Gospel Story Finder

Later, the bishop met with me again to let me know that the disciplinary council would be reconvened. I felt nervous and a little scared, but I knew it was worth going through. Since I had met with the bishop the first time, I had been feeling joy like never before. My perceptions had started to change, and I found myself loving life, family, and friends so much more. I had experienced some difficult days when I wondered how I could ever spend the rest of my life without beer, but on most days I could feel hope building inside me.
I was nervous partly because one of the bishop’s counselors was the father of my son’s friend, and I feared that after hearing about my sinful past, he would not want his son to play at my house again. I resolved that if he did feel that way, I would respect his wishes. No obstacle would stand in the way of what had become the most important thing in my life: coming back into full fellowship in the Church.
The night for my disciplinary council finally came. As I knelt in prayer with the members of the bishopric, I felt strongly the influence of the Spirit, as well as an indescribable brotherly love. Those men hadn’t known me long, but I knew they cared about me and loved me. Nevertheless, when my son’s friend’s father hesitated before speaking, I thought he was trying to find a way to say his son couldn’t play with my son anymore. Instead, he said: “I just want you to know how impressed I have been with your son and your family. You must be good parents to raise such a boy.”
At the end of the meeting, the bishop said, “You are a worthy member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” I felt great joy upon hearing those words.
When I returned home, I wanted to laugh and cry and tell my family everything, but everyone was asleep. So I prayed to Heavenly Father, thanking him for his love and kindness, for honorable men who act as righteous judges, for family and friends who helped me along the way, and for all the other blessings I have in my life.

My family had an amazing mystery adventure in a cemetery. We felt like explorers—or detectives! We followed a map, looked for clues, and made it through lots of obstacles.
The mystery started when Grandma found a list of family members who were buried in a family cemetery. She wondered why her own grandpa wasn’t on the list.
Grandma knew he was buried there, but she had never visited the cemetery before because she lived far away.
“I wish we could help Grandma,” I said during dinner. I felt sad that Grandma couldn’t find out about her grandpa.
“I do too,” Dad said. “Maybe we can take a trip to the cemetery and find her grandpa’s headstone.”
I was excited to solve the mystery. My little brothers, Joseph, Hyrum, and Daniel were excited too!
First we had to drive a long way and do some detective work before we even found the cemetery. We stopped to ask a man if he knew where it was. Guess what! It was hidden down a road on his farm!
The cemetery was in the middle of a muddy field. It was surrounded by a cinder-block wall and covered with overgrown plants. We had to cut through vines just to open the gate.
It was like a jungle inside! Big trees filled the cemetery, and thorny vines wrapped around the headstones. We had to clear them off to read the names.
“Who is Marenda Ann Thomas Humphrey?” I asked, pulling plants off a headstone.
Dad ran over. “She’s your great-great-great grandmother!” he said. “Hopefully your great-great grandpa’s headstone is nearby.”
We looked and looked for his headstone but couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom and Dad cut and cleared vines. My brothers and I cleaned off dirt, bugs, and spider webs. It was gross! Some headstones had tipped over because tree roots grew under them. They were heavy, but we worked together to lift them up again.
We worked hard all day. When the sun was going down, Dad said it was time to go.
“I don’t think we’re going to find it today,” he said. He sounded pretty disappointed.
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to find the headstone for Grandma.
“Let’s say a prayer,” I said.
“That’s a great idea. Heavenly Father can help us find it,” said Mom.
We said a prayer and looked one last time. Dad found a long wire and used it to poke the ground. Suddenly the wire hit something solid. Maybe a headstone?
“I think Dad found something!” I said.
We knelt down and cleared away vines and weeds. Under a thin layer of dirt, we found a headstone. The name on it was Rodolph Jackson Humphrey.
“Dad, do you know who this is?” I asked.
When I looked at Dad, he had tears in his eyes. “This is exactly what we were searching for! It’s your great-great grandpa’s headstone,” he said.
“Yay!” we all shouted.
I gave my brothers high fives. “I knew we’d find it! We just needed a little help,” I said.
Mom smiled. “That’s what prayer is for.”
It was tricky and fun searching through the cemetery. We had to overcome walls, mud, thorns, and vines. But it was all worth it to get to know more about my great-great grandpa.
I know that the Holy Ghost helped us and that Heavenly Father answered our prayer. And the best feeling of all was hearing Grandma cheer when we told her all about it.

