Gospel Story Finder

I get scared very easily. To make matters worse, I have an overactive imagination, and it doesn’t take much to make me tense and nervous.
I remember a time when I had a hard time falling asleep at night because I was afraid. I would lie awake thinking about all the bad things that might happen: fires, car accidents, burglaries. Most of the things I worried about were things I had absolutely no control over.
One autumn evening, I found myself home alone. It was a dark, windy night, and my imagination was running wild. I tried watching television, but I couldn’t concentrate on the show. Then I tried calling a few of my friends, but none of them were home.
Finally I realized I needed some help to calm down, so I went to my bedroom and got my scriptures. Before I began reading, I knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father that He would help me get my mind off my fears and that I would be able to concentrate on the scriptures. After my prayer, I crawled into bed and opened my scriptures to the Doctrine and Covenants. I had been reading for only a few minutes when one of the verses suddenly caught my attention: “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you” (D&C 68:6).
Immediately, I felt a calmness come over me as the realization came to me that, although I could not control the things that were troubling me, my Heavenly Father could. Now whenever I start to feel afraid, I recall the words to that scripture, and I always feel better. I find it comforting to know that the Lord loves me, understands my feelings, and will always be there for me when I need Him.

I continue with an experience I heard from a valued associate, which I share with his permission. After the death of his beloved wife and the mother of his children, a father remarried. Some grown children strongly objected to the remarriage and sought the counsel of a close relative who was a respected Church leader. After hearing the reasons for their objections, which focused on conditions and relationships in the spirit world or in the kingdoms of glory that follow the Final Judgment, this leader said: “You are worried about the wrong things. You should be worried about whether you will get to those places. Concentrate on that. If you get there, all of it will be more wonderful than you can imagine.”

The baptisms went ahead as scheduled, and afterwards Erroll Bennett had time to think. No one called from the soccer club with congratulations or criticism, and by the end of that quiet evening he had made his decision. It was no good agonizing over an elusive compromise, and there was little point in training if he wasn’t going to play on Sundays. The following day he would talk to Napoléon Spitz and withdraw from active soccer, leaving his position open to some other hopeful.
Mr. Spitz’s reaction was a surprising one. “Hold off for a few days,” he said. “Wait until after the meeting of the league later this week.”
When Erroll heard the news a few days later, he could hardly believe it. Napoléon Spitz had advised league officials that the Central club had decided not to play on Sundays. Mr. Spitz explained that playing on Sundays was preventing team players from being with their families, and that it was an unacceptable practice. Whatever other league teams wanted to do, Central would not play on Sundays.
A vote was then called for, and the decision was unanimous. From now on, all Honours Division games would be played on weekday evenings.
Michael Ferrand, senior sports writer for the Tahitian daily newspaper La Dêpêche, attended the meeting as a delegate of another club, and remembers it well. He smilingly recalls: “Of course, we all knew the real reasons for the requested change. Napoléon Spitz was addressing the meeting as a delegate of Central. He offered some good reasons why we should all make the change—pressure on players and on their families and so on—but I guess everyone in the room knew that it was Erroll Bennett’s joining the Mormon Church that prompted it all.”
Mr. Ferrand says the players themselves seemed happy to go along with the new arrangements, though the public reaction was mixed. “It’s not easy to change a long-standing tradition,” he says. “People had been going to Sunday soccer for years and now suddenly it was to be switched to week-nights. Some of the sports writers were a little unhappy with it, but criticism was fairly subdued. You have to remember that Erroll Bennett is enormously popular in Tahiti. No sports writer is going to be outspokenly critical of a national hero!”
Since Erroll Bennett’s baptism in 1977, all twelve top clubs in the Tahitian Honours Division have played their games midweek. It has now become such an established practice that it is unlikely to change even if Erroll retires or leaves the game. Mr. Ferrand, who is also executive secretary of the College La Mennais, the largest private Catholic college in Tahiti, welcomes the change.
“Personally, I feel it’s a good thing,” he says. “If it contributes to a more sacred Sunday, so much the better.”
No one is suggesting that soccer enthusiasts now flock to churches on Sundays instead of to a game. Yet besides making a point for the sanctity of the Sabbath, the changes prompted by Erroll Bennett’s baptism six years ago seem also to have had a positive effect on Tahitian soccer itself. Napoléon Spitz, a man who has observed the repercussions as closely as anyone, is unhesitating in his response.
“There’s no doubt the players prefer playing on weeknights,” he says. “They have discovered that they like being with their families on Sundays. They appear to be better rested, they practice better and they play better. The public may have been uncertain at first, but I believe there is no doubt now that they value the extra freedom they have on Sundays to do what they want to do with their families. All of us have benefitted.”
Brother Bennett’s no-Sunday play rule has meant that in the past five years, Erroll has missed only two games held in Tahiti—both were in 1977. The first was the day following his baptism—before the historic meeting of the league to change days. The second game was the final of the Tahiti Cup—an open competition for all 112 clubs in Tahiti. Napoléon Spitz says it was just too complicated, with short notice, in that first year to switch the cup final to another day. The following year, however, and every year since, the Tahitian Cup has been kept off Sundays—because of Erroll Bennett.

