Gospel Story Finder

Brethren, during my Aaronic Priesthood years I was a swineherd! Way back then, by means of a 4-H Club project involving purebred Duroc pigs, I became familiar with work! As proof that what follows is not merely swollen memory, may I, with Elder Nelson’s help, display very briefly this blanket of nearly 100 ribbons won by my prize pigs at various fairs over several years.
Up near Elder Nelson’s hand is a pink ribbon, won 60 years ago. It was the very first ribbon I ever won. I think the judge had a tender eye, and the pig wasn’t really so choice, but he knew I needed encouragement and hence the fourth prize. The purple ribbons were for champions that were exhibited later on!
Thank you, Elder Nelson.
Brethren, I learned the hard way about the need to watch shifting pork prices at the local meat-packing plant. Careful records of profits and losses were kept with the help of my bookkeeper father. As in all things, my parents, so supportive, even ended up doing some of the perspiring themselves, including a special mother born 95 years ago today. She showed me how to work, and she loved me enough to correct me.
In order to obtain low-cost pig feed, I regularly bought dozens and dozens of three-day-old loaves of bread at a bakery for a mere penny a loaf. Additionally, if present at the right time at a local dairy, I could get about 70 gallons of skim milk free! Now I pay $2.50 a gallon—an amusing irony. By saving in these ways, I could buy the needed grain for the pigs with the little hard cash that I had.

In May of 1997, my husband Tavita Mamea took a group on a temple trip to Apia Samoa Temple as a member of the Mapusaga Fou Stake presidencies, a part of the one hundred years’ centennial celebration of the church in American Samoa. Two days later, he called, “Honey, change of plans, get the children ready we’re moving to Hawaii.”

From a mother’s perspective, I thought: “How is it possible? There is no way we’ll live in the United States without legal documents except our visitor visas at the time.” However, I acknowledged my husband’s priesthood authority, and obeyed him. In August of 1997, our family of four’s journey began to the unknown world. We put our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and believed He would hear and answer our prayers. My husband Tavita, a faithful servant who dedicated his life in serving the Lord, was a temple ordinance worker just after few months upon our arrival in Hawaii. He served as a high councilman in the Laie North Stake. A bishop for five years in the Laie 9th Ward, and was also a bishop for eight years in Mapusaga Fou Ward, a high councilman, and Stake Presidency in American Samoa.

The challenge on our legal status to stay in the United States continued. However, cultural differences, or any other circumstances would not stop my husband from being persistent, as he continued to seek the Lord’s help. Through Tavita’s faith, along with my support, we have been standing side by side as we persevered, seeking guidance from our loving Heavenly Father.

In May of 1999, we received the answer to our many prayers. Our immigration application was approved through an Immigration lottery that allowed us to stay legally in the United States. According to the immigration officer who interviewed us, it is unheard of for both a husband and wife’s names to be selected from this lottery at any one time. In July of 2000, we received the key to our new home in Kahuku where we are currently residing.