By December 1993, having a joint institute class for young single adults, single adults and married couples was very common in the early days of establishing the Church in Lagos. These classes were hosted by the Ikeja and Oshodi branches in the Lagos District and were held in our rented building.
We were about to close a class one evening when we received information that a visiting sister needed to address the class. The visitor was Patience Ojukwu. She told the class about her poultry farm at Idimu Egbeda and many opportunities for members. She was a recent convert who joined the Church in March 1993 and immediately started assisting the full-time missionaries in our branches and district, some of whom I worked with were Elders Idiong, Akpan, Arungwa, and Ikpegbu Christopher. Brother Cletus Ashidike, who served as the Oshodi branch president, was very supportive to the cause of Zion with his personal resources and time.
We always sought for opportunitis to serve, and I never waited to be commanded. Some of our early converts and those whom I taught as a youth Sunday School teacher are now serving as bishops, stake presidents, and some of those whom we interviewed for such leadership roles are now Area Seventies, mission presidents, or temple ordinance workers. Some missionaries whom we worked with over the years are scattered all over Africa, the Middle East and the Pacific.
Between December 23 and 24 1993, our Oshodi Branch missionaries asked me to go to Sister Patience Ojukwu’s farm to buy old layer chickens for Christmas dinner. When I returned with one, the other companion asked me to get another for them. Arriving at the farm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Sister Ojukwu informed me that she had lost more than two hundred old layer chicken which had been stolen the previous night. I was only a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, but I was the only priesthood holder on the farm that very day. I asked that we all join hands together and pray to God to reveal to us what action to take. I got the answers immediately and asked Sister Ojukwu to inform the police. When the detectives arrived, the farm security guard was arrested and confessed that the farm supervisor transferred and sold the birds to a small neighboring farmer.
Over 90 percent of the birds were recovered. The activities at the farm that day lasted until nightfall. Sister Ojukwu pleaded that I spend the night with her family. Very early on Christmas morning, I returned to the missionary apartment at Oshodi with crates of eggs as a gift from Sister Ojukwu.
The Ojukwu family was very excited for this huge recovery. They invited me to live with them and to be their farm manager. I accepted this as a volunteer position. This decision was very important to me as I was desirous to refer contacts and visitors to the missionaries to be taught.
Sister Ojukwu served as the Lagos District Relief Society president. While living with them and managing the farm, in 1994 I was ordained to the office of an elder. The farm became a point of contact for missionaries and Church youth community projects, and this led to many baptisms and later the creation of the Egbeda Branch. A major achievement was the baptism of Sister Ojukwu’s husband, Augustine Ojukwu. The Ojukwu family relocated to England and have remained active in the Church. It was a wonderful reunion for me to meet Sister Ojukwu at the Aba Nigeria Temple during its dedication and my sealing in August 2005.
Egbeda Branch has grown into a stake of Zion and is ready for another split as a result of massive growth. One of our early converts in that area, Brother Sunday Adejuwon, later served a full-time mission, was called as bishop, and currently serves as the stake president of the Lagos Nigeria Egbeda Stake. The turning point in my life was when I discovered for myself that heaven is never closed, God hears and answers prayers, directs our footsteps and the building of Zion is our collective responsibility for those who have taken His name upon themselves.
The rapid growth of the Church in Egbeda area was a monumental milestone as it was hitherto an obscure area largely away from the center of strength, it is indeed a mark of one of the miracles of Church growth in Africa and the gathering of Israel becomes a reality when those who are strong take the weak. I envisage a very bright future as many stakes of Zion grow here.
This area of Lagos was and will always be very dear to my heart, for it was here that I laid the foundation of my spiritual growth, of receiving personal revelations, recording in my journal and keeping accurate record of the unfolding history of the church in this part of the Lord’s kingdom.

Some years ago Albert Peters told of the experience he and his companion had of a man being born again. One day they went to the hut of Atiati in the village of Sasina in Samoa. There they found an unshaven, unkempt, misshapen man lying on a bed. He asked them to come in and introduce themselves. He was pleased to know they were missionaries and wanted to hear their message. They presented the first discussion, bore witness to him, and then left. As they walked away, they discussed Atiati’s condition. He had had polio 22 years before that had left him without the use of his arms or legs, so how could he ever be baptized, being so completely disabled?
When they visited their new friend the next day, they were unprepared for the change in Atiati. He was bright and clean-shaven; even his bedding had been changed. “Today,” he said, “I begin to live again, because yesterday my prayers were answered and you [came] to me. … I have waited for more than twenty years for someone to come and tell me that they have the true gospel of Christ.”
For several weeks the two missionaries taught this sincere, intelligent man the principles of the gospel, and he received a strong witness of the truth and the need for baptism. He asked them to fast with him so that he would have the strength to go down into the water and be baptized. The nearest baptismal font was eight miles away. So they carried him to their car, drove him to the chapel, and set him on a bench. Their district leader opened the service by bearing a strong testimony about the sacred ordinance of baptism. Then Elder Peters and his companion picked up Atiati and carried him to the font. As they did so, Atiati said, “Please, put me down.” They hesitated, and he said again, “Put me down.”
As they stood in some confusion, Atiati smiled and exclaimed: “This is the most important event in my life. I know without a doubt in my mind that this is the only way to eternal salvation. I will not be carried to my salvation!” So they lowered Atiati to the ground. After a huge effort, he managed to pull himself up. The man who had lain 20 years without moving was now standing. Slowly, one shaky step at a time, Atiati went down the steps and into the water, where the astonished missionary took him by the hand and baptized him. He then asked to be carried from the font to the chapel, where he was confirmed a member of the Church.
Atiati continued to progress so that he gained the ability to walk only by a cane. He told Elder Peters that he knew that he would be able to walk on the morning of his baptism. He said, “Since faith can move a stubborn mountain, I had no doubt in my mind that it would mend these limbs of mine.” I believe we can say that Atiati was truly born again!