Let me take a few minutes to tell you about a beautiful young lady of whom we are all very proud. I will identify her as Diane because that is her real name. Diane was captain of the University of Utah’s first national women’s championship gymnastics team. In Miami, Florida, for the first-ever American professional tour, she over-rotated on a practice vault, landed on her neck, and damaged her spinal cord. Her slender, delicate body, which had endured hundreds of hours of demanding routines and the accompanying torturous training, was broken. The gal with the dazzling smile who was recognized as the heart of the team was now faced with the challenge of accepting sympathy as her reward or getting on with her life.
Early in her gymnastics career when someone asked her, “Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?” she replied, “No, you take the glory and you take the knocks. I’ll just take whatever comes.”
Diane’s capacity to cope and get on with her life is best measured by her graduating from college two and one-half years after being paralyzed from the chest down. Wheelchair- bound, she seldom missed a class, was a good student, and was popular with classmates and instructors.
Just a few weeks ago Diane wheeled herself into a third-grade classroom in a Salt Lake area elementary school, swallowed hard, and faced the curious students as their nervous teacher. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” she says with conviction. “I can’t think of anything I’d want to do more.” “How about performing in the Olympics?” she was asked. “Yes,” she responds wistfully, “I wanted that a lot, too.”
How refreshing is her enduring attitude: “I always got around fairly well on campus in my wheelchair alone, but when I came to steep hills I made friends in a hurry.”
Diane has taken the knocks and the glory. She cares and she shares. She finds fun where others may not see it: “I’m genuinely happy and content with my life. I’m not bitter or angry. In a way I’m just as athletic as I ever was.”
With her superb attitude and self-discipline, and with the help of a loving family, friends, and students, she continues to “go for the gold.” Diane, thank you for teaching us what enduring is all about.

Now, you young men, let’s carefully consider some examples from the lives of our prophets as they have spiritually prepared for the priesthood. President Joseph Fielding Smith shares with us his feelings in these words: “‘When I was a small boy, too young to hold the Aaronic Priesthood, my father placed a copy of the Book of Mormon in my hands with the request that I read it. I received this Nephite record with thanksgiving and applied myself to the task which had been assigned to me. There are certain passages that have been stamped upon my mind and I have never forgotten them.’ By the time he was ten years old he had read the Book of Mormon through not just once but twice. His brothers remembered of his hurrying to get through his chores as quickly as possible, and sometimes even leaving a ball game early, and secluding himself in the hayloft or in the shade of a tree to get back to his reading of the book.” (Joseph Fielding Smith, Jr., and John J. Stewart, The Life of Joseph Fielding Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1972, p. 57.)

Friends smile admiringly and refer to Palle and Esther as “rare birds” themselves. Their enjoyment of nature has found a very humanitarian expression. For twenty years, they have taken a group of handicapped people, most of them in wheelchairs, into the woods to camp every summer.

“The twenty-five people we take with us range in age from thirty to eighty,” says Palle. “We stay together in a wonderful old house deep in the woods. Then we spend the days wandering through the woods together, stopping for picnics and enjoying the beauty.” He and Esther are also founding members of the multiple sclerosis society for the county, and they volunteer on the board of health.