Kim listened as her grandmother told the family about her mission call. “I’m going to work in the Denver Temple. I’ll be an ordinance worker there.”
Denver! It was over fifteen hundred miles away. Kim had learned that in her fourth grade geography class. “Why do you have to go there?” she asked.
Grandma turned to her. “I don’t have to go there, Kimmy. I want to. That’s where the Lord needs me.”
“But we need you here.”
Grandma smiled. “I’m glad that you want me to stay. But it’s time I started getting on with my life again. Ever since your grandpa died, …” She didn’t finish, and Kim watched as tears rolled down Grandma’s cheeks.
Kim’s grandfather had died the year before. Since then, her grandmother didn’t smile as much as she used to. And when she did smile, the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It stayed right on her lips as if it was too tired to stretch any farther. Kim remembered when her grandmother was always smiling. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, sending little lines to turn up at the edges.
“Laugh lines,” Grandpa had called them. He had liked to tease Grandma, and he’d laughed when her cheeks turned rosy with embarrassment. Grandma pretended she was mad at him, but Kim knew she wasn’t.
When Grandpa died, things changed. Grandma came to live with Kim’s family, but she didn’t bustle around as she had before. Mostly she sat by the window, staring out. Once when Kim asked her what she was looking at, Grandma smiled one of her half-smiles and said, “I’m remembering, child,” and Kim understood that Grandma was remembering Grandpa.
But now Grandma was going away. “Why does it have to be the Denver Temple? Can’t you serve right here in the Washington Temple?”
“The Lord has called me to Denver,” Grandma said simply.
Grandma spent the next two weeks saying good-bye to old friends. The Saturday she was due to leave, Kim stayed in her bedroom, refusing to go to the airport with the rest of her family. “I can’t,” she told Mother. “I don’t want to see Grandma leave. I’ll miss her.”
“I’ll miss her, too,” her mother said, “but I’m glad that she’s going to serve a mission. Do you remember how happy Grandma was when she cooked Christmas dinner for us?”
Kim nodded, puzzled. What did Christmas dinner have to do with Grandma serving a mission?
“Grandma was happy then because she was serving others. Do you remember how much she enjoyed baby-sitting your cousin Elizabeth when Aunt Carol had to go to the hospital?”
Again Kim nodded. She was beginning to understand. Grandma was happy when she was serving others. “When Grandpa died, did Grandma stop being happy because she couldn’t take care of him anymore?”
“That’s part of it,” Mother said. “She loved Grandpa very much. When he died, I think she felt empty inside. Grandma is happier now because she has a chance to serve someone else. Someone very special.”
Kim knew who that someone was. “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s right. Can’t you be happy for her too?”
Kim thought about that. Of course she wanted Grandma to be happy. Hadn’t Kim been the one to spend hours with Grandma right after Grandpa died so that she wouldn’t be lonely? But Kim also remembered all the times Grandma had sat in her rocking chair, just rocking back and forth, her eyes sad. “Wait, Mom. I have to change my clothes. I want to go to the airport too.”
People scurried through the airport to catch their planes. Kim kept a tight hold on Grandma’s hand. At the gate where Grandma’s plane waited, Kim squeezed her hand even more tightly. “I’m going to miss you, Grandma,” she said, trying hard not to cry.
Grandma bent down to kiss Kim’s cheek. “I’m going to miss you too.”
“I’ll write every week,” Kim promised.
“Me too,” Grandma said, brushing away a tear.
Kim reached up to hug Grandma. “I’m happy you’re going to serve a mission.”
“Thank you, my little Kimmy.”
Kim’s mother, then her father and little brother hugged Grandma.
Kim watched as her grandmother boarded the plane. That night, Kim started a letter:
“Dear Grandma,
“I’m going to tell all my friends that you’re serving a mission in the Denver Temple. I’m very proud of you. …”

There is an old Chinese tale of a woman whose only son died. “In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, ‘What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?’ Instead of send­ing her away or reasoning with her, he said to her, ‘Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life.’ The woman set off at once in search of that magical mustard seed. She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, ‘I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me.’ They told her, ‘You’ve certainly come to the wrong place,’ and began to describe all the tragic things that had recently befallen them. The woman said to herself, ‘Who is better able to help these poor unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my own?’ She stayed to comfort them, then went on in her search for a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hovels and in palaces, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. Ultimately, she became so involved in ministering to other people’s grief that she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had in fact driven the sorrow out of her life.”[30]

My parents exemplified this love in so many ways. They had a large family, with many grandchildren, some of whom chose to step away from the Church or follow paths that diverged from its teachings. Yet, to my knowledge, my parents never criticized, coerced, or tried to change their grandchildren in an effort to “save” them. They left judging and saving to the Savior and simply loved them. Their home was a place where everyone felt welcomed and safe, regardless of their religious beliefs, sexual orientation, or political or world views.
Grandchildren could tell them about anything and be themselves around them without fear of rejection. My parents spent time with them, listened to them, and built relationships with them.
In the days leading up to my mother’s passing, I witnessed her grandchildren—most now in their 20s and 30s—weeping as they gathered around the bed of their cherished grandmother. This small white-haired woman, along with my father, had ministered to them, valued them, welcomed them, and loved them without conditions. My parents were faithful Latter-day Saints who understood that loving others, even when their beliefs or choices differ from our own, doesn’t diminish our faith or change our beliefs. We lose nothing by loving all of God’s children.