Once while serving as a mission president in Kentucky, I was faced with a direct conflict on family activity and Church activity. The Kentucky Derby was soon to be held, and our family had looked forward to going for weeks. Three days before the big event, the schedule for the Lexington Stake conference was shifted one week forward, and the Saturday leadership meeting was now scheduled for Derby Day. As mission president, I was invited in a midweek phone call from the visiting general authority to be at those sessions.
In the conversation, I told the leader about my previous plan and asked him his opinion. He replied, “Sometimes we just have to choose.” And that is all he said.
What would you have done?
Church work often requires that fathers be away from home. But by setting proper priorities, planning, and delegating, a father can organize himself to be effective in church duties and to be home much more often than he would suppose.
Some fathers who spend undue amounts of time in church callings are proud of these long hours away from home and consider them a sign of dedication. Often it is dedication, but in some cases it is just a way of not going home. Some fathers feel more capable in activities away from home than they do with their families. We should examine ourselves to see if, under the guise of “dedication,” we’ve left to our wives the most important of all causes to which we should be dedicated—our families.
Some feel that if they devote many hours away from family to their church duties, the Lord will compensate by ensuring that all will be well at home. But fathers who are faithful in the Church can and sometimes do have critical problems at home, and one reason may be a lack of father-family experience.
On the other hand, a father who feels successful at home comes out of that home filled with the spirit of love. His heart has been warmed by the home fires of his own family, and he is then able to warm the hearts and souls of his brothers and sisters. A man who devotes sufficient time and energy to family activities and who likewise is dedicated to the Lord and building his Church receives the Spirit of the Lord. It is the Spirit and not endless hours at Church activities away-from-home which brings success in church work.
In my opinion, some Church planning and leadership meetings are far too long. I was once asked by a Church leader, “Are you as a leader punctual in conducting meetings?”
I said, “Yes, I always start meetings on time.”
He said, “But are you punctual?”
I answered again the same way, “We start on time.”
He asked me the same question again, and as I sat looking perplexed he said, “I know that you begin your meetings on time, but do you end them on time?” He added, “End the meeting at the appointed time and let people go home to their families. Those who neglect the appointed quitting time are as much in error as those who neglect the beginning time.”
Sometimes a father will excuse himself for not being home enough by saying, “It isn’t the quantity but the quality of time spent that matters.” There is some truth in this statement for some people, but we must not use it to soothe a conscience that tells us we are too much away from the family.
When I was called to be a mission president, I was fearful that at a most critical time in the lives of my eight children I might not have sufficient time to be a good father. I had determined that being a father was as important a call from the Lord as being a mission president. That meant that even though I would dedicate myself to the mission, I would have to double my dedication as a father.
With that in mind, one of my first important tasks was to tie a big rope to a high limb on the huge ash tree that grew in our front yard and make a swing. With the swing came instant neighborhood friends for our younger children.
A few months after our arrival, we attended a mission presidents’ seminar. Each president was asked what he felt was the best idea he had put into practice so far in his mission. When my turn came, I said, “The best thing I’ve done so far is to build a swing.” Everyone laughed. I described the swing and explained that my major goal was to be a good father and that the swing was my symbol of this priority. The leader sustained my action.
I’ve found that I allow more time for my family if I remind myself that playing with the children is church work. While I was mission president, I would often go to a beautiful amusement park with my family. I would just walk around the park with a smile on my face, holding hands with my children, eating candy.
Once in a while, the thought would enter my mind. “You’re the mission president. You’d better get back to the office.” But then I’d smile again and say to myself, “Well, I’m doing my church work here. I’m with my children and my wife. We’re having a fun day, and tonight I’ll be able to write in my journal that I did six hours of glorious church work today.” I’d eat a little more candy and let the children lead me wherever they wanted to go.
Church work with your family doesn’t mean you leave other church work undone. It merely means that you do both—and you can do both. Some days you can spend a whole day with the children. Other times it will have to be a ten-minute wrestle or one paper airplane constructed after the evening meal.
Some years ago I was serving as a bishop. At the same time I was working on a doctor’s degree at a university and working a full-time job. I was under some strain, fearing that because of my desire to succeed in so many areas I was really failing as a father.
One Sunday evening I stayed late at church to complete some work. As I walked into the chapel to turn off the lights before going home, I suddenly felt lonely. I felt that my back would not bear for another day the heavy burdens I was carrying.
I fell to my knees near the pulpit and cried to the Lord. I poured out the feelings of my soul to him and described in detail my seemingly insurmountable tasks. When I finished I remained kneeling. And then I heard the Spirit speak to me in my heart. The answer it gave me was all I needed. It said just three things: Go forward. Do your best. Love your family.
I arose a new man.
Since then, whenever specific conflicts have come up between my family and church work, I’ve remembered those words and followed the advice given me years ago in Kentucky by a great Church leader—“Sometimes you just have to choose.”
Perhaps the only mistake we really make is when we choose one way over the other all of the time.

When we’re young, sometimes all we think about at Christmastime is what we are going to receive. In 1991 I received the best gift of all.
The previous year I had decided to serve a mission, because my mother and several other relatives had set an example for me. So I left the university after my 18th birthday and worked at a fire station for a year to save money and help relieve my family of the financial burden of supporting me on my mission.
I finally sent my papers in, certain that by 1 December I would be leaving to serve the Lord. When the first two weeks of December passed, I became more anxious to receive a reply than to get any Christmas gift. But no letter came. I thought perhaps the Lord didn’t love me or maybe my worthiness was in question; I had all kind of discouraging thoughts.
On Christmas Eve I left early in the morning to play handball with my brother at a club near our house. When I got home, I noticed several Christmas cards hanging on the tree, including a very large card wrapped in gift paper. It had my name on it. I wanted to open it, but my mother said it would be better to wait until evening when our family had gathered.
After dinner we decided to open our gifts. I headed for the biggest gift I had, but my family told me to open the card first. When I did, I saw that it was a letter and the sender was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was addressed to Elder Samuel Osorio.
By then all I could see were camera flashes, as my father took pictures of my astonished face. I was so happy and grateful to receive my call on Christmas Eve.
That was my best Christmas present ever. My mission was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and my call from the Lord is the best gift I’ve ever received at Christmas.