Men of the priesthood, I remember a story about a schoolteacher who asked a returning class what their fathers had taught them about self-reliance during a summer vacation. After several accounts were told, she asked Johnny what his dad had done. And Johnny replied, “My dad taught me how to swim; he took me out in the middle of Utah Lake, threw me overboard, and told me to swim back to shore.” “Wow,” the teacher said, “that took a lot of courage.” And Johnny replied, “It wasn’t bad at all after I got out of the gunnysack.” Well, my young friends, life will be a challenge, but our Father in Heaven has given us the means to get through it safely. Let’s talk about that for a few minutes.

When we consistently study the scriptures, it can change not only our perspective, but also the way we deal with problems. At the end of an especially tiring day, Susan Wyman of Canton, Georgia, was preparing dinner while balancing her baby on her hip and trying to entertain her active three-year-old. In the midst of the confusion, her toddler pulled a carton off the counter, splattering eggs all over the newly scrubbed floor. Sister Wyman says her normal reaction would have been anger—but this time she noticed the shock and remorse on her son’s face. She knew that he had not made the mess intentionally. She was able to calmly clean up and cope with his awkward attempts to help.
“Even as I did this,” she remembers, “I wondered where my patience had come from. The Spirit let me know that it was because I had risen that morning and studied the scriptures.”

Utilizing this principle greatly blessed our family. In 2006, the United States was experiencing a strong economy, especially in real estate investing. We had successfully made some smaller investments before being given the opportunity to invest in a large business opportunity. It appeared to be without risk, but it would require that we go into debt by mortgaging our home.

As the father in the home, I knew it was my duty to provide for my family. I prayed and felt that I should be willing to use what the Lord had given me to profitably sustain us. I also consulted the scriptures and found that honest business investing was encouraged and acceptable to the Lord. As I moved forward in my decision, however, I pondered what the living prophets had warned about going into debt, particularly to invest in business speculation.

We decided to apply the “checks and balances” principle to my decision, and even though scriptural truths supported my personal revelation, the teachings of the living prophets did not. We decided not to invest. The following year, the housing market crashed, and a very long recession began. Had we borrowed the money, we may have lost not only our money but our home also.

I just received my August 1996 issue of the New Era. As I read through it I came upon the FYI article “Fine Tuning” about watching television. Recently my mother and I moved to Montana from southern California. It was a big change. I had grown up having everything within reach, like TV, radio, and different kinds of music. There is so much corruption and temptation everywhere, and after a while you kind of get used to it. I used to watch TV when I was at home, and I listened to the radio when I was in my truck. So when we moved here, at first I was upset that we didn’t have TV, and I got bored really easily. But then I started going outside and playing with my dog, reading books, and writing poetry on my computer. Then slowly I started forgetting about watching TV. I have been reading more books on the Church and developing my testimony. I sometimes go outside and watch the sunrise or sunset, admiring nature and all of the beautiful gifts Heavenly Father has blessed us with. Thank you for the spiritual encouragement.
Layla BastiansenHelena, Montana