We have always learnt about the importance of serving a mission and being a missionary even if we have not had an opportunity to labor full time in the mission field. What a great privilege it is to watch our children learn about the Savior and to develop a willing heart to serve in the Lord’s vineyard. “And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children” (Isaiah 54:13). Fulfilling this command, recently, the New Delhi India Stake Primary presidency organized a fun-filled activity for Primary children where they could learn about the process of becoming a missionary.
These beautiful children aged between 4–11 were welcomed to the activity by stake Primary leaders and were given individual missionary name tags and a letter extending a call to serve in the “Vasant Vihar Mission” for four hours. The children then boarded an airplane. They were served a snack and informed that they would be landing at the missionary training center soon. At the MTC the new missionary force was divided into companionships and received instruction which included games emphasizing missionary rules, specifically to stay close to and cooperate with their companions.
After lunch, President and Sister Ramakrishna reviewed the first principles and ordinances of the gospel of Jesus Christ with the senior Primary children and practiced their door approaches. Each companionship had the opportunity to knock on a door and share a brief lesson with “investigators.”
Meanwhile, the junior Primary children enjoyed movies and a coloring activity. The activity was wrapped up by making handwritten cards for the missionaries serving in New Delhi.
Jaden John, an eight-year-old Primary child said that this was the best activity he had ever attended. “I learned the four principles of the gospel, “he said, “and how to be a missionary.” Vivek Kumar said he learned, “that we have to follow the principles that God has given us.”
These young minds were nourished and nurtured by good instruction. Every child seemed to be saying, “I hope that I can share the gospel with those who want to know the truth. I want to be a missionary . . . And serve the Lord while I am in my youth.”
Indeed, these children are like the army of Helaman who are being taught in their youth to be the Lord’s missionaries and to bring the world his truth. Let us be comforted to know that there is no better work to be involved in than missionary work.

I feel blessed to have been raised in the gospel and to have had many good examples of missionary service within my own family. My family members have served teaching missions all over the world.
I am autistic and serving a mission was something I presumed I would never be able to do. Then an insightful bishop discussed the possibility of a service mission with me and my family. Upon hearing about service missions and what they entailed, I immediately felt that it was something that I wanted to do; it could be such a wonderful blessing in my life.
At times, my life has felt challenging, living with autism can be frustrating and lonely. To be able to represent and serve the Lord as service missionary has made me feel included, valued, and loved. I have made many new friends within the mission and feel a great sense of belonging.
I was set apart as a service missionary in October 2021. I have received much support and excellent training from my service-mission leaders, Elder and Sister Crew.
So far, I have been involved with The Billion Graves Project linked to FamilySearch. With support I have transcribed information from headstones and uploaded this, for other people to access. I have transcribed information from many Commonwealth war graves and uploaded many poignant epitaphs. I have also taken photographs of headstones in local cemeteries and been involved in uploading them to FamilySearch for other people to access and use. Being engaged in this work has led to my greater appreciation of temple and family-history work. I feel a closer connection to my own ancestors.
I am shortly due to begin serving in a local food and clothing bank and look forward to serving and meeting new people in my local community.
My family and I consider it a sacred privilege that I have been called to a service mission in the Lichfield Stake. As I diligently serve and represent the Saviour in this way, other people will feel the love that He has for them. I hope others will want to serve a mission through my example. I feel that I am being blessed with a greater understanding and appreciation of Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour, as I emulate His example and serve people as He did.