Filing of articles and thoughts for church talks and lessons is another chore that I simply can’t stand to do for more than a few minutes at a time. Before applying this idea to the filing task, and while waiting—and waiting—to file until I “had time” or felt “motivated,” I felt guilty about not getting it done. After years of good intentions, I decided to file two items a day, every day. I’m still at it, but now instead of two boxes of material to file, I’m down to a stack about three-inches deep. And I feel much better about my file.

The Prophet’s natural disposition to do good was demonstrated during Zion’s Camp. In May 1834, the Prophet and his brethren were in the process of pitching their tents on the Illinois prairie when some of the brethren suddenly discovered three rattlesnakes and were about to kill them. The Prophet immediately intervened, teaching: “Let them alone—don’t hurt them! How will the serpent ever lose his venom, while the servants of God possess the same disposition, and continue to make war upon it? Men must become harmless, before the brute creation; and when men lose their vicious dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together, and the sucking child can play with the serpent in safety” (History of the Church, 2:71). The Prophet Joseph lived as he preached.

Talents are meant to be shared. As you learn to play the piano, you can bless others with your music. As you develop your talent for spirituality, you can use this gift to bless your family. Did you know you have some responsibility for the happiness in your family? It isn’t just your mom’s or dad’s job to keep the family happy. You can help too. Listen to what Brooke did as she shared her talent for spirituality.
“My eight-year-old sister was scared of strangers coming into the house. One night she came into my room, and I tried to explain to her that she wasn’t hearing anyone walking around. I remembered my seminary teacher challenged us to always try to have Heavenly Father’s Spirit with us. So I prayed in my heart that I would get help to not be frustrated. A verse came instantly into my head. I opened the scriptures and told her to read it to me. Then I was bearing testimony to her about the Holy Ghost and how if she wanted peace to get down and pray and the Spirit would come. She gave me a hug and kiss and went off to bed. Then I remembered my 10-year-old sister on the top bunk. She told me she never knew that if you wanted something like that you could pray and the Spirit would bring you peace. I know the Holy Ghost was inspiring me to say that” (letter).
There are lots of ways you can bless your family. Brooke did three important things: she bore her testimony, she prayed for her sister, and she was an example to her other sister on the top bunk. This strengthened her own spirituality as well.

I learned patience as I sat beside the elderly and infirm, listening to them talk of their challenges. With tears streaming down her face, one dear sister in her 80s told me how she no longer felt like knitting or crocheting. Every part of her body hurt, and the days and nights were long and sad.
A year later I sat by her hospital bed, holding her withered hand and stroking her thin arm. As she labored for every breath, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to release her from her terrible suffering if that was his will. Many sisters in the ward had helped her feel loved as cancer ravaged her body; we all longed for her to be at peace.
Forty-eight hours later, she breathed her last breath, and we all wept together. We could envision her joy as she entered into a new life of freedom from earthly cares.
As I sat with her that last night, I knew that even in her terrible physical condition, there was still purpose in her life—not only for her personally but also for us. How could we learn to give of our time and love if there were no needy souls?

After the discussion, Mother began to read the books they left and to pray about what she should do. It wasn’t long until she decided to be baptized. She was worried though about telling my grandmother.
Finally, however, Mom got the courage to call Grandma on the phone and to tell her that she was going to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
There was an empty, cold silence on the other end of the line. At last my grandmother said, “I’m heartsick and disappointed in you,” and then she hung up the receiver.
It was a long time before Grandma would talk to any of us on the phone or answer our letters; so you can imagine how happy my mother was when Grandma called one day and said, “I’ve been thinking about your baptism and I’ve decided that it’s all right for you to be a Mormon, dear, as long as you’re happy.” And Mom really was happy.

The first stake in Uganda was organized in 2010. The Church is growing rapidly, with many young men and young women in each ward and branch.

The young women in one ward were inspired by the teachings of Sister Elaine S. Dalton, Young Women general president, on virtue: “Now is the time for each of us to arise and unfurl a banner to the world calling for a return to virtue.”1 The young women hiked a hill overlooking the town and raised gold banners symbolizing their pledge to be examples of virtue. Together they sang “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, no. 5).

These young women have raised their personal standards of righteousness. Their obedience has strengthened their testimonies and influenced others. Sister Dalton has said, “Never underestimate the power of your righteous influence.”2 And like a banner, the example of these young women waves to all the world.

Sandra
Photograph by Cindy Smith
Like many young women in Uganda, Sandra walks more than a mile to church, helps clean the meetinghouse on Fridays, and attends seminary on Saturdays. During the week, she rises before 5:00 a.m. to read schoolbooks, and then she walks to school, returning home after 6:00 p.m. She missed a year of school because of financial difficulties but faces her challenges with a positive attitude: “The gospel has really helped me to stay steadfast and immovable.”

Sandra is the only Church member in her home, but her parents support her Church service, such as helping when the ward cleaned the grounds of a local orphanage. Her family sees how the gospel has helped her be strong, even when facing unresolved problems. Reflecting on the source of that strength, Sandra says, “When I go to church, I feel like I am putting on the armor of God” (see Ephesians 6:11–17).

A more recent convert, Susan, loves the Church. Originally from South Sudan, her family fled hardships and was blessed to receive the missionaries in Uganda. As a refugee, she found peace and protection in the gospel. On Sundays she would bring her younger siblings to church, as well as up to 10 other children who are not Church members. After the unexpected death of a family member, she returned to South Sudan, where she waits for the Church to be established in her area. Both Susan and Sandra face challenges, but they rely on God and enjoy the fruits of living the gospel of Jesus Christ (see Alma 32:6–8, 43).