“If you do this right, Darryl, they never know what hit them.” Jason paused to let the whole weight of his words sink in, then added, “Only don’t get too confident—Mr. Christensen came out of his house last summer and chased Kyle around a tree for ten minutes. Wasn’t that so, Kyle?”
Kyle rolled his eyes and looked miserable. Jason and Bret laughed until their stomachs ached.
I have to be honest—it sounded like incredible fun. A warm evening, just past sundown, people all settling down in their living rooms after supper. Then, totally unexpectedly, the doorbell rings.
“Of course, that’s why we call it R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Run,” Jason continued. “While we’re hiding in the bushes or across the street, laughing our heads off, the neighbors are out searching around on their front porches for nothing!”
I was the new kid in the neighborhood, and I was still finding it hard to believe that they all seemed to like me and had included me in their group right away. Jason was the most popular boy in the sixth grade! Things like this just don’t happen to me. I didn’t even think to ask what for when Kyle told me to meet them about eight o’clock that night.
Only R.A.D.A.R. didn’t turn out to be all that great. Megan Andrews, a girl in our class, answered the first door. When she didn’t see anybody there, she yelled out really loud, “Jason, Bret, and Kyle, I know it’s you!”
And things went downhill after that.
In the first place, nobody told me how angry some of the people would be. I knew right away that if Mom and Dad ever found out about this, my new friends would be history. Even worse, R.A.D.A.R. was done to a lot of old people, and I could tell that it was hard for some of them to get to the door. Then they waited and waited there like they were really hoping that this time it wasn’t a joke.
I kept seeing Mrs. Bartholomew in my mind, long after we left her house. She crept along with a walker, and her hands were all gnarled up. My grandma has arthritis, and I’ve seen her in a lot of pain. Mrs. Bartholomew looked the same, like she was really hurting. She turned the porch light on and stood there for a long time, saying over and over, “Hello? Hello?”
I didn’t sleep well that night, mostly because I had a feeling that things weren’t ever going to be the same. I could try to Ring A Doorbell And Rationalize—that it was really important for me to be part of the group in this new school. (How could I ever convert them if they all got mad at me for refusing to carry on the neighborhood tradition?) I wished that I could Ring A Doorbell And Reappear—at my old school, with my old friends, who never knew anything about this crazy game.
In the end, though, my thoughts returned to Mrs. Bartholomew on the porch—and to an old CTR ring that didn’t fit my finger but still fit me just the same.
So the next night it was Ring A Doorbell And Repent. By myself, of course. Jason told me that I was the biggest jerk he ever saw. I went to every door, anyway, and told the people I was sorry and offered to do some chore for them to make it up. Nobody took me up on the offer except Mr. Christensen, who had me mow his lawn three weeks in a row.
Some good things happened, too, though—besides my feeling a whole lot better about myself. Megan Andrews’s parents invited our family over for a cookout. Jason and Kyle and Bret were afraid to Ring A Doorbell again—and they did simmer down after a while. And since we have the only decent basketball hoop in the neighborhood, I figure it will only be a matter of time before they come around.
But the very best thing happens every Tuesday and Thursday night. That’s when I go over to Mrs. Bartholomew’s. Sometimes I take her some of Mom’s biscuits, or some flowers from the backyard. I go over there and R.A.D.A.R.—Ring A Doorbell And Receive—lots and lots of good feelings!

It was a new week, and I looked at the family calendar with trepidation. How could we possibly fulfill all of the obligations we had scheduled?
I plunged in, trying my best to volunteer at the schools, get the children to their various sports and clubs, feed everyone around ever-tightening schedules, and get my early-morning seminary lesson prepared each day. My husband rushed around to get to work and to Church meetings, to visit ward members, and to coach soccer. We were trying to be anxiously engaged in good causes and to be active in the Church, but something was missing. Although many families can handle numerous activities, it wasn’t working for us: the frenetic schedule was taking a toll on our family.
As I pondered this problem, I started to notice how often we had to tell our children no about things they wanted and needed from us. This bothered me, and I started to think about what could be done.
I turned to the scriptures. As I read the Book of Mormon, I came upon the sermon of King Benjamin in which he said, “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order” (Mosiah 4:27).
The prize we wanted was a happier, more unified family. We wanted less stress and more joy, but it seemed that we clearly were not on a path that led to these prizes.
We were diligent, but we were spinning our wheels. We were preparing everything as opposed to every needful thing. I prayed about our situation, but initially no answer came.
Life went on as usual. Callings needed attention, I felt the dishes had to be washed, and everyone required rides to their activities. As I prepared to teach seminary each day, I started to find the answers I sought from the wisdom of our modern prophets and leaders. I came upon an address by President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) encouraging the Saints to hold family home evening. He said: “In our time the Lord has offered his ageless program in new dress and it gives promise to return the world to sane living, to true family life, family interdependence. It is to return the father to his rightful place at the head of the family, to bring mother home from social life and employment, the children away from unlimited fun and frolic.”1
I realized that one of the first casualties of our busy lifestyle was regular scheduling of family home evening. Not long after, our bishop read a letter in sacrament meeting from the First Presidency reminding us to choose our activities wisely and not let the good things we do get in the way of home evening.
As my husband and I discussed this counsel, we realized that a lot of our activities were fun but not needful and that we could benefit from trimming the excess. We made lists of our activities and put them in categories like “needful,” “not needful,” and “needs improvement.”
As we studied our lists, we were concerned about the feelings of our children. Most of the activities we considered cutting were things they were involved in, like sports and clubs. We decided to hold a family home evening and talk this over with the children. When we discussed the problem with the children, we were astonished to find out that they would much rather spend time with us than have us coach their teams or chair their clubs.
From this realization our “Family Club” was born.
Once we fulfilled our obligations to existing activities, we did not sign up for anything new. On nights when we have no Church responsibilities, my husband will come home from work and announce, “Tonight is Family Club!” and the children will hurry to get their homework and chores done so we can spend time together.
Our children like to engage in special projects, especially with their dad. One night they built a computer out of scrap parts. Sometimes everyone will put on tool belts and fix something around the house. The point is that we have the time, energy, and desire to be together.
I also have more time to spend with the children and prepare more nutritious meals for the family. Family Club requires no running around, splitting our family among activities, or eating out. No one seems to miss our life of rushing around and fast food. We enjoy the time we spend together so much that the children no longer want to be so involved in extracurricular activities.
We have reinstated family home evening and daily family prayer. We also tidy up, do personal scripture study, and have family recreational activities. We understand that as the children get older, they will naturally have more activities. We will add them when it becomes needful, but until then, we are enjoying every minute of Family Club.