Dick Richards stood at the kitchen window and listened as the wind howled around the corners of the barn and heaped great mounds of powdery snow. It was March 1939, and southern Alberta, Canada, was having one of the worst spring storms that he could remember.
Dick shivered and pulled back from the window, gazing around the silent room in frustration. His mom and dad were quietly talking in the bedroom, and the younger children were all asleep—except for his sister Jean, who was reading in front of the fire. Dick was thirteen years old—almost a man—and it made him feel restless to be stuck in the house like a chicken in a pen.
He glanced over his sister’s shoulder. She was reading a Superman comic book. He grabbed it from between her fingers and threw it across the room, ignoring her loud screech as she jumped to retrieve it. He wondered why she chose to fill her mind with such nonsense. He had discovered long ago that there were no real heroes in this life, only ordinary people like his dad, who was thin and tanned from working long, backbreaking hours in every kind of weather. And Mr. Meyers down the road, who limped and spit on the ground, and cried when his only daughter married a fellow from Calgary. No, Dick didn’t figure he would ever meet a real hero.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened, and Nephi Richards appeared, helping his wife into a coat. She looked pale and ill, and her belly seemed larger than ever.
Dick asked, "Is it time for the baby to come?"
"We think so," his father replied.
Dick peered out the window. "How will you make it through the snow?"
"We’ll take the Model A. Uncle Rolley is meeting us halfway with his big Chevrolet."
Dick reached for his boots. "I’d like to come, Dad."
"We need you to stay and watch the children."
"Jean is old enough, and she’s much better than I am with the younger ones." His father was silent, so he continued hopefully, "I could help if something went wrong."
"Nothing will go wrong," interrupted Dick’s mother. She looked lost in her husband’s thick plaid coat and gum boots.
"If you’re coming, you’d better hurry up," his father said gruffly. "We haven’t much time."
As they stepped outside, the wind tore at their faces and almost flattened their bodies against the side of the house. It was difficult getting to the car, and for an anxious moment Dick was afraid it wasn’t going to start. Then it sputtered to life, and they were moving slowly through the snow.
"Can you see where we’re going?" Dick asked, squinting out the window into the speckled blackness.
"Well enough," his father answered.
Dick sat beside his mother and listened. He could hear her breathing—sometimes sharp and ragged with pain, sometimes slow and deep. He could hear the wind screaming, feel it pulling at the car as if it was bent on throwing them headlong into the ditch. He took his mother’s arm and held on tightly.
They hadn’t gone more than a mile when the Model A lurched to a stop. "There’s something blocking the road," Dick’s father said. "I’m going out to take a look."
Anxious to help, Dick got out too. The snow was drifted over the road like a giant feather pillow, and Dick saw that it would be impossible to shovel their way through. He stood silently and watched while his father kicked and stomped his way around the drifts.
Nephi Richards returned to the car and took his wife’s small cold hands between his large ones. "Hazel," he said, "we have a choice to make. We can go home and you can have the baby there, or we can walk to where Rolley is waiting. I think it would be easier for you if we went home."
Dick’s mother held her head up bravely. "But if something goes wrong, it would be better for the baby to be born at the hospital. No, I’d rather keep going."
Dick and his father helped her from the car. Dick heard her gasp as the cold wind whipped across her face. "Let’s get this over with," she said.
They stuck close to the barbed wire fence and struggled through the drifts with a certain desperation. Dick could feel his mother’s hand gripping his tightly through his mitten. He gritted his teeth as snow oozed in the top of his boots and made his legs burn with icy pain. Their breaths came in spurts, filling the cold air for an instant, then vanishing in wisps of steam. Dick knew that his mother was in great pain, but he didn’t know how he could help her. It made him feel helpless.
The journey seemed as if it would never end. Dick’s face burned. His lungs ached. His fingers were numb. His feet felt like two lumps of ice on the end of his legs. He kept hoping that the merciless wind would die down, but it returned again and again with new vengeance, shrieking against their bent bodies as if it would lift them from the earth. Finally Dick’s mother went limp in his father’s arms.
"I’ll carry her," his father said. "We’re almost there. I can see the car."
The last few steps seemed to stretch out forever. Finally Dick staggered against the side of the Chevrolet, wrenched open the door, and helped put his mother inside. Uncle Rolley’s anxious face stared at them from the front seat. "Go as fast as you dare," said Dick’s father.
The waiting room was warm and still and smelled of antiseptic soap and floor wax. Dick was too tired to move, so he leaned back on the wooden bench and watched his father pace back and forth across the floor in front of the nurse’s desk. He had been told many times in Primary, and again in his priesthood lessons, how extremely important it was for parents to have children and how the spirit children of Heavenly Father needed bodies to progress. Up until now, he had figured that having children was just a simple process involving a small inconvenience. He closed his eyes and put his weary face between his hands. Tonight he had seen things in a different way.
His thoughts were interrupted by a man with a white uniform and kind blue eyes. "Mr. Richards?"
"Yes!" Dick’s father crossed the room with two swift strides.
The doctor reached out and gripped the other man’s hand. "You have a son," he said.
"How is Hazel?"
"Your wife is a very sick woman, but we feel that with the right amount of rest and care, she’ll be all right."
Dick saw his father relax as the fear and strain of the last few hours left his body.
"May I see her?" asked Dick.
The doctor nodded. "She’s asleep, so be very quiet."
While his father continued to talk to the doctor, Dick slipped into his mother’s room. She looked peaceful lying there under the white blanket, her face all relaxed and free from pain and worry. Her eyes were closed, and her lashes looked dark and long against her pale cheeks. He leaned close to her. He knew that she probably couldn’t hear him, but somehow it was very important to tell her anyway: "You’re a hero, Mom!"