Young men in Uganda start playing football as small boys, using tightly bound branches for a ball. Ever since he was very young, Dennis had a gift for the sport, and his high school gave him a scholarship to play for their team. After he completed high school, a professional team offered him pay, room, and board. It was a dream come true, but Dennis knew this would likely interfere with his plans to go on a mission later in the year.

Dennis
Photograph by Cindy Smith
Dennis’s desire to do what his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was so strong that he did not even want to be tempted to remain on the team when the time would arrive for him to serve a mission. Many people questioned his choice, but Dennis is certain he made the right decision—for himself and others. “My two little brothers and my little sister were just baptized,” he says. “I never thought my sister would hear the gospel. When I see God doing miracles in my family, it gives me a bright hope for my future.”

In Dennis’s ward the young men study Preach My Gospel each week. They have become like a team, working closely with the full-time missionaries and bringing friends to Sunday meetings and other activities, including basketball and football games during the week. The priests have baptized friends and others they helped teach with the missionaries. Over several years, this team of young men has strengthened the whole ward, and four of them, including Dennis, received calls to the Kenya Nairobi Mission.

They have followed the counsel of Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to “become missionaries long before you submit your mission papers.”3 They did so by working together as a quorum, a team better than any other.

All four missionaries overcame challenges in order to serve. Wilberforce explains, “I was almost losing hope of going on a mission [because of the costs], but then I read Matthew 6:19–20: ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth … but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.’ So with diligence and commitment, I was able to accomplish my goal of serving a full-time mission. I love missionary service. Nothing is better than seeking first the kingdom of heaven.”

In my childhood, my family went through some very troubled times. My parents divorced when I was five. My mother remarried, but divorced again. My three younger siblings and I all lived with our mother in one room in one of the worst parts of Glasgow, Scotland. Home life was quite dark, challenging, and poor.
When I was about 10, I went to a little Christian Sunday School group that met at the end of the street. We sang songs, and a teacher taught us Bible stories. One Sunday, our teacher told us the story of Zacchaeus.
Jesus was passing through the city of Jericho, and there was a great crowd of people surrounding him. A man named Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus pass by, but Zacchaeus was not very tall. He ran ahead and climbed a tree so he could see Jesus in the midst of the crowd.
Jesus looked up and called him by name: “Zacchaeus, make haste, and come down; for to day I must abide at thy house.”
Zacchaeus was not a popular man. He was a tax collector. Many people, seeing with whom Jesus was going to spend the day, murmured because they didn’t think Zacchaeus was worthy. Yet Jesus chose to spend time with him.
We don’t read much in the scriptures about what happened while Jesus was in Zacchaeus’s home, but we do know what the result was. Zacchaeus repented and became converted. Jesus said that salvation had come to the house of Zacchaeus. (See Luke 19:1–10.)
I wondered, if Jesus knew the name of Zacchaeus, did He know my name? If this thing called salvation could come to the home of Zacchaeus, could it come to my family? If Zacchaeus could be saved, could I? I know now that the Holy Ghost prompted me to think those thoughts.
Within two years, I discovered that the Lord did know my name and that salvation could come to my family. The Lord sent missionaries from His Church to find us. My mother was not very interested in religion, but the missionaries knocked on our door on a very rainy, wet day. They had been out working all day long, and they were soaked to the skin. My mother invited them in to get warm. When I came home from school, the missionaries were sitting by our electric heater, steam rising from their clothes. That began our teaching experience. A few weeks later, we were baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Being members of the Church has been a great blessing in our lives. We found peace, direction, and hope. I grew up to serve a mission, marry in the temple, and become the father of four children. I became the first person in all the generations of my family to attend university, and I enjoyed a successful career.

After the sacrament had been passed, my brother Robert took out a pencil and paper and began to draw. I worried about Robert, a 16-year-old priest, who should be outgrowing that kind of thing by now. I looked at my mother’s face. She seemed composed, as always. She ignored his behavior in church. “I’d rather have him come to church and draw than stay home,” she had told me once. “Someday something will change.”
She and I both knew Robert would rather have been in the hills this morning waking up in a cold sleeping bag. If we had left him at home he would have gone hiking with Juno, his trusty dog. “I get more in the mountains than I ever did in a stuffy old meeting,” he shouted once to my father.
“Nevertheless, we are a church-going family,” Father had said gently. “And you are part of the family while you live here, and you will go with us to church.”
I stared at Robert’s hands. They were roughened young hands, accustomed to chopping and whittling wood, tying knots, digging tent trenches. The fingernails were chipped off and dirty. He looked like he belonged in the mountains, not in church.
Sometimes I thought I could understand him. He wanted to worship out there where he said God really was. He had never read the Book of Mormon; he made jokes in Sunday School class. And I don’t think he ever heard anything that was said in sacrament meeting.
Robert continued to draw and I was watching and shouldn’t have been. I tried to concentrate on the woman who was speaking. She was talking about her son who had just returned from his mission.
I sat up and my eyes opened. I wished Robert were listening instead of making silly drawings.
I thought at that moment that maybe Robert shouldn’t listen because he might be getting some ideas. But I noticed his hand had paused. He was listening! Now all I could do was pray he wouldn’t hear the wrong message in the mother’s speech, and go out with his dog for several days.
I looked over at Robert. He was listening all right. I wasn’t sure that was good. But the mother continued. Her boy had changed. He had gone on a mission. It had been a miracle.
Robert thought he had heard all of the rest of this before and returned to his drawing. And then it was time for the returned missionary to speak.
Robert was not watching the missionary.
The ward members laughed. Even Robert smiled.
I thought Robert would have loved a similar two weeks in the desert right during testing time at school, though I couldn’t imagine him taking the Book of Mormon.
The chapel was hushed. I felt I was not there in the church, but with the missionary on those blue hills in the rain. And so was Robert.
I could hear my own breathing, and I could feel my own heart beat. The piece of the paper with the drawing on it fell to the floor. Robert moved closer to Mother, and she put her arm around him. It seemed that, sitting there in sacrament meeting, we were in our own circle of light.