Illustration from Getty Images
As parents of a toddler and a newborn, we had faced difficulty fulfilling Church callings. So when my husband was called to serve as the bishop of a young single adult ward, we were both filled with hesitation.
Questions flooded our minds regarding our ability to manage everything with the added responsibility. We found out a few days after receiving the call that I was pregnant with our third child. Due to my medical history, previous pregnancies had been difficult. As we discussed what we would expect over the next few months if my husband accepted the call, we weren’t sure what to do. We began to pray earnestly for comfort and guidance.
At one point, my husband wondered if he should explain our situation to the stake president and turn down the calling. This made the most sense to us, but as we prayed and fasted, we were reminded of the words of President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018): “When we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help” (“Duty Calls,” Ensign, May 1996, 44).
Our hearts were comforted and our worries eased. We received the assurance that this call did not come from the stake president. It came from the Lord, and He knew before we did that I was pregnant when the calling was extended. He could do more for our family than my husband could on his own if he did not accept this call.
With faith in our hearts, my husband accepted the call and we took each day as it came. My third pregnancy proved to be a great miracle, and our son was born healthy and strong. The years I spent attending our home ward with our children helped us grow closer not only as a family but also to fellow ward members as well. While my husband diligently labored in his calling, I learned to turn to my ward family for help with my children.
My husband and I are grateful to many faithful Saints and, most important, to our Heavenly Father for helping us as we strived to balance work, family, and service in the Church.