So far, the stories of hope have had happy endings. But what about times when what we most hope for isn’t fulfilled, such as the experience of our good friend, Pam Palmer, and her husband, Mike. Mike was a BYU-Hawaii faculty member when he was stricken with cancer. As with most cancer patients, Mike and his family hoped to beat it. Shortly after he was diagnosed, Mike gave Pam a blessing in which he blessed her that she and her children would not be left without his support through the next 40 years. Pam feels that this blessing gave Mike hope that he would recover, even when doctors gave him little or no hope. Many blamed Mike and Pam for giving their children false hope. Mike and Pam knew that the chances for recovery were slim, but they reasoned that living with hope was better than living without it. As author Marian Zimmer Bradley wrote: “The road that is built in hope is more pleasant to the traveler than the road built in despair, even though they both lead to the same destination.” The Palmers chose the road of hope. When things looked especially grim, Mike received a blessing from Dallin Oaks and Jeffrey Holland, who were visiting Hawaii at the time. In their blessing, they assured Mike that it was right to hope for recovery, that this temporal life is a blessing worth fighting for. On the other hand, they made very clear that Mike’s hope extended beyond this life. Not long after, Mike passed away, leaving Pam alone to care for their six children. In the end, Mike wasn’t there physically to support the children and Pam, but they often felt his presence, reaching out to support them from the other side of the veil.

“My Young Women leaders had challenged me to finish reading the Book of Mormon by November,” says Sierra Hoffman, a Mia Maid from Albany, Oregon. “I was in the middle of it when President Hinckley gave the challenge to all members to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year.”
She could have simply finished from where she was. And she did. Then, after completing her leaders’ challenge, Sierra turned back to 1 Nephi in late November and started reading again—this time to meet President Hinckley’s reading challenge. She read each night, sometimes for several hours.
“The spirit that filled my room and my heart as I read was amazing!” she says. “Passages that I had never noticed before stood out and touched me deeply. Verses that had confused me before made sense. Tears would fill my eyes as I read about the Savior visiting the Americas.”
Sierra also noticed a change in her 10-year-old brother as he, too, began reading from the Book of Mormon daily. He became more loving, kind, and respectful. Just as President Hinckley promised when he made the challenge, there was a greater feeling of the Spirit of the Lord in the Hoffman family’s home.
Throughout the Church, thousands of youth like Sierra and her brother took up the prophet’s challenge. And many sent stories about the blessings they received to the New Era. For some readers, this was their first time through the Book of Mormon. For others this was their third, fifth, or even tenth time. Regardless of the number of times these teens had read this book of scripture, they all recognized specific blessings they received because they accepted the challenge.
“Never before have I felt like I did while reading the Book of Mormon this time,” says Brandon Merchant, a priest from Green River, Wyoming. “Never have I been able to relate so much information to myself and the world. I can see Satan’s traps easier; I can more quickly and efficiently answer questions from people investigating the Church. I guess it is true what they say—if you study it, the information will be available at the time you need. I understand the meanings and teachings more than I ever have. It is almost impossible to describe the great feelings and understanding that I have received.”
Nicole Wood, a Laurel from St. George, Utah, didn’t think she would have time to read the Book of Mormon. She didn’t really think it was all that important to do it, either. “But I started reading a little bit every night anyway,” she says. “I can’t even describe how much it has changed my life. I was less stressed out in my classes. I felt happier, and, mostly, I felt closer to my Father in Heaven.”
Along with this change in her life, Nicole says she grew to love the Book of Mormon. She found it easy and exciting to apply its stories to what she was experiencing. And she felt close to the prophets who wrote so that we could learn from their experiences.
“It wasn’t just a story anymore,” explains Jessica Grosland, a Mia Maid from Springville, Utah. “I was reading it all the way through, and by the time I got to the end, I found my heart breaking along with Moroni’s as he talked about how bad the people had become.”
Jessica says she felt as if she were there with Book of Mormon people. “I took the journey with them as they went on this roller coaster of righteousness and wickedness. I felt their good and bad times were mine. I have a much better appreciation and can see them as real people now.” Most important, says Jessica, “My testimony is stronger. I feel the Spirit more, and I do have a stronger desire to follow the words of Christ.”
Mitch Oakes of Ontario, Oregon, describes his experience in much the same way as other youth do: “I seemed to get more out of reading it this time than the other times. I found more scriptures that helped me in my life and with my acquaintances. At school and home, I felt more Christlike. I caused less contention with my little brother, and I felt more love for everyone. My testimony was strengthened.”
Sarah Glade, a Laurel from El Paso, Texas, says she decided to accept President Hinckley’s challenge because “the world around us is encouraging more and more behaviors that go against what the Church teaches us. Reading the Book of Mormon helps us to put on the armor of God and to be in the world but not of it.”
“When I read the Book of Mormon,” she adds, “everything feels right. I don’t stress about school, I’m nicer to my family, and I have more patience with others. It’s the highlight of my day, a ‘homework’ assignment that I really enjoy.”
In August of 2005, when President Hinckley issued the challenge to finish the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, he said: “Without reservation I promise you that if each of you will observe this simple program, regardless of how many times you previously may have read the Book of Mormon, there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to His commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God” (“A Testimony Vibrant and True,” Ensign, Aug. 2005, 6).
What these youth who accepted the challenge have in common is a life-changing experience. Most of them have continued to read the Book of Mormon. They’ve felt the difference it makes in their lives, and they want that difference to continue.