Jenny’s friend Shella was coming over to play, and Jenny had great plans. She wanted to show Shella her little sewing machine that really worked. She wanted to take turns jumping rope with the pink jump rope. And after that she wanted to play a game.
“Shella’s here!” Mom called.
Jenny ran to the door to greet her friend. But before she could take Shella into the house, Shella ran to the backyard and exclaimed, “Let’s ride bikes!”
Jenny’s younger sister Holly was outside. She pointed to a big green bike. “You can ride that one, Shella. It’s our sister Mary’s, but she never rides it.”
Shella’s eyes sparkled. “I love to ride bikes. Can we ride all the way to the end of your road? I wish I lived on Sibyl Road. It has so many shady trees, and there aren’t any cars on the road. Come on, let’s go!”
Shella and Holly swung onto their bikes and started down the driveway. The next thing Jenny knew, they were pedaling down the road without her.
Jenny didn’t know what to do. Her throat tightened, and tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to shout out, “Holly didn’t invite you over. I did! What about my plans?”
Jenny’s mind was stuffed with thoughts and questions: “Why did Holly have to get in the way? What should I do? I’m so mad and so sad. I should just forget them and go inside.”
Jenny wondered if she should tell Mom or Dad. But she knew what Dad would say: “Just be a peacemaker.”
Jenny looked down Sibyl Road and saw Shella riding next to Holly. They were getting farther away. She thought about how Shella didn’t have a bike, and even if she did she couldn’t ride on the busy highway near her home. All her brothers and sisters were older, so she didn’t have anyone to ride bikes with.
“Shella likes riding bikes, and she likes being with Holly,” Jenny thought. “I guess I could ride bikes too. Maybe they didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.”
Jenny had a calm, peaceful feeling. She got on her bike and rode out to meet Shella and Holly.
“We made it to the end of the road and back,” Shella said. “Let’s do it again. I love coming to your house to ride bikes!”
All three girls pedaled up and down the street again and again. A smile spread across Jenny’s face as they laughed together. Jenny realized that she could still have fun even if her plans didn’t work out. She was happy that Shella was having such a good time. Jenny planned on riding bikes the next time Shella came over to play.

Don Antonio Manuel de Garcia was a short, round man with a tall opinion of himself. “I am the wealthiest man in all of San Pedro,” he would say. “Therefore, I am also the most important.”
Yet when he went out onto the calles (streets) of San Pedro, nobody gave him the attention he felt that he deserved.
“Perhaps if you thought more of others instead of yourself, you would gain the respect of the people,” his wife said gently.
Don Antonio did not listen. “Why, they pay more attention to that peasant, Juan Mendoza, than they do to me,” he grumbled.
His wife smiled. “Juan is a good man. He grinds corn for the old women of the pueblo, for their tortillas. He has a kind word for everyone, and you can always see him coming, because of that large sombrero he always wears.”
“Ahhhh, his sombrero!” Don Antonio ignored everything else she had said.
The next day he rode to the big city. When he returned, he was wearing a new sombrero—but what a sombrero! It had red tassels that bobbed as he trotted by, and a shadow so large that it kept both Don Antonio and his horse in shade from head to tail.
Villagers filled the calles as Don Antonio rode by. They stared in amazement.
He smiled and waved.
“At last the people see how important I am,” Don Antonio told his wife when he returned home.
She looked at the sombrero, shook her head, and said nothing.
For days Don Antonio went out whenever he could, enjoying the crowds that gathered at the sight of his unusual hat.
Soon, however, the novelty wore off. People saw him coming and merely murmured, “Buenos días (Good morning),” before returning to their tasks.
Don Antonio was not pleased.
“Why even Claudia Sanchez gets more attention than me,” he complained to his wife.
“Isn’t she the one who tutors the children after school?” she asked. “Even so, she has time to grow that magnificent garden—and shares what she grows with the less fortunate.”
“Ahhhh, a garden!”
The next day he rode into the big city. When he returned to San Pedro, people flocked to the calles again, their jaws dropped in amazement. Don Antonio was wearing the same sombrero, but now above the red tassels were piles of potatoes, cascades of corn, and bunches of bananas. It was a most amazing sight.
“At last they see how important I am,” he told his wife proudly.
She sighed and said nothing.
For a week Don Antonio basked in the attention of the village. However, his fame did not last. Soon people grew accustomed to his strange sombrero. They no longer gazed in awe as he rode through the calles, and he began to feel smaller and smaller beneath his enormous, heavy hat.
“Why, they pay more attention to Carlos Ramirez than they do to me,” he complained to his wife.
“Ah, Carlos,” she replied. “Isn’t he the boy who carries water for half the women of the pueblo and never charges a peso for it? He sings in the church choir and has a parrot named Xiomara.”
“Ahhhh, a parrot!”
The next day he rode into the big city. As he returned to San Pedro, the people of the pueblo gathered to stare. His sombrero was still huge, with red tassels, and it still looked like a garden. But now four enormous parrots perched on the crown. Their tails dangled down over the sides of the sombrero, and they nibbled at the corn as they rode along.
It was a most unusual sight.
Don Antonio smiled as he rode through the crowd. At last they see how important I am, he thought proudly. But as he rode down the calle, enjoying the amazement of the crowd, he noticed that not everyone was watching him. Some of the children were playing a game.
He was angry. A man of his importance deserved the attention of everyone!
He waved his hands and shouted to make the children look at him.
The startled parrots fluttered from his hat. One landed on the horse’s head. The horse reared, and Don Antonio fell off—kersplash!—into a mud puddle nearly as large as his hat. The sombrero went rolling down the calle, scattering potatoes, corn, and bananas. The parrots winged their way to freedom.
The people of the pueblo sprang into action.
“Save the sombrero of Don Antonio Manuel de Garcia!” they shouted as they raced down the calle after the runaway hat. “Save that magnificent sombrero!”
Soon there was no one left but a short man sitting in a large mud puddle.
“Save Don Antonio Manuel de Garcia!” he cried, but nobody answered. So Don Antonio had to get himself out of the puddle and limp home with mud on his clothes and water in his boots.
“Even my sombrero is more important than I am,” he told his wife, sadly.
She looked at him and shook her head. “You’re the one who made the hat so important,” she pointed out. “If you spent as much time making friends as you did making a magnificent sombrero, you would not have been left alone in the calle. Never let what you wear become more important than what you are.”
For once, Don Antonio had nothing to say.