Mabuhay! I bring to you love and warm smiles from the wonderful Saints of the Philippines. This year marks 60 years since the first missionaries arrived in the islands of the Philippines. Today there are 23 missions and more than 800,000 members of the Church in 123 stakes. There are now seven temples in operation, under construction, or announced. This is truly a miracle. We are witnessing the fulfillment of the prophecy in 2 Nephi 10:21: “Great are the promises of the Lord unto them who are upon the isles of the sea.”
This miracle is also a fulfillment of the prophecy given in a prayer by then-Elder Gordon B. Hinckley in Manila in 1961. In that prayer, Elder Hinckley stated: “We invoke Thy blessings upon the people of this land, that they shall be friendly and hospitable and kind and gracious to those who shall come here, and that many, yea, Lord, we pray that there shall be [many,] many thousands who shall receive this message and be blessed thereby. Wilt Thou bless them with receptive minds and understanding hearts, and with faith to receive, and with courage to live the principles of the gospel” (dedicatory prayer at American War Memorial Cemetery, Philippines, Apr. 28, 1961).
Beyond the many, many thousands of faithful Latter-day Saints, the miracle of the gospel has brought positive changes to the country and its people. I am a living witness of this. I was six years old when my parents joined the Church in the southern island of Mindanao. At that time, there was only one mission in the entire country and no stakes. I am eternally grateful for my parents’ courage and commitment to follow the Savior. I honor them and all the pioneers of the Church in the Philippines. They paved the way for the succeeding generations to be blessed.
King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon said: “And moreover, I would desire that ye should consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual” (Mosiah 2:41).
As we live and obey the principles and ordinances of the gospel, we are blessed, changed, and converted to becoming more like Jesus Christ. That was how the gospel changed and blessed the Filipino Saints, including my family. The gospel is truly the way to a happy, abundant life.
The first principle of the gospel is faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Many Filipinos have a natural belief in God. It is easy for us to trust Jesus Christ and know that we can receive answers to our prayers.
The Obedoza family is a great example of this. Brother Obedoza was my branch president when I was a young man. Brother and Sister Obedoza’s greatest desire was to be sealed to their family in the Manila Temple. They lived in General Santos City, 1,000 miles (1,600 km) away from Manila. For the family of nine, making the journey to the temple seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip. Sister Obedoza was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Brother Obedoza assured her that the Lord would provide.
They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. In the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Brother Obedoza’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay, and they eventually acquired their own home. The Lord takes care of those who demonstrate their faith in Him.
The second principle of the gospel is repentance. Repentance is turning away from sin and turning to God for forgiveness. It is a change of mind and heart. As President Russell M. Nelson teaches, it is “doing and being a little better each day” (“We Can Do Better and Be Better,” Ensign or Liahona, May 2019, 67).
Repentance is a lot like soap. As a young chemical engineer, I worked in a soap factory in the Philippines. I learned how to make soap and the process of how it works. When you mix oils with an alkali base and add antibacterial agents, it creates a powerful substance that can eliminate bacteria and viruses. Like soap, repentance is a cleaning agent. It allows us the opportunity to get rid of our impurities and our old debris so we are worthy to be with God, as “no unclean thing can inherit the kingdom of [God]” (Alma 11:37).
Through repentance we draw upon the cleansing, sanctifying power of Jesus Christ. It is a key part of the process of conversion. This is what happened to the Anti-Nephi-Lehies in the Book of Mormon. They were Lamanites who were so completely converted that they “never did fall away” (see Alma 23:6–8). They buried their weapons of war and never took them up again. They would rather die than break that covenant. And they proved it. We know that their sacrifice brought miracles; thousands who fought against them threw down their weapons and were converted. Years later their sons, who we know as the mighty stripling warriors, were protected in battle against incredible odds!
My family and many Filipino Saints went through a similar conversion process. When we accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ and joined the Church, we changed our ways and our culture to align to the gospel. We had to let go of wrong traditions. I saw this in my father when he learned of the gospel and repented. He was a heavy smoker, but he threw his cigarettes away and never touched one again. Because of his decision to change, four generations from him have been blessed.
Repentance leads us to make and keep covenants through sacred ordinances. The first ordinance of salvation and exaltation is baptism by immersion for the remission of sins. Baptism allows us to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and enter into a covenant with the Lord. We can renew this baptismal covenant every week as we take the sacrament. This too is a miracle!
Brothers and sisters, I invite you to bring this miracle into your life. Come unto Jesus Christ and choose to exercise your faith in Him; repent and make and keep the covenants found in the ordinances of salvation and exaltation. This will allow you to be yoked with Christ and receive the power and blessings of godliness (see Doctrine and Covenants 84:20).
I testify of the reality of Jesus Christ and that He lives and loves each one of us. I know that His gospel can bring us hope, peace, and joy, not only now, but it will also bless countless others in future generations. That is the reason for the beautiful and warm smiles of the Filipino Saints. It is the miracle of the gospel and the doctrine of Christ. I testify of this in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Finding the local meetinghouse was the last thing on my mind.
Things like 95 degree weather, 90 percent humidity, and learning Cantonese were much more important.
Yet there I was, a dejected, three-week-long missionary, thanking a man for giving me an address I already had and really didn’t need. And all this because I couldn’t learn Cantonese.
I hadn’t meant for things to turn out that way. My district was doing a street display at Hong Kong’s Star Ferry just when the commuters were coming home. I wanted to get referrals and talk with people—and I tried to—but I was having little success.
My inexperience in speaking Cantonese—the second-most common Chinese dialect—was painfully evident. Speaking to Chinese people seemed an impossibility, and understanding what people said to me seemed about as easy as walking on water. And because I could neither speak nor understand, I began to doubt my worth to the Lord.
I spotted Mr. Wong just as he was coming down the steps of the ferry. He looked like such a nice man. He wore a blue suit and black shoes. His eyeglasses were slipping down his nose. His tie was still tight around his neck—something that looked very out of place in the humid air.
I mustered up as much self-confidence as I could in the few seconds I had. With a quick prayer in my heart and a deep breath, I started toward him.
The instructors at the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for situations like this. I had practiced asking golden questions and getting referrals dozens of times. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t have taught me what I was about to learn.
“Neih hou ma?” I asked.
“Good,” he replied in a language I knew was Chinese but bore little resemblance to what I had learned in the MTC.
“I’m a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you ever heard of this church before?”
Mr. Wong gave his reply, but—as usual—I couldn’t understand.
“My name is Gong Jeunglouh,” I said. “May I ask your honorable name?”
I didn’t understand much of what he said back to me, but I did understand his last name was Wong. He drew the Chinese Wong character on his hand and raised it to my eyes. His etchings meant nothing to me, but I pretended they did.
“May I tell you a little about our church?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said. That was one of the few things I could understand. I had used that phrase myself several times during the past three weeks.
I showed Mr. Wong my name tag so he could read the name of the Church in Chinese.
“Oh—a church!” he said.
I smiled. “Yes—I am a missionary from this church,” I said, pointing to my name tag. “May I tell you a little about it?”
His reply was long and difficult for a new missionary to understand.
“What is your address?” I asked. I figured I might as well go all out and try to get a referral.
“Address? You want address?” he asked.
“Yes. What is your address?” I got my pen and notebook ready to write—or at least to ask him to write—the address down.
“You wait here. I will return in a few minutes,” he said. I barely made out what he was trying to tell me, thanks to his hand gestures.
“You stay right here,” he insisted.
“I will,” I assured him. Off he went, leaving me no clue as to where he was going or why he wanted me to wait.
Mr. Wong reappeared from among the sea of Chinese commuters a full 15 minutes later. He walked briskly—almost at a trot—with a paper in his hand.
He smiled and waved as he approached. I walked to meet him.
“Here,” he said. He handed me a page of an English phone book. The address of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was circled.
“Here is your church’s address,” he said.
Now I understood. Mr. Wong had thought I was a lost foreigner looking for my church. My self-confidence sank as I thanked him for his trouble.
Mr. Wong offered his hand with a smile of pride and friendliness.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied, and began to walk away.
“See you later,” I said. And then, as an afterthought, “May I give you this?”
I reached into my suit pocket and handed him a Joseph Smith pamphlet. I gave it to him with two hands, and he accepted the gift in the same manner, a Chinese custom.
“At least I learned something in the MTC,” I thought to myself, remembering our classes on cultural customs. Mr. Wong faded away into the crowd.
I went to sleep that night praying for strength and success. I wanted to preach the gospel with all my heart, but I felt great frustration in learning to speak the language.
The months passed, and as they passed my confidence grew. I was soon transferred out of that area, and new investigators, new companions, and new street displays occupied my mind.
A year later I was a zone leader in another part of Hong Kong. One Sunday I was back in my first area taking care of some mission business. Being in that first meetinghouse brought back both good and bad memories. I rejoiced in seeing my old friends from the local ward.
The halls of the church had cleared after all the meetings were over, and my companion and I were the only ones in the foyer. I was hoping to see more of my former friends.
As we were about to leave, a classroom door opened. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Wong—the commuter at Star Ferry—emerge from the dark hall!
“Mr. Wong! How are you?” I asked with excitement.
“I’m Brother Wong now, Elder Call,” he said in perfect Mandarin.
“You speak Mandarin? No wonder I couldn’t understand you at the ferry!”
“And you were speaking Cantonese—that is why I couldn’t understand you,” he said.
We sat and talked for several minutes. Brother Wong explained to me that after our encounter at the ferry a year before, he went home and read the Joseph Smith pamphlet. He said he read it out of curiosity more than anything else. The Spirit touched his soul. He telephoned the mission home to ask for more information and two sisters began teaching him the gospel. He gained a testimony and was baptized.
Our reunion was sweet and joyous, even though we had seen each other only once before. My heart was touched and the Spirit bore record to me of the true meaning of Paul’s words to the Corinthians:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Cor. 3:6).