Many years ago I heard a story that impressed me. A beautiful little blind girl was sitting on the lap of her father in a crowded compartment in a train. A friend seated nearby said to the father, “Let me give you a little rest,” and he reached over and took the little girl on his lap.
A few moments later the father said to her, “Do you know who is holding you?”
“No,” the little girl replied, “but you do.”
Some might say, “What a perfect trust this child had in her father.” Others may say, “What a wonderful example of love.” And still others might say, “What an example of faith.” To me it indicates a beautiful blending of all of these principles. Affection, respect, and care over the years had placed in this little girl’s heart a peace that surpasseth all understanding. She was at peace because she knew and trusted her father.
Our trust and our relationship with our Heavenly Father should be similar to that of the little blind girl with her earthly father. When sorrow, tragedy, and heartbreaks occur in our lives, wouldn’t it be comforting if when the whisperings of God say, “Do you know why this has happened to you?” we could have the peace of mind to answer, “No, but You do.”
Peace is a blessing that comes to those who trust in God. It is established through individual righteousness. Just as the little girl could sit peacefully on the stranger’s lap because her father knew him, so we can find peace if we know our Father and learn to live by His principles.

A few months ago, Emilio, one of the deacons in our ward, suddenly became very ill. The doctors were unable to diagnose what he had. Both he and his mother were scared because he was getting weaker and going downhill fast. His mother took him to the hospital several times but did not succeed in getting any answers.
Emilio’s mother brought him to the meetinghouse for a priesthood blessing. One of the members of the elders quorum and I, his bishop, had the privilege of blessing him, and he slept well for the first time in nights.
However, a few days later I learned that Emilio had experienced a relapse and was back in the hospital. Another brother and I quickly went to the hospital, where we were able to go into his room and visit with him. Thinking that Emilio would probably be discouraged by the downturn in his condition, I was especially uplifted by what happened next.
We talked about Jesus Christ, and I explained that the Savior has the power to surmount anything, according to His will. Emilio’s reply deeply touched our hearts: “Bishop, this is just another trial. I have faith that it will be over soon because I have faith in Jesus Christ.” We placed our hands on his head and again gave him a blessing.
After that night Emilio made an unbelievable and complete recovery. He was able to return to his daily activities and to church without difficulty.
Emilio had exercised the faith necessary for the Savior to perform the same kind of miracle He performed when He was here on earth. To me, Emilio is an example of those of whom the Lord said, “To some it is given to have faith to be healed” (D&C 46:19).