Rebecca had to contend not only with her father’s disbelief but also with problems in her husband’s commitment to the faith. During 1837 and 1838, her husband, Frederick, then a member of the First Presidency, was repeatedly at odds with other Church leaders. He even left the Church for a time and was excommunicated. However, not long after, Frederick humbled himself, rejoined the Church, and died in full fellowship. We do not have a record of Rebecca’s feelings at the time, but she would not regret her allegiance with the Saints and remained committed.
When rumors of Frederick’s dissent reached Rebecca’s father in New York, Isaac hoped that Rebecca would renounce the faith as well. However, Rebecca sent him a letter that demonstrated her continued fidelity. After reading her response, Isaac slowly shook his head and said, “Not one word of repentance.”12

When Elder Jeremy R. Jaggi was a teenager, his seven-year-old sister, Kristen, contracted a bacteria that attacked her brain. Doctors said she wouldn’t survive.
Young Jeremy knelt beside his bed in the family’s home in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, and pleaded with the Lord to know why she had to die so young. His sister, however, received a priesthood blessing and lived.
This was a catalyst for 17-year-old Jeremy to “get himself right with God,” leading him to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time. Later he served as a full-time missionary in the Ohio Cleveland Mission.
Jeremy would return to his knees in heartfelt prayer years later as his wife, Amy, was in pre-term labor with their third child. “At that moment, I felt an overwhelming peace—a peace that can only be described as the loving arms of a Heavenly Father enveloping me with the warmth of the Holy Ghost,” he said.
That peace carried him through the brief time the baby lived and the months of grief that followed with another miscarriage. “We’re all tried in our way,” he said, “but we still ‘count it all joy’ [James 1:2] that the Savior has provided a way for us to have peace and happiness.”

Academic Success
I came to BYU–Hawaii thirsty for academic success. I knew a university education would change my life, my family, and the nation at large. I had been given a chance of a lifetime. I wasn’t going to squander it and looking back, I did not. My parents had no formal education. They grew up in the rural part of South Africa where opportunities for education during their days were non-existent. My mother was a domestic worker and my father a labourer at a timber company. My father had told me as a boy that education is the ticket to success. This understanding of my family background, a single chance to taste success, and the role education could play to one’s success served as an inspiration to do well.

In addition, there were people I could not disappoint. The list included my mission president, Dr. Wayne Shute, the BYU–Hawaii staff at the Admissions and Financial Aid offices, and my family, whom I had not seen since I left for my mission. These people worked hard to make sure I was on this campus.

Back to my background, soon after arriving on campus, it became clear that my early education under the apartheid regime had not prepared me to compete at the college level in the U.S. The apartheid education had only prepared me to do manual labour. In short and to quote the Soweto Student Representative Council, “hewers of wood and drawers of water."

It came as no surprise when I was asked to enroll in EIL (English as an International Language). I took Math 90 before I could take Math 110. A few semesters later I registered in Astronomy 110. Even though I had completed high school, it was the first time in my life that I learned about the planetary system. As a college student I was shocked to learn that beyond the clouds and the skies there are planets and let alone the universe.

Despite the poor academic preparation, I was determined to succeed and complete my studies within time. I put every effort into my studies. I dedicated four hours per day to my studies outside the classroom. Two hours at night and two hours in the morning. I completed all my assignment on time. The hard work I put into my studies paid off. I graduated cum laude and was on the Dean’s List for the last three years of my studies. I was on an academic scholarship which paid for most of my studies.

The academic training I received on this campus prepared me to obtain four more additional high education qualifications, passing them with flying colors.