The cool grayness of the concrete on which I was standing matched the lonely feelings growing inside of me. It was my first day—in fact my first hour—at THE DORM, and I had contracted a severe case of homesickness.
“Why have I come so far away?” I moaned to myself. “Why did I let my father just drive away and leave me here?”
Here was May Hall, and I was beginning my freshman year at Brigham Young University. I soon discovered that most of the others on my floor felt similar apprehensions (“We can always transfer to the state university at semester time,” we comforted ourselves), yet at semester time none of us transferred. And by the time spring came, despite our excitement to go home and visit our families and hometowns, we left our roommates tearfully. During the course of only eight months, we had made lifelong and eternal kinds of friendships.
When I think back on my freshman year now, I remember Mary and Suzanne and the pizza they had delivered to their first-floor window so that the rest of us wouldn’t know they were breaking their diets. I remember five of us dragging Christmas trees to the dorm from the grocery store four blocks away. I remember the fun of sharing care packages from home, and eating crackers with Linda on the grassy lawn of Helaman Halls. I remember fasting together and kneeling in prayer with all the girls on my floor.
By the time I graduated from college, I had had 18 roommates (not counting the other 35 girls on my floor my freshman year), and more important, 18 girls I considered my lifelong friends. Looking back I realize my roommates and I became close because we shared so many things together. We had to learn a lot about sacrifice, giving, and working things out. There had been some tears, some moments of frustration, some sadness. But through it all, we had discovered the beauty in each other and the joy that comes from loving the people you live with.