I once visited a charming town in Iceland. Right away, I noticed that the traffic lights were shaped like hearts! I asked about it and learned the story.
Years ago, people in Iceland were having a hard time. The town decided to do something to help people be happy again. They called it the “Smile with Your Heart” project. They changed the traffic lights and asked people to hang hearts from windows. The hearts helped everyone remember to love others and have hope.
One person told me the project was to help remind them to be kind to one another. They also said it helped them stop and think about what matters most in life.
This showed me that no act of kindness is too small. Something as simple as a heart-shaped traffic light can remind someone of their worth, give them hope, and help them get through another day.

Toward the end of my studies, many of my friends were planning to continue their schooling and achieve a master’s degree. I loved studying and wanted to do the same thing, but the Spirit told me clearly that my mission in Hawaii was complete. It was time for me to return home to Hong Kong.
My wife and I followed the prompting. At the time I couldn’t understand why I was being directed away from continuing my education. But sometimes we follow the Spirit without knowing all the details. Though my wife and I didn’t know what to expect as we looked for jobs and an apartment, we were blessed and soon found success.
As I look back now, I understand why the Spirit was so strong in encouraging us to return to Hong Kong. It was very valuable to my family and me to be strengthened in the Church among the members there. I served as a bishop, as a counselor in the stake presidency, and as a stake president before being called as an Area Seventy. After retiring from my profession, I was able to earn a master’s degree. All of those experiences helped prepare me for my current calling.

The Mutual-age youth of the East Liverpool Branch in Ohio were starting to get bored last summer, but instead of taking a nap, they decided to put their heads together and plan a special project. The idea they came up with was an original silent movie, complete with a hero, heroine, two villains, and a poor little fellow named Elmer who is in love with Penelope, the heroine. The Beehives, Mia Maids, and Laurels wrote the script and talked the Aaronic Priesthood members into joining them as performers. The result was a lot of fun, and a movie to show at a dance last fall.

Tony Wong’s parents fled from Communist China into Hong Kong before he was born. His father was unable to find work in the British colony, so his parents “switched roles,” Brother Wong recalls. “My father fed us the bottles and changed the diapers while my mother worked.”
She worked for a few dollars a day—just barely enough to put food on the table and pay for the tiny makeshift hut the family lived in. “We didn’t even have enough money for an electric fan,” observes Brother Wong. And in a land where summer temperatures reach 90 degrees with nearly 100 percent humidity, a fan is almost a necessity.
All that changed when the missionaries came to visit. The family listened to the gospel, and eight-year-old Tony and his parents were baptized in 1960. (A younger sister followed on her eighth birthday.) Although money was tight, the family paid tithing. “And within two months my mother found an extra job, and we had enough money to buy a fan,” Brother Wong says. “The Lord has continued to bless us through the years.”