Jessica stood on the sidewalk outside Sister Richards’s house, straddling her bike and staring with uncertainty at an open side gate that led to the Richardses’ backyard. Planting a summer garden wasn’t at the top of her list of fun things to do on an already-too-hot Saturday morning. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere on her list!
Besides, she told herself, she had never gardened in her life and had rarely attended Sister Richards’s Valiant 9 Primary class. She barely knew the others in the class, and when she did go to church, one of them—Karlie—never seemed to want to even be seen with her.
She wondered why she had said yes when Sister Richards invited her to help plant the vegetable garden. It was to be a service project, and what was grown would be shared with others in the neighborhood.
“If only it was something other than planting and tending a garden!” Jessica thought as she started to turn her bike around. She liked to help others, “but there will be other chances to—”
Jessica saw Karlie approaching. Karlie’s eyes avoided Jessica’s as she rode through the side gate.
As Jessica again started to turn her bike around, something else stopped her. This time it was her Primary teacher’s voice. “Jessica! I’m so glad you’ve come. We’re just about ready to start planting.”
“If only Sister Richards’s smile wasn’t so kind and genuine,” Jessica thought, “I could tell her I’ve changed my mind about wanting to help.”
“Everyone is here, dear,” her Primary teacher went on. “Tyler, Karlie, Daniel, Joseph, Allie, and Michael. For a couple of them, Jessica, it’s a first—the first time they’ve come to a Primary activity.” She winked as if sharing it in confidence. “I think they’re curious.” As Jessica hesitated, Sister Richards added, “All you need for our project is a caring heart and willing hands, and I happen to know that you have both.”
In the backyard, Jessica saw a nicely cultivated, rich-soiled plot of earth surrounded by children. She found herself recalling other words Sister Richards had said: “The Savior spent his whole life helping others. He even died for us. His message is as simple as the sacred hymn that declares it: ‘As I have loved you, Love one another’ (Children’s Songbook, 136).”
One afternoon a few weeks later, Jessica and Karlie found themselves on their knees side by side, thinning and weeding the tender, sprouting plants. Jessica came across a large weed that stubbornly held its place among young cornstalks. Try as she might, she could not pull it out. Suddenly Karlie grasped it, too. With one united tug, they jerked it out of the ground.
They giggled as they fell backward, their laughter dissolving into quiet, affectionate looks as they suddenly understood why they had avoided each other before. They simply had not known enough about each other to feel comfortable. Jessica flicked a piece of dirt off Karlie’s face, realizing as she did that they might become good friends. She smiled at Karlie.
“Are you going to Primary this Sunday?” Karlie asked.
“Are you?”
Karlie nodded.
Jessica smiled again. “Me, too.”
As the two girls brushed dirt off each other, Tyler stopped and blinked sweat from his eyes, and Michael paused to examine a blister. Sister Richards winked as she paraphrased a Book of Mormon scripture, “God will consecrate our afflictions for our gain (2 Ne. 2:2).”
Tyler grinned as he said, “Some cold lemonade would also help our afflictions. Hint, hint.”
“I’ll show you affliction!” Daniel playfully flung a handful of weeds at Tyler. Tyler tossed a few thinned carrots back at Daniel, but they missed and rained on Michael instead. By the time Sister Richards began to sprinkle them with a hose, everyone else had joined in.
As Jessica laughingly stepped back from the fun-filled fray to catch her breath, she found herself thinking back to that first, uneasy Saturday when she had straddled her bike in front of Sister Richards’s house. “So much has changed since then!” she thought. “Lots of things have grown, not just the vegetables. Our group has grown, too, because we’ve invited our other friends, and some of them aren’t even Church members. …”
“Are you all right, honey?” Sister Richards joined Jessica. “You look so far away.”
Jessica smiled at her Primary teacher. “I’m very all right, Sister Richards. I was just thinking. I didn’t know I could ever feel this good about what we’re doing.”
“You mean about taking time out for a little fun?”
“No—about planting and growing a sharing garden. And all our friends coming, too, and not just here but to Primary! And do you know what? That feeling keeps getting bigger, just like that corn over there.”
Sister Richards pulled Jessica close to her. Jessica looked up and saw that Sister Richards was crying.
Tyler and Lindsey, who was a longtime friend of Jessica’s and who was not a member of the Church, stopped playing upon seeing Sister Richards wipe her eyes. “We’re sorry, Sister Richards,” Tyler apologized. “We’ll stop horsing around and—”
“No, no, Tyler, it’s not that.” Not wanting to break Jessica’s confidence, Sister Richards simply said, “Haven’t you ever gotten anything in your eye before?”
A few short weeks later, as they picked, cleaned, and placed ripe vegetables into baskets for neighbors, Daniel paused to fan his hot face with a towel. Sister Richards told him with a grin, “The seeds of service are watered by the sweat of labor.” Daniel rolled his eyes and then grinned back.
Jessica smiled, thinking, “Yes, Sister Richards really does have a way with words.”
The group placed their produce in two worn red wagons and started down the street. At one stop, they made their way up a little flowered walkway to the door of an elderly widow. The house was small and seemed forlorn. When the door opened, Jessica and the others offered the old woman a small sack with several different vegetables in it. The smile of sweet surprise that rippled across her wrinkled face squeezed tears not only from her eyes but from some of the children’s as well.
As they started back down the walkway, Tyler told Joseph, who had playfully poked him, “What’s the matter, haven’t you ever gotten anything in your eye before—like ‘the sweat of labor’?”
One afternoon after giving away that day’s harvest, the empty wagons rattling behind them, Sister Richards started to sing, “‘By this shall men know Ye are my disciples—’”
The children helped her finish it, “‘If ye have love One to another.’”
Sister Richards asked them, “So how do you feel?”
Michael fanned his face with his hand. “It’s hot, but I still feel good.”
“Doing good makes you feel good,” Allie reasoned aloud, “no matter what else doesn’t.”
“And right now”—Tyler grinned at his Primary teacher—“I believe some of your cold lemonade will make feeling good feel even better!”
Sister Richards grinned back at Tyler as she ruffled his hair. “Such wisdom for one so young!”