he loved her and asked his father if there was some yardwork that needed doing. He was getting a reality check and realizing he didn’t have it so bad after all. He mowed the lawn and started digging postholes for a fence, and his dad came out to help. His dad talked for quite a while, reminiscing about helping his own father on the farm and talking about the dream he’d had to become a pilot. Craig went inside that night, long after the sun had set, sweaty and exhausted, but feeling happy. His dad came in whistling and threw together a plate of nachos for all of them, something he hadn’t done in a long time.
Craig and Amber continued to have lunch together, though her friends made crude comments about it. She turned bright red and later apologized to Craig.
“It’s so hard,” she said. “People won’t let you change. They want to keep you down in the gutter with them.”
Craig was at a loss. “It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about them. They don’t realize where they are or how bad it is.”
Amber’s friends made fun of him in his new glasses. They had caught wind of his talking about the gospel with Amber and called him the minister. It didn’t hurt Craig at all. He didn’t care what they thought.
Craig asked Dan what the missionaries taught, and Dan showed him the materials he’d collected. Dan was the type to be right on top of everything he did, diving in completely. He’d do well in the mission field, Craig was certain.
“See, here are the things someone new to the gospel needs to know.” As they discussed it, Craig hit upon the perfect subject for Amber.
“That’s it!” Craig pulled the lesson on the plan of salvation closer. “This is what she needs to hear.” Then he looked doubtful. “But maybe I should have the full-time missionaries teach her.”
Dan looked at his friend. “Somehow, I think you must be doing a great job teaching Amber. You’ll be able to reach her because you’re her friend.”
The next time they ate lunch together, Craig taught Amber about the plan of salvation.
“Oh!” Amber said, after he had explained about the premortal existence and our coming to earth to be tested, and our spirits going on beyond the grave. “Oh!”
She said nothing more that day, and he wondered what she thought. Was it too much to accept? His own testimony had grown as he studied and taught Amber. He again realized how much Heavenly Father loved all of them.
At lunch the next day, Amber said, “You know what you said about us being spirits? Well, I always thought that once you died, you were gone. Kaput. But what you told me rings true. It really does. And it explains a lot of things to me.” She took a bite of her apple. “Lots of nights, I lie awake. I hear my parents fighting. Sometimes I hear my dad slap my mom. Then I want to retreat, to be asleep, dreaming I have another family. Sometimes I fall asleep, and then I feel my Grandma Norene, my dad’s mother, right beside me. And she holds my hand. And I feel wonderful until I wake up. Do you think she worries about me?”
Craig whispered, “I’m sure she does.”
Craig invited Amber to Dan’s farewell. She arrived late to the church, breathless and wearing a dress that was a little too short, still smelling of cigarette smoke. She was nervous but excited. She spent the meeting listening closely.
After the meeting she wanted to know all about missions, and the questions came rapid-fire.
“How long do you go on a mission? How do you know what to teach? What if you go to a foreign country? Do you get paid by your church?”
Craig answered all her questions and told her he might be going on a mission soon. He was a little afraid of her reaction, but she actually clapped.
“That’s perfect! Of course! You’d be terrific at teaching people, just like you’ve taught me. You’ll be good at this!” She then said, “I’ll miss you, but I could write you letters, couldn’t I? And you could still answer my questions about the gospel.”
Craig nodded, a slow smile overtaking his face. Amber had just answered some of his questions for a change, like whether or not to go on a mission. And whether or not he’d have any support if he did. He realized he’d already started his missionary work. And he’d been really happy lately. He’d have to trust that the Lord would help him reach his parents somehow. Maybe it was in the way he saw things. He knew for sure it had a lot to do with faith.
The next time Amber came to church, he did a double take. She had dyed her hair a shiny chestnut, closer to her real color, and was wearing a long skirt, nice blouse, and sandals. Her makeup was light instead of her usual overkill, and she smelled like flowers instead of cigarette smoke. Her eyes looked vibrant, with a fire in them that had replaced the dull, half-lidded sleepy look she used to have.
Craig met her in the foyer. “These new glasses are great. I didn’t know how cute you were.”
Amber smiled and he noticed dimples in her cheeks he hadn’t seen before. For a split second, he could imagine her being baptized. He was reminded of the scripture about the Lord not looking on the outward appearance but upon what was in the heart.
At first he had worried that she might be changing because of an interest in him. Then he had seen that she was truly happy he would be going on a mission. Craig realized she thought of him like a brother, like someone who had given her an incredible gift.
His parents had seemed happier. He finally summoned up all his nerve and told them he was going on a mission. They were a little upset that he would be leaving, but they could see it was what he wanted to do.
Craig knew everything might not work out the way he wanted it to. He knew his parents might never make their way back to activity, but for the first time in a long time, he started to believe in what could happen if the people he loved wanted it as much as he did.
In the same way that he had started to see Amber going down into water in a white dress, he was starting to see his parents’ scriptures off the bookcase, dusted off, and open.

I thought back to my first contact with Mormons. It was the summer of my second year in junior high school, when President Kimball visited Sapporo. I had attended many other churches, but at that meeting, there was something new: a unity of all the members. It seemed strange at the time. At other churches, people came to meetings, sat and listened, and then returned home. At the Mormon church, they all seemed to be working at life, trying to love it and enjoy it in a way the Lord would want them to. I thought of my second visit among the Mormons, too. That had been November 3 of the same year at the branch Thanksgiving party. My older sister invited me to tag along and told me all of the people there would seem like angels and we would be embarrassed just to be in their presence. That’s exactly how they made me feel! I had never been part of such a spiritual, family atmosphere.
From then on I had attended church weekly and everyone welcomed me with outstretched arms and warm hearts. The missionaries taught me about restored gospel truths, and they taught me how to pray to know the truth for myself. No other church had taught me how to pray, but in this church even small children could pray. I read the Book of Mormon daily and prayed about it. Gradually I began to understand my purpose here on earth and what’s important in this life. But I did not feel, yet, that I had a testimony.
In April, the branch start ed a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my same age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year—we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school- and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

During World War II, President James E. Faust, then a young enlisted man in the United States Army, applied for officer candidate school. He appeared before a board of inquiry composed of what he described as “hard-bitten career soldier[s].” After a while their questions turned to matters of religion. The final questions were these:
“In times of war should not the moral code be relaxed? Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
President Faust relates:
“I recognized that here was a chance perhaps to make some points and look broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I had been taught. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could say that I had my own beliefs but did not wish to impose them on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. In the end I simply said, ‘I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.’
“I left the hearing resigned to the fact that [they] would not like the answers I had given … and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my astonishment I had passed. I was in the first group taken for officer’s candidate school! …
“This was one of the critical crossroads of my life.”