The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

George, the first counselor in his ward’s deacons quorum presidency, continues to grow in both the gospel and the priesthood. He took the initiative to find out exactly what fast offerings are and what the donations are used for. “I was reading in a book about fast offerings,” he says. “That’s how I know why people donate the money and why I collect fast offerings each month.”
“It’s been a learning experience for him, but I’m impressed by how he pays such close attention to what has to be done,” Brother Bond adds. “We’re very fortunate to have him as a son.”

Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!

Spencer’s family were also members of the Church. That made me nervous, because I had been taught my whole life that if I walked inside an LDS church, I would see fire and go straight to hell.
But Spencer and other Mormons were really nice to me, and I felt comfortable around them. So even though I was pretty scared of the Church, I went to church with them a few times and met a lot of other good people.
Their kindness helped soften my heart.
One of my new friends, Rick, was a member of the Church too. The night before he left on his mission, I told him I was feeling frustrated. I couldn’t go into the military, I didn’t want to go to college, and I didn’t know what to do. He looked right at me and said, “You should go on a mission like me.”
That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I said, “All right, I’ll go on a mission.”
He laughed and said, “Well, you have to be a member of the Church first.”
I met with the missionaries with Spencer’s family after Rick left for his mission. Six weeks later, Spencer baptized me. I was almost 19 years old.
Still, things weren’t perfect after that. Most of my family was not happy that I joined the Church. My dad even offered me a brand-new pickup truck if I would just forget about it. But my brother Roger supported me. When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%. Whether I was serving a mission or not, he told me to always do my best.
When I told him I wanted to serve a mission, he told me to give it 110%.
I tried to prepare the best I could by studying the scriptures, praying, and going to a mission prep class. While I was on my mission in North Carolina, I lost myself in the work and did my best to follow Roger’s advice to give it 110%.
Ten years later, I lost my dad to cancer. Even though he and I had hard times, I love him so much. As I leaned down to hug him and say “I love you” one last time, he said something I will never forget. He told me he was proud of me and that he was glad I served a mission. Two years later, Spencer got to baptize me for my father in the temple.
My family may not have approved of my joining the Church, but because of their unfailing love and the example of my friends and their families, I was able to serve a mission, be married in the temple, and help my dad after he passed on. I am grateful to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.