“Hi, Mom,” Max called as he walked into the kitchen and set his backpack down.
“Hey, buddy.” Mom pulled Max into a big hug and ruffled his hair. “Wow. I can hardly see you under there! I think you need a haircut.”
Max grinned. “I was thinking the same thing. And I know just how I want it cut. You know that haircut where it’s shorter in the back and on the sides and longer on the top?” A lot of boys in Max’s class had that haircut. And so did Max’s favorite comic book character—Sam Slate, kid superspy.
“I’m not really an expert hair cutter, but I think I can do that,” Mom said.
“I’ll grab the clippers.” Max raced to the bathroom as fast as he could. He couldn’t wait for his awesome new haircut!
When Max got back, Mom was ready with a towel, a chair, and a hand mirror.
“How short do you want it in the back?” she asked. She showed Max the clipper sizes, one through eight. “The smaller the clipper number, the shorter it cuts the hair.”
“Hmm.” Max sorted through the different clippers. “Maybe a size two on the bottom and a seven on top?”
“All right. Have a seat. World’s best haircut coming up!” Mom draped the towel over Max’s shoulders and turned on the clippers. Max listened to the buzzing sound as she trimmed around his ears. The falling hair tickled the back of his neck. Max tried to picture how he’d look when Mom was done. He could already feel himself transforming into Sam Slate.
Max’s younger sister, Emma, came in through the front door.
“Hi, Mom! I’m home.”
“We’re in the kitchen, honey,” Mom called.
Emma poked her head through the doorway. “Oh! Looking good.” She came in and dropped her backpack on the table. “I’m starving!”
“Me too,” Max said.
Emma peeked into a cupboard. “Can I make peanut butter crackers, Mom?”
“Sure. Can you make Max some too?”
“OK.” Emma stood on her tiptoes to reach for the peanut butter on the top shelf. “It’s too high. Mom, can you help me?”
“Good timing. I just finished with the back.” Mom switched off the clippers and went to help Emma. Then she came back and stood in front of Max. “OK, now for part two.”
Max was so excited that he wanted to jump out of his chair. But he sat very still. Mom made the first cut. Then she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked.
Mom bit her lip. “Max, I am so sorry! I forgot to change out the clippers for the top.”
Max’s heart sank. He slowly picked up the mirror.
“I can cut the rest of your hair short to match,” Mom said. “But that’s the best I can do.”
Max stared at the big chunk of missing hair. He definitely didn’t look like Sam Slate. He looked like a disaster! For a second, he wanted to shout or maybe cry. But instead, he took a deep breath. Mom was just trying to help. After a minute, he felt a lot calmer.
“It’s OK, Mom. After all, hair grows back, right?” he said with a smile.
Mom gave him a hug. “Right. And when it does, I’ll triple-check the settings so you can have the world’s best haircut.”
Mom finished cutting Max’s hair. It wasn’t the cool style Max wanted, but it was OK. Max smiled as he looked in the mirror again. He had followed Jesus by choosing to be kind. And being like Jesus was even better than being like Sam Slate.

I am grateful I was home that Saturday in 2005. My first wife, Dantzel, and I had completed our household chores and decided to relax for a few minutes. We sat on the couch, held hands, and began watching a program on television.

Within a few moments, Dantzel suddenly and unexpectedly slipped peacefully into eternity. My efforts to revive her proved fruitless. Shock and sorrow overwhelmed me. My best friend of nearly 60 years was gone.

Ten years earlier, I had lost a daughter to cancer. Emily was only 37 years old. In 2019, I lost a second precious daughter to that dread disease. Wendy was only 67.

At those times of loss, how grateful I was for my testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. In His victory over the grave, we see the promise of our own resurrection.

Neither James nor Jessa knew how to speak or read English when they moved to the United States, so they didn’t say much. But their family claims that they talk nonstop now. Because they are still learning English, they are in an ESL (English as a Second Language) class at school. Jessa uses this class as an opportunity to serve others. “I help friends in the class who don’t know English as well.” She has many friends because of her openness and caring. One friend even wrote her a note that said, “You are my very best, best, best, best friend. Today I will buy you a candy and an ice cream.”

Some time ago several outstanding teachers were honored at the general Sunday School conference. It was my privilege to pay a tribute to a Sunday School teacher of my boyhood days—Lucy Gertsch Thomson.
Lucy was lovely and ever so sweet. She was deserving of a worthy companion. Yet such success evaded her. The years flew by, and Lucy reached the worrisome 20s, the desperate 30s, even the frightful 40s—and then she met Dick. It was a case of love at first sight.
Just one problem—Dick was not a member of the Church. Did Lucy succumb to the age-old fallacy of marrying out of desperation, with the fleeting hope that one day he would become a member? Not Lucy. She was wiser than this. She simply told Dick: “Dick, I think you’re wonderful, but we would never be happy dating together.”
“Why not?” he countered.
“Because you’re not a Mormon.”
“How do I become a Mormon? I want to date you.” He studied the gospel.
She answered his questions. He was baptized.
Then he said, “Lucy, now that I’m a member, we can be married at last.”
Lucy replied, “Oh, Dick, I love you so much. Now that you are a member of the Church, you wouldn’t be content with anything but a temple marriage.”
“How long will that take, Lucy?”
“About a year, if we meet the other requirements.” One year later Lucy and Dick entered the House of the Lord. Lucy lived the truth of the verse:
Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone;
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
Plan your future with purpose.